lala's hubristic broccoli.

2006-03-07T21:54:00.000+11:00

i read a diary entry to my good friend, jonni poo-crotch.

14/Feb/06 another ASS - Aso Youth Hotel

not as much of an ass as nasty mincing Fukuoka man, Nigel Planet map(s) or Kumacrapo post office analhead. But that's not nice talk for Valentine's Day: love and chocolate sprinkles. Actually at this very minute we are breathing in fresh gasoline air, toasty from a chlorinated bath soak and sipping 580 yen Merlot bought from Kumamoto (a lay-man's depato). Really, its rather pleasant. Jonni Poo-crotch is drafting us a death-defying voyage up the volcano. Alright so 2.5 hrs is not death-defying (although I really hope I am not buried under hot lava). I have not written much this trip which is incredibly lazy and uninspired of me. Horror! To backtrack a little, I have since been in Osaka, Hiroshima, Fukuoka, Kumamoto and now Aso. I have contracted moving-on-itis. The desire to reject a city almost instaneously is almost overwhelming. There is a sense of freedom in not even staying in a city for a night; a freedom akin to, I suppose, a prostitute refusing to kiss on the mouth, or taxi drivers wearing gloves (well...). Osaka was as scrappy and packed with lunging humans as ever; bright pink jeans perambulated, stiff-as-socks old men in our "ghetto", Shin-Imamiya, heavily scarfed Bedouin-like workers in organic cafes, "hip-hop kids" (purple, gold, sashimi hips) tapped their feet outside clothes shops. Hotel Raizan South completed the magic triangle, even though we trampled in drunk at 4.30am, spilt cup noodle juice everywhere, got shushed by a disappointed looking lady two seconds after stepping out of lift, probably partially breaking down the wall at sub-particle level due to hysterical laughter, and general wanton sloppy behaviour that goes hand in hand with girls who've had a wee bit to drink. Nothing serious - nothing almost a whole day in bed, some cloudy apple juice and 1m cubed white bread couldn't fix.

note to j-p: so now you know! this was before i decided to write in the name of scientific research so do excuse me if its a little wayward on the facts.

2006-02-23T15:40:00.000+11:00

Near Death-Knell Incident for My Enduring Love of Japan (No. 1)

Location: Post-Office in Kumamoto, Kyushu.

Me: Hi, I'd like to send these postcards to Australia.

Post-Office Man: Hmmmmm..... looks at postcards ominously...picks them up, and inspects them with unnecessary zeal

Post-Office Man: These are not postcards.

Me: Huh? stunned silence, while looking at the pile of very obvious post cards

Post-Office Man: These are not postcards.

Me: But, but! They are the SAME SIZE, and have POST-CARD written on them!! getting pissed off now, I point to the word "post-card" for the man, who is not interested

Post-Office Man: You have written on more than HALF. So they are not POST-CARD.

Me: I don't understand!

Post-Office Man: tries to repeat, slowly, thinking I cannot understand the Japanese

Me: I understand what you are SAYING, but I don't understand your MEANING!!!

Post-Office Man: Humph. looks around to his fellow anal-retents for backup

Me: Look, can i SEND THEM or NOT?!

Post-Office Man: Oh, yeah, you can send them.

!!!

2006-01-10T21:28:00.000+11:00

Fare Thee Well, Sweet Rebby

Rebby wasn't young when he first came into my life - he'd already belonged to my aunt and uncle in the 'burbs, and had also been casually used as a backup form of transport by my own family for a while before I truly gained ownership on my 21st birthday.

Even still, Rebby wasn't "Rebby" yet - while I treasured him for all his practical perks, he hadn't fully coalesced into a living, breathing, creature until the Summer of 2003, when me and two other good friends decided to take him for a jaunt up the coast, to explore rainbow beaches and roadside fruit shacks. It was during this trip that Rebby met his namesake, Rebel - a forlorn little grey horse that watched us for three hours solid at the roller-door of our borrowed tin shed. Suddenly framed alongside each other, I realised I had discovered Rebby's soul - not pretty, certainly not glamourous, but real nonetheless.

Rebby enjoyed having neighing sessions with his friends Comozzy and Merc, and never minded when I draped him in the paraphenalia of my life, such as half-broke Hawaiian men, old cassette tapes, and used Ribena poppers. Rebby never complained and never broke down. While over the years he became an increasingly mottled colour, and had to be banged in secret spots to close, he never seemed really old, or on the brink of death. I believe that he would have kept trooping for a long time yet, if an unfortunate accident hadn't befell him, and taken him from me before his time.

Strange as it may seem, Rebby was my portable family home, a family home I didn't actually have access to normally. I will always remember him for this.

Goodbye Rebby. Everything after you will always be in emulation.

2005-09-09T23:07:00.000+10:00

friday night. lid. coffin.

here is a poem (of sorts) i wrote in highschool:

YAKKADAK! Has alcohol been my salvation? Sweet little amber froth oceans? Rotund with good times and giggles? Truly, I am a hideous (but happy) disgrace if I think its that. Blessed be this beery bliss! Nonetheless, of all the naughty nanoseconds in my lacksadaisical life, this could be the naughtiest. I'm too naughty to notice. Notice what? Nothing.
Sweet salvation!

demented. i did like to wax beer-ical didnt i. i wish i could say this love affair has cooled off, gone the way of the dodos. no, instead that has been my liver.

i am making a conscious effort to give into real inclination. so, the other day, i felt like a snail pastry. i ate one, nearly started sprouting raisins from my ears there were so damned many in it, and then swore off this craving for life (at least till i have recovered). tonight i felt a little bit like staying at home and "having a quiet one" (as they say) (and by THEY i really mean THEY...) so here i am, watching That's Dancing! with one eye and drawing mutant puppies in dresses with the other. it sounds dull, and really, it is. but its all for the cause of tracking down my INNER REASONABLE PERSON. the person who doesnt feel the need to write love poems to alcohol. god speed. to me.

current obsession: my new plastic puppy that goes 'no-no-no-no-noooo!' with it's head.

2005-09-01T14:52:00.000+10:00

“Let’s give ourselves a boost by having eels for lunch”

There is drastic action on the street, local neighbourhood punks break their parents’ drumkits while an elderly Greek lady eats her first boiled egg of Spring. I’ve spent all day inside writing, and so feel a little batty. On the upside, I now know a lot about the up-and-coming INDIE bands of Sydney (thankyou FBI), as well as the meaning for the word pusillanimous (lacking strength of mind or courage; faint-hearted; cowardly).

The other day I was boasting to my friend Elmos Ninos that at any one time I would be able to name at least one meal you could buy for $3 or under in the immediate vincinity. I am obsessed with bargains. Recently, I even went so far as to use a Shop-A-Docket, something I had always thought was the complete rock-bottom of penny pinching (after many years of watching my grandfather save receipts that gave him a 50c discount off the MAMMOTHLY EXPENSIVE $1.10 price for a newspaper).

To make true on my claim, I have decided to start compiling a list of these $3 and under Wonder Meals. Keep in mind that my idea of a ‘meal’ might fall seriously short of the national average. Also keep in mind that it is sometimes possible to find shrapnel in the change slot of public phones, thus taking your kitty up to a staggering $3.20 or even $3.50.

So, present location: Bourke St, Surry Hills. Not a place one would think teeming with cheap deals. However, I am not one to be easily defeated. And it is my belief that cheap meals are the true life-blood of the city – thus must, by that same analogy, flow along all its arteries. Annnnyway.

3 x pastizzis from the Maltese Café, Crown St = $2.70
2 x spring rolls from Prasits Thai Restaurant, Crown St = $3.00
1 x murky meat pie + 1 x cookie/brownie, from the bakery cnr. Crown & Cleveland = $2.70
1 x ultra delicious chocolate croissant (best in Sydney, I kid you not) from Bourke St Bakery, Bourke St = $2.50
1 x giant slab of Turkish bread, Ericyes Restaurant, Cleveland St = $2.00
3 x pieces salmon sashimi, Sushi Train, Oxford St = $2.50

Of course, some of these fall below the $3 mark, and could therefore be supplemented with a piece of fruit, can of tuna or something else cheap to bulk up the meal. It goes without saying that if you are prepared to sit around at home all day, and buy things from the supermarket, then you could have a meal for, like, $1. Sweeeeet.

current obsession: glass mugs

2005-08-16T15:32:00.000+10:00

“labyrinths in whack”

Well it’s a dark day indeed, my stomach fat is careening out into time & space with not a thought for my own feelings, while the great blob of fat that is the Australian voting public (oh, the ones that watch Big Brother, that is) puke all over themselves in a big show of incestous in-boganhood. That’s right, the scheissenkopf Logan twins are declared the winner(s) of BB05, meantimes many honest hearts break and riots are started. The least of which is in your anus. A song has been created, a street anthem if you will, that attests to this horrific turn of affairs that I will dub “Whack Day ‘05”. Australia, you had a chance to prove yourself human, and you BLEW IT.

It heartens me however that Lefty Tim is destined for a career in guru-hood (check out some of his words of wisdom here), and that he is slowly but surely becoming the cosmic centre of the universe. I’m sure God will appreciate the irony of such a spiritual flower blossoming on the arid, snot-laden, spazzy front teeth littered, stupid hair and lack of ‘intellect’ soil that is Australia. God will recognise, and he will reward.

So, PREDICTION: 2005-2006. Lefty Tim starts a cult and is instantly joined by flocks of eager, panting, latte-sipping ladeez. Their chief purpose in life is to follow the precepts initially laid down by Tim’s papa, the main of which is: when in doubt, wear aluminium. Long-time loyal band “The Riot in Your Anus” create the soundtracks for this hippy commune (which is a space in your heart, rather than in reality), projecting their whimsical, message-laden ditties into the minds of followers and dissenters alike by sonic radar and/or pigeon carrier (if you live behind a tower).

The world becomes a happy place for the believers, while everyone else is forced to live on a diet of pimple jam and snot smoothies.

2005-08-09T00:12:00.000+10:00

"add Indie-cred knob" ( the REVERB)

this is a drawing of kate moss i did when i was in QLD. its nice to know my pen can still democratically disfigure even the prettiest of supermodels. mu-ha-ha.

today i went to my culture and sound class, and my tutor, the venerable martin harrison (he of falling off glasses and long, hard "a"s) said sound could be defined in the following way:

"atomic events located in multi-dimensional space"

he was borrowing someone elses quote. we all had fun imagining blinding white explosions of sound and reverberation. then, my brain wandered to the (necessary) contingent fall-out, the dusty white murder of small plants, the three-eyed mutants. Ahh, music, we sighed. Who will be the surviving cockroaches of todays music apocalypse. i dont like britney's chances anymore....maybe fiddy cent, and michael buble

on an unrelated point, i finally saw BATTLE ROYALE for the first time tonight. truly frightening. who brewed japanese people to be so weird? maybe they forgot to put the barley in....or something. that sugar capsule that makes you fizz. anyway, everyone knows im a raging Japophile with nothing but love. i kind of admire them for admitting that there is nothing heroic about having to kill all your classmates in a freak gameshow on an abandoned island. yes, good on them.

and yes, kate is meant to be a goat. It is part of my continuing She-GOat series. stay tuned.

.

2005-08-04T14:19:00.000+10:00

Splendour Bender

It’s been a few weeks now and mightier and more informed have commented about Splendour in the Grass, but nonetheless I’ll put my worthless, out-of-circulation 2 cents in (oh hell, make it 4… Im feeling generous!)

Festival Low-Lights

- The boy who peed on the stage. It wasn’t even nighttime but still this indie teen thought it was OK to unzip his supatubes, pull out his nu-nu, and have a right old slashe on a packed concert front row. Luckily he was surrounded by a bunch of grandmas (including yours truly) who booed and hissed at him until he was shamed out of the tent. Hurrah for the power of public censor (and the imminent threat of being hit in the head by a handbag).

- Other people’s underarm odour… aka the Curse of Being Barely 5ft Tall.

- Bloc Party throwing a frisbee round like pansies at the beach, while Chris Taylor from Today Today took happy snaps. Ok so that was more of a High-Light, but I just wanted to slip in that I saw the Bloc Party.

- Stupid people who tramp on YOUR feet and spill YOUR wine on YOU. I mean, ME. This incident resulted in me quite sincerely attempting to rumble the offender, with the rather unoriginal: “You better move on, before I HIT you!”. Luckily the crowd shifted before I had to make true on this threat. But really, I would of.

- Three letters: M-U-D. Then put them in reverse and you’ll get how I felt after making the decision to wear thongs and a skirt.

- Everyone from Sydney. Its like they/we think the whole world is the goddamned Gaslight.

- Katalyst’s Djing “skills”. If you had to portray his “skills” in a visual diorama, it would be like the scene from Napoleon Dynamite where Napoleon attempts to ride over a jump and instead plows right through it, ruining everything in sight. Normally I think Katalyst is “sweeeeeeet” – but “JEEZ!” – stopping a song half way through without any attempt at a mix is just, like, lame.

- Last but not least: Puking up banana bread and apple juice at Ballina airport. Damn you “spiked” UDLs, DAMN you.

That said, the rest of the festival was full of totally sickular stuff. I think I’m just bummin’ that I didn’t get a photo with Babylips from Bloc Party.

2005-02-08T17:12:00.000+11:00

im catching a metal bird home tomorrow! shiny golden land of aztec here i come! drinks at the clare fri 11th for japanese goodies and to see my new mullet (not really) and, one more thing (well, three) 1. no, i am NOT FRICKIN FLUENT. asking this question will put you on the naughty childrens list and santa kurozu (me) wont give you any of those aforementioned japanese goodies. 2. i do not own lots of crazy japanese clothes. i am very much unchanged, if not in fact more docile. 3. cant wait to see you all!!! jaaaaaaa, mata ne!~

2005-01-27T17:39:00.000+11:00

"Cuteness" and "Sickness"

At the end of each issue of CUTIE (a magazine for 'Independent Girls'), there is a comic called Ecstasy Caramel that I've become addicted to. In it, a four-eared rabbit called Kokoru is subjected to various iniquities at the hands of two jumpsuited cuties, Pyao and Marie-Lou. Pyao is addicted to sweets and Marie-Lou owns a gun that she uses to shoot apples. The artist is Chika Sugitani and if you've got time go check out her stuff here:

ecstasy caramel

2005-01-23T16:52:00.000+11:00

didn't believe me about the snow? (sunday ruminations)

I have yet to see diamond dust (never rising early enough to see those swathes of crystallised air, moving swampishly over frozen trees and icy horizons) but outside furafura (Hokkaido soft powder) is falling, so the air is speckled and glowing – its truly like being inside a snowdome. the icicles have melted from the gutters – and great whumffs of snow keep sporadically falling from the roof. One of the landlords has been working hard all morning to clear the front pass – it is now completely flat, but who knows for how long. the world is bright and wide open. clouds flare nimbus-like above our craterous days. everything is electric – everybody connected in a great web of static-laden electrodes. i sit in my apartment, drink tea and battle with foucault.

home in 18 days.

2005-01-17T21:37:00.000+11:00

i can derelicte my own balls.!

there is nothing funnier than pretending to be a model when you are a measley 160cm tall, sort of frumpy, have a weird squishy cartilage nose, and are obviously en route to drinking yourself to an early grave (see: old hag eyes, alcohol stained teeth, distendous beer gut and cheap clothes purchased as a means of saving more valuable beer coins) ... furthermore, a model at a bridal shoot , when you have probably as much chance of being involved in a wedding ceremony as an aetheist lesbian dwarf from Utah - or maybe less. (see above)

Ok so its not all that bad. But really, I am very obviously not a model. Still, yesterday found me spending 16 straight hours at the Sapporo Grand Hotel, sashaying about in an ill-fitting black satin dress, barely recognisable beneath my sand-castles of make up, and undergoing a total of 5 hairstyle changes. Take that Linda Evangelista.

I was accompanied by the following motley characters: a 12 year Russian girl who could only speak Japanese (who towered over me yet conversely gave the impression of a mouse), a middleaged red faced windsurfer from Hawaii who had earrings you had to take out with a wrench, two Japanese girls whose dresses had to be clipped together with big industrial size office clips their bodies were so tiny, an Aussie girl wearing a purple monstrosity who was henceforth referred to as "the blueberry", an affable Italian/German man studying at the port of Otaru, and a pointy-faced "professional model" from Norway who was shocked to have the Blueberry respond to her in this way:

model: "oh, this wig must look terrrrrible on me! i haven't seen it yet!" (fishing)

blueberry: "its probably best you don't" (lopping that tall poppy right off at its proverbial head)

despite the fact that they (the japanese bridal shoot ringleaders and ringleader lackies) gave us free bento boxes for lunch and dinner, remembered all our names and generously enquired about all our lives (even though they had had to get up at 7am on a Sunday too), and were all generally amicable little people running round trying to do their job....and, probably most importantly, despite the fact that we were all getting paid to sit on our asses and occasionally throw plastic rose petals -while they had to do all the work - us "models" all managed to complain at great length, yank and ruin our hairstyles, sneak off for parfait at crucial prepatory moments, and drink the "prop" champagne dry during the "cocktail scenes", thus turning what was meant to be a classy wedding shot into a drunken slag-fest.

it was like, even just pretending to be a model, meant that we could all psychologically enter in an elite utopia where tantrums were allowed and beds were not left for less than $10,000 a day... conveniently forgetting that only hours earlier we had all happily climbed out of our own cold futons for the promise of about $150 and some free tucker ...

No, no, that mattered not. We were models. We wore wigs. And we wanted a batch of ORANGE-MOCHA-FRAPPUCINOS - stat!!

2005-01-17T21:34:00.000+11:00

wig number two
from michael bolton to mariah carey, i ran the full gamut of quality mu-zak hairstyle icons

2004-12-24T17:11:00.000+11:00

This is the End, My Friends.

Well, I'd planned on writing about the many interesting things that happen in Japan round New Years time - like the mass symbolism of absolutely everything - 108 bell tolls for 108 earthly sins - soba noodles to promote long life - pink and white fish cakes a celebratory image - fish roe for those without children - the curved spinature of prawns longevity beyond the odds - rolled sweet egg a testimony to infinity ... But I can't really be bothered, do I think Im the Japanese semiotician from way back?, or should I own to being the misguided flaneur that I really am, stumbling through traditions and creating hats out of tin foil.? Well, ---?

Anyway, its been a year, 2004, like many others, distended, bilious, showering down snow upon unsuspecting australian ryugakuseis, and it meshes very nicely with 2005, the next year, which has an altogether nicer ring about it (now that I live in an Asian country and prefer odd numbers to even). It would be nice one year if there was a little break between the seemingly interminable procession of time - a "Happy No Year!" - a "Merry NothingWhatsoever!" - but then if that were to happen all sorts of involved symbolic systems would be thrown out of wack, such as those developed at the Greenwich meridian, in drunkards shiny eyeballs gazing upon fireworks, and in overly expensive Japanese meals laden with curved seaweed and impossibly long noodles. Cant have that can we.

So, till I see you all next, some in Tokyo over a cocktail of GunsNRoses and Fuzzy Navels, and others where its warm and everyone wears their hair free and rough - Happy Next Year, and until there is a No Year - Merry Christmas.

2004-11-25T18:27:00.000+11:00

Apparently Mothers Beat Gangrene

Well, whats this world coming to. "Mother" has been voted the most beautiful word in the English language (in a poll of 40 000 people in 102 countries), with grind and gangrene failing to even make the list. As far as concepts go, mother is surely a brilliant one, maybe even one of the best. But words, which are, after all, completely arbitrary (for instance 'mother' in Japanese is both haha [!] and okasan - neither of which are even slightly poetic, but however similarly convey all the important mothery messages) are quite different things, and a beautiful word should stand apart from its meaning.

For example other notables on the list included "lollipop at number 42, flip-flop (59), banana at 41, along with twinkle (23), hiccup (63), hodgepodge (64), whoops (56) and oi (61)." These words have an onomatopoeic panache that "mother" very sadly lacks - and their generally trivial meanings only add to their allure; like little snippets of random beauty that exist in the peripherary of every day life.

I know I've already mentioned words I hate (hubris, brocolli, and blog all coming together nicely in the menage-a-trois that is this homepage) but would like to give some credit to words that I love, of which there are many.

1. stoop
2. gawp
3. caution
4. absentee
5. entanglement
6. crux
7. quixotic

Feel free to add to this list - I'm sure it could be a long one.

2004-11-22T19:49:00.000+11:00

Some Knee Blood and a Swollen Shin Later

Well I got the drink I so badly needed. And then I got a few more. And then I fell down a flight of stairs. I blame the half bottle of Gilbeys Vodka I started the night with, as well as my new pair of Bon-Jovi groupie boots, and general inability to see important things in front of me when drunk, such as stairs, and cars, and angry yakuza men*.

Before all the falling, and body-damaging, I had some good times lolling about on a couch at the aptly titled Gaijin Bar (a den of mufah** foreigners and misdirected iniquity if ever I've seen one) drinking hisashiburi Coopers and taking licky sexually suggestive photos with cigarettes and beer bottle necks on my friend's keitai camera. At one point our couches were invaded by a bunch of touring Japanese high school teachers who introduced themselves by asking us to guess who was the biggest "STUD BOY" of the group (we guessed the music teacher... y'know, sex, drugs, and rock n roll? right?), and then dissolved into childish giggles (despite being, in the majority, upwards of 40 years old) when I told them I knew the word for pervert in Japanese (sukebe).

It was time high time to leave as soon as the Spanish mufah harbouring Gypsy King aspirations brought out the guitar and began an "impromptu" "Bombaley-eoo" rendition that he obviously "spontaneously" treated the crowd to every week. Of course, this instantly satisfied "Come to Japan Mufah Purpose Number One"; convince as many Japanese chicks as possible that you are not in fact a mufah; preferably resulting in them sitting round doe-eyed around you and feeding you peeled soba noodles. Oh, and don't forget to take lotsa photos and post them on the internet. But for the rest of us it reverse peristalis seemed like too serious a risk.

After briefly dallying with the idea of going to a "Mens Pub" called, rather ominously, Mafia ***(which even the door pimps, two cute little Japanese cabbage patch kids with wild woolly hair and miniature tuxedoes, agreed that maybe wasnt a good idea) we walked up the flights of stairs that I was later to fall spectacularly down, arriving at Locotonte, another gaijin-esque dive with its own form of currency and in-house swingset. Seeing as noone else was dancing (or even there), we decided to take over the dance floor, throw notes at the DJ with hastily scribbled requests along the lines of "ROKKU" (rock) and "krisu krosu" (Kris Kros), headbang with some Japanese rock punks wearing smiling skull t-shirts, and then pass out on the couch (well, I did anyway) while my friend picked up the Japanese Missy Elliot who had been putting the podium pole to good use all night.

And then there was the stack... which I am disappointed to say that not one of the smiling door staff came to help me up from, although maybe they thought I deserved it seeing as I'd been asking, nay, demanding double shots all night even though it was a nomihodai (all you can drink) system and therefore there wasn't any real need to rush.

The only conclusion I can draw from these experiences (assuming, of course, that one needs to be drawn...which is awfully persnickety if you ask me), is that learning Japanese is a dangerous pasttime, if it results in such brain-crippling leg-severing compulsions to drink. But really, theres no point pretending Id have it any other way.

*There is a related story, but until certain "bills" are paid off its probably safer if I dont tell it...
**mufah (n) ; the cosmopolitan bogan - a westie on foreign soils - the campbelltownian in cannes...
*** Will I never learn? (see *)

2004-11-18T17:44:00.000+11:00

Reasons I Haven't Been Updating My Blog

1. fear and loathing - minus the swamp lizards and mescaline.

2. a brain crunching, will-to-live squashing state of affairs otherwise known as "studying japanese". i need a drink, so, so bad right now.

3. yakitate fruit pie from Gusto. able to rejuvenate aforementioned squashed will-to-live. i love calories. and erratic eating patterns.

4. snow, in rapacious quantities, falling every-bloody-where, into every-bloody-thing, and onto every-bloody-one. snow is so lucky its white and thus seems innocent, when in actual fact it is a blatantly manifest message from the devil him(or her)self. if it were poo brown, or dentist green - well then it would obviously be spotted for the heretic it is, and torched on the spot. or at least everyone would do the clever thing and move to jamaica.

5. wearing wedding dresses is so hot right now. especially when youre being paid to do it. in a "one-stop-shop" church that cunningly combines all the important things about a wedding; frothy white dresses, stained glass windows, blonde timber and recessed halogen lighting... without any of that pesky "praying before a REAL god" business. photos and full catalogue on its way.

6. did i mention the japanese army? oh yeah, Ive been teaching 14 soldiers in full combat gear for the past two days. I was called ma'am. I was "hupped" to (or the japanese equivalent). I managed to get 14 grown men from the Japanese Air Force to use the word "Honey" in conversation with each other. No greater height in a teachers career could be reached, Im sure.

7. because NOBODY ACTUALLY READS IT - happy now nads?!

2004-11-02T18:43:00.000+11:00

An Ode to the WienerDog

The other day my excessivly erudite broccoli and I hired out a movie called Welcome to the Dollhouse . My broccoli was attracted to it's claim that "not all girls want to play with dolls" - as a young broccoli, frolicking in the garden patch, it often had to reiterate similar sentiments to the other girl broccolis, who could think of nothing better to do with their time than paint the ends of their immature flower panicles, and play "Gardeners and LawnMowerers" with dolls shaped out of dirt. My broccoli prefered to experiment with new and exicting vodka concoctions (the garden patch was next to a potato field) and listen to Heavy Soil music ... but then thats a story for another time.

A tale of a tragically uncool girl on the brink of that stinky, hair sprouting period of our lives otherwise known as "adolescence", Welcome to the Dollhouse had my broccoli and I alternately groaning with embarassment as Dawn Wiener (WienerDog) wore increasingly hideous outfits (including an all in one tracksuit with smiley faces on it), and rubbing our cheeks with glee as the world's cutest teenage relationship was started with the rather unusual "three o clock. meet me outside. I'm gonna rape you". the scene where Dawn tries to seduce the senior bad boy into a "finger fucking" session by playing the piano for him, very badly, was also a highlight.

not everyone (or everybroccoli) loved this movie - some claimed it was bleak, and distressing, and some actually even thought that Dawn's pukey little sister Missy was cute and petite and all things shiny.

But my broccolli and I were thoroughly impressed - we reckon uncool people ROCK and cool people SUCK. here here to all the wienerdogs across the world, in your floral crop tops, your bike pants, your trackie jumpsuits, and high ponytails... if you know, or are, a wienerdog and proud, please nominate yourself or the other lucky wiener, to go into my "WIENERDOG HALL OF FAME".

also, you can join the special people club here

2004-11-01T20:14:00.000+11:00

Things they don't tell you in the Lonely Planet (Part 1)

1. that it is possible to monitor how much fat you burn off while singing karaoke - after each song an oh-so-relevant "Calorie Off" score comes up...high scoring fat burners include "Bed of Roses" by Bon Jovi and "YMCA" by the Village People- and thats without counting the accompanying body actions. noone likes a "debu" (fattie) in Japan.

2. Japanese people can not drink. Alcohol that is. Anyone who tells you otherwise are either seventh day adventists or blind. however this has certain perks for those of us who can handle a beverage or two - they will very innocently hold all-you-can-drink bar opening parties, only to be shocked and no doubt dismayed when we (who shall remain anonymous) take them literally and drink the bar empty. well, you know, someones gotta do it.

3. people are actually HIRED and PAID MONEY to stand at the traffic lights and PRESS THE BUTTON for other people to cross. thats right, PRESS THE BUTTON. MONEY EJECTS. THE WORLD IS SAFE!

2004-10-28T19:48:00.000+10:00

hatsu yuki - the first snow

Oh bitterness of snows, That melt and disappear! Now do I understand, The meaning of a midnight dream, That lately broke my rest. A harbinger it was, Of Hatsuyuki's fate.
(EARLY SNOW) By KOPARU ZEMBŌ MOTOYASU(1453-1532).

sapporo has officially succumbed to the muffled dream of wintertime. its the time that the summer tyres come of the cars, the trees get bundled into protective cane triangles, girls slip and squeal in the mush, snow men appear infront of karaoke parlours. it strikes you how irreversible time is, when the seasons are so drastic; for the rest of my time in sapporo i
will not sit and eat corn and potatoes in Odori koen, or leave my window open, or wake up in the morning without wanting to sleep for longer...where its warm still.

further south in japan, the search continues for a 3 year old toddler trapped in a landslide caused by one of the earthquakes. news segments show the emergency crews lifting the body of her 2 year old brother from the rubble; miracolously he is unharmed even though they hadnt discovered the remains of the car until a few days after the quake. shots are shown of bridges bulging sideways like after a large meal, the reinforced concrete only barely sustaining the gut wrench of the earthquake. a shinkansen (bullet train) sways on its tracks comically (well, comical, because it wasnt actually moving at the time, and noone died), while the fluro-clad train track workers lurch about wildly, their cup-a\soups flying from their hands.

earthquakes are a bad idea in japan - these are people who are frightened to cross the road, much less deal with seismic disasters.

2004-10-28T19:33:00.000+10:00

I Stand (well, Sit) Corrected.

Since my little anti-blog tantrum, a dear friend has pulled me up for being the baby-slapping small animal hating* infidel that I am, and I am truly ashamed, after she said the following:

1. "as a writer it's good to have a kind of forum and something that can force you to write regularly (how did she know?!). And we really do want to know, do they eat horse ice-cream in Japan?!"

To that question, no I don't think they do, I certainly havent seen it at the local supermarket. But they DO eat raw horse meat, which is totally gross, culture shmulture.

*I do actually dislike small animals, and big ones too, but that really shouldnt be such a negative thing.

2004-10-19T19:30:00.000+10:00

i officially hate blogs. whose idea were they anyway? who is the original mr or ms blog? they need to really evaluate their actions and definitely from now on invent NO MORE TIME WASTING APPARATii. i think i had more fun playing online poker than i do now fiddling about with this stupid page which noone in their right mind should read. In fact, if you are reading this now, I advise that you quickly place the friendly little arrow on the friendly litte cross X box and henceforth cease all this blog madness. of course, im not saying that you stop reading blogs altogether. dont get me wrong. i love blogs. i love reading about all my friends lives and seeing photos of them drunk. i love hearing about my friends stalkers, and then - oh, the multimedia-ness of it all- being able to actually READ the same stalkers comments on aforementioned friends blog! i love hearing about peoples bad days, and seeing photos of them wearing clothes i wish i owned. i just wish that the whole WORLD didnt have to be caught up in this vast blog conspiracy, the new digital divide, the ultimate way to show someone that NO YOU ARE NOT INVITED TO MY BIRTHDAY PARTY. when did i become old and a luddite? Im only 23! yet i have no doubt that my grandfather could make more friends on the internet than i, as he definitely has more internet savvy, and probably has better things to say as well (this rant, of course, being an obvious example). so yes, i hate blogs. and yes, i love blogs (but only a little, and only when they are not my own, and require no effort at all.) even the word irks me. it is an ugly, clumsy word, like "hubris" and "brocolli". although i do love brocolli.
so, i see i have a conundrum. either abandon the modern world NOW, and hope that jane austen very quickly comes in fashion (in which case I will be well equipped).... or .... become much better at managing this unruly beast, and maybe invent a better name for it, too. like, "GRIND" or "GANGRENE" (a great word that was assigned to an unfortunate meaning).
i may or may not keep you posted (i think that YOU in the singular is quite safe here). if YOU have any suggestions for a better name, certainly post here, on this ________ * insert new name here.

2004-07-29T13:03:00.000+10:00

A good 50 minutes and much groaning and belly grabbing later, and the task was (well, pretty much) achieved (we decided to apply the Australian beer drinking rule of - no need to finish the dregs!). While I feel as if my life now has added meaning and nuance, and that I will never be able to look at green jelly cream the same way again, this exercise is certainly not recommended for the faint at heart.

2004-07-29T13:01:00.000+10:00

the sugar has gone to her head

2004-07-29T12:58:00.000+10:00

So it was not till 5.35pm of that same day that 9 intrepid parfait consumers set themselves to the task of eating bowl after bowl of various icecream flavours, sponge cake, mountains of cream, assorted fruit chunks, and indiscriminate jelly matter (in that order).

2004-07-29T12:56:00.000+10:00

The Parfait Challenge

At 4.30pm on Saturday the 24th of July, the largest parfait in Japan was ordered at a small cafe in downtown Odori. This parfait, which claims to be the largest, commands a not insubstantial 10 000 yen ($133.00) fee, and also takes up to an hour to prepare.

2004-07-22T16:12:00.000+10:00

here is Tomoe's panda whose name Ive forgotten but its something like "panda-ry" - anyway Naoki liked the vegemite (even added it to ham and scrambled eggs!) but Tomoe wasn't so sure

2004-07-22T16:09:00.000+10:00

went to tomoe's house last night and she and her boyfriend naoki tried vegemite and fairybread for the first time.

2004-07-22T15:54:00.000+10:00

The Amazing SuperChabon

When asked what he specifically contributed to the writing of the screenplay for Spiderman 2 , Michael Chabon has been known to cryptically answer "The [parts] you liked the best." Author of Pulitzer Prize winning novel (and personal favourite of mine) The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, as well as Wonderboys (which I haven' t read yet but doubt I'll like as much, being about that tedious male middle age crisis crap aka a professor-student affair, even if it is apparently satirical), I prefer to think that his style is apparent in the scenes involving the editor of the Daily Bugle, whose snappy repartee is pure comic book kitsch, and also the bits where Spidey allows himself the quiet lame jokes of "I'm back!...ow, my back!!" and "This...is...really...heavy.." - an obvious understatement, one could say, considering he was holding up half a building while also trying to look really manly in front of MJ.

But anyway point(s) is (are):

1. I really loved Spiderman 2.

2. Michael Chabon is a good writer. He loves Nabokov, too. Wise man. Except he is kind of weird looking, like maybe the kind of person who who would write for a Lonely Planet trekking guide. Hmmm.

2004-07-22T15:43:00.000+10:00

peep-su

sighted in their natural habitat, here

2004-07-21T14:21:00.000+10:00

Battle Raps

Whilst doing the mandatory reading required for my In-Country Studies project, I was interested to learn that Arabic oral verse poets also did battle raps. Here is an example:

Poet B:
I was going to respond to that one who said, "Climb
              up to the sky and see how far it is from sky
              to sky, by the road."
I was going to tell him, "Count for me all the things
              that are in the earth."
I will answer the poet, though he is crazy.
Tell me, how much oppression have we had, which will
              be punished in the hereafter?
Tell me how much grain is there in the world, that
              we can feast ourselves on?
Tell me, how much wood is there in the forest, that
              you can burn up?
Tell me, how many electricity bulbs are there, from west to east?
Tell me, how many teapots are filled with tea?

To which Poet A replied: (recognising a defeat when he saw one)

Give me the teapot.
I am going to bathe for prayer.
I have had enough of this party.

Here here.

Geertz 1983 Art as a Cultural System

2004-07-21T14:08:00.000+10:00

Anonymous Narrators

The thing that mainly annoyed me about the movie version of Breakfast at Tiffanys was not that the writer was turned into a pseudo-gigolo, 'kept'- by a snaky voiced woman in a turban, or even that Holly Golightly and he became a love item, which completely changes these characters dynamics and the untouchable mystery of Holly herself (but who can after all resist a little but of love in a story line) ... but no the main thing that ruined the story was that the male character was given a name (Paul, of all things), hence robbing the story of its anonymous narrator, pushing the reader, or in this case watcher, to the external of the story, a voyeur only, watching a parade of established lives in passing. In the book you can identify with the narrator ... seemingly implicit in the course of events, but really nameless, and powerless to the quicksand like pull of Hollys character ... havent we all felt like only observers in our own lives, as people who burn bigger and brighter twirl past?

I suspect most writers feel this way, and thus the compulsion to write. But while we can identify with this muteness, at least with an anonymous narrator the reader also has by extension an anonymous power ... that of recording and memorialising. Sure, its more difficult to do in a movie ... but they couldve have just avoided all mentions of his name, kept him to his phantom pseudonym, Freddy, Hollys brother, of whom the writer is the stand in substitute.

The best narration was in The Virgin Suicides (Jeff Eugenides) ... where not only is the narrators voice anonymous, but it is also speaking for a group of people (a pack of adolescent neighbourhood boys, enthralled with the mysterious suicides of five lovely sisters). What better way to acknowledge the inherently diffuse, unstable nature of the 'authoritive' voice. Of course some people find this frustrating. But really, if you think about it, most narration is group-formulated and anonymous - from government publications, Lonely Planet guides, ghost stories, religious mythologies, and recipes, to internet forums and the ever ubiquitous blog. Noone knows anything about anything but we all pretend as if we do.

Then theres my old favourite, the New Anchor Japanese-English Dictionary, which constantly diverts me and keeps me amused with its explanatory phrases, which are in fact useful maxims for day to day life:

It is said that the ebb and flow of the tide affects when babies are born.
I heard he had two thirds of his stomach taken out.
My wife's about to pop.
When it is all said and done, humans too are a kind of animal.
The retired sumo wrestler had his hair cut short.
It's because you're such a slowpoke that everything goes so slow.

2004-07-09T11:19:00.000+10:00

a trip to the beach

We drive through a land raped by car dealerships and gas stations. The new god is the car and the path it wends paid ultimate homage. The banality is stupefying. Yet people grow their lives there and “monstrous passions bloom” . Above the cardboard cut out city is the dense green mountain, matte with gnarliness and dark edges　– it almost seems as if its better to live where this wildness has been tamped down and rearranged into neat little squares of grass, or sprouts of weeds – at least the horrible deed of devastation has already been done, and you don’t feel as if you are living on borrowed time. Dream Beach is more of a Nightmare: like a trashheap from an apocolyptic futurescape – with kids frolicking amongst burnt out TV sets and discarded fireworks, mothers crouched amongst the rubble. A bad rap soundtrack blares over the speakers. A mean wind whippets the dirty escarpment – it really feels as if you are on the edge of the world, in a place that exists outside time. All of Japan’s dedication to meticulously manicured lawns, rock gardens and puritinically clean streets finds its ugly Dorian Gray reflection upon the shores of the beaches. Strangely, it seems the people renowned for their ‘kireizuki’ (hygiene obsession) fail to see the paradox. A young girl in a blow-up ringie is left to happily bob amongst the dirt streaked waves, old coke bottles replacing the marine life. A group of enthusiastic teenage boys take turns burying each other under the ash hued sand – when they emerged their eyes and teeth glow white.

Along the “beach” (which is more of a strip of sand, falling down onto rocks covered in a plastic mesh) bars sell beer and mysteriously expensive concoctions. Banana chairs are laid out, plastic whales grin their frozen muted smiles. The whole place seemed as if it has been banged together hastily, using old pieces of wood salvaged from backlots. All of the young people I know acknowledge that the beaches are very dirty (‘kitanai’) but until I got there I had no comprehension just what this meant. I had assumed that it would follow the same sort of pedantic ratio applied to all other areas of life, eg “have not dusted for a week+forgot to wash hands after using bathroom= incredibly dirty”. At my university, old men in matching khaki suits even manicure the lawns using little pairs of scissors. Before entering a shrine or temple, there is always a spot where you can can purify yourself using wooden ladles to wash your hands. Everything you buy is obsessively wrapped in plastic, so as not to risk the cross-germination of take away foods. Despite this the beaches are acknowledged as filthy, and weekend trips are still planned to them to hold picnics amongst the toxic refuse gardens.

I think only two things have truly given me culture shock in Japan – the inconceivably tiny size of the apartments, and the bizarre state of degradation that the beaches are left in. I henceforth have a mission - I'm going to "clean up australia" their ass, complete with a publicity blitz featuring B-grade celebrities and matching plastic gloves. If anyone with corporate sponsorship to throw around is reading this, please contact me at angela.a.bennetts@uts.edu.au

Although these don't do it justice, here is some visual proof...

2004-06-21T19:29:00.000+10:00

A Note To Interested Parties

I have decided to relish, nay wallow in, the uncoolness of my blog. Sure, some may argue this is not so much a matter of choice but rather a fundamental condition of being - but to these heretics I say "uzai!".

Some current points of interest:

Today is geshi, the summer solstice, and a time to sit in solitary contemplation with only a rose-scented candle for company (I say this because today this is what a nihonjin dudette told me, after giving me a rose-scented candle). I plan on contemplating what could possibly be the use of so many Summer hours, when such a thing so blatantly does not exist in Sapporo.

It is matsuri season. Last weekend Sapporo was seized by Yosakoi mania, as the young and old alike donned shiny outfits and sandbanks worth of sparkly makeup so as to bounce along the streets of Odori in a dancing spectacle that would put even the most energetic of Rock Eistedfodd performances to shame. It culminated, as all good things should, in indisputable famousity for those (as in, we) ridicolous gaijins on the stands who actually started dancing along.

The streets have begun to be filled with women in yukatas (a light summer kimono, usually with girly floral designs and big shiny bows) - young women who normally wouldnt be caught dead in anything other than diamante studded highheels and scary fake tans suddenly seem like humans again (although they still retain the carefully groomed hair and high pitched cries of girlish excitement to something as menial as a [cho-- kawaiiii!] dog unchi). During the Shinto Shrine Matsuri Nakajimakoen (a big, lush park with a gurgling green lake and poetic willow trees) was transformed into a scene from Spirited Away ...the lanterns from squid ball shops and fairy floss stands reflecting upon the water, as giggling couples rowed by in boats and families ate sausages on sticks. Young children left with tiny plastic bags of goldfish (I had to restrain one of the girls here from buying one, knowing that if I let her I would be an accomplice to fishslaughter)while others clutched big blow up Doraemon and Hello Kitty toys. Thanks to a birthday fortune stall, I left with the knowledge that my first child will be a girl, and that if I try hard for exams I will achieve good results! (key word being "if"). Unlike in Spirited Away, despite my voracious consumption of seafood, chocolate bananas, fairy floss, and toy lollies, I left in my original human form (slightly expanded) rather than as a pig. I'm not sure if all escaped this fate however.

Okonomayaki is good. Okonomayaki is a Japanese pancake thingy, garnished with tonkatsu sauce, mayonnaise, and fish flakey things. Please try it.

2004-06-21T19:26:00.000+10:00

an ode to skylark gusto

There once was a family diner in Japan called Skylark Gusto. It was sturdy of frame, placed with some appropriateness in a car park with little to distinguish it, in a suburb crouched upon the western tingly tips of a sprawling frozen city. A skylark is usually noted for its brownish plumage and ability to sing whilst in flight – and it is also possible, if such a boisterous mood beset you, to “skylark” around, perhaps even attempt to imitate the mid air harmonics from which the verb took its name. However it is likely these connotations did not survive the translation when our humble Skylark Gusto was born onto Japanese soil. For while it tries all it might, it is not possible to make bricks fly, and the only skylarking that is done with any gusto is that of the study weary student making their way to the all you can drink tea and coffee bar.

So, I hear you asking, what distinguished this Skylark Gusto from any other family diner foisted upon any other concrete wasteland? Or indeed this story from any other tale of boredom? Not much really – but as it has become my habit to frequent this particular diner not once a fortnight, or even once a week – but rather once a day (and usually for up to six hours at a time) – I have been forced to come to some conclusions about Japanese society at large.

1. There is a scary frequency of robots masquerading as humans. This becomes immediately apparent as soon as one arrives in Japan . Only a robot would be capable of the high pitched screams and frantic, mouth frothing “happiness” that characterises the service industry here. At Gusto, my favourite robot also helps us unravel curly kanji problems and plans on being an elementary school teacher. (And he wears an apron and brings me chocolate ice cream. What more could you want from a robot?)

2. The Japanese youth are connoisseurs of boredom. Anything, it seems, is better than being at home (unless you have a computer game/friend/DVD/photo album to peruse). At Gusto hours will pass as if we exist in a vacuum, punctuated only by alternations in tea/cocoa/tea choices and by changes in baseball games on the big television screen.

3. There is no way the economy could be sustained if any more gaijins moved here. Our voracious raping of all hodai systems would put an end to the honest, upright system of taking what you need, rather that all that you possibly can, for as long as you can. Since our debut in Sapporo , certain nomi-hodais around town have begun to institute rules such as “drink your damned drink first before you order 3 more, you cheapskate” and “keep it down with the raucousness, yo?”. At Gusto the drinks are completely innocent, and thus our attraction to them the weaker, however that will not stop us (and associated Japanese friends, who naturally bask in all the freedom that having a gaijin friend entails) from taking over one side of restaurant for hours on end while only paying \200 each ($2.50) for endless drinks and ice cream. Where’s the justice?

2004-05-14T16:20:00.000+10:00

Technical Difficulties (insert screen of static here)

Well as you can see I have taken the pimple metaphor to a whole new level of spottiness. However, there are still some tiny little bolts to apply my wrench to, as well as some screens to bang and on/off buttons to push. All the hallmarks of a technically advanced human android. Much as I THINK I am a robot however, I still seem to get those hunger pangs that drive grown men to slobbering piles of ... slobberiness - and so must leave such things to another day.

So saying, I would like to introduce a new chapter to the visual files - "A Weekend Spent (and I use this word in both meanings of the term) in Tokyo with only a Karaoke Related Graze and a Bunch of Photos (and some red heels)--oh, and some great memories-- to Show for It"

I hope you all like them. I have a whole nother group from when I spent a day at this huge, intensely cool design/art/performance expo at Tokyo Big Sight (put on by DESIGN FESTA) but I am saving those for when I have an entire profile put together.

Love and Soybeans,

"RARA"

<$BlogItemCommentCount$> comments

2004-04-27T12:54:00.000+10:00

Last Friday night I went to the baseball! It was such fun and I have no idea why. I think the six pack we snuck in with, the constant barrage of pep-em-up music, and the theatrics of the players and mascots all added to the excitement.

baseball - my new obsession

2004-04-26T19:51:00.000+10:00

Hmmm...i'm obsessed with the photo album thing now. But here are a few more.... Apparently Im getting kicked off the photo album place soon so I thought I should put them up while I could!

nomi-ho-dai

2004-04-26T17:20:00.000+10:00

Ok, having recovered from temporary bout of laziness/ludditeness (well, I shouldnt pretend the "laziness" thing is a temporary condition, but anyway) - here are easier links to my photos on:

the zoo

americana

More to come under "my newly formed obsession with baseball" (closely linked to above mentioned "americana" strand)

cheerio good lads!

2004-04-26T13:47:00.000+10:00

On Saturday I went to Maruyama Zoo with my photography group. The day was mercilessly cold and unpleasant. The zoo was almost deserted - while one of the nation's largest, only a few families were dotted about the place, the animals werehuddling against the cold, the rollercoaster and giant tea cup rides idling by unused. It felt like a ghost town - a feeling reinforced by the depressing conditions that a lot of the animals live in (particularly the "tropical animals - all of them squished into this pavilion that smelt awful - not a tree or fake Sahara in sight). I hate zoos.

www.pixagogo.com/3171285131

2004-04-26T13:25:00.000+10:00

'morning sweet urchins! i have been shown how to make a link - but really the effort seems too drastic at this time of the morning (which I suppose, more accurately, is 12.30 in the afternoon).
href="http://www.pixagogo.com/2179285971">
here are some more photos, conveniently organised into folders. life passes.

2004-04-21T19:22:00.000+10:00

or not...

2004-04-21T19:21:00.000+10:00

right, apparently you can make that clickable...for all the lazy fingers out there -

2004-04-21T19:15:00.000+10:00

PHOTOS HAVE NOW BEEN UPLOADED!! only took me ...what, six whole hours!! stupid installation program being in Japanese!!

http://www.pixagogo.com/1127135146

2004-04-20T11:53:00.000+10:00

a day at the snow ! (the other, non street dwelling snow that is)

and here i will attempt to crick my arm into the position of "typing" despite the all- over muscle twinge effect this causes, not to mention the difficulty I have in seeing the screen after the brightness of the snow burning my retinas...

well thanks to the kindness of Japanese strangers on Sunday i woke up at a hellish hour, dragged my (at that point, unbruised) ass out of bed, and caught a bus to meet Yuya (well, the stranger has a name Ill admit), a dude from Kyushu who after two classes together had decided to show us undeserved kindness in the form of a snowboarding trip. The morning was fresh and bright, young children in brightly coloured tracksuits jumping about with excitement out the front of the local indoor swimming pool. Yuya came strolling up the hill with not one but FOUR snowboards (one for each of us!!) - not to mention the goggles, gloves, and cool armband thingos that were all necessary in completing our outfits. we snuck our way onto the subway after a cranky brown pants suit wearing bureaucrat (such people lurk everywhere in Japan) tried to tell us naked snowboards were unsafe (never know, you might pierce an eye with that...round, smooth edge) and ended up at the end of the line where we to catch our bus from to Kokusai Snow Fields - and just so you have an idea how far in the sticks I actually am, this end of town practically farmland area was only two stops from where i live. after an easy one hour bus trip past steaming hot springs,　colourful carp floating in the breeze, frozen dams and mountains covered with spindly firs (even the mountains here look sort of lego-like - an impression quickly remedied once youve slid down one on your ass for 3.6 km) we arrived at Kokusai . having waterproofed all possible areas of ourselves, and taken the prerequisite group photos that complete every Japanese experience, we went up in a little orange cable car to the top of the mountain, fluro snowboards in hand, (me, at least) looking down nervously at the incredibly steep bumpy looking terrain .

aleisha and i hadnt snowboarded before so once we got to the top the hilarious "snowboarding lessons" began - edwin and yuya fancying themselves professionals (and well, compared to us, they could have won an olympic gold medal thrice over), it took us literally an hour to go about 150 m!! while i could slide on my bum for a while with some adeptness, when yuya tried to start teaching me how to do these techy turns (where you have to face BACKWARDS! dont they know thats against the law of physics..and humanity) i had a massive stack, slammed against my cocsix (or however you spell it), lay on the ground howling for a while, and then politely tried to let Yuya go on by himself because man he was an optimistic sensei! the rate we were going there was no way i was getting to the bottom of the mountain without a broken something. the dudes quite happily abandoned their "lesson" and aleisha and i were left to fend for ourselves, while pro-snowboarding dudes whizzed past in sumo wrestler, dog, and spotty cow outfits. the insanity of japanese youth does not end.

and...3 hours later we made it to the bottom of the mountain! i tried all sorts of tricks to improve my style, the most succesful of which seemed to be pretending that i was a surfer who had to hang ten ( i must have looked like such an idiot). at the diner area, waiters in crisp white shirts and little black caps administered little icy cups of Sapporo beer, while families and groups of snow-tanned dudes and dudettes sat around little teppanyaki bbqs frying up their own meat and veges.

from the top of mountain you could see through the milky opaque haze of reflected snow light to the coast of Hokkaido and the Sea of Japan. when i saw this different horizon it finally came home - I really am in Japan!!

2004-04-19T16:15:00.000+10:00

brief snapshot (from last week)
well. What a shocking specimen of humanity I am!! (if such things can be judged by lax blog behaviour). Time to shake myself from my cold climate/hangover/laziness/gas heater induced torpor and do something. And so it goes...
Location: Computer Lab 2204 on the 2nd floor of building... something or rather (the squat one with a surly face on the left). Only sound around is the gung ho typing of all the gaijins (the Japanese students pitter patter at their keyboards politely), and a consistent low shhuushh from the air conditioner. Outside the same air bites cruelly at the pink cheeks of school children and old men, as they attempt to navigate the few remaining crags of snow and ice on the roads. Almost frighteningly close (at times you feel as if you could just stretch a little further than usual and touch them) are Sapporo's mountains, frosted with snow, cast icy blue against the fading light of day.
Time: Approximately 35 minutes since I embarrassed myself during a Japanese speaking exam (agreeing with everything the teacher says does not a conversationalist make!).
Life Status: Woeful! I have developed the most uncanny resemblance to an under achiever... All I need is a beer gut (check!), mullet, pasty complexion and over worked thumb and bob's your uncle.

2004-02-09T00:34:00.000+11:00

hello everyone and welcome to lala's blog of punk goodness. to find out what that means, email lala and ask her. no really, the point is that you can follow lala's every triumph on her Japanese oddessy by tuning in right here. she loves your guts, so come on back here often kiddies! moshi moshi!

- elmo (a punk.)