SomewhatAtlanticPacific

Misspent youth

2006-05-13T01:03:00.000-07:00

From V., a rather unfortunate video summarizing the dance crazes of our misspent youth.

Flied Lice

2006-05-13T00:51:00.000-07:00

Fried Rice (or cha-han) is perfect for Saturday lunch, when you’ve had a lazy morning, haven’t done the shopping yet, and fridge is almost empty except for some left over rice, some limp green stuff, half a red pepper, mushrooms that need eating and some eggs. The rice should ideally be made the day before. Making Cha-han with freshly made rice just seems wrong—like making French toast out a freshly baked loaf of bread.

The recipe below is by portion, but it tastes best if made in portions of two to four. I measure a portion as a bowl of rice. A wok works best, but a large sturdy flying pan is just as good. This is a forgiving recipe—it generally works with just about any combination of ingredients. One tip: the secret ingredient is lots of coarsely ground black pepper—it gives the rice a lovely kick.

Per portion
1 portion rice (maybe a cup)—brown rice, mixed rice, white rice—it’s all good.
An equal sized potion of greens, such as napa cabbage, bok choi, scallion greens , broccoli rabe,
1/2 a portion of supplemental vegetables, such as mushrooms, water chestnuts, peppers, baby corn, julienned carrots, snow peas, bean sprouts or any combination of the above.
1/2 portion of chopped meat (left over chicken, bacon, sausage, steak), tofu, or seafood
1 T sesame oil
1 t sake (or dry sherry)
1 clove garlic
1 egg
Black pepper
1 t Soy sauce
1/2 t Hon dashi or powdered bullion (or smash a cube) or Nampla (fermented Thai fish sauce)

Place half the oil in the pan. In medium heat, sauté garlic (do not burn) and then add greens and vegetables. If meat or tofu is uncooked, add it now. If over cooking is an issue (such as shrimp or delicate thin slices of meat) don’t be afraid to remove stuff from the pan when it finishes cooking. When vegetables have gone limp and are almost fully cooked, remove vegetables from heat and place on plate.

Beat eggs with sake and set aside.
Add the rest of the oil in the pan, and heat to just below its burn temperature. In a thin layer, place rice in oil, and then immediately reduce heat to medium. Toss rice in oil until each grain is heated through and has a shiny gloss. If your rice is very wet, you may need to add more oil. Sprinkle bullion cube, lots of black pepper (one or two more shakes than you think you should is about right) and toss once more.

Form a well in the center of the rice. Reduce heat to medium low—the level of heat that you would scramble eggs in. Dump eggs in the center, count to ten slowly, and then start collapsing the sides of the well into the center. The egg should coat the rice and be spread evenly through the entire dish. When not quite cooked, add back the vegetables and meat (if meat was pre-cooked, add it now). At the last minute just before removing the pan from the heat, add soy sauce, and serve.

A note on soy sauce: You may have noticed that soy sauce is added at the very end. That’s because soy sauce, which seems as sturdy and industrial as ketchup, is actually quite a delicate animal. Soy sauce is a lot like wine or balsamic vinegar: not all soy sauces are created equal and too much heat destroys the complicated aromas. If you add good quality soy sauce to a hot dish right before serving, the aroma grows from its cold salty pucker to a warm tawny scent that complements food perfectly.

Funnies

2006-03-25T12:23:00.000-08:00

Real Life Simpsons (Courtesy of the Rose of Academe) and Trunk Monkey (Courtesy of the Doctor of Prague). . .

What's odd is that the Real Life Simpsons is clearly filmed in the UK-- how do we know that? Maybe because "Homer" is no where near as fat enough?

2 weeks on the road: Various

2006-03-12T00:29:00.000-08:00

24 hours in Boston, 10 hours in Atlanta (note spring flowers), 1 night in Montreal (snow), and 24 hours in Toronto (less snow).

2 weeks on the road III: New York

2006-03-12T00:23:00.000-08:00

Puffbutt and Elvis, the uber cool Park Slope cats. . .

2 weeks on the road II: Dublin

2006-03-12T00:18:00.000-08:00

The national drink. . .and Trinty College Dublin. . .

2 weeks on the road

2006-03-12T00:04:00.000-08:00

London--I had lunch in the tip of the "Erotic Gherkin" as 30 St Mary Axe is affectionately called. . .

Flowers in Holland. . .not tulips but still pretty. . .

Work Life Balance

2006-02-03T04:58:00.000-08:00

In trying to acheive work-balance, I hit a new low this week. Worked to midnight. Got up at 3:45AM to catch a 4:15 cab to work to log in 20 hours at the office. And I'm still behind schedule!

Being overworked is like being hungover without the fun beforehand. I want greasy food, quiet, and want to spend the day in bed. But it ain't happening folks. . .

Japanese snowmen have two balls. . .

2006-01-21T16:34:00.000-08:00

. . .while American ones have three! M. and I made one on my veranda during one of the rare Tokyo snowfalls. . .

JibJab

2006-01-19T05:25:00.000-08:00

Some very well done political humor, courtesy of V.

Parasite couples

2006-01-15T14:40:00.000-08:00

Himself and I have decided we are becoming frumpy before our time. We read, we write, we watch TV-- in short, we spend way too much time in our heads and in our apartment. So we decided, work constraints allowing, we would go to a museum or exhibit once a week-- and take advantage of some of what Tokyo has to offer.

Kicking off our new resolve, Himself and I visited the The Meguro Parasitological Museum (Kiseichu Hakubutsukan) on Saturday with our friend M. The Museum claims to be the only museum in the world dedicated to parasites-- and indeed we saw many, jar upon jar. The highlight of the small museum (it consists of 3 medium rooms) is an 8.8 meter tape worm (found in the flesh of trout) taken out of the gut of an unfortunate man; indeed, it did make one want to wash.

I was oddly (!) fascinated by the photos of patients with filariasis, a disease caused by the parasitic worms Wuchereria bancrofti. In particular, one of the symptoms is elephantiasis, swelling of the limbs or genitals. Hmmm.

For some reason, the museum is a popular destination for dating Japanese couples-- I suspect that's largely because the museum is free (or as M. says, in his Kentucky venacular, "a place you can take yer date for a peach and a frog"). The museum capitalizes on this, and the official mascot is the butterfly shaped Futagomushi ("twinned bugs"-- I haven't a clue what it is in English or Latin)-- hermaphroditic bugs that mate for life--you could buy all sorts of "futagomushi" gear to commemorate the trip. Sure enough, we saw a couple, wandering hand in hand as they gazed at diseased organs.

The inner geek in all of us

2006-01-11T04:10:00.000-08:00

Himself and I over the weekend had one of these shameful conversations.

Who are your favorite Star Trek captains? (that is, from the major series-- no trivia comments on minor characters as captains please). Mine, in order of preference, are Jean Luc Picard, Benjamin Sisco, Kirk, Archer, and Janeway. No one likes Janeway, I think.

And what is this about George Takei joining Howard Stern's radio show?

To celebrate my shame, I offer in penance a video clip sent to me by V.-- a Jean Luc Picard music video. (You'll have to wade through a few commericals, but it's there.) Clearly somebody had too much Jean Luc on the mind.

Old money

2006-01-10T20:59:00.000-08:00

Today I went to the wake of an old family friend-- he died at 101 years old (and was still spry enough at 100 to write a book and go skiing) so while it's terribly sad, he lived and amazing and full life.

I've never been to Japanese wake (otsuya) before, so I asked my assistant and a colleague at work to help me with the obituary money etiquette. You have to get the right envelope with the right label (it's usually white and green). Pre-cremation, it should say one thing, post cremation something else. There must be an odd number of bills. The bills must face a certain way. The writing must be thin, not thick.

As I was putting the money in the envelope, my assistant stopped me as I was putting in new bills. They must be old bills, she said. So we took the money out and wrinkled them until they looked old.

Dumbstick

2006-01-10T04:48:00.000-08:00

When Japanese men have to form a chauvinist's club --The Zenkoku Teishu Kanpaku Kyokai (National Male Chauvinists Association , or literally, the All Japan Dominating Husband Ruler Association), one could take it as a sign that chauvinists have become an endangered species. Save the Whales! Save the Spotted Owl! Save the Cranky Middle-aged Curmudeon!

On the other hand, Prince Tomohito is (again) urging a government panel to reconsider its proposal to resolve an Imperial succession crisis by letting females reign. His previous pearl of wisdom last September on this matter was that emperors should be allowed to have concubines in order to produce a male heir.

I never got this male heir obsession among the royalist set. If you really wanted to guarantee with certainty royal blood in the infant, shouldn't the line be matrilineal? Especially in the pre-DNA test days, you could guarantee you have identified the mother properly, but it's a lot harder to identify the father. . .

Winter in Tokyo

2006-01-09T04:10:00.000-08:00

Winter blooming camellias braving the unseasonably cold weather in Tokyo.

Fie on you Blogspam!

2006-01-08T16:16:00.000-08:00

I think the New Big Evil is Blogspam.

Meat

2006-01-06T04:25:00.000-08:00

Kent's blog on BBQ sent me off on a reverie on meaty writing. I am a carnivore and while I feel I should be a vegetarian, it's simply not possible.

1) Calvin Trillan, The Tummy Trilogy-- a chapter dedicated to pulled BBQ
2) Fannie Flag, Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle stop Cafe--Pork BBQ, of sorts, features in it
3) Jeffrey Steingarten-- when ever I feel down, I read Jeffrey Steingarten, as it's impossible not to laugh at his single minded obsessiveness about food. This guy even beats Kent in the lengths he will go to for a good meal (including nearly setting fire to his kitchen to get his oven past 700 degrees by breaking the thermistor). I forget which book (It Must Have been Something I Ate, and The Man who Ate Everything ) has a chapter on dry aging meat, which he tries to do at home, in the back of his fridge. Really.

Mangez. . .

2006-01-05T04:13:00.000-08:00

My friend Kent and his lovely wife Oanh are first class gourmands-- and they have started a blog dedicated to my and their favorite subject, eating. I particularly liked their recent entry on Pho-- which made me hungry at 9AM. Their entry on proper BBQ in Boston (What about that place in next to Jae's in Sommerville? You know, the one with the plastic Elvis head in the window?) reminded me of the melt-in-your-mouth-good slow barbecued pork I once had outside the State Penitentiary near Atlanta (with what seemed like half the police officers in the county). But I digress.

It's still a new blog but Kent is clever writer with a nearly infinite capacity for food, so I'm sure good things are in store.

I consider Kent to be one of my oldest and best comrade in the eating troughs. Kent and I used to spend many a happy hour obsessing over exactly how each dimsum dish should be served, and what to ask for off menu in Chinatown in Boston. And he really and trully gets my Real Ramen obsession (he didn't laugh when I told him I had a ramen guide to Tokyo). For Kent and Oanh's wedding, I sent them cookware. I keep hoping that they plan to come on an eating tour of Tokyo, in which plan to sacrifice myself and volunteer to be their gastro guide.

And on a related note, after this holiday season's excess, I'm back to bloody Weight Watchers. Yeah, I know. Buzzkill.

Bags of Happy

2006-01-02T16:59:00.000-08:00

This morning my friend M. and I went to the New Year's sales. While Dec 26 is the most active post holiday shopping day in the US (and a civilized holiday in the UK), January 2 is The Big Sale day in Japan. In particular, people buy fukubukuro, which is translated as Lucky bags, but should be strictly translated as "Bags of happy."

Various shops will fill up bags with stuff and seal them-- and sell them for a fraction of the price. You don't know what you are going to get, so it's a bit of lottery. So you play the odds by choosing a designer you like. Fukubukuro used to be sad things for children, but with the recession and the excess inventory, both the quantity and quality have improved (I calculated a 7 to 1 price performance ratio). And now adults (like M. and me) play as well. . .

M. and I waited for an hour in the cold at the Odakyu department store in Shinjuku with what seemed like the rest of the female population of Tokyo. When the doors opened, there was pushing and shoving as we raced up 3 flights of escalators to the fourth floor. Normally painfully correct Japanese ladies elbowed and shoved to get a hold of a lucky bag in a fit of consumer frenzy. Sales people shout encouragment while others (without much success), tell people not to run in the store.

My haul was OK. But it was fun nonetheless and worth doing once.

Hatsumode

2006-01-01T16:42:00.000-08:00

Himself and I went to our local temple Myohoji (Buddhist) and out local shrine Omiya Hachiman (Shinto) in order to wish for a good year. We figured we would cover our bases. I think we mainly go for the omatsuri (festival) food-- noodles, meat on a stick, amazake, Turkish Donner Kebab etc.

The PA system at Myohoji: "Happy New year folks. Please watch your belongings. You know, people get really tired waiting in line, and get real forgetful. Last night some one forgot their dog, which is really bad, as it's the year of the dog. We found the owners though, so no worries there. . ."

It seemed that everyone brought their dog to hatsumode, as it is the year of the dog.

The gods take cash

2005-12-31T15:00:00.000-08:00

The morning (New Year's Eve) Himself and I took a walk to our neighborhood temple, Myohoji. The vendors were getting ready for the New Year's crush at midnight when everyone goes to temple to pray for a good year. We'll go tomorrow as well-- I like the amazake (sweet fermented sake leys) that the vendors sell and the bonhomie ain't bad as well. It's not so much a religious thing and more ritual, but we tend to go to a temple or a shrine at New Years if we are in town. It just feels right.

Himself, A Good but Lapsed Catholic, prays at the temple as well-- it's practically a secular thing. The drill is simple. Purify yourself by washing your hands. Ring the gong (or if at a shrine, clap your hands three times), throw your money in the offering box (it always makes a satisfing clatter), then pray.

Yet, when we went to pray, I realized I didn't have any coins on me. Which put me in a panic. It just seemed wrong to ask for something from the gods without paying . At times, I think I'm more Japanese than I think. But Himself had coins in his pocket, so all was well.

Millenario

2005-12-30T18:29:00.000-08:00

On Monday Himself and I went to Millenario which are lights set up on Naka-dori by Tokyo station. It's an installation of lit up gates (if you can call it that, Christo it is not) for the holiday season and attracts plenty of viewers. However, due to the planned construction around Tokyo station, the lights will not go up next year. So, we and just about everyone else decided to have a look-see. This involved waiting in line with several thousand other Tokyo-ites.

After the long wait, we got to the gates, to which, Himself commented, "That's it? A bunch of lights?" Of course Madison Square Garden is simply "a bunch of lights on an overgrown evergreen. . ."

The money shot

2005-12-30T18:25:00.000-08:00

A picture is worth a thousand words

Indulge me once more. . .

2005-12-30T17:42:00.000-08:00

More holiday snaps

2005-12-30T17:27:00.000-08:00

Holiday snaps

2005-12-30T17:15:00.000-08:00

Here's a hyena in his bath. I think he looks like a middle-aged ojisan (man) in at the onsen. Except, that is, for the fact that he's a hyena, and he's in a mud hole in the middle of nowhere in Bostwana.

Another shot at this...

2005-12-30T17:02:00.000-08:00

I've decided to blog again. . .I stopped blogging for a while as everything that was remotely interesting in my life revolved around work--and I just can't blog about that (sorry). But I'm still at The Job--which is fine until I am re-incarnated as one of the rich and powerful (i.e. not in this lifetime). And I took up running, which ate into my 4:45-5:45AM free time.

But unfortunately, sometimes the ONLY way I keep in touch with friends is through this blog, so I've decided to resurrect it-- let's face it, I'm a lousy correspondent.

While on hiatus:
--Himself returned to the Motherland (that's Japan)
--Himself continues to act like a perfect husband...humph!
--Had a lovely early Thanksgiving with Himself and others
--Traveled through out Asia hawking my wares
--Got lots of elective shots-- rabies, polio, hepatitis-- you name it!
--Went to S. Africa, Zambia, Zimbabwe, and Botswana (does wandering into Namimbian waters count?)
--Got killer shots of a leopard climbing a tree
--Watched a lion pee on his back
--Listened to a whole herd of flatulent zebras
Watched wild dogs disembowel an impala
--Saw an enormous herd of elephants cross a plain
--Had ostrich for Thanksgiving dinner in Zimbabwe
--Argued with Tokyo customs officials that an ostrich egg shell is not a violation of CITES (and refrained from reminding sed official on Japan's record of illegal ivory imports)
--Got sucked into this stupid scrapbooking thing-- call me a Desperate Housewife
--Watched an entire season of 24 in 30 hours over Christmas (ugh! Too much TV)
--Spent Christmas in Tokyo with Himself-- realized that we were not in Kansas anymore when on Christmas morning, turned on cable to that crowd pleasing Jesus snuff film, The Passion of the Christ. . .
--Read lots of "lite fiction"-- Alexander McCall Smith comes to mind.
--Didn't write nearly enough, didn't work hard enough
--Did an e-interview
--Shocked and surprised that Jessica Simpson and Nick are breaking up. . .just kidding.

Nutrition

2005-07-14T05:31:00.000-07:00

Hmmm. . .Weight watcher's recipe cards from 1974-- clearly the height of American Culinary culture.

Total frivol

2005-07-09T09:41:00.000-07:00

One should never talk about dieting in polite company, but. . .

I made my goal weight today. In total, I lost 39 pounds (some of the excess was from meds while I was sick-- hello moon face!), which is quite a bit for somone who is 5'2. Over the last eight weeks I lost ten pounds. I am now below 120, which I call "virgin territory."

I'm planning to explore losing another five for running purposes. Maybe. Hurrah!

Alvin

2005-07-09T05:46:00.000-07:00

Again, on the Bryson book. . .

I was chuffed to see that the DSV Alvin makes an appearance in Bryson's book. . .my father (the aforemention parent who scarred me for life with this science stuff) has done a number of dives to the bottom of the sea on the thing. In fact, I think I can remember when its mother ship Lulu was decomissioned. Or something. . .

One the stories dad told me about the Alvin was that the air gets awfully stuffy. If you fart, everyone smells it for the whole trip (I suspect things have improved since then). One the scientists (not on his dive) got the runs, and apprarently it got pretty gross. . .and then he got stuck in the hatch as he was overweight.

Secret terrors

2005-07-08T05:34:00.000-07:00

Every one has a secret irrational terror. You know, childhood boogeymen. And generally we out grow them. But we all have them.

My friend D. has a secret fear of hell. She grew up with very Catholic grandparents that constantly threatened her with eternal damnation if she didn't clean her room. One of my exes had a secret fear of aliens hiding in the closest. Another has this quaintly old fashioned fear of vampires peaking out behind the shower curtain. Himself, I think, has vague disembodied dread.

I have had a life long of fear of the sun being blotted out. And lava. And like every other irrational fear, I can blame this one on my parents.

My father is a scientist. And as a child, instead of telling me stories about wolves who eat grandmothers, he told me a stories about white dwarves, red giants, collapsing stars, asteroid impacts ("Far more likely than you think" and "causes mass extinction around the world.").

As a result, I used have nightmares about the death of our sun-- first it would slowly expand, growing in size, and all life on earth would slowly die, then the sun would swallow the earth. Then it would collapse. Or I would imagine an asteroid slamming into earth ("A fairly small asteroid could take out a our town, then it raise a cloud of dust and blot out the sun, much like a nuclear winter." "Near misses happen more often than you think. In fact, Dr. X was telling me. . ."). Or the earth's crust would suddenly break, and lava would spurt through the air.

As I child I saw the animated version of Lord of the Rings, and the final scene of lava and destruction terrorized me. After seeing the movie, I went through period in which I couldn't sleep. I used dream of lava chasing me down the street.

But now I am an adult so I've put silly stories behind me. My fears are irrational, and statistically insignificant.

Then I read Bryson's book (see below) which talks about these EXACT SAME ISSUES. And treats them seriously.

That night I dreamed of lava. . .

From the mouth of babes

2005-06-27T21:45:00.000-07:00

M. sent me some links with anti-Japanese drawings by Korean school children. I have no idea if they are for real, but if they are, clearly we have reached another high point in relations.

While Japan clearly has much to answer for, I really don't think that this is the way forward.

Clearly Nirvana is not yet near

2005-06-27T05:43:00.000-07:00

In the morning, when I first wake up , I try to meditate.

Actually meditate is probably the wrong word for it-- it's far to grand. I breathe ten times-- and try to concentrate on my breathing. Any thoughts I have along the way, I try to let go and float away.

I was once told by a monk that you should imagine your head as a train station. Trains come and go, but you don't need to get on every single one.

Well, my mind on Monday morning is like Tokyo Station at rush hour, and I'm getting on every bullet train in the station.

This morning I tried something that I read about on OntheFace, who has some serious reasons for her unquiet mind. Start counting to ten, she says, but when you feel another thought floating up, start from one again.

Breathe. . .
One. . .Did I get my Visa bill?
One. . .Because I need it to file my expenses at work. . .
One. . .Lisa said it took days for her to get past two. . .
One. . .This is really hard. . .
One. . .I wonder if the company will pay me cash or wire transfer. . .
One. . .Hmm did I pay my phone bill?
One. . .It's hot in here
One. . .I wonder if its going to rain today.
One. . .If it rains, I probably should not wear those shoes.
One. . .Breathe. . .does this count as a thought? Oh well, guess it does now. . .
One. . .Where the hell did my weekend go?

Clearly Nirvana is some ways away.

Link of the Day

2005-06-26T17:10:00.000-07:00

McSweeney's internet tendencies. . .

If you don't already read McSweeny's-- which is very clever literary magazine of sorts--you really ought to. . .David Eggers (of Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius fame) is the founder. . .

Hot Hot Hot

2005-06-26T04:13:00.000-07:00

Rainy Season is over-- actually it was a wierd half hearted rainy season this year. Now it's impossibly hot, like living in a sauna. I'm trying to resist turning on my air conditioner as its enviromentally unsound and expensive, but I may only be able to hold on for few more days. Plus I feel like I'm breathing canned air.

Thankfully I live on the top floor of a well designed building so I tend to get nice breezes through the apartment, but it is getting uncomfortable. It gets worse when everyone else turns on their air conditioning and you can feel their second hand heat rising from the ground.

Modern woman

2005-06-25T20:30:00.000-07:00

As I said in the earlier blog, I am reading Bryson's Short History of Nearly Everything. And I happen to be catching BBC's Radio 4 Hitchhikers Quintessential Phase 4 series (no I haven't seen the movie), in which Arthur Dent discovers that he has no useful talent except sandwich making.

As a member of modern society, Bryson's book made me realize that we take so many things for granted. Most the conveniences of life of it might as well be alchemy or magic, and we haven't a clue on how it all works. How would you go about calculating the age of the earth? How do you prove neutrons exist? How do you make laughing gas? How do you prove F=G*Mm/r^2? How do make a large electricity generator?

If we were dropped into a primitive planet, what could we teach them? I would able to explain how to use Excel or how make pretty Powerpoints. Hmmm. Not very useful. It's far more likely that we would be dead weight.

I adore Bryson's book. It makes me feel like I am a freshman in college-- the world holds infinite curiosities, questions, and possibilities.

Some international flavour

2005-06-24T07:30:00.000-07:00

I enjoyed these:

Low tech Japanese Matrix Ping Pong. . .
AND
Brit Beer Games

May the Farm be with you. . .

2005-06-21T21:23:00.000-07:00

From V. . .Another Star Wars Spoof from the Organic Trade Association. . .

Not It!

2005-06-21T05:46:00.000-07:00

Clever Lisa has tagged me a book meme:

Number of books I own:
Hundreds? Thousands? They are housed in booksheves, double deep around the appartment. And they are stashed in boxes around the world. And once buy a book, I can't bear to sell it. I have no problem giving them away (especially chick books and beach reading) but selling one's books seems so tawdry. Himself is a book packrat as well. Sometimes I worry that we will become those crazy old people found under a piles of books and papers desiccated and dead for years.

Reading style:
Lisa says: "Mostly lying on my bed. Also, I almost never leave the house without a book - even if I'm just going to run errands; being book-less makes me feel vulnerable."

I am exactly the same way--I buy my bags based on the principle that I must be able to stash a paperback in it. Also, our all white bedroom is curiously book-free. I love the feeling of stealing into the room with my chosen book to curl up and read on a rainy weekend. By choosing one book to bring into the bed room, it feels like I'm eating something delicious.

Last book I bought:
Freakanomics, A Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything. But Amazon Japan is taking forever in shipping it. . .grrrrr. I have very high expectations for the book and am really looking forward to reading it.

What people often fail to understand is that economics is really not about money, but about human happiness. (Economists often go wrong as they over simplify things, assume strictly rational behavior, or think that money=happiness-- I know, as I do all of the above too many times to mention). However, this message seems to get lost in the fray. The other pet peeve of mine is that impression that economics is devoid of morality: even Adam Smith, the grand Poobah himself asked in Theory of Moral Sentiments why we think certain actions or ideas deserve praise, while others deserve condemnation.

I remember the first time I read Gary Becker's papers on altuism-- it felt like electricty to the brain-- I'm hoping Freaknomics is similar. Incidentally Gary S. Becker and Richard Posner have a blog together.

Last book I read:
The Thief Taker Janet Gleeson
Better quality than most historical mystery (think along the lines of Purfume, Patrick Suskind), but forgettable all the same. I bought it for a long haul flight--not too taxing reading.

Book(s) I am reading now: Sources of Japanese Tradition (Don't ask) and Bill Bryson's A Short History of Nearly Everything. The latter is a fun science read.

Five books that mean a lot to me:
Envisioning Information, Edward Tufte
I love the way Tufte finds beauty and function in every day things. While nominally a book about how to present data, it is really a beautiful book about being mindful of the beautiful details of every day life.

Nightwatch, Terry Pratchett
OK, OK, I am an uber geek. But I adore this book, even though it is for twelve year olds. I read Pratchett's ouvre when I am stressed-- it is my intellectual equivalent of a security blanket. I like Pratchett's Discworld better than Harry Potter-- I'm content to read Harry Potter once, but not more than that.

Babel Tower, A. S. Byatt
I find A. S. Byatt ferociously intelligent. I discover something new everytime I re-read her books.

Order without Law, Robert C. Ellickson
What is law? What is order? What does it mean that a law exists? Elegant, clever, spare study on how disputes are resolved. When I read his book, I wanted to write a book like his.

E. P. Thompson-- I'm cheating here but I can't choose.
When I first read E. P. Thompson's papers, I was humbled. Here is man who can write-- he has the rare gift of being able to balance logic, humanity, and passion.

And books that I loved as a child (and thus probably warped my world view):
Flatland, A Romance of Many Dimensions, Edwin Abbott
As a child I adored, absolutely ADORED, this book.
Little Women-- Louisa May Alcott. Jo, of course, was my favorite character. Wasn't she everyone's?
Anne of Green Gables, Lucy Maud Montgomery.
Robinson Crusoe, Daniel Defoe, the original Survivor

But ask me next week, I'm sure I'll have a whole new list!

Tagged next:
Travis and Likearadio, you've got the meme!

Boon!

2005-06-20T22:40:00.000-07:00

As B-wa said--"So annoying it's good." Wave your mouse over the picture and have your sound on. . .

Why I haven't written

2005-06-20T05:24:00.000-07:00

I haven't written for a while-- work has been mad, and I didn't get much sleep. My brain would keep turning so I couldn't sleep. I felt and looked terrible.

Drastic times took drastic measures.

I started running. As anyone who knows me can attest, I am not one of life's runners. Walking, hiking, swimming, yes. But running-- no.

But, running no. So I plodded along. Then I realized one day that I habitually held my breath--this was preventing me from getting Oxygen, which is, well, bad.

Suddenly I got hooked. And I could sleep at night. But now I have to go farther and farther to get that high. . .which ate into my blogging time.

The most remarkable blog

2005-06-20T05:14:00.000-07:00

Girl Blog from Iraq-- remarkable. The Guardian has some great highlights as well. Incredibly human stuff.

August 23, 2003
"Females can no longer leave their homes alone. Each time I go out, E and either a father, uncle, or cousin has to accompany me. It feels like we've gone back 50 years since the beginning of the occupation. A woman, or girl, out alone, is at risk. An outing has to be arranged at least an hour beforehand. I state that I need to buy something or have to visit someone. Two males have to be procured (preferably large) and "safety arrangements" must be made in this total state of lawlessness. And always the question: "But do you have to go out and buy it? Can't I get it for you?" No you can't, because the kilo of eggplant I absolutely have to select with my own hands is just an excuse to see the light of day and walk down a street. The situation is incredibly frustrating to females who work or go to college.

Before the war, around 50% of the college students were females, and over 50% of the working force was composed of women. Not so any more. We are seeing an increase of fundamentalism in Iraq which is terrifying. For example, before the war, I would estimate (roughly) that about 55% of females in Baghdad wore a hijab - or headscarf. Hijabs do not signify fundamentalism. That is far from the case - although I myself don't wear one, I have family and friends who do. The point is that, before, it didn't really matter. It was "my" business whether I wore one or not - not the business of some fundamentalist on the street. "

Vanitas

2005-06-08T21:38:00.000-07:00

My new addiction is a show called Nip/Tuck. I got hooked watching Japanese cable TV while cleaning my kitchen over the weekend: they were showing a marathon of the first 5 episodes. I realize that it's been on normal US TV for a while, but living in Japan and watching TV at odd hours, I am totally out of it.

The two protaganists are Miami plastic surgeons-- which would usually turn me off as most medical dramas seem to be re-treads of one another (and I have too many doctor friends with overly complicated lives-- yes, that means you Dr. M). However, I was attracted to the show by the eye candy: as one of the doctors is the hottie who played Pheobe's demon lord husband in Charmed (it made sense at the time). Also, the other doctor reminds me as idealized Hollywood version of Himself (physically, I mean. Himself is far cleverer than Dr. WhatsHisName).

I also love the show's exploration of the concept of attainable beauty. Until recently, beauty was much more in the eye of the beholder. And Beauty was rare. Now, "mass beauty" can be bought for a few thousand dollars. Every starlet seems to have a bulbous chest, and perfect thighs. . . .If you don't believe me, check out AwfulPlasticSurgery.com and GoodPlasticsurgery.com. Beauty has also become a form of status-- if you aspire for power or money, it seems that one is supposed to be immaculately well maintained-- for both men and women. Once a rare gift, Beauty now seems commoditized, and more and more physical beauty appears to be treated as if it was some sort of insight into character. Ugggh.

What ever happened to "character" and "gumption" and "grit"?

I would never go under the knife. . .I'm too terrified by the concept of elective surgery and I find it all very distasteful. As a woman with a better brain than body, this type of stuff is alien to me. It seems like a collosal waste of money. Vanity, vanity.

This is not to say I am immune: I know I have spent thousands over the past ten years on hair, makeup, sunscreen, unguents, and nail care (even at at 50 dollars a cut every two months is 300 dollars a year, and multiply that by ten). More on massages, sports, and activities. And Weight Watchers. If I think of the time wasted on this stuff. . .well, not really, I kind of enjoy the pampering. But I do wonder if resources were allocated efficiently.

At present, I am thinking of laser removal of some sun damage (too much sun and sea) that appeared out of the blue on my face. And I occasionally wonder what I would look like with double lidded eyes. However, while I dismiss the latter as silly (Himself freaks out at the idea as well), I'm still researching the laser thing.

My friend goes to a spa for facials every month to fix her sun damage, but after a year, there is hardly a difference. The cost of laser removal is approximately the cost of 1.5 spa sessions-- with much better results. But somehow, even though the spa costs many times more and is largely inffective, somehow I find it more attractive than a zapping over lunch. I'm undecided. But these moles on the side of my face drive me nuts--Out, out damn'd spot!

I once dated a son of a prominent plastic surgeon. I was once complaining about the size of my (small) chest. "I'm sure my dad can give you a new rack as wedding present," he said, without irony.

Needless to say, I dumped him.

Adult Engrish

2005-06-02T05:26:00.000-07:00

A picture is worth a thousand mangled words. . .

Brain floss

2005-06-01T20:59:00.000-07:00

After the market closes, I floss and brush my teeth.

Today I opened a new box of 100 yards of floss to leave at work. As I opened the floss I wondered where I would be when I finished the box.

100 yards is 900 feet of floss. I use 2 feet a day, so the box contains 450 uses. I use the floss at work, 5 times a week, so that is 90 weeks of floss. I'm at the office about 45 weeks a year (the rest of the time I'm on the road or on vacation).

So the box contains 2 years worth of floss. . .what will I doing on June 1, 2007?

Star Wars spoofs

2005-06-01T04:53:00.000-07:00

This is a commercial for the cellular company Orange that made us laugh when Himself and I saw the movie. . .

And on the same theme. . . this is an oldie but a goodie. . . Troops, a spoof on Cops. It features Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru. . . (scroll down)

Animated anime

2005-05-31T02:54:00.000-07:00

An animated clip from B.-wa. Worth a look see. . .It's called "November".

Excercising my demons

2005-05-27T05:47:00.000-07:00

I am stressed -- that's nothing new. When I'm REALLY stressed, I have the habit of obsessing why I'm not more efficient, smarter, and why I am a lazy procrastinater and how I got myself in this mess.

It's not productive. Wondering why one is not a perfect worker bad ass machine is bad bad thing.

Usually 30 minutes of hard excercise will fix the problem. A run, a session at the gym, a swim-- suddenly life is rosy (oh thank god for those endophins). Life is still stressful, but managable.

But because I work late these days (conference calls at 11PM are soooo fun), getting up at 430 so I can go for a run Just Does not Appeal. So I'm more stressed. Then I work ineffciently the next day, and the cycle repeats itself.

Weekend-- an oppurtunity to reset the week. A cliche, but TGIF! My hot Friday night plans? Watching Star Wars on tape (The New Hope), bath and early to bed.

Ph.Diva

2005-05-26T05:40:00.000-07:00

I'm nowhere near as glam as Dorothy King (nor do I agree with everything thing she says-- such as the bit about women innately less willing to voice her opinions in op ed peices or that the UK should keep the Elgin marbles) but I get her. Especially the bit about shoes and having a sense of humor. And simply getting on with it, rather than whining. . .

And I'm dying to read about this bitch fest on Vanity Fair: Susan Estrich vs. the op ed editor of the LA Times. She is a Fox News regular-- maybe the house liberal was corrupted by the Dark Side?

And I'm also dying to know, how does Dorothy King afford Manolos on an academic's salary?

Star Wars vs Evolution

2005-05-25T22:28:00.000-07:00

Suck it did not. See it I did with Himself late Friday night. Packed was the house. Low expectations I had. Great were the effects. Yoda has good relations with the Wookies he does.

[However, one wished that Joss Wheadon of Buffyspeak would have joined the team and tweaked the dialog. "Oh hold me Anakin, like you did by the lake on Naboo." Cringe.

Feel sorry for the actors I did. Lucky is Yoda to be CG.]

In honor of the Revenge of the Sith, I nominate these two for the Darwin Awards.
Strictly speaking they did not take themselves out of the gene pool, but came very close indeed.

Class

2005-05-25T04:37:00.000-07:00

This series on class in the NY Times is facinating. It is the last great American myth-- that we are all middle class. "Class" is still very much a dirty word in the US. . .

The NYTimes argues that there are 4 components to class: occupation, income, net worth, and education. Thus, a surgeon (presumably with a med school degree), with a net worth of more than million USD, with a high paying practice would probably trump everyone in the class game in the US.

I lived in the UK for a few years and concepts of class are completely different: you could be poor, uneducated, and with a low paying job, but be upper class due to accident of birth. I remember being shocked and very uncomfortable when I first moved to the UK in people's willingness to talk about class-- think of Nancy Mitford's U and un-U lables.

See where you fit in. . .

Also rather interesting was the ranking of occupations. My job as corporate financial dogsbody came in at the 50th percentile. However, cops and firemen came in above me (which makes sense as I don't save lives f0r a living). In other countries, such as Japan or the UK, I suspect the ranking would be completely different. For example, I suspect a university professor in Japan would probably trump most occupations while I think (I need to check) it barely scrapes into the top fifth in the US.

Where do you rank? It's an uncomfortable question isn't it? But you are curious aren't you?

Abstinence

2005-05-24T22:10:00.000-07:00

I'm back from the Continent. Work wise it was a success, but I was insanely busy so I spent most of it hunched over a computer, in meetings or in airplanes. I did get to see some friends, but once I started meetings on Monday, it got very busy very quickly. I am bummed that I didn't get to see many of my friends in the big L.

I did get to see Himself, which was wonderful, as well as Rose of Academe and her clever daughter, as well as marvelous C, and K. But I missed seeing Y, Y, A, J, and M. . .please forgive me!

While I love the challenge of these trips, the bad thing is that you either have terribly rich meals with clients or live off of crisps, peanuts, and chocolate for days at a time as you dash from city to city. And the Brits-- the one thing they can do extremely well are "puddings"-- rich deserts.

So I came home feeling gross and unhealthy as well as wracked with consumer guilt for spending too much money on some cute cute cute shoes on Bond street.

So I'm on yet another abstinence drive: no spending for 60 days (only food, educational/work things, bills, gifts, and cleaning products) for 2 months from May 23.

And I put myself back Weightwatchers.com. I'm on a diet to lose those last stubborn ten (really 15, but that's too much to ask of my body that hordes fat as if preparing for an ice age) pounds. Hurrah for as Weightwatchers on line--which seems to work-- I lost 25 pounds on it last year and kept it off. It does work. If I lose those ten pounds, I'm buying new underwear as my current stuff is about as sexy as. . .well, think of something unsexy to you. And belive me, it will take more than 60 days.

Naturally, the office on Monday was stocked with cookies as well as pecan pastry tarts today. Bugger. Well at least I have sexy shoes. Feet don't get fat do they?

Riding the Bus

2005-05-12T22:58:00.000-07:00

The ride from Heathrow to Oxford is a snapshot of England in its full Wordsworthian beauty...impossibly green leaves of new summer, lilacs, a blaze of yellow of flowering rape and mustard fields, new lambs with their tiny black and pink faces, unsteady calves drinking milk from their mothers...at the end of this ride was Himself waiting for me.

Off to Europe

2005-05-12T05:27:00.000-07:00

Freaked out and over worked. . .but a few days vacation starting today. Yeah! OK. . . two days vacation. OK, I'm flying for most of today. So, actually one day vacation.

But a day off indeed plus a weekend with Wonderful Himself. He promised me Indian food at my favorite dive the minute I get in. I can't wait.

I have been craving proper Daal and naan. And proper French cheese, that is never wrapped in plastic, but paper because it is a mass of living organisms. And proper Lebanese foods as well-- falafel, humous, etc. You can not get this stuff for love or money in Tokyo.

Spending the week working in bits of Europe is not at all bad. I think I'm going to Holland midweek (hopefully catching up with stupendous Dr. J), and possibly Milan (the land of the cuuuuuute shoooooooooes).

I love London. I love seeing my friends-- I have a raging social life while I'm there (unlike my life here). I love shopping on Bond Street (yes, I know, a cliche), I love the arcades with vintage jewlery, purfume, and fountain pens. And books stores filled with books in English. I usually hate my assigned hotel, but I usually have a view of the Tower of London. It's a change of scenery, at the very least, and splendid scenery indeed.

Japlish word of the day

2005-05-11T23:23:00.000-07:00

The Japlish phrase of the day is Erog-- or Erotic Blog. I quite like the perennial L/R confusion. . .
Read about them. . .
Search for them. . .

House

2005-05-11T05:39:00.000-07:00

One of the many reasons why I am a wage slave (the position of heiress was taken, apparently) is that I hope to someday afford The House.

The House will have many book shelves, 2 studies (one for each of us), on a chunk of land that can support both a flower garden and vegetable patch, a few apple trees, a tangle of raspberries, and a compost heap. Maybe even a few pet chickens (with the obligatory good natured cat)-- the kind that lay blue and green eggs (the chickens, not the cat), but I'm not holding my breath. Himself would love a pond to stock with koi.

At the moment, it remains a fantasy. Himself lives in the UK, I live in Tokyo. Neither of us knows what country we'll be in next year and I work in a stupendously insecure field. This makes house buying difficult.

Then there is that minor thing of being able to afford a place which pushes the whole exercise even more into the realm of fantasy.

Everyday, I get an e-mail listing for houses and condos in the Boston area (the center of the intellectual universe is as good a place to start as any) up to my highly theoretical budget of 7 and half bars.

And it’s amazing to see what three quarters of million will NOT get you.

Think gross 1960s ranch on a quarter acre of land in an OK neighborhood. That pretty much blows the budget.

But two things give me hope.

The first is that my friend L. found and bought a dream house.
The second is that I saw a beautiful house (built in 1735) in Westwood, MA on a acre of land. It's a little more traditional than my tastes (think Bauhaus meets I.M. Pei meets industrial chic with random cultural baggage/ethnojunk) but it feeds into my Martha Stewart fantasies.

No doubt it's loaded with lead paint, bad plumbing, the site of triple murder, and the roof needs replacing, but hey, I'm never going to really buy it. But the fact the house even exists, gives me hope that when Himself and I finally get our act together, a house that we love will be out there somewhere. . .

It's my fantasy, and it's perfect in my head.

Quality

2005-05-10T23:21:00.000-07:00

Ages ago, when I sold my first book review, I put the check in the bank.

OK, ages ago, when I sold my second book review, I spent the entire lot on a Kate Spade bag. In those days, it was a tremdous amount of money on a bag, especially when I was an impoverished grad student. I actually hid the bag while my mother was visiting so I wouldn't have to tell her how much the bag cost. (I'm a lousy liar).

Oddly enough, I didn't regret buying the bag. It is a simple nylon red early Kate Spade (endlessly faked on the streets of NYC), which would probably now qualify as vintage.

It survived endless amounts of abuse, constantly overstuffed, and carried everywhere.

After years and years, it has one scuffed corner. However, it was looking a bit manky, as it is a fabric bag. I tried using Dryel, but to no avail.

As I had nothing to lose, I stuffed an old T-shirt into the bag, stuffed the bag into a mesh bag, and threw the while lot into my darks.

Lo and behold, the bag came out perfectly. The dark red and black lining did not even run.

I still use the bag-- it sits in my office when I'm running erands and don't want to to carry my giantic leather work bag.

This past weekend I washed the bag again. It's reassuring when things are this durable, no?

Too cute. . .

2005-05-10T05:17:00.000-07:00

From Rose of Academe's clever clever daughter. . .

Satan Fashonistas 1, Me 0

2005-05-08T11:48:00.000-07:00

I broke down and bought white frou frou peasant skirt yesterday. I'm not sure if I look good in it (I'm convinced it makes my ass grow), but it was at the right price and sooooooo pretty and girly.

All I need now are some cuuuuuuuuute shoes.

Luddite

2005-05-07T19:55:00.000-07:00

I'm going through a luddite phase at the moment. I got rid of my coffee maker for a french press, and have become a master at making rice in a clay pot.

I know it sounds insane, but I'm convinced that making rice in a clay pot simply tastes better than a rice maker. Provided you didn't burn the rice, clean up is as easy as a normal teflon rice pot.

I don't have a proper clay pot for rice (with tall straight sides), I use a standard nabe pot (slanted sides)-- it does tend to over flow if you are not careful, but otherwise does the trick just fine. . .

Measure and wash 2 cups of rice, and 4 cups (scant) of water. Let the rice soak for at least 40 minutes (don't skip this step!). Cover, and bring the rice up to a boil with medium heat. Once at a boil, turn the heat way, way way down, or off. Leave it alone for 20 minutes.

Now here's the good part. Take off the cover and turn the heat on medium high. You will hear cracking and the rice will smell fragrant. By doing this you will get a nice brown crust on the bottom. Turn the heat off after about 60 seconds or else you will have a horrendous mess. . .

The rice, I gurantee, will be the best you ever tasted.

Noon

2005-05-07T11:55:00.000-07:00

It's Saturday morning and its remarkable how little I got done this morning. I was planning to get up at 7AM, go running, do my sit ups, take a bath, shop, pick up my dry cleaning, clean the house, make the bed, and clean up the house.

So far I have managed to wake up late (10AM), eat breakfast (warmed up scallion pancake, which I made last night for dinner), watch the Discovery channel show on the chemical processes of love (v. good) and make coffee, which I have not drunk yet.

Selfish

2005-05-05T10:49:00.000-07:00

I switched on the TV the other day, and some twit was on TV talking about "selfish women" who wait until their mid to late 30s to get married and have children. Some found their fertility compromised, and "they deserved what they got" because of their "selfishness."

I'll refrain from saying what I really thought as I'm trying to reduce the profanity in my vocabulary.

How is it selfish to wait to have children? To wait until you have the means to do so? To wait until you want them? Baby boomers had extremely young parents-- how well adjusted are they?

And this idiot under the impression that men's salaries are capable of supporting families? The assumption is the women work. How many 22 year old men can support a wife and kiddes? Looking back, I don't know anyone that could have-- everyone I knew was going to school. Even at 25, it would have been tough.

There is a trade off: you either have youth and no means of support, or age with more security/wisdom. Choosing the latter is an informed choice, not selfishness. It's not having it all, it's trying to make hard choice within a crappy set of circumstances.

Many of my close women friends are unmarried-- and they are all AMAZING women. They are talented, smart, some pulling down salaries into 6 figures, and all are beautiful and in great shape. They have traveled the world, from hiking in South America, wandering around the temples of Cambodia, dove with manta rayes in Fiji, and lounged at private villas in Bali. And they are the most ferociously well read bunch of women I know, with a scary bag of letters after their names, D.Phil, CFA, MA, MD, JD from top schools.

If they were men, they would have wives that models. But as women, they want more than a toy boy, and refuse to settle.

And what's wrong with that?

Golden

2005-05-05T09:41:00.000-07:00

It's Golden Week here-- which means that everyone with a life is on holiday. I however, do not have a life, so I spend 90+ hours a the office this past week, being that horrible collegue calling office mates a home /holiday to get them to sign off on work. I'm tuckered out, but I'm taking a few days off next week to hang out with friends in the UK.

For the first time in weeks, I slept in past 530, and I'm not going into work past noon today. I should go running, but all I want to do is watch sitcom re-runs and drink coffee. I know I'll feel better, but I can't get my ass through the door. . .

Sonnet

2005-05-01T06:37:00.000-07:00

Sorry-- a 90 hour week, spent the weekend in the office-- so crappy blogging on my part. I chose this life? Bugger that for a lark. . .

I offer as penance Sonnet 130, feeding the belief that we may be loved unconditionally for our internal beauty.

MY mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go,—
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

Laughing out loud

2005-04-25T04:50:00.000-07:00

The Marunouchi Line in Tokyo at 630 in the morning is The Quiet Line. Like many things in Japan, it is quiet, clean, and efficient. People are encouraged to keep their ipods low so no one is distrurbed by "music leakage." People read their newpapers or sleep.

And unlike other subways of major metropolitan cities, there is a dearth of crazy people, talking to themselves and whatnot. I use that time read the paper or perhaps read a novel as its "my" funtime.

My friend R. (and bridesmaid) recommended I read Hypocrite in a Poofy White Dress by Susan Jane Gilman. And indeed it was mistake to bring it on the subway as I snorted and laughed out loud (honestly, I couldn't help it)-- people studiously ignored me as one does the crazy person muttering in the corner. I tried to cover it up with cough, but to no avail.

Gilman is a talented writer. Like David Sedaris, she disects childhood, but she has moments sublime grace that take you off guard (cf her parent's divorce and her mother becoming an auxiliarly policewoman). And unlike other "women's" memoirs, she talks about life in its glorious totality, not just men, dating, and sex. Her childhood as a smart ass social outcast might as well been mine: "The girls in my class, I discovered, fell into essentially two categories: The Spanish Inquistion and everyone else." Her early days as a cub reporter on the "freak beat" at The Jewish Week were particularly funny-- "If it's Tuesday, it must be Treblinka." She writes of all the horrors of a first job, ignorance exposed, underappreciated genius, and the naked need for a paycheck.

R. e-mailed me and said, "You've got to read this book. There is a bit about shopping for wedding dresses and it made me think if you." She's right. Wedding dress shopping is a mind bending experience, especially if you have lots baggage of all the uncool things that a wedding dress represents. Yet, when you find the dress, you can't help but be entranced by it. You just love it. You want it. Yet, you balk at the expense, and the whole white virgin bride thing, and whole materialistic/conspicuous consumption/anti-feminist nature of the exercise. And it doesn't help when you mom says, "Why don't you just get a nice white suit? Then you can wear it to work afterwards. $XXXXXX for a dress is such dreadful waste." "But Mom, I waaaaaant it." And as a 30 something, you like to think you are way above Barbie doll fantasy weddings.

I inflicted my nureosis about The Dress on my two fanastically cool bridesmaids (who just rolled their eyes and bought me pastries and coffee). And the wedding-- oh man, until the day, Himself and I seriously thought that eloping was the answer--weddings, we were convinced were one big conspiracy to extort money and find out just how well you REALLY got along with your wierd in-laws (Himself deserve major brownie points for this one). And you get to find out just how wierd your parents really are.

I thought I would never talk to my parents again. I lost it with Himself for missing a catering appointment. I thought my friends would never talk to me again as I turned into evil Bridezilla. My parents threatened not to come. Religious issues became heated debates-- never mind that both of us are agnostics. But as it turned out, it was The Perfect Day and damned good party, exactly as I had envisioned it in my fevered brain. Just thinking about it still makes me smile. And my friends forgave me.

Gilman wrote about The Dress and wedding planning madness (for women who think they are so above such silliness) such pitch perfect way that I guffawed on the train, causing the person next to me to cringe oh so slightly away from me.

"Why can we be like Jean Paul Satre and Simone de Beauvior?" I often moaned to Bob. "You know, just remain two lovers who spend the rest of their lives together arguing at a cafe in Paris."

Yet eventually, both my overwhelming love for him and the desire for joint health insurance won out. "We're going to have a beautiful life together," Bob and I agreed the night we got engaged. "Our marriage will be ours to live in our own way, and we'll plan our wedding exclusively on our own terms, nobody esle's."

Okay. You can now put down this book and commence laughing.

Saturday

2005-04-24T13:21:00.000-07:00

April in Tokyo is great-- it is the most beautful time of the year in a city that is not that outwardly pretty. I love running along the Zempukuji River and seeing different flowers bloom. This week the ya-e zakura (multi-foliate sakura) and pear trees are in bloom. It is so gorgeous with an ineffable scent. Even when life is stressful, global politics is going to hell in a handbasket, spring still comes, with its rude fecundity.

On Saturday, I took my stressed out friend S. for lunch-- she did me a huge favour and I owed her one. We went to the La Bretagne for buckwheat crepes in Omotesando and the Mango margharitas at Fuji Mamas. It was a well needed break. . .

We nosed around the shops and came to the conclusion that we still shop at the same places, more or less, as we did ten years ago: Gap, Muji, J-Crew, Nike. These days I go to Uniqlo for basics-- Uniqlo is the Old Navy of Japan. When I'm in the States-- TJ Max and Bananna Republic. OK, so we have the odd designer goodie. But I think I've been going to the same places since. . .gulp. . .high school.

Saturday's haul:
2 4-packs of black cotton socks Uniqlo
2 for one T-shirt deal: black tank top, t-shirt
1 pair linen khaki clam diggers Muji
1 10-pack of black trouser stockings Muji
1 3-pack sand panty hose Muji
1 3-pack black panty hose Muji
1 Donna Karan little black dress (more on that later).

Little Black Dress

2005-04-24T12:42:00.000-07:00

I justified a new little black dress. I "needed" one that I can stuff in a suitcase for work, and that can be dressed up or down with a jacket and accessories, and go from night to day.

I have a great black wrap dress, which I love. It was for me, T. J. Max queen, An Extravagant Purchase, but it has more than paid for itself. It looks great even after I slept in it on a long haul flight, and better still, I feel great in it.

But it is too hot for summer. But, I saw a great dress in Donna Karan in Seibu in Shibuya. I had shot of the dress going over my American Sized Ass, as Donna Karan is an American Woman, and has some knowledge that all women are not size 0 and have these things called "hips," "ass" and "other lumpy bits that need camouflage."

Me: Excuse me, I would like to try on that dress.
Salesgirl: Certainly. We have two sizes, Petite or Small.
Me (under my breath): Kill me now. . .

Satan Fashionistas

2005-04-23T21:54:00.000-07:00

The new in-thing here in Tokyo and I think just about everywhere else is the Full Flowing Skirt.

In theory, I approve. Last season's pencil skirts, while they looked great, are impossible to move in. If you spend your life perched on a stool and you have nothing better to do but to look good, pencil skirts are indeed a good idea.

I also like the overt femininity of full flowing skirts. I’m sick of the androgyny-thing: it's so 90s. . .These skirts are so gosh darn pretty with their lush colors and fabricks-- they hark back to a more gentle era. I even like the prairie skirts and the floral patterns that look like something Lilly Pulitzer dreamed up.

There in lies the problem. They are useless for work. I work in the not so gentle world, and clasp the fashion equivalent of a mint julep and banking on the kindness of strangers is tantamount to career suicide.

OK, so I could wear the skirt on the weekends in theory or To Dinner. But I spend my weekend in jeans, sweats, or shorts, and Dinner is usually Take Out. But no matter.

Then I actually tried on full skirt. . .evil, evil, evil. First, if you have any weight below your waist, your ass looks like a whale encased in fabric. It makes Japanese girls look they have asses, and that's saying a lot. And to balance the look, you need long spindly legs.

Just who thinks up this stuff? Why do these Satan Fashionistas recommend things that look awful on mortal women?

Women on woman fashion violence. . .No means no, baby.

Good advice

2005-04-23T00:48:00.000-07:00

Lucy Kellaway's article in the FT a few weeks ago pointed out the obvious, "Shun tips from corporate titans." Sound advice for sure-- most Corporate Leadership-speak is pure anodyne drivel.

"Be true to yourself" (being true to myself would be reading novels all day and eating Olympic amounts of chocolate, and emphatically NOT getting up at 4:45AM for a freezing run in the smoggy streets of Tokyo and then 16 hours with Excel) "Do what you love and the money will come," (tell that to my friend V. who gave up a job at McKinsey to be paid less and work harder at more important job as teacher to gifted kids), "You can learn from any one," (oh puh-leeze).

I did like Solomon's Gutfreund advice though: "When you come to work in the morning, you've gotta be ready to bite the ass off of a bear."

But Kellaway's right-- most of this so called advice is nothing more than vague aphorisms with little or no thought. Worse still is the business leadership book or as I call it, Self Help Books for Men. These books "teach" leadership so you can nurture the fantasy that you too can be The Donald. . .as if.

Because I am such a Busy and Important Executrix, I am subscribed to a service that sends me a 5 page précis of the latest business books. Like a Cosmo cover, the book titles follow a patterns: the book title as has number, and some combination of the following: secret/strategy/leader(ship)/business/key/fortune/ foundation. For example: "The Six Secret Strategies" or "The Key to Fortune" or "Seven Key Foundations for Leadership."

Oddly enough, I never see summaries for books like "Convertible Bond Pricing" or anything as useful like that.

The summaries have their own summaries, appallingly called "Key Takeaways"-- truly an abuse of language.

This week's book was horrible--no surprise there: "A leader makes people believe in a brighter tomorrow" and filled with heart warming stories of People who Help Each Other." Barf.

But one thing caught my eye: The key to a successful marriage, the author argued, is see your spouse in the kindest possible light.

Hmmmmmm. Words to live by, methinks.

Off course, this sage advice was in relation to hiring employees. So the next time I rent a date, I'll keep that in mind.

(Just kidding Mr. Husband Man, I am living the life of a nun).

Guilty pleasures

2005-04-22T22:57:00.000-07:00

Whenever I have four 16+ hour days in a row and I have to urge to be silly and materialistic. I think I'm regressing. Work does that to me.

I'm indulging in the following guilty pleasures and have generally been rather shallow.

. . .eating a Haagen Daz ice cream sandwich for dinner.
. . .watching J-MTV special of all of Bon Jovi's hit videos from his Big Hair days to his present state (this man is over 40?). Like Keanu Reeves, I don't think I ever quite out grew thinking he's hot.
. . .dancing around my living room to Bubble Gum Pop (this week-- Kelly Clarkson's Since U Been Gone and Mariah Carey's It's Like That--yes, I know it's horrifying)
. . .Planning to get a pair of shoes with bows on it. Manolo has had some really pretty shoes of late.
. . .Reading Go Fug Yourself every morning with only half an eye on CNN.
. . .Wierdly facinated by the New Benifer and Britney's and Cletus' sprog.
. . .Think that the Virgin Mary salt stain in Chicago looks like female anatomy-- I am so going to hell. . .

I'm alive

2005-04-20T14:33:00.000-07:00

I'm in a busy spell right now. . . regular service to be resumed this weekend. . .appologies to all two of my readers. . .

Iris

2005-04-18T22:08:00.000-07:00

Himself pointed out this recently published article on Iris Chang in the San Francisco Chronicle.

While Iris Chang's methodology in the Rape of Nanking troubled me, she did seem to have The Perfect Life: a glittering career, a book that changed the world, fame, a brilliant writing style, passion for her cause, a husband who adored her, a child, and a family who supported her. And she was good looking as well.

So it blew my mind when I heard that Iris Chang blew her brains out with an antique gun on November 9, 2004 at the age of 36. I remember reading about her death the following day and wondering what hope the rest of us had if Iris Chang couldn't find happiness.

She seemed to have everything, yet she thought she was nothing. I suppose that's the nature of depression--really and truly, it is a tragic illness.

Destiny

2005-04-17T15:20:00.000-07:00

It's been a good weekend. . .

Friday night I booked myself for a 2 hour massage at my favorite Thai massage place. Felt renewed. . .

Saturday night I went to a Destiny's Child in Yokohama with K. The Japanese crowd was incredibly well behaved. Much fun, lots of dancing, and Girl Power talk by Destiny's child. I think 80% of the audience were women. It's been a long time since I went to a concert-- the last one I went to was years ago at Akasaka Blitz to see Bootsy Collins and Parliament.

The show was wonderfully old fashioned: singers who actually appeared to sing, and band who appeared to play. Beautiful, talented women--they looked surprisingly mortal compared to their MTV selves. . .We bopped along to "Say my name," "Bootylicious," and "Survivor" while the other audience members in our section looked as serious as they were taking an exam. (K. and I. felt like bad teenagers as we danced in our seats).

We were in the nosebleed section but great seats none the less--before the concernt K. and I amused ourselves before the concert but trying calculate concert revenue, what Jack Bauer would do if there was a 24 episode in Yokohama, and whether or not the giant monitors stretch the singers out to make them look thinner.

A good time was had by all. . .

Fluffy

2005-04-16T23:09:00.000-07:00

The thing about being an expat as that English books suddenly become valuable commodities. The are traded, passed along, sold to book stores, etc. It is a good source of fluff and I binged on it. . .

Fame Fetale: Wendy Holden (Fluff, fluff, fluff but there a funny bit with Louis de Bernieres getting his foot stomped on. . .)
Senior Vivo and the Coca Lord: Louis de Bernieres, natch
The Jane Austen Book Club: Karen Joy Fowler, solid but over-rated. I'm not *that* into Jane Austen. . .
The Sex Lives of Cannibals: Troost-- he just makes me laugh

My friend R. recomended Hypocrite in a White Dress by Susan Jane Gilman but my Amazon order has not come through. . .

Boo! I'm a feminist!

2005-04-13T05:12:00.000-07:00

Andrea Dworkin died too young at age 58. (A few days after the Pope and Schivo-- how ironic is that?)

As feminist of the high heels and post-porn generation, I've been always ambivalent about Dworkin-- who has stuck me as the angry, hairy, and un-fun sort (yes I'm shallow and middle class and likely to be shot when the revolution comes). But when I first read her work the first semester of my freshman year, she opened my eyes to a new and extreme way of looking at the world. Love or hate her, she is brilliant.

I particularly liked the Guardian article on Dworkin. The author, Katherine Viner, captures Dworkin's place in the world perfectly.

"It was this bottom line that Dworkin provided. She was a bedrock, the place to start from: even when you disagreed with her, her arguments were infuriating, fascinating, hard to forget. Feminism needs those who won't compromise, even in their appearance; perhaps I'm alone, but I find it pretty fabulous that, as a friend told me, Dworkin would "go to posh restaurants in Manhattan wearing those bloody dungarees". She refused to compromise throughout her life, and was fearless in the face of great provocation. In a world where teenage girls believe that breast implants will make them happy and where rape convictions are down to a record low of 5.6% of reported rapes; in a public culture which has been relentlessly pornographised, in an academic environment which has allowed postmodernism to remove all politics from feminism, we will miss Andrea Dworkin. She once said: "What will women do? Is there a plan? If not, why not?" And indeed, who is left to replace her?"

Shopping

2005-04-10T22:30:00.000-07:00

I was watching the Discovery Channel (Japanese cable runs the same Discovery shows in the US with a time lag) while I was washing dishes. They had a show on shopping-- which interests me. Personally, I don't love shopping (a pleasant enough thing to do, but not a top priority), but modern consumer behavior fascinates me-- I'm an active participant, but I don't understand it. . .

The show had a segment that was asinine. Some academic got up and claimed that, "Men are hunters and women are gathers" (according to the show, I shop like a man). Men "snatch" (find what they are looking for and buy it) women "gather" (wander around the shops endlessly).

They illustrated this by measuring the stress levels of a middle aged man given a shopping task (buy a white tee shirt and small toy truck) on a tight deadline with his small son down the busiest streets in London.

Not surprisingly, the man was very stressed: "Shopping for a man is like facing a saber-tooth tiger," said the Dubious Academic.

They did not test women under the same circumstances, or women who are not used to carting children around. I know I'd be plenty stressed and be ready to bite the ass off a saber tooth tiger.

Nor did they account for changes in culture and time use. Young British men shop spend more a week on clothing than women, and time in malls are similar for both sexes in the US. I wonder if this set of consumers would exhibit similar stress levels.

While yes, women and men are different in some fundamental ways, this example was facile, and appeared to be an example of confirmation bias.

Silly, silly. . .

The make life better list

2005-04-09T11:11:00.000-07:00

In order to be more in sync with the universe:

1) I plan to buy a lint brush
2) I cleaned my fish tank so it's all ready for new fish
3) Bought a cool new camera and am very happy with it!
4) Asked my parents for new earrings instead of the Hermes scarf they usually get me for my birthday
5) Slept in to 11AM today am plan NOT to go into office all weekend and NOT stress about the gi-normous project.
6) Cleaned out one closet and threw away 3 bags of stuff-- at least my feng shui will be improved!
7) Threw away my old trouser socks and plan to get new ones.
8) Plan to go for a walk with a friend to see the cherry blossoms. . .
9) Plan to finish off one of my small projects
10) Plan to spend time calling friends
11) Went to the 24 hour grocery store late last night and filled up freezer with frozen blueberries, mango, raspberries, peas, corn, okra and chicken breasts, so I have food in the fridge. Also bought pasta, canned tomatoes, and chickpeas-- some sort of meal can made out of these ingredients. And fresh strawberries for breakfast today.
12) Clothes-- well, I'll take Rose of Academia's advice and deal with that later.

Quality junk reads

2005-04-09T00:32:00.000-07:00

I'm a phase right now that I'm too stressed out to read anything taxing. Most of the time, I like to read to NYRB cover to cover in the tub and crave idea driven books.

Every so often, my mind rebels and it wants the book equivalent of dark chocolate mousse and espresso--I just can't cope with Paul Auster, Rose Tremain, C. Milosz or A. S. Byatt right now. I usually love these authors but just don't seem to want to read them right now. And I'm craving books in English. I want to read something light, frivolous, and life affirming. Reading the paper of late fills up my gloom and doom quotient.

But that said, I can't quite get into Air Port Reads (Sidney Sheldon, Romance, bad spy novels, you know, books of that distinctive airport book size with the cheap pulpy paper). And no chick lit. While I did love Bridget Jones, most books of that genre are formulaic, one dimensional, with execrable prose. And not to mention the fact that the books are entirely populated with silly women. Nor can I get into gee whiz bang books of Pynchon, Palahnik, or Delillo right now.

I think bookstores ought to have a section called "Quality Junk Reads" filled with books that are easy to digest, but are not devoid of nutritional content. And have non-tragic endings.

Books on my Quality Junk Reads would include Perfume (Patrick Suskind), Bel Canto (Patchett), anything by Susan Orlean, Terry Pratchett, Louis de Bernieres, David Sedaris, or Anne Tyler, Dorothy L. Sayer's Lord Peter short stories, John Mortimer's Rumpole short stories, and Alexander McCall Smith's Ladies Detective Agency series. I also enjoyed The Sex Lives of Cannibals (Troost). And I loath to admit this, but I quite like the Princess Diaries. .

Any suggestions for other Quality Junk Reads?

Procrastinate Now

2005-04-05T23:02:00.000-07:00

Of late, I'm feeling out of sync with the universe.

1) My goldfish tank went Jonestown. The entire tank died, including the fish that I raised since eggs.
2) My digital camera broke. And I'm not sure whether to get a new camera or have the old one fixed. It costs that much to fix!
3) I lost one of my new pearl earings that I bought myself for my birthday. And it seems silly to get a new pair. And if I get a new camera/fix the camera, I can't justify the expense
4) I'm still fighting off my cold.
5) As I'm in this funk, everything in my closet is looking, pilled, stretched, and frumpy. But going shopping in the land of the no-assed size zero stick girls is a nightmare. Nothing fits on bottom. I wear a size 4-6 but I still have to ask for the "largest available size." Shoot me now.
6) A looming deadline for a huge project
7) Two projects languishing-- mostly written, but I can't quite finish it off
8) My e-bay bag was a fake, and I think I'm never going to see my money back, as seller has buggered off and evil Paypal won't refund my money. Am furious. . .
9) My fridge is empty and I can't seem to get it together to go shopping for proper food.
10) My trouser socks lost their elastic and kept falling to my ankles.

No more Bad Bears

2005-04-03T12:23:00.000-07:00

April first is the start of the new fiscal year in Japan. School starts then and new employees are inducted into various companies on this day. . .

And it's the start of new Tokyo Metro Manners series. And unfortunately, no more Bad Bears.

Instead, its a Sesame Street Series. That's just lame and predictable--bloody Elmo! I'm sure Cookie monster will be on a poster soon, telling us not to eat on the train. How will they show drunks? Ernie and Bert staggering around on the platform? At least Bad Bear Drunk Bear had a stylish tie.

Bah Murakami Bah!

2005-04-02T20:49:00.000-08:00

NY Times is commenting on one of my least favorite Japanese artists, Murakami. So last year. . .

Actually, the whole magazine this week is on Japan-pop. . .

Giggle 6

2005-04-01T15:11:00.000-08:00

THIS DROVE ME NUTS. . .this a puzzle called Petals Around the Rose. I did not manage to solve it. It drove me even more nuts twhen my collegue solved it in one roll, and a MacKinsey guy we knew solved it in 4 tries. I had to ask for the solution.

He tried to console me and tell me it was negatively correlated with intelligence. So, I'm either a moron or genius. Great.

Almost 33

2005-03-31T22:44:00.000-08:00

It's my birthday in a few hours. . .I like birthdays still. I like cake and candles. I like nice dinners. I like flowers and I like presents. Yes, I know I sound like I'm six.

I'm looking forward to 33. It's a cool number. I saved up all my birthday cards I got in the mail to open tomorrow.

And yes, I know I'm an April Fool. Yes, it gets old.

Unfortunately I have a terrific cold and I'll be working. My friend who was born on April 3 (we used to celebrate joint birthdays on April 2 when were kids) is celebrating her birthday at the Taj Mahal. What a memorable way to celebrate!

I can't complain as I had a terrific party with friends and Himself two weekends ago in England. But it's always nice when someone says Happy Birthday To You on The Day.

However, if I can leave the office at a reasonable hour tomorrow I plan to stop by my favorite florist in Aoyama and buy an outageous bunch of flowers for myself. I'm meeting my friend M. for brunch on Sunday. Maybe I'll go into town and buy myself something pretty and frivolous. And get my hair done. And I'm bribing another friend for cake and coffee.

I do wish Himself was around though. . .

Yes I'm back

2005-03-29T14:59:00.000-08:00

The UK was wonderful. I didn't want to leave. . .Celebrated my birthday early with friends. Took long walk with Himself in the glorious English countryside-- dafs, primroses, flowering cherries were all out in their full glory. English winter is completely miserable, but spring makes it all worth it. . .

Came back to Tokyo to a mountain of work, and the Cold to end all Colds (to say I am prone to colds is an understatement). Missed three days of work. . .in fact missing a day now. I'm at the cusp that I feel much better, but feel I should take it easy for another day or else I'll get REALLY sick. But it doesn't help with the waves of guilt I feel for missing work. I'm not sick enought to be happily comotose either. . .

Giggle 5

2005-03-29T14:48:00.000-08:00

This one is bit long, but for all you teachers/profs/TA's out there sick of plagerized papers, this post is pure poetic justice. I bet this ruined Laura K. Pahl's day . . .

From BitchPhD.

Giggle 4

2005-03-29T14:34:00.000-08:00

Koizumi dancing with Richard Gere-- Who is leading?

I assume this has something to do with the remake of "Shall we Dance." Who knew that Koizumi and Gere had the same hair. . .

Many thanks to Manolo for this fabulous link. . .

Lisa of On the Face

2005-03-16T22:46:00.000-08:00

Hurrah! She has written part Six. . .here's to hoping she will write Part VII on how she went back to Israel from Tokyo. . .As always, it's great reading. . .

No heat still

2005-03-16T22:06:00.000-08:00

For various reasons, the unchi has hit the sempuki.

Nothing to do but grit one's teeth, and remind oneself that "this too will pass." Or as my delightful yet crude friend says, "Bite the pillow."

Enhancing the state of affairs is the fact that I still have no heat. Mind you, I am not in some ramshackle rabbit hutch. I pay plenty of rent. My building is 4 or 5 years old. My land lord is a large evil real estate empire. Yesterday they sent someone came to look at my heat.

"Hmphhh. Your heat is broken." (Well duhhh)

"When will it be fixed?"

"Hmmmph. It will be about two hundred thousand yen (2000USD) and I have to file an estimate with your land lord."

"So when will you fix it?"

"I don't know."

"When will you know?"

"I don't know."

So I'm still freezing. . .

Hah!

2005-03-15T05:43:00.000-08:00

Work. . .life. . .love. . .balance. . .HAH!!!

Every so often I wish the universe would stop so I could take a deep breath, think, and catch up on life. . .

I am so so so looking forward to the weekend. . .in the UK! Hurrah! Although it does seems like a horredous amount of money and miles for a booty call . . .with my husband. . .I'm calling it my early birthday present for myself. Besides, it's still cheaper than taking a shinkansen to Kyoto and staying in a halfway decent Japanese inn. . .(yep, I'm rationalizing).

Evaluations

2005-03-13T07:40:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I wonder what path my life would have taken if I didn't sell out and leave academe-- the road not taken, blah blah.

My friends keep me posted on life in the ivory tower-- student evaluations and student laziness are a common topic of bitching. . .These comments from blogger Pratie Place appear about the norm. . . These caught my eye:

"This was supposed to be a class on great Victorian literature, but half the writers were women."

"She favors smart students over the regular students which is bias."

"She dresses really wierd. And she takes the reading too seriously. They're just books."

Ahhh the future of America!

In other news, my heat is broken again. And it's snowing outside. I called the realtor call center and the guy who answered he phone was a snotty bastard to me-- look Mr. Phone guy-- you answer phones for living on a Sunday morning. Can't you be nice someone with no heat? Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. . .

What cute little thing you have there. . .

2005-03-12T12:10:00.000-08:00

Again, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to think of this. . .ChinKichi-kun, the penis mascot. He's pretty cute in that Smurf kind of way.

He has friends, among them: Gomu-kun with a condom hat, Kasei-kun (Little Martian) who is not circumcized, Gariben-kun (Little Study a lot), who has glasses and reads, Shima-chin-kun (Little Whoops) with a broken condom, as well as Angel Kichi with wings. And like the Smurfs, there is a even a girl in the bunch, Manko-chan (Little Ms. Cunt).

Putting on my pretentious hat, it all reminds me of Roman belief that penises were lucky charms and protective amulets against evil. I remember a class I took on Augustan era poetry in which we saw slide after slide of flying winged penises, bronze penis mobiles (the kind you hang), and disembodied penis rings (rings with penis motifs for fingers-- commonly worn by upper class Roman children-- not the other kind). Our increasingly stentorian professor manfully ignored our titters as he lectured us on the particulars of Ovid's Ars Amatoria (aka "How to scam a date in Ancient Rome").

I suppose when fertility is important (key in agriculural societies where children are sources of labor), penis worship makes some sense. Giant stone lingums (say outside of resturants and inns) were not entirely rare 20 years ago in Japan. Tanuki figures, (the racoon dog god of gluttony and virility) outside many traditional restaurants sport enormous scrotums (the source of their magic power). And of course, the tourist favorite, The Kanamara Matsuri in Kawasaki. Traditionally, women in the sex trade used to pray for good custom and freedom from venereal disease. Now, it's lots of good fun, campy gay pride, and HIV awareness.

It's just that Chinkichi is so Hello Kitty. . .

Addendum: Check out Chinkichi's travel's journal-- some arty photos of Japan's natural beauty with Chinkichi lurking in them (click any link).

Strawberry Big Happy Cakes

2005-03-12T09:33:00.000-08:00

I love Ichigo Daifuku(literally: Strawberry Big Happy Cakes), which are relatively new invention in mass sweets in Japan. Take a single strawberry, wrap it in anko (sweet bean paste), then wrap that in mochi (glutinous rice) and you have a damn good eating.

Ichigo Daifuku are seasonal-- they come out around Hinamatsuri time (doll festival time), as they are pretty girly food and (greenhouse) strawberries are in season in Japan.

It sounds simple but there are myriads of variations: sometimes the outside mochi is pink, the texture of the mochi varies widely from firm to pillowy, the thickness of the layer of mochi, the texture of the anko paste (smooth or bumpy), the type of strawberry. All of these details create a slightly different Ichigo Daifuku experience.

I am a bit of a Daifuku snob-- I will only buy fresh Daifuku, preferably from wagashi (traditional Japanese) sweet shop--nothing scary from the convenience store that looks mostly chemical. As I was traveling for work, I tried a Ichigo Daifuku in every town I was I in (and now will have to rededicate my life at the gym).

I had a terrible "Ichigo Daifuku " the other day. I bit into it, and there was yellow cake at the bottom, a wad of synthetic whipped cream, and single sad strawberry. Horrible!

Giggle 3

2005-03-10T05:32:00.000-08:00

From Travis--What is your Shakespearean flaw Quiz?

I didn't take it, but it made me laugh. I particually liked the Titus Andronicus references-- "Cross me and you're pie!"

Objects of Desire

2005-03-09T17:21:00.000-08:00

When Lala Channel (Japan's answer to the Oxygen Channnel) is not showing Very Bad Korean Soaps and Feng Shui Shows, they show re-runs of the Antiques Road Show.

My parents, who love almost everything on PBS, hate the show. They rage about the crass materialism of the show, and its insistence that objects of inestimable personal value and history are translated to pounds and cents.

I've always loved this show. I like the history of objects-- how they were used. I also marvel at how durable many of these goods are: our lives in comparison are disposable. Objects are repaired and valued. Even the damage and ham fisted attempt at fixing the object-- or people trying to transform it to something else-- is interesting. It often has nothing to do with money (although its amusing when some hidieous ceramic dog turns out to worth 5000 GBP). I look around my house and wonder what will valued by anyone in 50 years.

Although I'm not a materialist in the Marxist sense, I do think that objects help arrange the narratives that let us make sense of our random lives. I admire who are free from objects and can throw everything away and repeat the process ad nauseum, but I can't.

In my house I have a painting from a family friend I've known since I was three, a bottle of calming lavender oil that one of my best friends gave me when I showed up in New York a nervous wreck, a leather notebook from my mother, lacquer bowls I bought with my friend L. before she left for the US, my engagement ring. . .

One summer when I was a teenager, my parents sent me to live with a family friends in Tokyo (thinking it would be good for my Japanese and get some social polish--ha!)-- the housekeeper there belonged to Asakusa temple. One day she took me on her devotional rounds. She took me side temple where, in February (I think?), women would bring their broken needles. A preist would say a sutra for the needles so they would get some rest and be rewarded for their faithful labor. At the time I thought it was immensely silly.

I have a pair of broken down black sneakers and a pair of torn orange capris that I can't bear to throw out. They are very cheap, nothing special-- when I was a grad student, I didn't have much money, and made do with what I had.

Both have been around the world with me. I pounded the pavement here, my home town, climbed the Great Wall, bummed around Bangkok, Bali, Malaysia, all over the US, the UK, and even a gym or two. They were with me the first time I saw wild monkeys. I walked and talked and had long earnest conversations with my friends in those sneakers. They were with me, when I transformed myself from a grad student to a corporate animal. I fell in love with Himself in my orange capris. I lived in the orange capris when I traveled (many a travel partner have threatened to burn them). In New Jersey at our beach house, I live in them and bikini top, margharita in hand.

It seems so ungrateful to just pitch them in the trash. I wish there was a temple I could bring them to reward them for so many years of good service.

Lemon Chicken

2005-03-08T22:29:00.000-08:00

Over the weekend I craved Himself's Special Roast Chicken.

Some years ago I taught Himself my favorite Roast Chicken recipe. You slide butter under the skin, cut two lemons, squeeze lemons over the flesh, stuff the squeezed lemons in the cavity with garlic, thyme, and rosemary. Drizzel the whole bird with olive oil salt and pepper, and bake at 180C until done. Served with wilted bitter greens and new potatoes, it makes a perfect all weekend meal. Sometime I would bake some lemon pound cake and we would spend the weekend reading, eating, and writing.

Himself really made the Roast Chicken his own. When he makes it, the skin is crispy and lemony, and the garlic becomes soft and sweet. As Himself doesn't cook that often, dinner is not a mad sramble to the finish line. He makes it with care, and it's always delicious. With the carcass he makes soup, we eat that over the week.

But Himself is in the UK right now for the next few months, at least. And I'm in Tokyo. I would never finish the bird by myself. I contented myself with a few lemons and some chicken breasts. . .And an overpriced ticket to London (I'll spare you the metal gymnastics that I did to rationalize the cost). Off to see Himself for the long weekend at the end of the month. . .Hurrah!

I have a bad attitude

2005-03-07T21:39:00.000-08:00

Tired. Fighting off a cold. Fell flat on my face running for a cab in spiked heels. Too much work. Traveling again. Miss Himself. Want chocolate. Grumble. Grumble. Grumble.

Holy!

2005-03-06T11:35:00.000-08:00

From BitchPhD-- Why would Jesus and Mary appear in a pretzel so they can be sold on E-bay? Is that part of the Ineffable Plan? Jesus wanted Crysta to have a horse? Is this what counts as a miracle in this day and age? How many pretzels dance on the head of a pin? Theological minds are a flutter.

BitchPhD is right, it really does look like the logo of Good Vibrations. . .

Pretzel looks like Mary and Jesus
NBC 10.com March 5, 2005

Crysta Naylor and her mom, Machelle, are convinced the salty snack looks like the Virgin Mary holding the baby Jesus.

The Naylors found the alleged icon in a bag of Rold Gold Honey Mustard Pretzels.

"We both kind of looked at each other at the time she brought it out and she turned it around and when she turned it around I said, 'that looks like the Virgin Mary holding baby Jesus' and she said, 'that's what I think, Mom,'" said Machelle Naylor.

She and her daughter Crysta researched the bible after finding the pretzel and discovered mustard seeds, honey and even pretzels are mentioned in the texts.

Now, the pair put their finding for auction on eBay.

Crysta is hoping the bids will reach $1,000 so she can buy a horse.
Bidding had reached $200 as of Saturday.

See for yourself. . .

Turtle oil

2005-03-06T05:51:00.000-08:00

It's universal that things sold on TV are pretty strange and promise the world, Japan is no exception (Abtronic, skin whitener, eternal youth, thinner thighs, and real estate with no money down. . .no, the last one is only in the US). This new series of "Turtle Pills for men," however, take it to new level.

The main ingredient is a "suppon ", which are soft shelled snapping turtles and royal jelly. I don't rule out the idea that turtles and royal jelly may have some nutritional value, but I found the commerials funny.

"The turtle bites and won't let go"-- I think the idea is that you will become manly like a turtle.

"I have more confidence now that I take Turtle Pills!"
"My husband is nicer to me now that he takes Turtle pills. He now helps around the house, and even carries the groceries when we go shopping."
"I fight less with my wife!"
"I can do business do all night" (no, not that kind of business)
"I got promoted after taking Turtle Pills."
"All natural so there are no side effects!" (Umm, so is arsenic and digitalis).

Hmmm, maybe I should buy a bottle for Himself. . .

Beer goggling

2005-03-05T05:43:00.000-08:00

Certain occasions call for certain foods: champagne at weddings, hot dogs at baseball games, popcorn at the movies. You can do without them, but somehow, the whole experience is just simply better by eating or drinking that certain thing.

In Japan, travel calls for beer. Planes, trains, buses or automobiles, it’s an excuse to drink beer (so long as you are not driving). Which makes sense: travel is a form of celebration--the relatively rare holiday. The journey, in itself, should be as pleasurable as the destination. Blah blah.

So, a few days ago, I was sitting in Haneda Airport at six o’clock, sucking down my very bad cappuccino. From where I was sitting, I could watch the people in the restaurant (people watching is better than television). When I started my coffee, a group of middle aged men had just finished their “Dai-jyoki” of beer (that’s the really big mug) and started into their traditional Japanese meal (rice, fish, tofu, miso soup—it’s all good). Then, another round of beer. And then another. By the time I had finished my coffee, prepped for my meeting, these guys had finished 3 large steins of beer. And were going strong.

Walking to my gate, I saw another guy, a youngish executive, with his Dai-jyoki of beer and his lap top.

People, it was six in the morning!

Priest

2005-03-04T11:06:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure what to make of this. Being from Boston, you would think I would be used to this sort of ecclesiastical wierdness by now.

Court accepts priest's touching of girl's breasts as 'religious activity'
2005.02.17
SATSUMASENDAI, Kagoshima -- A Shinto priest accused of indecent assault for massaging the breasts of a 15-year-old girl was found not guilty after a court here ruled that his act was a "religious activity."

"There is room to accept that his act was a religious activity, and reasonable doubt in saying he possessed sexual intent," Judge Atsushi Tomita said in handing down the ruling at the Sendai branch of the Kagoshima District Court on Wednesday.

Prosecutors had demanded that the 36-year-old priest, Ryoichi Sakamoto, be jailed for two years over his actions. Sakamoto was arrested and charged with indecent assault after he touched the breasts and other body parts of the junior high school girl at a religious facility adjoining his home in October 2002 and December that year.

During the trial, Sakamoto admitted that he touched the body of the girl, but said it was "a religious activity in order to help her," and maintained that he was not guilty.

In giving the ruling, Tomita acknowledged that Sakamoto had touched the breasts of the girl, but said of his actions, "(In the sect to which the defendant belongs) there are some cases in which the skin is touched directly, and one cannot say that this did not constitute a religious activity."

Sakamoto has relieved at the ruling. "I feel greatly relieved at the not-guilty ruling," he said. "I would have liked the investigators to have taken a bit more care."

Prosecutors said they would consider what response to take after examining the ruling. (Mainichi Shimbun, Japan, Feb. 17, 2005)