Hey people, let me educate you a minute. Anyone know the difference between a hurricane, a typhoon and a cyclone? No? Well, thanks to my friendly meteorologist, I do, now.
So they’re all exactly the same weather system. It’s just that when one is over the Atlantic, it’s called a hurricane; when over the Pacific, a typhoon; and when over the Indian Ocean, a cyclone.
Kind of like when another person steals from you we call it robbery, but when the government steals from you we call it taxation. I keed! I keed! I love you Bertie. Gawaan the Aidan’s !!!
What am I talking about. I’m not even a resident taxpayer in Ireland, though that forty-Euro-a-year credit card levy still smarts.
Anyway, the reason I’m waffling on about stormy weather and the like is that typhoon number twelve is heading our way. It’s a rare breed: one of the 1% of typhoons that originate in the Atlantic and start their life out as a hurricane. Feeling itchy feet, they speed off over the International Date Line and suddenly become a typhoon.
This wordplay is all well and good, but it still doesn’t change the fact that I’m battening down the hatches yet again in preparation for another wind and rain assault. And the typhoon season only lasts until, what, November! Flippin’ marvellous. You wouldn’t credit Japanese weather.
It’s actually lashing out of the heavens as I type. And this after four hours of Japanese class and nowt but a two-and-a-half-hour mock test to fill my evening. I bet you’re all mad jealous of my exotic lifestyle.
I need a drink. (Successfully 10 days since my last alcoholic beverage, people. I’m a reformed man!)
Wednesday, 30 August 2006
Sunday, 27 August 2006
Dad's triptych
It was my sister's birthday yesterday. She asked my Dad to create three pieces of art for her as a gift.
His speciality is making a relief of dried flowers and plants (especially bog cotton from the west) and paint.
Above are the fruits of his labour. I love them. I'm calling them his first triptych.
I'm not being a pedant. I know nothing about art. Seriously zero. But I used to be a tour guide in Dublin's government buildings. There was piece hanging there by one of Ireland's most famous modern artists, Mainie Jellet, I think. Or maybe Evie Hone. It was a beautiful work, but more than that, the new word I learned fascinated me.
I love that I once again have the chance to use it.
However, before my exceedingly precise mother posts a corrective comment here for all to see, I'm aware that I'm not describing the above art exactly correctly here. My dictionary defines a triptych as 'a picture or carved design on three pieces of wood placed side by side, especially one over an altar.' But details schmetails. It's a triple word score, people, and I'm not giving that up.
Now that the word is out there, your challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to use it three times in a sentence tomorrow. Good luck and let me know how you get on.
P.S. Commissions will happily be passed on to my Dad. He's taking early retirement this month and will easily be able to knock up a triptych or three for anyone who's interested.
Friday, 25 August 2006
Capsicums in the Crapper?
Continued evidence that, as a teacher, I am not worth the money I’m paid.
In class with my two little eight-year-old students reviewing fruits and vegetables. Real back to basics stuff. Done it a million times with them before.
In their defence (and mine) I guess it was the first lesson back after a month’s vacation. But still…
So we were working our way through the list,
‘What is this?’ ‘Asparagus.’ ‘Check.’ ‘Pumpkin.’ ‘Check.’ ‘Banana.’ ‘Check.’ ‘Toilet.’ ‘Ch.. huh? What?’
At first I thought he was having me on, but the little rascal was deadly serious. Bear in mind that I was at this moment pointing to a fresh, green, bell pepper.
‘Toilet?’ I asked him.
‘Uh, toilet, toilet!’ he said.
I was like, ‘That’s not a toilet!’
And he was like, (make sure to say the next piece in a little Japanese accent) ‘Uh, toilet, toilet PEPPER.’
Jeez!
In class with my two little eight-year-old students reviewing fruits and vegetables. Real back to basics stuff. Done it a million times with them before.
In their defence (and mine) I guess it was the first lesson back after a month’s vacation. But still…
So we were working our way through the list,
‘What is this?’ ‘Asparagus.’ ‘Check.’ ‘Pumpkin.’ ‘Check.’ ‘Banana.’ ‘Check.’ ‘Toilet.’ ‘Ch.. huh? What?’
At first I thought he was having me on, but the little rascal was deadly serious. Bear in mind that I was at this moment pointing to a fresh, green, bell pepper.
‘Toilet?’ I asked him.
‘Uh, toilet, toilet!’ he said.
I was like, ‘That’s not a toilet!’
And he was like, (make sure to say the next piece in a little Japanese accent) ‘Uh, toilet, toilet PEPPER.’
Jeez!
Nearly lost an eye today
What are the chances of this accident happening in Ireland: nearly poking one’s eye out on a chopstick drying by a kitchen sink. Slim to none, I would say. But here in my flat it’s an almost weekly occurrence – utensil threat level orange, at the very least.
Some background: I love my flat. It’s conveniently located. It has a happy, homely vibe. And (for Japan) it’s pretty big. But it is, nonetheless, ageing and eccentric. Not unlike its inhabitant.
I’m used to the fact that the walls are made of paper. I have grown an extra layer of calcium on my forehead from repeated bashing on the too-low doorframes. Curvature of the spine from the midget-tailored counters? Not a problem.
But what really gets my goat is the architects gave me a bathroom that is nearly bigger than my bedroom, and yet didn’t see fit to include a bathroom sink in their design. That’s right, all non-shower ablutions have to be done in the kitchen. Gross, right? And pretty dangerous, too, as it turns out.
So back to today’s near gouging.
As is my wont, I’d washed a load of dishes last night and left them to dry over night by the sink. This morning, running late from too much coffee and newspaper time, I was leaning in to the sink to rinse my brushed teeth. Then I felt a little discomfort around my left eye. Not pain – just discomfort.
I realised that the tip of a chopstick was sitting snugly in the fold of skin between my eyeball and ocular cavity.
Amazingly, I didn’t freak out. I slowly and calmly eased back, stood straight and (not so calmly) examined my eye in the mirror for damage. Not a scratch. Not even some bruising or an irritation. Seriously though, a centimetre either way and I’d have been composing this post in Braille. Unbelievably lucky. Thank you to whoever is looking after me.
Morals of the story: Learn to wash and put away (never gonna happen) and try to minimise the preparation of dishes that might require a fork!
Peace out,
Gimpy of Cadwell Heights
Some background: I love my flat. It’s conveniently located. It has a happy, homely vibe. And (for Japan) it’s pretty big. But it is, nonetheless, ageing and eccentric. Not unlike its inhabitant.
I’m used to the fact that the walls are made of paper. I have grown an extra layer of calcium on my forehead from repeated bashing on the too-low doorframes. Curvature of the spine from the midget-tailored counters? Not a problem.
But what really gets my goat is the architects gave me a bathroom that is nearly bigger than my bedroom, and yet didn’t see fit to include a bathroom sink in their design. That’s right, all non-shower ablutions have to be done in the kitchen. Gross, right? And pretty dangerous, too, as it turns out.
So back to today’s near gouging.
As is my wont, I’d washed a load of dishes last night and left them to dry over night by the sink. This morning, running late from too much coffee and newspaper time, I was leaning in to the sink to rinse my brushed teeth. Then I felt a little discomfort around my left eye. Not pain – just discomfort.
I realised that the tip of a chopstick was sitting snugly in the fold of skin between my eyeball and ocular cavity.
Amazingly, I didn’t freak out. I slowly and calmly eased back, stood straight and (not so calmly) examined my eye in the mirror for damage. Not a scratch. Not even some bruising or an irritation. Seriously though, a centimetre either way and I’d have been composing this post in Braille. Unbelievably lucky. Thank you to whoever is looking after me.
Morals of the story: Learn to wash and put away (never gonna happen) and try to minimise the preparation of dishes that might require a fork!
Peace out,
Gimpy of Cadwell Heights
Monday, 21 August 2006
Little Human Baby Meat
From our ‘Overheard on the streets of Tokyo’ files:
The granny was pushing the empty pram home. Her two or three-year-old granddaughter trotted alongside, several steps to the granny’s one.
‘What do you want for dinner tonight?’
The sun was going down and it looked like it had been a long day.
‘I want fried shrimp, and fried potatoes, and vegetables…’ the child answered in her babyish burble, ‘…and meat.’
‘Meat, really? On top of all that?’
‘Yes. I want meat - little, human, baby meat. Baby meat would be delicious!’
You see this is why I can never see myself having kids. They go and say stuff like this right out in the open for everyone to hear. Lord knows I said and did enough as a child to shame my parents. But that’s a blog for another day.
This kid’s granny was just great. She totally played along, all gentle with ‘Really?’ and ‘So you’d like that would you?’ and ‘Is that so?’
She left her granddaughter’s burgeoning self free to explore the boundaries of its little universe. With her, this kid was free to challenge and experiment and form her own moral compass.
I’ve read that children’s play is almost universally violent and gory, but usually not a cause for worry. It’s supposed to be a perfectly natural and necessary part of growing up to be a normally functioning member of society.
Had I been looking after the rugrat, though, I think I would have totally freaked out.
As a guardian, how are you supposed to know where healthy stops and crazy begins? Pulling the head off a Barbie Doll? Skewering slugs on a stick to fling at unsuspecting siblings? Tying other siblings to beds with ropes and leaving them forgotten in their room with panic their only companion?
One whiff of infanticide and I’d have had that girl down the nearest mental clinic faster than you can say ‘The fruit of my loins may be the next Jeffrey Dahmer.’
This little episode reminded me of the funniest ever comment from my friend and former co-worker, A.
Now friends would agree that she doesn’t give off the most outwardly maternal of vibes.
So when the topic of child rearing came up, we were all a little surprised to hear her declare,
‘I love babies.’
‘No, I do. I love them…’
‘…but I couldn’t eat a whole one.’
The granny was pushing the empty pram home. Her two or three-year-old granddaughter trotted alongside, several steps to the granny’s one.
‘What do you want for dinner tonight?’
The sun was going down and it looked like it had been a long day.
‘I want fried shrimp, and fried potatoes, and vegetables…’ the child answered in her babyish burble, ‘…and meat.’
‘Meat, really? On top of all that?’
‘Yes. I want meat - little, human, baby meat. Baby meat would be delicious!’
You see this is why I can never see myself having kids. They go and say stuff like this right out in the open for everyone to hear. Lord knows I said and did enough as a child to shame my parents. But that’s a blog for another day.
This kid’s granny was just great. She totally played along, all gentle with ‘Really?’ and ‘So you’d like that would you?’ and ‘Is that so?’
She left her granddaughter’s burgeoning self free to explore the boundaries of its little universe. With her, this kid was free to challenge and experiment and form her own moral compass.
I’ve read that children’s play is almost universally violent and gory, but usually not a cause for worry. It’s supposed to be a perfectly natural and necessary part of growing up to be a normally functioning member of society.
Had I been looking after the rugrat, though, I think I would have totally freaked out.
As a guardian, how are you supposed to know where healthy stops and crazy begins? Pulling the head off a Barbie Doll? Skewering slugs on a stick to fling at unsuspecting siblings? Tying other siblings to beds with ropes and leaving them forgotten in their room with panic their only companion?
One whiff of infanticide and I’d have had that girl down the nearest mental clinic faster than you can say ‘The fruit of my loins may be the next Jeffrey Dahmer.’
This little episode reminded me of the funniest ever comment from my friend and former co-worker, A.
Now friends would agree that she doesn’t give off the most outwardly maternal of vibes.
So when the topic of child rearing came up, we were all a little surprised to hear her declare,
‘I love babies.’
‘No, I do. I love them…’
‘…but I couldn’t eat a whole one.’
Thursday, 17 August 2006
Baby’s First Haiku (Only 1st part’s in Japanese)
Click to hear the cicadas's song
アイルランドには蝉がいないから、帰国したら、この記録したオーディオは貴重な思い出になるだろう。
いつもこの鳴き声を聞いたら 「きっと、日本の夏だ.！」と僕は思います。
今朝、代官山で蝉を聞いて急に感動して俳句を作ろうと思った。
どうぞ読んでください。始めての俳句だから批判しないでください!!
立ち木から
蝉の鳴き声
夏は詩（うた）
俳句を英語に訳して同じく五七五の三句になった。よかったじゃないですか!!!
From where the trees stand
The song of the cicadas
Summer’s a poem
Sorry for that first bit was all in Japanese. I’m trying to challenge myself and make this a bilingual blog.
Today, was a great day. One of those days where I fall in love with living in Japan all over again.
I was walking in Daikanyama, one of my favourite areas in the centre of Tokyo. It’s a bit like Paris with a Japanese twist. Lots of fashionable people and places, cool cafes and restaurants, and tree-lined streets hiding wonderful new discoveries.
Anyway, I passed this park and all of a sudden paid attention to the beautiful singing of the cicadas. I guess because my mind has been on going home of late, I suddenly thought, ‘You know I’m really going to miss this whenever I leave Japan. This sound is just Japanese summer to me.’
I was actually all moved and for the first time in my life got the inspiration to write a poem. I swear this has never happened to me before. I though Mr O’Leary’s (R.I.P.)tyrannical English classes when I was twelve had cured me of any artistic bent.
But I went to a great little coffee shop, got a beer (for Dutch courage) sat in the window and had my first ever Haiku composed in about ten minutes. My father would be so proud. Who knew that under all the pragmatic cynicism beat the sensitive heart of a poet.
I’m actually really proud of myself, too. Why? Not just because of the poem itself, but because when I was translating it to English I found a way to keep the original meaning and the correct meter : A Haiku should be a three-line poem with a five-syllable, seven-syllable, five-syllable pattern.
Would somebody please give me a translating job? Stat. Who cares if I’m not qualified: I rock!
So if you look back up the top you can see it in bold in English. For those who are interested, here is the phonetics for the Japanese version:
Ta-chi-ki-ka-ra
Se-mi-no-na-ki-go-e
Na-tsu-wa-u-ta
The 80s are back: Nooooooo!!!!
Today I was walking through Daikanyama, one of the trendier areas of Tokyo. I came across this display in a window.S. in Dublin, if you are reading this, I saw it and immediately thought of you.
You’re going to be opening your own high-end fashion boutique soon, right?
Don’t you think a belted, grey flannel, knickerbocker jump-suit is just what the Irish market is calling out for.
Want me to ship it?
Wednesday, 16 August 2006
Oh Lordy!
Okay. I am now chewing on a rusk and researching adult pampers on eBay.
Theme tune to BOSCO!
P.S. Can some musically inclined person please set this track to a kickin' beat and make it a huge club anthem. Actually, check that. It's surely already been done. I am nothing if not PO-MO.
Theme tune to BOSCO!
P.S. Can some musically inclined person please set this track to a kickin' beat and make it a huge club anthem. Actually, check that. It's surely already been done. I am nothing if not PO-MO.
I thought I knew them so well
OMG I can't believe I found this. Does anyone else remember it? It's the first 'pop' (?) song I remember making any sort of impact on me. Well, I was only 10! Not that my taste has improved very much since then. Something to which many of you could attest.
The thing is, Elaine was prolly my age when this was recorded and yet she looks so old. Sadly, that's almost certainly something grandchildren will be saying in the future when they look at pictures of me from now.
'But she is just such a potato actress....I mean, petite actress, petite actress.' (Quote?)
And who ever knew Barbara Dickson was a trannie.
Oh and those stupid fake mics they always used to have to hold on TOTP. At least the two old pros (no pun intended - well maybe not for Babs) are kind of pretending to sing into them. I remember some acts whose lip-synching was so bad the actual equipment and their mouths new only the briefest of acquaintances.
But lads, I seriously have a problem. Somebody take my youtube away from me before I go looking for episodes of 'Wanderly Wagon' or the marvellous Slighty Bonkers from 'Forty Coats.' I'm one childhood flashback away from completely regressing to a childhood state.
As it is, I'm already foetal and sucking on my thumb... but that's just for kicks.
Oh, I had to say that to balance out the heavy, PC stuff that was going on on this blog yesterday.
Tuesday, 15 August 2006
A note on diversity
In the interests of full disclosure, the last entry has just been slightly edited.
I had made a comment about Dublin being 'knacker' ridden.
I am ashamed to have used this term.
My sister gently and very appropriately pointed out that this is not a slur against young people involved in delinquency or bad behaviour. It is a slur against an ehtnic group in Ireland (the travelling community), and as such should never be used.
I apologize and promise to try harder to think about what I say in the future.
I really admire my sister, her friends, and colleagues who are fiercely careful to embrace and celebrate diversity in the words and deeds.
I want to be like them and promise to make more of an effort in the future.
I love words - they are my life - and I know the power they hold, for good and bad.
Again, sorry.
Also, I'm happy to receive any other editorial comment.
The unquestioned life is a life unlived.
I had made a comment about Dublin being 'knacker' ridden.
I am ashamed to have used this term.
My sister gently and very appropriately pointed out that this is not a slur against young people involved in delinquency or bad behaviour. It is a slur against an ehtnic group in Ireland (the travelling community), and as such should never be used.
I apologize and promise to try harder to think about what I say in the future.
I really admire my sister, her friends, and colleagues who are fiercely careful to embrace and celebrate diversity in the words and deeds.
I want to be like them and promise to make more of an effort in the future.
I love words - they are my life - and I know the power they hold, for good and bad.
Again, sorry.
Also, I'm happy to receive any other editorial comment.
The unquestioned life is a life unlived.
The angst has abated
Things are pretty much back to normal again after my recent battle with homesickness.
A few things came together over the last few days to snap me back into shape.
First off, I took concrete steps to research coming home. So many negatives overwhelmed me - the hassle, the cost, the bitter realisation all my qualifications are out of date, the time and effort required to re-skill. I guess the skanger-ridden, expensive hole reminder didn’t hurt either (thanks, H., you got my back).
It all made my simple little existence here seem much better by comparison. It also drove home to me that, no matter how much I miss my family and friends, I want to be able to return to Ireland saying, ‘I am…’ or ‘I have…’ Not, ‘I worked towards…’ or ‘I’m almost…’
The second thing that brought me some clarity was going shopping. When I buy clothes, I tend to idealise how great these new things are going to make me look / act / feel. Then, I come home, put them on, and it’s always a disappointment. Nothing ever looks quite how I imagined it. I never capture in reality the buzz the things gave me when they were just an idea.
So, too, with moving home. I tend to build up some big life change as the solution to all my problems. ‘If I just go home, I’ll never feel lonely / bored / dissatisfied again.’ ‘Going home will stop me living as if my life is on pause.’ ‘One more clean slate and I’ll get everything right this time. No more screw-ups!
Of course, it’s all rubbish. Even if, in one fell swoop, I could solve all the problems I have banging around in my head, I’d still just get home and make up a whole bunch of new ones. That’s life, right!
I have to remember that my life is a journey and I must focus on the course and not the destination. (Please feel free to stick your fingers down your throats at this point. I’m one Hallmark sentiment away from drowning in the gushing waters of my profound self-analysis and discovery.)
But really, more than anything else, what helped get me back on track is the good people I have all over the world who care about me.
Many people listened to me whine, gave me sound counsel and advice and helped take my drama-queen ass back off the ledge.
Life is too short for pointless navel gazing. Rather than fussing and moaning or fantasising and idealising, I’m going to use my thinking time productively.
Some of the best advice I got was to really think about what makes me happy and make a career out of that. Being a smart aleck, I was like, ‘Well, I need to spend the rest of my life drinking coffee and watching TV all day.’
‘Ah yes,’ came the wise reply, ‘but could you do that eight hours a day every day for a month?’
Good point - if my recent TV marathons have taught me nothing else, it’s that too much of a good thing can lead to headaches, tired eyes and bedsores.
So, as an exercise, I’m going to try and make a list of times when I have been really happy, and times I have been really sad and see what directions these observations might lead me in.
Maybe I’ll let you know how I’m doing later on.
A few things came together over the last few days to snap me back into shape.
First off, I took concrete steps to research coming home. So many negatives overwhelmed me - the hassle, the cost, the bitter realisation all my qualifications are out of date, the time and effort required to re-skill. I guess the skanger-ridden, expensive hole reminder didn’t hurt either (thanks, H., you got my back).
It all made my simple little existence here seem much better by comparison. It also drove home to me that, no matter how much I miss my family and friends, I want to be able to return to Ireland saying, ‘I am…’ or ‘I have…’ Not, ‘I worked towards…’ or ‘I’m almost…’
The second thing that brought me some clarity was going shopping. When I buy clothes, I tend to idealise how great these new things are going to make me look / act / feel. Then, I come home, put them on, and it’s always a disappointment. Nothing ever looks quite how I imagined it. I never capture in reality the buzz the things gave me when they were just an idea.
So, too, with moving home. I tend to build up some big life change as the solution to all my problems. ‘If I just go home, I’ll never feel lonely / bored / dissatisfied again.’ ‘Going home will stop me living as if my life is on pause.’ ‘One more clean slate and I’ll get everything right this time. No more screw-ups!
Of course, it’s all rubbish. Even if, in one fell swoop, I could solve all the problems I have banging around in my head, I’d still just get home and make up a whole bunch of new ones. That’s life, right!
I have to remember that my life is a journey and I must focus on the course and not the destination. (Please feel free to stick your fingers down your throats at this point. I’m one Hallmark sentiment away from drowning in the gushing waters of my profound self-analysis and discovery.)
But really, more than anything else, what helped get me back on track is the good people I have all over the world who care about me.
Many people listened to me whine, gave me sound counsel and advice and helped take my drama-queen ass back off the ledge.
Life is too short for pointless navel gazing. Rather than fussing and moaning or fantasising and idealising, I’m going to use my thinking time productively.
Some of the best advice I got was to really think about what makes me happy and make a career out of that. Being a smart aleck, I was like, ‘Well, I need to spend the rest of my life drinking coffee and watching TV all day.’
‘Ah yes,’ came the wise reply, ‘but could you do that eight hours a day every day for a month?’
Good point - if my recent TV marathons have taught me nothing else, it’s that too much of a good thing can lead to headaches, tired eyes and bedsores.
So, as an exercise, I’m going to try and make a list of times when I have been really happy, and times I have been really sad and see what directions these observations might lead me in.
Maybe I’ll let you know how I’m doing later on.
Saturday, 12 August 2006
Eurotastic
A few disclaimers before we move on with this post.
1. Non-European readers, you may as well stop reading now. This probably isn't going to mean anything to you.
2. This whole post came out of the fact that when I was doing Karaoke with my sis I pointed out that she didn't quite have 'Linda Martin' microphone technique.
3. I haven't had the slightest bit of interest in the Eurovision Song Contest in about 10 years. But when I was young I was hardcore (Little Bro, I'll pay you royalties) It sounds, too, like the contest has really lost something now that it no longer does the total partisan fixed voting thing. It's all phone-in now. Though I'm speaking from a position of weakness - I haven't seen it in about 10 years.
4. I am quite possibly addicted to Youtube. It is AMAZING what you can find on there.
5. As far as I know, Ireland still holds pole position for most Eurovision Song Contest wins. I will not be posting all our winning clips. Basically I'm just putting up clips that I really remember or that were so bad they were good. The ones I'm leaving out were just so bad they were bad (Eimear Somethingorother and Rock and Roll Kids, I'm looking at you!)
So first up, the original and the best.
This is Dana singing 'All Kinds of Everything'. Please note that this was 1970 in the days before cosmetic dentistry - you could park a car in the space between her front teeth. Also, I can't watch this without seeing Dawn French - she did a hilarious take-off that really captured the mood. Useless trivia - Dana went on to become a quite conservative but very good Member of the European Parliament.
Next up, we have a dangerously high cheese-factor. Practically cholesterol inducing. It's Johnny Logan singing 'Hold Me Now' in 1987. Notice he appears to be singing in front of a viking ship. This is a theme that will reoccur with Linda Martin a few years later.
More useless trivia - Johnny wrote her winning song.
But seriously you Scandinavians, get your act togther. Next time put the singers in front of an Ikea Lounge Suite or something less cliche.
So Johnny's win led to the Eurovision being held in Dublin the next year. All I can remember of that event is the stage. It seemed so space age and kick-ass. I also remember Zig and Zag doing a killer take-off of Michelle Rocha (co-presenter with Pat Kenny). Basically he did a whole Dempsey's Den with a bunch of film on his head mocking Michellle's cutting-edge hairstyle. I'm really dating myself here now.
But you have to remember what a big deal this was to Ireland at the time. This was way before the Celtic Tiger, second-most-affluent-nation-per-capita crap. This was when Dublin had thirty odd percent unemployment. I mean 'The Commitments' time. Who knew we could pull off such a tight, cutting edge show. Irish Pride, people.
Even more useless trivia. The winner of this year's show was a pre-fame, pre-Titanic Celine Dion singing 'Ne Partez Pas Sans Moi'. Try to drag your eyes away from the swans that were needlessly slaughtered to make her skirt and focus on the set.
P.S. Though French-Canadian, she was winning for Switzerland.
Now we have Linda Martin singing 'Why Me?'. She who brought about this whole camp tragedy of a post.
Note again the viking ship in the background and the superior mic-handling technique. Big Sis, you should pay extra attention.
Last up, 'Why Not Millstreet?'
Linda's win again gave us hosting pleasure / pain? It must have cost a packet.
Again this was in a time before the roar of the Celtic Kitten. For God's sake, as you will see in the last clip I post, this was a time when RTE still had the Brigid's Cross in its logo - unimaginable in the multicultural, interdenominational Ireland of today.
So again I have vivid memories of this competition. The presenter was Fionnuala Sweeney. I now get to see her over here on CNN Japan. The girl done good.
I remember her being interviewed on the day of the contest on the radio. The interviewer was asking her if she was nervous. She answered, 'Not at all - I've been drinking since morning!' At the time, I remember thinking, 'You rock!' Foreshadowing future alcohol dependency issues, some might say.
Final bit of usless trivia, the singer Niamh Kavanagh scrubbed up pretty well for a mere bank teller. The song is 'In Your eyes'.
I know I'm suffering from ex-pat-itis but they make Ireland look pretty damn beautiful.
I guess I couldn't let such a post go by without reminding readers that it was the subsequent 1994 Eurovision in Dublin that unleashed Riverdance on the World.
Okay. So it unleashed Micheal Flatley, too. But you know ying and yong, ping and pong - you have to take the good with the bad...
Friday, 11 August 2006
The one where they all sing...
Over the last few months here at Cadwell Heights, we've been holding auditions for Japanese Idol. Tonight, the results... But seriously, you know I love me some karaoke. Every visitor who comes to Japan gets inducted into the cult by me. It's just so much fun with all these randoms songs they have to choose from, your own little private room, and drinks just an intercom away. First up, Big Sis, if you're having a 'Bad Day', don't! Watch this clip and smile.
Next up, you are all well aware that my sis is a big dog lover. Call me 'Crazy', but I think she chose this song just because the artist has Bark in their name.
In the following clip, my friend shows how the natives do it. She's a 'Scorpio Woman' さそり座の女
Next up, you are all well aware that my sis is a big dog lover. Call me 'Crazy', but I think she chose this song just because the artist has Bark in their name.
In the following clip, my friend shows how the natives do it. She's a 'Scorpio Woman' さそり座の女
Thursday, 10 August 2006
Existential Crisis
So since my sis left I've been returning to normal life. I'm not back in work, only in Japanese school, so I have had a nice free schedule. I'd be hard pushed to say I've used my time constructively. Put it this way, I've had several couch potato days where I haven't even left the house or gotten out of my pyjamas. Much and all as I enjoyed them, 8-hour DVD marathons (The West Wing Season 3 is so cool!) are neither good for the eyes, the spirit nor the spine! On the days I have dragged myself out of the flat, I've gone to my usual haunts. Up in Shimokitozawa (my old, funky neighbourhood) I sat in a cafe I'd taken my sis too, drank a beer and felt pretty sad. It wasn't the same going there alone. I have to say the drink helped dull the pain. It was a brilliant sunny day and sitting on the terrace enjoying the sun I downed my first Hoegaarden of the season. Meaningless trivia: Who knew it was properly pronounced Hugh Garden! I always thought it was Ho Garden, even though I lived practically beside the brewery for two years. If ever I need a stage name or a pseudonym or something, I'm set. That's it right there! That same day I got my pretentious on and went to a tiny art house cinema to enjoy an avant-garde comedy from the 1960s. Think Jacques Tati, but in Japanese. It was by Kinoshita Ryo (a contemporary of Kurosawa Akira) and was called Otoko girai (男嫌い - The Men-haters). It was the humourous trials and tribulations of four spinster sisters who were dealing with being unmarried at a time of great change in Japan. They were modern women coping with constantly being set up with undesirables and figuring out their place in a society caught between the lure of the old and the embrace of the new. To be honest it was pretty difficult for me to understand. It was so quick and of course humour really doesn't always translate easily. But I'd say I got about 70% of it - certainly enough to enjoy the experience. What was most interesting for me was picking up on the cultural references from a period when Japan suddenly knew extraordinary economic and social development. The four 'Thoroughly Modern Millies' lived in a house that looked like it was plucked from Southern California. They didn't take their shoes off when entering the home. They drank liberally, wore Western dress, and (apparently a first in Japanese cinema) were shown dunking newfangled teabags in cups, rather than enduring the ritual tea preparation of old. It was a learning experience that's for sure. I only wish I'd worn my black polo neck and beret - I would have fit in better with the rest of the crowd. Today, too, I hit the city centre for some shopping. I need new shoes. My sis told me how it's bad for your feet to wear the same pair of shoes every day. Since my first visit to a chiropractor all those years ago, I'm all about the spinal rectitude. So I need to stock up on a variety of pairs for the good of my back. Needless to say, I came home empty handed. I hate shopping. But I did enjoy a lovely walk in the sunny city and plentiful relaxing coffee breaks. The ‘talking in toilets’ saga continues, by the way. Avid readers will remember that I am shocked by how often I come across people sitting on the jacks and talking on their mobile phone. Repulsive, right? Well it happened again in a department store today. But that's nothing. When my sis was over I had the misfortune to see an even worse breach of etiquette. We were taking a much need break in Machida. Having a bladder the size of a pea, I, of course, needed to use the facilities. On entering the bathroom I was disgusted to glance at a guy standing at the urinal, wanger in one hand, mobile phone in the other, talking away like he was just shooting the breeze with a friend. Now surely you all agree this is not on. Tell me none of you has even done such a thing. On that dirty note, I guess I’d better go do some study. In Japanese school yesterday we were given our application forms for the big end of year test (this is the government accreditation test that decides whether I pass or fail the year at school). Yikes. I can't believe how close it is now: The Fourth of December. I really don't want to think about it. I've done flop all in the last few weeks, but don't regret a minute. As per usual, having waved off another visitor, I'm going through a serious bout of homesickness and can't imagine what I'm going to do in the future. Every day, my plans change. At the moment it's looking like I'll stay in Japan for another year and a half. Then, take another three months to travel around the world again. After that, I’ll go home to Dublin, maybe enter that Masters program in DCU and then try and figure out what the hell it is that I want to do with the rest of my life. Talk about your existential crises. I just miss my family so much right now. I love it over here, as you know, but I always feel that my life is somehow on pause. That the life I have made here for myself is not real, just temporary. That someday I'm going to have to knuckle down, get married, get a house and have kids. Anyway, to any of you who are shocked by this, take it with a pinch of salt. Homesickness does weird things to a body. Plus it always passes. Needless to say I will make no firm decisions in such a state. Everything is yet to play for!
Are all creation myths this messed up?
Feast or famine time again with me and the blog, it seems.
Please note this entry is long and boring and probably of interest to about three people on the planet (including me) and I doubt they’re reading this blog. Feel free to skip right over this one - I’m talking to you, Mother!
I’m just done reading a book about the creation myths of Japan. Only about sixty or seventy years ago, these stories were taught as fact in History Class in Japanese schools.
I found it really interesting to see how people explained the formation of the islands of Japan, the people and Gods who inhabited them, and the reason why the Emperor was revered as a God until not that long ago.
Bear in mind that I am still in Da Vinci code mode. The similarities were striking, especially in the way that in both the bible and the Japanese creation myth, women seem to be blamed for the downfall from a more perfect state. Do you think this misogynistic trend might have something to do with the fact that it was usually the men who wrote the stories?
In the Japanese creation myth, at a time when the world was basically a swirling soup of energy, the Gods started to bring beings to life. The seventh generation of these beings was Izanagi and his sister / wife, Izanami. Ed. note: Notice how the numbers seven and three always seem to come up, no matter what the cultural background.
So Izangai and Izanami took a great lance to the gloop and started to form the first of the eight great islands of Japan. While working, they talked. Izanami pointed out, quite politely, that she had a part of her body that was under-formed. Izanagi replied that he had a part of his body that was over-formed. Naturally, they thought to join these two parts together and created a child.
This first child however was a leech baby. Confused and horrified they went to the Gods who explained that because the woman had spoken first (can you say second-class citizen?) the child had come out bad. The man must be the first to speak or all will be lost.
So at their next coupling, Izanagi spoke first and they bore many children. Izanami gave birth to all the islands of Japan, their deities and the people living there. But on bearing the fire God, she got terribly burnt. She lay sick and dying, but she wasn’t done yet. Her faeces created ore, her urine water, her blood something else I can’t remember, and so on, and so on.
Eventually she died.
Izanagi was lost without her and went to Yomi, the land of the dead, to look for her. He called her out. She appeared at the gates of the underworld and said she would ask the Gods’ permission to come back to earth. She went back inside Yomi and gave strict instructions for Izanagi not to follow her. Of course he didn’t listen.
On entering, he saw her lying prostrate, being eaten by maggots and tortured by demons. She was so ashamed and angry with him seeing her like this (without her makeup on or anything) she called on the hags of hell and thunder to chase after him and kill him.
Failing in their task, she decided to go after him herself.
Coming upon him in her anger, she vowed that she would divorce him. Not only that, but to punish him for his contravention she would see to it that every day 1000 of his people in Japan would die. Izanagi retorted that if she did that, he would simply ensure that 1500 people were born every day to replace them. Ed note again: If they were still teaching this in schools, they’d have a tough time explaining Japan’s shrinking population and the lowest birth rate in the world.
Izanagi finally escaped from his terrifying sister/wife (seriously could this story be more chauvinistic?) and stopped at a river to purify himself (dirty, dirty women!).
When he washed his left eye, the Goddess of the sun, Amaterasu, was brought to life. When he washed his right eye, Touki, the God of night was born. And then when he washed his nose, Suzano-o, the God of the sea, came to be.
Now that no nasty women were involved in the process, things went pretty smoothly from there - apart from the Caen-and-Abel -like slaughters, the raping, the pillaging, the lust and battles for power, the divine jealousies and intricate revenges: All the usual biblical stuff, right? Fun for all the family.
And then the rest of the book was basically a lineage of who begat whom up until the present day emperors. Let me tell you, they were working from a pretty small gene pool - it seemed an awful lot of them were brother and sister. I’d better not say much more - you could get in real trouble over here for speaking ill of the Imperial family.
One final note, which really gave me a chuckle, was some of the names of the progeny. You can forget your Abrahams and your Ezekials. Why not try on a
Masu-Katsu-a-Katsu-Kachi-Haya-ni-Ame-no-Oshi-Ho-Mimi-no-Mikato (24 syllables)
for size! But please, just call him Joe.
Please note this entry is long and boring and probably of interest to about three people on the planet (including me) and I doubt they’re reading this blog. Feel free to skip right over this one - I’m talking to you, Mother!
I’m just done reading a book about the creation myths of Japan. Only about sixty or seventy years ago, these stories were taught as fact in History Class in Japanese schools.
I found it really interesting to see how people explained the formation of the islands of Japan, the people and Gods who inhabited them, and the reason why the Emperor was revered as a God until not that long ago.
Bear in mind that I am still in Da Vinci code mode. The similarities were striking, especially in the way that in both the bible and the Japanese creation myth, women seem to be blamed for the downfall from a more perfect state. Do you think this misogynistic trend might have something to do with the fact that it was usually the men who wrote the stories?
In the Japanese creation myth, at a time when the world was basically a swirling soup of energy, the Gods started to bring beings to life. The seventh generation of these beings was Izanagi and his sister / wife, Izanami. Ed. note: Notice how the numbers seven and three always seem to come up, no matter what the cultural background.
So Izangai and Izanami took a great lance to the gloop and started to form the first of the eight great islands of Japan. While working, they talked. Izanami pointed out, quite politely, that she had a part of her body that was under-formed. Izanagi replied that he had a part of his body that was over-formed. Naturally, they thought to join these two parts together and created a child.
This first child however was a leech baby. Confused and horrified they went to the Gods who explained that because the woman had spoken first (can you say second-class citizen?) the child had come out bad. The man must be the first to speak or all will be lost.
So at their next coupling, Izanagi spoke first and they bore many children. Izanami gave birth to all the islands of Japan, their deities and the people living there. But on bearing the fire God, she got terribly burnt. She lay sick and dying, but she wasn’t done yet. Her faeces created ore, her urine water, her blood something else I can’t remember, and so on, and so on.
Eventually she died.
Izanagi was lost without her and went to Yomi, the land of the dead, to look for her. He called her out. She appeared at the gates of the underworld and said she would ask the Gods’ permission to come back to earth. She went back inside Yomi and gave strict instructions for Izanagi not to follow her. Of course he didn’t listen.
On entering, he saw her lying prostrate, being eaten by maggots and tortured by demons. She was so ashamed and angry with him seeing her like this (without her makeup on or anything) she called on the hags of hell and thunder to chase after him and kill him.
Failing in their task, she decided to go after him herself.
Coming upon him in her anger, she vowed that she would divorce him. Not only that, but to punish him for his contravention she would see to it that every day 1000 of his people in Japan would die. Izanagi retorted that if she did that, he would simply ensure that 1500 people were born every day to replace them. Ed note again: If they were still teaching this in schools, they’d have a tough time explaining Japan’s shrinking population and the lowest birth rate in the world.
Izanagi finally escaped from his terrifying sister/wife (seriously could this story be more chauvinistic?) and stopped at a river to purify himself (dirty, dirty women!).
When he washed his left eye, the Goddess of the sun, Amaterasu, was brought to life. When he washed his right eye, Touki, the God of night was born. And then when he washed his nose, Suzano-o, the God of the sea, came to be.
Now that no nasty women were involved in the process, things went pretty smoothly from there - apart from the Caen-and-Abel -like slaughters, the raping, the pillaging, the lust and battles for power, the divine jealousies and intricate revenges: All the usual biblical stuff, right? Fun for all the family.
And then the rest of the book was basically a lineage of who begat whom up until the present day emperors. Let me tell you, they were working from a pretty small gene pool - it seemed an awful lot of them were brother and sister. I’d better not say much more - you could get in real trouble over here for speaking ill of the Imperial family.
One final note, which really gave me a chuckle, was some of the names of the progeny. You can forget your Abrahams and your Ezekials. Why not try on a
Masu-Katsu-a-Katsu-Kachi-Haya-ni-Ame-no-Oshi-Ho-Mimi-no-Mikato (24 syllables)
for size! But please, just call him Joe.
Thursday, 3 August 2006
Nellism
I think it must be all the electric wires and pylons just outside my balcony. Maybe it's the radiation or something, but living in my apartment seems to have a strong impact on some of my guests'.... shall we say 'mental faculties'...cough...'H. B.'...cough...
Some people spend time in Zama and end up talking like Nell from that Jodie Foster movie.
Anyway, my sister's visit has proved that previous outbreaks were not isolated incidents. Maybe a mix of the radiation , microwaves, jetlag and culture shock led her to come out with some real quotable Nellisms...tae in the ween!!!!! tae in the ween!!!!
Chief among them:
(whilst making a serious point over tea and cakes in a nice cafe) 'and one would think...(shocked silence)...Oooh I've just gotten cake in my ear!'
(on coming back from an ultra modern Japanese bathroom) 'I've just done the handjob thing in the toilet! (she was referring of course to the strange airdryers over here which are a little difficult to figure out at first)
(on being served delicious cocktails) 'Ooh I'll suck on that...wait that's not a straw!' (she was referring of course to the swizzle stick)
(when going from the airport sitting on the very last car of his train where you can see the conductor (not the driver!) in their own little compartment) 'Wow! The driver must have a hard time steering this thing all the way at the back without being able to see out - is there a camera at the front or something?' (I put this one down to jetlag after a monstrous fourteen hour flight)
(On discovering the joys of trying to get clothes dry in Japanese rainy season) 'I'm not wearing that - I don't want to smell like mouldy crotch!' (Seriously linen pants drying for three days indoors in 90% humididity... not a good smell, people. Don't try it at home.)
But the classic of all time for me was purely endearing. My sis made a huge effort to learn and speak lots of Japanese while she was over here. P., you have a serious competitor here.
All my friends and students were well impressed by how much she learned. But in the early stages of her learning she accidentally came out with a beauty.
In Japan, before eating, we say,'Itadakimasu'. It means something like 'Bon Appetit'. But Ro got it confused one day with me and said, 'Itamakidesu'. Roughly translated into English this means 'Hi, my name's Ita Mackey.' I was beside myself and now have a new favourite word and all meals now start this way with me. People must think I'm crazy.
I must now look officially like a totally bullying brother. But there is plenty she could hit back at me with. I mean, hello, scoring high in karaoke to Celine Dion. Or more embarrassingly the way I come up with my own special little names for daily objects and use them almost wihtout knowing it anymore. For example, the first car of the train is always the death car, echynacia tea is always euthenasia tea and the the hooks hanging from the ceiling of the train that you hold on to are always called strap-ons. This leads to the final hilarious Nellism which was therefore totally my fault:
(on a crowded commuter train, my sis shouts out) 'Ooh I just got hit in the face with a strap-on.'
Thank you and goodnight.
Some people spend time in Zama and end up talking like Nell from that Jodie Foster movie.
Anyway, my sister's visit has proved that previous outbreaks were not isolated incidents. Maybe a mix of the radiation , microwaves, jetlag and culture shock led her to come out with some real quotable Nellisms...tae in the ween!!!!! tae in the ween!!!!
Chief among them:
(whilst making a serious point over tea and cakes in a nice cafe) 'and one would think...(shocked silence)...Oooh I've just gotten cake in my ear!'
(on coming back from an ultra modern Japanese bathroom) 'I've just done the handjob thing in the toilet! (she was referring of course to the strange airdryers over here which are a little difficult to figure out at first)
(on being served delicious cocktails) 'Ooh I'll suck on that...wait that's not a straw!' (she was referring of course to the swizzle stick)
(when going from the airport sitting on the very last car of his train where you can see the conductor (not the driver!) in their own little compartment) 'Wow! The driver must have a hard time steering this thing all the way at the back without being able to see out - is there a camera at the front or something?' (I put this one down to jetlag after a monstrous fourteen hour flight)
(On discovering the joys of trying to get clothes dry in Japanese rainy season) 'I'm not wearing that - I don't want to smell like mouldy crotch!' (Seriously linen pants drying for three days indoors in 90% humididity... not a good smell, people. Don't try it at home.)
But the classic of all time for me was purely endearing. My sis made a huge effort to learn and speak lots of Japanese while she was over here. P., you have a serious competitor here.
All my friends and students were well impressed by how much she learned. But in the early stages of her learning she accidentally came out with a beauty.
In Japan, before eating, we say,'Itadakimasu'. It means something like 'Bon Appetit'. But Ro got it confused one day with me and said, 'Itamakidesu'. Roughly translated into English this means 'Hi, my name's Ita Mackey.' I was beside myself and now have a new favourite word and all meals now start this way with me. People must think I'm crazy.
I must now look officially like a totally bullying brother. But there is plenty she could hit back at me with. I mean, hello, scoring high in karaoke to Celine Dion. Or more embarrassingly the way I come up with my own special little names for daily objects and use them almost wihtout knowing it anymore. For example, the first car of the train is always the death car, echynacia tea is always euthenasia tea and the the hooks hanging from the ceiling of the train that you hold on to are always called strap-ons. This leads to the final hilarious Nellism which was therefore totally my fault:
(on a crowded commuter train, my sis shouts out) 'Ooh I just got hit in the face with a strap-on.'
Thank you and goodnight.
I'm baaaack!
The thing with the blogoshpere and me is that it seems to fill a need. When my life is full of interesting things to do, exciting places to see and cool people to hang out with, then I just don't seem to be that interested in updating online.
So for the past two weeks while I've been having the time of my life showing my sister around Japan, my blog has been sadly neglected.
But now that my sis has safely returned home and I have gone back to my shallow, hollow, shell of an existence, you can bet I am going to be all about the internets once again.
Time of my life was not an exaggeration. We have had so much fun. It really has been like my own vacation too.
I don't want to guild the lily: my sister has done a bang-up job documenting our day-to-day adventures in her online travel journal. You can access it via her link on this blog. So rather than rehash what she has already said I’m just going to give you some of my top moments. In no particular order (as we had so many good times, they're impossible to rank):
1. Lunch at Arakawa Dam in Yamanashi. This is one of the most mountainous regions of Japan, home, famously, to Mount Fuji. The dam is this hidden away spot surrounded by lushly forested peaks. We reached there in perfect weather conditions - a dry, warm day with a blue sky and a light, refreshing breeze. There is nothing near the dam except this one small, eccentric restaurant. We sat there on their terrace, looking at the gourds and masks and wild flowers decorating the shop, listening to the gentle classical music playing in the background. Dragonflies buzzed about in their hundred's in the valley below. The staff could not have been friendlier and served us a lunch of houtou nabe, homemade pickles, almond tofu and traditional green tea. The houtou nabe is a local speciality consisting of fat, flat noodles - not unlike fettuccine - in a thick, creamy pumpkin soup, with other mixed veggies, served in a cast iron pot. Honestly, relaxing there with great food, great companions and a great atmosphere I just about blissed out and didn’t want it to end.
2. The state of the art coffee vending machines. At one rest stop on one of our road trips we came across this amazing coffee vending machine. The thing is unlike any other I've seen. It freshly grinds the beans in a mill inside the machine before preparing the coffee for you. And just to prove it, there's a little camera inside the machine which projects all the workings on an outer screen as you stand there waiting for your drink. Seriously you put your money in the machine, the little jingle starts and for about two minutes you follow your beverage's progress on camera from whole bean to steaming goodness. It was SO cool. I know it's totally awful for the environment and wasteful of precious energy, but I really saw it more like performance art. And on top of it all, the coffee was gooood.
3. Scoring 100% on a karaoke machine in downtown Tokyo. No trip to Japan would be complete without a karaoke party. On one of our last days I took my sister and a friend to a karaoke bar. My sis loved it and needed no arm-twisting to sing after a few minutes. Everyone is always shy and reluctant and first and in the end you have to wrestle the mic out of their hands. I have a longstanding love affair with the old karaoke box and have built up quite a little repertoire. To make things more interesting, the more modern facilities provide little extras to entertain you. Some karaoke machines show you how many calories you've burned as you sing. Others allow you to sing along with your chosen idol. Others still give a percentage rating periodically through your performance. This last one is the type of machine we had chosen - it's nice to know how you're doing. Anyway, for the first time ever I scored 100%. In my many brutal years of karaoke I have never known that joy. Cue creaming, shouting, stamping of feet and me fumbling with my camera as my hands shook with glee trying to capture a picture of the perfect score before it disappeared from the screen. I failed. Okay, full disclosure: The song I achieved the perfect score to is shameful. I would point out that my sister chose it for me. It was, ahem... that Celine Dion song from Titanic, ahem... I know, I totally wish I'd done so well with something cooler. But true to my experience, even my great successes are tinged with shame and mortification. I must have really belted it out though. Unfortunately, as I said, the score itself was not captured on film, but the memory, like my heart, will go on.
4. The times where we just stopped, sat back and let the city go on around us. A few cases in point. After a long walk in Shinjuku picking a little cafe with a nice view of the evening city and just drinking a few Corona. An Asian restaurant in Inokashira park which I'd discovered with a friend who'd visited last year where we could sit and watch the thick growth of trees being lashed by the heavy rain as we sipped mojitos in the balmy afternoon air and really felt like we were in Asia. Dog Garden Café in Yokohama where my sis got her puppy and chocolate fix while I readjusted my dangerously low alcohol levels. Sitting there outside the café, near the sea, laughing, joking, watching the lights come on around us in Yokohama Bay was simple satisfaction.
5. The phat dinner my sis treated me to in the heart of Tokyo at Marunouchi. It was a cool restaurant, all ethnic and minimal. Each dish was presented like a work of art. Each element - the fresh ingredients, the inspired presentation, the fusion of modern and traditional styles, the taste - was as important as the other. Thanks to Ro I now have a new fave place to bring people who visit.
6. Our first day of sunshine after being pounded by the rainy seasonal weather front for the first few days. Walking around Shinjuku Gyoen in the bright rays and just taking the mickey out of each other is something I don't get to do over here.
7. The two power naps we were able to grab. I'll admit it. I overstuffed the schedule. We were way too busy. But this made the two brief chances we had to grab a thirty-minute rest all the more wonderful.
8. The times when we avoided taking a crowded commuter train for a bit and Ro allowed me to walk her through the city at night. At this time of year, the days can be pretty unforgiving but the nights are lovely and balmy. Walking from downtown skyscrapers and wide boulevards to little traditional homes built on top of each other in the zigzag maze of the suburbs was a joy. It was also a real buzz for me to show my sis that I now know the city better than many Japanese. I can navigate my way with confidence, something I'm ashamed to say I still can't manage in Dublin, my home!
All in all, it was just too much fun. I'm sure there are a million things I'm leaving out that were just as great, but there were the moments that came to mind
So for the past two weeks while I've been having the time of my life showing my sister around Japan, my blog has been sadly neglected.
But now that my sis has safely returned home and I have gone back to my shallow, hollow, shell of an existence, you can bet I am going to be all about the internets once again.
Time of my life was not an exaggeration. We have had so much fun. It really has been like my own vacation too.
I don't want to guild the lily: my sister has done a bang-up job documenting our day-to-day adventures in her online travel journal. You can access it via her link on this blog. So rather than rehash what she has already said I’m just going to give you some of my top moments. In no particular order (as we had so many good times, they're impossible to rank):
1. Lunch at Arakawa Dam in Yamanashi. This is one of the most mountainous regions of Japan, home, famously, to Mount Fuji. The dam is this hidden away spot surrounded by lushly forested peaks. We reached there in perfect weather conditions - a dry, warm day with a blue sky and a light, refreshing breeze. There is nothing near the dam except this one small, eccentric restaurant. We sat there on their terrace, looking at the gourds and masks and wild flowers decorating the shop, listening to the gentle classical music playing in the background. Dragonflies buzzed about in their hundred's in the valley below. The staff could not have been friendlier and served us a lunch of houtou nabe, homemade pickles, almond tofu and traditional green tea. The houtou nabe is a local speciality consisting of fat, flat noodles - not unlike fettuccine - in a thick, creamy pumpkin soup, with other mixed veggies, served in a cast iron pot. Honestly, relaxing there with great food, great companions and a great atmosphere I just about blissed out and didn’t want it to end.
2. The state of the art coffee vending machines. At one rest stop on one of our road trips we came across this amazing coffee vending machine. The thing is unlike any other I've seen. It freshly grinds the beans in a mill inside the machine before preparing the coffee for you. And just to prove it, there's a little camera inside the machine which projects all the workings on an outer screen as you stand there waiting for your drink. Seriously you put your money in the machine, the little jingle starts and for about two minutes you follow your beverage's progress on camera from whole bean to steaming goodness. It was SO cool. I know it's totally awful for the environment and wasteful of precious energy, but I really saw it more like performance art. And on top of it all, the coffee was gooood.
3. Scoring 100% on a karaoke machine in downtown Tokyo. No trip to Japan would be complete without a karaoke party. On one of our last days I took my sister and a friend to a karaoke bar. My sis loved it and needed no arm-twisting to sing after a few minutes. Everyone is always shy and reluctant and first and in the end you have to wrestle the mic out of their hands. I have a longstanding love affair with the old karaoke box and have built up quite a little repertoire. To make things more interesting, the more modern facilities provide little extras to entertain you. Some karaoke machines show you how many calories you've burned as you sing. Others allow you to sing along with your chosen idol. Others still give a percentage rating periodically through your performance. This last one is the type of machine we had chosen - it's nice to know how you're doing. Anyway, for the first time ever I scored 100%. In my many brutal years of karaoke I have never known that joy. Cue creaming, shouting, stamping of feet and me fumbling with my camera as my hands shook with glee trying to capture a picture of the perfect score before it disappeared from the screen. I failed. Okay, full disclosure: The song I achieved the perfect score to is shameful. I would point out that my sister chose it for me. It was, ahem... that Celine Dion song from Titanic, ahem... I know, I totally wish I'd done so well with something cooler. But true to my experience, even my great successes are tinged with shame and mortification. I must have really belted it out though. Unfortunately, as I said, the score itself was not captured on film, but the memory, like my heart, will go on.
4. The times where we just stopped, sat back and let the city go on around us. A few cases in point. After a long walk in Shinjuku picking a little cafe with a nice view of the evening city and just drinking a few Corona. An Asian restaurant in Inokashira park which I'd discovered with a friend who'd visited last year where we could sit and watch the thick growth of trees being lashed by the heavy rain as we sipped mojitos in the balmy afternoon air and really felt like we were in Asia. Dog Garden Café in Yokohama where my sis got her puppy and chocolate fix while I readjusted my dangerously low alcohol levels. Sitting there outside the café, near the sea, laughing, joking, watching the lights come on around us in Yokohama Bay was simple satisfaction.
5. The phat dinner my sis treated me to in the heart of Tokyo at Marunouchi. It was a cool restaurant, all ethnic and minimal. Each dish was presented like a work of art. Each element - the fresh ingredients, the inspired presentation, the fusion of modern and traditional styles, the taste - was as important as the other. Thanks to Ro I now have a new fave place to bring people who visit.
6. Our first day of sunshine after being pounded by the rainy seasonal weather front for the first few days. Walking around Shinjuku Gyoen in the bright rays and just taking the mickey out of each other is something I don't get to do over here.
7. The two power naps we were able to grab. I'll admit it. I overstuffed the schedule. We were way too busy. But this made the two brief chances we had to grab a thirty-minute rest all the more wonderful.
8. The times when we avoided taking a crowded commuter train for a bit and Ro allowed me to walk her through the city at night. At this time of year, the days can be pretty unforgiving but the nights are lovely and balmy. Walking from downtown skyscrapers and wide boulevards to little traditional homes built on top of each other in the zigzag maze of the suburbs was a joy. It was also a real buzz for me to show my sis that I now know the city better than many Japanese. I can navigate my way with confidence, something I'm ashamed to say I still can't manage in Dublin, my home!
All in all, it was just too much fun. I'm sure there are a million things I'm leaving out that were just as great, but there were the moments that came to mind
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