Dakara

This little gem was shown on the television incessantly for at least 2 weeks straight. Thankfully, its replacement isn’t nearly as charming, nor does it do the trademark song any justice whatsoever.

In case you’re wondering, the animation is from an old-school anime series called “Galaxy Express 999”, considered a classic in these parts and beloved by many.

And yes, the best part is the “Waah!”. Try singing it to your spouse* sometime. It’ll grow on them before too long, and eventually they might join in with you.

*This only works with a significant other, being too cute for other kinds of relationships. Just trust me on this.

Ode to Fan

A gentle whirr fills the air,
Stirs sluggish sylphs beyond my sight;
Banished heat and wispy hair,
Dance as it whispers in the night

Or the day, or morn, or in brutal noon.

Lovely muse your music play;
Ignore the dust that marrs your face.
Gratified with no delay;
Your mere existence speaks His grace.

A breeze created, cool, and none too soon.

A Personal Best

Today it struck me that I was in the middle of creating a personal record. Granted, what I’ve done doesn’t take much effort, no more than a few seconds of decision making really, nor does it benefit mankind, or make the world a better place, or any other such noble endeavor. In fact, it will most likely play no major or conscious part in my life from the moment I post this onwards. Nevertheless, I feel it’s worth mentioning for those of you who know me.

… … …

This is the third day in a row that I’ve worn a skirt.

Is... is that a snowflake?

Quench Your Thirst

... or something like that.

For all those interested in watching one of the coolest Gatorade commercials to occupy a microscopic portion of my still-functioning memory, this entry is for you.

If you're one of those people who would rather not see an actual sumo wrestler (as opposed to movie and WWF imitations), there is nothing for you here.

In other news, Asashoryu is Da Man. When you have 17 championship titles under your belt, which means you have successfully slapped, pushed, pulled, and thrown very large men out of the ring at least 221 times in your top-tier career, you need no other reason.

Day of Nothing

As exciting as it is to run through the countryside, delve into exotic locations and bustle about in the neon-studded metropolis of Tokyo, there’s something wholesome and refreshing about spending a day at home doing absolutely nothing, especially when the weather is cooperating with a crispness and light breeze minus drenching rains and unabated heat.

I’m enjoying it so much, I’m not even going to cook. Tonight, we’re going to pay someone else to cook for us.

I might just practice my Japanese to celebrate.

Oye, the Soreness

I went to yoga again yesterday, thanks to the kindness of a friend who took pity on and drove me to class to spare me the otherwise inevitable rain lashing I’d have endured on my bike.

This time around I was able to understand more of the Japanese instruction being spoken, including the commands to “breath in deeply through your nose” and “breath out”. This doesn’t mean I can repeat them off-hand, but it does mean that if I happen to hear them in conversation, my brain will be able to decipher that little bit of the Japanese code.

There were no more “lone tree” incidents either.

Which brings me to today. MAN, I’m sore. Sore in places that I’ve never been sore before, which is saying something considering the agony I endured one particular day after a BodyPump class in CO. It’s as if all the muscles in my lower torso have been super stretched like taffy before being stuffed back into their original positions. The protest of these muscles is high, and I’ve spent the better part of the morning walking around and tentatively (while biting my lip to keep the sound of my whimpering down, the windows are open after all) stretching my offended and outraged, er, everything.

It all makes me think that there really is something to this yoga stuff, and that my comprehension of moves must be getting better to get such a deep workout.

Either that or I’ve seriously hurt myself.

Christy, if you’re reading this, I’m sure you’re laughing right now :)

Omizu o Kudasai

The weather report keeps talking about the cold front that has crashed head-on with the fourth typhoon of the season. My feelings on the resulting deluge are a mixture of relief and dismay- a break from the heat is most welcome, but being soaked from head to toe due to my umbrella’s incapability to block rain blowing sideways is not so nice.

What is nice is the chance to have my last steaming hot bowl of ramen at my favorite diner that serves that sort of thing before we get blasted by heat from which there is no escape.

While the ramen is quite delicious, as is the gyoza (Chinese fried dumplings), there is one thing that makes this particular restaurant better than many others of its class.

There’s ice cold water in a pitcher at your immediate and personal disposal should one glass fail to quench your thirst.

The ready availability of water is more similar to Europe than to the US. Normally it must be requested, especially if you’re in a more traditional restaurant that serves piping hot green tea regardless of the season. Even if it’s brought unasked, the glass sizes are about half the smallest drinking glass you can imagine while still being able to call it a glass in good conscience. Then there’s the whole calling out for the server to come fill your glass that I’ll never get used to (it just seems so rude), despite the fact that this reluctance can leave me still thirsty even as I pay my bill.

Yes, I heartily approve of places who unabashedly display their abundant water supply.

Day of Festivals- Part II

… but surely we should see our own town’s festival, we reasoned. Granted, it was for children, but it most likely wouldn’t take more than 20 minutes to wander around. After all, we live in the epitome of Podunk, so surely it wouldn’t be on a greater scale than the float-studded wonders of Sawara.

With these thoughts floating around in our heads, it’s not hard to imagine the dumbfounded shock we stood in upon entering the yearly Kodomo no Matsuri (Children’s Festival). Dusk was closing in as we set foot upon one of the major, and subsequently busiest steets in town, which had been completely blocked off to accommodate the sea of brightly lit vendor booths and eager-to-spend-their-yen crowd.

This is what a festival should feel like! Vendors smiling broadly and hawking their wares, individual members of the throng laughing and freely enjoying themselves, girls prancing around in their beautiful summer yukatas, boys bonking each other with large plastic inflatable bottles, squeals from the children as they succeed in the game of catching goldfish, the hum of energy, the natural smiles as each attendee is caught up in the excitement of the moment…

I was enchanted as my husband grinned at me and mentioned that this was nicer than the fireworks festival scheduled in the next couple of weeks since there was actually room to walk. Before we could enjoy ourselves too much though, there rang out an all too familiar call:

“Ehhh?? アシューリ! HELLO!

What the…

::excited whispers of “おくさん? スータ!”::

Was that my name??

“HELLO! BYE BYE!”

::bursts of laughter::

It took a second before my brain started doing its job of making connections; children’s fest… children… around the area… my husband's a teacher… riiiight, these are his students.

Sure enough, it seemed like every 10 steps from the time we entered to the time we left the festivities were accompanied by groups of students gasping in surprise at the sight of their English teacher outside of school, followed by either an enthusiastic greeting or a nervous smile and head duck of acknowledgement. Not really knowing what else to do, I smiled while Ash responded with a casual “Hello!” and pushed me onward. Being famous really isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, this being one of those moments where you wish you could be an anonymous foreigner just soaking in the ambiance.

Despite this surprising and slightly uncomfortable aspect, we thoroughly enjoyed what our little town had to offer on the streets of Baba-cho and resolved not to dismiss it so lightly next time. The contrast between our evening excursion and afternoon of float-viewing was quite drastic, and I was left to wonder what to attribute the difference to.

Our trophy from successfully navigating through the throng of students was a luscious candy apple. Not caramel- candy. Cotton candy tasting candy, to be precise. The combination of candy sweetness and tart apple juice in every bite was heavenly. It served as a good end to a tiring day.

Day of Festivals- Part I

Sultry summer days mark the beginning of “matsuri” (festival) season, and in true Japanese spirit Ash and I decided to immerse ourselves in this unique cultural experience. Each community seems to have its own celebration of a traditional something or other, often on the same day, so you really have to pick and choose.

Today we decided to go into Sawara, known for the massive “dashi” (floats) that parade down the city streets all day long. They’re quite a sight to behold, as each intricately carved wooden frame (there are 10 in all) support a large doll on the very top and are pulled/pushed by at least 10 people dressed up in traditional farming gear while the 12 to 14 men carried inside the float itself play taico drums and bamboo flutes.

The word “doll” seems so inappropriate- they’re more like colossal, carefully detailed puppets that can be raised and lowered and overall look mighty impressive. My personal favorite happened to be a carp woven entirely of rush that could have easily swallowed a child and gone looking for 20 more, probably because I didn’t know the famous warriors/emperors/gods/heroes the other dolls represented.

While the floats were interesting, as was the sheer effort of the float-bearers to keep the ungainly things moving, the atmosphere of the matsuri itself wasn’t quite what I’d expected. It’s as if the city were half-heartedly going through the motions of what I’d envisioned to be a time of pride, energy, and fun. Even the vendors seemed grumpy and uninterested in what they were doing. Not really wanting to spend any more money on average-tasing yakisoba (fried noodles), we hopped back onto the air-conditioned train with relief. There was one more festival to go to, but our interest had waned…

Note to self: Heat = sweat = dabbing at face with sweat rag = facial sunscreen rendered useless. On the next outing, wear a hat or bring an umbrella.

Consuming Perishables

The last two hours have been spent calculating our current financial status- recording receipts, running budget reports, balancing bankbooks, double-checking bills, so forth and so on. I'd been a little (translation: VERY) lax since returning from the U.S. and thus had about two weeks worth of paperwork to wade through.

Boy, do we spend a lot of money on food.

I know it really only seems like it because most other things that are required for sustaining life and eking out an existance (rent, water, electricity, gas, precious internet) are directly taken out of our bank account... but when 40 of the 45 receipts on your desk are somehow connected with edible components, you begin to wonder why you're spending vast amounts of money on things that are here one day and gone the next.

Don't get me wrong, I like food. A lot. So does my husband. It's fun to try out new restaurants, concoct new dishes, sample a variety of flavors, indulge in local specialties, and savor favorite treats. Nevertheless, we do our best to be more frugal than extravagant, get the best value for the yen, cook at home more than we eat out, and stay away from exotic wares that try to tantalize the tastebuds merely by their packaging. Yet, despite our best efforts, by necessity our grocery budget here is twice what it was in the states.

All the cookie-cutter phrases of "food is expensive on an island" and "expect Barbie-sized portions for more money" are true. Don't ever dismiss such talk.

Happily (one of the only happy things about it), summer has come, which means fresh fruit and veggies are popping up for reasonable prices. We need such perks to get us through the 34 degree C weather (that's 93 degrees F for you Western people) spells that come up. Like those passing through right now.

You haven't begun to live until you've baked in your house for a season :)

Mimic By Necessity

This morning I attended my first ever yoga class at a community center about 20 minutes away by bike. Now, I’ve done yoga-ish classes before, but they’ve been a combination of yoga, Pilates, Tai Chi, and so forth. This was a pure yoga class, but nonetheless, I was confident that I knew most of the moves.

Oh pride, what a nasty piece of work you are, to lift me up so high before letting me plummet to my doom.

To be perfectly honest, I think my basic familiarity with this family of exercise did help a little, but there’s really nothing more uncomfortable than contorting yourself into complicated knots composed of arms, legs, and torso twists while trying to crane your neck to watch the instructor, who is not on a handy raised platform, for a clue as to what to do next.

After a while, I gave that up and just started watching the women around me and trying to emulate them. Let me encourage those of you who ever try to take a yoga class in a foreign language- after half an hour, you’re timing is only a split second off of everyone else, and since slow, flowing movements are the name of the game, it really looks as if you’re responding to the incomprehensible words pouring out of the instructor’s mouth. Until that moment where you’re so focused on not allowing the leg that’s both supporting you and slowly liquefying into jelly to collapse that you miss the one uttered word that sends everyone else to take a seat on the ground, leaving you alone in all your tree-like glory. What a wondrous thing it is to be able to comprehend words without having to physically see the meaning as well.

On the bright side, I did get a sense of just how much my Japanese has improved in the course of this last year. My yoga-specific vocabulary will take some time to grow, but I was able to understand snatches of phrases, including the all important “release” command.

And, despite the humble pie I can’t seem to get enough of when put in situations where Japanese is the exclusive language used, I rather enjoyed the class. It’s submergence without the crutch of English use where you get the chance to really see where you stand in the area of comprehension. Everyone I meet wants to practice their English with me, so it was nice to be in a place where I was able to practice my Japanese instead.

We’ll see whether I like it quite so much next week.

Counting 101

I've only returned to Japan from lounging in the Colorado foothills about two weeks ago, so the speed it took for me to revert to Japanese ways came as a surprise.

There I was, cheerfully relaying a story of something-or-other to my husband and acting as I normally do (I think they call it "talking with your hands"). Somewhere in the midst of my active exposition I began to number points with my fingers. I never got past one.

The reason for this is that I had unwittingly flung out my middle finger, waving it around like a baton. A few seconds passed before realization flushed across my face and I quickly hid the offending digit.

I really can't remember the last time I flipped someone off. Fortunately, he has also become accustomed to the Japanese way of life, so he wasn't even aware of what I'd done until I began to stutter my apology. We both laughed and went on with life.

It's only those times when I sit and ponder the re-telling of moments like this that I realize just how subtly a surrounding culture can impress itself upon you. Most of the time, you don't even notice. All it takes is submergence amongst natives before their habit of pointing at things on the lunch menu with their middle finger becomes second nature to even the most prudent of Americans.

The lesson I took from all this was that I'd better be careful when we're once again firmly established state-side, which includes being quite aware of what my body is doing during the act of communication. It's not that beginning the counting sequence with the longest finger doesn't make sense and could even be argued as natural (as could just about any other way of counting when attached with an explanation), but my poor grandmother might not know what to think...

Pesky Skeets

2 minutes. That's how long it took for me to lock up my bike and enter the house at 1:30pm this afternoon. Apparently that's also the equivalent of eternity to the voracious mosquitos that plague this fair country. How else would you explain the 7 itchy bite marks that popped up out of nowhere?

2 minutes...that's just not right.

Dance Dance Evolution

Watch this. I promise it's entertaining and well worth sitting through the obligatory 30 second Netflix commercial.

While in the Kitchen

As I was cooking dinner this evening, I pondered yet again why it is that, here on an island nation where seafood finds its way into everything, even chip flavoring, chicken constitutes a major part of our diet instead of fish. This quite naturally led to a mental reviewing of poultry's pros and cons:

Pros:
* Low in fat
* Incredibly versatile in its usage
* Hard to ruin (unlike pork chops... lousy pork chops)
* No guts or scales to worry about, just the occasional blood vessel
* My husband likes chicken
* I like chicken
* It's insanely cheap... cheaper than fish, which is kind of sad in a way...

Cons:
* Even we can get tired of chicken
* They insist on selling chicken breast with the skin, which means I have the pleasure of peeling it off AND washing off the connecting mucus before tossing it into the frying pan...

I suppose the pros outweigh the cons. I hear that chicken prices have risen in the U.S. recently. For once, it seems that living on an island has produced something cheaper than our homeland (although everything else around us like the air more than makes up for it). You really can't beat roughly 61 cents per 100 grams, which means $2.80 for a pound.

I also find it interesting that dark meat like the thigh is double the price of breast meat, showing the Asian preference to be opposite that of the average American.

Does this mean that every time I buy chicken at the market and sigh at the inevitable inclusion of skin, I unknowingly paint a big red sign on my back that screams "foreigner"? First of all, I'm buying the less popular chicken part, and secondly, why wouldn't I want the delicious skin to brown all crispy-like to delight the tastebuds of my family? Or liver to combine with it? Or the heart for that matter?

They come in packs of 8.

I think... I'll just quietly peel the skin off, thank you.

Part of the Job Description

The other day I was taking a walk (for no other reason than the insane one of turning my 5 minute walk to the store into a 30 minute one around the neighborhood for the sake of "exercise"). I passed many houses on the way. Then I heard a sound that made me start like a frightened jackrabbit. Apparently one of the houses with open windows had someone in it, and he was singing... badly. Belting out lyrics for all he was worth, actually.

It was amusing. Hopefully the practice will help him stay on pitch when he finds himself at the inevitable karaoke place with all his business associates and must sing or be shamed forever.

Businessmen here do that, you know. They practice singing for hours in preparation of the after-work party that leads to those microphones in hopes they won't look or sound incredibly foolish. What is it they call that? Ah yes. Damage control.