Wild Hippogriff Chase

Placed in: gek

The last Harry Potter comes out tomorrow. I am pre-ordered, and moved the date of a house party I was planning to give me a full day to read.

Yes. I am a Harry Potter fan. I'll admit I don't think Mrs. Rowling is the best writer, and her themes are heavy-handed and trite (the special power over darkness is, of course, love)-- but damn, the woman can tell a story.

And she has plotted out her entire series from the beginning. Which means, this last book is the lynchpin to it all. So many little details are left unexplained.. will she tie up all the loose ends? Much like LOST, the books have been stirring up more questions than answers with each successive book. What has this been building up to, and, if I may be so bold, has it been worth it?

Of course the importance and fun is in the journey, but this last book will reflect back on all that came before and show if half the fun-- the foreshadowing, the puzzling-- has been more than just a wild hippogriff chase. With the blazing clarity of a sunbeam, this tome will either dissipate the haze of mystique and anticipation, thus ruining the tone of the entire series-- or bring it to a sunny, shiny, happy, coherent whole.

Mrs. Rowling has given hints about some grand twist ending.. I'm not sure about a very many things, such as why Harry's eyes are so important, but I have a good guess about the ending.. I wonder how many of these are populating the net at this moment..

My guess is that Harry is a blood descendant of Godric Griffindor, which makes him a 'relic of Griffindor' and thus Voldemort's final horcrux. When Voldemort came to kill his parents, he had been planning all along to make an infant his final horcrux.. because then, anyone who wanted to kill him would have to murder an innocent babe as well.

Possible problems with this theory-- when Harry turned 17 or perhaps as soon as he stopped being cute perhaps his innocence would not be such a deterrent.. especially to frightened crazy ministry types. Bigger problem-- Harry would die eventually, thus destroying the horcrux. BUT-- Dumbledore said Nagini the snake was probably a horcrux, and snakes are also mortal.. so maybe the soul-piece would convey a bit of immortality.

Anyway my reasons for this theory is that Voldemort never gets around to killing Harry, and he keeps going off about "what really happened that night". I think he meant to kill Harry's parents and leave him alive, he just didn't expect to get killed as well, power of love, yada yada.

I also think Snape is somehow related to Harry.. or had a thing with Lily.. or something. I really like Snape. I think he'll turn out to be noble, somehow. I think Mrs. Rowling was trying to play out the bully/bullied dynamic, twenty years later.. but I think she's too sympathetic Sirius and James for it to work.

Uhm, other guesses.. I hope lots of good stuff happens with Victor Krum, because he's really, really hot. Oh, Harry will contact Sirius and Sirius' brother will tell him what happened to the Slytherin locket. Of course Hermione and Ron will get it on.

Okay, everything else, and there's so much.. no idea! I really can't wait.

Placed in: [ Geekiness
]

Elegía - El Mar

I can't think of how to begin without sounding like those women's magazines I detest.

I received a text, and it broke my heart, and I've been crying ever since.

It's too soon for this to be funny for me, but hilarity like madness hovers above my left shoulder. It quirks my lips whenever I'm not paying attention, but the blunt force has left me without the breath for laughter. This situation may never be funny, but I'm sure that line someday will.

Anyway, I'd like it to be clear that the aforementioned text was not malicious-- he'll test negative for even a trace of that particular substance-- but it was callous in it's carelessness.

To hear that someone you care about doesn't feel the same way about you anymore, well that's bloody awful but.. well, you know, it's terrible. But to hear that he's gone back and re-written history, that he NEVER felt the same way as you did, that he'd forgotten or adulterated everything he'd ever said, that he'd moved on so completely as to erase any emotional footprint..

The shitty thing is, I didn't ask for him to tell me these things. I had already figured out on my own the former, that he didn't care anymore. I'd already stirred up some comfort food and laced up my walking boots. I certainly didn't need it shoved in my face. And the latter, this colourless revisionist history, I NEVER wanted to know about it.

Echoes in the halls of knowledge, dinosaurs and pizza boxers, pages through the sands of destiny, footsteps through the sand at sunset, sea turtles and starry nights.. I look back and see beautiful, emotionally charged landscapes. He looks back and sees the equivalent of a summer camp.

So the anger and the despair claw their way up my throat and pour from my eyes until I am exhausted, and I wake bleary and depressed. My late-night overindulgences have a darkly amusing side-effect-- lack of sleep coupled with lack of fluids have left me with a scorching case of dry-eye. So I squeeze drops into my eyes all day so I can squeeze them out all night.

And yet, even though I'm really down right now, I'm still happy. Er, perhaps happy is too strong a word. Content. I know this sorrow, I know where it comes from; I let it in and I'm happy I did. I'd do it again.

You'd think depression would make you never want to be sad again, since you'd already spent so much time that way. But I guess one thing depression has taught me is to appreciate natural sorrow, sadness that has a beginning and an ending. Miles away from clutching an ATM machine and sobbing uncontrollably, even though outside the sky is blue and there's nothing wrong with the ATM machine.. No, it's full of money just for me, but it doesn't matter, because nothing in the world that can be bought, sold, gained or lost can make me happy, and blessed gods, I don't know why. And there was no why, just despair for despair's sake, that is to say, no one's sake.

No, not at all like that, this sorrow is good. The root of it isn't good, no it's complete bullshit, but it has to be something terrible to trigger such an emotional response. But the sorrow itself is good. Joy and sorrow cannot exist without each other, and suppression of one will dilute the other until you're left with a colourless state of transcendent purity. A reverent, worthy goal-- but I'll take the broken road with all it's trials and delights.

-----------

While writing I began to wonder, why do I put these things online? Things I don't discuss with my friends, I entrust to total strangers? Why?

The internet is like an ocean of anonymity-- and yet this is an illusion, and a flimsy one at that. But this ocean is very, very large, and in part I hope that because of this I will be overlooked in the sheer volume of celebrity chatter and pet photos. And yet, if I wish to be overlooked, why post at all? Why would I weep into the ocean, only to worry that the fish will judge the quality of my tears? Or perhaps more vulgarly but sometimes more fittingly, pee into the ocean hoping that the poor fish won't mind?

I could just as easily relieve the buildup of my grinding thought machinery into a pool in my own backyard. The white cement walls would keep everything safely inside, and the chlorine keeps it all shiny and sterile. This way, only those I allow in for a dip could sift those waters. And yet, though it feels good to get everything out of me, it's all still there, in the pool. It will just sit there, an unchanging reminder, a glorified sinkhole; a useless place that due to it's contents you don't feel like taking a casual swim in.

But the ocean is enormous. The contents of a thousand pools evaporate off it's surface every day, with none the wiser. It moves and it changes. There, piddle and bunk and amusement and genius can blend and connect and disconnect with unending novelty. The ocean isn't sterile, you never know when something you dump in it might trigger a scandalous algal bloom-- but then again, you never know where that algae will enter the food chain, or how that bloom might help to alleviate global warming. Aiiee, this metaphor's gettin' away from me. But my point is, the ocean teems with life. Instead of locking ideas away in a safe, sterile place, why not let them free where they may find a life of their own? As long as you're not talking shit about somebody (*ahem* pollution, in my tidy little metaphor) what's the harm? Nobody's gotta read it; few people will. If they don't like it, they'll stop. If they think it's stupid, they can get a glowing feeling of superiority. If they can identify, maybe they'll feel a little less lonely. If they like it, maybe their day will be a little brighter. If they learn something, maybe the whole world will be a little brighter.

Elegía
A veces me dan ganas de llorar,
pero las suple el mar.
Sometimes the urge to weep besets me
but the sea wafts it away.

Pausas I
¡El mar, el mar!
Dentro de mí lo siento.
Ya sólo de pensar
en él, tan mío,
tiene un sabor de sal mi pensamiento.
The sea, the sea!
Within me I feel it
Just from thinking
on it — so much my own —
my thought bears a taste of salt.

~ José Gorostiza

Gooey Cheese for the Soul

So yes- comfort food tonight. Not as salty or greasy as comfort foods tend to be, but smothered with self-reliance, spiced with productivity, and of course, oozing with cheese.

For-- my first love has ended, slid beneath the dark waters of eternity with nary a ripple.

Ah, yes. Munch munch. Oh, cheese. Lovely, delicious cheese.

I’m truly not one to self-medicate with food. Food is not like medicine, a booster or a treat; no, it’s something much more vital-- like.. well, food. Nor am I one to bemoan always getting caught up with the ‘wrong’ guy.. ‘cuz that’s just stupid. You meet who you need to meet, and thus get caught up with those whom you should. I am unhappy with the parting, but am immensely grateful for the meeting and everything in between-- and I accept, and even celebrate, the consummate whole.

So what’s the problem? And there is a problem, since I’m stirring up pots of comfort. And it’s this: I’m wondering if I fought hard enough. In the end, I did my best to ease it’s passing, to let it slip with silent grace into that good night.. I think I fought a good fight when it was called for, but should I have raged on until the end?

These passages are laced with morbidity.. but nothing has died. The wellspring still flows, as clear and strong as ever. I have carried jars of its water through a dark and searing country, to empty it upon the dry loam. And, at last, there came a time when I felt I would have drained the very vessels of my body, poured out my very last drop of vitality, if it would only nourish the silent earth. But the soil was barren, so what good would that do? Performing the same action over and over again, while expecting different results.. Hmmm, there’s a word for that, and I think it starts with an ‘i’..

The world romanticizes suffering. It loves a martyr, one who suffers for something they hold greater than the sanctity of flesh. We worship them, canonize them into saints, pledge to always remember them, to honor them; various theologies grant them special status in the afterlife. I do not trivialize the suffering of any being at any time; and yet this makes me distinctly uncomfortable. If martyrdom seems to have ‘perks’, doesn’t that vulgarize the efforts of those who truly want to make a difference, and fall by the wayside in the pursuit of their dream? They are who we truly seek to honor.

Not to seem misguidedly iconoclastic, but this same principle of martyrdom is integral to hunger strikes and some techniques of civil disobedience-- which again, stirs up misgivings. But let me explain.

The purpose of such actions are to raise awareness and inspire sympathy for a cause. My complaint is not about how people will let a man on the street starve but snap to when a celebrity hunger-strikes-- because I don’t think that that’s true. I think that any human being, when confronted with the raw suffering of another human being, will have an empathic response. And of course it’s not a pleasant response-- it’s a very painful, gut-wrenching one. And that is the dark heart of this type of protest. You publicly suffer, to cause suffering in others.

And sometimes this is just right. When employing these tactics for human rights causes, the suffering already exists. People should know about the pain of injustice, and if it is their apathy which allows injustice to thrive, it seems only just that sympathetic suffering drives them from their torpor. And the ends are selfless, and the means are peaceful, and principled, and noble; and in it’s ugliness (in the individual human response to that ugliness) it is beautiful.

Therein lies the problem. The world loves a martyr, and those who suffer are heroes. And that seems like a good thing, a decent thing.

I turn now to the ineffable Homer Simpson, for no one says it (or sings it, in the case of his hunger-strike jingle) better than he:

“I'm dancing away my hunger pangs,
Moving my feet so my stomach won't hurt.
I'm kind of like Jesus,
But not in a sacrilegious way.”

Ah, cracks me up. Great episode. Okay. Back to my point.

It seems too often martyrdom itself becomes an ideal and a goal, rising to overshadow the actual cause. The suffering becomes egocentric, a glorified guilt trip. Something along the lines of adults who cry to get what they want, exploiting the neural pathways that govern our instinctive protection and nourishment of helpless newborns. And end, not a means; or means not justifiable by the ends.

Love is suffering, you hear so often. I think this is absolute codswallop. Horse shit, if you will. Honestly, if suffering is a sizable constituent of your romance, I think that’s a good indicator something is wrong.

Yet you hear so many “love stories”, where someone is cheated on or treated badly by their beloved.. and they hang on, thinking: the more I suffer, the more it shows I love them. Tied intrinsically to that is the other’s knowledge of their suffering, and a sympathetic response. But what comes of that? What emotions motivate the other’s response? Pain? Pity? The egotistical notion that this person loves them enough to take a grand load of shit from them? Really-- nothing healthy.

If you must have a somberly masochistic axiom, I think it should be love is sacrifice, and this sacrifice is not intimately bound to suffering. The problem is, once you start thinking in terms of suffering and sacrifice, you’ve entered a realm that is too egocentric and self-referential for you to speak with any relevance about love.

I choose neither sacrifice nor suffering. I'm no saint, I lack the disposition; I threw stones. So deplore my weak inability to the former and to the latter fret that I’m being a cop-out..

But I could suffer, I could rage and I could cry-- and the only direct result of that would be to make a very sensitive person unhappy. (Don’t worry, he’ll never read this. His beefcake masculinity remains intact. Heh heh.) So though the urge besets me to steal out in the dark of night and siphon petrol into metaphorical Molotov cocktails (nonviolent protest metaphors not as fun).. I won't. Because love has no moral high ground. I have suffered no injustice (even though it bloody well feels like it sometimes!). Yes, it's not fair, and yes, it sucks; but if that were something to raise a banner to we'd have a riot every time Stephen Segal got a film role. I'm not saying love's not worth fighting for-- really, it's the only thing that is. But you must be very certain that you're not so drunk on the romance of martyrdom and love that you mistake rapacity for righteousness.

So here I sit, harboring the mad desire to do something crazy and desperate.. and don’t. I’m surprised and grateful that I’m even capable of that kind of passion.. And I’m quietly hopeful that perhaps.. perhaps my motives hold at least a modicum of purity; that I will not squander something so precious on vain posturing and actions that will cause any more pain. Perhaps.. perhaps. I dearly hope so.

Comfortable Food

Placed in: eateat

Macaroni and cheese tonight, with a grilled tuna melt on rye. Hearty, homey comfort food.

Reflecting on why these two in particular fill this niche for me, I look back and discover that these are the first things I learned to cook by myself. My parents would call in that they’d be home late-- I’d climb up on the counter to reach the back of the cupboard, and pull out a box of Western Family Mac ‘n Cheese. Milk, butter, and a bunch of stirring later, I’d have a hearty meal for my little bro ‘n me. Oh, soooo delicious.

I’ve recently seen commercials for “Kraft Easy Mac”, a microwavable cup of macaroni and cheese ready in seconds (I assume opposed to the ponderous eight minutes it takes pasta to boil). I’m really quite incensed by this-- robbing an entire generation of the joy of at least reconstituting things in water. But seriously-- easy-but-not-quite-instant food is a stepping-stone rite of passage for youngsters, like training wheels or wine coolers. What’s next? Instant microwavable pancakes? Please, please.. If those do exist, may I never find out about it.

Ah, screw you, Kraft. Your slightly-more-expensive cheesy boxed offerings were never as tasty as Western Family’s.

Placed in: [ Eat to Live to Eat ]

Hiatus

Placed in: workja, playja, tomos

I haven’t written for so long. Almost a year now. I feel I don’t remember how.

Okay, so it’s not like I was any good to begin with.. but really, is that supposed to be a comfort?

Anyway.. For most of this past year I’ve been too busy to write. (and for a good chunk I lacked internet access!)

I’ve moved to Osaka, and settled into a nice place. I’ve shimmied my way through a whole new work environment, where they don’t really know what they want from me.. I’ve teased out their expectations and done my best to fulfill them.

My workload has increased significantly-- I even teach classes by myself! I have really wonderful relationships with the students and the teachers here. I continue to marvel at how the world is full of astonishingly good people.

I went to Thailand and trained at two Muay Thai camps.. Stayed in the boys dorms and met so many amazing people. I learned to what lengths I can push my body, and discovered my new addiction- fitness.

I volunteered at a Thai orphanage on the Burmese border. It was an amazing experience. The beauty and the love in that place, where the children live and play in seeming ignorance of greed or deceit.. and the remarkable women who toil to shelter these children, whose eyes and thoughts seem to float past you on a different plane. But perhaps most stunning of all was the quiet Filipino NGO headman: puppeteer from the shadows and visionary extraordinaire, he weaves an amazing network of eclectic sustainable projects-- and credits his genius to meditation and the “cosmic internet”. (His term, since he couldn’t find a better way to describe it in English. Though it may look hokey typed out like that, it fell from his lips like a dharani.)

I went rock-climbing for the first time. And adored it.

I went down to Fukuoka to visit my old school, and found that people missed me! It was so warm and wonderful to see them all again. I spent a perfect day in a museum, received some very important books, and had.. a very important dream.

My parents came to visit, and I drove them around in the customary whirlwind tour. It was really stressful, because I really wanted them to have a good time.. but I know that they would enjoy themselves regardless. They are that kind of people. I am so indescribably blessed. I miss them, even though we talk every week.

I went to Cambodia and Laos by myself, my first real solo international trip. I go solo a lot, but usually I meet up with people for at least a little bit. I wandered the ruins of Angkor for four days, dawn to darkness, and it was perfect. I went to Laos, and got into trouble because my passport is out of pages. I drifted down the Mekong, through Champasak down to the river islands of Don Det. I learned that even in a sleepy stoner paradise, which I was assured would turn anyone into a boneless puddle of sloth -- I just can‘t help myself. I gotta bike all the backroads and then do an all-day 10 mile kayaking tour.

I studied, frickin’ balls to the wall, for the bloody Bio subject GRE. Three years out of college, two months hardcore cramming, and it all comes back to me -- the Turrets-esque expectorations of an overflowing mind, the auditory hallucinations, the soft nagging at my belief in the supernatural.. Well, I just got my score back a few days ago, and I’m 90th percentile.. So perhaps it’s all worth it!

I finally found an Iaido dojo, where I’m studying under an 8th dan! I used to be one of the best for my rank in my old dojo, but here, in Osaka.. Well, there’s something to be said about being a big fish in a small pond, it was good for the ego! But if I can pull this off, I can speak of getting my 3dan in Japan with pride, anywhere in the world.

The new school year started, and I struggled against the current with an unexpectedly heavy workload. But I got used to it, and fit in my Aikido, my Iaido, my aerobic kickboxing and swimming and running and lifting and Chinese class..

And gradually some time opened. And I thought I’d like to write again.

But this past month.. I’ve been really pathetically lazy. I mean, I go to the gym, do my martial arts, I work hard at my job.. But in between I sleep. Or I watch TV. Some weekends, I don’t want to do anything. I stay up until dawn watching TV, sleep 14 hours, and do it all over again. I can’t get out of bed in the morning. I’m late to school. Students give me easy brain-teasers, and I can’t solve them. I feel worthless.

I figured it out. I’m depressed.

I’m depressed 25 is ending. I’ve always looked forward to being 25. I’d be an adult. I always felt that something really important would happen when I was 25, and gut feelings are really important to me. And now, it’s coming to an end, and I feel lost. I’m an adult, but I’m worthless and lazy. I live in filth and can’t even get out of bed. I don’t like myself.

I didn’t want to write. I didn’t want to do anything.

I just came back from a surprise birthday party, thrown by my teachers and friends. I thought it was just dinner so I made a haupia cake, but it turned out to be a birthday surprise! So we had too much cake. Hee hee. What wonderful people! I’m too fucking lucky to be depressed.

That was my very first surprise party, this year. I fell in love for the first time this year, too. A lot of incredible things happened this year. This last year has gone by so fast, and this last month so slowly, that I feel I’ve always been in this contemptible morass. But it isn’t so.

I can thoroughly enjoy myself at a party, laughing and joking-- in another language! Without alcohol! I can throw a good roundhouse kick two feet above my head. I can whip up an incredible Indian curry or grilled eggplant sandwich. I have gained any number of lovely new skills. And though I haven’t met my goals, and though I may have let slip my precious thread of chance and opportunity because of it-- lying around wallowing and forfeiting future chances is well… really stupid.

And goodness me, I’m not depressed enough to do something that stupid.

Oh my, look at the time.. It’s a new day.

Placed in: [ Working In Japan ] [ Playing In Japan ] [ Good Times, Great People ]

To All Good Things

Placed in: workja,

I have one day left for every year I have spent here. Today was spent chatting with students, laughing with teachers, eating at my favorite sushi restaurant where they all smile at me and know what I like. At school everyone greeted me with a smile in the halls, and countless people told me how much they'd miss me. I know it's a ritual that must be followed, but still. I love this place. I love these people. But it's time for me to go.

I overheard conversations amongst the English teachers in Osaka. About what bizzare kismet brought me to Osaka right when they were looking for someone like me. I was the push for them to scramble to make a position for me, yet I myself am scrambling, looking for my place.. though the cracks are filled with my anxiety, how smoothly it seems I have rolled over them to come to rest where I need to be.

Today I took down my bulletin board, with my bright illustrations of Hawaii and my name cheerfully rainbowed across the top. It is no longer my board. How can somethng like this nearly bring me down? I remember when I was packing from my rented house in California, a house I'd shared with four friends indescribably dear to me; and while someone I cared for too much to even try to tie down slept in the next room.. for only the second time in four years, I sobbed as quietly as I could until the last box was packed. And later, as each one left, I smiled and laughed-- until at last it was over. I was so proud of how I could do that. Perhaps I've grown soft with age, but I can't seem to do that anymore.

Placed in: [ Working In Japan ]

Rocky beta ver. 0.001

Placed in: mos

Against my better judgment, I will now post pictures from the triathlon.

A road bike with the wheels off, bungied to a sheet. A pack with wetsuit, changes of clothes, and sleeping bag. All in all, a shitload of stuff. Getting it home was a nightmare, the tracks flooded in Nagasaki and screwed the trains. It took me five hours of being shuffled up and down stairs from platform to platform to get home.

First leg of the race, 1.5km swim. Was right in the middle of the pack, feelin' good. We had to wear wetsuits. Here is my metcha-metcha kakkoii diving wetsuit, courtesy of Koga-sensei. Everyone else had a functional triathlon wetsuit, but they didn't look anywhere near as cool as I did. Also, we weren't allowed to wear black swimcaps, so here is the lovely butterscotch number my cycling guru was kind enough to provide.

Speaking of which, there he is, the only other foreigner to run this mutha with me. He was very far ahead of me. He has placed first in these things before. I don't have good pics of the bike ride, because it was raining. After this picture was taken it started raining again. Anyway, it was a 40km bike ride, 8 laps through a creepy foggy pine forest.

Look! It's my leg! Dear me, how fast I must have been going! Ha ha ha. Sigh.

The end of a muddy 10km run. There really were people behind me! Really! Sigh. We wanted t-shirts but got towels instead. Nice towels.

Placed in: [ Mountain+Ocean+Sun ]

Moonglade

Placed in: scisp

Gazing into the face of the moon, I can often see the myriad paths trailing through the ether. Sometimes they glow as they twist and divide, diving into the milky way, touching Venus and bouncing off Mercury before disappearing beyond the horizon. Sometimes they scintillate before plunging into the depths of cloudbanks, never to emerge on the other side. Sometimes they taper off into wisps of nothingness.

Nights with a full moon are best for fishing, as the slippery souls in their coats of mail coast from the depths to hunt and play and mate in the watery glow. I'm not a very good fisherman, but if you have bait, they will come. You cast into the black, put some play on the line, and lose yourself in the flow of the stars. And, when you least expect it, they'll come for your bait. This is the way it is.

But what if they come, and they don't want your bait? 'I guess it means your bait's not good enough, and suppose you can’t catch them', I'd say. The stars bark with laugher and roll their periwinkle eyes. It's not all about catching, you know. And anyway, there they are.. There they are. What the hell do they want?

'It's sad, but it happens,' I'd say. 'Flying fish and the like will beach themselves on the rocks. This is the way it is. You can either take them as windfall, or throw them back in kindness.'

The stars gaze down with matronly disapproval, a few of them shooting fiery streamers as they fall in exasperation. You're a sick, sad person they say, wagging their sparkley star-fingers. Souless, heartless! others chime in. 'But.. but.. what?! But.. that's the way it IS!' I insist in consternation, but they’ve already turned their backs in vexation. Which really look the same as their fronts. So back to square one.

'What if it's a trick!' I shout, 'and the little bastards are trying to get me to the water's edge, so their buddy the shark can get me?!' But now I'm just a lunatic, howling at the open sky.

The moon is bright tonight, so glaringly luminous that I cannot see the stars, the trails, or even the sun.

Placed in: [ Scientific Spirituality ]

Damn good time

Placed in: playja, tomos, mos

This has truly been the best weekend in recent memory.

There was a PTA BBQ on Friday, out back by the greenhouses. Two kegs of beer were freely partaken of, in full view of the students that wandered in to nip morsels of food. I sat in the corner with the female teachers and we gossiped, mostly about how few women and how few eligible men there were. The PTA moms were crazy, and they became progressively drunker as the night wore on. We feasted on yakisoba, okonomiyaki, grilled mushrooms, and tons of meat. There was something called ‘somen nagashi’, where they angle a split bamboo half and run water down it. Then, cooked cold somen is poured down the bamboo stream to be caught in a colander on the bottom. On the way, hungry BBQers snag choptickfulls of cool noodles as they float by, dipping them in sauce and slurping them elegantly. It was cool, full of the fresh feeling of summer. Then it was back to the grills and the meat, and the PTA moms, now too drunk to stand, joined our gossip by pointing out which male teachers they thought liked whom. I won a box of tissues at bingo, but only because last year I won a plant and it died before I could bring it home. Then we cleaned up, and I biked home more than a little drunk.

Had to wake up pretty early the next day, to run errands in the city. A wisdom tooth was killing me, so I went to the doctor to get antibiotics. Then it was a lazy day in the shade, licking whipped cream off the straw of a frozen coffee drink, reading “Fabric of the Cosmos” in the park. I can’t help but make faces and exclamations when I read that book. Waiting for friends to arrive, comic mix-ups, and good times at a natural foods buffet.

Then we all met up with a friend of a friend who was leaving because he was suffering from GI problems for which the doctors couldn’t find a cause. He told me about it, and it sounded like a parasite someone I knew once had.. I told him and he was really happy to have something to go on.. I hope he gets better soon. We went to an izakaya and joked and played drinking games, and I saw a lot of people I haven’t seen in a while. Then it was karaoke, chicks rockin’ the group-sing staples. We ended the night and began the next day at a club. The sun broke onto a day shimmering stark and surreal, though I’d stopped drinking hours ago. A touch nauseous and completely exhausted, yet cautiously fey I made my way home to fall into something unexpected, unbalancing, and a touch upsetting. The hours passed quickly in spite of the sun.

By early afternoon, it was time to get up. My teachers picked me up for a fishing trip. I’ve been a member of the “fishing club” for over a year now, and this was my going-away trip. Teachers who had moved to other schools returned for a reunion of sorts. We took the ferry to Oshima in the north. From 5pm to 8pm we fished off the wharf, pulling up aji after aji. As always, someone made a crack about my tiny pole (6ft while everyone else’s is 12-15ft) but as often happens I caught the biggest ones and everyone came over to fish by me. We stayed the night in Minshuku Endo, where we had a fabulous dinner. We tried to drink and talk for a while, but everyone was tired so we crashed in the communal sleeping room.

The next day was Monday, Umi no Hi (Marine Day), which is a national holiday. We woke up at 4:30am and drove to the back of the island to fish off the rocks. One of my favorite things to do is to climb around on rocks.. and doing so carrying fish and poles is even more fun. It was a slower day, but we still pulled them up. Moriyama-sensei broke out an impromptu ditty about fishing on Oshima, as he reeled in string after string of fish with his damashi. The sound of wind and waves was disturbed intermittently by a gleeful cry, the sing of line off a reel, and our response: “waa- kita kita! De—kai naa!” We broke at 8am for an amazing breakfast at the minshuku, and then were back on the rocks fishing until 12:00.

Back at school, we counted our catch. Over 300 aji, and maybe 30 miscellaneous fish. It took me two hours to clean my share. Dirty, wholesome work, delicious fish, and a shower.. I put on some music and lay on my bed to text someone.. and I was down before I knew what hit me. Woke up JUST in time to make it for work. Damn good time.


Placed in: [ Playing In Japan ] [ Good Times, Great People ] [ Mountain+Ocean+Sun ]

The Myth of Sisyphus

Placed in: scisp,

Days crawl by in a blur, overflowing with shit to do. Tasks requiring hand and mind shuffle into unruly line, and though your consciousness is occupied by meeting them one by one, there are always moments. Right when you wake up. The moment spent choosing what to do next. Glancing at your phone for the time.

Through the industrious chaos and patter of superfluous documents, it filters through. The realization, the furrowed brow, the idle speculation..

Why hasn't he emailed me?

It's a ponderously unpleasant feeling-- especially upon realizing that it's only been four days, and I'm being a prat.

It hasn't been so long that this strangeness doesn't easily snap me into a sort of deja-vu.. albeit of a more distressing variety, perhaps along the lines of, "hey, this looks a lot like the place I got my foot blown off" or "wow, this office really reminds me of that time I went postal with a semi-auto". Yet I need not search my sixth sense for echoes of similarity.. they pretty much jump out. Place. Time. Lines delivered. Ground covered. Walking through absolute darkness, just you and your big freaking rock; the hungry mind cannot help but grasp for connections. The degree of incline, the sameness in the echoing crunch of gravel.. "wait a damn minute!" you might envision Sisyphus to say-- except he already knows his fate, while I'm only beginning to suspect mine.

Albert Camus saw in Sisyphus his absurdist hero; saw him desparing not at his endless and meaningless task, but instead finding meaning, and even joy, in the task and in himself. "There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn," Camus whispers as Sisyphus labors, the silken pull of sinew on bone, the steady cadence of a practiced heart, the smooth slide of stone on stone..

I'm not so simple as to think that by knowing the beginning one can know the end. Even given the same starting point, drops of water track different trails down a pretty lady-scientist's hand-- the Hollywooden version of chaos theory conveyed through Jeff Goldblum's gorgeous pipes. But.. how can one not despair at how it's so much the same, how everything is the same? And yet perhaps something simpler and more cliche'd sustains Sisyphus: the thought that he's wrong, and that this time, things will be different. That he's treading different paths in the darkness, that maybe a streetwise Hercules would come to sever his bonds like those of Prometheus.

But then again, Sisyphus doesn't really deserve deliverance, does he?

"Hope is the worst of all evils, for it prolongs the torment of man."

Dammit Nietzsche, you're so bloody depressing.

Placed in: [ Scientific Spirituality ]

And bring it home

Placed in: mos,

So, I'm back.

So I swam, then biked, then ran. With thunder shaking thick air and lightning forking overhead. At times through ankle-deep water. At times through stinging rain. And I finished. Not last. But man.. it was a pretty close thing. I'm.. terribly.. humiliated.

I guess it started with the swim. I waddled into the water with my borrowed wetsuit, and learned, yay, I was really buoyant, and holy shit, it was too tight, I couldn't reach my hands over my head. And then the chaos began. People.. swimming.. over you. I counted three hands palming my head and using me to stroke forward. Countless people grabbing my shoulders, countless bodies pushing me down.. swimming over, pulling me back.. My suit was too tight, I couldn't stroke, motion caused the collar of the suit to choke me.. it was too hot.. I couldn't breathe..

At that moment, I thought honestly that I wasn't going to make it. I couldn't swim. The one bloody thing I had surpreme confidence in was failing me. I think the only thing that kept me from panicking is the fact that I've been swimming since I could walk and water holds no instinctive fear for me. I'd love to say that I reached a turning point, gathered my strength and decided to push on, but really it was mere pragmatism. I knew I had to get back to shore, and I knew I wouln't make it like this. So I tread water, unzipped my back, unzipped my sleeves and rolled them up, and continued on, drag and all. And I could do it. Because if nothing else, I'm a good swimmer. And I finished just fine.. but instead of in the front, I came in mid-pack.

And well, after clawing off that horrid (but pretty cool-looking) diving suit, it was onto the bike. We went back and forth on this street, 5km, 8 times. It was creepy and cool, whizzing through the tunnel of trees, twisted pines hovering out of the fog.. My cycle meter broke, and I had to stop, but that only cost me maybe five minutes. After that, it was just me plodding along, constantly getting passed. Yes. Road bikes use different muscles. Muscles I didn't have. I'm such a dumbass.

Oh gods, the run. I had nothing left. At least I didn't walk, but it definately wasn't a run. For 10km. It was beautiful, along the river.. except the path was flooded. The constant shower kept me cool, and the ululation triggered by that first overhead thunderclap gave me a burst of adrenaline that almost was enough to overcome the sodden weight of my feet. It was nice, cool, jogging along, trading ganbattes and fightos.. But in the end, I came in between the old people and everyone else. And I'm.. just.. so.. disappointed.

My lovely friends are all telling me how proud they are I finished, that in itself that is a big deal, and I so grateful for their support. And yet.. I'm sorry to be a spoiled, selfish whore, but I don't do things just to finish them. And as sore loser as it is, this whole affair burns sour in the back of my throat. I was stupid, poorly prepared, not fit enough. I want to do another one, just to rub this stain away.. But I NEVER want to wear a wetsuit again. And I'm not letting myself get out of shape. And dammit.. I'm gonna keep training.

Placed in: [ Mountain+Ocean+Sun ]

Take it to the road

Placed in: mos

It's tomorrow.

Gotta head up a day early for the informational meeting. Status check: solid 8 hours of sleep, feeling good, steadily drinking fluids and constantly hungry.

Taking a bike on a train is hard in Japan- they make you wrap it in a bike bag. I don't have one, so I used a bungee and a sheet. Like many things, it sounded like genuis in my head.. anyway it looks kinda silly. Gets the job done, okay by me.

Last minute gear tune-up at the shop.. apparently there's something seriously wrong with my gears but I'm out of time and nobody shifts to top in a distance race anyway. Took my bike apart myself, not a great feat cuz it was super easy.

Thank goodness I have this big pack, fits all my clothes, shoes, sleeping bag, and wetsuit. Hands free to carry the bike. Helmet strapped to the back. Feelin' pretty hard core. Knowin' it's all show. Destination: train station.

Well, I honestly have no idea how this'll turn out, but anyways I'm off.

Placed in: [ Mountain+Ocean+Sun ]

People I'm pleased to share a birthday with

Placed in: scisp, gek,

If these seeming temporal concurrences in the cycle of days have any meaning, be it in the sun or stars or the biorhythm of the Earth-- I am pleased and honored and perhaps a bit hopeful, to come into the world with any tenuous connection to these people.

Oda Nobunaga - Perhaps the most famous Japanese warlord. He unified Japan with his surpassing vision, cleverness, and ruthlessness. People say shit about him now, but that's only because he was betrayed. Yet all the history written by the victors could not erase the sheer grandiose of the change he wrought upon Japan.

Alfred Kinsey - Groundbreaking researcher - Famous/Infamous sexologist, he delved into realms darkly forbidden in the thirties, to challenge the moral yoke on sexuality.

June Carter Cash - The quintessential strong woman; she helped a man be what he could be and gave all she could give, while never losing sight of herself.

Joss Whedon - Creative wizard with a +10 Wand of Snap and Snark, adorable geek extraordiniare. He pushes the parchment on social issues, and never sells out. If he writes it, I will watch.

Placed in: [ Scientific Spirituality ]

Drink is Good

Placed in: eateat, tomos

Water, that is. Oh, Days left: 2.

I have just completed the most difficult challenge thus far - going dry on my birthday. That's right! Not even one tiny enkai-cup of beer. My lovely apart-mates threw a traditional Japanese nomi-tabe-houdai for me and the boy next door, who's birthday was yesterday. I carboloaded at the all-you-can-eat-and-drink dinner party, and though it pained me, went home early without a drop!

I feel a bit sad to wave in the big quarter-century mark without a barn-burner; but what's a birthday anway but one more day that your mother worked really hard for you? So I wipe my bike-grease stained hands and raise a glass of sports drink at this day's passing: to mothers everywhere (and especially mine!).

Placed in: [ Good Times, Great People ] [ Eat to Live to Eat ]

Noro lim!

Placed in: mos, gek,

Days to the big event: 3

.. that being Sindarin (uh, Elvish) for "run fast!" And I shall name you Asfaloth; though I identify nowhere with Arwen or Glorfindel, but rather Eowyn. And even in that I fall somewhere between Tolkien's somewhat stereotypical frost maiden and Jackson's Hollywood cutout where all strong women have overbearing hubris and for some reason are all terrible cooks..

Digression aside, I'm talking about my new road racer: 4man of lusciously light luminously black celeric goodness. It even has a little silver feather on it, which leads my thoughts to the All-Blacks and New Zealand, and then naturally to LotR.

Riding a road bike for the first time.. I must say was incredibly terrifying. It's really not like a mountain bike. Your center of gravity is forward, you're so high and your wheels are so slim, and you gotta lean down to brake.. I did a lot of screaming but luckily no falling down. Rode it to school and back, and the handling is better now.. but damn if the bloody thing doesn't use slightly different muscles!

Asfaloth, steed of Glorfindel (or Arwen in the movie), who outran the Nazgul on their black beasts..

..help me do this triathlon with only three days experience on a road bike.

Placed in: [ Mountain+Ocean+Sun ] [ Geekiness ]