Figs

My day today in Japanese school was doodoo on a stick. I'm back to my rightful place at the bottom of the class. It sucks. I've lost that bouncy, optimistic feeling about passing the year. It was nice for the two weeks it lasted. But sure onwards and upwards. I don't want to be a gloomy Gus. 'Today is the youngest day...' and all that jazz.
So I've decided I want to talk to you about figs.
I am a recent convert to the fig. I've never been a big fan of the dried variety. But fresh ones are delicious. I mean just look at that plump, red goodness.
I know, hark at me! A scrubber from the Northside banging on about such exotic delicacies.
But seriously, now is the best season. Wherever you are, go out and getcha fig on!
P.S. This advice may not apply to our dear readers in the Southern Hemisphere.

Ad on a Tokyo Vending Machine

Tell me this isn't 'Lost in Translation' made flesh and blood.

This is the face of a man who has sold his soul for a can of coffee.

Moon viewing

A couple of weeks ago it was the お月見 (otsukimi - moon viewing) season in Japan. It's kind of like a Harvest Festival.
It's one of my favourite events of the Japanese calendar. I was born in the year of the rabbit, so I'm supposed to enjoy a special relationship with the moon. For those of you not up to speed, I have ranted before in these pages about the Japanese idea of the moon: they see two rabbits pounding rice in a mortar rather than a man's face when they look up at it.
Being the whiny so and so I am, I'm mad because I was ill for this year's ceremony. It's held mid autumn, usually the full moon at the end of September. You decorate your house with Japanese pampas grass, chestnuts and sweet potatoes. You then sit and gaze at the moon eating 月見団子 (tsukimi dango - sweet bean dumplings). It's so peaceful and contemplative.
I've always loved looking at the sky, and especially the moon. Maybe these Japanese have it right after all: Being a rabbit I'm strangely attracted to our little satellite.
I've tried taking pictures of the moon many times. It rarely works. Shooting into any reflected light causes major hassles.
Ironically, the best picture I ever took of the moon was captured when I was absolutely off my face on a beach in Thailand. On top of being unable to see straight, my poor camera had been through the wars (this was back in My Uncle Travelling Pat days). It had been soaked in a typhoon, fallen into the water, and coated in the sand of various tropical shores.
But look at it, I think it could be a postcard.
Recently, a great friend paid me a real compliment. She said she liked the way I take photos and asked if I had any favourites. This would definitely be one of them. It makes me feel the warm hazy feeling of the country and its bars!
I have a few other favourite pictures. I'm going to try and make a little album and put it up for all to see.

Three things about today:

Today I heard the most amazing quote. It's by Ei Rokusuke from his book 'Daioujou.' (I think - apologies for any misattribution or mistranslation.) It goes, 'Today is the youngest day of the rest of your life.' I find it inspirational.

Today I got a great laugh from my listings magazine. I found out that the Japanese translation of 'Being John Malkovich' is 'Malkovich's Hole.' Teeheehee.

Today I turned into a grumpy old man. I shouted at some young school kids who were throwing stones at each other. It made me so mad to see them doing something so irresponsible. They got the fright of their lives. I'm a few short years away from being the guy who goes round the neghbourhood is his dressing gown, shouting at people to stop stealing his newpaper.

I'm shaking in my boots, sweetie!

I was woken today by an earthquake at 6.40am. It wasn't that big, maybe level three or four, but it was big enough for me to assume emergency position. That means I jumped out of bed and huddled in my toilet, clad in jammies, with a pillow ready to throw over my head. The whole toilet thing is not in case I brown-trouser it. Rather it's because it's the safest room in the flat: It's the littlest and, therefore, has the best roof support.
My first thought on getting back to bed was, 'Thank you very much, Kim Jong Bloomin' Il! You've only gone and set off another nuclear bomb, haven't you!'
The fact that Korea and Japan lie on different tectonic plates did nothing to assuage my bitterness toward the podgy dictator. I remained convinced that it was his fault I was too nervous to get back to sleep. It was because of him and his ego that I would be forced to go to work without my full beauty quota.
It's a rotten business this whole nuclear testing thing. Let's put aside the obvious risks of aggression or weapons being sold off to terrorists. What scares me more is the almost inevitable environmental damage that this part of the world is going to be made to suffer. I figure sushi and sashimi are going to have to undergo the glow-in-the-dark test before long. To say nothing of the radioactive currents or dust particles that are probably clinging to my washing as we speak.
I'm reminded of one of the funniest Victoria Wood sketches of all time. The Julie Walters character is talking very earnestly to her friend about the leak in the power plant in Chernobyl and how worried she was because she had her patio furniture out the night it happened. I've butchered the joke, but it makes me laugh to remember it. If I wasn't laughing, I'd be crying.
Frighteningly, the papers are reporting now that if North Korea builds a successful bomb, it will only be a matter of years before Japan itself will establish a nuclear capability. At the moment such an action would be anticonstitutional. But the new Prime Minister, Abe, and some of his advisors have expressed openness to reforming the law for such an eventuality. You can just imagine what some of the other regional powers would have to say about Japan having a finger on the red button. Can you say, 'Arms Race'?
Oh we're going to hell in a handbasket. And our beloved Western governments must shoulder some of the blame for this situation. The despotic Kim is like a spoilt child. No-one is paying any attention to him. At present all eyes our focused (disasterously and mistakenly) on Iraq and Afghanistan. Diplomatic negotiations were cut off long ago and have since been woefully neglected. So Kim Jong Il is going to throw a fit and make bloody sure people remember he's around. It all seems like it could have been avoided. He and his administration clearly have no respect for human life. I just hope that the Western Powers, China, Russia and Japan find a way of dealing with him before he goes all Thelma and Louise on us.

Happy 35th Anniversary

On October 4th, my parents celebrated thirty-five years of marriage. At the time, I wanted to write them a poem and put it up here. But I was sick that week and too self-centred to worry about anyone but myself. I'm better now, so here is the belated haiku.
I got the idea for this poem after considering parents' relationship.
Couples first come together and are very happy. Then kids come along. Soon the focus shifts to rearing the new family. The couple become distant, their orignal love forgotten. However, when the children have flown the nest, the couple are thrown back together, realising they don't know each other anymore. By always putting the children first, the bedrock of the partnership, that original love, disappears. And the whole family is weaker for it.
This has never happened with my folks.
Though my brother and sister and I have always felt perfectly, securely loved, it has always been clear that my mother and father's first concern is for each other. This is how it should be. And this is why, 35 years later, they're still sickeningly in love.
About 15 years ago my mother had a minor car crash. My sister and brother were in the car with her. I was at home with my father. My cousin, who was also a passenger, rang to tell my father of the accident. I overheard my dad picking up the phone. The first words out of his mouth were, 'Is G. okay?' (my mum) When he knew she was alright, he asked after his children.
I remember at the time how much this impressed me. It's stayed with me all these years. I felt even safer in my family unit knowing that my parents' love was so deep.
If I'm ever lucky enough to find myself in such a relationship, I hope I can remember my parents' lesson.
So here is my ode to a successful marriage.

その縁が、

子育てのあと、

切れなかった。

so-no-e-n-ga

ko-so-da-te-no-a-to

ki-re-na-kat-ta

The couple held hands.

Then came three happy children.

But that grip stayed firm.

Another Haiku

潮風は

くすくす笑った。

鴎の子。

shi-o-ka-ze-wa

ku-su-ku-su-wa-rat-ta

ka-mo-me-no-ko

A ticklish chuckle,

born of a seagull’s chick,

carried on the breeze.

I wrote this one lying on my sick bed, watching the maddeningly blue sky I was too weak to go out and enjoy. I was trying to remember what it was like at my favourite beach in Manly, NSW.
I took this photo of Japanese seagulls in Yokohama for my Dad last year. He was brought up beside a dock and has a fondness for all things maritime. Well I didn't check their passports, but the gulls looked Japanese. You can tell they are not Australian birds because they have two feet. Remember that loon in Nova, K.?

Watch your wallet!

Continuing evidence that I'm becoming more Japanese than the Japanese themselves:
Today on the train, a woman tapped me on the shoulder. She pointed to my bag and said, 'Dangerous!'
I've become so lax about my personal security that I stand in the train, with my bag open behind me, and my wallet peaking out, just asking to be pinched.
When I first arrived in Tokyo, I remember seeing other Japanese being equally careless. I thought they were idiots. Now I'm as bad, if not worse.
All the people who've visited me have chided me at some point for taking so little care to protect my stuff. But the idea of somebody stealing from me seems so alien. I can't imagine it.
I guess when the Japanese themselves are warning you, it's time to change. Today was my wake-up call.
Plus, if I don't change my ways, I'll be fleeced the second I'll land in Dublin airport this Christmas. I'll be lucky if the canny Irish thieves leave me more than my socks and a duty free bag for modesty!

Back from the dead

Hello all,
Sorry for that interruption to blogging transmission. I have been sick. I've only been de-interneted for a week, but I now have so many unanswered emails in my inbox that I get a little panic attack every time I look at it. I apologize for the delay in replying and thought that a blog entry would at least be a start.
So to my pox! I won't bore you with the details. It was just a bad, feverish cold. I soldiered on as best I could.
Usually I love living alone. I love the privacy, the independence, the self-centredness. But when I'm sick I hate it.
Usually I love working for a small school. I love the homeliness, the intimacy, the quiet. But when I'm sick I hate it.
Honestly, there is nothing worse when you have a raging fever and almost no speaking voice than to have to be perky, interesting, and instructional. Well maybe grocery shopping or cooking or laundry. They're probably worse. All of which we singletons still have to do when we're poorly.
But it's almost passed now. The hot and cold sweats are gone and the voice is now more 'nasal' than last week's 'on death's door'.
Sunday, I mitched off Japanese school and Monday was a national holiday, so I stayed in bed for two days straight. You know the truly galling thing? After weeks upon months of endless rain, they were the two most perfect days of the year - beautiful blue skies, crisp, dry air and a nice warm temperature. I ask you!
Being holed up in bed also forced, FORCED me to watch all of the second season of Lost. I had fully intended to spread it out and measure my enjoyment. But damn it, if I couldn't go out in my own blues skies, then at least I would enjoy theirs.
And man, that series is so cool. I will have to watch it again just to figure out all the cool links between the characters and plot lines. Very very fun. Please somebody email me if you want to swop Lost theories.
Oh I also tried to be a little bit highbrow too during my convalescence. I had an article in Japanese about Samuel Beckett that I'd wanted to read for ages. I was always put off by its difficulty. But it was well worth the effort. I learned so much. Did you know he originally wrote Waiting for Godot in French? Clever ba&#&%d. And then he only went and translated himself for it's hugely successful move to the London stage. It actually cleared up a lot for me: I'd often wondered how a man who used so many Irish names in his titles had come up with Godot. Did you also know he came from money? Hello Foxrock! I always thought he had the whole starving artist vibe about him. I was also interested in seeing him as an expat. The love hate relationship he had with Ireland really resonated me. He may not have chosen to live there, but, by God, he never let anyone say he wasn't Irish. To be honest, the article only took about an hour to read. I quickly returned to my true lowbrow nature and vegged and dozed until the bedsores started to kick in.
I'm back at work and school now as normal. I'm at about 80% fitness. Another few percent and I promise I'll get emailing.

Real haiku by a real poet

Thanks to my father's incomparable single-finger typing skills, here are the real deal haiku, as promised. I love them.
From "The Inchicore Haiku" by Michael Hartnett

1/ On a brick chimney
I can see all West Limerick
in a jackdaw's eye.

2/ I push in a plug.
Mozart comes into the room
riding a cello.

My art moves people

So it seems my foray into the world of haiku has led to an outbreak of artistic inspiration in my family.
My Mother, from her sick bed, was moved to compose a limerick for me. Here it is.
There was a young man in Japan,well known as the good Pato san.He decided to logall his life in a blog.Now we read it as fast as we can.
By my mother, The Trash Heap (a loving nickname, honest!)
Then my Dad went and discovered some real Irish haiku by a real poet. He read them out to me over the phone and they’re really good. He promised to forward them on to me and I’ll upload them as soon as they arrive. That way, dear reader, you can see what a real haiku is like.
Finally, as for my siblings, my art has inspired them in different ways.
My brother and his band, Brian Cullen’s Love Bullets, went and recorded a CD over the weekend. All down to me, don’t you know! Here is the band’s Myspace link, if you want to check it out (though it might not be up just yet).
http://www.myspace.com/briancullenslovebullets
While my sister, the stealth blogger (or should that be sloth blogger) has delved into the realms of performance art. Go to her blog and see her dressed up in drag. She looks the spit of Harold from Neighbours (if he lost a few kilos).

Celebratory mood

This is to celebrate the fact that I passed my first mock test in Japanese. I still feel passing this year will be a big challenge, but at least now I have hope. A lot will depend on luck. However, now that I have the experience of passing, I feel like anything is possible. Wish me luck! Only two months to go.