Starting New Traditions

If there is one phrase I would use to continually describe Japan, and its not "militant traditionalism" or "singing, brightly colored robot" it's bizarre absurdity.

And nothing is more bizarre than the advertisements and signage.

Engrish aside, the ads are the most misleading compositions or psychedelic mashups I've ever come upon. So much so, it's usually hard to tell what they're even advertising. (Yes, I immediately think of men in silver suits and human transmogrification when I say hair gel. It's a natural thought progression.)

Most of the time it leaves me figuratively scratching my head in confusion.

So because I want to inflict my own confusion upon the unfortunate readers of this blog, I'm creating a new series:

What the Hell is Happening in this Ad?

Our first piece today is a prime example. What's going on in this picture?

I have no idea. I can only read the "ka" in that sign, but there is clearly a hell of a backstory here.

I may not have the foggiest, but I will tell you what I love.

-The punk demon vampires that are clearly being easily driven out by the angry villagers (aka kids, a few housewives, and the odd salaryman)

-That said villagers use the power of well-placed signage to vanquish evil forces.

-Despite how "badass" the demons are, they have tattoos of sakura blossoms. (Plus, they're running screaming from children.)

-What's with the fenced in trees?

-The leader of this people's revolution appears to be a ramen chef.

Ignoring the piss-poor quality of my picture, I know what your thinking. Kate, you cold-hearted monster, this is clearly a children's drawing. How dare you poke fun?

To which I counter, I bet you ten dollars a full-grown Japanese adult drew this. It's just how they roll in Nippon.

The real question is, what do you think it is?

In other news, they played WPLJ 95.5 at the school I worked at this week. It was really disconcerting to hear ads for things in the tri-state area in the middle of Nagoya, Japan. It was surreal, like I was back in high school. Driving around in my old white Oldsmobile, flipping through the stations.

If only they played better music.

And Very Gladly Will I Drink Your Honour's Noble Health

I saw Alice in Wonderland this past weekend.

I generally avoid movies in Japan because they tend to be expensive and a bit of a hassle. The standard price is close to twenty dollars per ticket unless you want to see a showing after 8 PM. Which I don't particularly mind, and at times prefer, but the drawback is that there usually only one or two movies playing after 8. So if you don't catch it by 9, you won't be seeing a movie that night.

The land of midnight movies it is not.

And if you do manage to get a showing after 8, though the tickets are cheaper, you have to pick your seat as you buy your ticket. Because of this practice of assigned seats, they don't let people into the movie until 10 minutes before.

But where, you say, is the problem in that? Well, if you want a decent seat not in the very back or the very front, you have to come quite a bit early to reserve said seat. But since you can't go into the theater, that leaves you way too much time with nowhere to sit. Hence the problem.

And watching movies in English with Japanese subtitles is a very odd experience. It's true that things are lost in translation, and humor is probably one of the biggest causalities.

I went to see Sherlock Holmes a few months ago. Not the best of films, but enjoyable and funny in a pulpy sort of way. Yet it was unnerving at times to watch in a theater full of non-English speakers, for there were parts that had my friends and I laughing like maniacs as the rest of the theater remained silent. As in, did not even crack a smile.

It's weird to be the only one in the room who understands the humor. It makes you question if maybe your the one who misunderstood.

I remember going to the theater in Italy a few years ago and laughing at the inefficiencies of the the Italian theater. The Japanese system is nothing if not efficient. As well as annoying. And overpriced. And unnecessarily complicated.

So needless to say, with this lovely combination of factors, I reserve movie viewing for movies I deem worthy of both my time and effort. I believe I have seen exactly 4 movies since I arrived in Japan a year and three months ago. A pitiful number, to be honest.

But despite all this working against her, Alice made the cut. And how could it not? Despite a few poor films in the last few years (Planet of the Apes and Sweeny Todd, I'm looking at you), a still inextinguishable love for Tim Burton will take me out to see his films every time. He's like the weird kid who sat in the back of the class and wouldn't talk to anyone but drew cool cartoons on his desk and in every corner of his notebook that were dark and twisted but in a whimsical way. How can you not like that kid?

That, and my utter love for the source material, got me there. I've already dedicated a post to Lewis Carroll, and I have an unhealthy fascination with his nonsense poetry. Nonsense verse is beautiful, as we all know semantics is highly overrated. And the poems littered throughout the narrative are what make it truly special.

So did I fall in love with it? No, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. I thought it was visually stunning, and true to the nature and tone of the the story. There were cute homages to the original work, things only someone as geeky as me might have picked up, which I appreciated. I would have liked a more gripping plot, but at the same time something about that seems dishonest to the nonsense and tepid philosophy which the original is all about.

And if you want to put Alice in armor and have her fight the Jabberwocky? Believe me, you will get no complaints from me.

If nothing else, it renewed my interest in how much the story has become such a part of our cultural identity. Few are not familiar with the characters, and many phrases, words, and even theories are drawn from the story. Not bad for a children's book.

For example, sticking solely to cinematic adaptions, Alice in Wonderland has been adapted directly to film 44 times, while about 50 other titles either refashion or draw inspiration from the tale. They span the entire history of film, with the first one being a silent film from 1903 directed by Cecil Hepworth and Percy Stow. It is 8 minutes and 19 seconds in length, and only one copy of the original still exists.

Alice in film has been around almost as long as film has.

I'm not so much a purist that I dislike anything that deviates, but there are times I want to see Carroll done truly right. So to fulfill that need, I didn't need to look any further than this clip from a 1998 BBC production. It was a weird and trippy version that I didn't completely love, but one of the highlights of the film is a weird sequence in which the poem Haddock's Eyes is related by the White Knight to Alice.

If not just a how-to guide from Ian Holm on how to do a dramatic reading correctly, it is presented with the melancholy dreaminess and touch of deeper meaning with which I think every Lewis Carroll poem should be enjoyed.

Kate Bobs Her Hair

And other tales of new beginnings and misguided self discovery.

Poor blog, left sad and alone to rot, nearly forgotten, on this poor corner of the internet. How I have missed you.

But in Japan, Spring is slowly turning into Summer and nothing is sad and forgotten. Today was the latest in a string of beautiful days and I couldn't be happier. I feel as if now, I am finally getting settled into a routine for the new year.

For most of the world, the new year is in January. The year turns ahead and we begin again. As if the changing of the calendar signifies the start of something new beyond just the date. It's that way most of our lives.

Or, in a different mindset, when we are younger, we say September is the beginning of the new year. Summer is dying, the world is cooling off, and we mourn the passing of the fine weather and the certain freedom that inherently comes with summer by starting the new year. Death of freedom to the rebirth of routine? It's very poetic.

But as with most things, as I've come to find many times before, Japan does it very differently. The new year in school, work, and most people's mind, is in April. As Spring first blossoms and the winter finally leaves us behind, we begin the new year.

There's something extraordinary lovely in the simplicity of that.

I've had people tell me that they have talked of changing the beginning of things, especially that of school, to September. The government wants to give the people of Japan a way to be more in tune with the rest of the world as we become an ever-growing global community. But the discussion never goes beyond talk for one significant and very crucial reason.

Graduation and School Entrance ceremonies must coincide with cherry blossoms.

It sounds silly, but for a brief two weeks Japan is beautiful. Everywhere you look is pink and blossoming. Normal streets become beautiful and natural scenery becomes extraordinary. It is the time of hanami, or picnicking under the numerous sakura blossoms. And for Japan, a land or stout tradition, it seems sacrilegious to have a beginning of the year not decorated lovingly and pristinely by mother nature.

Which I can understand, because my second cherry blossom season lost none of the charm of my first. There is a certain calming presence that comes from watching the pink petals fall. It's amazingly peaceful, and despite the reveling around you, can be very zen at the best of times.

Which was very important as I started my second year with my company. It was, as I said, the beginning of the school year and my company was no different. I learned a new schedule, a new set of school and classes, and got a whole new batch of students. In truth, I have a fantastic second year schedule with a great bunch of kids and adults. All of my kids are (so-far) well-behaved and my company class is a dream. I teach business-level english to three very successful and intelligent men I am most likely not qualified to teach. But I still feel very privileged to do so.

But easy as most of the change was, there were still the quirks of commuting and trains to figure out. And while I just now have it down, I am beginning to miss my old schedule. Which seems silly, for I don't miss the schools, just the commutes I took. I loved my Friday afternoon train rides out past Gifu, going past mountains and rice fields on a nearly empty three o' clock train. I liked my long Thursdays of traveling, using several forms of transportation, as I commuted across Aichi and Mie Prefectures to several business to teach.

But most of all, I miss the Meitetsu Line. It is the regional line in Nagoya, less regular, only written in Kanji, and with an insufferably confusing platform system. But I loved it for its imperfections. It was cheaper, easier to access, and the trains were a hell of a lot more fun.

If I can get to work on a train decorated with Pokemon, I call that a win in my book.

I've also been getting to know my city much better as I recently purchased a bike. It surprised me how utterly dependent on subway transportation I had become in the cold winter months, and now with my very Asian two-basket bike, I fly around Nagoya's streets as I get to know her a little better.

So it's a new year, with a new schedule, a new attitude, and a new haircut. About three weeks ago, I decided to completely lob off all my hair. Sick of the increasingly unmanageable tresses that were way past my shoulders, I went in on a Friday afternoon and told them to bob my hair.

The hairdresser looked at me with more than a little apprehension. I guess he thought maybe he had misunderstood; his english is practically nonexistent, and my japanese is very poor when it comes to situations of long description. I kept saying "A short hair cut!" while moving my hands in a wild pantomime of nonverbal instructions. He pulled out a photo book and laughed, a typical response to linguistic confusion. I finally pulled up a photo on my phone, and my varied explanations were understood.

The salon is a local place, only a few blocks from my apartment. I found it unexpectedly as I walked to the small train station just down the street. The place is clean but hip, and the cut is not very expensive. And I know I get the standard treatment. But the standard treatment here is above and beyond most places back home.

For example, a head, back, and shoulder massage are part of the package deal. When they shampoo, you get a head massage during as well as after. They massage your scalp, a scented hot towel on your face (of which you get a choice of scent). They then take you to a special chair where you hang over what looks like a bean bag as they massage your upper body. Shoulders, back, arms and hands.

It's unexpected, but delightful.

And the sink they wash you in is so different from the ones I've experienced back home. There is always a sense of discomfort to the ones in the States. As if my head is pulled back slightly too much, and I'm both choking and trying to hold my head up within her reach. But not here. Japan has an aerodynamical design that completely eradicates the discomfort of hair washing. I don't know how that did it, but we seriously need to import that information home.

And while he cut and styled my hair, I was impressed by the details her recalled from my life. I had been there once before, and yet he remembered where I was from, my job, and even my favorite kinds of movies.

Now that, my friends is service.

So I left with the shortest, but possibly one of the best hair cuts I've ever gotten. It was exactly what I wanted, and I was quite pampered in the process. I am still getting used to how short my hair is, but change is good.

New is good. And as I venture into my second year here, I look forward for what else awaits me around the corner.