Ye Cavorting, Two-Headed Beastie

Now that the baby of the house is a whopping three months old (and a truly whopping six kilos plus), sorties in the baby carrier are a regular occurrence.  Trips to the store, trips to get take-away parent-kibble, and trips just cavorting hither, thither, and yon.

Get some interesting looks about town.  For one thing, a father alone with a child remains a somewhat unusual sight in Japan.  Gender roles are highly polarized hereabouts.  Women are expected to quit working when the first child comes along and embrace housewifery.  Then men spend all their time at work.  All their damn time.  According to OECD statistics, working fathers in Japan spend an average of twenty minutes per day with their children.  Women become, in essence, sole caregivers.  A by-product of this is that fathers are regarded as domestically incompetent.  This is changing... albeit slowly.

Another reason folks look: absurdly caucasian baby.  Granted, one finds plenty of caucasians here married to Japanese folk.  Those children, however, don't often resemble "eugenics babies" from a 1920s county fair in Midwestern America.  Make no mistake, got nothing but love for the little guy.  Still, in this neck of the woods, his blue-eyed blondness borders on ridiculous.  Some folks go utterly agog over the little Ollie-ball when he opens those sapphire peepers.  Can understand their feelings.

Side note: constantly singing to the little bologna loaf during the walks.  Current favorites: "Angel Band" and "The Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia."  With the cooler weather, often go forth wearing a sweatshirt over the baby carrier.  Upside: can zip the sweatshirt up over the baby for warmth.  Downside: the sweatshirt renders the harness invisible to anyone walking behind.  Thus, folk to the fore see a guy rocking and singing to a baby.  That gets a pretty positive reception: a lot of "kawaii!" and such.  Folk to aft see a guy, apparently, dancing around and singing to his own damn self.  That doesn't do so well in the polls.

Bologna Loaf.

Well, there's a baby in the house!  赤ちゃんだよ。

Bless the little bologna loaf.  That, by the by, is one of many great things from Bill Watterson's Calvin and Hobbes.  In one strip, Calvin's father quips: "I knew we'd made a mistake the minute I saw that little bologna loaf in the hospital bassinet."  Mind you, this baby is no mistake.  Quite the contrary.  It's just that referring to a human child as a "bologna loaf" is pretty goddamn funny.  Didn't fully understand the significance of the statement prior to seeing a newborn, caucasian infant nekkid in the aforementioned hospital bassinet.  It's an apt description.

Speaking of apt descriptions, there are many great words in Japanese.  One such is 親バカ.  It refers to parents utterly agog over their own child and that child's perceived capability, intelligence, excretion prowess, looks, or what-not.  The term literally means parent fool.  Never really understood the term until now.  It's definitely an apt description.  Baby is barely a month old, and all the handheld electronics in the house are already inundated with pictures of him widdle face.

But that aside, the summer is nigh over.  Thus, vacation is over.  This week both these fool parents go back to work.  Have some trepidation about working full time and caring for an infant, but it can't be helped... and nothing will do but to do it.  しょうがないだな〜。頑張ろう。

The little guy is worth it.  And then some.  Bless the little bologna loaf.

Cavorting Beasties...

Walking by the river t'other evening, the twilight disclosed all manner of plastic bags floating by in the water.  Seeing crap drifting downriver (not literal crap, mind you) is not unusual.  Mostly the usual suspects: the aforementioned plastic bags, empty food containers, wood chips, bottles and cans, and clap your hands.

Despite this, even by the time it empties into Tokyo Bay, Sumida River merely looks unsightly compared to some rivers elsewhere.  The Mississippi is pretty funky when it gets to Louisiana... and not Bootsy Collins funky, either.  Glow-in-the-dark, scratch-and-sniff biohazard funky.  とにかく、隅田川で泳ぐつもりない。

But back to the Sumida: having an eyeful of a bunch of discarded plastic bags of an evening... saw one of them twitch.  Paused to rub the peepers.  Looked again and found that all of the plastic bags were intermittently moving or pulsating or undulating.  Ew... hate that last word.  Of course these were not plastic bags, but jellyfish.  (Probably aurelia aurita to be precise).

Everything has its season, of course.  When jellyfish appear in large quantities, scientists refer to it as a "bloom".  Jellyfish blooms present a problem here and there.  The phenomenon can have disastrous effects for some.  A bloom of Nomura's jellyfish or 越前水母 (エチゼンクラゲ) managed to capsize a fishing trawler when a group (school? wiggle? flotilla? jar? dunno...) of them ended up in the boat's net.  Surprised?  It's less surprising upon learning this critter can grow to two meters in diameter with a mass of two hundred kilos.  Zoiks.

Anyway these otherworldly blobs are mighty interesting.  Wikipedia ho!
この不思議な塊は興味深いだな。ウィキペディアに行こう！

Status updaticus: a group of jellyfish is most precisely referred to as a "smack".

What the hell?  Who makes this stuff up?

Sheepskin Collection.

Life has proffered various bedevilments over the years.  C'est la vie.  Some of the more amusing (and predictable) include: unrequited love, smoking cessation, forays into the depths of madness, fishhook inadvertently stuck in hand, excessive alcohol consumption, and arguments with all and sundry.  In retrospect, however, few of life's bedevilments have proven more consistently annoying than post-secondary education.

After several stabs at college, finally snagged a BA (which was BS, really) in East Asian Studies.  Spent six semesters studying Chinese only to be fully unable to speak it in ordinary conversation.  Well, whatever.  Went to Japan, instead.

The acquisition of the BA led to a solemn pledge never to set foot in a university again... except maybe to use the toilet.  That vow, uttered in earnest before the dear and fluffy lord and at least two fellow meat bags, held up for exactly three years.  Then, it was off to grad school!

Contrary to expectations, grad school was actually pretty damned interesting.  Learned some genuinely useful shit.  Met some genuinely interesting folks.  Also met a few dispicable chowderheads.  Mostly interesting folks.  Became painfully aware, though, how unsuitable the life of an academia nut is (at least for this carbon blob).  While out at a restaurant with fellow grad students, one smarmy, pedantic little troll started blathering about going right on to get a doctorate.  Immediately made a solemn vow before the dear and fluffy lord not to pursue any additional, additional schooling.  Just can't do it.  Gold stars on the fridge to those who can do it.  Frankly, would rather use a hedgehog in lieu of toilet paper than get the third degree.

And speaking of paper: in the way back when, diplomas were printed on parchment, vellum, or sheepskin rather than paper.  Some people still refer to diplomas as sheepskins.  The practice continued here and there as a decadence.  One of the last places in the United States of America to confer actual sheepskin diplomas was Rice University in Houston, Texas.  They quit doing so in 2012, citing cost and handling problems.  Figures.  Electric lights made candles pretty goddamned expensive.  Works that way for many things.

At any rate, got an official letter from the grad school t'other  day saying that all the criteria for the masters program have been fulfilled.  Iz grajuit.  For realz.  This diploma will be made from paper, and not snipped from ovine hindquarters.

That said, shall now make (yet) another pledge before the dear and fluffy lord and all who read this blog: this meat bag is done collecting sheepskins.

Goddamn Windmills.

Japan has a chain of bargain stores called ドン・キホーテ (Don Quixote).  They're pretty neat.  They carry all manner of crap.  Soup to nuts.  "Tennis balls to glue," even.  The business describes itself as "discount shop and amusement".  That it is.

T'other day, went on the hunt for a particular kind of pillow intended as a gift.  Checked a coupla the usual stores and found them not.  Then had the thought: "why not Donk?"  Donk, by the by, is what Don Quixote calls itself for short.  It also has a mascot called ドンペン (Don Pen) who is a penguin.  Naturally.

Anyway, back to the thought: "why not Donk?"  (The longer this sojourn in Japan lasts, the weirder the internal monologue becomes.)  But never mind that... off to Donk!  Recently moved house, so the new area and its adjacent neighborhoods are not entirely familiar ground yet.  Thus, Google Maps seemed the best option.  Blue dotted line, ho!  行こうね。

Entered  「ドン・キホーテ」 into Google Maps, selected the pin in the area, and was off.  Streets rolled by, and neighborhoods rolled by.  About twenty minutes later, things started looking a little peculiar.  ちょっと変だな〜。 In fact, they started looking downright seedy (seedy for hereabouts, anyway).  Shop signs had more pink and purple than was typical, or strictly necessary.  Doorways disclosed smarmy looking men wearing bowties and ostentatiously shiny shoes.  These men either beckoned leeringly, or smirked like they were all in on some unknown joke.  Unknown to this hapless traveller, in any event.  It was reminiscent of old tales where other hapless travellers had inadvertently crossed over into the Land of Faerie where things became suddenly strange and the locals smirked at and mocked them until they crossed back into the mundane world.

On a side note, back in the mundane world, there was an area in Tokyo called 吉原 (Yoshiwara) during the Edo Period.  It was a notorious red-light district where many, many women went to an early grave.  According to the display at the Edo-Tokyo Museum, the average lifespan of a Yoshiwara girl was about 24 due to the horrid conditions.  The manga さくらん (Insanity) is set there and tells the story of a woman who is sold into prostitution by her impoverished family.  The manga has also been adapted into a film.  Both are worth a look.  The area that was Yoshiwara is now 千束 (Senzoku), and it still "boasts" a plethora of businesses in the sex trade.  More specifically, it is now 千束四丁目.  Upon closer inspection, it became clear that is exactly where Google Maps had led this hapless traveller.

On the heels of that realization came the thought: "son of a mother duck... better hurry on to Donk and get the hell outta here!"  So onward down the dotted blue line!  Followed it to its terminus, only to turn the last corner and find another sleazy club.

The name of the goddamned club was Don Quixote.

It was written exactly the same way as the store.  Looking back at the Google Maps entry (and reading all of it, this time) revealed the truth.  It was what it was.  Always read the label, kids.

何も買わなかった。
Needless to say... didn't buy anything.  Certainly no amusement.  Got some free angry, though.

Free to pursue other interests for the time being... *burp*

The grad course is at an end.  Had already heard they accepted the MA paper a coupla months ago.  However, got the news that actual graduation is going to occur.  卒業生だ。Iz grajuit.  Go figure.

This begs the question: what to do meow?  There is responsibility in the mail, but it isn't here yet.  Already working the kind of job grad school was intended to lead to.  Scholarship and academic writing have absolutely zero appeal at this point.  Maybe that will change in time... but not gonna bet any money on that.

What to do then?  Use Ockham's razor... to carve the roast beast.  It's time to eat, motherfuckers!  喰いましょう！

Indian food is endlessly wondrous.  Fish tikka, aloo pakora, mutton vindaloo... all of it heavenly.  The local Turkish kebab place with its pitas overflowing with delight.  Ramen?  Amen!  特に赤味噌ラーメンはめっちゃおいしいだな。 Ice cream has taken on a greater, almost spiritual meaning.

It is remotely possible that the current running regimen may not offset this overzealous consumption.  As a comedian once said: "gonna hafta call in fat for work tomorrow."  Oh, first world problems.

Walking... Dead.

Finally played the Walking Dead game.  Brilliant piece of entertainment.  Highly recommend it to all the carbon blobs out there.

Well, it's well written.  Incredibly sympathetic (and some unsympathetic) characters.  Characters with very human flaws.  The art is brilliant and, as I understand, very faithful to the original graphic novel.  漫画はちょうかっこいいと聞いた。

Warning, spoilers follow:

The main character, Lee, finds a second-grade girl named Clementine all by herself in a neighbourhood full of zombies.  He cares for and protects her.  Becomes a surrogate father, of sorts.  As the months pass, he takes her all the way to Savannah, Georgia to find her parents... or their remains.

They battle zombies, bandits, crazies, hunger, and all manner of human drama to get there.  They find the news they seek.  Then, at the very end, Lee is bitten and is becoming a zombie.  Little Clementine has to shoot him in the head to prevent him from turning.  As the main character, I had to talk her through it and tell her I love her and to be strong, etc.  The game (on this playthrough) ended with Clementine pulling the trigger.

It's just about the saddest thing I've seen in a game.  悲しいぃぃぃ。

I suppose making the ultimate sacrifice for a child's safety is an awfully good lesson to take away from a video game.  But fuuuuuuuuck!  Still, the Radish People done recommends.  Will surely play Season 2 if... survive... gratuitous melancholy.

Something Runneth Over

Just moved into a new apartment.  Same general area.  東京の下町。Once again by the river.  隅田川。「下町」literally means "downtown", but there's an additional nuance to it.  It's the old lower city, from when Tokyo was Edo.  It has a certain feeling to it, a certain je ne sais quoi, which some locals would judge me unable to appreciate as an outsider.  Fair enough.  俺は正確に江戸っ子じゃない。Truthfully I have said essentially the same thing to some visitors in regards to my hometown.  However, as outsiders, those same folks can appreciate my hometown objectively... a thing which I am incapable of doing.  Irony.  It's magically delicious.  Especially with potatoes.  皮肉じゃが。

そう... last week in the old place,  had toilet trouble.  おトイレ様のおなかが痛かった。 There was a poonami warning, and it became quickly apparent that there was no plunger in the house.  Lived in that apartment for five years.  五年間。In all that time, there was never a problem... until that last week.  After a very hasty trip to the store, a plunger was added to the home arsenal.  It's one of those things no one thinks of until the need arises.  But when the need arose, it rose swiftly: like buoyant, impending doom borne upon fetid waters.

とにかく、プランジャーを持っている。
Anyway, has plunger now.