Global Tito Update

I have finally gotten around to updating Global Tito with a few highlights from the Tokyo Motor Show.

Shaping up

Wacoal, long known as the top lingerie maker in Japan, has recently introduced underwear designed to slightly tighten the wearer's body to give a more fit appearance. Japanese women have long been fans of such clothing, and even embraced padded pants -- much like they have padded bras -- to give themselves more curves.

Wacoal's new line, however, is aimed at the middle-aged, cubicle dwelling man. According to the Nikkei Weekly even younger cubicle rats are joining the trend. One man in his fifties was quoted as saying, "As I grew fatter, I became more aware of my body shape." So, he did what any man would do -- he purchased form-flattering underwear.

The market has grown for such products with the awareness of "metabolic syndrome", an accumulation of fat around vital body organs (which an American friend refers to more directly as "getting fat"), which has lead to an increase in attention to body shape. This of course leads to problems such as diabetes and other lifestyle related illnesses. The natural response, therefore, is to cover the problem. According to the Nikkei, "form-fitting underwear is likely to be [a] potential growth segment, as the popularity of such underwear is driven not just by a rising interest in health, but also by a strong demand for slender suits."

It seems reasonable, after all, that gym membership takes much more time to work.

Finally!

For those who have been waiting, and doubtless there are many, OWND is finally open. What is OWND, you may be asking. OWND is Oxygen, Water, Nutrition and Dogs, which is of course a place to stick your small- or medium-sized dog into an oxygen chamber for a few minutes. They also have human-sized ones you can enjoy while waiting for Fido to rejuvenate. And, it is only JPY2000 ($17.53) for 30 minutes. And there is no need to fear your dog will be crushed by the pressure normally pumped in for humans, because the flow of oxygen has been brought down by 0.1 point from the people setting. The best part, is that these things look like little clear plastic torpedo tubes.

Source: Nikkei Weekly, October 22, 2007

Catering to the geeks

The Akihabara district of Tokyo has long been a geek stronghold. The main strip is lined with electronics stores of various description. There are numerous shops catering to anime and manga enthusiasts. The back alleyways and side streets are filled with enough porn to satisfy most, much of it anime. Maid Cafes, in which young women, clad in "French Maid" outfits giggle and serve tea. An industry in its own right has been spawned by these cafes and now includes other manner of stores, including glasses stores, souvenir stores, and reflexology shops. All of them cater to the otaku, Japanese for "geek".

According to a Japan Times article, however, all this catering to otaku is dangerous. In short, the cartoonish maids and making their socially inept "masters" ever more socially inept by reducing the geeks' need to interact with normal society.

Apparently, it would have been so much better if it had stopped at the porn. Perhaps the growth of maid-themed shops will keep them from breeding.

Random Thought

I was walking around an area not far from my neighborhood when this thought struck me: Does it seem feasible to anyone else that any fresh water shortages Japan may suffer could be caused by the clusters of soap lands scattered throughout major metropolitan areas?

For those of you unfamiliar with soap land, you can read wikipedia's entry here. *

*Please note that this does not constitute an endorsement of wikipedia, but rather a laziness on the part or the idle monkey trainer. And the first few sentences seemed fairly accurate.*

* Or, so I have heard from a friend of a friend.

Location, location, location.

Only in Japan would the above pictures be displaying the perfect place for a late summer barbecue. This place had it all:

• Directly under a commuter rail bridge;
• Loose rock of various size and shape;
• An area scrubbed clean by the localized flooding of a recent typhoon;
• Mud, left by the aforementioned typhoon;
• Twelve-foot high graffiti.

It's all about location.

Learned something new.

You learn something new everyday, or so the saying goes. Here is what the idle monkey trainer learned over the last few days:

• 10% of world GDP is related to the aviation industry
• 94.3% of Japanese females in their 20's own a Louis Vuitton item
• It is possible to cleanly shave 99.99% of one's face and still leave intact a clump of 6-inch long hair growing from a solitary mole on the face. (This really is anecdotal and based on the Thai guy and Chinese guy I met over the weekend. At first I thought it was simply neglect or obliviousness to the hair, but realized that the shampooing and styling of one such patch of mole hair constituted a conscious effort at cultivation and required, I would assume, great patience.)
• The toilets in the Imperial Hotel in Tokyo are the nicest public restrooms on the planet. Each stall features floor to nearly ceiling walls and door (to prevent unsolicited advances by rogue Senators, and others), a "washlet" (heated seat with shower function) and soothing classical music kept at a reasonable volume. The soap dispensers and faucets are all automatic, so one does not have to touch anything.
  

Part time work?

Being an idle monkey trainer, it is at times necessary to supplement my income with part time work. Would you care for some Japanese sweets?

"Why don't snails shells get dirty?"

A question that has apparently been of some debate in certain circles. The issue was perhaps put to rest for a group of about fifty attendees at a seminar of that title on Wednesday in Chiba (next to Tokyo). I am a bit disappointed I missed it, and am, therefore, still in the dark on this pressing issue.

The seminar was presented as part of an analytical instruments show, and was geared toward children with the hope of getting kids interested in analytical instruments, or science, or snails. Only time will tell how effective the effort is. The organizers plan to continue these children-oriented seminars in coming years, and I, for one, look forward to more thrilling topics.

Might I suggest a topic for next year: Why are moths' wings dusty?

Shoki Barai

"Drinking away the summer heat" was how this succinct Japanese phrase for getting drunk on a summer evening was translated for me. I can find no equivalent word or simple phrase in English to express that idea. I do have a couple of friends, however, who would no doubt suggest "Friday" has the same connotation.

Along with hanami (viewing the blooming cherry trees) and hanabi (fireworks, which in Japan means going to a park, drinking for several hours to hold your place among the tens of thousands of others doing the same thing), shoki barai seems to me simply another excuse to do what they already want to do: drink.

Now I just need to find a term that is applicable to winter drinking. There is doubtless one.

Fears: Correction

It would appear that I was misinformed. But, fortunately, one benefit of being an idle monkey trainer is having a dedicated research staff.*


I've checked the "Earthquake, Lightning and Father" stuff, as I thought there is one more, "Earthquake, Lightning, "Fire" and Father". And I was right, there are 4 top things to fear. And there are not just for children, adults also fear those.

And I found an interesting story about "Father" - "Oyaji" in Japanese. "Oyaji" used to be "Ooyamaji" which is an old word that means "Typhoon". "Oyaji" and "Ooyamaji" sound very similar, so someone (in old era) started to play around with the word and changed to "Oyaji" which means father, but historically father is not on the 4 top things to fear. So, actually the 4 top things to fear are "Earthquake, Lightning, Fire and Typhoon" which are all weather disasters which could happen in Japan.

Let me just add, that those things do often occur Japan.

*Not actually true, idle monkey trainers do not have any benefits.

Website Updated

Finally there is new material to be found at Global Tito. Take a look at diving in Hawaii and more Dying Sealife.

Japanese Fears

Working in Japan has necessitated learning the language (Japanese monkeys do not speak English). The other day, following the unsettled weather and seismic events of the past couple weeks, my teacher told me about the top fears of children in Japan, and how they have changed.

Previously, the top three were:
1. Earthquakes (on average, Japan has one every 5 minutes)
2. Lightning (the god is pictured)
3. Fathers (the phrase "lightning strikes" was often used to mean "father yelling")

Now, however, the top fears are:
1. Earthquakes
2. Lightning

Fathers, according to my teacher, "have gotten weak."

Back from abroad

The Idle Monkey Trainer is now back in Japan after three mostly idle weeks in the U.S. Unfortunately, three weeks there means a busy return to life here. Thus the lack of recent updates. There will be more soon.

Denver's Union Station

Sunset as seen from the hotel in Kailua-Kona, Hawaii

Shamless self-promotion

If you, like me, have idle time on your hands, have a look at the photos on www.tokyodot.tv.

Thank you for your support.

Quick Random Thought

In general I do not find much of interest on Japanese television. After all, there is only some many times you can watch the same eight "celebrities" (defined in Japan as people who are famous for being famous) "debate" (in the lightest sense of the word) topics.

There are two areas in which, I must admit, Japanese television clearly triumphs: game shows and fishing shows. Because this is a random thought, borne of an idle Saturday afternoon and a couple of drinks, I will deal only with the second.

In fishing shows the Japanese television producers have figured out the formula to perfection, and it is exceedingly simple: instead of heavy-set men they have cast young, attractive females to cast away for various fish. Well done.

The Crow

Over the weekend Tokyo experienced the first taste of summer. In celebration hundreds, if not thousands, of people streamed into Tokyo's Ueno park to enjoy the sunshine and warm temperatures. Among them, a companion and I sat with our purchased bag of chicken when a large crow swept down and eyed one of the bags sitting on the low bench with us. With little hesitation, it hopped once toward the bag, snatching it in its black beak and leaped into a low flight to a spot about 30 meters away. There it tore open the paper bag, strewing pieces of fried chicken around, before taking the largest in its beak and flying off. The whole affair took such little time that the only thing to do was say, "Hey! That crow stole our chicken!"

I think this particular crow was contemplating taking the cat as his next meal.

Tokyo's crows have a deserved reputation for aggressiveness, noise, general filthiness. So bad did the problem get that in the previous election cycle (not the most recent), Governor Ishihara made a reduction of the birds part of a campaign promise. His program to curb the birds, however, failed and actually resulted in a reported increase of the pests. For another example of the birds' ill behavior, go here.

The aftermath

As previously noted, the sanja matsuri, with its attendant hordes came to Tokyo's sensoji temple complex and surrounding neighborhoods. Saturday's early rains seemed to keep things from starting too quickly, but Sunday's postcard clear day invited more people out.

On hand into the evening were literally at least eight bus-loads of Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department's finest crowd control cops. As the sun set, the mikoshi (portable shrines) continued to wind their way through the streets, accompanied by spectators and police.


Clean up takes place quickly around the temple grounds. The booths of food and games come down mostly Sunday night, the crowd control barriers get pulled to the back of the temple, and the mountain of garbage that is generated over the two day's of celebration is loaded for the landfills and incinerators

I think they are going to need a bigger truck.

Thailand in Japan

May 12th and 13th, hordes of Tokyo denizens assembled in Yoyogi park to get their fill of Thai food, Thai pop music and Thai beer. Not necessarily in that order.


This weekend, the sanja matsuri, one of the three largest festivals in Japan takes place in Tokyo's Asakusa district. As this is close the current world headquarters of the Idle Monkey Trainer, I will be leaving the area this weekend. Think of the crowd above tripled in size, and half of them carrying small shrines, like these guys below two years ago.

Sports in the red light district

Sunday afternoons a group of mostly Canadians, a couple of Americans, and the occasional token Aussie or Brit get together to play street hockey in the red light district of Kabukicho in Tokyo. There is a park that we use, conveniently located in front of the local hospital and otherwise surrounded by host clubs, hostess clubs, love hotels, and other associated and unaffiliated businesses.

Given the area, it was only a matter of time, it was only a matter time before this happened:


For information on the hockey group (not the ladies pictured above), visit the Tokyo Street Hockey Association.

Obligatory Sakura Photos

Spring in Japan is the time of the sakura (cherry blossoms) and so, here are a couple of shots from the Sumida River park. Global Tito has also been updated with photos of the ubiquitous trees.














Nothing says Japanese tradition like sitting under the sakura, eating a donner kebab.

Economic indicators

Despite the decade or so of economic malaise that followed the bursting of Japan's real estate bubble in the early 1990's, Japan has retained its place as the world's number two economic power. Over the past few years Japan has been going through a prolonged period of recovery. And the signs that it will continue remain prevalent.

Much focus is given to the Japan Business Federation's (Nippon Keidanren) tankan survey of business sentiment. Business publications hang on every word issued by the Bank of Japan governor. The consumer price index, the value of the yen, and consumer behavior and myriad other indicators are also scrutinized at length in an attempt to predict if this expansion will continue. One area of anecdotal evidence of Japan's economic health, however, seems to be left unnoticed.

Trade shows in Japan offer a view of the economy's state that is rarely reflected upon. There are two elements to the Trade Show Indicator of Economic Health (tm). The first is simply the number of trade shows and exhibitions held and their size. In the last couple of years, trade shows have seen an increased interest from companies looking for opportunities to exhibit their products and services. New trade shows have also been springing up to focus on up and coming industries. The types of new trade shows should also be included here, for example the holding of Japan's first Gourmet Food Show this year.

The second part of the Trade Show Indicator of Economic Health (tm) is the number and quality of the "Campaign Girls". For those unfamiliar with trade shows in Japan, these are the young women typically dressed in short skirts or the like employed by companies to attract visitors into their booths, encourage visitors to fill out their surveys in exchange for cheap give-aways, and be photographed prominently displaying the companies' logos. (Sometimes more effectively than at other times - see below.)

A couple of years ago only the biggest, most free-spending of the Japanese companies had campaign girls prancing in front of their booths; and then only at the biggest exhibitions. This year the number of bubbly women in short, logo-ed apparel has increased.

As an aside, you can also tell the relative health of a company by the quantity and quality of the campaign girl(s) employed at any given booth within the exhibition.

According to the Trade Show Indicator of Economic Health (tm), it should be a good year for the Japanese economy. And for the hundreds of guys who only attend trade shows to photograph campaign girls.

And the winner is...

Since only one person actually left a guess (Thank you!), the gin goes to Allie. Congratulations, despite being totally off the mark with your answer.

That bit of promotion (see photo of model on a motorcycle with a side car) was actually for a digital camera.

What's being promoted here?

As part of my job here, I spend a good deal of time at trade shows and exhibitions. The photo was taken at a recent trade show. (Not a great photo, I know, but I did not feel like waiting from the throngs of Japanese guys with professional grade cameras to move on -- they don't.)

Can you identify what is being promoted?

Leave your answers in the comments section. The winner, should ever we meet, will receive a gin & tonic. The correct answer will be posted next week. Good luck.

The Neighbors

When I first moved to Japan several years ago, an apartment was arranged for me in Kawasaki City. My new employer, which had hired me without so much as a telephone interview, was kind enough to locate and pay some of the more ridiculous fees on the apartment prior to my arrival.

After landing and getting in touch with the company, I was given instructions on where and how to meet a representative to take me to the apartment. As we walked from the station, he pointed out some of the neighborhood’s highlights – numerous restaurants, department stores, and just down the block from my new residence, a building full of yakuza.

“Don’t worry about them,” I was told. “They do not mess with people in their neighborhood. You don’t bother them, they will not bother you.”

Fair enough, I thought.

In the 15 months that I lived there, I only had two instances of direct interaction with my neighbors. The first occurred as a friend, who also lived in my building, and I were walking passed the yakuza’s place. An eager young gangster sidled up next to us and stated with great pride and careful enunciation, “I...am...Japanese...gangster!”

My friend replied casually, “yes, we know.” At that the young man dropped away and walked back to the small group of associated that always stood outside the building. They greeted his return with a verbal haranguing clearly audible as we proceeded toward the station. Although my understanding of Japanese was limited, it was clear that the young man had breached some article of protocol.

Over the next several months, that young gangster would scurry quickly inside at the sight of my or my friend’s approach.

Across the street and just around the corner from the yakuza’s place was a small coin-operated laundry which I used because of it was nearly always empty of patrons and it was close to my place. The shop held only washers and three driers. Unusually for this place, all of the machines were engaged, so I was shuttling back and forth between my apartment and the laundry. This was quite common and I had no experience with or fear of anyone taking my clothes. I returned to the laundry to find one of the other patrons emptying his clothes from a drier. I thought my timing was quite good since I was on my last load and needed the drier. He finished and I began moving my clothes to the now empty drier. Just as I finished and slotted the coins to start the drier one of the yakuza came into the shop.

He watched as I started the machine, then looked up to the top of the machine. I had not noticed, but on top of the machine was a blanket resting comfortably atop the half inch of dust and lint. I tried to explain to the best of my limited Japanese ability and, seeing that fail, through a series of grunts and pantomime that I was not responsible for the current location of the blanket. Thinking I had conveyed the my meaning adequately, I returned to my apartment.

At the time I thought my laundry should have been dry, I returned to the shop. The machine in which I had left my clothes was empty. They were not on top of the washers, as would sometimes happen on particularly busy days in the laundries around the neighborhood. I looked through in the other driers, but could not located my clothes. Then I glanced into the trash can at the rear of the shop. There were my clothes, still wet. I surmised that this was the result of the phone call the young yakuza was hastily making when I left the shop earlier.

Morning commuter 3.16.07

On the campaign trail

In a couple of short weeks, Japan will hold local elections at the city level. Fortunately for the residents of this country, the campaign season is mercifully limited to a few short weeks for each election cycle. That is not a lot of time to prepare the electorate for the day. Thus, the politicians have been on the campaign circuit from morning to night "debating" the issues. To the left is the debating platform of choice for local elections. When you get to the national level, you get a bus with bigger and more speakers.

Politicians or their designated mouth-pieces spend the day cruising the neighborhoods of their district, screaming "good morning", "good afternoon", "good evening", "elect (insert name of candidate here) and "thank you" through their sound systems at the unsuspecting citizenry.

Any resident within a six block radius is well aware of this message. Those at 100 meters endure a ringing in the ears for a few minutes. Any closer and you would probably just go deaf.

Local elections are over in a couple of weeks, at which point the din of Tokyo returns to normal until the campaign season for the upper chamber of parliament kicks off in June. They get the buses -- there's something to look forward to.

Shameless promotion in my own self-interest

This article is a nicely done piece about the group I attempt to play hockey with whenever possible.
http://www.fitnessjp.com/025_58_we+don%60t+need+no+stinking+skates%21

(The views expressed in the article are not necessarily those of the Idle Monkey Trainer, including the quotes.)

Also, Global Tito has been updated.

Signs of Spring

The indications that winter (entirely snow-less in Tokyo for the first time since modern records began in the Edo Period) is soon to be behind us are emerging. Distinctive to Japan, or at least Tokyo, the approach of spring is not heralded by the arrival of the first robins, as it is in North America. Rather, it is the sprouting of lights on the cherry trees that mark the nearing change.
The other sure-fire indication that spring is on the horizon, is that fake sakura line Nakamise in Asakusa, Tokyo.

Resurrection

Thoughts of an Idle Monkey Trainer has gone without an update for a long time. At the suggestion of a (geographically) distant friend, it has been resurrected as a companion to Global Tito, which is updated approximately monthly. The thoughts of idle monkey trainers, however, occur more frequently, and thus require more frequent updates. Those thoughts will be found here.

Mourning light

The body was found an hour ago. It had been hastily covered by a few boughs broken off nearby firs. In the early morning light the night’s dew shimmered with each passing step. There were now about a dozen onlookers walking around the body in measured steps. Each kept his eyes fixed on the motionless mound, seemingly hoping to discern something, anything, about it. None so much as made a single sound, which lent the scene an oppressive, nearly ritualistic, air. As the hours passed, more onlookers arrived and joined the circular procession. The newly arrived took on the inquisitive look of the rest and soon blended easily into the group. All were dressed in long dark robes with hoods pulled over their heads. They formed a nearly solid wall around the body, leaving only the tiniest glimpse between them as they circled. When more came, the circle expanded outward, but was unceasing in its counter-clockwise rotation.

Left alone with the body, one may have crouched beside it to examine it more closely, to smell the last traces of perfume. Perhaps one would be so bold as to brush back the hair that fell into the face. But in the group, none dared get any closer than another. The sun rose higher and cast a harsher light upon the forest floor and dried the dew from grass, bough and body. The march kept on. Through the hot afternoon the pace slowed only slightly and a few heads hung lower, but never did any of their eyes move from the lifeless form in their midst.

As the sun began to drift behind the distant mountains and the few clouds above began to turn pink, a low murmur started low from the pack. From my perch on a low rise a few hundred yards off, it sounded at first like the distant growl of an avalanche. As darkness crept into the woods, the volume rose. The rhythm of a chant reached my ears, but the words remained elusive. The pace of the mourners – as I had come to regard them – neither increased nor decreased. Their voices matched their steps. With the cooler temperature of the night approaching those that had hung their heads in the heat seemed to regain their strength and now walked erect.

The first stars appeared above and the monotone rhythm of the chant was punctuated by guttural shouts that conveyed much feeling. Each shout was accompanied by the singular motion of the right arm thrown quickly into the air and instantly recalled. As the sky darkened the pace quickened, the rhythm of the chant sped up to match it and the interval between the shouts shortened. When the moon could first be glimpsed above the treetops, shrill yelps came from the previously unnoticed women who had joined the group. The chant continued with the yelps of the women and the shouts of the men alternating and reverberating through the low valley.

For several minutes more there was no change. When the moon came fully over the horizon, however, the women broke the ranks from the four points of the compass and jerked the boughs from the body. They rejoined the march, tossing the boughs high above them and into the shadows of the surrounding forest. Over the chant of the procession the crash of the boughs could barely be discerned. Again the pace quickened and the volume rose.

At last the moon reached its zenith and bathed the mourners in a dull glow. Four of the more stout men stepped to the inside of the circle but continued to keep pace. The four circled closer and closer to the body until they nearly trod upon it. They stopped suddenly and dropped to a knee, each taking hold of a limb. With fluid motion they rose and lifted the body toward the heavens. The outer circle let go a cry – a mix of anguish, jealousy, pain, and fear – then resumed their original chant, the punctuating shouts and yelps now absent. In the center the four men, held the body high. They faced the south; the two under the feet standing side by side so that the ankles touched, the two with the arms so that they extended out like wings. The head, perhaps braced under the neck, did not fall or roll. Long curls of dark brown hair cascaded down and swayed slightly. Loose white fabric from the body’s dressings hung like sails from the arms and legs. Slowly the men turned the body, clockwise, never allowing the hips of the body to stray from above their original position on the ground. By nearly imperceptible increments they turned the body faster until the rotations of the two circles were identical.

From the west clouds rolled in above the trees, but split curiously above the mourners. The clouds, dark and menacing, circled the moon in the manner of the outer circle flowing around the body. The moon continued its journey across the sky, becoming masked by the cloud. The scene darkened, but the chants continued. In the diminished light it was difficult to see, but the revolutions of the mourners did not slow. When the moon was fully behind the clouds a flash of light came from the clouds. It came not in discernible bolts, but rather in a flood from every direction. So powerful was it that the entire forest glowed and lost all shape, leaving only a blinding white. Just as suddenly darkness plunged back in, as if filling a vacuum. The clouds parted without so much as a breath of wind. The mourners stood, with arms and faces raised to the heavens, their eyes closed and lips sealed tight; the body conspicuously absent. Slowly, and in synchronized fashion, the mourners lowered their arms and faces to the center of the circle, turned and parted ways, each walking in a straight line, no two walking together.

This is the Army...

Given my geographic location, one of my primary sources of current information has become the Armed Forces Network (AFN) on radio broadcast from a somewhat nearby air force base. This has certain advantages over local radio. Significantly, it is in English and carries hourly news updates from AP and CNN. When sports finals roll around, they broadcast the games live.

Because of rules governing AFN broadcasts, there are no commercials. This is also good. In their stead they broadcast a type of public service announcement. It should go without saying that these announcements are intended for the military community. What they offer to those not in the military, however, is a glimpse into what happens behind the secure gates of the area facilities.

Now, if these broadcasts were the only insight into the life of the military, there are a few impressions one would get. First, military personnel that get into radio are not nearly as funny as Robin Williams made them seem in Good Morning Vietnam. In fact, they are not funny at all. Ever.

Second, they have problems – lots of problems. Here are the most serious problems military personnel have, as determined by the frequency of announcements encouraging them not to engage in the activities:
 Drunk driving
 Sexual harassment
 Shop lifting
 Allowing breaches in base security
 Driving into jet fuel trucks
 Driving motorcycles in an unsafe manner
 Suicide
 Allowing themselves to get out of shape

The station twice a month also broadcasts call-in shows with commanders, or other officers, from the various bases in the area. On these shows they encourage people from the bases or other areas under their command to raise various issues that are affecting them. It seems that most of their problems involve parking, or the lack of it.

Otherwise, it would seem, at least, all is well.

Rock for Regime Change

“Rock for Regime Change”

Saturday, May 28, Tokyo Japan – With an eclectic mix of musicians performing jazz with tap, hard rap-rock, DJs, and jam bands, the Democrats Abroad (Japan) staged their “Rock for Regime Change” to register overseas voters.

Co-sponsors for the event included a local restaurant and Red Hook Beer, both of whom donated part of their sales that night to the Democrats Abroad. Despite the event name and the organization by the Democrats, the political aspects of the evening were somewhat muted. Other than a couple of brief speeches, the only thing that really gave it away as a political event were the small John Kerry for president signs in the lobby and the visuals projected on the walls next to the stage. The most prominent of the images was a collage of the current Bush administration hawks, plus George H.W. Bush, superimposed over images from Iraq or Afghanistan. The elder Bush actually seemed more prominent since his image managed to stay on the wall longer as the picture zoomed out.

The night opened with a brief speech by someone who was somehow involved with the organization of the event making a 15-second political note and introducing the first band, a local band by the name of Ebel (or something like that). The smallish female lead singer managed to hold her own over the high-volume guitar and base work. They were followed by Heya no Mori (Peace Forest), a combination of three tap-dancers, a weak bass player, a jazz pianist and a scat singer with little soul.

Following the jazz and tap came another short political appeal, something which had been thankfully absent so far. This one proved to be a stirring plea for action. The emcee held a beer high and announced that the Red Hook being sold would benefit the Democrats Abroad and the quest to remove George H.W. Bush from office, and as such, everyone should do his or her part by drinking much. It was obvious the emcee was doing his part.

The third band of the night proved the best. Going by the name Sonica, it was a collection of foreign and Japanese musicians, including what are perhaps Japan’s best drummer and bass player. The band was rounded off with two other guitarists, a saxophone and an angry sounding “singer,” in the style of Rage Against the Machine. They performed well, with energy and tight musicianship, despite this being their first performance.

Fourth up on the stage was perhaps the group having the most fun. The lead, not really a singer as such, but definitely in the lead, made numerous reference to and chants for Ralph Nader, as well as goading the audience to move closer to the stage. The stage itself was crowded for their set, borrowing the bassist from earlier, two guitars, four horns, a rapper, a fair drummer and a couple of guys who seemed only to scream into the microphones a couple of times per tune.

The true highlight of the evening, however, was located at the back left of the venue. Baird Beer, a microbrewery located in Shizuoka prefecture, about two hours by express train from Tokyo, had a variety of what must be Japan’s best beer. As one gentleman commented over a pint of Angry Boy Brown Ale, “This is the best beer I’ve had in about five years. It is so hard to find a good beer in this country.” Interestingly, Mr. Baird learned his craft at Red Hook, and after a sipped announced solemnly, “Red Hook doesn’t travel well.”

What the expectations of the organizers were, or if they met them, are hard to tell. But, it was obvious that those in attendance enjoyed themselves immensely.

Sakura, sakura...

Spring in Tokyo, as most places, is a time of renewal. The gray skies begin to give way to a softer, more inviting blue. Trees that once offered only charcoal skeletons now nearly glow with blossoms. The hemlines of skirts climb in increments best measured in feet. Offices of the bigger, more traditional firms nearly bubble over with newly graduated recruits. And the event known as hanami greets them all.

A celebration of spring, hanami (literally flower viewing) is the official harbinger of spring. The government launches an official website to track and forecast the blooming of the cherry trees. Schedules are made and changed according to variations in the weather forecast.

On the days when the weather is warm and the trees are in their prime (which usually lasts about an hour), space in a park is at a premium. During the week the spaces are rigorously defended, often by a recent graduate embarking on his exciting career in business. Whether they are also responsible for lining up Peach Girls (escorts specifically engaged to provide company for hanami parties) may depend on the company’s culture. Each company or hanami party may even be so bold as to mark off their territory days in advance. The ingenious may pay a few of the homeless in booze and food to reserve a spot. Availability is on a first come, first served basis.

To properly enjoy the season, one must be prepared, and observe the traditions of hanami:

A blue tarp – preferably large enough to shelter a small nomadic tribe, spread on the ground for claiming territory and later seating; remember to remove your shoes before stepping onto it

Cardboard boxes – for use as tables for the buffet

Food – any assortment of snacks – dried fish and squid, seaweed, chicken skewers, fried noodles, octopus balls, meat on a stick, peanuts, etc. – in large quantities, lest you have to later order pizza from the delivery guys wandering the park

Alcohol – more important than food, one must be prepared to drink until the flowers which you are ostensibly viewing no longer come into focus. Beer and rice wine are the staples, but don’t be afraid to bring the entire bar with you – you will not be looked up with scorn, but rather with envy

Remember also to carry a camera (easily done in Japan, where every phone has a camera and everyone and their dog has a phone), for if you have done the above, you will need some evidence of having seen a flower.

Those who are ill prepared are forced to pay inflated prices for snacks and beer from the myriad of vendors set up around each park, and scrounge newspaper and the dismantled buffet boxes to use as seats.

But as quickly as the hanami season begins, it ends, and one is left to wait for hanabi (fireworks) to start before indulging so conspicuously in the park again.

Recommended reading

Nothing new from me, but others are keeping busy. Check out "the hard drinker" by Court Merrigan.

Olympic glory

I can now say that I've boarded down an Olympic run. Two actually. Over the weekend the company took a trip to Shiga Kogen, Nagano Prefecture, which was the site of some of the '98 Winter Olympic competition. After struggling through a 30km (18.6 mile) traffic jam leaving Tokyo, we arrived just before 1:00 p.m. Skipping lunch, we strapped on the boards and headed up the gondola. Snow was falling lightly, and occasional patches of sun poked through. The snow could have been better, but was not horrible. The half-inch of new stuff was not bad, but the base was fairly solid and icy. (One co-worker sustained a broken wrist in a bad fall on a steep run.) After the skiing came a huge meal, and the onsen (hot springs). The bath, referred to as a rotenburo, was situated outside at the back of one of the hotels, at the base of a forest slope. Ringing the bath area was a moat of snowmelt. Very cold snowmelt. The night was capped by a mediocre display of fireworks launched from the top of the mountain, but still managed to draw the applause of the guests assembled in the large-windowed restaurant to watch. The next day was a beautiful spring day, with clear skies and a view from the top of the Southern Japanese Alps. As the day warmed (and the slopes crowded) the snow softened and became slushy, but remained hard and icy in spots. The two Olympic runs, by the way, had been for the Giant Slalom and Super Giant Slalom and are well marked.

Four Days of Board-ome on the North Island

Days 3 & 4

The last two days were pretty much the same. Dinner the final evening was a huge feast - a buffet covered in snow crab, grilled king crab, mountains of raw shrimp, grilled squid, a bucket of salmon roe and a variety of other things. The snow remained good, and it was snowing hard as the bus pulled out for the airport.

Four Days of Board-ome on the North Island

Day 2

From deep slumber to painful aches, the day began much as the previous had ended – light, fluffy snow drifting down around the hotel. On the ground lay a new, if not especially deep, layer of powder. Breakfast in the traditional Japanese style – rice, a small cut of salmon, natto (fermented soybeans) and crisp nori (dry seaweed).

At the summit of the smaller of the two peaks, just above 1000 meters, the sun was shining and the wind was whipping. Near and in the trees, the snow remained soft and light for the first few runs, turning heavier as the day went on and the temperature rose. A fine spring day ensued.

From mid-afternoon the onsen (hot springs) beckoned, cutting the day short in avoidance of the icy conditions that would begin to form. The water steamed in a large room with baths of different description. The largest in one corner near a window looking out to a forested hill was shallow and mostly mild. A small bath waited at 20C (68F) to greet those emerging from the sauna. Nearby, a shallow bath held reclining bathers as air pulsed and massaged from below.

The most enjoyable of the baths, however, was found out a sliding glass door. A small, round bath deeper than those inside sat in the corner below a roof. It looked out, unobstructed, over a wooded hill. Had it been snowing at the time, it would have been picture-postcard perfect.

The dinner that followed was not the grand feast of the first night. Owing to financial considerations, an izakaya (a Japanese style bar) was found to be quite suitable. The fare varied, but mostly consisted of rice topped with sashimi and, being Hokkaido, salmon roe.

With muscles relaxed from the baths, and stomachs full, sleep came swiftly.

Four Days of Board-ome on the North Island

Day One:

The alarm started its usual noises at 5:00 a.m., far earlier than most rational people would have preferred. The city was still dark and still, only a few dedicated workers making their way toward the city center. The train to the airport showed only a little more liveliness.

The terminal building at Haneda International was buzzing with activity, travelers in suites carried black briefcases and overnight bags, others in jeans and ski jackets sat next to their boards and skis, sipping coffee and looking both tired and excited. The plane, a Boeing 747-300 was full for the hour-and-a-half flight to New Chitose Airport.

Outside the warm confines of Chitose’s airport, the sun reflected brightly off the snow. The bus wound its way out of the airport and onto the highway, headed toward the mountains to the south and west. Rising up into the foothills, the sun was masked in cloud and a thick snow was falling. It would continue to fall in waves for the next few days.

By one o’clock the gondola reached the summit of the Kiroro resort, 1,200 meters (3937 feet). Visibility at the summit was no more than 20 feet, the snow and wind combining at times in complete whiteout. The temperature was –15C (5F). The snow was thick, light and dry.

With no crowds on the slopes, the conditions did not deteriorate, and being Japan, not many are inclined to be the first into the trees or even onto the edges of the runs. Throughout the day and until the lights came on there was fresh snow to be explored. The runs were peaceful by Japanese resort standards – no J-pop, gansta rap, or other music pumping constantly from the lift speakers, only the droning repetition of announcements for the ski and snowboard school.

Dinner was taken in the ski village surrounding Hotel Piano (Kiroro is owned by Yamaha music, thus the hotels are named for instruments). This hotel serves as the main resort area, and is five minutes by shuttle bus from the mountain base. The hotel itself houses two restaurants – one Italian, one offering the foods of Hokkaido. Surrounding the hotel are other restaurants of various description – Chinese, sushi, izakaya, etc. This first night’s meal was had in a restaurant adorned almost exclusively in Beatles paraphernalia, with the occasional Elvis poster thrown in for variety. The food, however, was distinctly Hokkaido – tender strips of barbequed lamb, accompanied by bowls of rice topped with salmon roe.

Sleep that night came quickly and easily.

Land of the Setting Sun

The sun has set on what is one of Japan’s proudest cultural institutions, at least to judge from the media coverage.

Following the discovery of BSE in a Washington state cow, the Japanese government imposed a ban on the importation of American beef. This has in turn caused the end of Japanese culture as it is currently known.

As American beef supplies in Japan began to dwindle, and the prices rise, major fast food establishments that rely on the cheap beef to serve as gyudon (beef-topped rice bowls) began to announce the end of an era. Newspapers and television news programs lined up and began feeding the public the dire news.

One by one the major chains removed gyudon from their menus. Finally the most venerable of the gyudon chains removed gyudon from its menu in all except its flagship store in order to preserve the 105-year-old tradition of gyudon at Yoshinoya.

The media reported daily on the fall of gyudon chains and the impending demise of the dish. Extensive reporting was done on what the firms were doing to replace the American beef. Sadly, Australian beef does not lend itself to the dish and costs more. Newspaper and television reported on the final shipment of American beef to Yoshinoya’s outlets. TV crews reported live from the midnight departure and stood in the way of the deliverymen making their final rounds. Newspapers carried full-page articles on the event.

Fed by the reporting on the imminent demise of a cultural staple, consumers lined up outside Yoshinoya’s shops to get one last beef bowl. Reports were full of people who had frequented gyudon shops expressing a sense of loss. Other reporters found some who had never tried one in their 25 years’ of life who had rushed to stand in line to sample one before gyudon was consigned to history.

In interviews, long-time gyudon eaters derided the new menu offerings of spiced pork on rice and Japanese curry. Nothing can replace their beloved beef bowl. This weekend, the beef bowl died in Japan.

From the extensive coverage the demise garnered one would think that gyudon has gone forever, and with it went a piece of Japan. Doubtless the government will eventually accept the steps taken by America in certifying its beef safe and once again allow the importation of beef. However, this is not a possibility that has been raised by the chains’ management or the media. When the government does reopen the market, gyudon will rise up from the ashes like a phoenix and a new dawn of Japanese culture unrivaled since the Meiji restoration will commence.

I ate a horse

Well, part of one anyway. It happened very naturally on the return leg of an extended snowboarding weekend to Nagano prefecture, Japan. We had left Tokyo about eleven o’clock Friday night and endured the eight-hour (including four stops of various lengths) bus ride to the base of the aptly named Komaruyama (Small Round Mountain).

Upon our arrival a light snow was falling. The air was crisp, but not too cold, and it was pleasantly quiet after the noise and bustle of Tokyo. A few minutes later the quite was shattered by the rumble of a Snow Cat, which was to take us up to the ryokan half way up the hill and past the mid-sun Shinto shrine. Once checked in the rental gear was brought out, with a bit of a wait while one of the staff took a snowmobile down the hill to get boots to fit the Westerners in the group.

Soon we were geared up and the lifts were running. The silence of the morning was long forgotten and not to return. One feature of Japanese ski areas is the extensive systems of loudspeakers which sit atop the lift towers and blare music all day. The selection this day was a mixture of US top 40 and gangsta rap. (It became so unbearable that we asked the ski patrol to change the music – a request that was thankfully granted. Though not that much better musically, it was at least a change of songs.)

There had been some big snows the previous week and there were still a few stashes of untracked powder for us to exploit. And we did, until it was gone and had to move on to more out of the way places. The light snow of the morning came off and on through the day, but did not add up to much.

In the evening the lights kicked on and slopes emptied, making a couple of us late for dinner. (“I think we have time for one more run” becoming a mantra.) Our group was the only in the lodge, which meant when the lifts stopped (along with the music) we had a very peaceful place to ourselves. The staff is quite friendly, efficient and, like all good ski resort employees, there to enjoy themselves. After dinner we were invited to join them in a few glasses of sake and a chat.

The talk turned to the abandoned building just up the hill, at the top of the first lift. The old hotel had been abandoned for the past decade, maybe more, and was reputed to be inhabited now by a family of ghosts. Whether they were friendly or not was a matter of some debate, but they seemed to keep mostly to themselves. In contrast to the deceased dog of one of the long-time ryokan employees, which was said to follow its former master around the place.

Defying logic we mounted a snowmobile and drove the thirty meters up the hill, flashlights in hand and half moon above. We pulled open the door and stepped inside. We looked from where we were standing and then exited the building. Hotels abandoned for decades, we finally decided, were not going to present the best places to be wandering around after sake and dark, particularly those that house ghosts. Nothing approached us before we made our exit, but simply looking in the window from the outside proved odd enough. The room we could see into was littered with old futons, blankets, single ski gloves, other scraps of rags and a few unidentifiables.

We hopped back on the snowmobile, whipped under the snow machines and, once back at the ryokan, headed for the bath. Typical of ryokans the bath was a common one for the hotel and the water in the bath hot enough to cook king crab, but felt great after a day of boarding.

The next day the skies cleared, the sun came out and it was like spring skiing – everything was wet and heavy (including our heads). Having tracked all the good snow the day before we made our way around the mountain sticking ever closer to the trails’ edges for the little bit of fresh snow there was.

Our final day was started with rain. This was a first for me – snowboarding in the rain in February. But we made the best of it and ensured that we would be as soar as possible by attempting the newly opened half pipe and rail. We stopped in early afternoon, returned our rental gear and mounted the Snow Cat for the ride back down. From there it was back on the bus.

Our bus made fewer stops and made much better time on the way back. It was this first stop where it happened. At this particular rest-stop/gift shop/restaurant there was a somewhat limited menu. They offered the typical ramen noodles, tempura, udon (another type of noodle) and Japanese curry (which will never be confused with the Indian original it is rumored to be based on). In addition, they had Sakura.

There is a tendency in Japan to call foods with the pinkish hue of the sakura (cherry blossom) Sakura. Thus, with its pinkish color, horsemeat is called Sakura. It was served as sushi, cut in thin strips, raw and laid over balls of rice. The taste and texture is that of high quality beef. And so it was that I ate a horse.

Recommended Read

A good read from an up and coming author: In Hiding

Excuses, excuses

It was nearly noon by the time I managed to find my way out of my apartment. The air was already thick with the sticky heat that daily grips this little island. The night before had been nothing short of restless; mosquitoes kept up a ceaseless raid on exposed skin and the damp stench of the hovel I was held up in would have allowed no rest anyway.

Now tired, hungry and entirely agitated by the swelling red bites that covered me, I found myself stuck in traffic because of a giant whale. The beast was laid out on the back of a truck, being taken somewhere for something. At this point, however, it was only succeeding in slowing traffic and drawing gawkers from the stores, cafes and dirty alleyways. They, in turn, slowed traffic to an unmerciful crawl. A traffic cop was trying in vain to open the lanes of traffic once again.

A stench rose from the drying beast and mingled with the smell of exhaust, roasting chickens and ducks, frying fish and rotting garbage. I was no longer hungry. I was growing more impatient with each passing second. The little motorbike I was on normally made most traffic problems irrelevant, but then again, I had never encountered a whale in traffic before.

The signal ahead of the truck turned and the cops hurried to push children and their parents from the lane and the whale lurched forward. With a clear line along the curb I hammered down on the throttle and threw myself around the side of the trailer on which the leviathan lay. I found myself coming along the underside of the beast and made my way forward to just about the midpoint. My progression along the beast was halted by another motorcyclist and his camera-toting passenger who seemed intent on taking every inch of the whale’s underbelly in close detail.

Already angered by my own tardiness I found this an unnecessary annoyance. I blew my meager horn, but to no avail. I looked for ways around them, but we were once again slowing as the crowds came into the street.

It may have been my eyes, but I nearly swore the whale was growing larger, as though it were drawing in a final breath. The skin looked stretched, taut as a painter’s canvas. As we stopped I heard a creaking noise and thought the truck bed must be splintering beneath the weight. Then a force I cannot describe threw me from my bike and sent me sliding into the storefront to my right.

I found myself unable to rise; not from pain or broken bones, but from slipping on something slick when I tried. I couldn’t see through the visor of my helmet from the same slime in which I sat. As I raised it clear of my eyes I couldn’t believe my eyes. Before me on its bed lay the whale with a gaping hole in its belly, burst like a balloon.

She looked at me in disbelief, as though I were making it up. I had to return home to shower, I protested, she wouldn’t have wanted me arriving a stinking pile of whale blood, guts and half digested tuna! But she would not be convinced by such a flimsy story. She got up from the table, announced she had finished her lunch and left me the bill as she walked away.


Truth is sometimes stranger than fiction: http://www.etaiwannews.com/Taiwan/2004/01/27/1075168255.htm

The sky is falling!

Snow began falling again in Tokyo Sunday afternoon causing area residents to panic and repeated tell one another that ‘it’s cold!’ The snow clouds gathered over the western horizon early in the day, but left the city untouched until later afternoon. The arrival of the clouds would have been nearly entirely unnoticed had it not been accompanied by a frigid wind of about 5km/hr. With the ensuing draft came the exclamations of cold and eventually some spots of moisture resembling snow were spotted. These melted quickly, but conversations about the cold lingered well into the night.

Commuter Comfort

Good news for those venturing into the heart of Tokyo’s concrete jungle by subway. The Teito Rapid Transit Authority, the operators of about half of Tokyo’s subways, have announced that from the early part of this year they will once again provide toilet paper in station toilets.

Toilet paper has long been absent from these public facilities. Though readily available in the stations from the reconstruction following World War II, the paper distribution was discontinued during the oil crisis of the 1970’s.

Teito officials point to the hording of the precious paper that gripped the city at that time, and what some described as plain wastefulness on the part of subway users.

The new distribution of toilet paper throughout the system will commence by the latter part of January. At first the paper will only be available at a handful of the larger stations in the metro area. By June or July officials hope to have the paper available in all of their facilities.

There was no word as to a similar action being taken by the other main subway or train operators in the city.

Warming Whines

With the second largest economy in the world, and some of the most advanced technology in the world, it is somewhat surprising to find that most houses in Japan do not offer the comforts of central heating. As the weather has gone from fall to winter, the foreign residents of Japan unite in ceasing their denunciation of everything else Japan, with the exception of the bank machines, and focus their complaining skills.

The intensity of complaint is in direct inverse proportion to the air temperature. This is a defensive mechanism which foreigners possess to keep the body warm, according to a theory proposed by Dr. Ken Hashimoto. Dr. Hashimoto’s research team, comprised mainly of students seeking to improve their English skills without having to pay money for it, surveyed a number of foreign residents as they went about their own business.

Eavesdropping on and entering into conversations in which they were not particularly welcomed, the researchers compiled a list of the most common complaints they heard. The team then went through and calculated the rate that the complaints were issued, and what time of year the complaints were most frequent. Using what he termed a ‘complicated formula involving big numbers’ Dr. Hashimoto found that there was a significant decrease in the number of complaints about most aspects of Japanese life when the weather cooled and that in the place of many general complaints central heating was then the target.

In a giant leap of logical thought, Dr. Hashimoto’s team came to the conclusion that this switch in complaints allowed foreigners to channel their ire into heat, thus keeping the foreigner warm without central heating.

The report also noted that complaints about ATMs remained fairly steady, but peaked around the time of national holidays. Asked for a reason for this, Dr. Hashimoto’s spokesman replied only that ‘it is very difficult'.

Dangerous foreign foe

The cabinet of Japan’s Prime Minister Junichiro Koizuimi has announced that it will be formulating a plan to give the title of World’s Safest Country to Japan. Taking notice of the rising crime rate and opinion polls citing the worry of citizens, the cabinet approved a plan to lessen incidents of crime, an presumably their impact on public thinking.

Although the plan announced included steps to be taken in various ministries in Japan, the media, or at least the English language media, latched onto the aspect of the plan dealing with foreigners. The government now plans to reduce by at least half the number of illegal immigrants now in Japan. As is widely known here, foreigners cause problems, and so need to be removed from the country. This will doubtless leave the country much safer.

For evidence of this, one need only look to today’s headlines to see that the pesky foreign-born are blighting Japanese society. Take for example the man who recently walked into an elementary school and whacked a girl in the forehead with a stick, or the man accused of kidnapping and holding a high school student for three days before she escaped, or the drunken newspaper man who punched a fish monger waiting for the stumbling man to finish crossing the street, or five men arrested for firing bullets into banks and teachers’ unions, or the organizers of a giant orgy in China on the eve of the anniversary of Japan’s invasion, or…But perhaps these would offer more support of the government’s position if they had not been all perpetrated by Japanese. One mentioned in today’s Japan times is the Indonesian flight attendant just released after being held without communication to family or embassy on the charge of possessing a forged 500 yen coin. She was released after it was determined that she had not knowingly come into possession of fake coins.

Yet progress is being made in the fight against illegal resident villains. A major raid last month removed from the Tokyo streets a vicious gang of illegal hairdressers. Residents may now rest easier, knowing these dangerous people are safely locked up.

Yes, sir.

There is a commercial aired frequently on Japanese television which shows at first a complement being passed down the chain of command from the white haired chairman, through six layers of management, in descending age, before reaching the young worker. The second scene shows a somewhat angry rebuke following the same route, and the third permission for some essential task going the same way. The commercial depicts the higher levels stacked on the back the young employee. The final scene shows all except the highest level calling a placement service, the CEO trying hard to see what is going on below him in obvious futility. It is amazing how accurate the depiction of the command structure of a Japanese company is. Even in “non-traditional” companies, levels of pseudo-responsibility and authority crop up.

Applying these command structures in a company in which most of the employees are not Japanese looks as though it will prove tricky, to say the least. Particularly difficult will be the implementation of a new layer where none existed before. While newer employees may get a sense of authority from the middle layer, longer term employees, in this case those that have been with the company more than a couple of months, will most likely continue to go directly to the hire levels and primarily circumvent the new layer, in a diplomatic way. There is a danger in angering the new level, though no real power resides there, it is quickly becoming obvious that this layer has the ear of the upper management and could probably turn into a rather potent adversary if not handled properly. So far the modus operandi appears to pay lip service to the new layer and arrange direct contact with the upper layer soon after, resolving the issues more satisfactorily.

It will perhaps be interesting to see how long this dynamic lasts before the person in this new layer begins to take actions to protect the position, and try to assert punitive authority to essentially justify the need for the position’s existence.

Tax, but don't touch

We’ll bring prostitution into the legal economy, but keep your hands to yourselves, seems to be the message coming from Thailand’s ruling party, Thai Rak Thai (Thais love Thais).

Over the past couple of weeks Justice Minister Pongthep Thepkanchana has publicly voiced the idea of legalizing the sex industry in Thailand. The move would allow the government to begin taxing what is estimated to be 3% or Thailand’s economy and improve working conditions for the estimated 200,000 people employed in the trade. Proponents are also hopeful that the legalization of the sex industry would lead to lower incidences of police corruption.

However, even if prostitution were to be brought up from the underground economy, members of Thaksin’s party would still be barred from indulging. Under a new proposal any Thai Rak Thai members found to be cheating on their wives, either by taking a mistress or visiting a brothel, could be barred from running in subsequent elections. Perhaps needless to say, some party members find this to be a bit intrusive. Some members feel that it is no one’s business if they decide to take mistresses, even claiming it as “an individual’s right”. Party officials, on the other hand, stated that politicians must be held to a higher standard regarding their responsibilities to their families.

To read more, visit:
http://edition.cnn.com/2003/WORLD/asiapcf/southeast/11/27/thailand.sex.ap/ (legalizing prostitution)

http://www.iol.co.za/index.php?click_id=126&art_id=qw107035308570B234&set_id=1 (banning cheating politicians)

The meaning of Christmas

A cold wind is blowing through the concrete canyons of Tokyo and bringing with it the spirit of Christmas. Ignore for a moment any notions you may have that Christmas should be, at least in theory, related to anything other than the religion of commerce. The first creeping signs of Christmas made their debut over the weekend with little notice, save perhaps for a few handfuls or schoolgirls giggling and squealing kawaii!! (Cute!!) as they admired the twinkling lights in the trees and the store displays.

The store displays tend to be slightly different here from what one might find in the West. There are the typical reindeer pulling sleighs, artificial trees with small, colored lights, and cotton spread across everything to mimic snow, or a tarantula’s web depending on how much care was taken to replace the Halloween décor. Other stores, in keeping with their pattern of minimalist furnishings, erect (fake) trees worthy of Charlie Brown. Then there are some displays of the season that may strike some as out of place, even odd. Standing tall and proud outside each Kentucky Fried Chicken is a Santa-suit-clad Colonel Sanders. One department store went so far as to crucify Santa, mounting Father Christmas upon a cross.

Not all that surprising, really, given certain events in the history of Christianity in Japan. Upon the religion’s introduction to the archipelago converts were killed. The authorities of the day took pains to establish the religion of the person before sentencing, employing a test referred to as fumie. Literally translated it means “step picture” and involved placing an image of Jesus on the floor and asking the suspected Christian to step on the picture, and by their response determining the accused’s true religion.

The atmosphere is far more tolerant today, and religions are mostly left to themselves. So is the case with Christmas in Japan – it has little to do with religion (though, in all fairness, much the same could be said in the West). Like Valentine’s Day, it is a day to spend on lovers rather than family or spirit. As one businessman explained, “I buy gifts for my girlfriend. Not my wife, but my girlfriend.”

And so the stores stock their shelves with gifts more appropriate for unwrapping under the mistletoe than the tree, for the retailers have figured out as much as they care to about the meaning of Christmas.

It wasn't me.

Playboy is celebrating its 50th year of publication with all the great fan fare one would expect from such a venerable institution. Improving on much admired themes like Women of the Big 12, they have embarked on an effort to solicit the poses of the Women of Wal-mart. The question then becomes: Are they legal?

There is little doubt that Playboy will dutifully check the ages of the women of Wal-mart who offer themselves up for their 15 minutes of fame. But has Wal-mart checked their legal status? Do they care?

It doesn’t really appear they do. As the investigation continues into Wal-mart’s involvement, or at least condoning, of the hiring of illegal immigrants (mostly) by contractors to clean nearly a third of their stores in North America, the corporate legal geniuses have come up with a nearly impenetrable defense: We didn’t know.

This suggests two things immediately. First, that the world’s largest retailer by sales is run by a group of ignoramuses, or second, that the legal team and top brass have concluded this constitutes a solid legal position, which exonerates them of responsibility or duty.

While recent developments in a number of global companies have shown that ignoramuses do rise to the top, it is hard to fathom that they could all stumble their way to the top of the same company. Somewhere along the line somebody has to be doing something right and have intended it.

Simply saying “We didn’t know” also seems improbable as an adequate defense. Yet, that is exactly what they are saying. The historical record of this defense, and indeed its daily use, does not bode well for the Wal-mart defense team. In addition to its poor record as a way of proving innocence, or at least disproving guilt, there is little chance they will ever find 12 people who believe it. Unless they get the same jury from the Durst trial (http://edition.cnn.com/2003/LAW/11/11/fugitive.heir.ap/index.html). The idea that Wal-mart executives didn’t know that their dirt-cheap cleaners were using illegal labor is incomprehensible. On previous occasions Immigration and Naturalization Services (INS) has raided Wal-mart stores and found their contractors to be using illegal labor. Yet, they didn’t see it coming this time, either?

Much vaunted in business schools as a model of how to operate, Wal-mart has again shown its faults. It is long past due that the retailer look just over the bottom line and take on its responsibilities to all of its stakeholders, and not just those with a stock price to watch.

Wedding bells in Jakarta

My first impression of Jakarta, apart from the obvious heat and humidity that is to be expected when one steps from the plane, was the goats. As we pulled from the airport after a seemingly exaggerated wait for our bags, there to welcome us to the capitol were goats grazing on the soft shoulder of the highway. Throughout our stay, anytime we ventured out of the city, goats were there to watch us pass.

Leaving the goats to their coarse tropical grasses we entered the city itself and were greeted with chaotic traffic the likes of which cannot adequately be describe. As we approached our hotel we found ourselves in the center of a major four-way intersection with traffic approaching us from all sides. Another noticeable feature of Jakarta traffic is the enthusiastic use of horns, though given the ostensible lack of traffic regulations this is not all that surprising.

Somehow we managed to get out of the intersection and into our hotel. We stayed in the North area of Jakarta, about 25 minutes by taxi (in light traffic) from downtown. Our hotel was a nice, four star place overlooking a lake on which wake boarding was a daily event. On the lake’s close shore were two restaurants with seating out over the water and sound systems that shook the windows of our 7th floor room. The hotel was what is generally expected of an international standard and the service was prompt and courteous.

Our first night in the city we were treated to homemade Indonesian-Chinese food at the home of a friend. The table, a meter-and-a-half diameter affair with rotating center, was packed with fish curry, chicken curry, steamed dumplings, fried noodles, rice, spicy beef, vegetables and more. After dinner I was asked to be the best man for the ceremony the following day.

Driving through the neighborhoods in Jakarta you cannot help but notice the large iron gates which stand at the major intersections. Within the neighborhoods themselves traffic gates, less stout but effective at diverting traffic, abound. Each of the houses are surrounded by walls and gates of their own, those along the main streets topped with spikes, spiky plants, and in a few cases glass pieces or barbed wire. The gates along the streets are remnants of the 1998 riots in which ethnic Chinese were quite literally hunted by Indonesians in the lower classes. The gates are still closed at night, manned by armed guards in camouflage uniforms.

The day of the wedding the photography crew – a director, still photographer, videographer (with a penchant for swaying angles), two lighting grips, a guy to man the electrical cords – arrived for the shooting of the Jacket Ceremony. This involved the groom’s father (played by his boss) placing white gloves and suit jacket on the groom. The ceremony then proceeded to the hallway where the groom’s father presents the groom to the best man, who escorts him out to the wedding car (in this instance a Mercedes sedan with bouquets adorning the hood and trunk, rose buds on the door handles) pausing repeatedly to be shot and filmed from the appropriate angles.

The church ceremony was Catholic, read almost entirely in Indonesian. (This was a testament to the open-mindedness of the groom, who is a Turkish Muslim.) The role of the best man, it should be noted, here differed significantly from what would normally be done in the West. The parents of the couple stand as witnesses while the best man and maid of honor take seats in the first pew. The photographic crew was an omnipresent force and would have doubtless incurred the wrath of at least one former minister I know.

At the conclusion of the service it was back to the hotel for the shooting of the Tea Ceremony. In this the newly wedded couple present tea to their parents, family, wedding attendants, et al. and receive their gifts (in the case of a Indonesian-Chinese wedding this is a small red envelope containing a sum of money). All, again, carefully directed and photographed.

Upon completion of the Tea Ceremony was a presentation to the family of a soup (again, carefully directed and photographed) and then the family was off for an afternoon at the studio for more photographs.

The reception was held later that evening in a large restaurant, featuring an elaborate stage and a singer accompanied by a man at a keyboard. The reception began with the presentation of the wedding party and then the bride and groom. As the best man I was asked to remain on the stage with the bride’s family, the newly weds and the groom’s father ‘for balance’. The groom made a speech and a carefully directed presentation of the wedding cake was made.

First to receive the cake was the bride, eating from the hand of the groom as would be normally done in the West. They then reversed roles. Then the happy couple presented cake in the same manner to her parents, then his, then the best man ‘for balance’.

The dinner was Chinese, served family style, and quite good. A toast to the couple, read by the emcee, interrupted dinner and the bride’s parents, the happy couple, the groom’s father and the best man ‘for balance’ mounted the stage again to raise a glass of tea in honor of the occasion. At the end of the meal the six were called again to the stage for the receiving line and here the ceremony, but not the photography. At the director’s behest people mounted and dismounted the stage to be photographed and filmed at odd angles with the bride and groom. Eventually, the camera crew ran out of film.

October 27 marked the start of Ramadan in Indonesia. Within the confines of our hotel there was not much that could be seen which would mark it as any significant day. Outside the hotel, however, was quite another matter. During the day most restaurants closed, only to open after sunset when the day of fasting ends, the exceptions appeared to be western fast food establishments. Establishments that would normally serve alcohol did not. The Hard Rock Café even went so far as to cover their external sign in black cloth, making it invisible from the street, and though open, did not serve alcohol or host a band.

Our final day we spent in the cooler mountains near Bogor, about an hour from Jakarta. A tropical haze still hung in the valley, and the peaks would disappear under caps of cloud, but the mid-mountain was mild and pleasant. We walked for a short time among the tea plants, admiring the occasional banana tree growing in their midst. Along the highway as we drove back, between us and the goats, the durian sellers had set themselves on the roads edge. Durian, for the uninitiated, has a spiky brown shell about the size of a soccer ball and such a pungent scent that it is banned in most hotels, subways, buses, malls and aircraft in Southeast Asia.

We took our final meal in Jakarta in a seafood restaurant near the presidential palace. Grilled tiger prawns the size of small lobster, fried fish, a sort of shrimp cake with whole shrimp in them, fresh coconut to drink. As we drove away we passed the presidential palace and then the main mosque in Jakarta. It is a huge building that would easily dwarf the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C. Directly across the street stands the largest Catholic church Indonesia. Around a bend and through a park stands a large monolith, topped in a flame of gold reputed to be 36kg of gold, a gift from the government of China, but with no other significance to the population of Jakarta.

We returned to Japan that evening, upgraded again to the upper deck of a 747 (I am beginning to like Garuda’s service), leaving behind the goats and gates of Jakarta.