XML
News!
Ponderosa Clothing, based in LA, USA
Umami Mart food blog
My Big Sister's blog
Design Festa Gallery Movie
Spice Hunter is Up!
Porn (Design Festa Gallery Movie) | Order ativan online (Design Festa Gallery Movie) | dhugubdg (Design Festa Gallery Movie) | Online Casino (Design Festa Gallery Movie) | dhugubdg (Design Festa Gallery Movie) | Mediterranean cruise (Design Festa Gallery Movie) | Car Financing (Design Festa Gallery Movie) | txqqzrfulf (Design Festa Gallery Movie) | dhugubdg (Design Festa Gallery Movie) | dhugubdg (Design Festa Gallery Movie)
7 September 2010, 14:53
Humming
:: Mar 31, 07:55 AM
There is a constant hum. A symphony of working (or broken) machinery is present in Beijing. Whether it’s an idling train or a pipe in the walls stuttering in predicatable intervals, ambient sound comes in the form of automation.
Perhaps because these machines are working in metronomic consistencey, the people are less rhythmic. Moving to their own beat, human communication is unpredictable and confrontational. In other words, it’s very real. Coming from Tokyo, where inhabits the most robotically speaking residents I have ever encountered, I feel very present here in Beijing. I as for attention, and suddenly three people look up at me, wondering why I have interrupted them.
“Ni hao,” I say.
“Get on with it” their faces say.
But this is not unfriendliness.
“Do you have a pamphlet on Beijing,” I ask the concierge.
“No, just the one in your room in Chinese… next!”
She spoke nothing but the truth. No skirting around the fact that they didn’t have what I asked for or pretending like they were sorry for not having what I was requesting. Being real is novel.
I hover somewhere in between the humming and reactive communication – taking comfort in the language of machinery and that cross-cultural thing called smiling.
Comment [3]My Grandmami: Here she comes.
:: Jan 12, 10:34 AM
Every year since I moved to Tokyo in 2005, I have visited the Bay Area for New Years break. This year, I was able to spend two days in the company of my grandma. At 88, she is the rock of the family, saying everything with the conviction and confidence that only a grandma who named herself “Grandmami” can. And who always keeps a full bottle of Hennessy in her liquor cabinet.
Born in Kyushu, Japan on November 27, 1920, Grandmami is of Chinese descent. Due to the Sino-Japanese war and her blood, she was ousted by the pressures of the Japanese government in 1937.
My imagination fills this scene in with flickering black-and-white images. A 16-year-old Grandmami packs up a brown leather bag and sets off to somewhere she’s never been, with a language she has never spoken. Here I come, Shanghai.
The details are hazy. And isn’t it often us grandchildren who wonder why we never ask our grandparents the details. We’d rather play the can-do-no-wrong grandchild with the shiny bowl-cut, than the inquisitive historian.
So the film reel of my imagination is threaded and flickers on.
A few years after she arrives to Shanghai, she marries a Japanese-educated Chinese man. One child is born while the party wars rage. The Communist party proves victorious and everyone else is banished to Taiwan. So Grandmami, daughter in tow, packs up her brown leather bag. Here I come, Taipei.
In Taiwan, two more daughters are born, my mother being the youngest of three. By the time my mother is born, it is 1948 and the Sino-Japanese war had ended three-years prior. Semi-stabilized in Taiwan, the family stays on board in Taiwan for a couple more years, always intent on the fact that they will return to Japan. So while my mother is still a toddler, Grandmami, three daughters in tow, packs up her brown leather bag. Here I come, Tokyo.
Grandmami and her family live an upper-middle class lifestyle in Tokyo. Poodle skirts come and go. Grandmami opens a jewelry store in Roppongi, designing a diamond ring set into a platinum band that she still wears on her ring finger.
After her youngest child gets married, Grandmami gets a divorce. Grandmami, greencard (courtesy of the ex-husband) in tow, packs up her brown leather bag. Here I come, San Francisco.
All her children eventually end up in the San Franscico Bay Area to raise families and gossip on Sunday mornings. The brown leather bag must be in the attic somewhere, quietly ready-to-go.
Comment [5]My Motto for 2009
:: Jan 7, 03:40 PM
Live the Dream!
CommentI found this on Facebook
:: Oct 31, 07:07 AM
6th grade, 2nd row, third one from the left in a white hair band.
On being American, on being Japanese in 2008
:: Oct 9, 11:50 AM
As an American citizen, I am very distraught by the lack of pride that the Japanese have in their own culture. I know that I see things as a non-Japanese, and they may dismiss my observations, but I have an overwhelming concern for it over these past three years. America is bad enough already – we are, more often than not, numb, complacent, and lazy. But a country that follows and waits for what the U.S. does is even worse. I was very sad to see during the short time that I have been here, just how much the Japanese government bows down to the U.S. Three years ago they privatized the Japanese postal system. Unlike the U.S., the Japanese postal system works like as a bank, a life insurance company, and is often the landmark of each town. This allows for a communal set up – where post offices were the reliable center of even the most remote villages and provided jobs within the community. But because corporations were so interested in privatizing the system, and there was a lot of profits to be had, the Japanese government (current ruling part is the LDP) privatized the system. Since then post offices in rural towns have shut down, and the postal system is less efficient. Even Americans turned a deaf ear to Bush’ Social Security privatization plan. At least we weren’t THAT numb. Anyway, the postal system is just one of many disappointments I have witnessed during my short stay here. I hope that for the sake of the Japanese, they wake up soon. It is a very bleak, dark time.
That being said, I think once Obama gets elected it is inevitable that Japan will also change for the better. When America questions itself, the world questions itself. Living in Japan, I don’t think this is an overstatement. So I am quite pleased by the inherent nature of Americans to proclaim “We’ve had it!” This is something unique to a country that has a relatively short history. Additionally, I have come to realize just how important it is to keep the image of the American Dream alive. The American Dream is simply a farce, but it is a very real dream to many and translates into any culture and into any language. For that reason it is extremely powerful and viral – and I believe that is why it is also so dangerous and makes people fanatical when applied irresponsibly (i.e. wars).
I take my thoughts as an American citizen and hope to put them into action as a Japanese citizen. I firmly believe in the potential for the Japanese to live full and robust lives – or else I would not find any point in living here. The proof is quite explicitly laid out to me every day. The Japanese have a culture of progress. This is not a claim. It’s a fact if you look at their history – their culture for conservation (this is by default – very little natural resources such as land, minerals and energy for agriculture), attention to detail (design and art), and nature (prose). What with such a wealth and abundance of innovation, why are they so easily stifled by the American way and so ready to associate their roots as something outmoded. Only when the west recognizes Japanese products and art do they domestically trumpet their accomplishments: i.e. Hayao Miyazaki, Toyota, and Walkman.
I am not advocating a Rising Sun flag-waving rally in the middle of the Yasukuni Shrine. But what I am suggesting is a deep-rooted sense of pride that emanates domestically and internationally (why I admire Germany). And this is something I intend to do as a Japanese citizen.
The past few months have been a wild ride. It’s “bail-out” then “relief.” It’s sumo wrestlers smoking pot. And it’s Palin-Fey-PalinFeyPalin-Feylin. It is a time of confusion, yet I am thrilled to see what lies ahead.
I guess what I am trying to say is: Japanese and Americans alike, when we are presented with a stage, we come up with some really unique and ground-breaking moves.
Comment [1]Free
:: Sep 6, 10:03 AM
Given my fear of the ocean, most likely from growing up on the tumultuous shores of the San Francisco northwest coast, I decided to conquer that fear by traveling to a clear, calm beach. That took me to Ishigakijima, the southernmost island of Okinawa.
Our flight in was amazing. I could not believe how from an aerial view I could see the coral reef carpeting the shores. All I wanted to do was get closer to it.
When we arrived at the airport, it was wonderful that there really weren’t many people. And once we got on the taxi to our hotel, no one was on the road.
There is so much to chronicle about this trip that I don’t think I will ever get around to posting about it if I try to divulge everything. I am afraid to say it all because I couldn’t. Therefore, I am going to just get right to the meat.
We went diving on our last day there. Washi, the adventurer, me the wuss. Somehow, I agreed to his yearning to go diving. Off the Kabira beach, we rode a boat out a few miles to the open sea. I drank anti-motion-sickness medication, but I still felt like throwing up my insides. Not because of the motion sickness, but because I knew I had not way out – I had to dive. I was wet suited. I was goggled. I was flippered. I had to forget…
About the crashing waves of the west coast. About the cold waters of the Bay. About the fact that I was scared of the ocean. About the fact that because of that fear I had never gone into the ocean.
When the boat was anchored and the diving instructor had me and Washi climb down the ladder, I just tried to imagine that I was just watching TV, that this had to be an out-of-body experience, or else I would hyper-ventilate and drown. Luckily, we were the only ones being instructed and the diving instructor literally held our hands through the process.
I did not want to let go of the ladder. The instructor told me to look down into the ocean. It was mind boggling, I yelled “Oh my god!” with the truest sincerity I have for as long as I can remember. The diving instructor, not knowing I was American, probably thought I was crazy. I felt it.
What I felt for the next 5 minutes was fear. The kind I would think animals feel. It’s fear but it’s pure and you hear yourself breathing. Descending down about 20 feet, I began to lose the concept of time. My breathing, the ocean, this is what it must feel like to be in mom’s belly. But this time, I was conscious.
I truly felt as though a child again. Every movement a revelation, every scene a curiosity. I couldn’t count on landing right side up. And my limbs were out of my control.
After the dive, we boated off to another spot to snorkel. I may have liked snorkeling better. I became one with the ocean surface and the air just above it. And when I saw huge manta rays hovering below, carried by the ocean, I felt like I was in the safest place in the world.
Comment [1]
X-file: Shimoneta
:: Aug 4, 11:51 AM
Last night, I had dinner with my boyfriend, his two band mates and one of his band mates’ wife. Over habanero hot sauce and a fried camembert wheel, the topic of “shimoneta” came up. This topic of conversation has come up many times since living in Japan and although I had gotten the general gist of the word, I was still hazy on how overarching it is in application. The term “shimoneta” is comprised of two parts (words): “shimo” or “low, down” and “neta” of which Wikipedia provides the following definition:
netaReverse spelling of the word tane (種), meaning “seed” or “pit”. A neta is the background pretense of a konto skit, though it is sometimes used to refer to the contents of a segment of an owarai act, a variety show, or a news broadcast.
In simple terms, I take the word “neta” to mean “topic, subject, gag, etc.” Therefore, the literal translation of “shimoneta” can be taken as “low topics.”
The term “shimoneta” comes up most certainly when Yuuki (the guitarist) strikes the “Comaneci” pose made famous by Takeshi Kitano (a.k.a. Beat Takeshi). This is a pose involving a swift diagonal motion with one’s hands outlining a “V” to one’s groin area. Apparently it is a motion which evokes Romanian gold-medal gymnast Nadia Comeneci’s hi-cut leotard. Other instances which give rise to the topic of “shimoneta” are laughable references to female and male plumbing.
Naturally, I had come to conclude that “shimoneta” simply meant “dirty jokes,” quite harmless and all made in good fun. But last night, when I had asked the table if this was correct, I was met with some apprehension. It seems as though “dirty jokes” are just a part and parcel of “shimoneta.” I had then asked if it also included, for instance, discussions regarding sex and sexuality – discussions one has amongst girlfriends, think SATC. I was met again with a question mark… I was confused, they were confused, we were all confused. Girl-talk discussion of sex can be humorous but also be very serious, so something too technical may not be coded as “shimoneta.”
The other hint I got last night was from Mitsui (the bassist) while discussing the fact that “shimoneta” brings people of all ages together. The 23 year-old freshly minted part-timer to the hardened 57 year-old department head – everyone unified over “shimoneta.” But then I started to envision males only.
But to further complicate things, apparently the reigning king (ahem, queen) of “shimoneta” in the Mitsui husband-and-wife team is Moriiwa-san (wife). So again, I am left to ponder the depths of “shimoneta.” Crossing generations and gender groups, it seems to blanket quite a wide range of ideas.
I was not sure if I had embarrassed the group by asking them to define this term for me – demanding an example from each, only to be met by apprehensive avoidance. I felt that I had suddenly taken the air out of the “fun-ness” when I tried to dissect the term.
The dinner ended with me having more questions than answers. Surprisingly, I did not find much on the internet – just a brief definition on Wikipedia.
I decided to pare my questions down to the essentials and will bring it to the table next time. Maybe then can I start to grasp the depth and application of “shimoneta.”
Does “shimoneta” have to be humorous? Must “shimoneta” have an element of innocence – is there room for cynicism or irony? Can the discussion of eroticism also be considered “shimoneta?” Is “shimoneta” usually a one-liner or a can it also refer to a discussion? How Japanese is “shimoneta” (i.e. is there a moment in American TV or movies that can be coined as “shimoneta”)?
Understanding this term will be a great lesson in Japanese culture. Or… maybe there isn’t much to understand… maybe I shouldn’t get all X-Files on it.
Comment [2]Frog Foray
:: Jul 29, 05:41 PM
The best things in life don’t cost you a dime.
Preconceived fun or entertainment is totally overrated. Go to the movies and spend 1800 yen. Go to Disneyland for 4000 yen. OR do what I did on my way home from the train station yesterday for free.
It was 7:44 and I had just got off my train, walking back to my apartment – a 7 minute walk. It was dark and I always take a major street with lots of cars and sidewalk traffic. Jamming out to Mary J, I was really getting into it. “Jesus,” I thought as I passed by the droned-out people walking towards me in the other direction, “if they had a little Mary J in their iPod they’d have a spring in their step.”
SMUSH… rustle, rustle.
“Oh my god!” I certainly had a spring in my step at this point jumping probably as far as my victim did.
Not quite knowing what had just happened, I shuddered in horror for a good while. After I had gotten over the initial shock of feeling a kooshie thing come in contact with my sneaker, I did an instant replay in my head of what I had just seen.
I had semi-stepped on a frog the size of a mango, which quickly hopped away into a nearby bush. It was dark outside, and I could only make out that some object leapt out away from me. You know, I have never seen a frog jump in real life, but it’s funny how it’s unmistakable. In California, I never saw wild frogs, in fact, I don’ t know if I ever saw frogs the size of mangos in captivity. But a frog hop is unmistakable even in the dark nights of Tokyo.
Thank god, I had not injured the thing. I checked the sole of my shoe when I got home, and there was nothing. No goo, no flakes or anything resembling that one had just semi-stepped on a frog. Although I was thoroughly grossed out and felt quite violated, I hoped that the frog had found a safe haven, maybe with a miniature couch and TV in the bushes it disappeared into.
Now tell me which one sounds the best: movie for 1500 yen, Disneyland for 4000 yen or a frog foray for free?
Comment [1]Book review: The Audacity of Hope by Barack Obama
:: Jul 16, 02:33 PM
Continuing my crusade to know the next president better, I immediately started reading “The Audacity of Hope” after finishing “Dreams from my Father.” These books differ in tone and content by a great margin. In “Dreams from my Father” I got to know Obama’s formless self, struggling to identify. In “The Audacity of Hope” I got to know him as his “formed” self, identifying himself as a senator and family man. In his first book, he is searching, and by the second he claims to have reached something. However, he does not go as far as to come to absolute conclusions, although, there’s a slight suspicion that he is trying to. It is almost as if he wants to, but he’s learned the game of politics and knows it’s not a smart move to box yourself in.
So he describes situations as unjust or un-American or unfair but rarely prescribes a definite solution. He is sensitive to the tendency for political issues to mutate severely from start to finish. Even so, I have to admit, I was a little disappointed by the murkiness that surrounded many of his passages. It was as if he presented the problem very well, pointed out all that was not working and then moved onto describe another problem.
One thread throughout is the idea of common sense, which sustains my faith in him. We so often want to take sides, and to decide on the “right” solutions. Just like you were taught in preschool – actions speak louder than words. The politicians of today are so quick to spew words. I suspect that Obama is tired of this, evaluating the situation carefully before rambling to match trends. Exercising this kind of caution will be very good for America’s future.
This much I can say from reading both books: He’s alert. He’s curious. He’s intelligent.
CommentBook review: Dreams from my Father by Barack Obama
:: Jul 2, 07:55 AM
Confession: until I read Dreams from my Father, I was mourning the loss of the potential of a woman becoming the next president of America.
I had read Living History by Clinton four years ago and felt connected to her – but knew that since her post as First Lady, her positions had dramatically shifted. Still, as a woman, I was proud of the fact that America had accepted her to go as far as she did. Women and girls can now plan, not just dream.
Present reality: the mourning has been replaced by an incredible surge of pride and hope.
Barack Obama’s book Dreams from my Father is a treasure that I hope some people read. Of course, I would love for the whole country to read and accept it. But, I have a feeling that if everyone who was planning on voting for him now were to read this book, they might run in the other direction. Cussing, cigarettes, drinking, inhaling, are nothing new in politics, but writing about it in Holden Caulfield honesty is new. Obama reveals it all.
But forget such trivialities as the above, what really moved me (and what might set people running in the other direction) was just how much Obama questions his identity as an American. With a rich international, multi-racial, multi-lingual background, Obama grapples with what it is to be American, what it is to be African, what it is to be a human. I have only seen a handful of speeches by him, and I hear from everyone how phenomenal his speaking is. I am sure this gift for speaking has been borne by his exceptional ability to observe and listen. This is perhaps what I find most hopeful about Obama. This book that he wrote 13 years ago so closely correlates to our lives today – and tomorrow. It’s not about the trendy political topic of the moment, it’s about reflection and finding what’s best for ourselves and our families. It’s about the search of why things happen, not about a race to the store to see who can buy a band-aid first.
There’s been all this bullshit talk about “likability” during this campaign. Candidates adjusting themselves to be humorous or “the kind of guy/gal you’d want to have a drink with.” So premeditated, so staged. Indeed, I am afraid that Obama may become staged, out of necessity to take on the role that will come to him.
But he has not staged his past. That’s a wonderful start.
Comment [6]