Recovery & burnout

I'm cured!!! After a week of being pumped up with antibiotics (experiencing my first drug induced hallucination in a number of years) and gone at with the very latest in big syringe technology, I am all but empty of pus, capable of speech, laughter, and above all, that essential paving of the path to recovery, eating.

I look at my blog and see how neglected the poor dear has been. I also remember a time last year, brimming with bright eyed "I will be a writer!!!" earnestness, when I declared that I would update it every day, whilst maintaining no less than four others...oh foolish boy, where was that energy when you were at school? I've seen a significant drop in the quality of entries since that ambitious mission statement, so I am beating a retreat, back to the safety of the weekly post...and maybe more if I feel inspired...I thank you.

Yet another entry wherein I bewail a timetable that leaves me scarce opportunity to blog...and some announcements...

I seem to be absurdly busy this time of year. This is not to say I have run out of ideas, no, no, no, rather, I am gradually coming to realise that a sure sign of getting old is constantly having stuff to do, and yet never seeming to get anywhere.

Something has to give, and I'm afraid it's the blogs of Anger and Lucidity. Since November, I have only recently been inspired to write something in that bleak little corner of cyberspace, and now I'm having second thoughts about the idea.

The original plan was to have a foaming blast of pure anger and then a calmer counter-argument...recently, I've found it difficult to separate the two sides into two different pieces of writing, thusly they're both for the chop...having two less blogs to manage will no doubt allow me to pay the attention I promised to this one, and let me concentrate on learning this damn language.

...but it's not like I've been idle in terms of writing. My efforts for the Design Festa have finally seen the light of day, and I've encountered my first ever buzz-word - on-spec, meaning on-speculation, which means that I've sent something to the editor of a magazine, and he's pondering whether or not it's going to be published...I think...

Design Festa 24 & The Japanese Language Proficiency Test, Level 4

My, what a busy weekend this has been. As part of my resolution some posts back, I've vowed to do as much writing as I possibly can, so on saturday, I volunteered at the Design Festa, interviewing artists, visitors and writing it all up for the website. At the time of writing, the event is still in full swing, but I have had totemo ooki sakana wo furai*.

For the past couple of months, I've been kicking myself for not going that bit further and taking level 3. Since then, I've bought the level three text book (how many kanji?) and come to the realisation that this is the first exam I've taken for ten years...maybe I could do with getting used to that situation again.

So today, myself and another couple of hundred ex-pats hot-footed it over to a temporarily vacated University building to take our test. Our besuited monitors didn't speak at all. The instructions, in very slow and soothing Japanese, possibly narrated by a kindergarten teacher, came from a stereo. Something I don't remember from my GCSE's is that the monitors had a series of cards to issue warnings to misbehavers; yellow for "watch it", red for "in the shower!"

The test was divided up into three sections - writing and vocabulary, listening, reading and grammar. I stormed the reading and vocabulary, even if I do say so myself. The listening was a bit ropey, and the grammar, uncertain...

Japanese students of English have tremendous difficulties with articles (at, on, in, to etc), and I myself struggle with their equivalent, particles.

The particle ni for example, indicates movement.

"Ie ni kaerimasu."
"Return home."

It also indicates a place of existence...

"Tokyo ni imasu."
"(I'm) in Tokyo."

...and the subject towards whom an action is directed.

"Yamada Sensei ga Gaikokujin ni Nihongo wo osheteimasu"
"Yamada teaches Japanese to foreigners."

It's fairly easy to work out how ni is used from the context of the sentence (vanquishing supernatural warriors for example), but my confusion comes with the particle "de, which is also used as a place of existence,

"Kissaten de kaimashou."
"Let's meet at the coffee shop."

Of course, now that I have my books with me, and I'm reading up for this entry, I realise that de indicates a place where action is performed, whereas ni refers only to location. Which I'm sure you all wanted to know.

So, it's done. The only thing left to do is start studying for level three. Results in February, see you then.


*Very big fish to fry.

...done it again, haven't I?

...must...keep...writing...

Attention please...

Not content with just three, I've started yet another new blog...expect a fifth shortly...

Eikaiwa...and Nihongo kaiwa?

Well, so much for updating every day. In recent months, my evenings have been chocka-block with English conversation classes.

English education is a massive industry in Japan, the diabolical Nova being but one head on a veritable Hydra of Eikaiwa Kaisha (English Conversation Companies). Although some former employees have said it isn't all that bad, I consider myself fortunate not to be attached to a company like Nova (running joke over here is that it's short for "NO VAcation"). What I have is a couple of private classes, both of which just seemed to fall into my lap.

One is about fourteen adults in Yokohama, from all walks of life. This is in something of a classroom setting, and I am completely responsible for materials, lesson plans et al. This is the sort of thing I learned to do in the CELTA. Teaching adults who actually want to learn allows me to things that I'd never dream of doing with teenagers.

Tonight, I've been at a much more informal affair at a local Elementary School. My students are all teachers at this school, and I've worked with them in my day to day job.

The set up is this - we sit around a table. We drink coffee. We eat biscuits. We gossip. I get paid.

Tonight, I did something I've been planning for ages, namely, creating a CD of the most weirdly obscure and scary Japanese music I could, and subjecting these poor women to it. They were very patient, considering the looks of genuine anguish on their faces.

If that wasn't enough, on wednesdays I have a Japanese conversation class...this has had me appearing on Kawasaki Radio, and on saturday, will take me to some education centre, where I'll be giving some sort of presentation for some reason in front of an indeterminate number of people...so, the only writing I've been doing in recent days is this speech...

...so, no daily update, and a series of excuses...tune in next time when you'll read Shining Love Pig saying...

Halloween...my 100th post!...and a resolution...

Yes indeed, truly the heights of the Kawasaki social calendar are the cock fest & the Halloween Parade - Kanagawas' biggest festival of its kind - people come from all over the prefecture to dress up & dance up like a fool...pictured is Father Murray and myself, sporting a fine effort courtesy of my fair maiden, in honour of Wasureki san, who appears to have vanished...although the costume looks unwieldy, it doesn't stop one from dancing, as Hayley proudly demonstrates in this video...

Crumbs - there isn't a lot I can do, save show pictures of this momentous event...I was particularly taken with these characters...

...as was everyone in fact...making similar waves in terms of effective make-up was a manifestation of the infernal Ronald McDonald...

The route through Kawasaki Centre had us following a Monsterified Techno-Wagon, dancing merrily away. Choice characters were selected to lead the revellers from the tops of the huge amplifiers, thus...



Brilliant stuff, although my highlight was scaring a little girl. Her big brother was incredibly amused.


...and now, a resolution...

Coming here has taught me a thing or two about myself...maybe when I first arrived, I had grandiose plans to master the language and set the foundation for a career in teaching....this far away from home, and alone as I was for the first six months, it's easy to lose touch with yourself and what you enjoy doing. What I really enjoy doing is writing...so, by Thor, I'll write.

First up, I'm going to make the effort to update this blog every day. All the extra work I've taken on recently might make this impossible, but it's a goal to set myself. Consequently, it probably means a change in writing style - less pseudo-scholarly generalisations, more journalistic pontifications...and as if that wasn't enough...

The more observant of you may have noticed two new blogs in the links menu - My Blog of Anger and My Blog of Lucidity...these were conceived after a very stressful day...as the name of the first one implies, you will not find a balanced arguement therein....that's where the other one comes in...although, a hairs breadth away from writing my first post, I am feeling less than lucid...

今日は いろいろ 約束が あります。

I have various errands to do today.

First day of the summer holidays proper (for me at any rate) and I`m in the midst of doing a billion and one administrative things required of me, by this nation & my own...coupled with Hayley getting back from Blighty, I`ve had very little time to put my ideas for blog entries onto paper...thanks for tuning in...normal service will be resumed soon...one day...

Nationalism and the talking umbrella

Wasuerki san has been rather quiet of late. Of course, now Hayley`s gone back to England for her sisters wedding (congratulations Laura & Mark), the bakegasa has re-affirmed its prescence like a bitterly jilted john. This week, it`s been all I can do to get away from the thing. When I`ve spent the day at elementary schools, chasing kids with as much energy as I have biomass, the last thing I want to do is talk about history with "someone" who can only get offended by my opinions.

Take for example all this broohaha over the PM Koizumi visiting Yasukuni, wherein are enshrined Japanese soldiers of WWII, including several convicted of war crimes. Repeated criticisms from nations considering themselves victimised by Japans` actions in the war has not stopped Koizumi from making a visit each year. He has responded by saying that he`s doing it as Junichiro Koizumi, rather than as the Prime Minister of Japan. Protestations from other Asian countries aren`t being dealt with on a diplomatic level.

I personally think that a politician can`t keep his personal and private life separate (Bill Clinton might have got off much lighter in tht case), especially when making such a controversial move as that.

Wasureki san on the other hand is incensed that one should even criticise Koizumi over this affair. It argues that other countries honour their war dead, and that Japan is no worse, in regards to war crimes, than any other nation. Oft overlooked when denouncing the evils of Nazi Germany is the fact that Britain invented the modern concentration camp during the second Boer War.

The bakegasa is also keen to point out the post WWII Constitution of Japan, effectively written by General Douglas MacArthur after the nations` defeat. Article 9 specifically demands that Japan surrenders the right to a military, except for self defence purposes. A unit of the SDF is currently in Iraq under the protection of Coalition forces.

Wasureki san argues that article 9 cripples Japan, renders them impotent internationally, and that the American military prescence makes the country nothing more than a gigantic aircraft carrier. Japan is limited when it comes to forming a foreign policy independant of the United States. The right wing Revisionist Party seeks to strike article 9 from the constitution, or maybe even re-write the whole thing. If Wasureki san had arms, I`m sure it would vote.

A recent issue in Asia is that of the approval of certain text books for use in Japanese schools, that gloss over or omit the atrocities committed by the military before and during WWII. The umbrella & other voices from the right believe that the current perception of Japans` conduct has created a culture of shame which erodes the spirit of the nation, and consequently, the ideals held dear. I will not play devils advocate over this issue. No country should forget their history, no matter how shameful.

But the broader issue isn`t quite so simple. Isolated for so many years from a rapidly changing world, Japan has had a unique history. The indigenous culture fomented in private for over two-hundred years before modernity came a`knocking in the form of Commodore Perry and his Black Ships.

Previously, only limited trade with the Portuguese and Dutch had been allowed. In all other respects, Japan was a closed country. It seems that Perry was charged with making Japan and offer she couldn`t refuse. Certainly, much of his diplomacy took the form of veiled threats, as he suggested that the next industrial nation to arrive on their doorstep with a battleship might not be as friendly as the US. This indirect directness more than likely struck a chord, and thus was Japan unwillingly introduced to the world.

Wasureki san was still part of a tree at that point, but I can detect a certain resentment. What really resonates is the post WWII occupation. Even today, Japan is proud of a culture which, despite external influences, is uniquely hers. For many, the defeat of a fiercely nationalistic stance and the Emperors subsequent renunciation of Divinity probably came as quite a blow. Having the constitution re-written by an occupying power can`t have made them feel any better. Maybe part of me can understand the animosity received by Gaijin from some of the elderly.

The bakegasa argues that recent issues like Koizumis visits to Yaukuni, the inclusion of the aforementioned textbooks and the re-adoption of the National Anthem & flag as state symbols are merely assertions of Japanese confidence, and that as far as war crimes and nationalism go, Japan is no worse than any other country. I think it`s important to remember that she`s no better either.

The bakegasa speaks

I'm really quite embarrassed that my umbrella has achieved a command of English in considerably less time than it's taken me to learn pidgin Japanese. My attempts to speak in its native tongue are met with scorn to say the least. Accusations of crimes against the Japanese language are the most diplomatic of responses I've received. Having a kancho performed upon my posterior by a hopping umbrella is the least.

It's chosen a name for itself; Wasureki, or lost/forgotten tree. The name implies a sense of regret or melancholy, not evident in conversation, except for the odd moment of dewy-eyed patriotism. Wasureki san is well assured of its pedigree, insisting that part of the tree it came from was made into the hilt of the katana that Mishima Yukio used to commit seppuku. Like most Japanese, it has a very clear awareness of its roots.

As I said last week, objects become tsukumogami after they've existed for one hundred years. The interesting thing about Wasureki san is that it appears to have been self-aware for quite some time, even before it "came to life". When I think of the wealth of experience this umbrella has, I realise that I'm on to something amazing. It's seen four Emperors, two world wars, economic depression, boom and bust, the industrialisation of Japan, Hiroshima & Nagasaki, the Great Kanto Earthquake...20th century Japan on a stick you might say...but not directly to Wasureki san.

The precedence of seniority being what it is over here, I have to show the utmost respect to this former umbrella. This, coupled with my sketchy knowledge of Japanese history has resulted in several informal lectures on it's part. I can do little but sit and listen, which galls me sometimes, as I can detect a certain bias in its ululating.

Cultural, linguistic and generational factors aside (and disregarding the odd rectal intrusion), we get along fine. My interest in Japanese culture stands in my favour, but debating issues could be problematic.

Incidentally, I've received a few private emails that call the authenticity of last weeks photograph into question. With reference to other crypto-zoological images, I'd like to point out that an inferior photograph doesn't necessarily disprove the existence of these entities. Patrick Harpur, for example, postulates that the ambiguous nature of such creatures is reflected in their physical attributes; that they are neither corporeal nor ethereal, hence, are buggers to photograph. I've sent the picture to Fortean Times...time will tell...

How my umbrella made me late.

Punctuality is extremely important over here, and in all my years of dodging PE or oversleeping, I`ve never had such an improbable excuse as this.

Until recently, Japan has resembled a generous English summer. Now an early rainy season is gradually making its presence known. Last Friday, my semi-regular trudge to the school furthest from home was announced with a clap of thunder, and clouds that in a cartoon would have grumpy expressions, so I armed myself with one of the umbrellas we`ve inherited (this one being a gift from Kitsune sensei, a social studies teacher who`s now gone to another school).

As I picked it up, I noticed that the handle now looked like a foot, complete with toes that wiggled mischievously. The umbrella curved upwards, there was a rustle and a huge eye opened in the fabric, followed by a smile shaped orifice directly below, from which lolled a thick pink tongue.
“BLEARGH!!!” said my umbrella. Naturally, I screamed like a girl and fell over backwards, letting go of the thing. It hopped up and down on my chest, babbling in Japanese that I couldn`t keep up with.

I`ve often thought that the true test of ones language skills is against small children and drunk old men. I now count umbrellas amongst these challenges.

It got off me and bounced around the room, clearly excited, but I didn`t have time to indulge it (cloudy skies usually make me oversleep) and Hayley had already gone to work. I attribute my quick thinking to the phenomenon that makes grannies wrestle crocodiles. In my pre-stove existence, I lived on take-out bento, the net result being the acquisition of a small fortune in elastic bands. Grabbing the umbrella in one hand, I bound it securely with the other and hurriedly stuffed it into the shoe cupboard. I left home in a rush, thanking River Island for selling me a coat with a hood.

I made particularly grovelling apologies to the Vice Principal when I got to work. Hopefully she won`t tell my illustrious employers.
As you can imagine, thinking of grammar activities throughout the day was difficult because my head was full of umbrellas. I was sure I`d seen something like that before. Then I remembered a stall in Kyoto selling representations of what I`d seen.

I also remembered, from the reading I did for the Halloween entry, that the Japanese word for ghost (obake) means “changing thing”. Since a ghost is something that has changed from a living into a dead thing, and considering that the animistic spirit of Shinto sees life in all things, it started to make a bit of sense.

I googled (funny how that`s become a verb) bakegasa (ghost umbrella) and discovered that it`s a “species” of tsukumogami (artifact spirit). When objects reach their one-hundredth birthday, they come to life. It`s said that such creatures are repelled by electricity, so modern objects don`t become tsukumogami. All reasonably clear so far, but it doesn`t explain why Kitsune sensei randomly gave me an antique umbrella.

I was a little nervous on the way back home. When I arrived, I was greeted with an open shoe cupboard and the remnants of my rubber band collection. The bakegasa was sitting on the sofa, next to a Japanese/English dictionary and reading one of my grammar books, turning the pages with its tongue.
In broken Japanese, I apologized for my conduct that morning and bowed lower than I`ve done to any Koucho sensei. The umbrella responded with
“Nidoto surunai!” (roughly, "Don`t ever do that again.")

And yes, of course I`m the only person who can see it. When Hayley got home, it decided to turn back into a normal umbrella, leaving me to explain why it was on the sofa surrounded by textbooks. I don`t think she believes me. Rest assured, updates on this situation will be posted as they occur.

Yume no Tengu

I had the strangest dream the other night. I was in Kyoto, specifically Kibune, at the Tori that marks a path up Mount Kurama. A Geisha stood with her back to me, peering over her shoulder from behind a parasol, a red sun painted in the centre. The hem of her kimono displayed Mount Fuji, whilst the cuffs were a latch work of sakura branches in blossom. I was enticed, not least of all because she appeared to be on fire. It lapped & danced around her head, arms and body, a blazing aura that gave off no heat. As she glided up the path, I was drawn to follow.

This particular route to the top of Kurama is serpentine and steep. I frequently lost sight of my quarry, but each time I came close to giving up, I would hear a twig snap beneath sandaled feet, or glimpse a flash of kimono, or a bend in the path would glow, lit up by an ethereal blaze.

I walked for what felt like months, my feet became heavy, the ground treacherous. When the path finally levelled out, I couldn’t see her, but I found myself in the centre of a temple ground. After the cloying tangle of the wooded path up the mountain, the courtyard seemed to sigh with space. A clearing in the trees gave a view of the mountains in the distance, mist rising into the clouds. I was so lost in admiration of the place that the sound of footsteps startled me. I looked, and saw a tall male figure approaching, wearing a simple kimono. His hair was tied in a tight ponytail at the top of his cranium. He carried a katana at his side. Upon reaching me, he bowed deeply, spun round and sat cross-legged, the top of his ponytail just below my chin; only then did I notice that it ended in a microphone.

I was about to say something when a furious wind roared through the trees and deserted temple chambers. I hugged myself and had to secure my footing, so as not to lose balance. The man at my feet wasn’t at all perturbed. I had the sensation of a third presence in the grounds, and thought of the elusive Geisha, when a figure, too broad to have been the woman I followed, appeared at the door of the main building. As soon as I had noticed, he charged towards me, feet not touching the ground, with a pair of colossal wings spread like an unwanted embrace. A bristly white beard trailed behind him like a koi streamer, eyes blazed with fearful vitality, his face was redder than a tomato, his nose at least a foot long. Standing now before me, he was twice my breadth and towered as an adult to a child. I recognised him as a Tengu.

‘You have been here for a year!!’ he bellowed, his voice fierce as a hurricane ‘You heard stories, myths, half truths about this land, which you now know to be false!! You must answer the charges laid against this isle of Gods!!’
Seeing that I was in no position to argue with this enormous fellow, I said into the microphone in the back of the mans head
‘Okay.’ My voice echoed through the seemingly deserted mountainscape, and I wondered if anybody could actually hear what I was saying.
‘First,’ he roared, ‘all Japanese are short!!’
‘I may be big in Japan, but I’ve met a few people much taller then me.’ I replied, looking up at him.
‘Very well!! Japan is one of the most expensive countries in the world!!’
‘Maybe for fruit and veg, but it’s possible to eat out at a very reasonable price.’
‘Indeed!! Ex-Sumo wrestlers are employed to push people into crowded trains!!’
‘Well, there are white gloved guards who do just that, but I’m not sure they’d survive very long in a Sumo match. From what I’ve seen, Sumo is massive over here, and professionals probably have a tidy nest egg by the time they retire, so I can’t see them working for the train companies...unless they got a kick out of it.’
‘Quite!! Japanese men have smaller penises than Westerners!!’
‘I couldn’t possibly comment. My attention in the onsen was directed more at the scenery.’
‘Good!! You can’t get baked potatoes or beans in Japan!!’
‘Well, we don’t have an oven, so we can’t cook potatoes at home, but there are these little vans that trundle about, selling them in colder weather. They play a loop through a loudspeaker, of an old man singing “ishi-yaki-imo”, meaning, “stone cooked potatoes”. They smell great, but I’ve never pinned one down yet. As for beans, even though we’re in the minority, there are enough Westerners in Japan to warrant specialist food shops. I got a tin of Heinz for my birthday.’
‘Absolutely!! In Japan, you can find vending machines selling used schoolgirls panties!!’
‘Um...I’ve done some reading on the subject, but for the sake of continuity, I’ve been saving that for another entry. I hope you understand.’
‘Certainly!!’ roared the Tengu, sounding slightly abashed all the same. 'We mustn’t stand in the way of procedure now, must we?!!’
‘Indeed not’ I said, thinking ‘that wouldn’t be very Japanese.’
‘Finally, Japanese schoolchildren are regimented, disciplined, dedicated learning machines who are nervous, shy and respectful!!’
‘With respect sir,’ I countered, ‘every square inch of my Great British arse.’
‘So, desu ne?!! Little shits!!’ he replied. ‘I am satisfied!! You may go!!’

With that, he beat his mighty wings and flew off into the sunset. When he had disappeared from sight, the man with the microphone in his hair stood up, faced me, bowed again, and walked away, leaving me alone. Slightly bewildered, I leaned against a nearby Tori, only to see the Geisha I had followed. She was still burning with that unnatural flame. She smiled at me, bowed, then turned into a fox. The creature also seemed to be on fire. It disappeared into the trees.

I woke up hungry, finding myself surrounded by neither fish nor rice.

Graduation

Apologies for the sudden halt in my near-clockwork production of entries...the weekend was rather heavy...


Friday saw the graduation of every third year Junior High School student in Kawasaki. Naturally, it was a solemn, stately affair, with all and sundry looking very smart indeed. Pictured is one of the music teachers at Watarida (whose name I haven't heard slowly enough to pronounce yet), wearing a variation of a kimono, traditionally worn by teachers on such days. Everybody in fact looked like they were on their way to an incredibly posh party.

There's Takashima sensei looking dapper. Be-suited dignitaries filled the Koucho senseis' (Principals') room, looking important and drinking cherry blossom tea (don't be deceived by this stuff - it may sound and even look like the most refreshing thing on the planet, what with the delicate pink flower gracefully floating in a cup of clear liquid, but the taste is akin to drinking the ocean), and excited parents filed into the gym, usually bare, now bedecked.


Triumphant marches blared out of the tannoy, whilst the third year Home Room Teachers proudly led their students before the stage, a flower in every lapel. Following rousing renditions of the Japanese National Anthem and the school anthem, the arduous process of presenting one-hundred-and-seventy students with their certificates began.

Once that was out of the way, the Koucho sensei launched into his speech...

...yawning is a peculiar, involuntary reaction, caused by fatigue, boredom or seeing other people yawn. There are all manner of explanations, but no serious research has been done into this phenomenon...if you fancy a yawn though, you can read these interesting articles about pandiculation...

...the Principals' piece presented, he gave the floor to the students. Up came the student deemed eloquent enough to deliver the farewell speech. That's when the sniffing began. First it was a mere hint of sorrow, a momentary lapse in the speakers concentration that brings emotion to the surface. As he went on, there were several responses from the third year students. Another rendition of the school anthem, this time with the third years facing the rest of the school. More sniffling, the odd choked sob. Then the music teacher begins playing a slow, nostalgic slice of plinkery on the grand piano, whilst the third years take their places in front of the stage. Then another couple of speakers take the mike, fighting their way through the speech midst tears and gagging. Then a ballad. More tears, now some of the girls are openly weeping. The continuity of freshly ironed uniforms is interrupted by pink handkerchiefs...

...please God, not another ballad...

...now the Home Room teachers and most of the boys are crying. I'm surprised at the characters now red in the face with tears - the hard, chunky, sporty fellows who laugh in the face of despair, and guffaw their way through wedgies perpetrated against the emotionally fragile...the last thing anyone needs now is another ballad...ah...


The finale - everybody leaves the hall, and the parents line up in the corridors to witness the final exit of the third years. One girl, still crying, flings herself on me in a very un-Japanese frenzy of hugs and tears...then the dust settles. I can't help but compare it to my own "graduation", with its swift speech in the chapel, cold pizza in the hall and tales of my friends stealing furtive gropes in the Valley Centertainment Industrial Estate (home to that bastion of a tasteful saturday night, Atlantis).

Straight after the event, I imagined that only those with a heart of stone could fail to be moved by such a sight...then again, the spectacle of miserable teenagers is more common than I tend to remember...

As if we didn't have enough celebrations in February/March...

...my blog is exactly one year old!. Celebrating with bolognese...how about you?

Ai Rabu Yu

As you'd expect in Japan, Valentines Day has men as the beneficiaries, receiving chocolates or cards, sometimes from admirers, but Office Ladies are generally expected to make a gesture (of respect & appreciation, mind you) towards their boss. But fear not Ladies, for a month later, the 14th of March is White Day, when the boys return the favour & give stuff to the girls...however both days can be viewed with the same cynicism some Westerners reserve for Christmas...especially since it's generally believed that Valentines Day was "imported" in 1958 by a confectionary company, and White Day in 1960 by a marshmallow company (hence the name). Neither day is a national holiday.

This may be something of a rambly entry...I'm unsure as to the role this blog is playing right now (yes, I've finally reached the stage of blogging about blogging)...it's partially a travelogue, a way to let friends know en masse what I'm up to, an excercise in writing...it's not like I've got writers blog (noooooooooo!! [your fault, Obi Wan]), heavens no - I have a whole pantheon of topics to write about, even a proposed trilogy...I guess I'm facing the problem of too much research on a topic swamping what makes it personal, this oft-touted entry on religion being an example. I feel that for a couple of entries I've just been regurgitating facts...and I don't want this blog to become an online diary, cataloguing what we did this or that weekend.






So last weekend we went to an Irish music night in Tokyo - some serious ex-pats present...haven't been around that many non-Japanese since Christmas. Always refreshing to hear a northern accent anywhere in the world. Then, hungover & exhausted, we took a random trip to Shinjuku, arriving by a lucky coincidence to catch the 13th Nippon Festival of Performing Arts (pictured - that man is about to engage in an 80's robot dance...he later ate a balloon for our pleasure).






Photos courtesy of the lovely Hayley. That's taken from the top of Shinjuku Tower - not quite as tall as the Tokyo Metropolitan Building, but it was free and lush. The arrow points to Mount Fuji. Click for biggitude.





Nothing more to say right now, and I've already spent too long trying to decide how to finish...more later...