No Dawn, No Day, I'm Always in this Twilight

Despite the many asides into the inner working of my mind and frequent boring intellectual pursuits, this blog is from time to time a travelogue. And I fear it's been far too long since I have done any travelogue-ing.

But I recently spent two weeks back in America. And as great as it was to be on home soil, visit friends and family, and subsequently gain ten pounds from all the eating I did, I made a short stop on my way there I feel the need to mention.

I spent a quick day and a half in Taipei. From my short time there, I come to realize most people visit Taiwan for the beautiful natural attractions. But despite being stuck in the city, I actually loved the Republic of China's capital.

Taipei is the type of Asian city I love. The ones that are strewn throughout Southeast Asia, vibrant with color, palm leaves, and buildings just a touch run-down. There is an unpinned feeling in the very air of these places. A dirty, gritty quality just below the surface that makes the place seem more bustling with life than most.
Japan is bustling, no doubt, but it's a sterile bustling. High-tech, modern, shallow - nothing is allowed to age. Places are constantly torn down to make way for boxy, utilitarian buildings. Barring the traditional areas set aside for such things, the cities of Japan are clean, sleek, modern, and boring.
But Taipei is old, and far from perfect. Retro buildings with art-deco arches that were new 50 years ago, but since then have gone to seed. Now they are worn, but full of character. Walking along the streets in the twilight, I found myself drawn to the street vendors, the scent of their food strong and the smoke from their carts thick enough to be atmospheric. I couldn't help peeking down and along each dirty backstreet alley. My eyes raised towards older buildings in violent teal and salmon pinks, overgrown with both plants and laundry. The signs of constant life, forever moving along, but leaving a marked trail in its wake.
And that, to me, is what makes places like Taipei special. Nothing matches, but everything fits together. Each and every street, building, neon sign sits for years, gaining both cracks and personality. The small dents and bits of rust that proves a city is truly alive.

I was by myself, but never felt alone. The city itself was my company.

Happy New Year, David Robert Jones

Happy New Year, one and all!

I actually can't believe it's ten years into the 21st century. I rang in 2010 with an air of incredulity.

2009 alone was a memorable year. I moved across the globe and started a life, for starters. But the beginning of a new year got me thinking about where life has taken me over the last several years. Looking back across it is nearly astounding. Did I know, even three years ago, that I would be living in Japan at the start of 2010? Let alone a decade ago? Of course, at the tender age of 14, the future to me never really went beyond that weekend.

But New Year's Eve 2009 was spent in Tokyo, on the brightly lit streets of Roppongi. Wandering backstreets of the neon-illumined district, we ended up in one of the oldest clubs in Tokyo. It was crowded and small, hot and flashy; full of Tokyo fashionistas and foreign invaders. Famous patrons flashed flirtatious smiles from photos on the wall, and glow stick necklaces pulsed with the rhythm of the bass when we found our way into the VIP section. We spent the whole night there, emerging only when the sun peeked over the horizon and the Eastern European models outnumbered the rest of us.

I wish I had something more profound to say about New Year's in such a unique and international city, but this last month has been a whirlwind. I have been entertaining guests as unofficial ambassador to Japan since the 11th of December. And somehow, I found time for a week and half long trip to Thailand in between.

Thailand itself was nothing short of magnificent, and worthy of a post of its own. (Hopefully within a few days time.) Not only was it a truly memorable vacation, but there were a few moments that were, personally, surreal.

For example, I distinctly remember transferring planes at the airport in Shanghai. I was walking along a long hallway, the sun rising but hazy with the pollution from the Chinese metropolis. I was traveling by myself at this point, stopping in China before my final leg back to Japan. Yet there was no fear or trepidation. There had been none maneuvering the massive airport in Bangkok, nor did I anticipate any for the route still ahead of me. Just comfort and an easy confidence in my own ability to get home. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but in that moment that realization stuck me with a sense of surprise and a little pride. It's interesting to see the traveler, and by extension, the person I have become.

But my last two lovely guests leave me on Monday, and then I can heave a sigh of relief and get back to life as usual. Most likely after sleeping for two days, and fully giving in to my hermit-like tendencies. And possibly finding time to collect my thoughts on Thailand, and post as many photos as humanly possible.

So in truth, tonight I just wanted to post something to remind the world that I am still alive and kicking it on the Pacific Rim.

Of course, I needed a valid reason (at least in my own mind) to post something today. So this is a two-fold post. And since I originally intended to post in honor Jane Austen's birthday December 16th, which came and went, I decided to wait till David Bowie's birthday on January 8th.

(Kate, two posts about David Bowie in a row? Surely not.)

Well, believe it.

I wish I could give it more credible beginnings, but thinking back, I believe my first exposure to Bowie was as a wee girl and watching the 1986 Jim Henson classic, Labyrinth, and wondering who that dashing man in tight pants was. But then I hit high school, discovered my passion for music produced before 1983, and the rest, as they say, is history. In college, internet and copious free time began a love affair with his music that has not diminished since.

The man himself turns 63 today. Though in my mind, I think he will be eternally 30 years old, skinny and smoking, looking vaguely continental and shockingly natural. (Or perhaps he's 25; androgynous, masked, and mulleted. Then again, maybe 36; all bleach blond, thin tied, and entirely 80s.)

But no matter the era, the man had remained a relevant icon for 40 years without losing artistic integrity. And even in spite of my love for his music, that fact alone makes him worthy of admiration.

But perhaps that's just the fan in me showing itself.

So Happy Birthday David Bowie, and a belated Happy New Year to the rest of you.

And here's a figurative glass raised to 2010, and hoping it affords me all the 2009 did.

(And because this is a birthday post, I celebrate 2010 with two of my favorite live performances from vastly different Bowies. An amazing version of Drive-In Saturday from 1973, and then a pitch-perfectly subdued Heroes from 1977. Enjoy.)

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.

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.