Sometimes I don't eat lunch until late afternoon, and then hunger starts really suddenly. Usually this kind of hunger craves something western, because much as I love Japanese food, it's too refined to fulfil such a brutal flesh-eating desire. So I usually go to KFC. Where they serve Japanese-sized portions. Today, as usual I was given a Chicken Fillet Burger the size of a medium-sized grapefruit - but more importantly I was given a bag of fries containing a mere 10 fries. Yes, I counted. A mere ten full-size fries and 3 more runty ones that don't count. KFC may do fat fries, unlike McDonald's thin ones, but I'm sorry, being able to count the number of fries with the fingers you have on both hands represents one simple fact: there are not enough.
This is down from 15 full-size fries the last time. Is this for convenience? Fast food used to be about time: serving you the food fast; but maybe now it's about quantity: giving you so little that you are not burdened with the inconvenience of having to eat very much. You can part with your money and be out of there in no time.
In America I had to order the smallest size of any popcorn, coffee, anything because this would still provide me with something that would be regarded as large-size back in England. Here I have to do the opposite and order everything large to get a medium size by British standards. I went to the cinema with Tom a few weeks ago and made the mistake of buying a small-size popcorn (£2). There was so little popcorn in the box that until Tom picked it up he actually thought it was empty.
Friday, December 30, 2005
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Merry Christmas!!
Before coming to Japan, I thought I would be indifferent to not spending Christmas at home in England, but as the day got closer and closer I became unexpectedly sad about it. My Christmas Day could not have been less Christmassy, but I ended up having a really nice time! It was an absolutely stunningly beautiful day and I discovered to my joy that Japanese post even delivers on Sundays, so my parents' Christmas package arrived on the very day, which made me so happy! This contained much chocolate and the full DVD set for series three of "24".
This has turned out to be unexpectedly problematic - ie, my parents may as well have sent me a bag of heroin: it's that addictive. I'm sitting on the edge of my seat, biting deep into my nails, literally feeling like my heart is going to explode out of my chest, it's so gripping. I actually burst into tears at the end of one episode, just out of pent up suspense.
I saw friends in the afternoon and ate a very unChristmassy lunch. Then met up with another Japanese friend just back from Canada, who I haven't seen for a year and a half, so that was cool. He took me to this really weird basement pub. After walking the jam-packed streets of Ikebukuro (and I associate Xmas Day with totally deserted streets in the UK) we go into this "pub," all brown wood and authentic-looking except that there are ventilation shafts all over the ceiling. We're greeted by a dead-serious waiter wearing a Rudolph the Raindeer furry mask, except it's an ultracheap version, so it looks more like a felt balaclava with a couple of small floppy horns and a red nose lolling off his schnozz. Almost as proof that I've spent too much time in Japan already, none of this actually struck me as odd to begin with, but then I looked at him later and I realised I was being served by a member of a comic splinter-group of the IRA.
Unfortunately I didn't have a camera. I wanted to make it up by getting another photo of that strange triceratops salaryman thing that was standing at the ticket gates at my station, because it was all kitted-up like Santa in the week before Xmas, but that too was gone... I guess he must have delivered all his presents already and gone back to his hut full of elfosauruses up in Northern Hokkaido somewhere.
This has turned out to be unexpectedly problematic - ie, my parents may as well have sent me a bag of heroin: it's that addictive. I'm sitting on the edge of my seat, biting deep into my nails, literally feeling like my heart is going to explode out of my chest, it's so gripping. I actually burst into tears at the end of one episode, just out of pent up suspense.
I saw friends in the afternoon and ate a very unChristmassy lunch. Then met up with another Japanese friend just back from Canada, who I haven't seen for a year and a half, so that was cool. He took me to this really weird basement pub. After walking the jam-packed streets of Ikebukuro (and I associate Xmas Day with totally deserted streets in the UK) we go into this "pub," all brown wood and authentic-looking except that there are ventilation shafts all over the ceiling. We're greeted by a dead-serious waiter wearing a Rudolph the Raindeer furry mask, except it's an ultracheap version, so it looks more like a felt balaclava with a couple of small floppy horns and a red nose lolling off his schnozz. Almost as proof that I've spent too much time in Japan already, none of this actually struck me as odd to begin with, but then I looked at him later and I realised I was being served by a member of a comic splinter-group of the IRA.
Unfortunately I didn't have a camera. I wanted to make it up by getting another photo of that strange triceratops salaryman thing that was standing at the ticket gates at my station, because it was all kitted-up like Santa in the week before Xmas, but that too was gone... I guess he must have delivered all his presents already and gone back to his hut full of elfosauruses up in Northern Hokkaido somewhere.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Dust is a Must
The end-of-year thing here seems to be the big clean out. At the office and at home. I don't fancy cleaning out the office, so I may try and pull the foreigner card and pretend I don't realise I'm supposed to take part. Meanwhile my room could do with one. I don't know why but rooms in Japan accumulate dust so quickly - it piles up like tumbleweed in only a matter of days. Little dust bunnies, everywhere...
You'd think that like the dehumidifier they would have invented a machine that sucks the dust out of the air before it can build up on furniture - a dedustifier, shall we say. But then, this being Japan, even if they did have such machines, we'd probably be out of dust-season by Japanese standards and need a dustifier with a little swizzle nozzle to spout out dust in time for the big clean up.
You'd think that like the dehumidifier they would have invented a machine that sucks the dust out of the air before it can build up on furniture - a dedustifier, shall we say. But then, this being Japan, even if they did have such machines, we'd probably be out of dust-season by Japanese standards and need a dustifier with a little swizzle nozzle to spout out dust in time for the big clean up.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Shame
I feel kind of shitty for making a big deal about teaching English to an S&M dancer in my earlier post. I've given her a couple of lessons since, and she's such a generous, profoundly kind-hearted person, one of the most fascinating people I've met in a long time. But above all, in so many ways she defies stereotypical assumptions about what someone involved with S&M would be like, and I feel bad for sensationalising the very fact I was going to teach her. As the Japanese say, 反省します (I'm reflecting on my behaviour.)
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Old Tokyo
I met up with some friends of a friend today and we walked around a beautiful old area of Tokyo that still has a lot of wooden houses, going in and out of little shops selling handmade shoes, leather wallets and so on. We also went to some extremely tucked-away little galleries above cafes - it was such a chilled out day (literally: very cold, but beautiful blue skies and sunshine). We also went to this house/studio of a sculptor who died in the 1960s. It was so huge, two-storeys tall with a pond in the middle of the kind you'd find in a temple. It's so great that there are still places like this in Tokyo.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Reverse culture shocks
Sometimes things strike me as odd here and it takes me a moment to figure out why. Kogo and I went out to an area of Tokyo called Heiwadai, not that far out of the centre, but as soon as I left the station I could tell something was different - it felt like I had walked into another city. I could tell it had something vaguely to do with there being fewer high-rise buildings around. Then it clicked. There was more sky. So much blue. In most of Tokyo you have to look up to see the sky, because buildings take up your field of vision, but here suddenly it felt so open.
Another example was when I went to the bookshop the other day. As I was looking around, I suddenly felt something was different. And then I realised: the whole floor was completely quiet! There were people, but no announcements or promotions over any speakers. Bliss! This is so rare in a Japanese commercial environment. There is so much noise everywhere and you get so used to ignoring it and associating only your home, small backstreets, parks and art galleries with quietness that to find yourself in a quiet bookshop is a real surprise!
(I finished another book today - I'm so happy!)
Another example was when I went to the bookshop the other day. As I was looking around, I suddenly felt something was different. And then I realised: the whole floor was completely quiet! There were people, but no announcements or promotions over any speakers. Bliss! This is so rare in a Japanese commercial environment. There is so much noise everywhere and you get so used to ignoring it and associating only your home, small backstreets, parks and art galleries with quietness that to find yourself in a quiet bookshop is a real surprise!
(I finished another book today - I'm so happy!)
Friday, December 16, 2005
Yokohama
I had a really good day in Yokohama today. It's about 30 - 40 minutes away from central Tokyo and is technically Japan's second largest city, but physically it's just another part of Tokyo, sprawling down the bay.
I saw a beautiful exhibition by a Korean Mono-ha painter called Lee Ufan, who I wasn't that keen on up until now, but he is actually really good. I then went to the BankART gallery, which I'd not been to before and found copies of the catalogue to my friend Lieko's photo exhibition in Osaka this spring and which I couldn't see, obviously, because I was in Cambridge slaving over the many books I had to skim read in time for my exams. Finding these catalogues totally made my day.
I noticed more than ever before how much more of a low-rise city Yokohama is compared to Tokyo. It also has many more public spaces, squares and wider pavements, so it's quite comfortable to walk around and I can see why so many westerners end up living there. The whole of Japan is strange, in one way or another, but Yokohama's schtick is that it has that corporate utopia feel to it (at least, the bayside bit I was walking around today). Everything is decked out in fairy lights at the moment and a flowerbed on the pavement was even singing "Oh come all ye faithful" in a rich old baritone voice. Yes, it was. This is Japan.
Here are some photos of the strangeness of the urban environment of Yokohama and some of that strangeness rubbing off on me.
This is a really cool fountain outside the Yokohama Museum of Art.
Landmark Tower, Japan's tallest tower with the world's fastest lift which makes your ears pop. This photo is taken from the balcony of the BankART Gallery.
Green with envy.
Tickled pink!
This is an example of Japan at Christmas time: Neo-PostModern-Pseudo-Western-Kitsch-Something.
An unusually colourful entrace to the underground.
Down, down, down.
I saw a beautiful exhibition by a Korean Mono-ha painter called Lee Ufan, who I wasn't that keen on up until now, but he is actually really good. I then went to the BankART gallery, which I'd not been to before and found copies of the catalogue to my friend Lieko's photo exhibition in Osaka this spring and which I couldn't see, obviously, because I was in Cambridge slaving over the many books I had to skim read in time for my exams. Finding these catalogues totally made my day.
I noticed more than ever before how much more of a low-rise city Yokohama is compared to Tokyo. It also has many more public spaces, squares and wider pavements, so it's quite comfortable to walk around and I can see why so many westerners end up living there. The whole of Japan is strange, in one way or another, but Yokohama's schtick is that it has that corporate utopia feel to it (at least, the bayside bit I was walking around today). Everything is decked out in fairy lights at the moment and a flowerbed on the pavement was even singing "Oh come all ye faithful" in a rich old baritone voice. Yes, it was. This is Japan.
Here are some photos of the strangeness of the urban environment of Yokohama and some of that strangeness rubbing off on me.
This is a really cool fountain outside the Yokohama Museum of Art.
Landmark Tower, Japan's tallest tower with the world's fastest lift which makes your ears pop. This photo is taken from the balcony of the BankART Gallery.
Green with envy.
Tickled pink!
This is an example of Japan at Christmas time: Neo-PostModern-Pseudo-Western-Kitsch-Something.
An unusually colourful entrace to the underground.
Down, down, down.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Books! Lovely Books!
I'm proud to say that I have actually read a book over these last ten days. From cover to cover. The past four years of Cambridge have until now utterly killed my ability to read anything to its end, even short newspaper columns. It was the systematic process of being given a reading list of five or six books in preparation for an essay or a presentation and having to read them all by a fixed deadline, usually ten days away. Given all the other translation work etc that we had to do, this meant that I would either only read the recommended chapters, or in the case we actually had to read the whole book, I would skim read it for the most relevant bits. This, combined with that fact that I was either not that interested in many of the topics these books were about, or I was downright bored shitless by them. On getting home I'd immediately divide the total number of pages by the number of days I had to read them to break it down... and then not read them anyway. Not a healthy reading situation.
So in four years, I think I've only read about four novels of my own choice during the holidays and three of those were by Haruki Murakami, so not the most demanding stuff. I've repeatedly walked into bookshops and had to leave promptly because I'm overwhelmed with the feeling that there are so many books I want to read and no time (or basic ability) to read them. I always froze with fear whenever Saara offered me a book to read (which somehow you always have in your handbag, ready to offer whenever we meet up over any given cup of coffee. Though I have to say I was proud to have read the Jon Ronson book you lent me this summer - note, once the heavy hand of Cambridge had released me from its grip - that was the trick you see: if you'd kept them simple, with big type, like Babar or something, I would have read them all.)
So now I'm returning to the halcyon days of my teenage years when I read like crazy. This is made so much easier by the fairly long amounts of time I have to spend on the subway every day in Tokyo, just to cover the pretty large distances from A to B.
I've been reading Noam Chomsky's "Imperial Ambitions," which totally exposes the blinding hypocrisy of the way rich and powerful countries treat weak and poor ones.
Michael Klare's "Blood and Oil" is the one book you need to read if you want to understand why things have come to be the way they are now and how global politics will unfold over the next decade or so (the clue is in the title).
And, knowing that reading another book about how fucked up the world is might send me over the edge, I bought "Carlos Eire's "Waiting for Snow in Havana: Confessions of a Cuban Boy" - a beautiful account of a Cuban exile's very intense, magical, at times frightening childhood in Havana at the time the revolution started.
I'm so happy to be reading for myself again!
So in four years, I think I've only read about four novels of my own choice during the holidays and three of those were by Haruki Murakami, so not the most demanding stuff. I've repeatedly walked into bookshops and had to leave promptly because I'm overwhelmed with the feeling that there are so many books I want to read and no time (or basic ability) to read them. I always froze with fear whenever Saara offered me a book to read (which somehow you always have in your handbag, ready to offer whenever we meet up over any given cup of coffee. Though I have to say I was proud to have read the Jon Ronson book you lent me this summer - note, once the heavy hand of Cambridge had released me from its grip - that was the trick you see: if you'd kept them simple, with big type, like Babar or something, I would have read them all.)
So now I'm returning to the halcyon days of my teenage years when I read like crazy. This is made so much easier by the fairly long amounts of time I have to spend on the subway every day in Tokyo, just to cover the pretty large distances from A to B.
I've been reading Noam Chomsky's "Imperial Ambitions," which totally exposes the blinding hypocrisy of the way rich and powerful countries treat weak and poor ones.
Michael Klare's "Blood and Oil" is the one book you need to read if you want to understand why things have come to be the way they are now and how global politics will unfold over the next decade or so (the clue is in the title).
And, knowing that reading another book about how fucked up the world is might send me over the edge, I bought "Carlos Eire's "Waiting for Snow in Havana: Confessions of a Cuban Boy" - a beautiful account of a Cuban exile's very intense, magical, at times frightening childhood in Havana at the time the revolution started.
I'm so happy to be reading for myself again!
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Kinky!
So I'm teaching English to an S&M dancer.
We met when I went back to a bar in Golden Gai for lunch last week. She works as a barlady in a couple of bars around the area and we had a really good chat while I was having lunch. I met a couple of other really odd but harmless artist people while I was there. And she really wanted me to teach her English so that she could explain what kind of dance she does to foreigners. She said she'd pay me my usual hourly fee plus give me free drinks, so I agreed.
She has a very distinctive name, so I looked it up on google and found out what kind of dance she does and what kind of crowd she hangs out with. I have to say I was slightly concerned at first that I might find myself getting tangled up in something unpleasant, but then I was like "fuck it, she was really nice."
So I went to the bar she was working at tonight, which is called "Bikini Machine," pretty small and decked out in 70s colours and fur everywhere with loads of bikini-clad female shop-window dummies. And bikini-clad Barbie dolls on all the shelves. My beer was even served in a glass shaped like a woman's body wearing a bikini. We started chatting:
"So, what did you do today?"
"Uhh, first I went to school, then I danced. But it was really bad, I made mistakes."
"Oh? Like what?"
"Well, I fell over."
"So, the kind of dance you do, does it have fixed patterns which you have to get right?"
"Well, it's SM, so I wear bondage gear..."
"Essay?"
"SM"
"Uuh, like writing?"
"No. Bondage. Leather. SM."
"OH! S and M! I get it - yeah, Sadomasochism... yeah, for some reason we shorten it to S and M in English."
"Yeah, I have to wear really high heels, and sometimes I fall over."
And so on.
Then, after about half an hour a group of about thirty Japanese people comes piling in, celebrating something and the bar goes from being completely empty to rammed full. So I wait around kind of awkwardly for her to finish serving customers (apparently it never normally gets that busy). It was really odd, because usually I inevitably become the focus of at least one person's attention, if not several - but it was truly like I was invisible. You wonder all your life what it would be like to be a fly on the wall, and for about 20 minutes I was, like some anthropologist living with the natives. Then somehow that changed and I ended up behind the bar serving people for little while. And then I agreed with her that it would be better if I came back on a quieter day.
My walk back to the station was made considerably more enjoyable when I walked past another tiny 10 person bar with a lone salaryman in it doing a karaoke version of Numa Numa (I love this video).
We met when I went back to a bar in Golden Gai for lunch last week. She works as a barlady in a couple of bars around the area and we had a really good chat while I was having lunch. I met a couple of other really odd but harmless artist people while I was there. And she really wanted me to teach her English so that she could explain what kind of dance she does to foreigners. She said she'd pay me my usual hourly fee plus give me free drinks, so I agreed.
She has a very distinctive name, so I looked it up on google and found out what kind of dance she does and what kind of crowd she hangs out with. I have to say I was slightly concerned at first that I might find myself getting tangled up in something unpleasant, but then I was like "fuck it, she was really nice."
So I went to the bar she was working at tonight, which is called "Bikini Machine," pretty small and decked out in 70s colours and fur everywhere with loads of bikini-clad female shop-window dummies. And bikini-clad Barbie dolls on all the shelves. My beer was even served in a glass shaped like a woman's body wearing a bikini. We started chatting:
"So, what did you do today?"
"Uhh, first I went to school, then I danced. But it was really bad, I made mistakes."
"Oh? Like what?"
"Well, I fell over."
"So, the kind of dance you do, does it have fixed patterns which you have to get right?"
"Well, it's SM, so I wear bondage gear..."
"Essay?"
"SM"
"Uuh, like writing?"
"No. Bondage. Leather. SM."
"OH! S and M! I get it - yeah, Sadomasochism... yeah, for some reason we shorten it to S and M in English."
"Yeah, I have to wear really high heels, and sometimes I fall over."
And so on.
Then, after about half an hour a group of about thirty Japanese people comes piling in, celebrating something and the bar goes from being completely empty to rammed full. So I wait around kind of awkwardly for her to finish serving customers (apparently it never normally gets that busy). It was really odd, because usually I inevitably become the focus of at least one person's attention, if not several - but it was truly like I was invisible. You wonder all your life what it would be like to be a fly on the wall, and for about 20 minutes I was, like some anthropologist living with the natives. Then somehow that changed and I ended up behind the bar serving people for little while. And then I agreed with her that it would be better if I came back on a quieter day.
My walk back to the station was made considerably more enjoyable when I walked past another tiny 10 person bar with a lone salaryman in it doing a karaoke version of Numa Numa (I love this video).
Friday, December 09, 2005
Merry Christmas Indeed
This evening, on my way to give an English lesson, two middle-aged women both walking white labradors came across each other and the dogs took a particular fancy to each other. Straining on their leads to do a 69 sniff-sniff, I could barely contain myself as the two women tried to make the kind of polite conversation that dog owners are forced to do when their pet pooches want some poon. They were both being pulled around in circles, the leads tangling up, the dogs knocking over parked bicycles, which made a nearby man pick them up and the women practically bawling "I'm soo sorry for the terrible inconvenience. Thank you for your kind help."
I thought that was going to be the highlight of my evening, but then I came across this, next to the ticket gates at my subway station:
I thought that was going to be the highlight of my evening, but then I came across this, next to the ticket gates at my subway station:
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Boom boom boom, let's shake the room.
There was a big earthquake while I was at the gallery today and it did this to the office:
Well....
Actually....
Just kidding!
I cunningly cropped the photo so that you couldn't see the books which hadn't fallen off the other shelves. Basically, the brown shelves had been sagging for some time and one had even collapsed, and so the directors had already ordered in some new, stronger ones which were delivered today. Having been assigned the job of assembling the new shelves, I spent most of my afternoon strutting around the gallery with a powerdrill, asserting my straightness. Then I heard a crash and a scream from the office, and this is what I actually saw when I came in:
Someone must have given the brown shelves the last little push they needed before they gave up and the entire set of five shelves had come crashing down. You can even see two of the measly little pegs that were holding them up. The new shelves are properly screwed in - WHO'S the man?!
The new shelves also came with little hard-plastic straps which you screw onto the top of the cabinet and into the wall so that in the event of an (actual) earthquake, the books may fall off, but at least the cabinet won't topple over and kill you. The weird thing about all this was that not long after I arrived in the morning, before I even knew that the new shelves were being delivered, I was looking at the old cabinets thinking about suggesting to the directors that we buy some of those plastic straps because they were a towering death-trap. The irony also is that exactly the same collapse-due-to-overweight happened at the gallery while I was there last year and these crappy brown shelves were already replacements for a previous lot!
Well....
Actually....
Just kidding!
I cunningly cropped the photo so that you couldn't see the books which hadn't fallen off the other shelves. Basically, the brown shelves had been sagging for some time and one had even collapsed, and so the directors had already ordered in some new, stronger ones which were delivered today. Having been assigned the job of assembling the new shelves, I spent most of my afternoon strutting around the gallery with a powerdrill, asserting my straightness. Then I heard a crash and a scream from the office, and this is what I actually saw when I came in:
Someone must have given the brown shelves the last little push they needed before they gave up and the entire set of five shelves had come crashing down. You can even see two of the measly little pegs that were holding them up. The new shelves are properly screwed in - WHO'S the man?!
The new shelves also came with little hard-plastic straps which you screw onto the top of the cabinet and into the wall so that in the event of an (actual) earthquake, the books may fall off, but at least the cabinet won't topple over and kill you. The weird thing about all this was that not long after I arrived in the morning, before I even knew that the new shelves were being delivered, I was looking at the old cabinets thinking about suggesting to the directors that we buy some of those plastic straps because they were a towering death-trap. The irony also is that exactly the same collapse-due-to-overweight happened at the gallery while I was there last year and these crappy brown shelves were already replacements for a previous lot!
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Evolution Before Breakfast
It's got really effing cold here all of a sudden, and the problem is compounded by the total lack of central heating in Japan. Given that they heat the seats on the underground, you'd think they'd have found a way to have heating under the pavements... at least in the home - but no. Gas heaters only. The situation has got to the stage where I'm swapping my usual morning shower for an evening one, because I just can't face the cold in the morning anymore.
To illustrate this, I'm posting a picture of me emerging from my chrysalis.
This stage comes shortly after a short crawl from my futon to the gas heater, and is followed by a period of bleary-eyed staring at the computer, hoping for emails that you fuckers never send me. This culminates in me mustering the courage to shed my chrysalis and flap like a butterly, if only to grab hold of the nearest jumper to put on top of my pyjamas so I can actually leave my room.
To illustrate this, I'm posting a picture of me emerging from my chrysalis.
This stage comes shortly after a short crawl from my futon to the gas heater, and is followed by a period of bleary-eyed staring at the computer, hoping for emails that you fuckers never send me. This culminates in me mustering the courage to shed my chrysalis and flap like a butterly, if only to grab hold of the nearest jumper to put on top of my pyjamas so I can actually leave my room.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Nyaaaaaaaa
The Japanese have some really good sounds for animals, and some really crap ones.
Dogs go "wan wan"
Pigs go "boo boo" (like fuck they do)
And cats, they go "nyaa nyaa." I love this sound so much that I find any excuse to slip it into daily conversation.
Dogs go "wan wan"
Pigs go "boo boo" (like fuck they do)
And cats, they go "nyaa nyaa." I love this sound so much that I find any excuse to slip it into daily conversation.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
The Invisible Enemy in the Air
My flatmate is one the nicest guys I've ever known and I don't want to diss him, but I've realised recently that I am actually living with the stereotype of someone obessed with something. In his case, it's karate. This is a good thing, because it's got me doing karate again after a six-year break and it's fun going to the dojo with him and meeting new people, none of which I would be doing if it weren't for him. And his obsession is paying off, because even though he's a green belt (about half-way to black), he's way better than many of the people above him.
But somehow I can't get over the bizarre novelty of living with someone who gets up in the morning and watches videos of karate first thing, actually rewinding and replaying certain moments several times over. Obviously I don't mind cos I have my own idiosyncracies which he doesn't hold against me.
So yes, my main idiosyncracy at the moment (and it looks like it's going to last some time) is my ongoing battle with the moisture in the air. The first thing I noticed when I got here is that the atmosphere is like a wet sponge. The pages in almost all of my books and magazines are going wavy as if I'd left them in the bathroom - some of my writing paper is so moist that it fucks up the felt pens that I use to write with; I'm having to go out and buy ballpoints. I have to hang my clothes up to dry in the living room/kitchen because I refuse to add yet more moisture to the air in my room. So I decided to buy a dehumidifier. This was not easy because it's winter and the Japanese seem to find this season dry!! They're actually selling humidifiers in the shops, which are a sight to behold: dozens of little machines filled with water which have twizzling little nozzles that spout out steam from the top. So of course I got funny looks when I asked for a dehumidifer, but luckily, of the very few they had in stock they had one that looks more like a Bose speaker and matches my iPod aesthetic very nicely.
That was ten days ago, and I emptied it for the first time yesterday. It hadn't been on all the time and yet it had accumulated about two pints' worth of water - just from the air!!??
But somehow I can't get over the bizarre novelty of living with someone who gets up in the morning and watches videos of karate first thing, actually rewinding and replaying certain moments several times over. Obviously I don't mind cos I have my own idiosyncracies which he doesn't hold against me.
So yes, my main idiosyncracy at the moment (and it looks like it's going to last some time) is my ongoing battle with the moisture in the air. The first thing I noticed when I got here is that the atmosphere is like a wet sponge. The pages in almost all of my books and magazines are going wavy as if I'd left them in the bathroom - some of my writing paper is so moist that it fucks up the felt pens that I use to write with; I'm having to go out and buy ballpoints. I have to hang my clothes up to dry in the living room/kitchen because I refuse to add yet more moisture to the air in my room. So I decided to buy a dehumidifier. This was not easy because it's winter and the Japanese seem to find this season dry!! They're actually selling humidifiers in the shops, which are a sight to behold: dozens of little machines filled with water which have twizzling little nozzles that spout out steam from the top. So of course I got funny looks when I asked for a dehumidifer, but luckily, of the very few they had in stock they had one that looks more like a Bose speaker and matches my iPod aesthetic very nicely.
That was ten days ago, and I emptied it for the first time yesterday. It hadn't been on all the time and yet it had accumulated about two pints' worth of water - just from the air!!??
Friday, December 02, 2005
Russian Squirrel Pack 'Kills Dog'
The stuff of nightmares.
Sakhalin is only just north of Japan. I wonder what might happen here...
"Stuffed animals all over Japan put down after Hello Kitty gives child rabies?"
Sakhalin is only just north of Japan. I wonder what might happen here...
"Stuffed animals all over Japan put down after Hello Kitty gives child rabies?"
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Golden Gai
Tom and I have found the coolest bars in the whole of Tokyo. It's this small area of Shinjuku where there are three small, rickety streets of tiny bars, most of which can only hold about ten people max and would collapse in a second of a major earthquake. The area is called Golden Gai and you can read about it on the web. I think it was built after the war for lowlifes and prostitutes, but ended up being where all the philosophers and artists went and still do, apparently. I can't believe it's still here, and that it doesn't seem to have been overrun by celebrities or demolished for an office block . They all have their own weird little theme, which you can't really tell until you step in.
The bar Tom and I went into was covered in pirated CDs, mostly English, and posters to obscure 80s bands everywhere. All the punters were friends of the barman. According to what other people have written on the web, there are proportionately quite big cover charges and some total rip off bars, or ones that don't take foreigners, but I don't care. Emily and me are going there tonight! And I'm not going to any other bars anywhere else in Tokyo now.
The bar Tom and I went into was covered in pirated CDs, mostly English, and posters to obscure 80s bands everywhere. All the punters were friends of the barman. According to what other people have written on the web, there are proportionately quite big cover charges and some total rip off bars, or ones that don't take foreigners, but I don't care. Emily and me are going there tonight! And I'm not going to any other bars anywhere else in Tokyo now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)