The veil is a "choice"?

In a recent vote in France, the Burka, the Muslim veil, was banned in public places in an astonishing majority of 336-1. This is obviously a controversial matter and some worry and claim that this move is unconstitutional as many wear the veil "out of choice".

I take serious issue at the use of the word "choice" here, as if, presented with all the facts since birth, presented with every religious world view, every explanation for who we are, evolutionary theory, intelligent design, Allah, Jesus, Buddha, and the tooth fairy - as if, having being presented with ALL the facts and possible avenues of religious belief, these women have "chosen" Islam and subsequently the veil.

Yes, within the religious framework that they believe in, they have made a choice. But that's not a genuine choice by any means. Faith wasn't introduced to these women when they were critically-minded adults free to make their own choice. It was, rather, introduced to them as it was to the overwhelming majority of people who practise any faith, at a very young age - an age when you are still "Santa-elligible" (Stanhope).

Put simply, I doubt there is an equal number of atheists wandering around Paris wearing a niqab as there are Muslim women (perhaps if there were then we would have cause to reconsider the constitutionality of the recent vote). That's because, free of any religious influence or doctrine, almost without exception, NO man or women would choose to hide his or her face in public, perhaps with the exception of the late great Michael Jackson and that chick whose face was ripped off by a monkey last year.

So again, what "choice" has been made? At best, a choice made under the heavy influence of doctrine introduced when they had no choice. I've learnt Japanese to a decent level, so I can choose to speak Japanese if I want to. But that does not therefore imply that everyone in England is speaking English out of "choice". Nothing introduced to you at birth is.

And finally as to the constitutionality of this policy; you'll note earlier I (very deliberately) wrote "NO man or women would choose to hide his or her face in public". Men and women. If this were truly a matter of constitution, the French vote would have included a ruling over men wearing veils as well. But it didn't precisely because it is in reaction, not to a civil convention, but rather to a religious practice that, almost a priori, treats women differently.

If there were a belief that women ought to stay in doors (I'm sure some cult somewhere might believe that), having a vote on whether or not women should follow this law out of choice would simply be treating the symptoms and not the cause. The real issue here is the differentiation between men a women, which is, of course, unconstitutional.

As open-minded as I wish I could be, I just can't accept religious faith as an acceptable basis for creating one set of rules for men and another for women, even if those rules are out of "choice". I can accept biological reasons, but not faith-based reasoning (isn't that an oxymoron?) introduced from birth.

If the French wanted to be rid of the veil in a more agreeable fashion, they should ban the introduction of religion before the age of consent, which IS unconstitutional. Then, out of real choice, I'm sure you would see the number of veils being worn reduced to almost zero within a generation.

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These are my opinions: I'm open to discussion, just don't get all offended just because I criticise something that's precious to you. It's not precious to me. I'm not sure why. Blame God for making me an atheist.

Comedy Progress

The best of intentions


Having been gigging in Tokyo for around a year, I was struck by how few opportunities there were to perform in a city as large as The Big Toke. Not only that, but it seemed that the performance conditions were a little stifling; there was a heap of potential talent that couldn't move up as there were already enough regulars doing well, and so the newbies would perform 3 minutes time and time again without much potential to move upwards. That's not a criticism of the way things were run - it's just a logical necessity that, given the small number of comedy nights and the sheer number of acts, finding enough stage time to get them all progressing quickly just won't happen.


I personally felt a bit restricted, as my act just doesn't translate into a 3 minute "bit". My comedy "bits" (juvenile chuckle) meander and last a long time, and often reference back to a previous bit of material. But in 3 minutes, there's no "previous" to refer back to. You're on, you're off.


As such, I found myself wanting to get another gig going in Tokyo, just to spread the acts around, give people more time on stage, and thus help to end what, appeared to me, to be a kind of stagnating swamp of talent going to waste. I got chatting to a friend, and we both agreed that we wanted people to be on stage more often doing a bit longer, so we set about finding a venue, spurred on by an encouraging email from the organisers of the current comedy events which said "Feel free to go ahead and organise your own comedy nights." And verily, we did...


The Pink Cow

The search for a venue didn't take long. Scouring the gaijin papers and magazines for venues that seemed to frequently hold intriguing events, one name kept popping up again and again: The Pink Cow. It was holding photography nights, art nights, sketch classes, movie nights; everything except a comedy night. I sent Traci (the owner, one of the most creative, helpful, artistic and genuine people I've ever met, and a human answer to renewable energy - she never seems to stop) an email, and within two days there was an answer; a resounding, very positive "Yes, let's make this happen."

Given the horror stories we'd heard about not being able to find venues ("You'll be lucky if you find someone who's willing to rent out some gravel for you to perform on" someone almost said to me once), I was surprised that we got such a positive response, and so quickly. And on top of that, the venue was a real surprise - big, brimming with atmosphere - the kind of place that would get created if Hunter S. Thompson got together with Janis Joplin.... or something. The shape of the place is sometimes problematic in terms of line of sight for the stage, but nonetheless, it's a feel-good venue that's good for comedy.

Was it something I said?

I won't go into details here, because I'm nice, but sufficed to say, no sooner had we secured a venue and let everyone in the comedic community (which doesn't exist - a community requires at least more than ONE component) know about what we were doing, than we started getting bizarre trickles of feedback from performers currently on the scene. Established acts, who we expected would be thrilled at having a new opportunity to try out their stuff, told us they wouldn't perform at the show. Pressure was coming from somewhere higher up, persuading them not to perform at our show, and it was working.

We had meetings with the relevant people (the organisers of the other comedy nights who were exerting the pressure on other acts not to perform), who, after hearing our motives and goals, totally retracted their somewhat monopolistic attitude, only for us to have another meeting later on where this retraction was retracted, without any logical reason. It was confusing to say the least. But then finally, after we had one show under our belt, an email was sent out to, I have no doubt, every act currently performing on the circuit, and it was bad. By bad I mean it was a dirty play, but also in terms of a piece of writing it was terrible; self-contradictory to the point of hilarity, while also achieving a new low in below-the-belt, immature pettiness. I was extremely saddened, frustrated (I couldn't reply in kind as it was THEIR mailing list) and utterly disappointed.

I have delt with about 40-50 comedy promoters in the past. They have all been supportive of acts, but also of each other's venues, and of the idea of a comedy "scene" rather than some sort of ridiculous turf warfare. Any one of them over here in Tokyo would have created a fantastic comedy community by now, but instead the potential fate of any aspiring act in this massive, very massive city, is currently in the hands of spoilt children in adult costumes. It's genuinely heart-breaking to see something as great as comedy being reduced to territorial battles and name-calling. What first started out as a perfectly innocent idea between friends fast became an unnecessary chore as we tried to focus on getting the night organised while simultaneously handling the irrelevant nuisance created by people who just have no idea.

Bah... balls to them!

Well, despite the unwanted distraction of a couple of poo-pooers, the night went ahead, and we are now currently 3 shows in. Ticket sales have been good, and have actually gone up from the first show, which is a great thing. I've heard that the third show is always the indicator of how things are going, and if that is so, then our show has got some serious legs on it.

But most importantly, more than ticket sales which mean nothing (Dane Cook can fill stadiums, whereas Stewart Lee goes for intimate bar gigs), we've given more stage time to newer acts, giving them a chance to develop. Some acts who were originally taking notes on stage, are now getting on and performing longer than they did before and with no notes at all. That's thanks to having an extra opportunity to perform, at a decent venue, with a good crowd.

And if we made just one act better, then all of the stress and unnecessary bad-mouthing was worth it. So, as much as I'd like to pat myself on the back for sticking this through, it's the acts you have to give it up to, because without them, there's no show. There's no territory, no "big fish" in a "small pond", and there's certainly no town that's too small for the both of us. There're only two sides to this; the people behind the microphone and the audience.

Peace!

Tokyo Outlaw Podcast #2

Here's the podcast for 24th April, covering Muhammed's depiction on South Park, death by firing squad, and how adultery can apparently cause earthquakes... I know.

http://www.ourmedia.org/media/tokyo-outlaw-podcast-24th-april

My first podcast

In a desire to create new current-affairs material for my stand up gigs, I'm committing myself to creating new podcasts based on what's been going on in the news.

Here's the first one: Tokyo Outlaw Podcast - 18th April

Enjoy!

A quick trip to Kyoto

Getting there

First of all, if you can get the train, take it!! This may be an expensive option, but if you're travelling from Tokyo as I was, then it's a much better option. A bus from Tokyo to Kyoto's main station takes around 8 hours. Potentially pleasant if you go by day, if you go by night there's nothing to see, and depending on which company you use, you may end up stopping upwards of 4 or 5 times, which is totally unecessary given the length of the journey. Especially on an overnight bus where the point is that most of those travelling wish to get a bit of shut eye before arriving in "Asia's most beautiful city" (Lonely Planet). Being stopped, having announcements blurted out and the bright lights turned on every hour meant that we arrived at 6am in Kyoto rather tired and pretty sure that we'd seen more service stations than there were temples in Japan's old capital.

Arrival

Remember, Japan is more often than not very rigid about rules, times, and schedules. Our check in time was 4pm and so, arriving on the overnight bus at 6am as we did, we had nowhere to crash or rest until the afternoon. Given the the amount of sleep we'd had (or lack thereof), this meant we spent our first day rather bleary-eyed, relying on a continuous stream of coffee to keep us going. So always make sure your check-in time is compatable with your arrival, otherwise you may find yourself carting your luggage around in the cold!

Day 1
At around 8am, after having breakfast and staving off the cold in a nearby "World of Coffee", we eventually braved the still-chilly morning air and walked the 15 minutes from near our guesthouse to 銀閣寺・ginkakuji - The Silver Temple (500￥). Not surprisingly in a country that's given us a red light district that still retains the name of its original theatrical purpose, Kabukicho (a Kabuki theatre was intended for the area, and even before that, a duck sanctuary), the Silver Temple also follows this tradition: there's nothing silver about it, though due to a now ancient desire to put silver on it, the temple retains its name.

As is often the case with temples in Kyoto, the gardens surrounding the temple were almost a rival to the buildings in the temple compound themselves. There were exquisite rock gardens and lots of trees that would satisfy anyone's "I want to see a Japanese-style tree" wishes. The temple was also very beautiful, though rather plain and reserved in comparison to some of the other temples in Kyoto.

After that we got the bus to the far west part of town and ended up at 天龍寺・tenryuuji (600￥ for temple and garden grounds). This was a much larger complex than ginkakuji, including many apparently residential temple buildings leading up to the main drag. Again, the gardens stole the show, and offered a good view of the temple anyway which, from the inside, was really just a collection of rooms that you couldn't go into. Certainly viewed from a slightly elevated walk, and seen through swaying trees, the temple dons a serenity far better appreciated than when inside.

To bring in Christmas Day, we ended up at around 11pm at a yakitori restaurant (grilled bits and bobs on sticks). It only had a few locals in it and they greeted us so warmly. Quite a different reception from a few days earlier when I had tried to get myself and my brother into a similar local place in Tokyo and was given the "da-me" (NO!) sign by the owner. Strangely enough, we ended up finding out that the yakitori restaurant owner used to live in a flat about two houses down from me in London, and that we'd both been living there at the same time. Such a huge coincidence made the evening, for whatever reason, a little more Christmassy.

Day 2

We finally checked in the day before at around 5pm, and ended up going to bed pretty early. Waking up the next day, it was off to 金閣寺・kinkakuji (The Golden Temple - be careful with the pronunciation!). Unlike ginkakuji, this temple does actually live up to its name and is entirely covered in gold (although cheaper to enter, only 300￥). Arriving on a sunny afternoon, the whole temple was shining to the extent that it hurt to look at it. Sitting by the edge of the lake on stilts, the temple is at once grandiose but also extraordinarily peaceful and humble, which is befitting of the many contradictions you'll come to recognise throughout Japanse culture and daily life the longer you stay over here.

There is a hill nearby which you can climb called 大文字・daimonji (essentially just "large character"), which has a the kanji for "large" coating the surface of one side of the hill. From there you can get a relatively good view of Kyoto. Unfortunately we didn't have much time so we pressed on back into the centre of town.

We got the bus (very convenient and easy to use; a refreshing change from train-dependent Tokyo) and went into a more modern area just south of the Imperial Grounds. The Imperial Grounds are also worth a visit, hidden behind gargantuan walls and almost hidden away in the middle of a vast park. Again, rather hurriedly we sped on southwards and ended up in the International Manga Museum (500￥). This was a rather confusing place as the museum was housed in a very old building that used to be a highly renowned school. As such, half of the Manga Museum was dedicated to exhibitions relating to the school rather than manga, which was a little confusing and almost disappointing, but the whole place was so curiously warming and intriguing that it didn't really matter. I haven't yet been to a manga museum in Tokyo (is there one?... there must be), but I imagine it would be a bit better than the one in Kyoto, just because it didn't know whether to fully embrace its modern theme, or dwell on Kyoto's past. Still, it's well worth a visit if you have some time to kill while you're in the centre of the city as it's a very unique little place.

Eventually we ended up in Nishiki Market, a huge and somewhat labyrinthine indoor network of little streets intersecting each other, cram-packed with good souvenir potential, as well as larger department stores and your old favourites like HMV, and good old purikura parlours. When you emerge from Nishiki market, if you aim for the south side, you'll end up on a long, busy shopping street (Shijo-dori) with far more pricier fare - think "Kyoto's Oxford Street". It was quite a nice place to stroll along, and to see some of the richer Kyoto-ites doing their thing. Perhaps at Christmas time it was a little over-crowded, but it all added to the bustle without descending into Tokyo levels of sardine-like suffering.

If you follow the shopping street eastwards, eventually they will lead you over a river and into an area called Gion. While the west side of the river is very reminiscent of some of the more modern, trendy parts of Tokyo, Gion's architecture is straight out of any tourist's fantasy. One look at the buildings once you've snaked down a couple of back streets, and it's instantly recognisable as Japan. Wooden sliding doors, creaky beams, stone sculptures running alongside rivers lined with Japanese trees; this is the little area you secretly hoped all of Japan would be like before you stepped off the plane. Get there just after midday and you might just see a geisha or two stepping in and out of the (very expensive) restaurants, looking for a potential customer who might want to burn some money on traditional Japanese entertainment.

As nice as it was to walk around here (I could have done for hours) it was very pricey, and so we headed back to the west side of the river again, and back towards Nishiki market on Shijo-dori. Here we ate our Christmas dinner at an izakaya. It wasn't at all traditional (in the English sense), but then if you waste time looking for a "Traditional English Christmas dinner" when you're in Kyoto, you may as well not have come in the first place! So we ended up eating a seafood nabe (simmering soupy hot pot type dish) and some raw horse meat. Not a brussel sprout in sight!

Day 3

A bit tired from lots of walking and a bit of drinking, we woke up a bit late, made our way to the train station to go to Nara Deer Park. But with time pressing and money a little low, we changed our mind at the last minute and ended up back in central Kyoto. This was quite lucky as we then had more time to spend at 清水寺・kiyomizudera which was a great place to end the trip on.

Again, easy to get to and easy to find as long as you're armed with a bus map and a semi-decent sense of direction, Kiyomizudera is a beautiful and surprsingly large temple complex. Walking up a very gradual incline, you pass up and through a small village entirely comprised of tourist-oriented shops. These sell everything from the exquisitely beautiful to the outrageously tacky. There are often geisha walking around here too, although be careful; many of them aren't the real deal and are just there for show. Nevertheless, surrounded by the ornate temple buildings, one is almost tempted to ignore the fact that these "geisha" may be just a con for the tourists, as they are still an absolute wonder to look at.

To try and describe kiyomizudera is somewhat futile. If you're the kind of person that makes their mind up based on other people's blogs, then you'd probably rather vegetate in front of your computer a while longer instead of going to the temple to see it. And if you're someone who likes to make up their mind for themselves, well... you'll probably end up going anyway. So all I'll say is that it was calming, tranquil (even with the tourist buzz) and offered a great view of Kyoto from the wooden platform jutting out from the hillside, supported by old and sturdy wooden beams. If you go to one temple in Kyoto, I'd be tempted to say that that one is the one to go to; but who knows what other hidden treasures I may have missed? It certainly managed to generate an atmosphere, in spite of the crowds, that seemed befitting of its description as "Japan's most revered temple."

After that, we slowly wandered down the hillside past all the tourist shops (there's even a Studio Ghibli store on the way, where you can buy figurines from one of Japan's most famous anime creators, Miyazaki Hayao), we eventually ended up back in the centre of town. Kyoto is small enough for that to be a walkable distance (about 25 minutes), but it was extremely cold so we got the bus and ended up a few minutes later at a TGI Fridays. Not terribly Japanese, but with an overnight, sleepless journey ahead of us we figured it was best to stock up on fatty stodge for the next 9 hours. Once again, sprung by an odd coincidence, our waitress at TGIs had been in the yakitori restaurant two nights earlier and had overheard my conversation with the owner who had lived in London. We hadn't noticed her, but she remembered us. I hope it won't take a strange coincidence for me to find those places again.

Bus Back

And so we ended up at the bus station just outside the main train station, got on, and 8 hours later arrived sleep-deprived and stiff in Tokyo, again, having stopped 5 or 6 times. With some more money saved, it'll definitely be the train next time.

大茶会 - Big Tea... Meeting

I recently had the pleasure of going to Hamarikyuu Park (浜離宮公園) in central Tokyo to attend the Tokyo Grand Tea Ceremony. For me, tea has always been a TV kind of beverage; something to be enjoyed while watching Countdown, Neighbours, or any other suitably naff daytime TV show. The idea that it could somehow be imbued with more etiquette than receiving a knighthood, and more culture than a factory full of macriobiotic yoghurt... well... I was intrigued.

The Setting

Firstly, the setting was quite beautiful. It was, nevertheless, a park in the middle of central Tokyo, and so no matter how stunning the scenery was, it was always dominated by the shadows of Tokyo's skyscrapers. I guess having been in Tokyo for a year now, my brain has come to automatically filter out such background concrete noise, so for me Hamarikyuu Park was quite a treat. It only takes a few minutes' walk into the park for the traffic noise to be gradually filtered out by the sound of wind in the trees, and the delicate waves of the many lakes. Over many of the lakes there were beautiful wooden bridges, one of which is made from the wood of trees over 300 years old.

While walking through the park, one can easily stumble across very quaint looking tea-houses. Due to various unfortunate circumstances (mainly earthquakes and air raids) none of them are actually as old as they look, as most were reconstructed in the latter half of the 20th century. But they are still impressive, and a hark back to a more traditional Japan; a refreshing change from the pachinko parlours and game centres that pack the city centre.

Throughout the day, walking gracefully round the lakes were geisha (芸者), shuffling around on their delicate shoes like some sort of exotic bird. They would often stop to have their pictures taken, but also seemed to spend a lot of time doing their typical job, that is to say, talking to very rich-looking Japanese businessmen and laughing a lot at pretty much anything they said. Along with the traditional park clashing with its urban surroundings, the sight of a cultural icon (the geisha) giggling ladylike at a besuited yuppie busy doing deals on his multifunctional cell phone was a very jarring image indeed.

The Ceremony

Sitting with my flatmate along with about 30 other foreigners, the intricacies of Japanese Tea ceremony were (rather briskly) explained to us by a somewhat feisty American girl in a Kimono. As was typical of the day, and of life in Tokyo, her loud voice, casual language and "Isn't this AWESOME!" attitude seemed to somewhat clash with the humble, quiet, refined sensei at her side. Still, she did very well at translating the honorific-laden language of the Sadou/tea ceremony (茶道) teacher.

We watched someone playing "the host" making the tea with a variety of beautiful, yet simple, instruments, including a bamboo-brush which she meticulously inspected, before delicately wetting it with warm water. She then used it to mix the green tea in bowls, creating something that more closely resembled green shaving foam than the tea most Westerners would have had in mind. Wetting the brush beforehand prevents any of the bamboo strands from snapping into the tea.

The tea was then handed to the "guests" as well as to those in the audience. The bowls, sensei explained, were handed to us with the most important/beautiful part of the bowl facing us. We were then advised to briefly appreciate the bowl, before rotating it clockwise a little, twice, using our right hand. This is to ensure that we didn't drink from the most important part of the bowl, which would have been a great offense.

By this point we had already eaten some sweets typical to the occasion. 茶道 always involves sweets, and these are always made or prepared with the guests in mind. As the majority of us were foreigners and Halloween was approaching, our sweets were fashioned into the shapes of little Halloween pumpkins. They were very oishii!

I'm sure, were one to really try to understand the intricacies of tea ceremony, it would take months, if not years to fully appreciate every little detail, every nuance. But this was just a brief introduction, so the importance of how to hold the bowls being explained, we drank and then the mini-lecture was over. Suitably relaxed and feeling rather cultured, my flatmate and I set off around the park to see what else was happening.

Principles of the Ceremony

In England this might just involve, "One spoon or two?" but in Japan, as was explained to us, there is a deep philosophical basis to tea ceremony.

Undoubtedly the most important concept behind tea ceremony (and Japanese society itself) is wa-kei-sei-jaku, meaning "Harmony, Reverential Respect, Purity, and Tranquility." Harmony is achieved through both hosts and guests learning and knowing as much about tea ceremony as possible, so that they can both play their parts well, producing a harmonious and mutual experience during the ceremony.

Kei/Respect is shown through the host's choice of instruments when making the tea.

Sei/Purity is achieved through the washing of the implements as well as in the separate consumption of the sweet and tea (i.e. a Japanese person will never ask you "One lump or two?"... there are NO lumps!)

Jaku/Tranquility comes from the lack of unnecessarily showy items or actions during the ceremony. It also comes from the appreciation of things being natural, or unaltered.

Finally, another governing principle in tea ceremony, and one which I particularly liked, was the concept of ichi-go ichi-e, meaning that these guests, with these instruments, in this environment will never meet again. Of course they will meet, but it can never be the same as any other time; each moment is fleeting and transient. And so there's a real sense of enjoyment in the ceremony, because the honus is on enjoying this one time as much as you can. Again, allowing this principle to be applied in your life, not just in the tea ceremony, is another Japanese trait that I like, though sadly it is hard to see in action in Tokyo.

綺麗な音楽 - Sweet Music!

Before leaving, we sat down to watch some music. All I can say is that I was blown away by its beauty, which I was in no way prepared for. Again, miles and miles of concrete were lifted from my mind as I listened to each intricate note being played. When the wind instruments began to play, I could almost feel a breeze on my face. Once again I was reminded of the peculiarity of the jarring elements that conspired to bring this event together. The entire day made me feel nostalgic for a time and place I have never seen, and this feeling was made all the more potent by an awareness of where I was and where I would soon be once I left this small, but beautiful park.

Feeling relaxed, happy, and refreshed, my friend and I left the park to face once more the neon throng of Tokyo.

鴻池朋子の展覧会に行ったの意見

　　　　　　　　　　　　　

最近私はメトロポリスマガジンのなかに鴻池朋子について記事を読みました。急に私は感動させれた。彼女の絵は日本ぽいじゃなくて、本当にぺーガンの絵みたいだと思った。いつのまにか私は彼女の展覧会にいた。

メトロポリスの中で鴻池の絵はすごく感動する事だけど、意外に実物は写真よりすごかった。でも彼女の展覧会は絵しかないという事じゃなくて、彫刻もあって、ビデオも作られた。五感は全部生きるようになった。

最初ところはお客が歩いて綺麗な襖絵通り抜けって、たくさんの鉛筆で書いた絵がある空間に入ります。この絵は世界の始めると世界の終わる時を見せっています。その絵の話は危険をはらんだみたいけど、かわいいな「ミミオ」と呼ぶカラクターで教えられた。そうしたら絵を見るところで怖い感じがあっても、安心のもある。

絵を見ているところで、頭の上で大きい彫刻がある。その彫刻はおかしい事はおかしいですけど、すごく面白かった。土地と人と動物で、朋子は全部一緒にしたんだ。

ただ一つの絵を見さえすれば、たくさんのテーマにすいて考えさせてくれる。たくさんの絵には人間とオオカミは一緒に混合して、新しい動物ぽいです。半分は人間で、半分オオカミだ。そうしたら絵を見る様は、環境と人間の戦うという事にすいて考えさせてくれる。

ある絵の中が森の中央を見せる。しかし、絵の背景の中には大きくて、前兆させる人間が出来た建物が見える。そうしたら、絵を見た人がその森は直ぐに無くなるのが分かるようになる。

　　　　　　　　　　　　　

実は私は鴻池の展覧会でぶらぶら歩いている時に私は彼女の絵がウィリアムブレークの絵と似ている事に気がついた。ある絵は宗教のテーマがある。「World of Wonder」という書いた物は本の中で世界が作られているのを見せている。その本の中には結局は人間の怖さのせいで宗教が作られた。絵の上で「From fear, comes belief」と書かれていた。でもその絵には人が宗教を作ったにもかかわらず、宗教の力がある雲が人より強そう。ウィリアムブレークも同じテーマについて詩を書いて、絵を書いた。人間の考えから神様と宗教など作られたけど、だんだん宗教は人間より強くなる。結局は人間は宗教の使い物になってしまう。でも当面の議題からそれる。

私のみるところで鴻池の一番大事なテーマは私達は子供として自分の生活を見て、楽しみにするのです。彼女の展覧会の中で歩いている事は本当にアデゥベンチャアーみたい。ある時が楽しくて、面白いけど、ある時も怖くて不思議です。時々私は少し「不思議の国のアリス」という感じがあった。実は鴻池さんは「生まれた時から、想像力はひとつも年をとれない。いままでも人間は子供だ。」と書いた。

彼女は自分の絵を見た人が外に出かけて、たくさんの経験の種類を取って欲しい。私達は人生が一つしかがないんですから、時間を勿体無いという事はだめだ。もし怖さのせいであなたの生活のつまらなさは静かな湖面似ていたら、自分で外に行って、湖面を波立つほうがいい。鴻池さんのおかげで私は自分にそういう事をするの約束が出来ますよ！

Back in Japan Plan

Time for a Goal


It's long since been a dream of mine to tour a country by motorcyle. I've always thought bikes were cool, I guess because none of the annoying people at school rode them - they drove around in little boxes on four wheels that they insisted were cool because they had a mini-disc player cellotaped to the dashboard, or some such peripheral nonsense. So if none of the jocks were zipping about with their hair down on a chopper, then bikes must be cool.


Very briefly, I sat pillion on a tiny motorcyle as someone my brother and I had befriended zipped about the Laos countryside visiting farms and waterfalls. It felt incredible going past people stuck in sweaty cars, or crammed on tour buses with a bunch of other foreigners; incredible, even though we were going at a speed only mildly quicker than a fast jog. I decided there and then that I'd like nothing more than to have a decent bike to call my own, and a month or so of free time to see a country firsthand - no glass windows or tour schedules forcing me onwards or separating me from something I'd like to feel a part of.


So I've begun researching motorbikes in Japan, and it appears you can get very decent ones for anything over 90,000 Yen (at the moment that's about £750). There're some driving schools that give instruction in English in Tokyo as well, also offering training materials, theory textbooks and tests for a reasonable price.


My goal is to get a test-trip (maybe about 10-15 days) prepared by March 2010 when I'll have my next big holiday (university holiday, so I won't be teaching). The weather will still be nice and cool around then, but not yet rainy season, so it should be a great time to go.


At the moment I'm considering a 250cc motorbike, mainly because Japan's speed limits render anything over 400ccs a little superfluous anyway - all that extra power but nowhere to use it. Plus as a first time biker, I think a 250cc bike ought to be fast enough and safe enough to try a mini-bike trip. I'm thinking of perhaps biking up to Hokkaido and back, so that would cover roughly half of Japan's North-Eastern side. If not that, then maybe a trip to Kyoto or Hiroshima, and spend a few days biking around any satellite towns in the area. Who knows?


So... that's 6 months to pass my test and get a reliable, but cheap bike. Next March, 250cc test drive to Hokkaido! Here we go!!


PS Just in case any of you are as un-savvy with bikes as me at this point and were wondering what a 250cc bike might look like, here's a picture... beautiful isn't it:

One year down...

...many more to go

So it's been a year now since I came to Tokyo, not that there's anything significant about 365 days, but returning to England for a few weeks does provide a sharp contrast which wakes me up to the realisation of where I actually am.

It has been an interesting year, arriving just as the economic crisis kicked in and gaining a pretty awful teaching job, I felt deprived of the Tokyo I had come to expect. Subsisting on budget brown rice and curry sauce from the hyaku-en shop (everything's 100 yen), Tokyo was a constantly beckoning source of intrigue just a little too distant to enjoy. But things gradually improved; I'm saving money now in a better job, I've done some enjoyable comedy gigs, my language has improved a lot, I've met good people, seen wonderful things and have finally begun to explore the neon-labyrinthe on my doorstep.

Even without money, Tokyo still has so much to see. Just walking the streets for hours on end, like Toru from Norwegian Wood, is an experience in itself; the cityscape is overpowering, and the variety is unimaginably rich. Just by spending a few hours in Harajuku, I managed to visit Meiji Jingu (shrine), Yoyogi Park, the bustling second-hand clothes shops and an ukiyo-e museum. In those few hours, the spectrum of people you see is astounding - all in one of the smallest 'cities' in Tokyo. It's such ridiculous variety as this that makes Tokyo a fantastic adventure, even on a budget.

After only one year, I already have so many good things to say about this city. It's fun, the food is amazing, the people are funky, interesting and often a little crazy. It's a modern city, probably more so than any other, but you can still find pockets of traditional culture if you look hard enough. There're beautiful parks, shrines, temples; the shopping is amazing, whether you're looking for fashionable labels, or cheap T-shirts of some niche rock band you used to know 20 years ago. In short, whatever you want, if you look for it in Tokyo, you're bound to find it.

Aside from run-ins with annoying foreigners, I haven't had a single bad experience here. Sure, the people look at me often with an overly-concerned glare, but that's something I'm gradually getting used to, even if, deep down, I don't particularly care for it. But Tokyo is a ridiculously easy city to live in. You can rely on the transport 100%, and it is relatively cheap (the trains are about a third the price of London's) and getting about is pretty easy, even if you don't speak the language.

Like everywhere, Tokyo/Japan does have its disappointing traits. For a country that used to be so closely reliant on a firm relationship with the environment, it's sometimes shocking to see it betray that relationship with such wanton abandon. The famous 'Bridges to nowhere' springs to mind; a teleologically bereft undertaking that's filled Japan's landscape with huge concrete landmarks, stretching over the horizon but leading to nothing. These pointless bridges dot the landscape, often unfinished, like ancient remains of a concrete dinosaur.

For a country that has such a distinct cultural identity (it doesn't take too much effort to mentally conjure an image of something quintessentially Japanese), it's also unnerving to see that culture being parodied to the point where the parody itself becomes the paradigm. There are countless 'samurai villages' dotted throughout Japan; cheesy theme parks that have become hotspots for Japanese families where they can pretend to live in the days of yore. Or onsens attached to a building complex pakced full of faux-traditional Japanese restaurants, staffed by young girls doing their arubaito (part-time job) by dressing up as geisha. But these 'Japanese experiences' are more popular with the natives than they are with tourists. So much so, that visiting these half-hearted recreations of Japan's former glory is fast becoming more a part of Japan's culture than its own original culture ever was.

Japan's u-turn on the environment, and the sacrifice of its own culture for the sake of sending it up, are just two examples of how perplexing a place Japan can be. The second you find something concrete that you believe is Japan, you'll immediately find something else that overturns that (mis)conception. No sooner have you been impressed by the extreme politeness with which new aquaintances meet, greet, and treat you, than you are shocked by the ruthless efficiency employed by men and women, young and old, in order to get a prime spot on the train, even if it means firmly shoving yours truly out of the way.

But I guess that's why I like Tokyo so much - you could never accuse it of being boring. Nevertheless, I look forward to getting back next month, saving some more money and then getting out of Tokyo to see what the rest of Japan is really like. Having lived in London and Bangkok, I'm well aware that the capital city is often very far from a real representation of a country's identity. But at the end of the day, when I get on the plane in two day's time, I know that I'll feel a little tingle of homesickness, both for England and Japan, so it must be an all right place to be.

When in Rome... become racist!

The Japanophile's Contradiction


In Japan, there's a saying that goes 「郷に入れば、郷に従え」（ごうにいれば、ごうにしたがえ・gou ni ireba, gou ni shitagae) which means much the same as "When in Rome..."; when you're in a place, you should follow the rules/customs of that place. Sometimes this basic tenet works, sometimes it doesn't. For example, I wouldn't expect a Japanese tourist in England to memorise useless football statistics, scream down their mobile phones on trains and vomit profusely in public places. Someone from a country that has a very strong sense of public harmony and etiquette shouldn't be expected to abandon it just because they're in a different country where those same customs don't happen to pertain. Being a little too quiet or reserved in a country where everyone speaks their mind is hardly a faux pas.

However, reverse the situation and it is an obvious problem. I only speak from experience, so I'm not singling any one nation out, but Americans and Brits in Japan do suffer from this exact predicament. We're loud, disruptive, and... let's face it... annoying, which doesn't help in a country where social harmony is a goal. I used to think the occasional concerned glance I got from Japanese people was something bordering on racism, but now when I see a gaijin (foreigner) on a train or in the street, I feel myself becoming more and more inclined to do the same. When Japanese people on trains gradually shuffle away from me, rather than feeling offended, I find myself thinking "Good on you. If I were on a train next to someone from a country whose people continually and reliably fuck everything up with a level of noise usually bequeathed to a war, I'd move away too." And so I too am now a 人種差別する人。 I also distinguish between people based entirely on their nationality. Like the Japanese ideas of 内　and 外 I'm gradually coming to think of foreigners with an "us or them" attitude.

A factor that plays a big part in this problem is that Japan is continually under seige at the hands of "Japanophiles", who come here in their hundreds of thousands; Japanophiles who fail to grasp one simple, yet crucial, truth: they don't actually like Japan. These poor, decibellic, deluded tourists come here thinking they love Japan, yet this could not be further from the truth. Confused? Not as much as I am. To understand further, one needs to understand wherein a country's cultural identity lies, and it is here that we can see a big distinction between Japan and the West ("us and them" again... sorry!)

To make a broad, and horrifically sweeping generalisation (although a true one in my opinion), America and Britain's cultural identity are based on "things"; stuff; something that can be produced. When one thinks of America, immediately McDonald's golden arches come into mind. Big cars, big asses, big bucks, "This Bud's for you", Starbucks, Wall Street, Marlborough, guns, FOX News, Hollywood movies, and big budget, movie-like dramas. America's culture is undeniably tied into these material things. I doubt, when conjuring up images of the US, one thinks of "The Way of the American". You don't think of how an American enters their home, or how they eat. You only think of what they eat. Sure, if you're new to knives and forks, you'd consider it, but you wouldn't tie that image in to what-it-means-to-be-a-Westerner.

Undoubtedly there is an American/British way of life with many subtle nuances, as does any country. We are loud, speak our minds when we want to, and express ourselves. But that's not so much a "way of life" so much as saying "any way is good", which is another way of saying we have no "way" as such. You might disagree and think that complete freedom is a way of life, but that's equivalent to saying that having no traffic laws is, in itself, a kind of traffic law... which it obviously isn't. Anyway, I digress.

My point is, in the West we've come to identify our countries' cultures through what they've produced. Somehow "The Office" (the original, better one!) is quintessentially British. James Bond is apparently quintessentially British, despite the fact I've never met any Brit like him. Tea is British, Starbucks is American. English gentleman, American Cowboy. These are all images, they're all things.

And so, to come back to my point, when us foreigners see Manga (Japanese comics) or Anime (animated movies), or when we hear J-Pop, or see the funky pictures of girls in Harajuku dressed like an Alice in Wonderland character after dropping acid, many of us think "Wow, Japan is cool. I like Japan." But the fact is, you don't. You've only scratched the materialistic and very superficial tip of what you'll soon discover is a massive ice berg made out of social etiquette, protocol, and harmony.

American and British culture is so heavily interwoven with its output of stuff, that we mistakenly identify Japan with its equivalents; sushi, Manga, Anime, crazy fashion, karaoke, and so on. But no sooner than we get off the plane do we realise that, for some reason, we're annoying the natives, getting weird looks when all we're doing is listening to our iPod on the train, and generally pissing everyone off. That's because, ladies and gentlemen, Japan's identity lies in its people, and the way they live. That is Japan. I'm sorry if you've come all the way from the UK, or The United States because you've somehow deluded yourself into thinking that Japan is your spiritual home just because you happen to like "Dragonball". If you love comics, fashion and J-Pop, but you don't like bending over backwards to keep everyone around you content, then I'm sorry, but you actually don't like Japan, because the latter is far more important. The latter is Japan.

In my short time here, I've met a lot of gaijin who profess their utter love for Japan. They're convinced that they somehow belong here, just because they wear strange clothes and like fucked up pop music. And yet they then get completely confused by something as simple as... being expected to follow a rule, and don't understand why the Japanese people deride them for it. "But I'm wearing a pink tie, a purple velvet hat, and I can quote every line from any Naruto comic. Why are they pissed off at me?" Why? Because you can't blend in, maintain harmony, keep those around you happy, avoid creating an unnecessary scene. You can't do any of these things because you don't like doing them. You... don't like Japan.

If you're serious about Japan, then you need to be serious about its people and the every day way of life, and how they do things. Coming to Japan, ecsatic that you're somehow "finding yourself" just because you like a few anime series and Mr. Children, is the same as moving your life to L.A. because you liked the drama series "24". Completely ridiculous isn't it?

If you really love Manga, Anime, mismatching clothes, and ramen, then just stay in your country, get a Japanese take away, dress up, whack on "Full Metal Alchemist" and then have a massive otaku circle jerk with you and your friends. Problem solved - you get to remain convinced that you somehow love Japanese culture without being hideously disappointed by the experience of coming here and realising how comepletely clueless you were, and Japan doesn't have to put up with you... being you.

蛇皮線を買った！ My Jabisen

Recently, thanks to my mildly improved financial situation, I decided to treat myself to a Jabisen (snake-skinned, stringed instrument), a traditional Japanese instrument that originates from Okinawa. It's very similar to, but not to be confused with a Shamisen (三味線) an instrument that came after the jabisen.

Having played the guitar for a couple of years, I wasn't completely at a loss as to how to get a nice sound out of it, but the lack of frets and the slightly odd tuning (A,D,A) make it quite difficult to play, not to mention that the strings are placed so closely together that when you place your finger on one string, it's quite difficult to avoid muting the adjacent ones.

Only by playing one note, you automatically generate a feeling of tradition, conjuring images of a long-gone Japan. It's a beautiful, tricky, and rewarding instrument. I look forward to getting better, and hopefully I'll be able to put up a little video of me playing it some time soon.

In the mean time, you'll just have to make do with a picture.

Memories of Spring in Japan

Some brief flashes of memory from Hanami, and a shrine atop Mt. Mitake, which I climbed this week.

Jazz

Hanami! 花見！

Ever since I arrived in Japan, all of my flatmates have been telling me, in ever-increasing excitement, about Hanami and how much I ought to be looking forward to it. If you're going to do one thing that's incredibly... Japanesey while you're over here, this is the event to go to.

Before the actual event, it's difficult to imagine how a picnic can be the cultural epicentre of a nation. Throw in the fact that this year I was confined to Tokyo, as far from nature as possible, and the idea became less and less appealing. I wouldn't have imagined that sharing a small concrete space with millions of families and salarymen while snaffling some supermarket sushi would be much of a relaxing experience. I was, of course, completely wrong. It was a thoroughly magical experience, so much so that I did three in the space of a week.

Firstly, the potential over-crowdedness which I was dreading turned out to be one of the best things about it. There must have been hundreds of thousands of people crammed into the park where I was plonked on my picnic sheet with friends and colleagues, yet there were no sounds of raucous shouting or drunken violence. There was just a wall of happy white noise floating through the cherry blossom trees. People, young and old, rich and poor, were just sitting, enjoying themselves, drinking and relaxing. Usually one only sees a crowd this size when sandwiched between two salarymen's armpits on the chikatetsu (underground), so it's wonderful to see an even greater crowd getting along with zero stress. It's this ability to co-exist without getting under everyone else's skin that Japanese people do extremely well. Even the Yakuza were there, sitting in their picnic spot enjoying themselves. Where else in the world would you find elements of organised crime sitting under pink flowers eating a sandwich next to a group of kids?

And then of course, there're the sakura blossoms themselves. Now, I've had some good picnics in my time (including some very bad ones, being forced to brave ice-cold rain storms with nothing but a sandwich to protect me from the elements, all in the name of steely British reserve), but nothing beats laying under a canopy of pink blossoms that stretch into the horizon. If you time it just right, you can picnic as the blossoms are beginning to fall, and so all afternoon you can eat with friends while petals are raining all around you. Visually, it truly is a magical experience.

I'm sure there are far more beautiful and serene places to have a Hanami, but sharing Yoyogi park with thousands of Tokyo-ites all getting along perfectly in the spirit of relaxation... I felt like I was a thousand miles away.

Having done a Hanami in a sprawling concrete mess, I think next time I'll head out into the country side and try to do one with just a small group of friends, but honestly, if you have the time to spare, it's worth seeing just how well Japanese people do things on a massive scale without everything descending into drunken brawls and shooting!

Did you trade green fields...

... for a cold steel rail?

Japan's rampant, runaway capitalism knows no bounds, and it certainly has little respect for Japan's traditional roots. Alex Kerr has already well-documented Japan's love affair with concrete, outlining the worrying dedication with which the government has seen fit to literally line the coast of this once paradisical island with miles of tarmac, made all the worse by the presence of tetrapods designed supposedly for the protection of Japan's coastal towns. But if one has to knock down, deforest and "modernise" the coastline beyond all recognition in order to save it, you've already done far worse than any tidal damage could hope to.

Japan is rife with these ludicrous policies which are the environmental equivalent of the famous Vietnam war doctrine "Bomb the village in order to save it." In a similar move, Japan is worryingly attached to the idea of digging up forests, drowning the coastline in murky grey slabs, and dropping tetrapods like carpet bombs in order to "save" the very vistas and coasts that are being ruined by such actions. Obviously most post-industrial countries, if not all, have sacrificed much of their indigenous habitats for the sake of "progress", but nowhere has it been done with such tenacity and wilful abandon as in Japan.

It is sad to think that a country that has its traditions so firmly intertwined with its natural habitat would so willingly destroy it for the sake of modernisation; modernisation at any cost. And so now it is sad to see that plans for a new resort that will decimate acres of precious coral reef as well as much of the mainland has been given the go ahead in Okinawa, perhaps one of the few areas of Japan that still remains relatively untouched (relative to the sprawling neon-concrete monster that is Tokyo). An area so unique that it may as well be a country in itself, it's all the more saddening to know that the concrete tide has reached so far.

Even more worrying is the tacit, and sometimes explicit, acceptance of this ugly trend of superficial modernisation sweeping the land of the rising sun. Many people believe the tetrapods being rained down on Japan's shores to be beautiful structures worthy of artistic merit. One only has to see a beach lined with these concrete monsters to realise that such a stance is utterly ludicrous. Nevertheless, one suspects that given the Japanese tendency to adhere to its cultural pillar of 建前（たてまえ・tatemae - not causing disruption or showing extreme emotion in public), if the government says it needs to concrete over every Sakura blossom in the name of the country's progress, most people would allow it to happen.

One can only hope that the current economic crisis might cause some in higher places to have second thoughts about the necessity of a concrete addiction. This is, however, unlikely. The relentless destruction of natural habitats is now tied into the economy to such an extent that it would be financially and politically detrimental for Japan to stop building over things. It has literally developed a dependency on wiping out much of its natural past.

Curse of the Eikaiwa

An unhealthy obsession

Having worked in one of the most reputable and successful eikaiwas 「英会話」in Japan, and having promptly decided to leave, I can't help but wonder what on earth all the fuss is about and why Japanese businessmen, students, and hobbyists alike, all seem so willing to part with vast amounts of cash for something so completely superficial.

Where to begin? Well, why do students go to an Eikaiwa like Nova, or Gaba, in the first place? One attraction to these kinds of schools is the focus on conversation. 英会話 after all means English + Meeting + Talk. Japanese learners of English sign up because in their education at school, English education is based solely on the memorisation and reproduction of grammar rules on paper; there's no focus on conversation. But does this really warrant going from one extreme to the other? Judging by the billions of Yen being poured into the coffers of English Conversation Schools everywhere, it does.

So what's the problem with the schools? Bluntly, that they completely fail to improve the students' linguistic abilities. This is due to the following reasons:

1. The teachers do not need any qualifications or teaching experience to teach. As such, very few of them if confronted with a marginally difficult grammar question will be able to answer or provide an adequate explanation.

2. Lacking proper training, the teachers are usually subjected to a superfluous induction program where they're shown how to 'search on the internet' and how to field difficult grammar questions (simply reply "It's not important"... seriously that's what I was told to say).

3. The quality of lessons is judged entirely by the students. This is simply ridiculous because if the students can't speak the language, how can they judge if they're being taught it correctly? The score teachers get is a reflection of how much the students enjoyed the lesson, but it is not a clear indication of whether or not they've learnt something. As such, lessons generally descend into overblown bouts of hyper-complementing the students and saying "Well done, you're great" even if they can't pronounce "a".

The lack of required training, suitable in house training, or continued effective evaluation means that students rarely make any progress, nor have any way of knowing if they are making any progress because they are their own judge. Senior Management plays no role in the students' progress and, seeing as the teachers rarely know how to track progress, neither do they.

Those are the problems, which begs the question, why are these infernal places still so popular? Well, so far as I can tell, it's basically down to massive marketing budgets and strong brand identity. TV commercials attack commuters on trains with a frequency that rivals McDonalds, TV commercials which have Japanese celebrities starring as the students. I would tentatively suggest that it's also tied into Japanese culture. It's not the social norm to rock the boat or complain by demanding anything different to what's already on offer, so if eikaiwas are pouring money into advertising and they become popular, once the trend is in place it's very unlikely to be broken.

Whereas in London there are constantly different styles of schools vying for top place, which in turn encourages students to experiment between them, in Japan everyone is happy to maintain harmony by going along with what's already popular. In London, the market has a voice and habits which thus leads to a variety of different schools, but Japan's student population is largely voiceless and held rapt by existent trends, unable to break out for fear of disrupting the norm. As such, it's quite possible to imagine eikaiwas being the dominant market force in English education for some time to come.

The end result of this is quite sad for the students. I've taught individuals who, despite having come to the school for 3 years, still had a low-intermediate level of English. I've been teaching alongside other teachers who think that "speach", "ourselfs" and "I am hope seeing you soon" are acceptable examples of the English language. I've had a superior not know that there were two different ways to spell "Practice/Practise" and overheard other teachers berate students for saying "I'm fine thank you." "Fine thank you? Is that good English? We only say 'fine' when we're angry about something." (Really?! Which bizarre country do you come from?)

My advice would be to study at home with a decent textbook (anything by Murphy) accompanied by a CD, and gradually build your level from children's books, through to teenage fiction, to newspapers and higher fiction, all the time listening to natural English from online news broadcasts and television shows.

My advice if you're a qualified teacher is: don't be lured by the easy offer of a job. Stay in your current job in your country and wait until you've secured something that demands more of its teachers. It'll save you a lot of disappointment, hassle, and stress.

Jazz becomes a salaryman

Yes, the dolphins of financial content have beached themselves on the rocky shores of disappointment leaving yours truly with absolutely no cash. I can't use my English pounds because they wither away when exchanged into Japanese yen. On top of that my Eikaiwa (conversation-based) language school is paying me about 4 years in arrears, meaning I'm not going to see a significant amount of money any time soon. Therefore I have now joined the thousands of salarymen who cram themselves onto the trains early in the morning with almost asphyxiating dedication and perseverence in order to earn the bread... or at least the crusts... well mouldy crusts. I say mouldy crusts, it's actually just the mould in itself; the bread has long gone.

I have no idea how some of these guys do it. At a time far too early to be considered civilised, these smartly-dressed sardines physically force themselves onto the train, turning toward the door as they get on, and then push backwards, compressing the people behind them into a fine commuter-based paste. There is no rush hour on earth like Tokyo rush hour. I don't care where you've been, or how many thousands of people you've seen trying to crawl into a space half the appropriate capacity, Tokyo simply beats everywhere hands down. No one complains, tuts, or sighs. They just accept the fact that they are about to be made into one giant, homogenous salaryman pancake.

It seems a lot of salarymen do things to extremes, the majority of them getting up before sunrise, travelling in unhealthily-sized crowds, and returning home close to midnight after putting in a minimum of 12 hours, though usually closer to 15 or 16. Of course they return home only after drinking whisky to the extent that, when getting on the same train, one is immediately hit in the face by an almost tangible whiff of booze so strong that it practically gives you a face lift.

I've only been on this regime (minus the booze) for two weeks and I'm already nearly dead. I've been nodding off in my lessons while desperately trying to pass it off as philosophical whimsy. I've been subsisting entirely on Calorie Mate which, while good enough for the fictional gaming super-CIA-Marine Solid Snake, probably lacks the nutritional value required to keep people who exist in the real world alive. I'll be honest; it's like eating a block of solid anti-matter that's been sprayed with chocolate. If you're a real masochist you can go for the cheese flavour but you'd be better off asking someone to punch you in the face with boxing gloves made with reeking, fusty milk. Calorie Mate: it kept a virtual character alive because it only has virtual nutrition.

With the economic situation the way it is, it looks like I'm going to have to keep this up for another month perhaps. But as soon as I get out of this patch of 14 hour days, I will hopefully have some cash to see more of Tokyo, and some free time to actually write what I've seen other than the back of a very tired Japanese man's head pressed into my face on the underground.

Worse than Neighbours?

The cultural legacy of Japan, so far, includes the intricate code of the Samurai, countless martial arts full of ritual and levels of respect, ikebana, calligraphy, not to mention the linguistic honorific idiosyncracies that permeate every sentence of the country's beautiful language. How then, from this cultural primordial soup, the current state of Japanese television has emerged is a mystery. Imagine stumbling across an alien world populated by some kind of barely sentient, motionless jelly, only to discover an ancient fossil that proves the land was once inhabited by two-legged book readers. What went wrong?

There's no better way to say this: Japanese television is fucking terrible. That's not the same as saying it's unwatchable. I can watch hours of it in a sado-masochistic trance, aghast yet somehow intrigued by the intellectual black hole swirling before me in a vortex of neon signs, bright flashing slogans, bizarre costumes and various kinds of fake hair. "But every country has some bad television." Yes I know... but what I'm trying to tell you, is that in Japan all of it is bad, and I was brought up on Neighbours and Home and Away. Now that's saying something.

Japanese television seems to consist of two main kinds of program: strange, not to mention woefully tacky, chat-show/game-show hybrids; and dramas acted so poorly it makes George Bush reading off an auto-cue look like Laurence Olivier. The first kind of show usually involves a group of about 20 guests (yes, that's right... TWENTY) reacting to the host's jokes and stories, or to various unstimulating activities. The host's job seems to be to elicit various funny comments from the guests and then add his own, often punctuated by him hitting a table with a novelty object, or saying something normal but REALLY LOUDLY SO IT MUST BE FUNNY! Sufficed to say, these shows are complete chaos and appear to be little more than a massive and overacted conversation with occasional advertisements. The focal points vary of course. Sometimes it's animals doing funny things, people proposing in overblown yet romantic ways (cue all 20 guests crying), or guests competing (who can make 20 pizza bases the quickest, or eat a glass full of ice). Usually the guests are people off the street, yet even when it's someone famous, they get dragged into performing trivial tasks and competitions.

The dramas all seem to be about late 20-somethings working in Tokyo, all of whom are involved in some kind of love-quadrangle. Cue many close ups of weeping, cute women/girls, and men with immaculate hair looking off screen at an angle that makes them look all pensive and moody. The only downside is that the acting has about as much severity as a U.S. election. Perhaps they don't want to make the aforementioned chat shows look bad, so they have to keep the quality fairly low to blend in. It's either that or period dramas always involving feuding Samurai, which in itself might be interesting, especially to foreigners wanting to learn a bit about Japan's fascinating past. However, this potential is quickly put aside in order to explore a love-quadrangle between late 20-somethings, all decked out in cheap costumes and very bad wigs/bald caps.

These two main staples are, of course, occasionally punctuated by such trivial matters as the news. However, even some news broadcasts are often blended into a chat show format, making it very difficult to know where one ends and the other begins. Often one will hear of a recent political crisis, only for the camera to pan back to the host of the previous chat show who will, with unfailing loyalty to comedic standards worldwide, hit a table or some other inanimate object with his fists... or another inanimate object.

Speaking of comedy, being a budding stand-up (I say budding; try budded, disgruntled, wilted and now lying like compost on the soil of disappointment) I can only sit back, slack-jawed as comedy's newest arch-nemesis (can you have a new arch-nemesis...? Pah, nevermind!) is proudly paraded for all to see. Worn down by the overcrowded and trivial game-chat shows, forlornificated (you can have that for free G.W.B.) by the dramas, I almost openly wept at the comedy, and they were not tears of joy.

Comedy in Japan usually goes by the name of Manzai, which always involves a double act talking very quickly, essentially exchanging quickfire gags and puns while pretending to misunderstand each other. Sufficed to say, having being brought up in a country that's given us Monty Python, Billy Connolly, and Eddie Izzard, Japan's offerings are about as funny as a list of illnesses. Manzai, coincidentally, when translated from it's Kanji characters, can take on the meaning "involuntary talent," which is quite apt for a form of entertainment that induces involuntary manslaughter.

One, two... THREE-YAAAY-EEEE

The demon cherry on this hellish cake has to be Sekai no Nabeatsu ( 世界のなべあつ）whose gift to us all is the ability to count in a funny way... and that's it. Before starting, he announces which numbers are going to be funny. So he might say "Multiples of three are going to be hilarious this time!!" Then off this moustachioed underling of the dark lord goes, counting away until he hits a multiple of three at which point he says it in a mildly eccentric fashion.

To think I spent so long in Manchester and London, gradually working my way up in the stand-up comedy world with cutting material about current affairs, when I could have been getting paid to be on television in Japan... COUNTING!! I mean this guy's been doing the same act for years! I appreciate that, potentially, the amount of numbers he could count is infinite, but surely there's a limit to this guy's shelf life?

I'm sorry I left you Neighbours. All is forgiven.

誕生日おめでとう！Happy Birthday, and Japan's night time, seedy underbelly.

Yes, the time to celebrate my Nativity has been and gone. I'm now 26 which, I feel, is better than being 25. 26 has a feeling of authentic, newly acquired life experience to it whilst still retaining all the advantages of remaining a young 'un. 25 was a bit of a no man's land; too young to know better, but not young enough to warrant being naive and wide-eyed all the time. So now I can look down on early 20s types and their puppy-like innocence, whilst still being able to pass myself off as one of them from time to time.

My birthday party was my first big night out in Tokyo, and what a night it was. We started by going to a very exclusive bar called Fereira, in Roppongi. So exclusive, in fact, that we were the only customers! I suppose the 3000￥ cover charge should have been a give away, but I didn't know any better and was just following the advice of my Japanese guides (very easy to do when you're not paying!). Since we wanted to go clubbing, the big sign hanging ominously over the entrance to the bar saying "NO DANCING" was not a good start. The fact that the bar staff outnumbered the customers (i.e. me and my friends) was also a little unnerving, as well as the undivided attention they gave us.

PANIC ATTACK

After drinking our two free cocktails with the entire place to ourselves, we decided to head to a different environ, and ended up in GasPanic, Fereira's nemesis. Waitresses dancing on the bar surface, a thick fog of smoke, funky music; the party had finally started. We spent a couple of hours there, dancing a lot and mainly drinking "Banana fucks", whatever they may be. The atmosphere was great, although Roppongi's reputation as a bit of a seedy hangout was beginning to manifest itself. In Roppongi, the 「外人・がいじん・gai-jin・foreigners」 definitely came close to outnumbering the Japanese; all of them totally plastered and most of them chasing after the locals. Apparently if you want to pick up a girl without all the hassle of having to get to know them first, Roppongi's the place to go, hence the gaggles of Japanese girls dressed in little more than a sentiment and the equal number of American/British lads closely following, usually singing something about football.

As well as the mating calls of the nocturnal, migratory inhabitants of Roppongi, an equal amount of chatter is generated by the door staff working the night clubs and the more than abundant strip joints that run down the main road. Along with these are those running the massage parlours, which I'm pretty sure don't actually offer massages. Fortunately we were in a good-sized group, but I can well imagine that if you were by yourself or just with your girlfriend, that this place would be quite hellish. The door staff (all of whom are, without exception, Nigerian, for reasons I don't understand at all) can be very persistent to the point where you can feel very uncomfortable, even threatened.

Whilst we're opening up the underbelly of Japan's clubbing centre, I would suggest if you want to go to Roppongi that you go as a group. If you want to go somewhere with your lady friend, then find somewhere else. Clubbing with my flatmates, the sheer number of times I had to step in to separate them from a be-suited Japanese salary-man quite excessively groping them in rather inappropriate places... well it was a lot. Observing the crowd around me, it was quite clear that these guys would pay no attention to the fact that two people were obviously a couple. In they would go and grope nonetheless. So for clubbing, yes, I'm sure Roppongi might tick your boxes a couple of times, though even with a group I can imagine having to run the aggressive door man hurdles, and shield the female members of your group from the hands of rich businessmen might grow a little tiresome very quickly.

Ahem... anyway. MY night out was great. We finished dancing our socks off in GasPanic, and, with many Banana Fucks down our gullet, made our way to Karaoke. This wasn't so much out of choice (although it did end up being the perfect way to the end the evening) as it was due to the fact that the last trains in Tokyo are around 12am. Add to this the facts that Roppongi isn't particularly close to anywhere and taxis are very expensive, if you're out clubbing past 11:45pm, you're pretty much stranded until the trains start again at 5am. So off we went to Karaoke.

The karaoke place was great. Moody lighting, a very comfortable room all to yourself, and an amazing selection of songs. They even had a decent selection of Motorhead songs, resulting in me giving an amazing rendition of Ace of Spades. I didn't know I could sound that much like Lemmy if I wanted to. Maybe it was my moustache that helped me. We all had an amazing time unwinding from the packed mayhem of GasPanic and the streets of Roppongi.

After it hit 5am most of the flatmates went back, but I stayed out to eat some ramen in a noodle bar so that I could sit and watch Roppongi recover from itself and peer at some of the Japanese clubbers around me, dressed like true fashionistas (how some of them manage to look so cool I'll never know!). Then it was off home.

Exclusive bar, clubs, karaoke, noodles. A perfect night out :)

じゃ、またね！See you later!

Common Sense and Sensibility

Kids loose... everywhere

It's great to see children just walking around without their parents, crossing the street, going to the shops by themselves. In London, or England generally, kids aren't even allowed to play conkers without a safety harness for fear that some 'nut dust' might lodge in their larynx, causing them to trip and headbutt an old woman. As a capital city, it is refreshing to see that Tokyo hasn't descended into an almost masochistic cycle of risk-prevention.

Here in Tokyo, people hop off their bikes, leaving them where they stand, without fear of them being lifted. When they're on their bikes, people seem happy to ride anywhere that gets them to their destination, relying on common sense to prevent crashes with people. As such, the pavement is almost as busy as the road. "Surely not!" I hear you say. "There must be hundreds of people injured every day in such anarchy." Not at all. Thank goodness Tokyo allows people the freedom to use their own nouse.

Here you can drink in the streets, tubes, and trains. Despite thousands of people throwing themselves in front of trains every year (Tokyo does, after all, have one of the highest suicide rates in the world), no attempts have been made to make stations safer. In fact level crossings often have nothing but a gestural barrier that uselessly flops down when a train is passing, and most people I've seen are happy to start crossing the tracks even after the barriers have begun to lower. In my area of Tokyo there's a sword shop just down the road, yet there aren't hoardes of rampaging youths going round slashing each other to bits. How about the pedestrian crossings here, which all zig zag through each other in a manner that would give most risk-eliminators a heart attack?


Removing risk isn't the only way to prevent danger. More often than not, trusting in people not to do daft things like walk into the middle of a train track or cycle into your legs is enough. This is one of the qualities that Tokyo has immediately revealed in my two weeks here. More of the same please!

Beware the Anpan Man!!

Ok... so here in Japan they have the Anpanman. There are so many cultural oddities over here, all of which are utterly fascinating, some of which are quite surreal, but this was one of the first I encountered so I thought I'd quickly share it with you.

The Anpanman is made of bread. His face is very big and also made of bread. Whenever this big, smiling bread man meets an upset child, what does he do? He peels off a chunk of his face and gives it to him.

How great is that? Imagine if Ronald McDonald ripped out chunks of his hair to lightly toss into your salad, or if Captain Birdseye's beard were actually made of finely shredded cod which he then gave to those kids that always hung around his submarine.

The Anpanman... I love him already.