Geisha, Interrupted

No Monkeys For You, Part II

I'd like to tell you a little more about my trip to Nikko last weekend, where I didn't see any monkeys -- even though I went just to see the wild monkeys.  Around the time when I wasn't seeing any monkeys, I came across some interesting sculptures of elephants by the famous Edo period artist Kano Tanyu (1602-74), who created the images without having seen an actual elephant ever in his life.  Japan was a pretty secluded place back then, to say the least, and so it is said that the artist only read about elephants in literature.  These animals were created entirely from his imagination, and it's fitting that they're called the "imaginary elephants".

So, if Mr. Edo Artist died without ever seeing a real elephant,

and his take on what elephants looked like became the standard mental image for thousands of equally isolated visitors to the the shrine throughout its first few hundred years,

and if everyone believed they were looking at elephants,

then did these "imaginary elephants" become the slightest bit "real" in some respects?

Thinking about such things for too long will inevitably result in many academically charged questions regarding the mimetic nature of art, none of which I know the answers to.  So instead, here are some more pictures of funny looking elephants!

And to wrap this post up, I'll close with what is a very personal and emotional piece of my own artwork.  I like to call it: PORTRAIT OF A NIKKO MONKEY BY AN ARTIST WHO HAS NEVER FRIGGIN' SEEN ONE:

No Monkeys for You!

Mr. T and I went to Nikko last weekend, a spot in the mountains known for its rich cultural heritage, cooler-than-Tokyo climate, and hot springs.  Also, Nikko is home to many wild monkeys.  T and I wanted to see some wild monkeys.  We really, really like monkeys.  Yes, we were warned of the dangers of monkeys ("They'll steal your purse/camera/backpack. . .etc."), and yet such admonitions likely made us want to find some wild monkeys even more. 

Alas, throughout our two whole days in the countryside, we didn't see one friggin' monkey.

Instead, we had to content ourselves with the rare spectacle that was an authentic Shinto wedding ceremony at Toshogu shrine.  It was pretty cool, actually, in a next-best-thing-to-monkeys sort of way. . .

just when i think i've seen it all. . .

Allow me to introduce you to the oshiri kajiri mushi, or, the "butt-biting bug". . .

P.S.  I spotted him on a crowded train the other day!  Can you find the butt biting bug?

Hey, Who's That Scientist-who-doesn't-care-about-how-she-looks??!

As some of you may already know, a couple of months ago your very own Geisha, Interrupted was selected by NHK studios in Tokyo to play the epic role of: "a scientist who doesn't care about how she looks" (actual job description) on a weekly Japanese TV program.

Sorry about the wave interference, but even superstars such as myself do not know (or don't listen when people tell them) that you shouldn't take pictures of a television screen. So please interpret the black lines as futile attempts to preserve what might be left of my anonymity.

So here I am, not caring about how I look:

And that's me again, not caring about how I look as I analyze the difference between green and orange mouthwash:

And finally, my big moment. All this not-caring-about-how-I-look finally pays off as I look up from the microscope (which I was never really looking into anyway because they wanted to see my eyes as I worked), hold up one finger, and announce that I have found the enzyme that causes male pattern baldness!

Scientist who doesn't care about how she looks: "IT'S 5 ALPHA REDUCTASE, TYPE 2!"

It was a great moment in the history of Japanese television. T and I have not had this big of a laugh in a very very long time (and we laugh quite a lot.)

Stop The Maids!!!

Have you ever come across a popular fashion trend that is so inherently wrong to the core that prolonged exposure to it can actually make a person feel physically ill??

I doubt you have, that is, unless you have already encountered the french maid craze that is going on in Akihabara right now.  It appears to have started with the maid cafes, where customers line up for hours in order to be serviced by young women dressed up like french maids. (Please note that "cafe" is not a euphemism for anything; these establishments serve tea and coffee.)

 

Now however, this french-maid-syndrome has been spreading out of its designated cafes and all about Akihabara like the social disease that this "fashion trend" actually is.  I am suddenly feeling bombarded by these "french maids" all over the district.

 

You know, nothing symbolizes that delicate balance between subservience and sex like a french maid costume; not many fads can scream "I-live-to-serve-you-now-fuck-me," quite like it. 

To make matters worse, there are many different outfits for the prospective maid to choose from at your typical Akihabara outlet.

There's My Lovely Maid:

My Pretty Maid:

My Honey Maid:

My Cotton Maid (now with real cotton stuffing instead of a brain!):

My Mental-patient Maids:

My Zombie Maids:

My Hello Kitty Maid:

My Evil Kitty Maid:

And, My Eerily-cute-space-alien Maid:

So, I hope my case is clear by now.   That is to say, I am calling for a quarantine of the entire Akihabara district until this ridiculous trend is eliminated!!

Dude, That's My Agent!

So my awesome literary agent, Ms. Sharlene Martin, has been in the news quite a lot this week.  She was even featured in The New York Times this past Sunday, as Martin was basically the main force behind the repackaging of O.J. Simpson's formerly fuckedup memoir "If I Did It". 

Ok, I found that book as creepy as anyone when it was first commissioned and subsequently cancelled.  But now that Sharlene is involved in the reshaping of the narrative and adding of commentary, the O.J. book is almost certain to emerge in a far more sensitive, tasteful and socially relevant light.  I know this much because that is just the type of agent. and person, that Sharlene is. 

in which one blogger finds "sanity" atop a toilet seat in a public restroom

That is all.

Insight via Elvis

My eikaiwa-weary T usually has to go into work on Sundays.  Today, however, he got an unexpected day off.  We were trying to figure out what we should do to celebrate, when it hit me: T had never seen "the Harajuku Elvises" before.  To be living here in Tokyo, yet to have never seen the Elvises, is a rare thing indeed.  Still, T-the-overworked usually spends much of the weekend in a classroom while the Elvises only come out on Sundays. 

During the other days of the week, these guys likely masquerade as 'normal,' non-freak-like Japanese men who are getting on in their years.  On Sundays though, at the entrance to Yoyogi Park, they become. . .well. . .break dancing, hair gelling, air-guitar rocking Elvis impersonators:

Unlike the Japanese imperial army soldier over at Yasukuni shrine the other day, the Harajuku elvises tend to prefer beer over chu-hi.

 

In all the free time I suddenly have since I quit drinking, I sometimes contemplate the significance of drinking cultures within different societies.  This scene, in particular, makes me think about the public consumption of alcohol.  Back in America, it would be illegal to drink beer in the open like this.

And with good reason. 

When I was growing up in the States, it seemed like whenever alcohol was served out in the open and people were permitted to drink wherever they wished, it lead to violence and sex crimes.  I am reminded specifically of Woodstock '99 and the Puerto Rican Day parade in 2000 (but perhaps my memory is dated, as I refer to events that occurred around the time I left New York for college in Montreal.) 

In Japan though, the public consumption of alcohol does NOT tend to end in violence to the same extent that it does in other countries.  I have no idea why this is true; it is something I'll have to look into.  And in this case at least, the Japanese seem to be channeling their energy out into a much more healthy, if bizarre, outlet. 

Anyway, whether you agree with me or not, pictures!

Also: homoerotic tendencies.  Damned if I know what that's about.

pinky, the ghetto care bear

I had to go to the doctor today in Shibuya, to get a new prescription for birth control.  Here in Japan, my prescription for the pill has to be renewed every month.  As a result, I've never made so many meaningless trips to the doctor's office in my life.  It's become like a ritual.  First I wait for an hour in the waiting room, then when my number is finally called I walk into his office and say "same as last month."  He says "ok," checks some boxes on the computer screen at his desk then clicks his mouse on "enter," and I am out in less than a minute.  Seriously, I think we spoke for less than 30 seconds today.  Birth control is not covered by my national health insurance, but in a country where the health minister has referred to women as "birth-giving-machines," on record, what can you really expect.

At least I got through the process more quickly than I usually do.  The waiting room was not nearly as crowded as usual, seeing as a lot of people are on holiday this week.  I was running pretty far ahead of schedule, with two whole hours to kill before I had to be at my AA meeting this evening in Roppongi.  I had my camera with me, so I thought I might lurk around Shibuya and take pictures of weird things.  But I decided against it, because everyone else had the same idea.  Everyone takes pictures in Shibuya.  And I swear, every other person in Shibuya was holding a camera today.

So instead of staying in Shibuya for a good hour of random street photography, I hopped the Yamanote line and got off a few stops over in Shinjuku.  Heading out the East exit, I emerged in Kabukicho.  Not too many people go around snapping photos on the streets of Kabukicho.  Maybe they're scared to.  Kabukicho after all, is considered to be the most dangerous neighborhood in Tokyo.  And yet, to be "the most dangerous" neighborhood in a city where virtually nobody (but senior gang members) owns a gun, says basically nothing.   

Still, it is more or less a red light district that is overrun with yakuza.  "Kabuki" refers to the traditional Japanese theater, while "cho" means town.  That said, the district's name evokes referrences to a time in the nation's history when theater actors were synonymous with prostitutes.

And now, you are about to witness the heart of the Tokyo Ghetto.  You have been warned.

Can you find Winnie-the-Pooh hiding in the enterance to this sex shop??

And here we have the back of a host. 

                  

Hosts can easily be spotted in the area.  Just look for their giant, overstyled hair. 

The building at the end of the road that looks like an enchanted castle is a love hotel.  Kabukicho is known for those, too.

I can't decide which job would be worse: a Kabukicho host, or that pink bear.  That suit's gotta be hot in this heat wave.  And I thought the salarymen had it bad. . .

Ok, that's enough for today.  Byebye from Tokyo Ghettoland!!

      

      

Yasukuni, Interrupted

Yasukuni. . .enshrines roughly 2.5 million soldiers, airmen, and seamen, many of whom were inspired by the belief that their spirit be enshrined should they die in battle fighting heroically for the Emperor. More importantly to Korea and China, two countries that suffered the wrath of Japan's military might over a half-century ago, it also memorializes 14 Class-A war criminals, including wartime Prime Minister Hideki Tojo.

-From the unfortunately titled yet grudgingly informative website "sake-drenched postcards"

Wherever I went, people asked me what I was doing there.  And honestly, I didn't really know what I was doing there either.  I had the day off, and going to see that controversial war shrine everyone's talking about on the anniversary of Japan's surrender, seemed like the thing to do.

People kept asking me questions.  People with big cameras and long fuzzy microphones.  They wanted to know why I came to Yasukuni shrine on that day specifically.

The same reason as you, I wanted to say, I'm here to disengage from the tragedies of man's inhumanity to man during the Second World War by taking many, many pictures.  Besides, did they think I didn't watch the news?

But I didn't say any of that.  I didn't say anything of substance at all, really.    At 40 degrees Celsius, it was too hot to think.  I sounded stupid; I'm sure I sounded stupid.  Even if I didn't sound stupid, they will make me sound stupid.  I've done enough interviews already (although usually about my hostess work) to realize that much.

But whatever.  Those are their stories, and this is mine.

Coming out of Kudanshita station and walking towards the shrine, I saw the first riot cops I'd ever encountered on my long tour here.  There weren't any disturbances, yet I was surrounded by right-wing zealots in army uniforms. 

To be fair, most Japanese people I know denounce their own militaristic past and are not xenophobic with respect to foreign nationals.  And yet, there are also guys like this:

I don't get this dude.  He is holding up a sign that says "No Suffrage for Foreigners," and is collecting signatures to what is presumably the same end.  And yet, who said we wanted to vote in Japanese elections??  I've not heard anything of non-Japanese passport holders making such demands before.  Me, I'd be happy just to walk down the street without being gawked at.  Dude seems to be feeling overly threatened by anything that is Different from him today.

There were also lots of Yakuza about, gangsters who are well known to be affiliated with right-wing groups.  Yakuza are highly recognizable anywhere, mostly because they walk around like they own the streets, perm their hair, and dress like this:

Getting closer to the shrine, though, I encountered more and more people who seem to have come for more legitimate reasons.  They tended to be quite a bit older, and could conceivably be coming to pay their respects to fallen friends and relatives.

 

Yet at the same time, i could not get far without bumping into far younger visitors of the ultra-right wing nationalist variety, dressed in full military regalia.  In short, these are the kids who grew up reading those compulsory history textbooks which are still criticized for their stark omissions.  As a result, they tend to confuse the word "invasion" with "liberation," "massacre" with "incident," and "institutionalized mass rape" with "prostitution".

This particular soldier is openly drinking a can of lemon chu-hi.  I'm guessing that the strong alcoholic beverage can hit a soldier pretty hard  in this heat.

I used to love chu-hi, mainly because it could get me very, very drunk.  Some friends used to nickname me chu-hi-chan, even, because I was always holding one of those cans. 

 

And yet, guess which one of us is sober. . .

Please note that my smile in the above photo is far more nervous than mocking.  Dude's got a sword, after all.