Guest Blogspot

I did a guest post over at The Canary's Tusks. It's about POOP!

Ringo (Apples)

The label of a bag of locally grown apples I purchased:

The whole group of people who "made" my apples! They all look so serious. Apparently, apples is serious bidness.

Tsukimi

We had a beautiful clear night Sunday, which was perfect for Tsukimi (moon viewing). I bought mochi cakes and brought in some Susuki (Pampas) grass for seasonal decor.
The moon as seen from the balcony of my house.

My tatami room.Mochi. The yellow ones have white bean filling in them. The pink and green ones have red bean.The Japanese don't see a man in the moon, they see an usagi (rabbit).Stems of Susuki grass.
Susuki grass fronds.
I enjoyed a cup of matcha (green tea) with my mochi. Since green tea is sort of bitter, it goes nicely with the mochi. The chawan, or tea bowl, dates from the end of the Meiji era (about 1926). Ume (plum) blossoms are usually a late winter theme, but I like this bowl a lot and wanted to use it.

Huh?

What happened to this week!
Um, yeah.

In the Middle

It's the middle of the week.
I completely lost track. Sorry, no interesting posts.
My life is completely banal and bourgeoise, mostly.

Fall is Coming

The leaves haven't yet changed, but the stores are putting out the fall food, including Kirin Aki (Fall) Beer!

It's now still dark at 4:30 am and the quality of light has changed, too.

Looking forward to the change of seasons/scenery.

Teto Teto (hedgehog)

Teto Teto (hedgehog)
Originally uploaded by bakagaijiin

I spent the whole weekend knitting.
I made two scarves, a headband a pair of wristwarmers AND
I made a hedgehog!
I so need a life.

The Analog Game Japanese Version

Has nothing to do with digital - the usage of analog here is in the "bearing some resemblance" sense of the word.

My mother is notorious for pointing out people who look like other family members. For example: watching Rockford Files, Mom noted that James Garner "looks like Uncle Mark!" and on Dynasty, Linda Evans made her think of my Aunt Kate. Mom found look-alikes everywhere on TV shows, models in magazines and fliers, actors in movies and even random people on the street. This habit was picked up by my brother (for a while) and me. It got so bad that one evening, while all of us were watching a movie (on VHS! Kids, remember that?) my father turned to us and roared "They look like ACTORS! Shut up and watch the goddamm movie!"

Well, guess what? The game works here in Japan. I've seen Japanese analogues for a number of my family and friends:

My maternal grandmother
My paternal grandmother
My paternal grandfather
My father (which was weird)
My mother
My brother
Me (only from the back, she had the same haircut and color, and dressed in a style similar to what I like but was definitely Japanese. Chris pointed her out. I found it gave me a distinct sense of unease to be walking behind "myself")
My cousin Matt
My Aunt Den
Chris' dad
Chris' brother Tim
Chris' brother Gee
Chip F. (gets even weirder, because Chip looks like a really thin version of my dad, who hated the game, as previously mentioned)
Don S. (although we are not sure if it counts, because he's Chinese)
Ben L. (again, not sure if it counts, he's Chinese, too)
Ron R.
Randy L.
Chris W.
Mike E.
Chris S.
Rebecca C.
Scott B.
James T.
The Individual Formerly Known as Spouse
Dr. D
Ernie L.
Fran V.
The guy at the tollbooth here in Misawa who looks exactly like Hiro from HEROES (we weren't the only ones who noticed this either - the whole office was talking about it one morning. Not sure if it counts as he's already Japanese. Maybe that makes it a meta-analogue or something?)

I'm sure there's some I've forgotten, but you get my drift.

Hump Day

Just trying to make it through the week. Phew. After two months of being a couch potato, I'm back to working out again and my muscles, joints and bones have nothing nice to say to me or to each other.

Satori no ato ni mo sentaku wo

Satori no ato ni mo sentaku wo

After enlightment, the laundry.

Since I am nowhere near satori, after the laundry, there's the dishes, the dusting, the vacuuming, the yardwork, etc.

Calligraphy from a local artist, done at my request. And yes, it's hanging in my laundry room:

Raining Again...

We rarely get thunder and lightning accompanying our rains here, but tonight we did.


Inazuma ni
koboruru oto ya
take no tsuyu

A flash of lightening!
The sound of drops
Falling among the bamboos.

- Buson

WTFO?

Maybe it's the two weeks of grey weather. Maybe something's in retrograde. Whatever the hell it is, it's making everyone cranky and work has been awful. I managed to escape being bruised, but the Amish Ninja totally got crapped on. Thank goodness it's a short week. Everyone needs some sun, some happy, and some drinks.

An informal poll has revealed that most of my friends have been getting pretty drinky lately.
One of them was like "Oh, good, it's not just me."

Speaking of drinky, I need to go make myself another stripey cocktail.

Misawa City Festival - 50th Anniversary

Misawa has a City Festival every August. This one was extra special in that Misawa City is celebrating its 50th Anniversary.

There was a three hour long parade down the newly-renovated White Pole Street (which should be renamed simply White Street as the poles are long gone now), ending at the newly-dedicated American Park. More stuff in the Misawa City Festival Flickr Set.

The guys from the office volunteered to carry a mikoshi (float). Here's short clip:

Happy Friday

Happy Friday! for no reason other than it is Friday and the weekend has begun.

My mom, living in Cape Canaveral (Brevard County), Florida...is neither flooded nor hurricaned-out. Mom's boyfriend is making good recovery from a minor stroke (minor stroke? Is there such a thing?)

I made up three care packages, for friends that seem to need a pick-me-up.

Sylvia made it to the top of Mount Fuji!

I bought the makings for gelato (wonderful local eggs and milk, and superfine sugar) to be made tomorrow and picked up three bunches of flowers at the farmer's market, including some of my favorites, Gerbera Daisies. So Cheery!

And IT HAS FINALLY STOPPED RAINING.
Thank you.
That is all.

Rainy Days and Wednesdays and Paella

I guess we're squarely facing the end of our "two weeks" of summer here. The quality of the light is changing, and I've noticed susuki beginning to sprout. It's pretty much been raining since the post about incense, although it changed from intermittent showers to a constant steady drizzle and the temprature had dropped about 10 degrees. I think we've been in the 60 to 65F range all week.

Weather like this calls for something heartier than just cold soba salad or cold tofu or all the other cold, light dishes I associate with summer. So here's a veggie and rice dish, along the idea of paella. My buddy DS posts pictures of the meals he makes, so I thought Iwould do, too.

Asparagus, yellow squash, zuke, tomatoes, artichokes, peas and carrots. Seasoned with bay, paprika, saffron, salt and pepper. Made with the local rice. It came out pretty tasty, which is good, it made so much that I'll be eating it for the next few days (Chris didn't like it - too vegetable-y).

Dinner with the Watts Tachi

We went to dinner on Saturday with Sylvia's family and had a blast.
I think Okonomiyaki is my favorite Japanese food item, right after mochi.
We had a lot of fun! See?

Settled and Smelly

Well, our contractual issues are settled, for the time being, anyway. Our contract here as been extended to December 31, 2008. We've decided to stay at least that long. It's quite possible the contract may be extended further. In that case, we will also extend.

It's been raining for a week straight again and it's been hot and muggy. Everything has begun to smell musty. I can understand how Kodo (Art of Incense) evolved here, now. I just used up the last of some amazing (and expensive) incense we purchased in Osaka. With the heavy, humid air the fragance stays around but not overwhelmingly so and the house smells good in a subtle way (not like GLADE or PINE SOL arrggggh). Of course, Kodo is highly ritualized and I certainly don't practice it properly, with the stand and charcoal, whatnot, et cetera, but do try to put some thought into the fragrance I pick and even the incense holder. Kodo Light for Gaijin, I guess.

I use different incense at different times of the day or even of the year and in different parts of the house. Right now, I am using a very sensual-smelling incense in the bedroom (bow-chicka-bow-bow) with notes of fennel and olibanum, (better known as frankincense) among other things. It has a deep, chocolatey sort of smell and is incredible, lush with out being heavy and interesting without being overly complicated. It's smooth and deep and I can sometimes pick up similar notes in the port wine I occasionally drink.

Ideally for the bedroom I prefer something with notes of lavender, because the scent of lavender is soporific, but that's cancelled out by the fact that lavender seems to trigger an allergy response in the spouse, causing him to snore and cancel out any of the sleep-assisting benefits I get from the lavender.

While lavender is relaxing, citrusy notes are invigorating, I had incense with lime and pepper notes and I liked using it in the mornings on the weekend, when I would be working in the home office - updating blogs, uploading to flickr, making care packages to send. I need to order some more of that.

I use aloeswood downstairs in the living room quite often. One of my favorite scents is no longer made - it contained notes of blackberry and wasabi. That was good for the living room, too.

I rarely use any incense in the tatami room, as I like the smell of the reed mats on their own. I will occasionally use a bit of sandalwood to freshen the room - in the rainy season, sometimes the mats will start to smell a little sour.

While my asian friends complain if I use sandalwood (they say it smells like a temple and usually a buddhist one at that and buddhist rites are associated with funerals here), I use sandalwood a lot as it is calming and there are claims it is antiseptic, as well. I learned the hard way not to use cheap-ass sandalwood either. You can smell the difference!

One more unusual way I've used sandalwood incense is to "smoke" my Kendo armor before testing. On the advice of a hippy-dippy aquaintance, I figured I'd give my armor a good smoking not only to get the smell out but to also "purify" it before I tested for my blackbelt. Usually you can't beat kendo gear for sheer, powerful stank (with the possible exception of ice hockey gear), no matter how carefully you keep it. To my suprise, the sandalwood smoke did help both with the smell and my nerves.

Much later, I found out that samurai often used to do the same thing, so that if they were to die on the battlefield, they would smell good. I think the ritual aspect of the incense helped me more than anything, combined with the fact that I had to prep the armor prior to smoking it, so I knew my armor looked good and was in top condition prior to the test. That and the nice scent of the sandalwood calmed me a lot.

I burned some the other day called "Hane" - the stick itself was sort of a powder grey color and one of the notes I detected reminded of how down comforters smell. "Hane" is the word for "feather". =) it wasn't quite right for summer...but it will be perfect for late-fall-going-into-winter.

I have a couple of really pretty incense burners, purchased throughout Japan. The fanciest one I have was a gift from my Kimono Sensei, and is gold plated. I have one that looks like an eggplant and a handmade glass one that looks like a piece of candy.

I also lost one of the points off of my angled bob haircut last summer, trying to peek into one of the burners as I was lighting some incense. NO amount of incense will get rid of the of stench of burnt hair.

Escape Velocity

Written as a "biography" excerise for a writing class I took several years ago. Not great, but my brother enjoyed it.

Escape Velocity

In astronomy and space exploration, the velocity that is sufficient for a body to escape from a gravitational centre of attraction without undergoing any further acceleration. Escape velocity decreases with altitude and is equal to the square root of 2 (or about 1.414) times the velocity necessary to maintain a circular orbit at the same altitude. At the surface of the Earth, if atmospheric resistance could be disregarded, escape velocity would be about 11.2 km (6.96 miles) per second. The velocity of escape from the less massive Moon is about 2.4 km per second at its surface. A planet (or satellite) cannot long retain an atmosphere if the planet's escape velocity is low enough to be near the average velocity of the gas molecules making up the atmosphere. Encyclopædia Britannica

In 1973, the year my brother was conceived, many people in Buffalo, New York watched the Senate Watergate Hearings on TV. Far away, the last American troops pulled out of Vietnam. Secretariat won the Triple Crown. The year my brother was conceived was the same year that Roe vs. Wade legalized abortion nationwide.

In 1974, the year my brother was born, Buffalo was dying, beginning the transmutation into the hollow Rust Belt hulk it is now. Bethlehem Steel closed plants. The General Motors Engine factory cut jobs. Businesses moved to the Sun Belt. The same year my brother was born, roughly 36,000 people in Buffalo were unemployed.

Everybody tries to leave Buffalo. People swear “ This is it!” as they hunker down for one last winter as cold and icy as Dante’s seventh level of Hell, only to find that by spring they have developed a layer of rust that corrodes their will and binds them in a ferrous-oxide clinch to the half-dead city. There’s a resistance to leaving, even if the place is killing you mentally, spiritually, financially. You need big-ass booster rockets of determination and no small amount of luck to leave.

My family has a huge, bristling arsenal of embarrassing stories about each other and is so trigger-happy, they will launch them whenever there’s a window of opportunity. Except one--one tale is completely off-limits. It is so taboo that it has only been spoken of once.

The tale is that my brother, William Roy Trautman (Bill), was an accident. He was conceived, as far as Mom can recall, one May evening on the bathroom floor. I was planned; my kid brother was a surprise. I still believe that fate compensated him for his “accidental” arrival. In the Cosmic Diner of Life, my brother got an extra helping of serenity and an extra helping of charisma. He also got the karmic equivalent of a bottomless cup of coffee – an absolutely unending shitload of good luck.

Bill’s first “lucky accident” was actually precipitated by me when he was a toddler. Trying to teach him to walk, I gave him a helpful push, which landed him in our huge, 1970’s console TV. There was glass and blood and Mom was screaming. Had Bill fallen a little differently, he would have lost an eye.

The worst that came of the accident was five stitches in Bill’s forehead, right between his eyes. Mom says Bill was so calm that even the doctor remarked on it. Bill still has the scar, although it’s gotten fainter over the last twenty-five years. He has never held the incident against me.

Amazingly, Bill went through the rest of his childhood unscathed. It wasn’t until vehicles became involved that his uncanny luck poured forth. In 1989, barely an hour after getting his driver’s license, Bill lost control of the family Nissan. He had attempted to take a curve at 80 miles an hour on winter-slick Buffalo roads. The car went skidding, spinning around and around with a perverse grace, a steel skater on an asphalt rink. A telephone pole suddenly shot into view. Just as suddenly, the car inexplicably slowed and straightened out. Had this not occurred, the collision would have broken the telephone pole and brought it crashing down on Bill’s head, really getting rid of the scar from those long-ago stitches. Bill was undamaged, but the Nissan was not. Right down the middle of the passenger’s side was a neat crease, like a fancy folded sheet-metal napkin. Nobody saw the accident, so Bill drove away. When he got home, Bill lied to Mom about the incident saying he had skidded in a parking lot and whacked some trashcans. Cosmic luck and teary-eyed looks let him get away with it. On top of that, Mom told Dad SHE had dented the car, so Dad wouldn’t be mad at Bill.

Four years later, a very powerful Toyota Supra replaced the Nissan. It was a cool car, cooler now that Dad had just finished painting it. The red, sex-shiny paint was still “soft” when my brother roared out of the garage and down the gravel driveway in a ZZZRRRRRRRRing reverse wind. The car (and Bill) slid off the driveway and brushed against a flanking tree. This scraped off the fresh paint job and a nanosecond later, completely removed the entire right side of the car. Dad had been watching my brother pull away, admiring his work. Dad was a man prone to explosive fits of rage and the wanton destruction of his first-class paint job should have made him go ballistic. Instead, he just ambled over to survey the situation and seeing that Bill was uninjured, simply shrugged and motioned for the car to be put back in the garage. Four days later, after all the repair work was done, my brother slowly backed down the driveway and into a ditch, removing the entire rear fender. Dad put the fender back on and never mentioned it again.

Just when it seemed Bill’s luck had run out, it would replenish itself. In summmer 1993, Bill was motorcycling through scenic Niagara Falls, Canada. It was dusk and a little chilly, so he decided to pull over and put on his jacket. As he was doing so, he hit a gravel wash and the bike lost traction.

Both parties, Bill and Bike, fell down but did not completely part ways. The bike provided Bill with companionship by skidding right alongside him; moments later the bike deserted Bill and slid clankingly into a ditch. Parts of the bike that had rubbed along the road were ground down to nothing. Parts of Bill had also rubbed along the road--for 300 feet, going more than 30 miles an hour.

Most of us have accidentally rubbed our fingers while grating cheese. Well, take that grater and rub it really, really, hard and really, really fast over most of your body. Alternatively, picture a young man, roughly 5’6 and 140 pounds. Now picture him made out of ground beef. There were no witnesses but that also meant no one around to offer help. However, aside from being one giant-sized walking rugburn, Bill was not injured. Oozing and woozy, he staggered to a payphone a mile down the road and called his girlfriend to please come get him. He waited by the side of that road for almost an hour, quietly scabbing over.

Bill was taken right to the doctor, who having gotten one look at him, immediately dispatched Bill to Burn Treatment where Bill had the gravel scrubbed out of him. This was done twice a week for several weeks. The usual procedure involved a sadistic nurse and, Bill swears, a wire brush. Bill’s injury should have resulted in severe scarring, but he healed perfectly, skin soft and smooth.

Sometime later, there was a call from the Canadian Police. They had found a motorcycle abandoned in a ditch and traced its owner—one William Roy Trautman. Bill explained what had happened. The police explained that Bill had left the scene of the accident and they were citing him for it. There was a court hearing but the charges were dismissed as the judge ruled that Bill had been in shock and therefore unaware of his actions. Only Bill and I know that he was also drunk the night of the accident.

At least where vehicles were concerned, Bill seemed to be moving at high enough speeds to shoot him right off the face of the earth, let alone out of his hometown. But on further reflection, vehicles had been effective only in getting him in accidents, instead of getting him out of Buffalo. Now, college seemed to be the answer.

Bill went away to school in fall of 1993. He flunked out two semesters later. He simply preferred being with his friends to being in classes. He returned home in spring of 1994.

From 1996 to 1998, Bill blasted off. He joined a band talented enough to get regular gigs touring around the United States and make a decent living at it. Our family, ever dubious that this was a “real” job, reluctantly deemed Bill successful, even if he was a musician. I thought it was ...well, glamorous compared to my nine-to-five.

One night, I got a call. Bill was in some awful bar behind several feet of barbed wire and four inches of bulletproof Plexiglas. He was calling in case he didn’t make it out of the gig alive. Bill wanted to make sure that someone would know where to go to claim the body…if the body was ever found. As luck would have it, Bill lived. He even made some friends in a part of a city where people would kill you for just accidentally making eye contact.

In awful situations, Bill maintained a Zen-like composure--something no one else seemed capable of doing. While touring, the band’s truck broke down in Valdosta, Georgia. The rest of the band freaked out. Bill looked at it as a vacation from the road.

The first day of “vacation” was relaxing, even though the band ended up staying at what Bill swears was the “Bates Motel.” The second day was okay, too. But by the fourth day it had turned into “exile” and everyone had developed a thousand-yard stare and was looking through the dry, kudzu-choked pit that had once been the motel pool. On the fifth day, Bill discovered a flabby basketball amongst the music equipment. Ever resourceful, Bill stole a wastebasket, nailed it onto the railing of the motel’s second floor, and shot hoops. On evening of the sixth day, Bill set out to find a bar. One was said to be “down the road a-ways.” As he walked along, Bill saw a pack of huge dogs. He noticed that most of the dogs looked like a cross between a heart-stoppingly ugly Rottweiller and the Hound of the Baskervilles. The dogs noticed Bill. The pack growled and bristled, but hung back. Something told Bill not to run but to just keep walking. Suddenly, salvation loomed just ahead in the form of a lumpy shape in the dusk -- the bar! Bill bolted in, just as the dogs went crazy.

Bill slammed the door behind him, leaving the dogs on the porch, frothing and snapping. It was a “country bar” –a bar in someone’s house, set up in what had been the living and dining rooms. Undaunted, Bill approached the barkeep. “Wow! I just got followed by a pack of really mean-lookin’ dogs! I’ll have whatever’s on tap.” The barkeep pulled a draft for him. “Fellah up the road a bit owns them dawgs. They won’t bother yew, til yew run. Then they’ll give chase and prolly chew yew awl up.” My brother slugged back the beer. “I guess I’ll remember that walking home, then.” “Oh, yeah,” said the barkeep, “Doan walk tew close tew the road’s edge, there’s ‘gators in them ditches.” On day seven, the truck was finally repaired and my brother got out the hell out of Valdosta, Georgia. That was pretty much the beginning of the end of Bill’s professional music career. Mechanical breakdowns were one thing, mad dogs and alligators were another.

Shortly after Valdosta, Bill moved with some friends to Rochester, NY and started looking for a “real” job. Unemployment in Rochester is minimally lower than in Buffalo; Bill was in for a long search. Or so it was thought. After being in Rochester all of a few days, Bill walked into a small hardware store and found that they needed help. My brother had worked in a hardware store before, so he had plenty of experience. This store also did small appliance repair. My brother has a brain for all things mechanical and proved an exceptional repairman. He was also an exceptional salesman. Old ladies bringing in ancient, wheezing vacuums to be repaired were absolutely charmed by Bill, who sold them tons of stuff they didn’t need, yet refused to let the old ladies buy anything he thought was junk.

In July of 1998, my brother returned to Buffalo for a weekend visit. Bill met up with some buddies, borrowed Dad’s boat and went water skiing. There was a mishap, if that’s what you want to call having your leg come straight up and touch your ear. Medically, it’s called a fracture of the femoral head. It hurt Bill to move, so he didn’t. Two hours later, being in the cold waters of the Niagara River got old; Bill gritted his teeth and pulled himself back into the boat.

At the hospital X-rays showed that, due to the “mishap,” the end of Bill’s tibia was no longer properly held in place--it had popped out of the hip socket and was being hoisted upward by the pull of various muscles. The X-ray technician, somewhat unnecessarily, pointed out that Bill’s left leg was now two inches shorter than his right. But Bill had happened to arrive when the best orthopedic surgeon in the area –the same doctor who treated the Buffalo Bills’ injuries—was on call. This doctor would fix the break by careful endoscopic placement of three two-inch titanium screws. This doctor also mentioned that if the break had been a quarter of an inch longer, it would have required major surgery. Bill was released the same day he had been admitted.

Within three days, Bill was hobbling around on crutches. There were other inconveniences, such as not being able to drive or hold a job. As a result of all this, Bill had to move back into our parents’ house. The only thing that really bothered him was that his injury prevented him from playing golf. Bill wasn’t particularly keen on his physical therapy treatments, either. However, weeks ahead of schedule, he went from crutches to a cane. He did like the cane, since it made him feel quite the dapper gentleman. Bill was back in Buffalo again, but it wasn’t a problem. He would be staying until his luck ran out.

The Remains of the (birth)Day (cake)

I made a nice cake from scratch for the mister's birthday, which was August 9.
However, I forgot to get a picture of it before he and some buddies lit into it.
This was one of his gifts: a custom calligraphy scroll. It reads "Repetition becomes Power." It's a saying that is commonly associated with Kendo and other martial arts and it is one of his favorites.
He also got fancy cufflinks, and a set of authentic pint AND middy (half-pint) beer glasses. I suppose it takes the sting out of getting older.

Funky KitKats

Summertime KitKat Flavor - Suica to Shio -Watermelon with a pinch of salt! (on top)
On the bottom is the "akafuku" flavor - available only in Osaka (akafuku is a type of mochi specific to the Osaka area).

Oni no Kakuran

Oni no Kakuran is a Japanese saying that literally translates to "Demon's Illness" and is used when someone who never gets sick, gets sick.

My husband woke up this morning with a fever, covered in clammy sweat and generally looking like shit-on-a-stick. I stayed home to keep an eye on him (and also to avoid work) and at one point, seriously began to wonder if the son-of-a-bitch had up and died on me -- once I realized he had been sleeping for twenty hours straight (completely unlike him).

I was just getting ready to go upstairs and begin dealing with the logistics of removing a 200+ pound corpse from my bed (where's a chainsaw when you need one?) when I heard groaning, stumbling and a flush from the upstairs toilet.

He went back to bed after being given some Tylenol to reduce his fever, some fluids, and a light snack. Kowaiiso (poor thing).

Vacation Pictures

SOH: My favorite snapshot
Originally uploaded by bakagaijiin

Click on the photo to go to flickr and see the rest of our trip pictures!

Holding Patterns

Well, I've been back from vacation for a few days now, and am still uploading and organizing the ton of pictures I took. The trip went off with only a few minor glitches and it certainly was a good time. I'll get the links to the pix up shortly.

In other news, we have been extended here through December 31, 2008. I won't be coming back stateside as soon as I thought I would. This is both a relief and a source of consternation.

37

A Birthday Poem
Ted Kooser

Just past dawn,
the sun stands
with its heavy red head
in a black stanchion of trees,
waiting for someone to come
ith his bucketfor the foamy white light,
and then a long day in the pasture.
I too spend my days grazing,
feasting on every green moment
till darkness calls,
and with the others
I walk away into the night,
swinging the little tin bell
of my name.

Ready, Set, Go ...

... on vacation! We'll be heading out first thing tomorrow. I won't have the laptop with me so this is the last entry for a while, unless I get a major jones and hit an internet cafe.

The First Breath . . .

One week until my birthday (yikes)! Because we will be travelling and probably NOT bringing the laptop along , I wanted to blog about one of my birthday gifts from Chris, a calligraphy scroll.

The scroll is currently hanging in our tokonoma (alcove). I change out the decorations in it around the first of the month. Sometimes there are scrolls, sometimes kimono, sometimes sculpture. I like to mix it up. Since July is my birthday month, I decided to hang up my gift.

One of the reasons I adore my husband is that he "gets" me. How else would he know that I would love a scroll that reads "The first breath is the beginning of death" as a birthday present? And in spite its zen sound, the quote is from Thomas Fuller.

The gentleman who did the scroll is a retired school teacher, who taught computer programming (COBOL and FORTRAN) and also worked as the principal of the school. He's retired now and doing calligraphy as a way to earn a bit of money. He was very sweet and took the work very seriously. We liked his work so much that we ordered a scroll for Chris (also a birthday gift) and a placard for me, which I will photograph and feature later.

The image below is a close up of the character on the bottom. The drier-looking strokes where the brush has begun to dry out and you see striations is termed "flying white" and is what gives the calligraphy its dynamism and is one of my favorite parts of the work.

Calligraphy is interesting because every rendition is personal and unique and you can see the artist's personality shine through. Two artists writing out the same phrase will have completely different-looking results. If you follow an artist from the start to the end of career, you can readily see how experience affects the strokes ("experience" includes the aging of the body). I recommend The Art of Twentieth-Century Zen: Paintings and Calligraphy by Japanese Masters by Audrey Yoshiko Seo with Stephen Addiss to see some great examples.

Hi Ben!

Hi Ben!
Originally uploaded by bakagaijiin

I've been missing my 10 am tea-and-treat with Ben. So I had some tea with him in spirit.

Mysteries of the Human Body

Mysteries of the Human Body Sign

We went to see the local version of "Body Worlds" at the Aomori Museum of Contemporary Art.

Chris was kind of grossed out. I was a teeny bit, too, but mostly I was utterly fascinated AND I got to hold a plastinated BRAIN!
In case you were wondering, the brain was pretty heavy and it felt similar to soapstone.

We also went to the permanent exhibit. One of the "famous" permanent exhibits (a giant dog sculpture) was closed for cleaning/renovation and as a result, we got two pencils free from the gift shop. This cracked us up because the ticketing clerks totally apologized for it and handed us the pencils with much pomp and circumstance. Hee hee!

90 Days

As of today, there's 90 days left on our contract. If I don't count the weekends or holidays or the ten days in July when we will be on vacation, there's really only 53 days left.

We've been in Japan for four years now and I can't believe it is coming to an end.

I am not sure how I feel about any of it; I am simultaneously excited and terrified.

Kanji

Someone recently asked me how many Kanji I could read after living here for four years. Given that you need to know 1,945 characters (mandated by the government and taught in schools) to be able to read newspapers and most literature in Japan - I am assuredly illiterate.

Additionally Kanji have both a Japanese pronounciation called Kun and a Chinese pronounciation called On or Hon, because Kanji came from China. With a few exceptions, I only know the Japanese reading.

What I do know are usually pictographs, symbols and a few ideographs. I know very few phono-ideographs, which are what makes up about 80% of Kanji (they're the hardest to learn).

Here's the wiki entry on Kanji.


Honestly, I really can't read. So a better question would be how many Kanji can I recognize?

In no particular order (and I know I am forgetting some, I'll add them when/if I remember). If I wasn't lazy, I would put the Kanji in, too, but that involves a lot of cutting and pasting.

Oil
Camelia (Tsubaki) I learned these two together because I use camelia oil as a hair treatment.

School

Man
Woman
Noisy (made up of three little versions of the kanji for woman. Ha ha ha)
Child

Dog
Bird
Horse (that comes from learning it to avoid eating horse meat, a popular dish here)
Fish

Sun
Moon
Sky
Rain
Wind

North
South
East
West

Fire
Water
Electricity
Danger
Disaster
Thunder
Lightening
Earthquake
Rain

Wheel (included in the characters for car, bike and train)


Thing/Things
Goods (like in Dry Goods)
Laundry

Fat
Carbohydrate
Calories
Fiber
(all of these are actually a series of Kanji)

Red
Black
White
Grey
Purple
Green/Blue

Bamboo

Raw or Draft (nama, used as in Nama Biru - draft beer)
Alcohol
Rice
Vegetable(s)

Shop/Store/Vendor

Hour
Minute
Day
Month
Year

Most numbers
Yen
Discount

Winter
Spring
Summer
Fall

Entrance
Exit
Stop

Enlightenment
Samurai

Tea

Helmet

Silk
Cotton
Wool (same kanji as "Hair")
Gold
Silver

River
Spring
Mountain
Tree
Forest

Over
Under
Field
Village
City

Gate
Corner

Flower
Book (one of the few I know both Japanese and Chinese readings)
Stone/Rock
Feather/Wing

Person
Love
Spirit
Old

Heaven

Power
Inside/Deep
Dream
Light
Medicine/Drug
Big (also know Japanese and Chinese reading for this one)
Inside

Umbrella
Road/Way
Book also used as Origin - Japanese and Chinese reading)

Genji's Spot

Genji's Spot
Originally uploaded by bakagaijiin

Here's Genji's ashes, in a beautiful cobalt blue urn that I commissioned for him. His name is on the bottom.

He is surrounded by "hot anime babes in bikinis" - my husbands tacky collection. Eh, whatever.

It's been a rough week: I've called for him a few times, got confused about where the food dishes got off to and when I was shopping yesterday, almost picked up a new collar for him.

I'd like to thank everyone who emailed, messaged, called or otherwise expressed their care and concern.

The Very Last One

The Very Last One
Originally uploaded by bakagaijiin

This is the last picture taken of our little furry guy, Genji.

Our Little Furry Guy
March 2003 - June 2008

If you click on the picture, you can see Genji's flickr set, going all the way back to 2004.

Amazing Day at Towadako (Towada Lake)

Amazing
Originally uploaded by bakagaijiin

It's rainy season right now, and when I woke up today, there was no way in hell I was going into work - it was an amazing beautiful day, and I think by law we're only allowed three of them per summer in Misawa.

Chris' work ethic almost got in the way of the day trip, but once he got outside, he realized that work would wait but this kind of day would not.

It was a lovely, lovely day. You can click the photo to go to the flickr set to view more pictures.

We went into work in the evening for a little bit, so we weren't all that bad.

Four Years

Four years ago today, we came to Japan!

In Memorium

In Memorium
Originally uploaded by zoom in tight

I remember.
Thank you all.

A Mouthful of Macho

I was digging through some archive CDs and discovered some bits and pieces from a creative writing class I took back in 2004. This was an exercise about evoking the sensory aspects of a memory from your childhood. The only requirement was it had to be 200 words or less.

A Mouthful of Macho

It’s late summer, the taffy afternoon stretching endlessly. There’s nothing to do in this small town, so a pack of barely-teenaged boys are roaming the neighborhood streets. One of the boys is actually a girl and that girl is me.

It’s lunchtime. Being teens, we are hungry all the time. Preternaturally hungry and beginning to sense it’s not just food we are hungry for. We walk by a dead raccoon.

“I’m hungry enough,” I boast, “to eat that roadkill.”

“Yeah right!”

“I used to eat raw hamburger, but Mom made me stop. Said I’d get worms.”

“So? DARE you to eat it.”

“No way!”

“You said! What? You a gir—a chickenshit?”

Great. I’ll be a chickenshit. Even worse, I’ll be a girl.

The raccoon’s entrails are strewn like meaty confetti around the animal. I briefly wonder how much it hurts to get run over.

The guys are waiting. Nonchalantly as possible, I reach into the raccoon’s burst-open belly, to discover it’s hard to grip raccoon guts. I keep plucking at the stringy flesh, like some demented charnel house harpist. I was wrong--roadkill is NOT like raw hamburger. Finally, a brownish-red gobbet gives way. The guys are staring at me.

I glare back as I chew with determined, oversized chomps. The flesh is gristly and squeaks out from between my teeth, skidding across my tongue. It smells like menstrual blood, road tar, and fur. It tastes like the hot copper of a nosebleed with a faint overblown sweetness of rot. I swallow. We all wait to see if I will puke. My stomach churns but I keep everything down. The guys are agog, unable to believe what they’ve just seen me do.

For lunch, we go to a pizza joint. The guys buy me my slices, something they’ve never done before.

Warmers, made for ME!

Warmers, made for ME!
Originally uploaded by bakagaijiin

My friend Skully is teh R0X0R! She knit me beaded(!) warmers! ZAWESOME. Silk, Mohair, and Merino in my most favorite colors (grey and purple)!

Lots of people have knit things for me, for which I am profoundly grateful. These are things that are full of care and love and that I will cherish. Thank you to all the folks who have kept me dressed warmly with your knitted gifts. I think of you every time I wear them.

Torii Gate

Torii Gate
Originally uploaded by bakagaijiin

We've got Matt and Alfred visiting for a work project. So on Saturday, May 3rd, we went to Okonomiyaki for lunch, followed by a day trip to Kabushima, and ended the day with a bout of ROCKBAND. Come look at pictures!

Pink and Blue, Too

Pink and Blue, Too
Originally uploaded by bakagaijiin

There was an art museum opening, cherry blossoms, dance troupes, flags, firemen, cute kids and archers on horseback at the Towada Yabusame Festival on 27 April, 2008.

Click on the image to go to Flickr and view the whole set!

Eiko-san, Jodi and Chris

Eiko-san, Jodi and Chris
Originally uploaded by bakagaijiin

Helped out at the Aizawa Isshou Center this Saturday (4/19/2008).

Not Even Thinking

A couple of days ago, I did something (without even thinking) that I would not have dreamed of doing in the States:

I let some guy in the house.

Chris and I were both home sick, with Chris asleep upstairs (ensconced in the bedroom with four boxes of tissue, two bags of cough drops, a fully-loaded humidifer and sixteen pillows to prop him up) and I was dozing on the couch.

The doorbell rings. I look out and it is, unsuprisingly, some Japanese guy. I wave him through the gates and he says something about checking the propane (our stove is a gas stove modified for LP use, the heat for the house is kerosene). I didn't even think to ask for a badge or other identifying document or anything. (Later there would be a form to sign as always, that was proof right then, but I digress) so I let him in the house, led him to the kitchen, showed him the stove and went back into the living room. Leaving him alone in my kitchen with several really sharp Weusthoff knives, access to the rest of the house, etc.

My biggest concern? That my house was messy. It wasn't - I may not be good at much but I am ace at housekeeping (Sylvia will verify this, you can ask her about the time she came to visit while I was in the middle of cleaning and I wouldn't let her in).

So the safety audit was done with a machine that actually looked like a cross between a geiger counter and a seismograph and no leaks, no contaminants, no radon, carbon dioxide, et cetera were found. I (and Chris) were also NOT murdered in some gruesome manner and then because Japanese neighbors are very private, not found for three weeks and as a result eaten (or at least chewed pretty good) by the cat. But nope. It's amazing safe here and I've come to take that for granted, which is probably a little dangerous and/or lacking in situational awareness on my part.

Oh, the safety check itself took about 15 minutes.

I exchange a few pleasantries in Japanese with the guy, much his delight, then showed him out and it wasn't until a few days later that I realized what I had done. I had just let some dude in my house without being suspicious or concerned in the least. I am sure there are still places in the US where you can do this and there are certainly places in Japan where you CANNOT do this, but still.

So here are some other things that I do that I probably should stop doing because it wouldn't fly in the states:

Run into the store to grab a drink/snack with the car unlocked and the keys in the ignition and the engine running. Actually I shouldn't do this because it's a small thing but helps the enviroment.

Nap upstairs in my house, with the front door open (actually, the screen door is shut, but it's a slider, like that's gonna thwart anyone)

Go running at 10pm on unlit back roads, without a cell phone, mace, Desert Eagle, flares, etc.

Leave my shopping basket with my wallet in it in aisle three while I scoot back to aisle 9 to grab the bottle of shoyu (soy) sauce that I forgot to get when I was first in aisle 9.

Leave my wallet on a bench in an arcade and expect to get everything back (see the Morioka entry-click on the pic to get the story from Flickr).

Leave the house unlocked (often with the front door OPEN) if I run to the store to get shoyu.

Leave the keys in the unlocked car when they're parked at home.

Some neat but too-specialized-to-be-useful-anywhere-but-here I have acquired since living here:

The ability to carry on an entire conversation just using the words good, yes, I understand and sorry, interspersed with head nods and grunts. Seriously, this is even how the Japanese do it.

The ability to perform a proper bow of appropriate politeness (about 20 degrees) during my running workout.

The ability to eat soup with chopsticks.

How to use a squat toilet without:
Falling IN the damn thing
Blowing out my knees
Soiling my clothes

How to wear kimono!

Access to the arcane knowledge all Japanese ladies possess that will allow them to Macguyver themselves out of any situation and/or save the world by using the contents of their designer handbags:
Cell phone
55 packets of tissues
3 bottles of hand sanitizer
1 compact full of expensive makeup

How to walk in the middle of the road, completely oblivious because the cars here will not TRY to run you down.

How to remember to ALWAYS carry and umbrella and pop it open at the mere sight of a teeny gray cloud (more so in Tokyo) AND the understanding of Old Edo umbrella manners - you tip the umbrella to your outside, so that the other umbrella-bearing person (who will also tip his brolly to the outside) walking past you on the sidewalk can get by without having your runoff dumped on him and vice-versa. Believe it or not, I learned this from a subway poster (the Edo Tilt, not Always Carry an Umbrella)

How to properly stow a futon (after you properly air it, dummy).

How use a fancy washlet toilet (it took a pretty serious lesson, though).

I am sure I am forgetting some of my other specialized skills but I think that should do it for now.

4-20-2008

I just remembered:

I can read Katakana, Hiragana and some kanji!

I can take off my shoes by telekinesis (seriously, it's so second nature, I don't even consciously do it).

Taisho/Pre WWII Kimono

Taisho/Pre WWII Kimono
Originally uploaded by bakagaijiin

Volunteered at the Big Bazaar again this year. This is quite possibly my last bazaar, if indeed we do PCS in September 2008. To ease my sadness, I wore my most cheery, most favorite vintage kimono.

More picture here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/25679727@N00/sets/72157604376113448/

Sunset in Morioka

Sunset in Morioka
Originally uploaded by bakagaijiin

Spent a lovely spring day (3/22/08) in Morioka, with our friend, Ben Lee.
A nice sunset closed out our visit. Click on the pictures to go to flickr and see more pictures from our trip.

二 二九 (229)

Aomori Prefecture, where I live, is noted for agriculture. Particularly famous throughout Japan are Aomori apples and GARLIC.

So on Sunday, Chris rolls in from Snowboarding at Hakkoda, with a bag of garlic. The garlic came from coworker and fellow foodie, Crocker.

Generally, in keeping with the Japanese tastes, garlic in Japan is mild. Mild to the point of flavorlessness. So when I opened the bag and got a whiff, I was thrilled. If my schnozz was Japanese, the whiff would have been noisome. But thank goodness, my nose is not Japanese and neither is my palate. Redolent, if not down right stinky, stubby fat bulbs of fresh garlic. Hooray! Thanks Crocker!

I lopped the tops off the seven bulbs, stuck them in a baking dish, gave 'em a squirt of olive oil and a roast at 350 for an hour. The I proceeded to eat three bulbs' worth of the roasted cloves, hot from the oven -- squishy and nutty and slightly carmalized and totally delicous.

My breath is so bad right now, I am making my own eyes water. S'alright.

One of the great things about the Japanese language is opportunities for wordplay/puns because of the amount of homonyms present in the language. Actually, I think of a former co-worker, John Jenkins, whenever I see/hear puns or wordplays. The two of us once spent almost an entire afternoon during a slow day at work, making lots of puns, each more obnoxious than the last. There was a pun involving brassieres and brasseries that was a killer. I can't take credit, that one was all John's.

So puns. And Garlic. One of the most well known brands of garlic around here is the 229 brand.

2 is "NI" ( nee or "as in the knights who say") and 9 is "KYU" (kyuu). So 229 could be pronounced as two-two-nine, or in Japanese, ni - ni - kyu ( 二 二九 ). You could also say two hundred and twenty nine, or nihyakunijyukyu ( 二百二十九), but then the joke wouldn't work!

Here's the "punchline" (aside from the fact that I ate so much roasted garlic that I have heartburn right now):

The word for garlic is ninniku (にんに in hiragana; ニンニク in katakana; 大蒜 or 蒜 in Kanji), which sounds very much like ni-ni-kyu, or two-two-nine (229). So the brand is literally "Garlic Garlic." Clever bit of marketing to select name with a built in mnemonic/catchphrase.

Itty Bitty Bag

Itty Bitty Bag
Originally uploaded by bakagaijiin

Because cloth/kimono were/are expensive, there is a long tradition of recycling them (going right back to Edo Japan!). Kimono might be recut for a child, made into a haori, or otherwise altered to extend the life of the fabric. Every piece, right down to the littlest, was reused. Pieces of fabric which were smallish might be made into doll's clothes, small drawsting purses, beanbags, hair decorations or ornaments/charms. This little coral bag probably started out life as a haori. I got the fabric in a scrap grab-bag and sewed it up into a teeny drawstring pouch. It contains my ojami , which are small beanbags used in a traditional Japanese girls' juggling game, called Otedama (Te is the Japanese word for hand). Behind the itty-bitty bag it is a larger bag (containg my larger and less-traditional purple suede gballz juggling balls), made from a panel from a pre-WWII kimono I picked apart (there was too much damage to wear it).

When I see Eiko-san in a few days, I'll have to ask her if she knows how to do Otedama.

Haikyo

Haikyo is the Japanese word for "ruins." Not to be confused with the Haikyo that is a talent agency representing Seiyu (voice actors for movies, video games, anime, etc).

When we first got to Misawa, I was amazed by the abandoned buildings that seemed to be such a pervasive feature. I always had this perception of Japan as the land of neat and tidy. Living here quickly disabused me of that notion.

Abandoned crap is all over Japan and said crap includes but is not limited to fridges, cars, roads, hotels, apartments, office buildings, roller coasters and even an entire island.

Abandoned places are prevalent and captivating enough that a specialized kind of domestic tourism dedicated to it has arisen; Haikyo tourism is popular enough to warrant several guidebooks and to generate interest in artistic photography of the ruins. There's plenty of websites about Haikyo too, featuring images of beautifully decaying places grimly surrendering to entropy.

I get the whimwhams just looking at the pictures.

Surface Below - Photography of Gunkanjima Island by American photographer Ross McDermott

Deflation Spiral - Folio Number 9 contains my favorite images.

Shinichiro Kobayashi - published by the ubiquitious house of Kodansha. Hokkaido Island is the stingray-shaped island at the top. Directly below that is the prefecture/area where I live.

Ruined Japan

all-nite diner

all nite diner all nite diner all n te dine al n te di er all nite din r

(sign on the fritz) coughing up neon into the 3am world

two souls stagger in

(been up all night)

throw themselves into the naughahyde nirvana

of a back-corner booth

peering over menus

(fingerprinted dogeared)

she flings back her head

and laughs

(in utter delight)

the sound

ricochets--

(an amusing bit of artillery)

--off dinged aluminum walls

and day-old donuts--

takes a spin on the ceiling fan

zooms down the counter

rattles the dishes

whiplashes the necks

of the other patrons

(wotthehellzofunny?)

but mostly

it

just

breaks

his heart.

Slipped

I've lost ten pounds. The weather has been cold.
Doesn't sound like they have any relation to each other but they do.
My fingers have gotten thinner. The cold makes them even more so.

As a result, my custom-made, one-of-a-kind wedding band slipped off at some point today.

We tore up the house and tomorrow we'll go to the Base Exchange and ask if it has turned up.

The ring was insured but how can I ever really replace it?

Cross-Eyed Ninja Snacks

MORE ABOUT THIS ON FLICKR!
Originally uploaded by bakagaijiin

NINJA.
SNACKS.

Imo Mobile

So I was working on my computer and I heard this shrill, high-pitched whine. I'm thinking "awwwmigod, my hard-drive is going...no, wait, awwwmigod, Chris' hard-drive is going!" Yet I can't seem to pinpoint exactly where the sound is coming from.

Then I realized - It's the IMO (sweet potato) saleman! Luckily, I had my camera ready to go and captured the moment, complete with steam whistle. The Imo business must be good, he upgraded his truck! Or maybe this is a different vendor than the one a wrote about long ago.

If I hadn't just finished a snack, I would have run out and got an Imo. They're really good--steamed and sweet and starchy and will totally burn the top of your mouth if you're a greedy pig and don't wait for them to cool down a little bit. Not that it's ever happened to me.

So here's the whistle, with a truck attached:

Pussywillows

Two bucks can buy a lot of happiness, particularly if "happiness" comes in the form of five-foot long pussywillow switches. Technically, I bought 5 dollars worth, since I purchased two bunches and the entire time I was smiling so hugely my face hurt.
Pussywillows remind me of spring as much as they remind me of my godmother's house, with it's unkempt flowerbeds (her husband died years before, and he did all the gardening) and decrepit, falling-down shed. Unlike my mother's neatly ordered beds, I could tromp though these unmade messes, sit down in the midst of them, and even better, pick the flowers. The beds were scattered randomly throughout her huge yard (you don't see yards like that anymore), and there were dead spots, tussocks, and the general creep towards entropy that ensues when the groundsman is no longer around to fight, tame, and otherwise control nature. Along the edges of these slowly reverting beds, as well as along the boundaries of my godmother's chaotic yard, were pussywillows.

Unlike the huge, pink(!) catkins on my Japanese pussywillows, the ones growing at my godmother's house were small, silvery-grey, like little pearls. It was hard to snap them off, sometimes I sort of ending up more or less peeling the branches from the main bush. The woody stems were a yellow-green with that earthy, greeny, thin sappy sent that reminds me of spring, of ground squishy with snowmelt and spring rain and just being a kid.

I remember a drainage ditch (which I called a stream) and floating the catkins that had fallen off (or I had pulled off) on it. They floated very well, I think because of the little pockets of air the the "fur" caught. I used to pretend that I was in the sky, placing clouds here and there and they would float along on air currents. When I got tired of this (or bored or hungry or wet enough) I'd go inside my godmother's house and give her the pussywillows.

My godmother always appreciated a bouquet of pussywillows and would always put them in a vase in what was really a dingy, bordering on dirty livingroom, but in my eyes, it was my favorite place to be, because of the candy bowls (more about that some other time), a bookshelf with just my books on it, the ability to be myself and be loved solely for that, and a vase full of whatever blooms where in season and I had picked.

'Za

While I like Japanese food and am particularly blessed to be smack in the middle of farm country,
I really miss US pizza. In all it's various glories. I was a bit sad there's no entry for "Buffalo-style" yet.

Masako-san and me

Masako-san and me
Originally uploaded by bakagaijiin

Working the Kimono Shop on 1/11/08.
It's always a blast.

Couscous for Dinner

Sometimes I suprise myself and produce something both interesting and edible:

Couscous with ginger, cherries, peppers and squash!

IZ RLY O RLY CHCLT!

IZ RLY O RLY CHCLT!
Originally uploaded by bakagaijiin

THIS sort of thing is what totally makes shopping in Japan worth it.
Y RLY!

Gantan

"Gantan" is the first day of the new year, which is today!
I fell asleep 15 minutes before the arrival of the new year, thusly sleeping through it. That's really not anything new.

I wish everyone the best for the new year, and hope 2008 is filled with "peace, love and good happiness stuff"for all of you.

Osoji

Most Japanese households perform a ritual cleaning called Osoji, in preparation for the new year. It's a pretty thorough cleaning and time-consuming enough that most Japanese now wait until a weekend to do it, making do with a symbolic cleaning of the family altar if New Year's Day falls on a weekday.

My mom always did a thorough house cleaning on New Year's day. I followed that tradition to some extent, but I do mine before now, a gaijin version of Osoji.

This year, my Osoji took approximately 28 hours (over two and a half-days). I have a three-bed room, one-and-a-half bath house. The cleaning takes so long because it's top-to-bottom and truly involved. Some of the things I do: I pull down the curtains to be laundered, I pull stuff out of drawers, closets, off of shelves, etc. I also pull up the area rugs and move the furniture and scrub and wax the floors. I usually pull a muscle or two as well. I clean the stove, the fridge, change out fire alarm batteries and stuff like that. Wax the woodwork, clean the ceiling fixtures (guess how many dead bugs in my living room light? Too many!) This year, I had the added fun of snaking our bathroom drains. There's some interesting um, stuff(?) that gets built up in those drains. Yuk. I put aside items to go to charity (clothes that don't fit or I don't wear). I take down the Christmas tree and all the other holiday decorations. I also put up our shiminawa and kadomatsu.

As I'm typing this, it's been snowing all morning and it's looking pretty and white outside. My house is sparkling clean and so cozy. Best wishes for the new year!

Christmas in Japan: Part III

Tree
Originally uploaded by bakagaijiin

Here's my Happy Holidays!
Hoping yours were wonderful, too!

Enuff Fluff

Enuff Fluff
Originally uploaded by bakagaijiin

The internet is a truck.
A wonderful, fluff-filled truck.
A wonderful fluff-filled truck that arrives via USPS to my mailbox.

Goldie, if you want some fudge, you need to email me your snail mail addy.

Christmas in Japan: Part II

Okay, so what kind of real fucking American grocery store runs out of MARSHMALLOW FLUFF DURING THE HOLIDAYS? The commissary here, that's who.

Today, I was picking up some baking supplies for this weekend, hoping that a massive dose of Christmas tunes, holiday baking of breads, cookies and making of candy as well as liberal applicatons of booze and putting up the tree would get me in the holiday spirits, because, for the first time in my life, I really don't give a shit about the holidays. I was actually kind of excited about baking/candymaking, so I got my chips and flour and sugar and sprinkles and stuff like that, but still needed to get Fluff for the fudge. So I push my cart over to where the Fluff normally is and IT IS SOLD OUT! IT'S ONLY THE FIRST WEEK OF DECEMBER. SWEET ZOMBIE BABBY FUCKING JEEBUS. THIS PLACE IS TEH SUX0R.

I was shaken right down to my blue-collar/white trash roots. NO FLUFF! Yeah, yeah, I know you candy snobs are like "Make fudge the proper way, luzr!" I honestly don't feel like dicking around with doing it from scratch. And ya know what? Fluff fudge is easy and the guys at the office like it. But it requires MARSHMALLOW FLUFF OF WHICH THERE IS NONE!

And there is no way I'll find it in the Japanese suupa. Or if I do it will beconsidered a "gourmet import" and will cost 2,000 yen (about 20 bucks).

My god. NO FLUFF. I had to console myself with a large whiskey with some eggnog in it.

Christmas in Japan: Part I

(clipped from Daily Mainichi's English Website, because they don't do permalinks)

Electric eel used to power Xmas lights

Aqua Toto Gifu's electric eel and the Christmas tree lights it powers. (Mainichi)

KAKAMIGAHARA, Gifu -- An aquarium filled with exotic fish here is using an electric eel to power lights on a Christmas tree.

Each time the electric eel at the Aqua Toto Gifu aquarium touches a copper wire in its tank, it sends power that lights up globes decking a Christmas tree.

Officials expect the "eel Christmas tree" to be a popular attraction for dating couples in the lead-up to Christmas Day, when the tree will be removed.

Electric eels are capable of generating electricity in their bodies. They have notoriously poor eyesight and use electric shocks to stun prey so they can catch and eat them.

Phew!

I am home once again. After 20 days stateside, I've decided if it takes me another three years to get home, it'll be too soon.

Pictures on my flickr photostream.