Geisha, Interrupted

progress or whatever

I've just woken up on a drizzly Sunday morning to a headline in The Japan Times the likes of: Survey shows 52% oppose wives staying home alone.

At a glance, I wasn't sure what it was supposed to mean.  Could 52% of the Japanese people truly believe that a wife should not be trusted to be "home alone" and thus requires some kind of adult babysitting service while their husbands were out all day and night??  Are you thinking what I'm thinking? ? ? ? ? ?

(so photoshop isn't my forte yet, but I'm learning)

All that seems a bit extreme, even for Japanistan.  But I've been shocked before.

Thankfully however, the article has nothing to do with adult babysitting and instead contains some hopeful news.  That is to say:

The number of people opposed to the idea of a wife staying at home while her husband works has passed 50 percent for the first time, a Cabinet Office survey showed Saturday.

In a government survey taken in 1979, those opposed to the idea of a wife staying at home stood at 20 percent while those who supported it stood at 72 percent.

In the latest nationwide survey, the opposition rate came in at 52 opposition rate came in at 52 percent.

The survey, conducted in July and August, received responses from 3,118 adults.

According to the results, 46 percent of men and 57 percent of women oppose the idea of wives staying at home.

Before we break out the sparkling cider, however, check out the last paragraph.

The survey also showed, however, that although the majority of respondents were opposed to women staying at home, 85 percent of respondents said that the wives were cooking the meals.

So a good percentage of "the opposition," here, or those who don't believe that women should stay at home alone all day long, also assume that these same carreer women will nonetheless have dinner waiting for them each night. Instead of having any sort of Choice between homemaking or an outside carreer, the survey suggests that women should have to do both. 

Is this progress? 

I really can't tell.

Welcome to the modern world, Japanistan.

The Bridge of Eternity

This is the Eitaibashi.

Beautiful, isn't she?  I am fortunate enough to live very close to the site from which this photo was taken.  To say that I'm obsessed with this bridge in an understatement.  I am infatuated by her tumultuous past and completely taken in by her luminous present to an extent that borders on codependency.

Somebody asked me once, whilst I was expressing my undying love for this bridge (as usual) why I'm so sure that the bridge should take the female pronoun. 

"Look at all the traffic she carries on her back," I replied, "and yet she still has time to look graceful and pretty.  Definitely a chick." 

                                                                     

Eitaibashi means the "bridge of eternity".  She was built in the year 1698 to commemorate the fiftieth birthday of the Godai shogun.  True to her namesake the Eitaibashi holds strong to this day, linking the neighborhoods of Fukagawa and Nihonbashi across the Sumida River.

Though not without incident. 

Eitai's first notable disaster occurred during the Fukagawa Hachimon festival in 1807, when she collapsed (effectively ending the party).   Then during the Ansei era (1854-59), a particularly calamitous time in the city's history which witnessed a devastating earthquake, a major rainstorm, heavy gales, flooding, and tsunami and fires, the Eitaibashi was quite literally washed away.  Then in 1923, the bridge was scorched along with the rest of the city in the tremendous fire storms that ensued directly after the Great Kanto Earthquake. 

It seems like no matter how many times the bridge is brought down, Tokyoites will just take the disaster as an indication to start building again.

The other night there was a full moon over the bridge, which likely drove me a little mad as it inspired...

Eitaibashi at The End of The World: a trippy photo essay featuring Eitaibashi, the moon, and a very shaky hand. . .

 

 

 

 

 

The Decline of Sexy Hair in Japanese Politics

Having sexy hair has always been an important factor in becoming the Prime Minister of Japan.  At least since I've been here, anyway. 

If you want to avert direct criticism, avoid important topics altogether or appear uncontroversial in a political arena (and all this happens surprisingly often if you are Japanese!) then there is no better diversion than sexy hair.

Remember old Koizumi?  His portrait makes me nostalgic for the days when media such as Asiaweek.com found it relevant to report that:

Women's magazines have labeled Koizumi attractive, sexy even. He is slender, tall and boyish. . .That hairstyle is no accident...Koizumi has the front permed four times a year. Recently, he consulted the barber on whether he should dye his grayish hair a lighter color, or maybe restore it to black.

After Koizumi stepped down, many had high hopes that Shinzo Abe could be just as sexy in the face of political pressures.

In a much referred to statement, political commentator Minoru Morita observed that: "Abe's popularity isn't so much about his politics. It's about Abe as a person — his ease with the media, youth, personality and handsome looks."

And yet, as we now know, Abe's hair has not been nearly sexy enough to mask the many scandals that plagued his stint as Japan's Prime Minister.

Throughout his term, the public has been subject to constant observations that Abe's hairstyle just doesn't measure up to that of Koizumi.

And now, as of today, we have the new guy: Yasuo Fukuda.

Such a blatant lack of sexy hair really makes one nostalgic for the Koizuminator. 

Today marks the end of an era.

romancing the lifeless

Compared to hostesses, nightclub "hosts" here in Tokyo tend to start work later in the night.  Perhaps it's because hostesses are notorious for hitting up host bars after work, where the women pay to be romanced and catored to by men whom they often choose from a menu. And compared to their female counterparts, hosts usually need to consume a greater quantity of alcohol in order to remain employed.  Their job is to fit a masculine stereotype, after all.  These hosts themselves do not finish work until well past dawn, when the aftereffects of their livelihoods are displayed in plain sight.

On the left of the below snapshot, one such nightclub host is being embraced in the middle of a crowded Kabukicho intersection.  This man retains his lifelessly "cool" posture while his head is slumped over the shoulder of a young woman.  She is either his girlfriend or his customer.  It's hard to guess which, even in the daylight.  A fellow host looks on with an aura of impatience.

When the lights change again, I realize that this man is not actually lost in an emotional embrace.  Instead, he can't move.  He has passed out on her shoulder in the middle of the street, and the light is about to turn green. 

Dude, not cool.  I think so much to myself, looking on as the other host quickly hails a cab and the unconscious man is carried inside of it safely.  Safe until evening at least, when he will start getting paid by the bottle again.

I didn't do it!!!

Today I read in the news that a "crazy lady" stormed the ring during a sumo tournament here in Tokyo this week. 

"It's bad for the heart," commented the wrestler who had to help remove the woman just as he was about to begin a match, presumably blind to the irony that his own diet may not be ideal for the vascular system either.

The news left me feeling a mixture of curiosity and relief.  I was curious about the woman's motives, which are only alluded to slightly in the article.   I also felt an odd sense of gratitude that this "crazy lady" wasn't me. 

No really.  There was a time when I was convinced that I could get away with absolutely anything in this country, and seriously, this is just the type of thing I would have tried (though I doubt I could have stumbled past security).

If I were to have learned that, as the article states:

Tradition forbids women from entering the ring on the grounds that it is  sacred and their presence, considered unclean, would pollute it.

after a few drinks, storming the ring would have seemed a perfectly acceptable method for addressing said issue.

Instead though, I was watching the sumo match on the other side of town, immersed in the new hobby which has replaced constant intoxication: taking pictures of pictures of pictures.

And while we're on the subject, here's a list of a few other things I didn't do.

Drunk pulls Shinkansen lever, delays train

Wasn't me.  Heck, I can't even afford to ride the shink anymore, now that there are no clients to take me along on business trips as their 'drunken white girl' mascot. 

Hostesses scam drunk customers

Not I, said the Lea.  I was at home that night, as I am most nights, translating an epic dialogue between a winged cat and an evil dragon car.

Drunken comedian bites friend's ear

Wasn't me either, all my friends' ears remain firmly attached to their heads, thank you very much.

the state of feminism in Japan...

as articulated by snapshots from a popular television commercial.

For mascara.

Joji Obara's Lawyers Eat Babies, Part II

Just one more thing I wanted to mention, via the waste of cyberspace known as "The Truth of Lucie's Case".

Obara is currently serving a life sentence in prison for the drugging and raping of nine women.  One of whom, Australian model Carita Ridgeway, was also killed as a result of his poisoning in 1992.  Obara videotaped these encounters and kept detailed journals that described his use of chloroform to drug his victims.  At one point he even wrote that he "can't get turned on anymore by conscious women".

One would think that such hard evidence would shut up even the most baby-hungry of defense lawyers.  But nope, below we have the defense's version of such events, through what is again, their twisted view of what is relevant.

 

. . .To "play" with, the accused preferred non-Japanese bar hostesses who were drug-addicted, punk women (with a mean personality), known as "bitches." Sue, a non-Japanese woman of misbehaviors, introduced  to the accused such women for him to play with. He also chose his "play partners" from those women searching for some male company over the phone. In such a case, the accused preferred waist-less, plumpy women who were often compared to a pig or a hippopotamus. Under a mask, Obara had his nasty "play" with such ugly women, as clarified  at court.

As it happens, Obara also seemed to prefer "waiste-less" and "plumpy" defense attorneys.  Below, I've managed to find a photograph of a man called Yasuo Shiomiya, the leader of Obara's defense team.

No really, that is actually what his face looks like. 

What a %#@-ing  ##$% %$$# triple chin #@#?#  $$% ^%$#@hippo @#!!#$% %?%$#@ castration!!! 

(Sorry for the profanities, I am one of those punk women known as "bitches.")

Also, I can't decide:

Is it a pig?

Or a hippopotamus???

Attack of the Heinously Irrelevant

(Warning: this entry may be too upsetting for those who get especially unnerved by the actions of stupid, sexist fucks.)

They are the type of defense attorneys who eat babies for breakfast.

You know the kind I mean.  And now, as if it weren't enough to get Joji Obara off the hook for the rape and murder of Lucie Blackman (the British bar hostess who was killed here seven years ago), they've now published a lengthy documentary which appears to serve no purpose other than to further tarnish the poor woman's name.

Although the book does not explicitly say that it was put together by Obara's cronies, it was.  Its pages are composed largely of evidence submitted to court by the defense, exhibits which were consequently thrown out by a judge who ultimately deemed them irrelevant.   The book also bears a striking resemblance to a website called The truth of Lucie's case which I know for a fact to be published by "a friend of Obara".

And really, who else would headline a book about a man who has been convicted of serial rape and manslaughter (though he was cleared of all counts relating to Blackman) with what translates to: "THE TRUTH ABOUT LUCIE'S CASE: the struggle of Joji Obara (who has an IQ of 180) vs. an elite prosecution team..."

Basically, this "documentary" is heinously irrelevant.  The evidence it presents has absolutely no bearing on Obara's guilt or innocence (fyi: he's guilty!).  All the while, these pages serve as a disgusting commentary on the conservative end of a society's attitudes towards both women and foreigners.

Take the first few pages, where we are greeted photos of a blond foreign woman inside of Obara's apartment.  She is cutting up and injecting herself with heroin.  She is not Lucie. 

To our author's credit, he admits in fine print that the woman in the opening photos is not the girl the book is supposed to be about. "This is a hostess named T," it reads, "she knew Lucie.  Here she is using heroin. . ."

And yet, it is unlikely that she and Lucie even knew each other at all, as in one of the photos, someone forgot to erase the date in the corner (June 15, 1995).  This is five years before Blackman's murder.

And why is T even relevant again?  Is it because all foreigners look the same? Or maybe because all foreigners do the drugs?  Either is plausible when you eat babies for breakfast...

I don't have time to describe all the contents of the book in detail, so I'll just skip to the part that enrages and saddens me the most: the reprinting of Lucie Blackman's Tokyo diaries as evidence.  I have seen these entries before, on the website I referred to above.

The journal entries are submitted with psychiatric commentary, concluding that Lucie suffered from a manic depressive disorder.  Again, as if it were relevant. 

To me, her journal entries seem pretty normal. 

Below, I have posted exhibits "A" "B" and "C" (A-F are available on the website itself)
of the diaries below.  They were presented to the court by the defense in an effort to paint a picture of the victim as a mentally unstable 'bimbo,' subsequently  thrown out of court, then reprinted in the defense's website and book.

While anyone who is not a complete dolt can easily see that none of this should be evidence in a murder trial, I must remark that instead exhibits A, B and C have everything to do with what working at a Tokyo hostess bar will do to the 21-year-old female psyche.

To be honest, I have read Lucie Blackman's journal entries over and over again throughout the past year or so.  And since getting sober, I have read them with a strong desire to reach into the pages, pull the young woman  out and shake some self-confidence into her.  Then, upon reflection that a good shaking is not likely to work so well, I've wanted to pull her from the pages and just hug her tightly instead.

Yet there are predators in this world, like Obara, who seem to have a sixth sense for finding young women who feel lost, as many of us do, for these are the women who are likely to make the worst decisions with respect to their own safety. 

And he got to her first.

 

The Milk Restoration

In which a billboard for "Meiji" brand milk flashes red and white lights over the Sumida river while traditional cruise boats- lit by red and green paper lanterns- float past . . .

New Toy Alert!

So I was in Akihabara the other day, trying to ignore all the maids, when I decided to get a USB device that allows me to pick up Japanese TV reception on my computer.  I can also record stuff and take snapshots (although I don't know how to convert the video files yet.)  Anyways, I used my new toy to view a program just now called "waratte ii tomo".  This is a game show that I've been following on and off since I first moved to Japan.  The title may as well translate to: "extremely famous people doing extremely stupid things for our amusement at lunchtime".  When I worked in an office, this show- which airs from 12 to 1pm, was always playing in the lunchroom during our break.  It was as if the program's specific purpose was to make us forget about our mundane jobs by showing us the most ridiculous things the producers could possibly think of.

Such as this altered version of charades.

Famous dude below is supposed to imitate a "sexy Indian woman":

Now he's supposed to act like his ass is on fire:

And this is him as Louis XIV:

So viewer, have you forgotten that your job is pointless yet?  If not, maybe it's time for some life-sized Jenga...