hey you stubums!

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=stubum

lets get small.

I can think of lots of reasons why I wish i was small.

this is john-san.

He is a battlecat of the rarest form and one must exercise vigilant caution when in his midst (or mist) as he is liable to dart you and then go for your jugular.

don't let him into your house because he will sleep in your bed and use your computer.

blogalong song (but no thong)

well...it has certainly been a piece since I hopped on the blog train. Perhaps if i had a good excuse...
my dog ate my ticket...
i lost my computer...
my computer lost me...
i was turned into a wolverine (no opposable thumbs) by a nuclear chipmunk...
ummm....
my dog ate my ticket...

I have no dog. And I'm pretty sure that wolverines have opposable thumbs now, what with all the DNA enhancement technology these days... glowing green pigs and the like.

but it seems that I've strayed from my point...the point being that these green pigs not only glow, but they pass the modified genes on to their young. Not completely unlike the Bee-Gees.

carry on...

I sit in my bedroom, windows to the world opened wide- the sea breaze slinks through the slots and slides across my face. I recall a rainy night in April...a meal of eel and drinks on the boss. Fast forward roughly six months and I am somewhere along the up end of a journey through forests hospitals and broken bones. They're only bones...what could that mean in the great existential context of universal truths?
Deeper spiritual understanding be as it may, it turns out that full and physical (as opposed to metaphysical) use of my legs is something I don't intend on taking for granted again.

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words. I consider that a rough estimate...This particular one weighed in somewhere close to two thousand.

I think its the loin cloth that adds the extra tonnage.

While I'm at it...

I figure I might as well burn the candle a little...er...the late night oil, or whatever the slogan is for all those late night enthusiasts (or shall I say INSOMNIACS) out there.
Truth be told, I have generally caught my writing prowess prowling around in the later of the night hours...namely 3 or 4 o'clock. Of course, it may be that I just convinced myself of this in a weak attempt to justify an unruly procrastination that left me beginning nearly every paper of my scholarly career at about ten the night before it was due (yes, I had a career in scholarly...umm...ness...ism). This inevitably led to many lonely computer lab hours, passed mostly with ju-ju-bees, miso soup, and the occasional Karate session (all enemies were imagined of course).
Since retiring from the pro circut (scholarly), I rarely find myself awake at 4 in the morning unless substance abuse, sex, Mel Torme, or all three are involved. Right now it is a measly 12:30, so I'll be lucky to find my writing prowess rifling through my refrigerator, let alone out on the prowl.

That being said...I would like to talk a little bit about my New Year vacation a bit back...

So...it turns out that I'm a country bumpkin. This is a fact that I came to grips with when I was first left to fend for my own in the viscious public school system in Redway, CA (population: 3) at the feeble and delicate age of 11.

More recently, I was able to confirm my rube-ocity by making the quick two hour flight from Fukuoka (my nearest metropolis and airport location) to Tokyo. Though they took me on a regular commercial jet, I got off the plane with the distinct feeling of having partaken in interstellar travel.
Go ahead, walk out of Shibuya station in central Tokyo...
oops. wrong picture....


Thar it is.

The concept of personal space in Tokyo is something that I cannot get used to. One must somehow transform the immediate space your body inhabits into a vast countryside overlooking a mellow rippling pond. I'm pretty sure that is the only way to remain sane...then again, anyone able to transport themselves to a countryside scene while stuffed in the alcoholic emissions of a business man's armpit on the rush hour subway might be crazy to begin with...go figure.

At any rate...the trip went something like this...


I was visiting my friend John.
He's not always as cool and collected as seen at right in front of a pizza van we found in the middle of the chaos of Shibuya. (I might add that this little van is a self-contained pizza establishment with oven, stereo and little dude making quite good mini pizzas)







John is not quite as cool and collected here.













This is John having lost his cool altogether.

I might note: that is my snowboarding bag, which is unwieldy enough to make The Phonse loose his cool if he were to haul it around Tokyo train stations for days.

After carrying that boardbag around all day...
I eventually gave in and passed out...directly on top of it. My timing was a little off, as I carried out my napping near the bean sprouts in a supermarket in Gunma prefecture.
There is very little in Japan that will attract more attention than a large foreigner. Let alone a large foreigner apparently napping on Snowboarding equipment in the produce section. The majority of shoppers dealt with this by pretending it just wasn't happening.

New Years was highlighted by missing the last train into Tokyo (and some serious parties along with any hope of getting a "New Years Kiss" from the nearest concenting luscious lady)...

this unfortunate turn of events landed John, Sunao (I will need an entirely separate blog to fully describe the existence known as "Sunao"), and I at this gathering of inscribed rocks that might loosly be described as a Shrine.










And, naturally, we ended up half naked under John's Coffee table.











I'm through for today. Got to get up early in the morning so small demons (more commonly known as elementary school children) can use me as a human jungle gym for four hours or so. Lord knows, I wouldn't want to miss that...

some convenience stores just aren't convenient enough.

Sometimes when I'm running late in between classes I like to stop by a convenience store for a quick sammy or a croissant, or something to keep me rolling along(no pun intended) . I mean, hey, who doesn't?
"the convenience store" has been taken to a new octave here in Japan. They can be found in even the most corners and nooks of the countryside and cities. Just when you think you have evaded the vast populous and found yourself a quiet meadow from which to gaze at the calm country sky and ponder over the more delicate matters of the day...One should not be surprised that upon further inspection, you are actually just in the parking lot of another 7-11 (or Lawson, or Family Mart...they are all fully interchangable).

As if this omnipresence were not enough, I find that I have taken to only going to the most "convenient" of these convenience stores. I actually calculate the "convenience factor" before choosing to enter the parking lot. For example, there is a perfectly convenient 7-11 directly on my route between Imari (where I teach elementary school) and Karatsu (where I live). But I never go there, simply because I know that further up the road there is a Family mart which is EVEN MORE CONVENIENT!

"Yet, good sir, What is this "convenience" of which you prattle?" One might pose...well, the 7-11 is farther off the road. My guess is by a good 10 or 15 paces. That coupled with an entrance which does not face the road, has basically destroyed that particular market on my conveni-o-meter.

These are the sad but true facts of my interaction with the world of "convenience". But the question remains...how much more convenient could it get? Rest assured, the experts are working on it as we speak.

O Christmas Tree...

It would appear that I have (albeit, barely) escaped the dim droopy depths of "Bah humbug-ing" Christmas away this year. It would have been easy enough to do; being in Japan, far away from family, friends, and the (once) familliar. And it doesn't help that the Japanese have managed to adopt and embrace all of the Christmas consumerism and absolutely none of the meaning. Really.

After some extensive sessions with my elementary school kids, here is more or less what I have come to understand about Christmas in Japan...

They eat cake (often purchased from a Convenience store). They also eat KFC, and drink champagne. Santa lives in Finland (I'm ok with that), and Dad leaves presents in a sock; either on the bed or in the front hall-way. Snowmen are only made of two balls of snow (not three), and the trees are never real, and rarely taller than one or two feet. One Christmas in Japan is liable to make a scrooge out of Mother Theresa.

(was that bad taste?)

But really...there's no magic. And as it turns out, that's what Christmas is to me, magic. Thinking about it now, what really drove me nuts all those years about Christmas (aside from the presents...) was sitting in the living room at night, looking at the tree. The soft glow of strung lights reflecting off of the tinsel and ornaments is forever ingrained into my heart...not my memory, but my heart. I have no specific memories of looking at the tree. It's simply a comfortable and cozy calmness that is ingrained in my being.

So...this year, I have finally taken it upon myself to bring this experience back into my home...I bought a handsaw, drove deep into the hills and illegally harvested the top of of a dying cedar. In a country where Christmas tree stands are about as common as haley's commet, I was forced to create an elaborate and rushed stand-mechanism: involving a joist bracket, some screws and a spattering of rocks, both large and small. Sketchy indeed, but it worked, and I have spent the last couple days decorating my awkward little tree with whatever students happen to pass through my home.

Spindly and askew, my little green friend now inhabits a corner of my livingroom. Delicate and ill-decorated, it is a rather confusing sight to behold in the mid-day bustle. But when evening comes, I turn off the lights and there it is...the switch is hit somewhere in my heart, and the magic shoots through the universe that is my room. I'm not really sure what it is. Perhaps it is a sense of hope: Something that began as the idea that the Christmas Tree could provide me with the perfect gift, has quietly grown into the idea that somehow the warmth of its light will spread into every corner of the galaxy.

Whatever it is, I am completely at a loss as to how to describe the feeling this tiny tree imparts unto me...

...And I find it even harder to explain to my students that the older I get, the more I want to believe in Santa.