I've changed my mind

Oh yeah, the only other funny thing I had for you is that I bought new yoga clothes the other day.
I gave them a trial run at home yesterday. I am not sure if I will ever be able to wear them in public.
I have two words for you... black... spandex.
Seriously, you can see me changing my mind in them! I can't even relegate them to pyjama wear - they're so bloody tight I'd probably end up getting deep vein thrombosis as I slept.
Anyway, the highest bidder will receive a signed photo of me in my finery. Think Mister Bean meets Batman. All proceeds will go the Irish Society for the Prevention of Manorexia.
PS you do know that picture of few weeks back was of Christian Bale in 'The Machinist' and not me, right?

Homesickness

Feeling a little bit homesick just now.
When you live away from home for a long time, it's funny what can set you off.
The other day I received this dodgy email in my inbox. It was a Paypal receipt for a transaction I had never made in the name of one Patricia Cadwell.
Needless to say I was a bit worried about my credit card. I was (and still am) hoping that someone hasn't stolen my identity. I try to be as secure as possible when I buy things over the net, but you never know.
Anyway, I contacted Paypal themselves to let them know I was not a woman (though some would disagree - especially those who knew me in the first year of university with the tragic long hair). Paypal were rubbish and didn't help me at all.
So today, I phoned my bank at home in Ireland to check my transaction history. Nothing seemed out of order, though I was slightly mortified when I thought that the person on the other end of the line said my last transaction was for STD. Thank God it was FTD and I just misheard her. I don't want to be having any dealings with STDs if I can help it all.
My point is that just talking to this nice Irish bank clerk made me so homesick.
It's hard to put my finger exactly on what it was that made me yearn for home. I guess it was just the easy familiarity, the quick intimacy. I mean, she was perfectly business-like in her language, but her tone was so homely and comforting. It was like when I finished with my credit card inquiry she was getting ready to ask me, '...and how is your Mam?' or 'God, isn't it great drying we're getting out these days all the same!'
Every transaction is so formal over here in Japan, so ceremonious. Usually, I totally love it. I mean I go to the local convenience store just to pick up some milk (or more usually beer!) and even at like 2am the dude behind the counter earning minimum wage bows at me and hands over my change like it were some precious jewel.
But sometimes, I just miss the lovely casual manner of the Irish. The feeling that the person on the other side just gets me. That we share something.
In a way it's totally accurate that we 'foreigners' get called 'aliens' (外人 - gaijin) over here. There are times (even after all the years I've been here) where you just feel you're never really going to be one of the gang. Not like how you are at home. I mean I can study Japanese until the cows come home, but as soon as they see my face or hear my name the other Japanese will feel a certain distance between us or sense a certain wall.
Maybe I was just happy to talk to someone for a few minutes who didn't think I was that different to them.
In any case, homesickness is very weird. It rarely strikes me, but when it does, it's like a tonne of bricks.
Still and all, I love it here.
Nothing else to report. Had to study a lot this weekend. I had my first glimpse at some past-papers from the big exam I'm going to take in December. I am so screwed.
Apart from that I cannot wait for my sis to come over. Her whole two week's itinerary is nearly decided. We're going to see lots of cool places, but it's looking a little hectic. I'll have to take care not to be too hard a tour-guide. Rest is important too.
Anyway, enough of my waffle., I just wanted to write something, even though I have nothing to say.

Dessert, or time to call a lawyer?

Okay, so before you go calling Interpol, these are not what they look like. They are in fact dessert... Japanese style. A lovely grape jelly, to be precise. Though why on earth the makers chose to package them in a condom tied at the neck with elastic is anybody's guess.
I nearly died when my student whipped these out during the teabreak in our lesson. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to eat them or use them as a suppository.
Seriously, could this refreshing treat look more like narcotics all ready to be trafficked.
I'm usually game for trying any and all Japanese sweets. And Japanese sweets are notoriously hard to love at first glance...sweet bean paste in a glutinous rice pocket anyone? But I really have grown to love 'my people's' zany traditional eats.
But this batch has me bested. I just don't think powdered green tea with a side of spermicide is my bag, baby.

For My Lil Bro

So I posted especially for my sister. Now, to balance things out, here is one just for my brother.
This is an actual photo from a live wrestling match held here recently. I didn't go, but my student's grandfather used to be a pro-wrestler and hooked his grandkid up with some tickets. This was the more family friendly of the photos I got to see. Japanese pro-wrestling is this strange dark sub-culture (perfect environment for an eight-year old grandkid, don't ya think????) Anyway, the others photos were all blood trickling down people's faces and poles being broken over people's heads, and the like. To check out the other pics just go to the 'Wrestling' folder in my photos section.
Needless to say, if you come back to Japan, little bro, I will try and organise for you to go see these guys in action and maybe get a bit of a video or something happening.
Enjoy!

For My Big Sis

I just had to post pictures of my 'niece and nephew' - my big sis's dogs.
I've been promising to put their photos up here for ages, but have only gotten around to it now. To be honest, I was holding out for a picture of them in funny hats or boots or driving a car or something. But all I got was this official portrait, so it'll have to do. It is a great picture, though, I must say.
Not only are they the most beautiful dogs in the world, but they have character in spades.
The fair haired lovely to the back is 'Mr Ella'. A lazy-eyed princess, she doesn't know her own strength. Possessing a rich alto bark, she has a fondness for sharing it with the neighbourhood. A seriously traumatic puppyhood has left its scars, but with my sister's love and care she's coming out of her shell more and more each day. Most likely to be seen stepping on her brother as he sleeps or stealing his food. Least likely to be seen eating a whole bowl of fruit (skin and all) any time soon - not after the 'dirty protest' which ensued that my big sis had to clear up!
To the fore, in a black and white ensemble, is 'Lady Boy Ben'. A more recent addtition to the family, he came to keep his sister, Ella, company. He is small and bendy in stature, but what he lacks in posture he makes up for in style (to wit, his well stocked wardrobe of diamante collars and rainbow scarves). He is definitely the brains of the operation, while his sister is the muscle. Most likely to be seen scheming and plotting, usually cunning plans for how to steal human food. Least likely to be seen sitting near me again any time soon - the memory of a recent new year's where he only came near me to break foul wind still smarts.
We love you Bendy and Smella.

Icy crotch

Icy crotch is probably the nickname the staff at one of my local coffee shops have for me now: I managed to spill the ice cafe latte above all over my nether regions this morning. Thank God I was wearing combats - the coffee stains didn't really show that bad. It was the perfect end to a miserable week.
It's surely because we're smack in the middle of rainy season, but I've been in a funk for the last few days. I have not been at one with the universe at all. Basically, I have been too busy, haven't slept well, have had a lot of small accidents, have messed up a couple times, and have generally felt like throwing in the towel every day.
Even my boss noticed. Having left my beautiful packed lunch at home in the fridge (after having gotten the wrong train to work that morning), I had to run out and grab something to eat (not easy when you have a twenty minute break all day). Going out the door I must have looked kind of sketchy because my boss was like, 'Please come back! Things aren't that bad.'
And things really aren't that bad - I'm just in a mood because it has barely stopped raining now for the last two weeks and the greyness is weighing me down. Ah 梅雨　 (tsuyu - rainy season) in Japan - you gotta love it.
To compound my gloom, I read a disturbing article in the newspaper yesterday. It was an interview with the 'guru' who founded the school of yoga I joined a few months ago. I love the yoga he has developed, I love how it makes me feel, and I love the way Japanese people teach it. But man, the guy behind it all is a dick (excuse my French)! His philosophy sucks, his character sucks, and what he stands for is nothing like what I identify with.
He's in it for the money and the fame. Yoga is a business to him. And that's cool. But the horrible way he spoke to the students he was teaching, the way he talked about his wife and family, the arrogant and groundless assertions he made. Oh it was such a let down.
Don't get me wrong. I'm still going to keep going to and enjoying the classes. Like I said, I love how fit his form of yoga can make me. But my mind and spirit aren't going to get any enrichment from what this guy has created. For that, I'll have to look elsewhere.
Anyway, wah wah wah. I need to get over myself, so I'll tell you another chilling story about spilling drinks in coffee shops.
Years ago, I was teaching a student in a cafe in Machida. Sitting near us was a young man alone at a table. Beside him sat a young woman, also alone.
Suddenly, commotion! The girl had spilled her iced coffee all over the guy's table. The was lots of to-ing and fro-ing with towels and damp clothes, embarrassed laughter, repeated apologies, and so on.
Things calmed down and, rather than returning to their silent, solitary reading, the girl and guy got chatting. The ice had been broken (as well as spilled), and they ended up leaving together.
I thought this was all quite romantic and spontaneous and said so to my student.
She looked at me incredulously and assured me that there was no way this had happened by chance. She maintained that the girl had planned the whole thing.
In a country where the men are notoriously shy and where interaction between strangers is infreqeuent, if not discouraged, it can be important for women to develop strategies to meet men.
Apparently, among Japanese girls, the old 'drink spill' is a classic! You get to shriek and run about all girly and damsel-in-distressy. You get to look submissive, kneeling on the ground cleaning up the mess. And crucially you get a chance to make a second meeting, promising to pay for dry cleaning or treat the 'mark' to a coffee at another date to say sorry.
I was horrified. Are women really so manipulative? Short answer: yes! I asked around and met with a chorus of affirmation.
What do you think, gentle reader? Am I the only romantic soul left who thinks this was all sweet Cupid's work?
Worse still, what does it say about ME that the only spillage action I've seen in my four years here has been self inflicted?

I feel like I've joined a cult

On Sunday last, I proved myself to be weak-minded and easily manipulated - not just once, but three times!
I'm a perfect candidate to be lured into some dodgy cult. I hope there are no Scientologists reading this.
So I took myself to the Mori Art Museum in Roppongi to enjoy what I thought would be an illuminating look at the life of Leonardo Da Vinci. About 30 minutes and 12 euro later, I realised I'd been duped into seeing a glorified advertisement for ‘DaVinci Code: The Franchise.’
There was NOT ONE actual historical document, piece of art or artefact. Instead there was a slick, interactive multimedia presentation of the theories posed in the book (and now movie).
It was all swanky computers decked out to look like pictures in frames or old dusty books. As you approached them, they would come to life and lead you through explanatory notes, zooming in and out of the painting or text as necessary. Very impressive, but totally style over substance.
The scary thing is this manipulative extended commercial worked. Having been oblivious to the hoohah surrounding the Da Vinci code for almost three years, I came out of the museum itching to know more, and ended up buying the book. Like I say, I'm one red string short of becoming a Kabbalah bore.
In my humble defence, I will say that I bought the Japanese version, so it's kind of like study, too. It's a real page-turner, certainly much more so than the dry textbooks I usually have to read.
I was so into it the first night that I covered 66 pages. Not bad when you think that only four years ago, the only book I was able to read was 'Wise Mr Daffodil!' (For kids aged five and up).
Going hell for leather the first night was probably not such a great idea. Me eyes were killing me the next day. You have to remember that for novels, 'we' Japanese read back to front and top to bottom. It was a real workout for some unused eye muscles.
I've gone into raptures about the design of Japanese books before, but it bears repeating. Irish publishers: Get your fingers out!
The books are literally pocket size (see above). About 12cm by 8cm. They divide big novels up into volumes 1 2 & 3 (上、中、下 - jou, chuu, ge), if necessary, so they're always light. And before you snark, they divide the price accordingly, too. They print it on really fine, light paper, so you can actually turn the pages single-handed with your thumb. The idea being you can use your free hand to hold onto the handle in the train, eat your lunch, scratch yourself, whatever. And best of all they cover the book (sorry Mother Nature) so it's easier to recycle (Mother Nature, are we cool?)
Anyway I promise I won't use this blog to launch into my thoughts on international conspiracies, evil secret societies and massive earth-shattering cover-ups. This will be the first and last of my Da Vinci speak. Don't want to scare away all three of my readers now, do I?
As I said up at the top, cult recruitment was not the only sign that I am clearly lacking a strong and defined identity.
After the Da Vinci business, I attended a free concert of music and dance from Botswana. As I floated away on the tribal rhythms and joyful dancing, I felt that my life would only be complete if I were to move that instant to the savannahs of Africa.
Before I bought my ticket and started my course of vaccinations though, I had a plan to see an Italian movie in Shibuya.
As I don't speak Italian, it was more exercise for me eyeballs, trying to keep up with the Japanese subtitles (that should be side-titles I guess - remember reading from top to bottom).
I caught enough of the meaning to truly enjoy the movie.
All thoughts of Africa were forgotten and I felt I could only be satisfied in life if I travelled back in time to 1970s Rome and got the flat, the clothes and the life featured in the movie.
I definitely recommend the film. It was called Buongiorno Notte (I think). In Japanese, it was something like 'Good Morning, Night!'
It was about the kidnapping and eventual murder of the then President of Italy by members of the communist /terrorist ‘Red Army’group.
It was very Hitchcockian in its use of one apartment for most of the scenes – so claustrophobic. But what I really liked best is that, though the President was the actual prisoner, the terrorists were far more imprisoned by their ideology, fixed thinking and brain washing. And there we come nicely back to my original theme. Someone was awake in Creative Writing 101.
It is clear from my Sunday adventures that I am but a blank canvas waiting to take on whatever personality comes my way. I must have no strong thoughts, opinions or character of my own. Otherwise I wouldn’t be so easily swayed into wanting a whole new life all the time.
I'm on the look out for a new identity as we speak. Any suggestions? I'm thinking pirate - I'm sure I have the nose to offset and eye-patch!

Patochan in South Park

My little bro found this cool website where you can make up your own South Park character. This is his idea of me. It's so cool. He called him Patochan, and that's good enough for me. However, I was thinking of Lushster McRipple myself.
He sent me the site there last week. I tried to make my own version of me and it SO didn't work. It was bland and nothing.
I think you need an independent and more honest pair of eyes to capture the essence of the person.
When my bro did it he captured the effeminate side, which I wasn't able to show myself. Plus he got the slightly cold look masking crippling insecurity spot on. I know I'm reading way too much into this, but bear with me. Blogs are all about incessant navel gazing, right?
He also did a version of my big sis which totally doesn't look like her and yet captures her perfectly. For those of you who don't know her well, she's a total tree-hugging hippy. Honest to God, nintety percent of the time I see her she's either wearing a bicycle helmet or recycling something.
If anyone's interested, just mail me and I'll forward you the address to continue your own South Park madness.
The scariest thing about this picture is that, not only do I own those very sunglasses, but I also have the self-same hat in black.
To be honest, I'm neither a big fan of cocktails nor icecream (though I have been known to water down strawberry kisses with vodka).
If you were to change the image to have Patochan holding a stein of beer and a massive pretzel it would totally be me at the Oktoberfest in Munich. I swear it took me like three hours to get through that goddamn pretzel... the beer slightly less time!