argh
Trip post and photos coming soon (not not, because I am a lying, conniving beeyotch). Still have 40 pictures to edit. Because so much happened on the trip itself, I'll probably steal Rachel's recount and add my own comments where applicable. I'm lacking the energy to type it all out at the moment.

For those who are here looking for pictures, my apologies... there were over 300 to sort through for the choice few I'll edit. I expect that there will be about eighty posted in the Photoblog tomorrow evening if and when I get to it. If not tomorrow, then Wednesday.

Dead tired.

Host mom bought me 25 wallet-size reprints of the professional kimono photos today, after I insisted I only needed twelve. Then she took me food shopping and reimbursed me an obscene amount of money for June dinners and the three days I'll be in America at the month's end after I leave Japan. x-D

I teach for four hours tomorrow.

I think my head might explode.

Country Girl
I'm back.

Wow... and that was one *incredible* experience. The person who commented here to say that the Japan Alps are a place that's hard to leave wasn't lying. Oookamura is the far-away, long-ago Japan of dreamtime. We made soba, planted rice, crafted ceramics, pounded out mochi, and learned to play the wadaiko (Japanese drum). It sounds almost stereotypically ethnic but it was a really awesome retreat, especially for the company of the *children* who made it possible.

More with photos tomorrow.

of timetables and trains
It�s sometimes a very strange experience to ride a JR �theme train.� By �theme train� I mean, of course, a train on which one company has bought all of the advertising-- inside and out�to effectively coat the train with their product. I�ve ridden the Gap train, the Tabasco train, the Green gum train, the Adidas train and today I rode the Quoo train. What�s even more disconcerting is that these �theme trains� are usually the newer JR models equipped with video screens for both informational and advertising purposes. The same advertisement(s) play over an over again in an endlessly assaulting loop.

Last week, just as I stepped onto the Yamanote line at Takadanobaba station, everything stopped. All the trains currently on the rail, including the Yamanote going the other direction and the incoming Seibu Shinjuku train, both clearly visible outside the window, came to a complete halt. The doors of the JR hung open past the blaring of the announcement that they were closing. A few people left the train. A few looked confused. Far more just didn't seem to care. After a minute or so, the conductor announced over the PA that something had happened with the Chuo line. I wasn't sure where the delay originated but I gathered it was either Higashi Nakano or Shinjuku. The trains started moving again after two or three minutes on the rail and the conductor apologized profusely for the delay on bahalf of JR.

When we came into Shinjuku, there was an ambulance pulled up to the turnaround outside the downstairs ticket gate and the crew wass just unloading. I followed them back into the station, a second behind or a second ahead. Lo and behold, the medical crew, stretched in tow, went upstairs to the Chuo express platform and into the statiomasters office. I stood around suspiciously while two trains came and went but I didn't see any indication of a violent or bloody end (not surprising, given that the line was running). After ten minutes, the crew came out with a pale, immobile and extremely ill-looking-- but not dead-- woman on the stretcher. I can only guess she either has a lingering health condition or perhaps is one of the many girls here who insist that anorexia is a "diet" and finally had heart failure on the platform. Eh.

Among my friends here who live outside the dorms, I have one of the shortest commutes to Waseda. It's a mere 45-ish minutes from my house in Minami Nakano all the way to building 22. A little less than an hour if I walk to Shinjuku. The only reason my commute is this long is because I have to take the bus before transferring to the JR for two stops. What surprises me is how EXHAUSTING the whole thing is; especially the commute home. Even for so short a distance the crowds, the smoke, the noise and the heat are utterly sickening. I miss the seven-minute leisurely bike ride to campus at the UofO.

I now have exactly thirty days left before I return to the states. I'm anticipating my return with a strong sense of excitement and dread. I'm going to be such a MESS after I get back... so out of place and so lost EVEN THOUGH my entire summer is lined up for me. Looking forward is like looking into the haze of an imaginary life, which is exactly what it was like looking forward before I came here except more dangerous as I have a clearer *picture* of where I'm going. They say the return home is more difficult than the transition coming in. Conceptually, I can understand why. Realistically, I dread the transition. If it's WORSE than the adjustment I experienced coming to Japan, the crushing torture of being utterly lost, I don't know how my personal relationships can survive it.

On the other hand, I've changed a great deal since coming here, more than I ever could have expected or hoped. I don't think it's unrealistic to believe those changes may have gifted me the personal strength to endure problems (transitional, temporary, permanent, personal, whatever) that I may have seen as insurmountable before.

Many of the changes I've undergone are the obvious: building personal strength, learning to endure the Other, undertaking learning a new language, dealing with a new cuture, etc etc. There are many elements of my personality, however, that have changed much differently than I would have expected. For example, I came here believing I wouldn't be able to identify or make friends with any of the people in my program. Perhaps as an outcome of the stress of being here or the cumulative bitching about the shittiness of Waseda classes, I've grown extremely close with many people who I perhaps would have previously regarded with an air of distaste. Though I'm still a loner and "don't play well with others" in general, I am capable of reaching out when I need it.

As an added surprise, Japan has made me more effeminate. I did buy skirts and dresses in preparation for my trip, as I wanted the chance to dress nice at school as supposedly is the trend here. Though I do have the boots and the bag and I have worn these swanky things a FEW times, I've "dressed up" far less often than I thought I would. Instead, I've grown an affinity for things that I perhaps would have deemed distastefully girly. Eyeliner, for example. The color pink. Hair spray. Talking about shopping. Nail polish. It's terrible, I know. I'm going straight to hell. Of course I don't take these things with a grain of salt. As opposed as I am to commercial anti-feminism in fashion, I also like to think that presenting a well-nurtured self-image to the public is important. Shit, I sound like Estee Lauder... and it's sad that I even know that.

Oh well, I like to be a walking contradiction... and now I can tick off BOTH tomboy and sorostitute on my list of things that I "am and am not," along with GEEK and GAP GIRL. Yahoo.

All righty. I'm going to hit the sack as I've got to get up at 4:30AM to catch a bus to the countryside for the weekend. Back Monday.

Thanks for the penny, here are my thoughts

**Sasaki, my sole remaining private English student and a typical salaryman, lives in a dormitory. This is actually quite common and many of the spring term students live in a dormitory split between gakusei (students) and sarari-man (yeah, salarymen). Outside of the sad truth, which is that these men simply cannot take care of (i.e. cook and clean for) themselves, dorm living actually makes a lot of sense. The Japanese work-week is obscene, usually far above 40-hours. On top of that, working at a Japanese company requires a certain amount of post-work socialization (drinking) with coworkers. So unmarried-- and even some married-- salarymen live in small dormitory rooms where all the basic cleaning and cooking essentials are taken care of by the "Dorm mother." While it's really kind of retarded that these guys can't take care of themselves, logistically it makes sense that they wouldn't want to. As a woman who has experience "working" over full-time between classes, a job and publishing a student magazine, I can honstly say it would have been quite NICE to have someone cook and clean for me. But it would make my existence a whole lot less satisfying.

**During the time we spent at the onsen and on the road this weekend, I found out that my host parents have effectively been together since they were 15 years old and in high school. Host Dad says they got a lot of grief from people saying they were "too young" (tru dat!) but they really wanted to be together. They went to separate colleges. They're 51 now... and though they seem to get along very well, they sleep in separate bedrooms and I can't think of one occasion since I've arrived that they could POSSIBLY have had sex. Maybe this *is* the reason that they still like each other...

**Now me, on the other hand, I've gone from being a committ-o-phobe to buying matched dishware in Kappabashi (a set of 6 large plates, 6 small plates, 2 serving plates and 2 bowls if you're interested) just so "we'll" have it later when we need it. *headdesk* Yeah, I'm happy that I'm happy too... but I do feel more than a little embarrased to be entertaining marriage fantasies with such frequency. Perhaps it's time to change the hormones again! o.o

**I've been being hit on by a loser at the gym. This is really nothing new, as it was pretty much the defining point of my existence at the UO... but this guy is an exception. The first time I met him, I thought he was gym staff, as he was behind the counter and handed me my card. My guess was that he was a trainee, as he wasn't wearing the uniform. As it turns out, he's just a REJECT and comes to the gym just to talk to people. Apparently he has no idea how insanely fucking annoying this is to everyone involved except him. People working out do not want to talk. They are working out. The gym staff does not want to talk... they are working. And even if they are bored spitless, they don't want to be kept captive (I shit you not) by the same idiot for hours on end. He's a gym troll, is what he is, a helpless freshman with no idea about social skills. Alas, I made the mistake of being sociable and now he's nanpa saseruing me (effectively trying to pick up) by asking me, occha demo nomimashou ka? Gah, if I didn't KNOW about Japanese pick-up lines, I'd just be like "um, you want to go drink tea? Why? No one "goes to drink tea."" But unfortunately I know what it means and unfortunately he stalks me when he sees me in the gym. The next time I'm just going to tell him to buzz off.

**On the other hand, I had another one of those embarrasingly flattering moments leaving the gym last week. It was raining... the most dangerous time for tall people like me... and I had my umbrella out. I was trying to dodge sidewalk traffic to get to class on time, which involved raising my arm and umbrella far above my head to get out of the way of the canopy made by short people. As I passed two high school girls in uniform, one of them looked up at me and said in a gasp, se ga takaiiiii (she's talllllll) and a moment later, from behind me, I heard the other girl say kireiiiiiiiii (beautifulllllll). It's simply comic if they thought I couldn't understand them. It's really flattering if they knew I did.

**I saw a great shirt today featuring the Nova Usagi (Nova Rabbit). The stupid thing pisses me off. It has an obnoxious voice for one thing, and for another... um, since when do RABBITS have beaks? A lot of the times the stupid mascot is wearing headphones for some reason. The shirt I saw, worn by a Japanese girl on the Yamanote line platform in Shinjuku, said "Ooops. Hey, Nova Usagi, try wearing those headphones on your ears." Yeah. I laughed. ^.^'

**Finally, I tried the Taiko Game AT LAST, about a week ago. The game kicked my ass but somehow I still beat Kyoko... oops. I don't need to say any more as the pictures can speak for me.

Skybar
As it turns out, there actually IS a Park Hyatt in Shinjuku... which explains my confusion at why it wasn't called the CENTURY Hyatt in Lost in Translation. It also explains why, when we went to look for the bar from the movie at the Century Hyatt, it wasn't there. OOPS.

Looks like there's a bloody 2000yen cover charge anyway, so I probably won't be going anytime soon. Bah.

I had a feeling that the Century Hyatt wasn't awesome enough to be the backdrop of Lost in Translation but I still had high hopes, as it's only four blocks from my house. *shrugs* The truth is, I'm quite thrilled to discover that the Park Hyatt is the three-tiered building I've been taking photos of all along. In fact, the Park Hyatt Shinjuku is the primary building in the city view from my home's upstairs balcony.

Maybe I will go back there after all. Just once to say I did.

Squeeky Clean

View Onsen Pictures

I'm not sure why, given the inclement weather, but Host Dad decided to take the Long Way when driving to Gunma-ken. Perhaps he thought it would be senic? It wasn't, as we were fogged in nearly the whole time, but the clouds gave the mountains a sense of mystery and nauseating sheer dropoff.

It might have been possiible that Host Dad just wanted to go for a long drive. He likes to but he doesn't get much of a chance to take the car out. For his and our own safety, however, this is a good thing. In the time it took us to get there, he nearly doubled the speed limit twice. I don't doubt his safe intentions but with the amount of practice he gets, I have to admit I was a bit nervous. Maybe it was less nerves and more nausea. Host Dad's driving practice is to repeatedly pump the accelerator to get the car to speed up, as opposed to gently pressing it. Host Mom was sick no less than three times during the drive and had Host Dad pull over so she could throw up. I slept, mostly, as there wasn't much else I could do. With all our dawdling, it took us over five hours to get there and by the end I don't think anyone was very happy.

Thankfully, the ryokan (Japanese-style inn) and onsen (hot spring) more than made up for it. The hotel was top-of-the-line and not only had an in-room bath (a rarity at a bath-oriented resort) but one that filled with onsen water. The place was overflowing with onsen. Of the thirteen assorted bathing areas, we only had the chance to visit eight in our one-night stay... and I must have spent a good four hours in the bath, once before dinner, once after dinner until late and once early morning before breakfast.

The baths were AMAZING. There's nothing better than sitting naked and pleasantly warm in a bath overlooking a splendid waterfall. One bath was right alongside the river outside the resort. Half was designated bathing-suit only and half for nudists brave enough to bear the possibility of being seen. Unfortunately the bathing-suit half was scalding and the other half occupied by guys when we arrived. But upon seeing me, the men all promptly fled, leaving us masters of the rotenburo.

There were several really nice indoor baths, my favorite of which was a huge, square wooden tub in a lodge-style room. At night, the lanterns in the corners lit the walls in a warm, orange glow and the steam made everything mysteriously luminescent. I enjoyed a pleasant, traditional rotenburo (outdoor bath) at night, a steam bath, several massage-tubs, jacuzzi, sauna and a steam bath. It's a shame we couldn't have stayed longer.

The resort, par to the course, fed us an obscene amount of food for dinner and gave us free reign of a buffet (or Viking, as they say in Japanese) for breakfast. Host Dad and I both got a massage in the room after we'd digested a little. Though my masseuse had quick hands and a firm-to-painful touch that I found satisfying, he was in other respects entirely obnoxious. He noted from the start that he was pleased I could speak Japanese and then proceeded to talk at me the entire forty-minutes he massaged. This wouldn't have been that much of a problem but a) the speed of his speech matched the fast pace of his hands and b) he wanted to blather ON and ON about foreigners to such an extent that I couldn't determine whether he was racist or just obsessed.

What really, REALLY bothered me and got to be extremely weird was that he had this creepy laugh, like shishishishiiiiii that he seemed to do mostly and conversational intervals where he happened to be working rather roughly on my NECK. Though I knew consciously that I was perfectly safe, the freakiness factor of his laugh and demeanor, combined with the throttling pace of his hands unfortunately convinced my body every time that I was being strangled. My autoimmune system fired up the fear response and I henceforth became quite tense. My neck HURT the day after... it hadn't hurt before.

I didn't sleep well, as expected, but the highlight of the trip might have nevertheless been the morning. After bath and breakfast, Host Mom gave Host Sister and I money and sent us into the gift shop. The gifting money thing always weirds me out but *shrug* I'm not complaining. As it's been explained to me recently that in Japan the groom's family often pays for the wedding, which can cost upwards of $100,000, it might make sense that only now, a little while AFTER Host Brother's November wedding, my host family is becoming more liberal with their cash.

The Hotel was obviously very upper-range. They gave Host Dad and I nice, tall-people loungewear yukata which Host Dad promptly suggested I steal despite that I already bought two cheap ones. I protested because I thought he was joking... but then he insisted, saying that they wouldn't miss it and if anyone asked, I could just say that it "fell into Host Dad's bag." He really is right that a hotel yukata is potentially the best souvenir of all. So, needless to say, I have a flowery yukata that, oops, fell into Host Dad's bag.

Before we left town, we walked the streets of the village below the hotel. The place hasn't seen much change in years and years. It was a traditional landscape from the architecture down to the 1950s milkboxes on people's doors. We stopped in one game center and played 300yen old-skool pachinko. Even though we (as expected) didn't win anything, the owner gave us each harisen, a toy that looks like a cardboard folded fan and makes a nice THWAP noise when hit upon a surface like, say, a friend's head. [It must be accompanied by the obligatory Bakaaaaa!]

The drive home, for some mysterious reason, took only three hours or slightly less and I slept most of it. I was quite right in guessing that I would have a better time this trip than I did on the last when we went to Hakkone in December and I barely knew my family. It's still very weird being in close proximity to Host Sister, as nothing makes it more obvious that something isn't right with her. Thankfully, she slept about half the time we were out, including daylight hours and driving, so I didn't have to deal with the asinine questions... like "Do you like Japanese food?" >.< ... I sometimes have to field.

Fun times, folks... fun times.

VIEW ONSEN PICTURES.

onsen

personal onsen-water bathtub, room 753

Stolen yukata. Sporadic driving. Twenty varieties of hot springs. The weirdest massage ever. More food than anyone can eat. Old-skool pachinko. Naked guys.

More tomorrow.

afk
Off enjoying onsen mania in the boonies. Won't be back for a day or two.

mosh

Justin: you haven't been getting enough sleep for 9 months
Me: sure I have
Me: I average 7-8 hours a night
Me: that's more than most people get
Justin: I've been getting to bed around 10:30 the last few nights...*mosh*
Me: but maybe I feel the effects of less more than most
Me: what the hell is *mosh*?
Justin: dear me...did I just mosh?
Me: ?
Justin: moshing...when little headbangers jump up and down and throw themselves around...typically in a pit
Me: you can't mosh by yourself, hon
Justin: but can be done solo in a chair when appropriate
Me: it doesn't work
Justin: *L*
Me: no it can't
Justin: of course you can, it just looks like headbanging.
Me: you can HEADBANG by yourself
Me: no, moshing requires a crowd
Me: moshing is the process of jamming a million people together in idiocy
Me: like war... war is a form of moshing
Justin: "You're entitled to your opinion but I respectfully disagree"
Justin: I think you can mosh alone.
Me: ok fine... you're right
Me:http://encyclopedia.thefreedictionary.com/mosh
Me: you can do it alone unless you're in the pit
Me: I can't believe I fucking looked that up

Halfway Drunk and Not At All Bad
WOOHOO!!

Tonight I went out to dinner with the head teachers from my Kids' English School to say a temporary farewell to another American part-timer. He's going back to America to get some REAL medical treatment--outside the Japanese hospital system-- for his "so-called" IBS.

One of the other "sensei" part-timers is a classmate of mine... but he didn't end up coming out. It was really his loss, as we ate sashimi, tofu of several kinds... drank beer, shochu and sake, and, above all, consumed several of the Japanese rarities I hadn't eaten until now. Kujira... whale meat... and LIVE sashimi. The whale was teriyaki-style. I'd rate it as "average," although it wasn't bad. I said I'd eat it once... and I refuse to eat it more than once (or risk going to hell for eating something smarter than I.). I put it in the same boat as the horse sashimi I had at Kyoko's Church's Korean Food Party. Not so good... not so bad... the average red meat resembling tough and oily jerky.

The "fresh" (and I mean REALLY fresh) sashimi was exquisite. I felt MUCH worse eating fish from a dead but still-twitching body than eating whale, simply because I could see the carcas (including head and face) of the fish from which my yummy food came. I do believe it was dead when we got it... but nevertheless the body twitched (um, a lot) when we took pieces from the plate, as if to say NOOOOO, Don't eat meeee!!!! GROSS, huh???!?

I said a Buddhist prayer to thank the fish for its life and I felt genuinely sorry for its suffering, in the case that it was still feeling pain. However, I do consider this tortured fish to have had a better life (and death) than many fish and mammals in the American food industry, as it was lucky enough to spend its life until adulthood in its natural environment. Is this rational? I don't know... I've had a lot to drink and a lot to eat. But no matter how tortured the poor fool fish was, he was darn delicious. So, arigatou and gochisou sama.

In any case, my host mom gave me the usual 1000 yen (US $10) so I could eat out... and OF COURSE, the "company" ended up paying for dinner. I didn't know how it was going to work out... but that's not to say I didn't suspect. When they started ordering "whatever" from the menu, I just went along with it for better or worse. Even when the president bought me a square-cup full of his favourite Secchubai sake (and it was GOOD).

My guess is that the place we went was expensive. It was a VERY traditional restaurant and we sat in a tatami room with a sunken table. Although I'd heard warnings about restaurants with gender-indecipherable restrooms before I came to Japan, this was the first restaurant I'd been to that ACTUALLY had two bathrooms featuring the same kanji in different colours. Red is female and blue/black is male, just to let you know.

So we left at 11:30 and I spent most of the 1000yen my mother gave me on a taxi home. Just because I didn't feel like paying 200yen for the bus and then another 200yen for ANOTHER bus just to wait and walk in the pouring rain in between. Therefore, I'm home and it's only JUST turned 12:00.

I'm off to bed... but only after I say once again, YAY!

highwire
I love this urban jungle. I love the lines and the reflections, the calm and the contradictions.

I love the people. A boy, not more than seven, got on the bus alone and sat in front of me. In a backwards glance, his curious eyes spoke to me. I thought, we're not all that different, he and I. Alone, confident but careful, jaded, young. He was too small even see out the window but when the driver called his stop he leapt for the button and left the bus in long, quick strides.

I love the pets. Who'd have thought Japan would give me even an inkling of the slightest affection for small dogs? Stupid Lucky, that rat dog yesterday, terriers, dachunds and corgies, I think I may actually *not hate* them now. In fact, I rather think Corgies and Shibas are excellent little dogs. The rest I will do the liberty of not joking about kicking. But the clothing... oh, please. There's ONE dog that looks good in clothes and that's a long-haired daschund, simply for the misproportioned body and anthropomorphic face. In the drizzle saw a person walking their raincoat-clad golden retriever. NO DOGS NEED CLOTHES, under ANY circumstances but especially not dogs of that size.

I especially love the things that make me angry.

^.^

rainy day

They say it's raining because there's a typhoon blowing down in Okinawa. This means that the PRE-rainy season rainy run has begun, whatever that means.

Walking from Waseda to Takadanobaba today, I saw this ratty little dog standing stock-still in the middle of the sidewalk. At first I just walked by, but then I realized that the dog a) had no leash and b) wasn't "waiting" in front of any store an owner would potentially be inside.

So I stopped and turned around. The poor, soaking little creature stood rooted to the spot, looking back and forth, searching the feet of everyone passing by. I swear the thing's face was as close as a dog's can get to an expression of worry. Still, it stood not moving one inch, as the crowds parted around it.

I watched it for five minutes or so, taking pictures (because I'm weird like that) or listening for the few comments of passers-by. I grew genuinely concerned for the poor animal and was wondering what to do when, just as I snapped this picture, the man in the suit made a very gruff noise (either at me or the dog), scooped up the pup, and trompsed away. I'm still not sure whether to be relieved or quite concerned.

The whole thing was really rather strange and surreal.

Lucky!
This weekend Host Family and I are off to an onsen in Gunma-ken. I'm hoping that it will be a better time than last... but I don't really have any doubts that it will.

The weekend after that I'm off to Ooka-mura in Nagano-ken for a few days in the Japanese countryside. By the time I get back, my yukata should be ready! =D

PORTFOLIO

If anyone's curious, I made my Design Portfolio public for a limited time. Take a look and tell me what you think (please be nice... or at least constructive).

Funny story, that
On the train back from Asakusa, I squeezed into a seat next to a man fat man sprawled haphazardly half on the bench and half on the woman next to him. They were both large, drunk, and exceedingly obnoxious... but of course, I didn't know that until the train started moving and then I was too interested in what they would do to get up.

When I sat down the man (intentionally? unintentionally?) pushed himself rather hard against my shoulder a few times. I pushed back and smelled sake, so I inched away enough to give him his comfort room. Fortunately for me, he didn't feel like badgering a foreigner and seemed mostly to want to go to sleep. Unfortunately for him, the fat, stupid looking woman (his wife? daughter? I dunno) was a rowdy drunk and quite pissed that he would dare go to sleep on her.

Instead of letting him sit quietly, she repeatedly smacked him on the head and in the crotch and asked, at the top of her lugs, "Hey, what stop do we get off? WHAT STOP!!" and if he didn't respond "Shinbashi" for the millionth time, she smacked him more insistently and yelled "Wake up you! WAKE UP!"

After a bit of this, he would grab at her face and repeat the station name (Shinbashi) a few MORE times while smooshing her nose and lips all around. Then she'd scrub at his head with her hand while he made noises somewhere between liking it and wanting her to stop.

This continued until they got off... at Nihonbashi...

Three stops before Shinbashi.

Eh-hurrrrrrrrr....

undeserving

Artisan


It rained today. But in spite of that, we did end up at the festival in Asakusa-- not actually at Sensouji but at the shrine next door-- pushing our way through a crowd of umbrellas to pay our respects to Kannon-sama. The matsuri was not the highlight of my weekend for a variety of reasons. There were crowds (and SPIKY, umbrella-clad ones at that), I've seen portable shrine processions (including BIG ones [Kawagoe] and STRANGE ones [Kanamara]) already, it was wet, and I hadn't eaten since morning. The main reason, however, that the festival wasn't the best part of the last two days is because so much BETTER happened.

Indeed, making Japanese pottery in Asakusabashi was fun, albeit frustrating. I felt slightly patronized by the staff, a highly amusing foreign curiosity, and I couldn't understand them at all. (I later learned they were speaking Kyoto dialect.) I was a little down in spirits, as I'd thought the outing would be just Host Mom and I-- but Host Sister came along and took her place at the potter's wheel. She finished long before the other two of us as if she had simply decided to stop. I was a little sad about the experience... until I learned that the whole thing was a front just to get me to come to the Kimono shop it was held in so that I could get custom fit for a yukata.

That's right. My very own, arms-long-enough, summer kimono with obi and geta. Am I grateful? OHHHH Yeah. This will get some loving use if I have my way. Did I expect it? Actually, yes... because host dad had hinted at it in a roundabout way when I bought my "loungewear" (bathrobe) yukata[s] in Kamakura. But I feel really, really guilty.

I know people among my friends who have a burning interest in kimono and who seek out classes to learn about them, build their own projects around them and search fervently in bargain stores for inexpensive materials to build them. I like kimono... now, in fact, more than ever since I've had the chance to wear one. But when I came I certainly didn't have a REAL interest in them, *especially* because I could never see myself wearing or affording one and therefore never put any mental energy into browsing.

So it's not as if I talked my host mom into dressing me in Kimono when Justin was here. I didn't beg about it and say "ohhh, how it's sooooo expensive." I never even really considered that I might end up wearing a full formal kimono, much less OWNING a custom yukata. I feel like I don't deserve this. I'm *really* happy... but, admittedly, slightly uncomfortable. If I earned this with just an honest interest in Japanese culture and a friendly relationship with my host family, how can I repay it? I'm not speaking in direct terms about the Japanese gift-exchange culture, although some of the formalities bother me, just my host family's random penchant for giving me gifts that are "too large." Even in American culture this produces the same problem. I'm already unrepayably indebted to them for the kindness they paid me by letting me stay 10 months in their home... but by adding material gifts of immeasurable value into the mix, they've touched upon a bit of a hard place for me. Guilt.

Of course I'll accept the gift, and happily. And I do understand it's stupid to phrase the question "how can I repay them?" in a material context. I simply can't. What repayment I give will come in a continued relationship from overseas, in letters, visits and small holiday presents. That's the only possible course. I'm troubled, simply, by the feeling that they have given TOO MUCH and that in itself has thrown me off balance.

I'm damn excited to wear the things though. The old man who's making it is really amazing. It will just be a normal yukata for sure, but some of his other work... pottery, painted paper obi, kimono, brush paintings, etc... are FANTASTIC. I keep forgetting that I got one of his brush paintings and (will get in 3 months) a tea bowl fired in the traditional fashion.

It's not as if I'm not spending any of my own money, either. Yesterday I probably sunk $40 between personal items, dinner and karaoke. Today I used $50 to buy obi, ties and tatami-geta(?) for the bathrobe variety yukata set. That's why I've got silly part-time jobs... I don't get paid for no reason, ne?

So... yeah. My homework still isn't finished. I only got started on it at 8PM tonight. We got home late after eating in the Omoidashi Yookocho next to Shinjuku Station. If any of you know what I'm talking about, you get bonus points. The O.Y. is the gnarly, tiny alley full of yakutori joints and tachizui-diners that looks like something out of Blade Runner. It is by far among the more AWESOME places in inner-city Tokyo one can chance upon.

On the other hand, homework aside, my portfolio is coming together nicely. Looks like I should be able to get my shit together all right.

zonk
I just got back from dinner at a faaaabulous but highly expensive restaurant for friend Kim's birthday. Pasta was eaten, choco-banana daquiris imbibed, photos taken... and so on and so forth. Following that, we went to Karaoke in the Kabukicho at a top-notch karaoke-kan (by that I mean, cheap rate & quality room) where we somehow got over an hour and a half for one hour's charge. Then we did the usual, which is to walk around Kabukicho proper (where the pimps and hos, yakuza, transvestive, drunk Japanese students, Kogaru and Centa-Guys hang out) with silly props and generally confuse the shit out of people. Here's a tip to enhance your OWN experience, if you ever go. When the idiotic hulking black guys soliciting for clubs or izakayas yell at you "Hey, baby!" It's great fun to yell back, "Hey Papa, I'm NOT your baby!" and then run away with your arms flailing wildly. It always makes them wonder why they were stupid enough to catcall a weirdo like you anyway.

I also got up at 5AM this morning, after a night of restless and halucinatory "sleep" to wander around in the fish-gutty depths of Tsukiji market. As it turns out, I'd never actually been into the market itself, just around the outside. I always figured the warehouse was closed to pedestrians but that's where the "pit" of Tsukiji is. Despite that I'd heard the wholesale auction was "closed to the public," we were able to witness the tail end. I took an *obscene* amount of pictures. Most of them probably suck, as usual, but I know there are a few great shots in there for the Tsukiji album. [Note that Inner City photo albums have been linked in the sidebar. ]

Then I taught English for two hours and managed to stay awake, somehow, even though the Starbucks caffiene did little to help my delirium. Fifty bucks is good motivation. Ran some errands, did some laundry and made a failed attempt at a nap.

I'm tired. So I'm going to bed.

I'm sorry to be lame. There are things that I really want to write about, such as the whole Japanese idea of "meiwaku" and the "inconvenience" cause by the three hostages, etc, etc. But tomorrow is a busy day too and I have more important things to do in my "computer time," like putting together that freaking portfolio.

Tomorrow, host mom and I are making traditional pottery in Asakusabashi. Hopefully the rain will hold off long enough for us to visit Senso-ji and see the very big/famous festival there this weekend. I'm going to shop around Asakusa for obi/ties for the yukata I bought and perhaps jet over to kappabashi and get some more plates for Justin and I.

What a ridiculously busy, outrageously "Japanese" weekend.

Fun fun Friday!
Ate Indian Curry with Kyoko... then ran off to Kasuraga... something... to see a photo exhibition... then back to Baba where we took purikura and played (yay!) the Taiko Game! Awesome. Waking up @ 5AM tomorrow to go to the market.

Oh yeah... and PHOTOS ARE UP. Sidebar linking will have to wait till tomorrow.

Looking up
Found out the bitchy teacher was nagging me because I was still signed up for the class as credit. I was supposed to drop it entirely, as there is no "official" audit option, and still attend like normal. What I got from talking to her was that she/the department would take care of it. I think we took care of it today, and it should furthermore be no problem.

It's better to teach my no-attention-span four-year-old English student with puppets than with a pencil and paper. I think she may have actually learned something today.

Scott from the Oregon Voice came through for me and scanned all my articles into a PDF file. I now have around 6 layout pieces I did myself or contributed to. Though the quality is low, the layout pieces combined with photography and other minor graphic design (webpages, stationery) alongside my (I think) excellent grades and reasons for wanting to take the class should be more than enough to comprise a decent digital portfolio. Wewty wewt wewt.

I got a manicure (my first one ever!) from Green and her nail-school friend today. My nails are all pink and sparkly and I have jewels stuck to a few of them. Needless to say, they're a bit gaudy and silly looking but it was nice to get an hour and a half's worth of attention with cuticle treatment, hand soak and painting for free. No, I'm not wearing acrylics, thank god... I wouldn't last in those for a day. As is, I wonder if the stuff she put on me will last through weighlifting tomorrow. Ho hum.

Tomorrow I'm eating "exotic" (read: Thai or Indian) curry with Kyoko and going to bed ass-early so that I can get up ass-early and go to Tsukiji fish market at the ass-crack of dawn to see the fish auction. [That's a LOT of ass for something that should be cool.] My Saturday is due to last from about 5AM to 11PM..

Express Yo' Self
Would the anonymous comment poster(s) please add a name to comments? I can and manipulate see your IP(s), so effectively you've already been labled... but having the name number.number.number.number is boring, don't you think? As there is or may be more than one of you (I'm too lazy to go re-check), it would make me feel less confused and more friendly if you'd leave a name.

TQ, The Management

Sumo from the front row

He's comin' right for me!

Close call...

THAT's a wedgie

Sumo piledriver... ouch

Thunderous

Something's wrong with this picture
It's @!*%ing 10PM at night and somewhere less than a block away, someone is running a buzz saw, power washer or jackhammer. If, at 10:30, the noise is still going on, I am taking my white self out there and screaming URUSEIIIIII at the retard playing with his tools in the dark.

UPDATE GOD DAMN IT!!!!!! The noise stopped a few minutes after I wrote that post but now it's MIDNIGHT and my room is vibrating, not from an earthquake, mind you, but from fucking CONSTRUCTION. Shaking, I shit you not; shaking. May tragedy befall them all.

Toy shopping
Hot day on the pavement. Humid, post-rain smell. I wore a dress which only, sadly, made it more obvious that I've put on weight since coming here.

My "Discovering Tokyo" class with Harvard professor went to Meiji Jingu today because the weather was nice... and it certainly was cooler there. I had the chance to talk to the professor, who seems genuinely nice and may not be as egotistical as I thought but instead more "closed."

Got home early and took a one-hour nap before going out for sushi in West Shinjuku with Apple Guy and his wife, Green. The place we went was a "standing sushi bar," the kind which is commonly frequented by salarymen... except that this one is quite popular with women, both for its quality and for its ladies' discount. One piece nigiri is 70yen with discount (US 60cents) but all must be purchased in pairs and two pairs must be purchased at once. The grand total, then, for four onigiri withOUT discount is 300yen. Damn cheap and damn good. I had sixteen pieces (salmon, tuna, yellowtail, mackrel, shrimp, octopus, several unidentified fish, etc) and the total came out to a mere 1120yen. YUM.

Green is a recent graduate of a nail salon beauty school in Tokyo and wants me to come over to their house so she can work on my nails. I've never had a manicure before... and while I'm looking forward to the attention, I'm afraid to come out of there looking, erm, a bit more like a blonde bimbo. If I end up doing it, I think I may insist on a French Manicure, as the less paint there is on me, the better. I do weightlift, after all.

I went with Host Mom when she walked the dog late tonight. Even at 10PM, it was warm enough for a tank top and flip flops. We passed a store in my neighborhood that I've wondered about on and off. The storefront is painted black, has no windows and on the siding is painted a large, white question mark. When I asked her what it was, she told me it was an "adult toy store." I should have figured. Then we had a brief but rather amusing conversation about the merits and demerits of frequenting a sex shop is one's neighborhood. She said to me,

"If I want to visit an "adult shop," I'd go to one in Shinjuku."

And I honestly wasn't sure whether to interpret the statement as meaning "WHEN I go, I do it in Shinjuku" or "If I ever had the urge to, I'd go to Shinjuku." The Japanese was quite unclear but I certainly didn't want to follow-up with the question, "Oh, have you ever been to a sex shop?" Or start explaining how the Toys in Babeland in Seattle really has "quite a nice, liberal neighborhood atmosphere."

Host mom is a real hoot. She's extremely nice, very patient and never fails to make me laugh.

Walking through the closed-up neighborhood marketplace after dark tonight, I realized that I've already started to miss Japan. This means that I'm preparing myself for the move home but also that it will be more difficult than I anticipate. Day by day, it gets harder to go to school and subject myself to the same, obnoxious, American outcasts. This is not everyone, of course, but there are some real characters in the program who, while once amusing, now just deserve to be put down. And the classes? Ugh, the classes... if I never have another prof who treats my class like middle schoolers again, I will consider myself a blessed individual. I *seriously* dislike my Japanese profs in this respect.

The hag who teaches my Japanese workshop tried to chew me out in front of the class when I explained that I had to leave half an hour early (of a 1 1/2 hour class) to go to my part-time job. Firstly, I'm auditing the class.. I chose to take it no credit and therefore I have NO OBLIGATION to go. Secondly, the REASON I'm auditing the class is *because* I knew beforehand that my job would occasionally overlap with Thursday class... and I explained this all to the teacher who gave me permission to enter the class. Thirdly, I decided to take the class in-spite of the part-time job conflict and no-credit because I WANTED TO. I thought it would be a good class. Now this menopausal witch had the NERVE to try and make some kind of *example* of me by launching into some schpiel about how "exchange students should KNOW that they're here to learn and not to work."

Excuse me? EXCUSE ME?!? Bitch, please. I'm an adult paying grand sums of money to be in a class I'm not even getting credit for, because I WANT TO. If you want to take a look at my bank account and then offer me your own hard-earned cash, I'll gladly accept and stop working... but until then, shut your idealistic trap. God damn.



So, yeah, there are a lot of things that I'm quite tired of. I need a vacation from Japan, or maybe just from Tokyo... but above all, I don't want to go back to the states and be trapped in a depressing lifestyle that fades into oblivion. I guess, as Chris said, it's not goodbye forever, just "see ya later."

Tomorrow: Sumo at Ryogoku.

Tschuss.

Beer run
Had a grand old time tonight touring Shibuya with Chris C., my old friend from back at U of Oregon who now works at (and despises) Nova. He took me to this liquor shop somewhere in the guts of Shibuya so that I could buy some Oregon Rogue Beers as a present for Host Dad. I bought Dead Guy, Shakespeare and Golden Ale for those who are curious. I'm not sure whether to give them to dad now or wait until Father's Day. I'll probably give them now, as more can always be bought later.

We headed to Chris's place in Meguro, a house he rents with four others, and stopped at the grocery store on the way to buy some raw ingredients for barbeque. I've cooked maybe five times since coming to Tokyo so I was pleasantly surprised when the marinade I made for my 350yen chicken breast turned out to be *really* tasty. Also barbequed up some pork, red peppers and mushroom and drank a few import beers of our own while everything cooked.

Tonight was the first night I've been to anyone's HOUSE since I arrived in Japan. That's one thing I've really missed about the states-- the comfort of being able to call on friends instead of having to go out somewhere and in the process, spend huge amounts of money on food and drink. Chris's place doesn't have a shared living area (common room) so we mostly hung out in the kitchen. It was really nice to talk somewhere quiet and personal where to have a conversation we didn't have to raise our voices above the level of a million other people. I'm getting really sick of shouting but I still don't feel like shutting up.

He and I talked for several hours, pretty much about whatever crossed our minds, and in the process I was made fairly desperately nostalgic for all the geeks from Micro, where we used to work. I can't wait to be in the company of friends again.

That's all for today. A busy week ahead... sounds fun nonetheless. Photos in the Inner City Galleries are almost ready to be posted; I only have one more album--the big one, Shinjuku-- to edit before they'll be up.

Thank you, Oma and Opa, if you're still reading this, for sending me the letter that I recieved today. It means a lot to me. You're in my thoughts, too.

crisis of self
Sad, conflicted, gross, useless, fat and stressed.

I'm feeling sad because... I wanted to say "thank you" to Host Mom for everything, so I bought her a potted plant, had it nicely wrapped and presented it while everyone was eating the bacon-and-eggs American breakfast I made. Though she was really happy, I wonder if I just made Host Sister upset. Things have been really weird with her lately. It's just quite hard to deal with her knowing she's not normal, especially with the added acoustic value of her recent digestive problems, which have led to regular bouts of her rushing to the bathroom to throw up. I'm suspicious of an eating disorder on top of it all, but then again, I always worry about that stuff. She's so lost and so distant and always asks me these odd sorts of redundant questions. She's ignored and underfoot... she can't seem to keep a job, she leaves her underthings (or worse) lying around. On top of it all, no one (especially not me) knows how to deal with her. I want her to be happy and healthy and I can't shake the feeling that I'm just making her worse.

I'm feeling conflicted because... (this one's easy) I'm leaving here in a month and a half and I don't know how I'll be able to say goodbye to Tokyo. I'm certainly ready to go home in some ways... I miss quiet, I miss my boyfriend, I miss control of my life and a schedule that doesn't drop-kick me daily. Part of me is now ready to accept a life of the utterly average but I'm also sickened by the thought of going back to being nobody in a land of nobodies.

I'm feeling gross because... I can't seem to shake obnoxious personal problems with my armpits. When I got here it was the bloody folliculitis that took illegally imported antibiotics to treat because this country's medical system is so fucking STUPID. Now, either due to those medical problems or simply due to my raised level of anxiety, I can't seem to stop sweating when stressed, hot, tired or upset. I "pit out" my shirts ever day and have to hide it by clamping my arms to my torso, which only makes it worse. I don't smell or anything like that (thank God) but I feel completely undesirable. I've had every SINGLE type of anti-perspirant that I can think of sent to me from the states but nothing has helped. I have a feeling I'll be put on some Alzheimer's-causing medication when I get back to the states.

I'm feeling useless because... I still can't speak Japanese. I WILL give myself props for accomplishing today, in the Shinjuku Gap, negotiations for a size Small polo shirt to be shipped from Harajuku because the Medium shirt I bought was too large and I didn't feel like going to Harajuku to pick up the exchange. It would have been better though, if upon changing my mind about GOING to Harajuku, I hadn't spat out a series of nonsense words at the store clerk in a language I'm not even sure exists. Of course, twenty seconds AFTER the awkward exchange was over, I had the whole conversation, keigo (polite-form language) and all lined up in my head like a freaking textbook. Thanks for being there when I need you, brain. Me is stupid.

I'm feeling fat because... frankly, for me, I AM fat. No, I haven't picked up more than five pounds on this trip but I also didn't come here at my best of weights either. Yes, my pants still fit though they've grown tight. I'm surrounded by genetically stick-thin women who probably have no idea about proper nutrition and either eat far too much and suffer no consequence or, because they think they're fat, go on some of the CRAZIEST diets I've ever heard of. I don't want to be that thin, thanks. I like having hips, boobs and a butt. I'm rather fond of looking like a woman. I do, however, wish to be rid of the unfortunate "handles" my body seems to think it needs to protect my kidneys. Having a crease over my pants is NOT savory. I like curves but I prefer them to be FIRM curves. I'm not a bone-starved waif-wannabe... I want *muscle* and strength and flexibility. What really scares me is seeing my soft-around-the-edges reflection and *knowing* that I'll be fat when I'm older. I guess, when I'm older, if I can learn to love the Goddess Within, I probably won't care. But I do now, and I have a bad case of the "I wanna have what I don't got's." So sue me.

I feel stressed because... though most of my preparations to return to the states are simply a matter of signing the required paperwork or submitting an adequate fee, I've unexpectedly been put through a bit of a dilemma for which I wasn't prepared. I recently had a bit of inspiration for my thesis. Long story short, I'm going to design and print a magazine, the content and layout of which will all be done by yours truly. I want to utilize my remaining J-school classes to facilitate the project. However, the Magazine Design Production course that is being offered fall term requires a design portfolio to be submitted by the 17th of this month. I have enough material to fill such a portfolio and I'm sure I could get into the class... BUT all my material is on CD, in boxes, somewhere overseas. I don't have access to it and I don't have time to play treasurehunt. I've mailed three separate Oregon Voice staff members to ask if they could upload or email to me the PDFs of magazine issues on which I did layout/design but NOT ONE OF THEM HAS REPLIED TO ME even though I explicitely told them to write back even if they couldn't help out. GRRRR. I need this class. It isn't offered Winter Term and I don't have enough spare time or motivation to play around with designing a magazine unless it's required work. I REALLY want to execute this thesis project... and I NEED to get into this class. I am so screwed.

*sigh* Complain, complain, complain... I know... it ain't really a big deal. Blah dee blah. I'm sort of drifting through my own life right now, lost in decisions that I've made and those I've yet to make. The seasons are changing and both my body and my brain are confused.

I'll figure it out.

Kill Bill? Just... don't
I just came back from watching Vol. 2 of Kill Bill with Host Dad, and I fear I may betray my liberality by saying this, but while I thought the second half BY FAR exceeded the first in interest and cinematic value, I was still sickened and saddened by what I saw.

As a revenge story-- a genre which I normally like-- Kill Bill failed to garner my sympathy or empathy for its main character, something which I assume is necessary in order to leave the theatre with a sense of anything but disgust. I'd like to justify my "narrow-mindedness": a) I love a blood bath and b) if you give me any other "lioness and cub" story I'll say, let that bitch kick ass. But rather than cheering for our heroine I was wishing that she would just STOP.

I'm even surprised that I feel this way. Given all the hype (positive and negative) surrounding the film, I figured I'd go have a nice, bloody romp and leave thinking, "That's entertainment." After the first film, I think I already knew I would reach this conclusion... but I was NOT entertained. At no point during the film did I feel the requisite "bad-asstical-ness" a bloody romp is supposed to have. At no point did I feel like cheering or saying helllll yeah! I spent the whole movie waiting for the film to redeem itself, and it didn't.

Tasteless. That's the best word I can come up with for Kill Bill. Tasteless, inconsequential, unsatisfying, gross, stupid, trashy, inhumane and utterly cinematically worthless except as a sad excuse to collect the money of the overpaying masses. I'll stand with those who think Tarrantino sold out bigtime making this movie.

A snuff film? Pulp fiction? I don't know what to call it except to say that Kill Bill is quite possibly the WORST "well done" movie I've ever seen.

Sorry, Quentin, you just don't get my vote.

Here's a list of movies I've seen within the last month followed by my personal rating, from 1-5 (five best).

1. APPLESEED (***)
2. Lost in Translation (****)
3. Kill Bill Vol. 1 (*)
4. Zatoichi (****)
5. Peter Pan (*****)
6. The Passion of the Christ (****)
7. Kill Bill Vol. 2 (**)

That's not including the three Studio Ghibli DVDs I just rented and watched: Totoro, Tanuki... Pompoko, and the sequel to Mimi wo sumaseba. Those don't get ratings as, being Studio Ghibli films, they are all awesome.

This has been today's total lack of content. I'd talk about how I'm feeling tired, gross and completely lost... except that I'm tired, gross and completely lost, so what I really want to do is sleep.

I bet that piece of shit movie gives me nightmares. At least I didn't have to pay to see it.

I pledge allegiance...
It appears that Japan is turning into America. This both saddens and disturbs me but I can't say it isn't expected, as Koizumi is Bush's patsy. But why play "like father like son"? Why sink to Dubya's level?

When Japan starts having lawsuits over the temperature of coffee or the length of skirts (as as I can't imagine the two fat people here will sue McDonalds) I'll know for sure this country has sold out. Hmmph.

Passion?
I'm going to see The Passion of the Christ with a friend in Roppongi this afternoon, right before we're slated to study for Friday's Japanese test. Not that I'm worried about getting studying done, as I can always do it later (and always study for tests on my own) but I am a bit apprehensive about and potential effect the movie has on me.

Am I just going to be seriously disturbed?

I didn't feel any hesitation about seeing it until last night when I realized my interest in the film is purely film-based and that I'm also curious what my friend's reaction will be. She's QUITE sensitive to violence and walked out of Kill Bill 20 minutes into the film (I don't blame her). She's also devoutly Christian and says that her grandmother, who likes "Disney Films only" sat through the Passion. I'm game to watch her face.

On the other hand, I have been feeling religiously sensitive lately and I'm worried that perhaps this film will guilt/shock me into feeling something I don't want to feel. Or maybe something that I *do* want to feel? Nevertheless, it's just a movie and I'm sure I'll have all my usual criticisms. (What the heck was up with centurion number five?? Like a real centurion would do THAT?!?) At the very least, I give props to the "passion" of the real actor. I guess he got hypothermia while on the cross and a dislocated shoulder during the flaying... to top it all off, he was struck by lighting during the filming. Maybe God is trying to tell Mel he got it all wrong?

GOD: Don't go there buddy. Just... don't.
MEL: But, but, it's my PASSION!

Anyway, now I'M being blasphemous. Best to just go see the movie and then drink some coffee. Ta taa.

UPDATE: The jury is in. Passion was a good movie, not nearly as disturbing as I thought it would be, which probably means I'm a bit desensitized to violence. I did cry, a lot, but not enough to warrant tissue and (o please don't strike me down!) I think Peter Pan gets a higher rating on the tear-jerk-o-meter.

Filmographically speaking, I thought the film was excellent. Music and cinematography were well done and the hebrew/aramaic/latin dialogue was just *beautiful.* I had a few complaints with the androgynous demon (satan?) and the demon childre/babies but otherwise no major gripes with the way the story itself was presented. Err, except that I'm not sure King Herod was should have been a gay, circus ringleader... I bet the court WAS decadent but, erm, was it THAT decadent?

I was worried I would be pissed off at Gibson's directing if he miscast or stereotyped too many roles. Surprisingly, that didn't happen. I was highly impressed with his rendition Pontius Pilate's human dillemma. In fact, I was glad to seem him treated as an emotional person, rather than as a roaring tyrant like in some movie versions. Major points there, Mel.

Because I recently read (devoured?) The DaVinci Code, I've been thinking about goddess worship and the treatment of women in history and myth. So I was also quite pleased with how Passion portrayed its female characters, particularly Mary Magdalen. The scenes with the women were, for me, the most amazing and touching scenes in the whole movie. Because the disciples were sadly underdeveloped (with a lack of time, one can only follow so many storylines, no?), the women were what best illustrated Jesus's ties to the human world and the emotional bonds that he shared with other people.

Unfortunately, after the movie was over, I realized that I wouldn't have a chance to discuss any of this with my friend, despite that she was also impressed by it. Nicole quickly made it obvious that aside from being a devoute Christian, she also took *everything* in the bible as literal fact by commenting on how Gibson had miscast Mary Magdalen in the "stoning" story.

I'm quite aware that Mary Magdalen isn't always called a prostitute in the bible and that what she "was" quite variably depends on the translation and interpretation of the text. I, however, think it a bit excessive for anyone to say that there can be no artistic lisence taken with any biblical story. Keep in mind, I'm not talking about BIBLICAL TEACHINGS or PHILOSOPHY here, because I don't even want to touch that volatile subject. I mean simply that as a thousands-year-old text composed in several languages by several men over several generations, in my mind the "facts" of the occurrences and "characters" in the bible have no right to be called truth at all.

As a historical text the bible seems to serve best as a geneology. To say that so-and-so was DEFINITELY "this kind of person" because "this exact thing happened to them" is a little, uh, stupid, don't you think? Who knows if any of the stories are word-for-word true? As a historical mythology (again, philosophies aside), artistic liscense seems to be perfectly justified, even encourageable.

So, after my friend's comment about how everything was "nearly exact," as if the stories in the bible (teachings aside, damn it!) were perfect truth, I declined to talk about what I thought. I'd prefer to save my friendship, thanks.

Needless to say, the movie didn't coerce me into becoming Christian, any more than I already am. I believe in God and I believe in the life of Jesus Christ as a man... and even perhaps as the son of God. But without delving into personal beliefs too completely, I simply cannot accept that I need to accept Jesus Christ as an intermediary into a spiritual life with God. That seems an awful lot like idolatry to me, whether or not God and Jesus are, in the end, the same person. Nuff said on that subject, moving on...

What the movie DID do, however, was interest me a lot more in the Christian Mythology and the evolution of storytelling into religion. I would personally like to know a lot more about that time period and Jesus as a man, outside of the traditional Protestant teachings. (For those of you who don't know, I was raised Christian, attended Presbyterian church for 13 years, was "born again," baptized, and then left the chuch in an angry personal funk to come to terms with my seperate spirituality years later. I'm not Christian. Neither am I, exclusively, non-Christian.)

I've always thought that I would return to a religious teachings years later after a search for self. Having investigated Buddhism, Taoism and dabbled in very familiar pagan teachings, I can honestly say I will never be ALL of anything. But I do like the community of church and a congregation of shared beliefs, so I expect that after some more odd years of searching, I will probably return to the bible as a doctrine. But in no way do I expect to ever read it literally. That strikes me as the most dangerous and blasphemous thing an educated person could ever do.

Erm, yeah. Got a bit sidetracked there. Good movie, thought provoking. Nice costume work and bloody bits. The end.

fray
You're not a mind reader, so you couldn't know that I've been sitting here, mornings and nights, waiting for you to come online so I could talk to you. You still haven't shown up and I wonder, quite irrationally, if you're somehow still angry or that you're "keeping busy" to spite me.

UPDATE: Durr, well at least I'm savvy enough to consider the possibility I was accidentally blocked from Justin's AIM list, which I was. I know WHEN, as it was weird to have my chat rejected the other day and see him suddenly drop offline... but since it wasn't him, the question really is WHO WAS IT?

Ironically, when I'm out and about I feel quite confident-- overconfident, in fact. But when I'm sitting here, alone, a few hours short of a good night's sleep despite that it's vacation, all the nice tight ends start to unravel.

This summer. My living situation. Scholarships. Income. The thesis. Next year's classes.

I can't seem to convince myself that the day won't be a waste if I go back to sleep for a few hours. Therefore, I can't convince my body to go to sleep either... so I'm here in front of the computer again when it's the last place I want to be. It's stupid and I'm quite obviously tired and menstrual but it seems right now as if I'll never be able to keep it all together.

loop in blue

If you have lose your true self, all phenomena bring you nothing but annoyance. If you discover your essenve of mind, you can follow nothing but the true path.
-Rankei Doryu, Zen master

I took bus #33 from the stop in front of my house to Omiya Hachimon Shrine to take a look at the festival there. She got on a few stops before I got off, a woman in kimono carrying a heavily-laden shopping bag. She went to the the back and I glanced at her face as she sat down. Fat, flat and creased with age, she was not a woman of grace but as she adjusted her bag and positioned her kimono, I caught something in her expression that suggested she clung with relentless pride to the past. Her past? Japan's past?

I didn't find her that enticing-- I see ladies in kimono every day-- until she took out a paper fan, unfolded it with a snap of the wrist, and started to fan herself quite ceremoniously. From the second she took out that fan until the moment I stepped off the bus, I was enraptured with her. I stared. To pretend I wasn't staring, I looked at her feet, then at her bag, then at the fabric of her kimono, to take in every detail that I could.

She had a sense of poise, an unusual character that would allow her and only her to unfold that fan in the middle of a city bus just as if it were sixty years before. She wore a certain shade of lipstick, had tied her hair just so, as if she wanted Japan to speak through her.

Then it was my stop and I had almost forgotten to push the button. The bus ground to a halt at Omiyahachimon iriguchi and I stepped off, glancing backwards. I cursed and thanked Japan, in awe of the power of this place to show me the smallest, most amazing details of life even when I'm not looking.

When I got to Omiya Hachimon, the vendor booths were already closing for the day. The shrine smelled of flowers but the blossoms themselves had all gone. The date for the festival, decided months before, had coincided ill with this year's early Spring.

Something about Omiya Hachimon is magical to me. I've been there few times before (though the shrine is mentioned in this entry) but each time I've set foot on the precinct I've felt an immense sense of calm and wonder. Perhaps today it was the musac that the shrine was pumping through the grounds (you can guess, I'm sure, that I like a soundtrack to my life) or perhaps it was just the twilight. I stayed for only a few minutes, just long enough to videotape the end of a Shinto Ceremony for two shrine patrons, before walking back along residential streets to the closest bus stop.

I've been fascinated with mirrors lately, though I don't mean the "visual aids" we hang in our homes and restrooms. A mass of tangled streets and alleys, Tokyo is full of faded, dirty and bent traffic mirrors. These mirrors and their cousins on cars and motorbikes, reflect, often at a twisted angle, a backwards semblance of everyday life.

The mirror has a special symbolism in Japanese culture. The mirror of Amaterasu is the primary Shinto artifact that represents the holy bloodline of the emperor. In addition to (or because of?) the historical importance of the mirror, it is regarded differently than in Western culture. The mirror is not seen to "keep", "hold" or "trap" what is reflected in its surface but rather an an empty pool to be "filled." This is the exact reason that I find these common mirrors to be so alluring.

What I see before me, for example, when walking on a city street, fills my perspective and therefore often falls into the realm of the "normal." But when I glimpse the same scene reflected in a mirror it becomes fantastic and exotic. The "normal world," backwards, warped and dirty somehow jumps out at me as the real Japan. I often find myself stopped and gaping at mirrors filled with the image of a street scene I only seconds before passed unknowingly.

I have become, of late, a human camera: mirror and lens, devouring and recording what I see with an impassive voracity. The crossdresser clutching his/her puppy beneath the demonic icon of MYLORD department store. The schoolgirl with a Lois Vuitton bag twice her size. Rows and rows of croquet sauce in the supermarket. The same monk in front of Shinjuku station today, yesterday and tomorrow. Patterns repeating themselves, growing, melting, shaping the mosaic.

I feel as if the very design of thought and memory within my brain has changed, channeled into a new, three-dimensional, multi-layered space. Maps and webs, my spacial memory has improved to the point that if I go somewhere once, I can remember the precise location by feel forever. Most of the time, I don't need directions, intuition will suffice. Clips, phrases, faces and songs stick to my short-term memory like glue and though eventually lost in the blur, can be called up easily if placed in their time and location on the three-dimensional map.

When I venture outdoors in this city, I dive into the web of it. If I open my mind to this mapping, the very air around me changes. I have learned to step through the looking glass.

The mirror is empty. Today all it took was one woman in kimono to fill it.

Just because I love you
And maybe because I'm so LAZY, it's foggy and ick today, and there's not much else I want to be doing...

80% of my photo galleries are posted. The other 20% (inside Tokyo, covering all major city districts) should be edited and posted by week's end. And notice the pretty blue color? I did that MYSELF... and the only reason I'm bragging is because Gallery, a program that is simple in its use and PURPORTS itself to be simple in management/maintenance is actually complicated as all hell. But whatever, if I'm a geek for any reason, it's so I can randomly edit PHP files and skin photo galleries. Guh.

I need air and my neck hurts. If I were a real geek, I wouldn't complain after sitting in front of the computer for six and a half hours. I guess I just downgraded myself to "loser" status. Anyway, enjoy the pictures, they're also linked in the sidebar, -------> SEE?

I'm going shopping.

KAMAKURA: Snapshot

Weather: Overcast, cold and calm. Think Pacific Northwest without drizzle.
Location: About 1 1/2 hours outside Tokyo by local train.

We went walking today on the Japanese version of a "historical hiking course," which meant that after a long stroll right next to a fairly congested road, we had to climb a lot of stairs and push through throngs of people before we actually got to real, untouched nature. Kamakura's mountains are, like most urban-suburban "mountains" in Japan, simply large hills... and not even foothills at that. (Mt. Si off I-5 near Seattle can kick the butt of any of these mountains five times over.)

I'm not complaining though, as it was nice to get out of the city, especially on my host parents' expense. We left early and returned early but despite that fact rode both ways in the reserved seat Green Car, as normal cars were standing room only. Yay, Golden Week.

Kamakura proper was equally packed, though the temples that we visited on the outskirts were much quieter than the insane shopping streets near the station. After the hike, we were quite hungry, and my host parents made the mistake of thinking we could find food back near the station area. *And* they wanted to eat traditional, Japanese food. Well, I would have been tickled pink, if they had been able to just pick a place and wait in line. But despite that every single restaurant had a line and a wait, we had to test our own patience by wandering here and there before they finally gave up and settled for less prominent, more humble fare.

They almost, almost went into the ramen shop I ate at when I was in Kamakura last fall. Thankfully, they turned away and I didn't have to mention that it was empty for a reason. Ick. We ate at one of the more colorful, traditional, hole-in-the wall, stool-and-bar restaurants I've ever been to. I didn't even see what it was called but I doubt it had a name more impressive than the Japanese version of "Joe's Grill." Even so, the day had taxed even this restaurant's stock down to a few limited offerings. But what did I care? I can eat Unagi-don any day.

After we ate, Host Mom passed me 3000-yen as a day's "allowance," which I can only guess was money left over from the unspent lunch budget. As there was nothing I really WANTED to buy (omiyage are SOOOO uninspiring), I braved the crowds to attempt window-shopping by myself until we reconvened at the station an hour later. Fortunately for me (and as I already knew), Kamakura houses one of the more well-stocked Studio Ghibli shops I've ever seen in the Tokyo area so I dropped a few thousand yen of my own on the last Totoro plushies I wanted. Now I have the whole family! *squee*

I also found a several 1000 yen yukata at a kimono shop and pushed my way through the orgy of people to see if any of them fit. No yukata will ever fit me ENTIRELY properly (except maybe the L-sized ones at Homeikan Ryokan in Hongo 3-chome) so I settled for a few that should fit Justin and I *well enough.*

I did expect going to Kamakura again to be more poignant, as it was one of the first major excursions I made upon my arrival. However, like everything else lately, it was just pleasant and refreshingly normal. I do wish I had the means to get back to Nikko without rendering myself broke. I should have thought of that earlier!

The memory that sticks out most from today is rather sad and pretty characteristic of my host sister, so I'm almost hesitant to share it. 'Course, I'm going to anyway.

We wandered into the Kamakura Gu Shrine near the bus stop at the end of the hiking course. The shrine, like most, is run as a business that sells any number of charms, purifiers and prayer/wish cards. At the top of the stairs before the shrine there was a table set up before two large rocks, on which was piled stacks of cookie-sized ceramic discs. As you might guess, these discs are to be infused with bad thoughts and negative energy and then smashed against the rocks in order to get out all the heebie-jeebies.

All you have to do is break the disc. If the disc doesn't break... you're in trouble.

Host Mom put down 100 yen for me and the monk positioned me in front of the rock. I wasn't quite sure HOW to put all my icky thoughts into the little cookie but the monk gratiously pantimimed what looked like throwing up and I got the gist that I was supposed to exhale my energy out onto the disc. I gave a big roar and, at Host Mom's encouragement, another, before hurtling the thing into oblivion against a boulder. Host Mom followed suit, and from the depth of her exhale it looked as if she had a lot of bad energy to release.

When Host Sister stepped up to bat, she gave a soft, pathetic little sigh and, without any hesitation, winged the disc at the right-hand boulder. It glanced quite softly and harmlessly off the top before skidding to a stop on the shattered remains of its brothers. It was still in one piece.

She seemed momentarily distraught, as did Host Mom, whose eyes grew wide and the apparent inability of her daughter to throw three feet. She said, "it's ok, if it's broken!" before realizing that Host Sister's disc hadn't broken and graciously covered up with the polite lie, "oh, good, it broke."

Oops.