Geisha, Interrupted

Japanese Elderly Remain Vigilant: Dance in Streets

I crossed paths with a dancing festival (odori matsuri) recently.  The event was attended mainly by very cute old people.  Here we see them line-dancing.

 

 

After the first round of dancing there appeared a special guest: it was an enka artist who performed her #1 single.  ("Her song only got to be number one," my friend Jade whispered in my ear as we watched the performance, "because senior citizens are the only people who buy CDs anymore...")

 

As the sun went down after the concert, it became time to bust a move again...

 

 

I love this country.  I want to be a Japanese old lady when I grow up.  I will dye my hair purple (as is common among graying women here) and rock every Matsuri in town.

An Elegant Murder of Crows

I can be a bit of a thrill seeker sometimes. 

In the past, my idea of adventure has been more along the the lines of chugging a bottle of tequila, putting on a mini-skirt then going out to the bars Roppongi - seeing if I might come home alive.

Ironically if not uncommonly, I often felt afraid of even the most mundane things when I wasn't drinking.  As a result, I drank heavily for a sense of freedom from those fears.

Maybe I'm missing that sense of adventure, and that's why I ran right up to some of the infamously large Ueno Park crows today, to snap some photos of these somewhat creepy birds, which looked fully capable of poking my gaijin eyes out.  It's a little healthier than before, don't you think?  (Unless I'd actually gotten my eyes poked out... but I didn't, so it's ok!)

These pictures make me wonder if there isn't a certain elegance or beauty in those things that scare me the most.

And below, we have a murder of crows congregating. I've always wanted to have a reason to write that phrase!  Maybe I really am like a goth kid under the guise of a pink banner. 

This little guy, unfortunately, has  a broken beak and some ruffled feathers.  Yet he seems to be hopping around ok otherwise.  I'd hate to see that the other guy looks like...

 

"Domo arigato gozaimashita," another new friend bows farewell:

                         

A Suspicious Consistency

"In Japanese school, we only play ball." 

"Throw. Catch. Throw. Catch."  The boy makes mundane hand gestures.  "Ball. Ball. Ball."

Ren is eight years old.  His mother is from China, and his father from Japan.  I am currently tutoring the child in English.  It's his third language and the boy is rather proficient in it, having gone to an international school for some time.

I've asked him to describe to me what he thinks the main difference is between school in Japan and school in China.  His response: "Ball."

"In China we can play all different games at recess, like tag and swings and stuff," he continues when I prompt him to elaborate, "but in Japanese school, there is just ball.  That is all anyone does at recess.  We don't even move around.  We just stand in one place throwing and catching a ball."

"Baaall is sooooo boooring!" he throws his head back emphatically, in a way that eight-year-old boys do best the world over.

"Do you think you get enough exercise at Japanese school?"  I pick his brain further, due more to my own curiosity than to anything else. To be fair, the simple geography of China allows far more space for recreation than a compact city like Tokyo could ever provide.   

"Oh we do exercises," he stands up to demonstrate with a hint of sarcasm," first we all stand in our lines.  We go like this," he stretches his arms above his head, "and like this," he bends his body to one side, "and like this," then reaches towards the  other side.

"Our exercises are all the same.  Every day.  And then we play ball." he scoffs.

I really enjoy talking to Ren.  The kid has more cultural perspective than he knows what to do with.  I am truly the one who is learning the most in this situation.

As I think I am finishing up this post, I hear the sound of construction workers down the block . 

"Gambarou! Gambarou! Gambarou!"  Someone is chanting.   

This is the volitional form of the verb "gambaru" which means to "give it your all".  I take it to mean that the workers are currently concentrating all of their effort to either break something or build something.  Or perhaps both.

"Will the construction ever stop?" I ask whiteboy-T, who is in bed.

"This country's entire economy is built upon unnecessary construction" he reminds me, then rolls over.

"Oh yeah."

"Gambarou!"

I poke my head out of our fifth story window.  I cannot spot the construction site from the angle I have, but the chanting has become outright eerie.

"Do you think that is a recording?" I ask T, "or someone's actual voice.  I honestly can't tell." 

Over in this part of the world, we are rather used to state-sanctioned noise pollution, be it in the form of the singing garbage truck, the howling sweet potato vendor, or the political campaign van that is unfortunately equip with very effective sound system. So when you hear a very loud voice in the distance, it's hard to say whether it's human or not.

"I would say it's a recording," T observes, "because the tone of voice is suspiciously consistent."

But around here, what isn't?  I wonder to myself.

what's in a banner...

As you may have noticed, I have recently discovered the custom design option on my blog settings.  I've been coming up with new designs through trial and error- since I don't really know what I'm doing- and this has made for hours of chaotic bliss over on my end.  On the other hand, the redesign function has swallowed up much of my free time in the past day or so. I thought I had completed the revamping of this design last night, only to wake up this morning and find that my blog was way, way too pink (so pink...).  So what do you people think now?  Anyone?

Also, I want to explain some things about my new banner:

This year, cherry blossom season coincided with my third month of sobriety in early April.  And to be honest, I had been dreading its arrival.  Cherry blossom culture is not complete without being drunk.  I do not exaggerate.  The alcohol companies come out with special themed cans of beer and sake which they decorate with pink blossoms during the week-long peak of the season.  Then, as per usual, said cans are subsequently strewn about the streets in bulk, often accompanied by well-dressed party goers whose company outings came to an end on the sidewalks or in the gutters.  This phenomena, most common around New Year's Day and during cherry blossom season in Japan, is perfectly acceptable.  Some argue that it's even part of the "unique" culture here. (But I will not go there with a 10-foot sword.)

I was invited to a blossom viewing party in the park one Saturday last April, and I decided to go, if only because not going would have been even worse.  Watching all the others around me drinking sake and enjoying the natural transience of the blossoms, I felt an overwhelming sense of regret.  Just a as the cherry blossoms were impermanent, so were my wild partying days.  And they were over.

"The party is over," I kept thinking to myself.

Then at some point, I excused myself from the group to go take pictures of the blossoms with my camera phone.  I suppose it's fitting that I tired very quickly of snapping the blossoms on the trees.  Instead, I aimed my lens at the fallen blossoms that lay amidst trash in the surrounding gutters.  Despite the plethora of pink flowers that hung above me in the trees, I thought that the blossoms on the ground were the prettiest.  Party goers who noticed me taking pictures of "the garbage" looked at me as if I were insane.  Which, of course, I basically am.

Then yesterday, one week short of six sober months, I stitched these photos together to create the above banner.  I did this holding to a sincere (if flickering) hope that a different, more fulfilling party is about to begin.

still-life earthquakes, and other obsessions

Anyone who knows me even marginally understands that I am prone to obsessions.  Those who know me well can confirm that:

1) I am obsessed with earthquakes.

2) I am obsessed with bridges (especially those over the Sumida river in Tokyo).

3) I am obsessed with my new digital camera.

That said, I was in Odaiba yesterday looking over The Rainbow Bridge, which connects this manmade island to the rest of the metropolis.  Odaiba is built on a fault line.  As a result, T-dog and I had just enjoyed a day at the volcanic hot springs.  These baths are only some of the many attractions found on this surreal and futuristic "island".

So anyway, we had a great view of Tokyo Bay:

Still, I can't ever seem to stay content with just 'taking normal pictures' for too long. If you've ever seen a live shot of a minor earthquake on television (such reportage is quite common over here), you know that it looks like a normal view of a city, except someone is shaking the camera.  Seriously, it looks as if the cameraperson has the jitters or something.  From these observations is born my new experiment: simulated earthquake shots.  My first victim: The Rainbow Bridge.

Did I mention that Odaiba is built upon the same type of manmade land that collapsed from liquefaction in the Kobe quake back in the 90s?  In the event of a major earthquake- which, as it happens, Tokyo is overdue to experience- the city where I live is basically fucked beyond human comprehension.  And yet, like a rainbow in the eye of a hurricane, the devastation might still look pretty from a certain angle... 

Photos of Photography (or...catching the male gaze in action)

So as I've mentioned, I have a new camera.  I bought it in Tokyo's well known electronics district of Akihabara (or "Akiba" as it is referred to by the otaku geeks who spend all of their time and money there).   Akihabara is definitely weird, but I've taken a curious liking to the place lately despite the prevalence of cartoon pornography posted in the shop windows.  It is a subculture in itself.  On every street corner, there are young women dressed up like french maids or video game characters in order to promote respective establishments (which I hope pay them LOTS of money for this service).  Seeing these women as I happily waltzed out of the shop where I'd just acquired the camera, I did not intend to waste any time. Yet it wasn't the women specifically whom I wanted to capture in the shot.  I found the demographic of my fellow photographers far more compelling:

Then I walked over to the other side of the train station, where the street performers were trying to kindle a fan base.  It was the same drill. 

Some days later, I found myself outside of Harajuku station.  Harajuku is known for its grown women who dress up like bo-peep dolls, clowns, gothic princes, gothic lolitas or any combination thereof in order to get their pictures taken with tourists every weekend.  Naturally, I can't help but zoom in on the invariable middle-aged man who is playing artist for the day .

You'd think the dude in red should have noticed me following him.  But in Harajuku there are 10 people with cameras for every object of a photograph, so I wasn't too conspicuous.  That said, everything about this trendy district feels incredibly fake somehow.  Yet I hang out there anyway.  And I take photographs even.

I'm posting this collection of photos now in hopes that I will get over this silly compulsion of mine to take pictures of people taking pictures.  I do hope that I can move on to a platform more pleasing to the eye than the squinted faces of ugly old men.  Wish me luck.

giri as a thing of the past

So I am outside this evening, playing with some devil sticks in the courtyard of my apartment, like a kid, waiting for my fiance to come home.  There, I cross paths with the young lawyer from Bulgaria who lives on the sixth floor of my building.

"That juggling's pretty impressive," she says.

I bow to her, but say nothing.  Bowing is a great way to shrug off compliments.

"Join us for some drinks," she nods at the shopping bags full of Asahi Super Dry that occupy both her hands.

"I don't drink," I grin, somewhat nervously.

"Still?" she asked with a sense of surprise that has become familiar to me. "You're going to make me feel bad again now!"  Sometime last fall before I quit drinking, I was feeling the type of groundless generosity that only a drunk can possess and picked up a tab for her at a karaoke bar where a group of us had drummed up a pretty tall bill.  My refusal to let her return the favor is getting on her nerves.

"I have giri," she says seriously.  Though neither of us is Japanese, we understand the concept of "giri" (or "duty") very well.  And in this situation, giri dictates that if my acquaintance is not able to repay the generosity she once received from me, then she should feel unbearably ashamed.

I shrug, as if to tell her that she may as well commit harakiri now if she can't deal with the shame of being unable to pay me back.

"Well," she says, "stop by my apartment anyway.  This is the only night of the week that I finish work early."  I look at my watch, noting it's 9:30pm.

"Ok, maybe later," I lie, "I'm waiting for Trevor to come home."

"See you then," she says, making it my turn to feel guilty.

"Do you like me better now that I don't drink?" I ask Trevor, back in our room.

"Yes," he replies immediately.

"Is that the right answer?" I ask again, half joking and half curious.

"Is it?" he deflects my inquiry.

"But you liked me before I quit drinking too, right."

"You were the same person," he assures me, "but now you are a much more constant companion."

"I think that ever since you decided you didn't need to drink," he continues, "nothing but good things have been coming your way."

So much is undeniably true.  I am better at just about everything I do now, and for a goal-oriented type this is very satisfying.

"Then why do I miss it so much?" I want do ask, but I don't.  Actually, I only think to ask so much after I type up the above conversation.  But now he has gone to the store.  Besides, I don't think he knows.

I hear his key in the door now.  He's brought me back cucumber pepsi.

Subway Haiku

Whiteboy wants a seat

 

Sumo prepares for battle

 

Only ten stops left

 

Beer for Kids!! (They hate feeling left out...)

I'm not quite sure what to make of this:

Japanese Beer Company Releases Beer for Kids

. . .Sangaria started their line of fake alcoholic drinks for kids with Kodomo no nomimono (Children’s drink), and has been successful enough to offer it in bottles, cans, and even six-packs. They also expanded the product line to include children’s versions of wine, champagne, and cocktails. The beer, flavored like apple juice, even foams at the top when poured into a glass!. . . Japan is well known for its group drinking culture, and this is actually a great way to include the kids during family celebrations. . .

Bizarre, right?  It makes me think of a time some years ago when I was working with a class of three-year-olds at a Japanese preschool, and they all suddenly started bringing their fake cell phones to school.  I was an advocate of banning this practice, because the kids picked up an uncanny tendency to avoid all responsibilities by pretending to receive important calls.  A typical exchange went as follows.

Me:  Nobuya, it's time to clean up now.

Nobuya (retreating into a corner of the classroom with his plastic phone, putting his hand over his ear that is not next to the receiver as people often do to stifle outside noise):  One moment please Miss Lea!

Me:  Finish your call quickly.  If you don't clean up then you can't eat lunch with your class!

Nobuya (speaking into his phone):  Hai, hai, hai, wakarimashita kaicho. (Yes, yes, yes, I understand boss.)

This in mind, I can't help but wonder what types of unacceptable behavior these fake beverages might lead to among similar toddlers, as they invariably imitate their parent's behavior.  Will the bottle become an excuse to forget about toilet training and pee in the clothes hamper?  Will they begin to think that it's OK to sing and shout around the house without having to use their "inside voices?"  Will they believe that they should stomp and stumble awkwardly around the living room pretending to be roaring tigers or retarded dinosaurs??

I don't know about you, but if I were still a three-year-old I'd get addicted pretty fast...

Big In Japan: Cucumber Flavored Pepsi

Here, I present to you the regionalization of marketing as it has never been experienced by an unsuspecting vegetable before:

This summer beverage, "Pepsi Iced Cucumber," was unveiled just yesterday. I had to notice it right away.  Soft drinks have grown very dear to me in recent months.  In my first month of sobriety, I drank so much Coke that I got sick from it.  Seriously.  And now that just looking at a coke bottle makes me nauseated, I still drink a variety of carbonated soft-drinks throughout the day in place of the other variety of liquid refreshment.  So of course I had to try Pepsi Iced Cucumber as soon as I saw it at the convenience store.

In Japan, "cucumbers" make people think of cooling off in the summer heat, while soda makes people think of cooling off as well.  That in mind, somebody at Pepsi Japan must have pointed out that combining cucumbers and soda could create a double-cooling-effect.  Thus, the Pepsi corporation might be able to provide Japanese consumers most effective illusion of comfort in the hellishly humid inferno that is the typical Tokyo "hot season".

It is not the first time this rule of additions has been used here in Japan.

Convenience stores all over the city decided at some point that "spaghetti is good, bread is good, so let's sell spaghetti sandwiches!"

Many "pizza" joints have joined this philosophical bandwagon. "Octopus is good," they realized, " and pizza is good: so lets make octopus pizza! And lets put lots of mayonnaise on it, because mayo is also good!!"

More recently, somebody at Wendy's Japan Headquarters surmised that since hamburgers are good, and Anko (a sweet red bean paste that is usually a desert food here) is good, the chain should put them together and call it an "Anburger"!

 

I have been guilty of the occasional spaghetti sandwich whenever I get a serious carb craving.  Though I don't like octopus pizza, I can be convinced to partake in the tuna-mayo variety.  The "anburger" though, that is just too gross; the thought of it makes my stomach turn.

So what of the Pepsi Ice Cucumber??

It is AWESOME.  I LOVE it.  I've consumed two bottles of cucumber soda already today.  I find the taste to be indescribably brilliant.  Perhaps this means that I have been in Japan too long.  But that is nothing new.

And now, the reluctant family photo: