Don't You Wonder Sometimes Bout Sound and Vision?

I came across an old Rolling Stone interview this week from 1974, where William S. Burroughs interviews David Bowie. I’m actually surprised I’ve never seen it before, with such an odd yet amazingly appropriate meeting of creative minds.

My brother is more into the beat writers than myself, though I have read Burroughs and Kerouac and the like. I’ve always enjoyed what I have read; the writing is brutally frank and the style terribly liberating. But I’ve never idolized them the way many people do. In truth, I’ve been on a bit of a Bowie kick lately, and my interest in reading the article was to see what he (the true recipient of a little of my idolization) had to say. Because despite Lodger and Low being on a constant loop on my iPod this week, there are times I actually prefer listening to Bowie talk about his music and the process then I do actually listening to it.

(Ok, that’s a flat lie, but needless to say the man is witty. He gives a great interview.)

If you have any interest in either man (or even if you don’t) I highly recommend reading it. Burroughs is older, caustically dry in humor and a little embittered; Bowie is younger with a bit of youthful arrogance sprinkled with his natural tendency for charm and theatrics. There’s actually an amazing chemistry to it - the two men seem to really connect and then feed off each other’s energy. It’s less an interview and more like being witness to a really great conversation.

And while perusing the conversation, they made mention of the cut-up technique. I then vaguely remembered that Burroughs popularized the literary technique, and that Bowie used the method for writing some of his lyrics, and songs on albums like Hunky Dory and Diamond Dogs comes to mind.

But the thought made me giggle.

The cut-up technique, or cutting up text or texts, throwing them into a fishbowl, and then drawing them out, makes me think of every creative writing class I’ve taken in my life. And there have been quite a few. One specific poetry class my senior year sticks out clearly in my mind, but not for particularly good reasons. I laugh because the result of the technique was usually horrendous and, to me, always seemed artsy for the sake of being artsy.

But in a wave of nostalgia, I tried my hand once again at the cut-up technique. The outcome will never see the light of day. I laugh uncontrollably every time I read over the horrible self-indulgence.

The Third Mind or Life on Mars? it is not.

So I think it's well established I’m not a beat poet. But I think I already knew this, because unlike my brother, I don’t want to seclude myself in a cabin in Muir Woods and write. I’m perfectly happy secluding myself in my tiny apartment in Nagoya to much the same effect.

But if you want to read a truly fascinating exchange, click the link below. The nostalgia alone might make it worth it.

http://www.teenagewildlife.com/Appearances/Press/1974/0228/rsinterview/

"With a Side of Kanji, Please"

I did something absolutely mortifying today.

I take private Japanese lessons every Thursday morning, and this morning was no different then usual. My typical Thursday schedule consists of me rising around 9, showering, downing a cup of coffee, reviewing a few last minute notes, and then shuffling off to a 20 minute subway ride in the hopes of showing up at the Higashi Betsuin Women's Center by 11. I am usual not fully aware at first, but having to think in another language wakes you up quicker than you can imagine. So I breezed in at 10:55 this morning, and finally feeling the effects of my caffeine intake, started to excitedly talk to my teacher about my plans tonight. But my verbal barrage took a turn towards the worse as my own stupidity quickly reared its head, and my teacher reacted to it.

The conversation alone can convey my faux pas. So, for the mixed reasons of a better explanation as well as for entertainment value, here is the conversation. Translated and transcribed, to the best my memory serves.

(Kate walks in to see Keiko sitting at a table.)

Keiko: Long time no see! How are you?

Kate: Great, thanks. How about you?

Ke: Great. So do you have to work today?

Ka: No, actually. Tonight my students and I are going out for dinner.

Ke: In Kanie?

Ka: No, Takaoka. I'm going to Kanayama first, then Takaoka for dinner at 7. (Kate pauses, an uncertain look on her face.) An end of the year party!

(Keiko does a slight double take, then gives her a confused glance.)

Ka: (repeats uncertainly) End of the year party...? (looks frantically through her dictionary)

Did I say it wrong?

Ke: No, no. Usually they're in December. Between Christmas and New Year's.

Ka: Oh its November. What's today then?

(Keiko keeps the confused look on her face.)

Ke: Today is a holiday.

Ka: (genuinely curious) Really? What?

(Keiko blanches slightly in surprise, as if it had been obvious)

Ke: Kate, today is Thanksgiving.

(Kate gives a long pause)

Ka: Oh.

END SCENE

Keiko then went on to laugh, saying that she had went to a Thanksgiving party the night before, while I was clearly looking forward to Japanese traditions. She went further to say that today, she was the American and I was Japanese.

I laughed too. I just find it sad that my Japanese teacher had to remind me that today was Thanksgiving.

Oops.

It's not like I didn't know of its approach either. All week, people asked me about the holiday, and if I was going to eat turkey on Thursday. ( And to which I replied, while I would love to, how in the world would I prepare it? This is my cooking area:

I can't bake cookies, let alone a whole turkey.)

So even thought I knew it was coming, talked of it all week, on the day of, for some inexplicable reason, it completely slipped my mind. I feel like a horrible American.

One would think the thought of the food alone would keep it foremost in my thoughts. How I salivate over the thought of the Thanksgiving treats today. And one look at my "oven" is proof enough how much I miss baked goods. And while I do miss the food from home, I am fine subsisting on what I do. In fact, it makes me appreciate it more. So if I find really great food like that from home, the scarcity makes the taste that much better.

For when I find a really great cheese in a country severely deprived of fermented milk-based food products, I gratefully shell out the high price and relish it that much more when I finally eat it. And when, on a whim, I decide to pay 500 yen for that tiny bunch of grapes, the wait alone makes the grapes that much better. And ethnic foods, like Mexican and Indian, the kinds I took for granted in their abundance, become special places to find and eat at. (One in particular, Mugal Palace, has become almost a weekly pilgrimage spot. Besides making me a bit of a connoisseur of Indian food for all the items I have tried, it is hands down the best Indian food I've ever had in my life.)

But in truth, and as expected, I now live on a highly Japanese diet. To what I'm sure would be

my mother's chagrin, I haven't had pasta or hard bread in months. I eat rice all the time, and various stir fry are the main dishes I consume.

I even eat salad with chopsticks.

In fact, I have even discovered some food items I will sorely miss when I leave Japan. The fried gyoza found in the food stores are out of this world. Asahi makes this yogurt granola bar that not only is amazingly delicious, but has become my weekly Wednesday afternoon snack. There is a spicy tofu and rice dish at my local convenience store that I cannot live without. And in a country of crab flavored potato chips, I have fallen in love with Azuki Pepsi. And it actually tastes like Azuki paste, or sweet bean paste, a staple of most Japanese desserts.

Which is another odd item I have grown to love.

But eating out is truly the height of my diet in Japan. The food is not necessarily expensive, or well seasoned, but its comforting and filling without being overwhelming. Scrumptious is really the only appropriate word. And izukaya food is designed to be communal, so the whole atmosphere is as social as the food is delicious. From the grilled meats and nabe pots to tabasaki to salads with unnecessary corn. I enjoy it all.

(And deciphering the menus at such establishments is always an added treat, because there are usually several characters none of us can read. Believe me, jokes like "the Kanji salad" or "I'll take the tomato, garlic, and Kanji" seriously never gets old.)

But all that aside, at my end of the year/secret Thanksgiving dinner tonight, though I was surrounded by the Japanese foods I have come to love, I was dreaming of pumpkin pie and cranberry sauce. Mulling over mashed potatoes. Fantasizing about stuffing. Pondering the delights of hot biscuits.

And desperately wishing I had an oven.

Of Hopefuls and Heroines

I've had quite a full week.

Over the course of this week, the final stages of the massive redecoration of my apartment went into full effect. But because of the long hours spent moving furniture and meticulously sewing tablecloths (and oh how I wish I was kidding), its left me time to watch lots of ridiculously trashy television. TV of the kind I have not watched since I was in college, and my roommate and I would sit on the couch on a Sunday afternoon and marathon America's Next Top Model while we pretended to do homework and recovered from the weekend.

While finding my mindless reality TV online was not difficult, watching it actually brought back to mind many things I had forgotten. Like the fact that the second season of Project Runway was surprisingly great, both with the drama and the clothes produced, so much so the current incarnation is a poor substitute. I remembered that Tyra taught me that there is a difference between smiling and smiling with my eyes, and the seriousness with which she imparted this lesson. And lastly, how ridiculously stupid some people on these shows can be.

Now most of my reality show viewing, limited as it was, was really reserved for Project Runway (high on drama queens, low on the stupid people), but Top Model was ripe with stupid comments. And I think the pinnacle was from the beginning of season 11 (I refuse to call them cycles), which I never saw the first time around.

In the audition process we meet Susan, a recent grad from Harvard University, lamenting how her ivy league education was detrimental to her being taken seriously as a model. Besides the fact that her comment was extremely condescending, I would have told her not to worry about her brains getting in the way of anything. Because after talking about her university, and the fact that she majored in English Lit, Tyra then innocuously asked her to name her favorite literary heroine in English literature.

The girl could not name a single one.

I mean, are you kidding me? Not only could it give Tyra, god bless her, a chance to act superior by talking about Jane Eyre and White Fang (umm...heroine?), but I actually find it extremely sad the girl could not name one! Leaving aside the fact it was her major for four years, and at the risk of sounding like a unrelenting feminist, you can't think of a single strong woman in literature since the invention of the English language?

Are you crazy?

Mind you, the males generally have it better in literature. For awhile in my teens I had a mixed literary crush/hero worship for Edmund Dantes because he was just that deliciously bad ass. But despite the role that most women were placed into in classic literature, I could still name an innumerable amount of awesome ladies that I admired almost as much as the Count.

The aforementioned Jane Eyre. Elizabeth Bennet had wit and sense in spades. I always felt Miranda from the Tempest had a certain strength. Hester Prynne, Lucy Honeychurch, Isabel Archer. Jo March was, personally, my ideal as a young girl. Still is, in fact.

So I find it extremely disheartening that this girl could not name a single literary lady. There are so many to choose from! Make a sister proud.

But speaking of awesome ladies, and literary heroines, I also reread Northanger Abbey this week. I am quite the self proclaimed Austenite, but Northanger Abbey has always been low on my favorites list. But reading it with fresh eyes, I had a lot more patience for, and in fact finally found the charm, in Catherine, the heroine's, naiveté.

This truly surprised me.

I know it was written as a satire of the Gothic novels of the time period, but a few years ago I found her annoyingly gullible. But her artless observations and judgement of the world actually make her unknowingly witty, and I finally found the humor in it. And this realization gave me a new appreciation for the love interest of the novel, Henry Tilney. He was constant in affection, amazingly clever, and found delight and admiration for Catherine's good nature along with me. This, coupled with Jane Austen's proto-feminisist comments as an omniscient narrator have made me reassess its position on my favorite Austen list.

But its interesting that I get so mad about stupid girls on American TV, read Austen's criticisms of patriarchy and delight, and yet can exist happily in Japan. I think its part of being a foreigner, clearly labeled as such, and the exclusion from society as a whole also affords me a sort of freedom from the restrictions of said society.

I do not exaggerate when I say that, in terms of women's rights, its 1964 here. I could write a dissertation on the parallels, but suffice it to say that this is a country where women have a taste of education and are in the workforce, but men still hold all the power. For most of them, their only drive in their early 20s (and truly, what many see as their only option) is to get married and have children. A valid choice if it is just that, but here females are pressured to the extent that women over 25 are referred to disdainfully as "Christmas Cake," or past their prime and unmarriagable.

I wish I was making this up.

There is a younger generation, women in university or just out, yearning for something more than what they see set out before them. And as a Western woman, they confide in me, sharing with me the desire to keep working when they marry. To do more with their life then just find a man to support them.

If ever there was a country in serious need of some bra burning, Japan is it.

So what can I do? Bite back the bile I feel at the inequality and continue to encourage those who do want more to just take it. But Japan is still a country where, in 2009, there are certain jobs only men can apply for. Where there are true office ladies, low level paper-pushing positions with no chance of promotion, who are sometimes forcefully phased out of their jobs at the age of 27 to make room for a 21 year old girl. Where being a flight attendant is seen by most girls as a dream career, international and unattainable. A society where they are expected to giggle and wink and be just the right mix of cute and subservient, while never contradicting the men around them. A country where husbands are out drinking till late every night, but dinner is still expected to be ready and waiting on the table when they stumble home.

But I don't parcel the blame to the men, its the society as a whole. And there are some accomplished women, and many good men. But the system is flawed, and no where near what it's like back home. Its quite jarring at times, and turns me into the angry feminist I never set out to be. And suddenly silly posts about reality TV turn into something more.

So I leave someone more capable to conclude it then I. Miss Jane Austen said it best in Northanger Abbey, and though speaking of Regency England, I find it frighteningly applicable to Japan today. It is the facetious assessment of the qualities good in a women. So please enjoy the wit of Jane, the kind of which I could never supply.

She was heartily ashamed of her ignorance. A misplaced shame. Where people wish to attach, they should always be ignorant. To come with a well-informed mind is to come with an inability of administering to the vanity of others, which a sensible person would always wish to avoid. A woman especially, if she have the misfortune of knowing anything, should conceal it as well as she can. The advantages of natural folly in a beautiful girl have been already set forth by the capital pen of a sister author; and to her treatment of the subject I will only add, in justice to men, that though to the larger and more trifling part of the sex, imbecility in females is a great enhancement of their personal charms, there is a portion of them too reasonable and too well informed themselves to desire anything more in woman than ignorance.

Famous Words to Live By

Everyone makes mistakes ~ Big Bird

Words I have taken to heart and tried to live by since I was a little girl and watching Seasme Street like it was a religious experience. In fact, I still think fondly back to those days, and a certain nostalgia fills me every time I come across old Sesame Street videos on youtube.

Its a funny thing. Most people my age treat Sesame Street with an almost reverence. It was such a perfect and undeniable part of our childhood, that it can't help but put everyone in a good mood whenever it's brought up. And it's funny to go back now and look at some of the skits. There is a certain element to them that I think is sometimes actually better appreciated as adults.

But times change, and there are a few things I mourn from the old Sesame Street. The fact that Elmo has eclipsed Grover in popularity, because I think we all know who the superior muppet is. (You know he was the best waiter around and where there is life, there is hope.) The fact that Cookie Monster doesn't eat just cookies anymore. (Now its a "sometimes food.") But for all the changes, for all the flaws, Sesame Street will continue to be something that I can't help but love.

And since today marks the 40th anniversery of Sesame Street, I just wanted to do a little honor to the show I fondly remember. So in celebration, I would like to present my all time favorite of the Waiter Grover series, and then my favorite song on Sesame Street.

(And you know I wasn't the only one who had that same rubber ducky.)

And Things that Go Bump in the Night

I’m pretty nostalgic for home this week, and its all because of Halloween.

Halloween is probably one of my absolute favorite holidays, and one that is, unfortunately, not widely celebrated in Japan. It seems like something they would absolutely love here, seeing as costumes are mandatory, but it is one western activity they have not appropriated. Yes, I have been wearing a costume to work all week, and teaching Japanese kids the joys of free candy, but its not quite the same aura of the macabre and atmosphere of celebration as home. And I find myself missing it.

So I’ve been trying to get into the holiday spirit, so to say, by planning a costume for Saturday night, listening to creepy The Decembrists’s songs, and skimming entertainment and pop culture blogs for news of the season.

But during my internet travels, I’ve run across an innumerable amount of articles about how vampires are the new “cool” thing. Seriously, every entertainment or news site has something written about it like it’s a brand new cultural phenomenon. Maybe its because it’s the close to beginning of the new TV season, maybe its because (apparently) the new twilight movie is coming out late fall, or maybe its because Halloween is literally right around the corner. Either way, the popularity of several franchises with a premise surrounding vampires have gotten all the media and entertainment blogs buzzing, trying to dissect the fascination, as if such a thing is new.

I almost want to ask where the hell they’ve been.

Now as someone who was a not so secret fan of the late 90s cult favorite, Buffy the Vampire the Slayer, I know that the vampire premise is fascinating, and the supernatural gave the writers license to explore real life issues in a fun and entertaining way. And while I found Twilight inanely stupid (I have to agree with my Aunt’s comments that the movie didn’t have enough blood or killing; I also found the lead more creepy stalker than romantic hero), the insane popularity just speaks to the interest that the genre holds.

But I repeat, this is not new.

Since Bram Stoker first put his pen to paper, Vampire stories have become its own genre in Western Literature. Bram shook up Victorian sensibilities by humanizing and, in fact, sexualizing the Vampire mythos, but that same interpretation has been a facet of fiction since then. And after Anne Rice, the mythology has evolved the vampire into, literally, a human with fangs. Someone who is inherently human, but uninhibited by the trappings of morality or self control.

So of course its appealing.

But who am I to really dissect why? I will never understand the appeal of the neutered, sparkly vampires of Twilight. But I do know that Buffy will always have a special place in my DVD collection. And that once I actually gave in to several instigators and watched it, True Blood has become one of my new favorite shows. (It truly is, as Alan Ball the creator, described it, “popcorn TV for smart people.”) So my attempt is not to explain, but merely balk at the media outlets surprise at the fact that vampires are cool.

I thought that was a well established fact?

So my musings turned into haphazard research, in which I discovered several interesting facts about vampires. So in honor of Halloween (and because I seriously love lists), I would like to share my findings, which I have comprised into a tiny list entitled:

Things You (Probably) Didn’t Know About Vampires

1. The original vampires of folklore were not the pale, gaunt, sinisterly attractive creatures of modern times. In traditional tales, vampires are described as bloated creatures with ruddy or purplish skin, with blood seeping from their mouth and nose. Very sexy.

2. Every language has its own word for it, but our word Vampire comes from the German Vampir, which in turn was adopted from the Serbian word вампир/vampir.

3. Indeed, as with the word, every culture all over the world for the last millennia has some form of vampire myth. Though our popular modern interpretation originates from the 18th century Southeastern European tradition, there are myths from every country throughout time. For example:

- The Persians were the first civilization to have tales of blood drinking demons, as depicted on ancient pottery shards.
- Ancient Babylonians believed in the Lilitu, a demon who lived on the blood of babies. (This is actually where Lilith of Hebrew folklore originates, but she was less picky about whose blood she subsisted on.)
- The Greeks and Romans believed in the empusae, a demonic bronze footed creature. She would transform into a young woman and seduce men, drinking their blood as they slept.
- In the Hindi tradition, India has the vetala, ghouls that inhabit corpses, drink blood, and constantly outwit their captors.
- In West Africa, the Ashani people believe in the asanbosom, vampiric creatures with iron teeth and claws that attack from above.
- In the Philippines, there are tales of the mandurugo, or “blood sucker.” It takes the form of an attractive girl by day, developing wings and a long, hollow threadlike tongue at night. Kind of like a really killer mosquito.
- In Chinese folklore, there is the Jiang Shi, reanimated corpses that hop around, killing people to absorb their life essences. They are created when an animal leaps over a corpse.

4. No matter the country, Vampires have OCD. In most folk beliefs, if they come across small grains, they have to impulsively count each and every one. In Europe, this meant poppy seeds or millet, in China and India it was sacks of rice.

5. According to legend, the most foolproof method for finding a vampire’s grave is leading a virgin boy through a graveyard on a virgin stallion. The horse would balk at the grave.

6. Vampire hunting societies still exist, though largely for social reasons. ( Of course, I am hard pressed to imagine what those reasons may be.)

7. The most recently recorded case of suspected vampirism in America was in 1892 in Exeter, Rhode Island. When 19-year-old Mercy Brown died, her father removed her from her tomb two months after death, cut out her heart, and burned it.

8. One of the most recent highly publicized cases of vampire activity was in 1970 in London, England. Two young men claimed a vampire lived in Highgate cemetery, and spurned a massive hunt by amateur “vampire hunters.” (Though perhaps they were all there for the social reasons.)

9. It is believed by some that belief in Vampires come from the attempts by pre-industrial societies to explain the natural, but them to seemingly unnatural, process of decomposition. Corpses swell with gas, and blood can ooze from the mouth. This makes them appear “plump” and “well-fed,” and as if they were in fact feasting upon blood. The skin and gums retract, making it appear as if their teeth, hair, and nails “grew.” And when a corpse was staked, the release of the previous mentioned gases could cause a groan-like sound, as if the “creature” was dying.

10. No folkloric tradition ever expressly states that vampires are either immortal or harmed by sunlight. Both suppositions are purely based on subsequent vampire literature.

11. The modern incarnation of the vampire as an aristocrat is believed to actually be a socio-political criticism of the Ancien Régime. A count alone in his castle, only emerging to feed on his peasantry, is symbolic of the parasitic nature of the old European ruling class. In 1979, filmmaker Werner Herzog took this political interpretation one step further, by having the young estate agent become the next vampire after Dracula. In other words, the capitalist bourgeois is the next parasitic class after the demise of the peerage system. (Now imagine him explaining all this in an esoteric rant with his self-possessed tone and surprisingly lilting accent. The thought makes me giggle.)

12. The charismatic and sophisticated aristocratic vampire did not actually begin with Bram Stoker. Though Dracula spawned the modern literary genre, the first vampire with these characteristics appeared in 1819 in a book called The Vampyre by John Polidori. Polidori was the personal physician of Lord Byron, and his vampire, Lord Ruthven, was based on his illustrious patient.

13. Varney the Vampire, a Victorian penny dreadful published in 1847 (so called because it was both inexpensive and grisly in content), solidified many tropes of vampire mythology we have today. He had fangs which left two puncture wounds, hypnotic powers, and superhuman strength. But most importantly, he was the first example of the archetype of the “sympathetic vampire.” In other words, a vampire who detests his condition; a victim of fate who is nonetheless a slave to it. It was the first instance of the tragic anti-hero that the vampire is today.

14. Dracula is a major character in more movies than any other character but Sherlock Holmes.

I lay full blame at the feet of Joseph Campbell for the compilation of the above list, as well as inspiring my interest in connecting worldwide folklore and tracing the mythos of an archetype through literature. But what can I say? Vampires are cool. Everyone is saying so nowadays. And researching them was a hell of a lot of fun. I just hope you enjoyed reading this even half as much as I enjoyed researching it.

Happy Halloween :)

Out with the Old, in with the New

So summer is officially over.



You will take a glance at the date I am posting this and think I am slightly insane for seemingly declaring the obvious. But if you have not lived in Japan before, you will not understand my reluctance to declare summer over. Because up until the two weeks ago, it was still disgustingly sticky and hot.



I laugh at anyone who wants to declare Japan a four season country. I know four seasons- I lived it for 18 years in New Jersey. It is characterized by temperate seasons with reasonable highs in July/August, reasonable lows in January, with a moderate decline and fall of temperature in between. The best I could classify the weather here is as two very distinct seasons of oppressive heat and a bitter chill with nice little transitional periods of temperate weather that bleed into each other. Because best I can tell, Summer here lasted from the first week of May till about October 4.



Especially in Nagoya.



Tajimi, located about 40 minutes by train outside the city in Gifu, besides being famous for ceramics, also has the dubious distinction of being known as the hottest place in Japan. So much so that national news services descend every summer to document it. This just illustrates the heat of the Chubu region in which I reside. And its not the heat that characterized the summer, but the amazing humidity. Humidity with a strength I had never experienced before. I had trouble breathing at times it was so heavy on my skin. Climbing stairs outside had me gasping like I was 70. I never didn’t sweat. I think I lost about 10 pounds from sweating alone.



A charming picture.



But as the first chill finally rolls into Nagoya, and I can finally wear more than a tank top at night again, I find myself reminiscing about the summer. It was hot, yes, but when I stopped complaining like a cranky old woman, there was lots to enjoy. So thinking back, I’ve composed a list of the things I will miss about my first summer in Japan.



1. BBQs
BBQs in Japan are vastly different from the hot dog and hamburger fests that I’m used to. Yes, there is the coolers of beer and soda, inane conversations about the heat, and sparklers, but there are fundamental differences. Like the traditional smashing of the watermelon, which involves blindfolds, a bat, a version of hot or cold, and then consuming smashed up watermelon bits. Or the way Japanese woman do everything possible to stay OUT of the sun, even resorting to sun visors reminiscent of Darth Vader‘s mask, huge floppy hats, and dark black arm guards that cover the whole arm and look amazingly stifling. Odd to me indeed, but the biggest, and most delightful difference, being the food itself.



It’s an array of grilled meats and vegetables that knock any hot dog out of the water. Steamed and grilled on a large charcoal pit, spices and sauces thrown over the entire heap, its like the ultimate stir fry. Then there’s the seafood, and the grilled rice balls, and everything else amazing you can think of. Men stoke huge grill pits with fans as they constantly switch the large assortment of grilled pork and beef with the sliced and sautéed vegetables.



Its an explosion of goodness in your mouth.



After my first one, I left very full and very happy. And despite the heat, I lounged by the lake in Shonai Ryokuchi Park with a beer in my hand, very content.



2. Fireworks



America has fireworks. They are pretty, light up the sky, give you a little thrill. A nice excuse to lay out a picnic blanket with friends and watch the night sky.



But nothing, I repeat NOTHING compares to the fireworks that Japan has.



The best fireworks displays I have seen back in the states compare only to the small fireworks displays in Japan. The big ones, the ones put on in the port of major cities, are fireworks displays the likes I have never seen before. Performances so long that the fireworks need to take an intermission. And the bright colors pack the sky throughout the entire show in a way that is only comparable to the actual finale of ones back home. And the finale? Its nearly overwhelming how awesome it is.



But the entire atmosphere of the event is worth it, even if it weren’t for the dazzling displays. Fireworks are seasonal, not privy to one holiday, so most weekends you will find a fireworks festival of some kind going on. Whether it be in a big city or a small town, the firework festivals has all the usual trappings of festivals in Japan, with the phenomenal food and traditional games. But these events have an extra special touch to it, for a majority of people attend dressed in yukata, or traditional summer kimono. Brightly colored garments with prints that range from the traditional to cutesy (I saw a fair share of Hello Kitty and leopard print ones), everyone walks around in them, a sea of color and texture, some girls with their hair styled just for the festival.



It is that nice extra element that makes the firework festivals just that more special.



3. Relaxing Outdoor Activities



Japan is a highly industrialized country, there is no denying that fact. Most greenery in cities are relegated to parks, and most suburbs look so much like the city that they bleed unnoticeably into each other. But Japan is also a country of beautiful mountains and breathtaking vistas, so when you can make your way out to get to it, they are absolutely worth it.



Being burned out on city life for such a reason, I decided to spend my summer vacation camping in the Japanese Alps. And as someone who is a professed lover of city life, I was amusingly surprised by the grand desire I had to see the mountains. But stressed from work and the heat, I was ready for a change of scenery. So, backpack in hand, I took the first train to Nagano and then a two hour bus ride out to Kamikochi, one of Japan’s national parks.



And as soon as we got there, I knew the trip was absolutely worth it.



Not only are the Japanese Alps snow and cloud capped peaks in breathtakingly rich greens, but the trails are still wild and fairly untouched. The air is clear and crisp, and the mountain streams that cut through are refreshingly cold and so amazingly blue it would not be out of place in the Caribbean. I spent a week of hiking and mountain climbing and attempting to wade in the freezing cold mountain water. We would walk all day, and then wander back to out tent and trade stories and grilled meat over our camp fire. And when I say walk all day, I actually mean it. One day we left our campsite at 10 am and didn’t come back till about 6 pm. I think we walked about 13 miles that day, but the mountains were so beautiful I never noticed the distance.



When we finally left Nagano, all the stress I almost didn’t know I had was melted away, and I was left feeling refreshed. It was so peaceful and rejuvenating that I cant even inject any snark into this section. All I know is that I cant wait for next summer to explore the rest of the mountains.

4. Beer Garden



The nomihodai, or all you can drink, is a popular concept in Japan. Bars do it very frequently, mostly because even though the Japanese are heavy drinkers, they don’t consume large quantities. But the gist of a nomihodai is what you would expect: all you can drink in a certain period of time for a set price.



The beer gardens take this to the next level. Set up on the roofs of large buildings all around Nagoya, it is really the only “outdoor seating” in Japan. But 30 stories up, its worth the view. You take the elevator up to the roof, play a flat rate of about 3000 yen, and get two or three hours of nomihodai (all you can drink) and tabehodai (all you can eat). You get lead to a table with a small grill for grilling your own meat, and after plopping down you bags, then proceed to the beer taps and buffet. You can get all you want of most Japanese beers (hence the name), and the buffet has every kind of rice and yakisoba and fried food you could want. There is also large sections for yakiniku of raw meat and vegetables, which you load up onto your plate and take back to your table. You then grill it yourself and enjoy fresh grilled meat and veggies dripping with sauce and still hot from the burner.



And if this sounds like something only for salary men and drunk gaijin, you are sadly mistaken. Despite being centered around drinking, I have seen so many families with children and elders at these things. They come as group and watch their parents drink, all while enjoying the large amounts of food or the cheesy entertainment of third rate JPOP wannabes.



But sitting on the rooftop in the sticky Nagoya heat, smoke from the small grills wafting around, a chilly mug of Asahi in my hand, and infectious JPOP blaring from the speakers, it’s the only place to be on a summer night in Japan.

6. Fans



I have to hand it to Japan. Keeping hand fans en vogue is one of the brightest ideas I’ve come across in the stifling heat. Though the thought to me evokes images of wraparound porches in the bayou, or ladies in Baptist churches with big hats, every man, woman and child in Japan uses a fan in the heat. In fact, most companies hand them out with advertisements on it, much in the way that they hand out tissues during allergy season (the Japanese are nothing if not excellent at marketing). And where at first I found it odd, I eventually became a full convert by the practicality of it.



Though its not necessarily something I will miss, fans are something I was very grateful to have this past season. It saved my hair, my makeup, and honestly, my sanity this summer. Sitting on long train rides in the high temperatures, or waiting in crowded areas, it relieved the heat in a way I thought nothing else could.



And for that I think I will for the rest of my life use hand fans.



So that is my final salute to Japan’s summer. The heat and the high cost of electricity from running my ac all the time may be gone, but the memories remain. And as with everything, hindsight only offers the good memories, as the bad ones fall away. So as we go full swing into fall, there are many things I will miss about Summer in the land of the rising sun.

But the humidity will definitely not be one of them.

And sorry I could not travel both and be one traveler

Yesterday was my friend Amelia’s 24th birthday.

Amelia is laid back almost to a fault, her effortless humor and even keel personality making her a someone you always want around. So I knew before hand, her birthday would be celebratory, but easy going. And because she had never been so close to a beach in the summer, despite having a birthday in August, she chose to spend her birthday at the beach. So yesterday, we traveled to Utsumi for a day on the shore.

We left Nagoya station late morning, loaded down with coolers, towels, and a general sense of quiet contentment. The train was full at first, with people and our own buzzing excitement, but as the railroad car drove along and people filtered out, only are voices were left. We stayed on the line till the very last stop, a long, winding trip through mountains; the sticky heat kept outside as we crisscrossed quiet towns dotted along the way. As the tracks petered out, we climbed out of Utsumi Station and, after a few mumbled directions in broken Japanese, headed towards the beach.

And the day ended up being all we had wanted; and really, all we expected. In other words, it was quite perfect.

The water was calm and low and warm; as crystal clear and reflective as the peerless blue sky. The sand itself was fine and white, and it slipped between our toes like cool powder. We lay down sheets and towels and heaped on the beach like a sprawling mass of cloth and bags. We lazily relaxed on the beach all day, languidly drinking and eating; a constant stream of food instead of a respectable meal. We laughed loudly with short bursts of impromptu singing, taking breaks here and there to sprint towards the cool water and splash around in it like children. We jumped on tubes and threw beach balls, while some of us covertly stalked the others with 100 yen store water guns. (And in truth, the hunt was always better than the actual attack, for the stream it produced was tiny at best, but the playful fear of an unexpected raid much more gratifying.)

When the sun turned down and set over the ocean, the orange ball low in the sky, I stood in the surf of the calm twilight sea with Caitlin and watched the others enjoy the slowly emptying beach. A few still half heartedly swimming, a few digging in the sand for no other reason than to do it, and everyone else sitting sun warmed and eased on the towels.

And as the sky turned inky, we reluctantly left the deserted beach and found a Tiki Bar a little up the shoreline. It was small with gaudy decorations evocative of tropical islands, but the drinks were cool and the food delicious and we whiled away the rest of the night there. We deciphered the menu, the English words masked in katakana, the foreign sounds rolling off our tongue as we tried to make them fit the words we knew them to be. We tried to play a drinking game to which I’m still not sure the rules, or when you had to drink, and it turned into all of us trying to come up with as many adjectives for each letter of the alphabet as we could. (It’s hard to play, Caitlin later said, when you do it with people with a good vocabulary.)

Tired, relaxed, our sun reddened cheeks turned redder by the alcohol, we finally head towards Utsumi station after ten. It was only after we arrived at the station that we discovered that the last train left at 10:39.

We got there at 10:44, five minutes too late.

Utsumi is one horse town, to borrow a homegrown colloquialism. We saw very few people in the town during the day, and no one at night. Everything was dark and shut down; a sleepy town closed down for the night. Plopping down in the middle of the darkened and empty train station, despite half formed ideas, we all knew there was no way to get back to Nagoya that evening. Someone suggested a bar to kill a few hours, someone else brought finding a hotel. And, well, because I was calm and content, 23 years old, and on vacation, we all collectively decided to sleep on the beach.

There was something reminiscent of home as I pulled on the orange hoodie I fortunately packed on a whim and sauntered down to the cool sand of the beach at night. A few chuckled at the obscene color, and I realized they had never seen the delightful color scheme of my alma mater before, so I joked along with them. There was grumbling about the situation as we sprawled out once again on the beach, but this time with a very different humor.

And a little time later, as we laughed nearly manically at something not all that funny, I realized it was the half-crazed laughter of spontaneity and ridiculous situations, as well as trying to make the best of it.

Wiping the tears from my eyes as my sides started to hurt, Doug said with quiet humor, “Who would have thought a year ago I’d have to be sleeping on a beach in Japan for the night.”

As I rolled onto my back and looked up at the stars, I echoed the sentiment in my head. The idea resonated, for who would have thought I would be in this situation, even a year ago? Which lead me to wonder where will I be on this day next year, and the one after that? Staring up at the endless constellations blinking flirtatiously back at me, life seemed vast and limitless in that one moment. The opportunities I have, and the ones that I create, shape my life. And the life I live, the adventures and events I then choose for myself, leave me with no regrets. These thoughts settled in my mind as I wrapped myself up in my towel and drifted off to sleep.

At 5:17 this morning, I woke up on the beach as the first light crept into the sky. Shannon was already stirring, cardboard she had found to sleep on already being carted towards the trash. (I poked fun at her for sleeping on it. She told me, with no lack of humor, she did it to really get the homeless person experience.) The rest of us rose, bleary eyed and silent, and telepathically decided to head out in time for the first train. Our silence was a great contrast to the noise of the day and night before.

As we trekked back the station, a route we were unfortunately becoming very familiar with, we somehow settled into pairs several yards apart. Amelia herself ended up next to me as we walked noiselessly along the road. The sky was the grey of early morning, and it diffused on the shops and houses still closed up. Despite the sour mood of everyone for having to have slept about 4 hours on the beach , I felt a small bit of optimism creep into my mind. The kind I relish, but others tell me can be quite annoying. Smiling slightly, I turned to Amelia.

“So, how was the birthday?”

Amelia greeted me with a smirk and a raised eyebrow which spoke volumes in and of itself.

And knowing Amelia, I thought that was all I was going to get. But after a brief moment, she laughed.

“Well I’ve never slept on the beach before,” she replied tartly. “So as far as new experiences go, it was a definite success.”

The smile that had been threatening fully erupted on my face, as I joined her in her easy laughter.

“As far as new experiences…” I repeated. “And later, it will make a hell of a story.”

She flashed another wry smile, as if that would make it all worth it.

We slipped back into quiet as we reached the road leading to the train station, the first trains of the morning already waiting on the tracks to take us back to Nagoya.

And no matter where I am next year, no matter when I end up in the future, I know I’m lucky for where I’ve been. For the choices I make. Because no matter what I do, I know I’ll always have one hell of story.

A little something to pass the time* *(in which I discuss perfect donuts, the Sega store, and my absence from the blogosphere)

I have recently discovered that Japan has perfected something I thought no man could: the donut.



I walk by the Mister Donuts franchise in Kanayama station at least two or three times a week, transferring from the JR train to the Nagoya subway line. And while it beckons me with its glowing orange and white sign, and the high pitched irasshaimasen of the shop girl, I don't always stop there. But hungry and tired this past week, I stopped on Monday and bought a donut.



It is then that I realized how perfect they are.



When the strawberry pink concoction featured above was consumed, my senses were instantly enamored as my brain quickly comprehended that Mister Donuts has fixed all the the flaws I always found in donuts. It is about two-thirds the size of an American donut, so I don't find myself forcibly shoving it down with heavy bites, nor feeling far too full afterwards. And the circular treat, as with most Japanese sweets, is just the right amount of sweetness. Not overly so, so that my teeth hurt and I feel almost sickened by the honeyed taste, but the perfect blend of sugar and cake. In the end, I was full and satiated without feeling gorged and overindulged, nor were teeth regretful of my sugar intake. In other words, it was the perfect donut.



After this almost spiritual encounter, I wanted to shout my experience from the rooftops; preach the good word of morning desserts exquisiteness to anyone who would listen! Who is there to revel in my discovery, to see it with fresh eyes so as to truly appreciate the testament to modern society I had uncovered? It is was then I realized how much I missed blogging.



My blog was not willfully abandoned, and unfortunately I only have the pithy excuse of a busy life and a touch of laziness to explain for it.



The last two months have been eventful ones. Teaching has gotten very busy as the year has gone into full swing, I've begun seeing someone quite seriously, experienced a large national holiday, as well as had my first taste of real tourism. All things considered, many things have happened.



So between being very happy, busy, and content, I have found it quite hard to just sit down and blog. Not that I haven't been writing. Truth be told, with the many experiences I've had in the past two months, as well as every day here in Japan, I have been writing blog posts. Several sit collecting theoretical dust on my hard drive, half-formed and partially composed, waiting to see the light of internet day.



But the crux is that my writing is something I take quite seriously. If it is not perfect or well composed, then I don't want to show it. So until now, I have not taken the time to polish my words to my own standards, and share them.



But this post is me turning over a new leaf. As I finally have a handle on managing friends, work, bills, and a relationship all at once in my new life, I will now work blogging back into it. This means more regular postings, and not only on long and important topics, but more trivial ones; the odd occurrences and fascinations that I find myself coming across every day here in Japan. And as you will see, Mister Donuts is really just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.



But to show I am truly committed to this, and this is not just empty words, I am proposing a self-imposed Blog-a-Day. For the next seven days, I will try to post all that I have written over the last two months, in daily installments. What will you see? Travelogues of my first big trip to Nara; my experiences, both good and bad, of being a foreigner in Japan; feminism in a country that never had a feminist movement; the high, lows, and absurdities of Japanese Television; summer barbecues, watermelon squashing, and Nagashima SpaLand; and the lack of religiosity in Japan coupled with my flirtation with Quantum Physics.



Excited?



I hope so, because looking at that lofty and absurd listing, I am ready to write them with a few surprises in between. Because, even though it is beginning to sound trite I say it so often, every day life here still holds mystery for me. Today, for example, I took my first trip to a mall in Japan. Though the shopping, food, and company made it a lovely day off, it was the Sega store that was the true highlight.



To truly appreciate such a place, take the images of the best arcades you've ever gone into, mentally mash them together, and multiply that by five. That may begin to touch how amazing this store is.



I say store, but really its a giant arcade. But it does not have the usual games. As expected of Japan, the video games are superb and nearly unbelievable. There is huge 3D shooting games, life size MarioKart, virtual goldfish catching in which you see them actually swimming in a mock digital tank, huge crane games which retrieve large packages of food and digital items, as well as a ball shaped capsule containing a giant robot game whose screen in the entire surface of the bubble. Based on the Gundam franchise, the effect is that you move the levers and pedals while feeling as if you are in a circular pod on top of a giant robot that you maneuver. The effect of realism is awe inspiring and slightly unnerving.



Though we loved the games (particularly the pogo stick race game filled with cutesy creatures racing through cherry blossoms which simulates actually being on a pogo stick; Shannon took first, I a very close second), the true highlight of the arcade is the cars you can build yourself and drive around a track within the store. I think that statement should be mulled over a moment. Cars you build yourself and then drive. About the size of power wheels or small go karts, it starts with a simple base in which you build the rest from LEGO blocks the size of large shoe boxes. As if giant LEGOs weren't amazing enough (as well as to make you feel as if you were in a scene the 1989 Rick Moranis classic, Honey, I Shrunk the Kids), you then drive your giant LEGO car around the store.



All in all, an amazing if not really weird experience right in my backyard.



And this, as well as so much more, I want to share with you. So here is to my proposed Blog-A-Day, the amazing absurdity of Japan, and the love I have for writing it all down.



I leave you now with a photo which perfectly represents what I have been doing the last two months, the beautiful kids I teach, and the fun of the job I have been fortunate enough to get to allow me to come and experience everything here.

Because When the Sakura Comes Out, The Inhibitions Leave

I have not updated in some time because life, fortunately enough, has kept me far too busy. The new school year has began, so I’ve been learning the routes, getting to know my schools, meeting my students, all while trying to find time for fun in between.

But as I get more used to life in Japan, I found that these past few weeks, thought the busiest, have been some of my favorite so far. After about two months here, and one and a half months of full time working, I am finally feeling settled. And now that I have really set down roots and let them begin to grow, I feel like I can really enjoy lots of the little things that are around me.

For whenever moving to a new place, everything inundates you all at once. Everything is bright and new, so you scramble to find places to go, various things that need to be set up, and items need to be found to make it feel more like a home. And now, as I slip into a daily routine, I find I actually sit back and appreciate the small things around me. In the last two weeks I have gotten my schedule for next year, set an actual date for internet installation (April 21st), and settled all bills and bank accounts in Japan. I am here, and now to stay.

But with that all done, I’m over the mass deluge of information and experiences that had been my first two months in Japan. Now I’m onto taking in things one at a time, and as the season changes to spring, oh boy have I had a few firsts. It’s the rebirth of the year, and I’ve had several first experiences that have left me equally amused and awed.

Spring, in history, has come to celebrate rebirth and fertility. And in a country like Japan, what better way to celebrate such a time than with a whole festival dedicated to fertility. It is another thing to add to my list of inconsistencies about Japan; the melding of old and new. Because can anyone else think of a modern industrialized nation that still has ancient Shinto fertility festivals? I sure as hell can’t. But in the town of Komaki, at the Tagata Jinja shrine, the Hounen Matsuri festival is alive and well.

As I mentioned, the festival technically celebrates fertility, but it is the way in which it is celebrated that drew our attention. It is the usual fare of too much food and drink, traditional music, and overpriced trinkets, but with the staggering addition of an 8 foot carved wooden phallus that is paraded down the street.

I think that should be repeated. An 8 foot male sex organ.

If it sounds unbelievable, they you only feel about a third of the shock I did upon seeing it. Hearing of such an event, I knew I had to attend what we gaijin affectionately call the Penis Festival.

We were warned before we left that there would be only two types of people there: old people celebrating the religion, and drunk foreigners there to see a huge wooden penis. And this prediction turned out to be true. But even though it was half foreigners, the penis festival was definitely one of the most surreal experiences I’ve had in my life. The Japanese are a very subdued, reserved people. They may have wild signs and clothing, but the people themselves are quiet and shy, and as compared to westerners, don’t try to stand out above the rest. And yet, at the same time, no western country could even fathom having something as insane as a celebration of penises.

Leaving Nagoya station with about 40 other people I work with, we set out trying to imagine what to expect, and ended up being completely bowled over by the reality of it. As I left the train station in Komaki and came upon the shrine, I was immediately inundated by penis lollipops, penis picture stands, penis souvenirs, and phallic shaped food items. Giant carved penises were set up around the fair grounds as children ran around with bright pink penis lollipops in their mouths. It left me half blushing and half awed, but entirely amused. Through an odd mix of uneasiness and pure amusement, the foreigners I was with couldn’t help but crack jokes the whole time. I spent a few happy hours on the shrine grounds, enjoying the festival food, annoying the Shinto priests, and buying inappropriate souvenirs, but by the time I was just getting tired of it, the main event began. And what an event it was.

A long procession of priests and local officials, all in ceremonial garb, paraded by with various religious items on wooden portable shrines as well as flags painted with uncomfortably realistic phalluses. And then the center of the festival itself arrived in all its glory. Upon its appearance, everyone I was with was felt the repressed Puritanical western tradition ingrained inside of us stir to life, and immediately degraded into giggling 6 year olds. Though we are all in our twenties, we felt like naughty children; doing something we knew was wrong, and both thrilled and frightened by the possibility that we’ll be caught in the act. But our own reactions, coupled with the Japanese’s complete lack of one, made the situation, as well as the entire day, absolutely surreal to me.

But special events such as fertility festivals aside, I have been working so steadily that most of my firsts have been smaller things done on my infrequent days off. I traveled to Inuyama to see the oldest castle in Japan. Going with absolutely no plan, we wandered till we found the castle, which was beautiful in its austerity. And though it was absolutely frightening climbing to the top with the steepest, ricketiest stairs known to man, it was completely worth it for two reasons. One, the fact that they made me take my shoes off before I went inside (which is the equivalent in America of going into a museum with no shoes on), and two, I got a gorgeous view of the mountains that Japan is famous for.

I also took my first trip to a famous rotary sushi place, Kappa Sushi, where you sit at a table while various sushi and sashimi whiz by you as everyone does their best to eat as much as possible. And speaking of food, I have discovered an unknown passion for Japanese food. Takoyaki and okonomiyaki may be some of the best things I’ve ever put into my mouth, and the cheap eats at Izukaya, especially the Tabasaki Nagoya is known for, is always worth the price. Even on my birthday, I got a birthday cake from two Japanese friends that may be one of the best bought cakes I‘ve ever encountered. There is a subtle sweetness to cakes and other desserts here that I find I prefer to the over sugared concoctions that many places in America have.

And though the night before my birthday was spent with friends out and about in Nagoya, then till the wee hours at my apartment, my actual birthday was spent more relaxed. It was a vary warm and sunny afternoon, so I woke up late, strolled downtown to meet up with some friends, and on a whim headed out to Gifu to take in the mountains and nature there. Though we attempted to make it to a hot springs, keeping with the theme of relaxation, we never quite made it. Instead we ended up going to Gifu Park, which is a huge cluster of mountains at the edge of the city with a castle on top. The park itself is beautiful, but we took the ropeway all the way to the top to get the Panoramic View of Gifu and the encircling mountain ranges. It was near twilight, so the orange sun lit up the uneven rooftops of the surrounding city and winding river in a subtle color display. With that shining in our eyes, the mountains then stretched out nearly endless around us, their edges growing hazy and ill defined in the mist the further out they went. The beauty of it left me so breathless that we sat quietly at the top of the mountain, gently soaking it in as the sakura fell around us.

But sakura brings me to my now favorite part of Spring: hanami. Hanami is the name of the traditional cherry blossom viewing party, which consists of lanterns, fireworks, picnic spreads, music, dancing, and that staple of every Japanese celebration: alcohol. But despite the Japanese’s deep desire to try to make everything cutesy and neon, the cherry blossoms is the one thing they could not really taint with such trappings. I went out to Okazaki where a woman I work with lives, about 30 minutes from Nagoya. The town has a beautiful old castle set on a hillside, large stone bridges, and cherry blossoms that spread out and line the Yahagi River. And regardless of the Japanese’s grandest effort to saccharine-soak the Okazaki Festival into tackiness, the austerity and simple beauty of Okazaki and the Cherry Blossoms themselves thwarted their best efforts.

Setting up just on the edge of the castle grounds, we laid our blanket out next to a large arching bridge strung with softly lit red lanterns. Underneath a particularly beautiful tree with Okazaki castle rising just before us, we enjoyed an early dinner of festival food and convenience store snacks. And as the sun set and the sky grew dark, lights strung through the trees came to life. Strands of traditional music floating down from the castle, the melding lights of the lanterns, trees, and colored booths around us, with food and drink warming us from the inside, it was one of those moments that could only be described as perfect. Maybe its because it was my first hanami, maybe its because traditional Japanese things still charm me, or maybe it is because hanami is the simple and artless Japan that reveals itself with such rarity, but it really was everything that I expected it to be and more.

So though this is beginning to sound like a love note to Japan, I do now understand why everyone says spring is the best season here. And even if its because of the natural beauty of the new season, or the excitement of a new chapter in my life, I have found enjoyment out of every new endeavor I’ve been fortunate to come upon.

And what more could a girl ask for.

If Seven Maids with Seven Mops Swept It for Half a Year

Front to Back
(or Lewis Carroll is my Homeboy)
by Kate Trafecante

’Twas told twice, and to no avail, again,
“Glitters is not Gold” and “Kettles are Black,”
The wisdom of old and aged men,
But I live not Front to Back. I choose to wander life Inverse
And follow not the common path;
So that same wisdom, in Reverse,
And, in my mind, holds true to that
The Storm Comes Always Afore the Calm,
Nine Stitches in Time Saves Only One,
Good Ends Must Come to Things,
And One of These Days is Never None.

For I am a Reverse Commuter,
I walk not Front to Back.
I travel away while you come near,
Taking pride in the sense I lack.
Most wander through the railways,
On steel girders to metropolis they ride;
Yet a beamish smile I flash as I fly past
On towards the eager countryside.
Mountains are my serious skyscrapers,
Empty fields the crowded streets I roam,
And while the busy bees swarm in groups
I work out in the honey combs alone.

But “Lo!” You say, “There are those that
Live their life, also, not Front to Back!
They spend their existence all by night
And work from first darkness till first light!”
So I take my mantra one yard further
And not just wander backwards and daft;
Though I live in true Reverse,
I also live by one true half!
So if night watchmen live in opposite time,
And most people live by day,
I live by halves and halves:
Half night, and then half day.
Where as your day begins at 8, and the watchman 8 at night,
Mine begins at half past three until half past night.

So when you see me walking backwards
(For I never go Front to Back)
And greeting you good morning
When half the afternoon is past,
Or speaking of Words that Hurt,
And Immunity of Sticks and Stones
Do not raise your eyebrows,
And ignore my jovial tones!
For I just live in Reverse, by half,
And if my arithmetic stands true,
Means that no matter our dispositions,
Is twice around half the life of you.


And now, the explanation:

I realized today that I am a reverse commuter, and quite possibly, absolutely insane.

Now reverse commuter is not a real term by ay means, because I just made it up. But nonetheless, I believe it sums up my life perfectly. Most people live in suburbs and commute to cities because, logically and financially, such a path makes sense. Yet I, on the other hand, do the extremely illogical thing of living in the city and commuting out to the sticks.

But though lacking all recognizable sense, it does allow me to see the mountains and rice fields I have been missing while in the city proper. So traveling back on the train today, the city lights in front of me, I pondered my ridiculous schedule. Which then led me to realize that my day is also spent in awkward halves. I start my day mid afternoon and end about 9:30 at night, cleaving my day into thirds, or quarters, or some other odd division that, no matter what it really is, gives me a weird schedule. And as I sat on the train, scribbling down about my life in reverse, lived by half, it sounded more and more like a Lewis Carroll poem.

So as the commute dragged on, I actually started to write such a poem. Because really, it was such a boring commute, and nonsense poetry is amazing and hilarious. So a few proverbs, allusions to Carroll, and wordplay later, by the time I pulled into Nagoya station, I had the rough work you see above.

I also realized I must be certifiably insane.

So as weird as it was to start with my feeble scribblings, and to not have you think I was crazy as I think I am, I actually tried to put the explanation before the poem. But put in the order, I felt the words lacked the original punch and nonsensical flow I was going for when explained ahead of time. And I had so much fun writing such a stupid thing that I actually took a step back from the situation a few times just to laugh at what was coming out of my pen.

And thought I am no Charles Dodgson, this was my lame, if enjoyable, attempt at a Carroll-esque poem to describe my crazy schedule these days.

I blame the canned coffee.

Art for Art's Sake

So preparing a lesson the other day, I came across the idiom Art for Art’s Sake. I was supposed to be planning on how to explain such a phrase to a non English speaker, but it only made my mind wander to art. Being inclined as I am, I realized I haven’t really talked much about the art here. This is something that needed to be rectified.

Japan is the biggest mix of the beautiful and the garish I have ever seen. There is the austere beauty of temples and gardens, and yet overly loud and gaudy resonances in the signs, music, and fashions. Its this clash of old and new that makes everything so fascinating, but there is no doubt that no matter what, Japan has a highly visual culture. Whether it be traditional or pop art, it constantly surrounds you.

It really hit me this last Sunday as I spent the day walking around Nagoya. We have had a stretch of rain, but that day had perfect weather, with a sunny blue sky and unseasonably warm weather. I threw on my light trench coat, grabbed my ipod, and walked. It actually turned into the perfect Sunday, for apparently Sunday is the day to walk around Nagoya.

As I wandered to meet some people in Osu Kannon, a neighborhood south of my own, I let the music on my ipod wash over me. I find that when I walk through the city streets by myself, especially when listening to music, I become much more observant to things around me. I start to pick up on the little things that I pass over every time. It was in this way that I finally realized the subtle beauty of some of the daily things in Nagoya.

My street, being as busy as it is, is a bevy of bright lights and restaurants. But there are tiny pockets along the way that stand as a stark contrast to the overpowering brightness of such things; small, beautiful places that are easily ignored unless you are really looking. For example, there is a Buddhist temple on my street. In between the large buildings, convenience stores, and gas stations, there stands a beautiful old temple that is easy to miss unless one is looking. It is not very large, but it is everything one would expect a temple to be, with arching gates, peaked roofs, and a giant brass bell. Its absolutely breathtaking in its Zen-like austerity.

But there are even smaller touches that can be ignored. My neighborhood is very residential, and mixed within the newer houses and apartment buildings there pops up every once in awhile a very traditional home. It still retains the Japanese style roof, wooden frames with sliding doors that open onto tatami mats, and gated entrances. They look exactly like they may have 400 years ago, with none of the modern trappings of everything else around them. I find myself caught off guard and entranced every time I happen upon one. But as beautiful as they are, I find my personal favorite are the manhole covers.

The Japanese like to turn everything, from writing to clothing to advertising, into an art form. And for me, the manhole covers have been one of the most delightful surprises. I have actually taken to taking pictures of new ones I find, for there are quite a few around Nagoya. I think my personal favorite is the one of Nagoya castle, which is in and of itself a beautiful sight to see. But here are a few prime examples:

And these are the beautiful things that are tramped on and maybe taken for granted by most people here, except when seen through the eyes of a foreigner. But the wild stuff can be beautiful in its own right, if not fascinating in its ridiculousness.

So I commented before about three O’s: Outrageous Street Acts, Over-the-Top People, and Overwhelming Shopping Centers. Though they can be found separately all over the city, there are a few places they can be found all together in an trifecta of tremendous garishness. One of these is the Asunal Shopping Center in Kanayama. I happen to work nearby, and the entrance to the subway is smack dab in the middle of the shopping center. Now I have mentioned shopping before, and what an experience it can be, but I feel I should paint the picture of Asunal in a more specific manner.

I leave work right before dinner time, dressed conservatively and mentally unwinding from the day. And as I begin to relax, my tired mind is suddenly inundated by a loud open shopping center with bright, shining lights and lots of people. The people themselves, then, range from normal to over-the-top, with the over-the-top taking the spotlight. They are young Japanese people with dyed hair, styled to gravity-defying proportions, held up with gel and possibly magic to break the laws of physics as they do. Some go ultra blond and tan to look “western,” with both sexes going with large, bouffant hair. But whether blond and tan or not, the clothing ranges from stylishly ripped, loud, tight clothing, to “hip hop” style with velour track suits and rude, grammatically incorrect English phrases, to bastardized interpretations of 1950s American style, complete with leather pants and poodle skirts. But no matter what subsection these youths belong to, they are all like walking pieces of pop art, with everything being loud and bright and highly stylized.

And as if this wasn’t already a feast for the eyes, then the music wafts in. Asunal Shopping Center has an Asunal Live! Stage where various musical acts and idols perform. Every time I walk out, I am greeted by another J-pop concoction. Infectiously catchy in its mass-marketed way, I can’t help but stop and listen for a moment, if not just to laugh with a few other teachers as we marvel at their clothes and carefully manufactured siren song. I love when the young female idols sing one simple song, and then are surrounded for 40 minutes by adoring fans of awkward youths and middle aged men. But as hilarious an interaction that is to watch, my personal favorite so far were the J-Soul Brothers. A group of 7 Japanese male idols, they are a carefully constructed group where two of them actually sing, five just kinda sway in the background looking cute, and their music is anything but soul.

But if all that makes up Asunal is amusing, these factors were only intensified in Osu on this past Sunday afternoon. After my contemplative walk, I met up with a few people in Sakae and headed towards Osu. After walking through the beautiful Osu Kannon temple, we were then greeted by bright lights and painted walls to welcome us to Osu Shopping center, an open air shopping center that spans many blocks. And though I had been freely talking and laughing up until a moment before, after I entered the shopping districts, everyone I was with spent half the time in an almost awe-struck silence. Lured by the smell of takoyaki, the noise of people, and brightly colored shops, we poor gaijin were struck into silence by it all coming at us at once. And when we left, back out into the safety of the temple, we were nearly breathless from the experience.

But as I sat in the temple square and listened to the chanting monks from inside, I couldn’t help but be equally struck by the opposite and yet equally fascinating beauty that is Osu Kannon. A large temple, and one of the oldest in Japan, with grand architecture and Zen gardens, a perfect example of the beauty of traditional Japan, sits in conjecture and on the same grounds of an overwhelming shopping center, the bright lights, people, and signs that represent all that is modern Japan. They should be complete opposites, and yet they share the same space in almost blissful harmony. It is one of the many things that I absolutely love about this country, finding equal beauty in the old and the new. For only in Japan would such a place exist.

Multibabel

So I’m in the middle of an internet drought, and I think I’m dying from it.

It seems that, on average, it takes at least two months to get internet set up in Japan. I have been without it for about one month, and I can‘t even comprehend one more month like this. My cell phone has become somewhat of substitute, albeit a poor one, but it only keeps me loosely connected. But beyond that, I never truly realized how much I relied on it for entertainment until I have been without it for a extensive amount of time. So for that reason, I have found a considerable lack of things for me to do in my apartment when I get home from work. I have tried Japanese television, which despite being unintentionally hilarious, can get old after awhile. Then I tried DVDs, but a limited supply keeps me restricted. So now as I stumble in from work, I long for some form of entertainment as I cook dinner. But worst of all, the lack of fast internet in and of itself is an inconsistency for me. A country that has such advanced technology and internet, even going so far as to get television on the cheapest of cell phones, can’t get me a decent internet connection in a short amount of time.

But such a situation may in fact be a blessing in disguise. It’s impossible to blog and email as much as I would like, and I have no stupid TV during dinner, but I also find I try to entertain myself with much more fulfilling pursuits on my days off. Instead of sitting on my bed all day glued to a glowing screen, I am up and out of my apartment exploring. And in Nagoya, there is always something ridiculous and fascinating going on.

In a nutshell, when I’m out in Nagoya, I find myself constantly bombarded by three O’s: Outrageous Street Acts, Over-the-Top People, and Overwhelming Shopping Centers. And it would be easy to think that one would fade into the background against such situations, but gaijin in Nagoya are still enough of a novelty that I don’t. In fact, in some situations, I feel like I stand out, and are made to be somewhat of an ambassador of the Western world. Whether it be the young child who shyly turns towards his mother because I don’t look like any one he’s ever seen before, or the izukaya owner who speaks no English and yet greets us warmly with a bit of an awestruck smile, one cant help but remember that you are a minority here. I guess that over time it can get old, but for now I’m still somewhat pleasantly amused by it.

When I think of it, the term multibabel comes to mind; how nuances of meaning are lost in translation, but the general message remains the same. And in truth, I feel that’s what I have been experiencing. Things that are similar enough to connect us, and yet different enough to keep it interesting.

For example, I was out last weekend with a few people at a local western style bar. It draws an even crowd of foreigners and Japanese, and therefore is a cool place to go. Somehow, through happenstance, my group ended up trying to sit at the same table as a few Japanese men. After a few polite laughs and nervous shuffling, somehow we ended up sharing the table with them. Now one person in our group spoke poor Japanese, and one in their group spoke poor English, and yet somehow we spent the whole night together. We discussed, through gesture and broken language, topics varying from drinking to hanami to the Wutang clan (the rappers, not the martial artists), but half of the time our conversations broke into the international reaction to a language barrier: raised eyebrows and lots of laughter.

But then someone, by stroke of genius or dumb luck, brought up baseball. It was like all floodgates broke away. It didn’t matter that none of us really fully understood each other; we all understood baseball. A full ten minute conversation without a peep of incredulous laughter then erupted; we discussed the Nagoya Dragons as they shouted out famous Japanese players in the Major Leagues. Though it eventually degraded into screaming “Matsui” and then responding with cheering, it was an absolutely hilarious moment as it was going on.

And truthfully, since then I’ve discussed baseball several other times, and was even informed of all the differences between the American and Japanese baseball leagues by one student of mine. But there are a few other interesting cross cultural experiences I’ve had. Like the fact that Denny’s is everywhere in Japan and apparently way more delicious than the greasy grossness that is Denny’s in the states. I would even go as so far to call it amazing. Or even better, I have finally experienced Karaoke as it was meant to be.

On the day we signed our contracts, my training group decided to celebrate in one the most Japanese ways we could imagine. So that night, we wandered Sakae, found a huge JoyJoy karaoke in the downtown area, and rented ourselves a nice big room. And let me tell you, I finally understand the obsession.
You walk into the brightly colored building and pay a flat rate. This gets you a private room for karaoke, free drinks the entire time, and an endless amount of bad 80s rock ballads to keep the night going. Sitting in the dark karaoke room, surrounded by TV screens, tambourines, and drinks, you cant help but belt out every bad song that comes up on the screen. With an extensive list of English songs, it was like a catalogue of songs drunk white people like to sing. I swear, I have never sung so much Queen in my life. (Which I would like to have my Aunt know had the largest collection of songs of any band in the English language section, and I have heard them many a time in bars and department stores. She was right about how popular they were here.)

So as I go out and explore Japan, the biggest cross cultural experience of all is the one I undergo every day: my job.

Work is something I have been asked a few times to blog about, but in truth, it’s the only thing I haven’t really wanted to write about. It’s something that I experience every day; something that takes up so much of my time and thoughts, that in my free time, I want to think about other things. What Japan is like to live in, and what happens when I’m outside of the realm of teaching. Though there is one thing I will say for certain: I love this job.

I feel like I am being paid way too much to talk to people and play with kids. Of course they’re learning English, and I do structured lessons, but I try to make it fun enough for all my classes that it sometimes doesn’t feel like work. And yet at the same time I feel a certain pride in being a teacher, that I am helping someone else to learn something new. This realization was quite shocking for me, actually, and filled me with great respect for people who choose to be educators. The time flies effortlessly as I am wrapped up in teaching the nuances of the English language, and then I get home at the end of the day and am utterly drained from the output I had to put out.

Kids classes are phenomenal, and have become some of my favorite lessons to teach. They require the most prepartaion and energy, but I love rolling around with kids being stupid, so the work I put in seem entirely worth it. And on the whole, Japanese students are some of the most well-behaved and good natured kids I’ve ever met. Of course, generalizations are never true, and I’ve had a few kids classes with five 7-year-old boys who just want to wrestle and throw cushions at each other. But they are normal kids, and if the class degrades into that, I can always corral them by chasing them around the room a little and wearing them out. And the adults? Some of them are such interesting people with enough of a grasp of the English language to make for really entertaining discussions. Of course not every student designs robots or travels across most of southeast Asia, but if you can find a topic they are really interested in, they can go on about it for a long time, English skills be damned. They also ask questions about the intricacies of English that I myself never really considered. When I get a really thoughtful one, I feel like I’m learning a little more about English myself. I’ve never thought of all the subtle differences of my mother tongue, and I am constantly impressed by the insightful people who study English.

In fact, their drive and constant embarrassment at not speaking English well has really driven me to learn Japanese. When they apologize for messing up a sentence, I try to remind them that they speak English infinitely better than I do Japanese. It is a certain mentality that many English speakers have, unfortunately, that everyone should speak English around the world. But I get almost embarrassed that I know next to nothing of the language of Japan. So in my free time, I have been studying Japanese with a passion. I sit for about an hour each night and review my Japanese or do a few lessons on my Japanese program. And truth be told, I study for the fun of it, if not just the necessity. Japanese is infinitely simpler and at the same time much harder than English. And though speaking is difficult in and of itself, it is a masterable task. Reading and writing, on the other hand, are infinitely harder.

If you are not familiar with Japanese writing at all, there are two main alphabets. Kanji is the very difficult one with thousands of characters, and really, you must study for years to master. You need to know about 2,000 just to read the newspaper. The Kana, hiragana and katakana, conversely, only have about 60 characters total and are much easier to learn. This is the writing that is used on menus and signs and in most daily usage, and the one children learn before they move on to the more difficult kanji. It’s a phonetic alphabet used for Japanese words and loan words, and each character represents a sound in the word. So where as my street, Kurumamichi, only has two Kanji to represent it, in the Kana there are 5 characters, one for each sound (Ku-ru-ma-mi-chi). And that, my friends, is a simplistic and very short explanation of the very confusing writing system that surrounds me daily. Between the two, the Kana alphabets are much simpler and much more useful. I will never be able to read a book with Kana, but I will be ok with menus and food packages, so it is the writing I have been working on mastering.

Between the writing section on my Japanese lessons and workbooks I have purchased (Let’s Have fun with Kana! I’m serious, that is the title), I have been working on learning a few characters each day. And in truth, I’ve really enjoyed it. This last Saturday, as I got home really late from my shift, instead of going out, I stayed in and practiced my Kana for a few hours. And seriously, I had fun doing it. There is something so artistic about the characters that I feel more like I’m drawing then writing when I practice. At this point I only recognize a few characters in a long string, but when I do? Its very exciting.

For example, one of the first few words I learned was otokonoko, which means boy in Japanese. The kana are separated as o-to-ko-no-ko. The first time I read just the Kana and recognized the corresponding sounds and words? I was left exhilarated by the fact that I comprehended these foreign symbols. It must have been the same as when I was a child and realized for the first time that I could read things around me. And written out, the characters are almost like art. It was a thrilling experience, and the main reason I have really buckled down and started to study.

So now that I’ve sufficiently bored everyone with the intricacies of the Japanese writing system, this all goes back to my respect for the Japanese I am teaching and the fascination I have for the differences and similarities between them and ourselves. So I leave you with an interesting anecdote the illustrates this fascinating cultural exchange.

My first day teaching, I had a two hour lesson with a really low level English student. He was very driven, but the first hour completely dragged as I tried to get through a structured lesson and watched him struggle on the grammar. Being that it was a lesson designed for at least three students, my heart went out as he tried to do it, and I helped him as much as possible by breaking up the lesson with enthusiastic encouragement and trying to engage him in side topics. But even with this, at the end of the hour, we both were utterly drained.

Dreading another lesson, I returned after ten minutes with one in mind and steeled determination. But as he came back from the break, he simply sat down and placed in my hand his open diving license. Intrigued, I asked him about it, and his eyes lit up. Even though his English was very poor, using gestures, broken English, and lots of pictures on the white board, he painted a portrait to me of his many extreme sport adventures. It didn’t matter that we didn’t speak the same language, I spent an amazing hour with a really interesting person telling me all about his intense ski trips in Hokkaido where he hiked up the mountain before skiing down, and showing me photos of sharks and fish from scuba diving trips in Bali and Tahiti.

So no matter the differences, the seemingly insurmountable language barriers, we can always find a way to communicate to understand each other. So if you’re ever in Japan, don’t worry about being understood, because somehow you will make it work.

Or worse comes to worse, you could always bring up baseball.