Discovering that your finances are crumbling, even though you've gone halfway around the world to earn better money, is the sort of thing that fucks up your day. In fact, several days have been dampened by this revelation. I'm still going to Thailand, and I'm still paying the bills, but some of the bills back home will be relegated to "Later". Namely, my credit cards. Had I known the state of my financial disequilibrium I wouldn't have bought that "Introduction to Philosophy" on the internet a week ago, spending $80 in credit card magic money in the process.
Crumbling is perhaps too strong a word. I can get by, so don't worry all you worrisome folks. It looks like I won't be buying lunches at the combini anymore (except on special occasions, like when I'm too lazy or don't have the time to go home and prepare lunch). Today all my classes were cancelled because the students had exams, so I went home on the pretext of going to the post office and prepared myself a nice lunch. There's a neat trick that can be done with the rice cooker. I set it to turn on at 12:00, put in rice, water and chopped carrot, and then when I arrive for lunch it's all ready. The carrot was a tad soft though because it sat in the rice cooker after it had finished cooking, and the remaining heat mushed it. Must get green vegetables. I can see in the dark just fine (which is what carrots do for ya - but that may just be a myth propogated by the allies to trick the German pilots into eating too many carrots and pumpkins). Come to think of it, I've been eating carrots and pumpkins myself. Pumpkin is a very popular vegetable in Japan and is often served as a small side dish to a bento. Please note the absence of "box" after bento, as bento means box. So maybe I'm a German pilot or just in danger of getting jaundice.
With the rest of my day I read a few entries on BigDaikon.com, a JET website. One true story described a foreign teacher's experience with the police after a racist Japanese man jumped him. The cops were just as bad and wanted him to bow down to the man, who claimed that he was the victim. The teacher didn't submit though, and after hours of interrogation he was released from the police station when the punk-ass dropped the charges. Forgive my use of punk-ass, I just couldn't think of anything better. Maybe that's because the other rest of my day was spent trying to follow the extremely long strings of logic/illogic constructed by Foucault. That man makes a lot of references to French authors. It makes me think that my exposure is severely limited by reading in English. And I used to think that all the ideas were available in English through translation and synthesis.
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
A leafy paradise
Yesterday we went to Ishiyamadera. Ishi means pebble, yama means mountain, dera means temple - so we visited the Temple of Pebble Mountain.
It's the season of leaf watching. This is an actual thing that Japanese people have a name for. The leaf-watching event - I don't know the name. Don't assume it's dull till you've seen the leaves in Japan. They're smaller and the colours are more intense than the leaves back home. It was really quite splendid as the Buddhist monks have devoted their lives to creating the proper setting for leaf-watching, which is essentially what they're doing by creating an architecture that's in proper harmony with nature. The paths among the trees are mossy, and old carved stones festoon the hillsides. Round the rugged rocks no ragged rascals ran, but lichens, mosses and rich, dark soil made a carpet or a living tapestry out of the ground. I've posted one picture of one small part of this temple complex, which runs up a mountainside and includes several structures, whose use and history I do not know and can only assume.
The ritual cleansing of the hands at the temple. (notice the fish in the pond!)
click on the pictures to enlarge them
I will post another picture when I get the opportunity, because these images are amazing.
It's the season of leaf watching. This is an actual thing that Japanese people have a name for. The leaf-watching event - I don't know the name. Don't assume it's dull till you've seen the leaves in Japan. They're smaller and the colours are more intense than the leaves back home. It was really quite splendid as the Buddhist monks have devoted their lives to creating the proper setting for leaf-watching, which is essentially what they're doing by creating an architecture that's in proper harmony with nature. The paths among the trees are mossy, and old carved stones festoon the hillsides. Round the rugged rocks no ragged rascals ran, but lichens, mosses and rich, dark soil made a carpet or a living tapestry out of the ground. I've posted one picture of one small part of this temple complex, which runs up a mountainside and includes several structures, whose use and history I do not know and can only assume.
The ritual cleansing of the hands at the temple. (notice the fish in the pond!)
click on the pictures to enlarge them
I will post another picture when I get the opportunity, because these images are amazing.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
The Archaeology of Knowledge
In "The Archaeology of Knowledge", Foucault says that history has moved from the use of the documents as a means to the ends of a timeline, to the focus on the document as object and constitutive element of history itself. Documents are arranged into a monument which is the focus of history - the seriation, stratification and interfunctionality of the monument. Now this is a bold claim and one which threatens to pull history away from non-academics. Is a child in school practicing history when she tries to learn the chronology of 20th century European battles? Is a history textbook even a summary of history by this definiton? It would be not a tome containing history, but an element of history itself, it's content relegated to infantile significance through it's staid insistence on treating events as though they actually occurred. I realize that the view that there are actual concrete events which took place that can be storied and delineated is hopelessly old-fashioned and modernist, as opposed to post-modernist. I still appreciate that historical documents leave more gaps than they fill in, and I think Foucault's point that the gaps can be used as a tool of analysis (for example a lack of publishing following a document that warns of an oncoming disruption in economies, paper supplies, etc can be taken as evidence supporting the event) is quite brilliant. However I feel that he is flying at such lofty heights of abstraction that the phenomena of original interest are too far below him to be seen. They are obscured by the clouds. And his thesis brings up the question of who history belongs to? Is it solely in the domain of the academics? I could almost believe this, if there are fractious definitions of "history". Academic history being the high culture history, and common understand of history being the low-culture history. But what purpose would this serve except to establish a field which can only exist in academia? Perhaps there is a purpose. I shall read on.
Sunday, November 21, 2004
goodnight
as fitful night creeps darkly forward i drift toward my couchbed, my shamble-room strewn with the collected mess of a spent time. green tiles, curtains, cardboard Kleenex box and ironpill bottle enshrine me in verdure. i miss the grass. once i kissed the good grass goodnight, yet now my lips are lipless met, and kisses miss.
Friday, November 19, 2004
The Reading Dream-state
I’m riding on the train. In Spain. Or I wish I were riding on the train in Spain. Instead it’s rainy old Japan. Which is funny because there’s that rain train Spain rhyme. Maybe you think I hate Japan, now that I’m writing doggeral about it in my posts. But in fact, I like Japan. It’s just hard to reconcile my worklife with the experience I know is possible here. Possible, but just out of reach, at least during the weekdays. On weekends such as this I find myself rediscovering the pleasure I get from exploring a land that’s fresh and new to my senses. The whole land lies in possibility before me, only restricted to the Kansai region on weekends. I could travel to the Sea of Japan or to the Pacific on any given weekend, though I haven’t done this yet. My neighbour Colin visited Kobe on the Pacific coast just last weekend, and he went up a tower and looked out over the bay. That sounds like good fun to me.
Nishi Chu (my school) is my recurring nightmare, or perhaps it’s merely a dreamless immobility that brings no rest. This is how I feel some mornings when I wake up to go to Nishi Chu. My eyes and body are still tired, but it’s not sleep that will cure me. It’s the tantalus hope of not going to work. I haven’t yet had that cruel experience of waking up and thinking it’s the weekend, only to find it’s a workday. Come to think of it, when I was a boy it always happened the other way: I’d wake up on Saturday and think it was mid-week or think it Monday on a Sunday morning. Then the realization hits and it’s even better than knowing it’s the weekend. Now my bewildering sleeps come at odd times in the afternoon, when the office has cleared out and I’m sitting at my desk with nothing to do but read. My head is over the book, and the words of McLuhan begin to cluster like an impenetrable forest. I venture in, and passing each word, a silent tree that refuses to speak its meaning, I’m too entranced to realize I’m no longer awake. By then I’m in the midst of a forest of McLuhan’s mind and my own - my unconscious, unfettered mind - and I begin to see the meanings in such a strange and wonderful way. The insight that accompanies those problems I fall asleep to is complex beyond normal conscious imagining, and only a glimpse remains when I wake to the sound of a phone, ringing.
Cursed lucidity! Why won’t you retain the cipher of my recombinant dream-mind? Instead, seive-like only the granules of ideas remain. Spending my free moments - make that free hours – at school reading re-organizes my consciousness away from the everyday stream of consciousness and into a forced awareness. My mind keeps wanting to drift, unused as it now is to extended concentration, and as I force myself to continue reading I’m also forced to explore different ways of connecting to the material. Usually it’s depth connection – the engagement that McLuhan says is fostered by a youth of television. Then as my ability to maintain that understanding slackens it becomes a race. My eyes running over the page just faster than my ability to second-guess and misunderstand. It’s a forced understanding that must be McLuhan’s lineal textual engagement. A means of engagement suggested by the medium itself, by it’s unimodal sensory demands and tersely coded meaning. Heidegger, who struggled to contain the multiplicity of meanings in the written word would have a bone to pick with McLuhan. Like any great thinker McLuhan can sweep aside these inconsistencies as unknown, irrelevent, or merely obstacles in the way of his strident exposition.
I try to imitate this to gain confidence in my writing, however weak and random my expression. I have so much work to do. Please forgive this self-indulgent entry.
Nishi Chu (my school) is my recurring nightmare, or perhaps it’s merely a dreamless immobility that brings no rest. This is how I feel some mornings when I wake up to go to Nishi Chu. My eyes and body are still tired, but it’s not sleep that will cure me. It’s the tantalus hope of not going to work. I haven’t yet had that cruel experience of waking up and thinking it’s the weekend, only to find it’s a workday. Come to think of it, when I was a boy it always happened the other way: I’d wake up on Saturday and think it was mid-week or think it Monday on a Sunday morning. Then the realization hits and it’s even better than knowing it’s the weekend. Now my bewildering sleeps come at odd times in the afternoon, when the office has cleared out and I’m sitting at my desk with nothing to do but read. My head is over the book, and the words of McLuhan begin to cluster like an impenetrable forest. I venture in, and passing each word, a silent tree that refuses to speak its meaning, I’m too entranced to realize I’m no longer awake. By then I’m in the midst of a forest of McLuhan’s mind and my own - my unconscious, unfettered mind - and I begin to see the meanings in such a strange and wonderful way. The insight that accompanies those problems I fall asleep to is complex beyond normal conscious imagining, and only a glimpse remains when I wake to the sound of a phone, ringing.
Cursed lucidity! Why won’t you retain the cipher of my recombinant dream-mind? Instead, seive-like only the granules of ideas remain. Spending my free moments - make that free hours – at school reading re-organizes my consciousness away from the everyday stream of consciousness and into a forced awareness. My mind keeps wanting to drift, unused as it now is to extended concentration, and as I force myself to continue reading I’m also forced to explore different ways of connecting to the material. Usually it’s depth connection – the engagement that McLuhan says is fostered by a youth of television. Then as my ability to maintain that understanding slackens it becomes a race. My eyes running over the page just faster than my ability to second-guess and misunderstand. It’s a forced understanding that must be McLuhan’s lineal textual engagement. A means of engagement suggested by the medium itself, by it’s unimodal sensory demands and tersely coded meaning. Heidegger, who struggled to contain the multiplicity of meanings in the written word would have a bone to pick with McLuhan. Like any great thinker McLuhan can sweep aside these inconsistencies as unknown, irrelevent, or merely obstacles in the way of his strident exposition.
I try to imitate this to gain confidence in my writing, however weak and random my expression. I have so much work to do. Please forgive this self-indulgent entry.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
Why I'm Not Studying Japanese
Britney Spears is actually not bad on the track "Dance Mix". She's the consumate pop star. I also like that song she does with Madonna. This is what happens when I play my music on random - I get the one Britney track I have. And suddenly it's the melancholy harmonica of Mazzy Star, light-years from Britney's galaxy.
I'm burning through McLuhan now, after letting it lie for days while reading histories and "The Rule Of Four", an exciting piece of bibliophile Princeton fiction. A novel about a book. It was actually this novel that inspired me to re-invigorate my studies and now I'm reading 60 pages a day in a race to get through McLuhan. I don't think I'm learning any less than when I read it slowly - I still garble the theoretical points in my mind while the anecdotes stand out in high relief. Such as: Germany is a tribal society; that tribalism was encouraged by Hitler and the technology of radio. I think it's through anecdote that I'll understand McLuhan, as it was through metaphor that I understood Baudrillard. Anyone who wants to see the bizarre extremes of linguistic manipulation should read Baudrillard (not in the original French for me, alas).
I hope to be able to read authors in their original German and French someday soon. Time must be spent in France and Germany. I'm going to Kyoto this weekend to buy another book - an introduction to ancient Greek if I can find it. What can I say? I don't enjoy studying Japanese.
Leaving to the sounds of John Lee Hooker... no wait... a harpsichord... The Magnetic Fields.
I'm burning through McLuhan now, after letting it lie for days while reading histories and "The Rule Of Four", an exciting piece of bibliophile Princeton fiction. A novel about a book. It was actually this novel that inspired me to re-invigorate my studies and now I'm reading 60 pages a day in a race to get through McLuhan. I don't think I'm learning any less than when I read it slowly - I still garble the theoretical points in my mind while the anecdotes stand out in high relief. Such as: Germany is a tribal society; that tribalism was encouraged by Hitler and the technology of radio. I think it's through anecdote that I'll understand McLuhan, as it was through metaphor that I understood Baudrillard. Anyone who wants to see the bizarre extremes of linguistic manipulation should read Baudrillard (not in the original French for me, alas).
I hope to be able to read authors in their original German and French someday soon. Time must be spent in France and Germany. I'm going to Kyoto this weekend to buy another book - an introduction to ancient Greek if I can find it. What can I say? I don't enjoy studying Japanese.
Leaving to the sounds of John Lee Hooker... no wait... a harpsichord... The Magnetic Fields.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Grimness begone!
As the cold and dark nights creep up on us, making the afternoons cold and dark, I find myself cycling home along the red patched sidewalk in darkness instead of afternoon sunshine. It's amazing how a place can be transformed by the absence of light, and that's all darkness is. Darkness is actually the norm - it's light that's the periodic visitor. Da Vinci suggested that a painter begin the canvas with a wash of black, because only the illuminated portions should be anything but black.
Grimness begone!
I am trying to get back on the path of righteousnous, if righteousness can be described as attention to learning, physical exercise and creative activity. A very humanistic description to be sure, and really the term righteousness is far to laden with book-burning tradition to serve my purposes here. Has anyone heard of the bonfire of the vanities? Savonarola, an upstart preacher in renaissance Florence started the tradition of a giant bonfire, burning all the "vanities" that he felt were condemning his city to moral turpitude. These included the writing of ancient philosophers, poets, playwrites as well as paintings and sculptures by great masters. It seems astounding to me, and an example of the brand of righteousness that seems to be afflicting politics in the United States right now.
Grimness begone!
Tonight, I'm looking forward to an easy evening of watching exciting tv episodes of "Alias" and possibly "Lost". This is what we do at the Highlife Morii, an apartment complex inhabited by an inordinate number of foreign English teachers.
And thus, I have updated my much-neglected blog.
Grimness begone!
I am trying to get back on the path of righteousnous, if righteousness can be described as attention to learning, physical exercise and creative activity. A very humanistic description to be sure, and really the term righteousness is far to laden with book-burning tradition to serve my purposes here. Has anyone heard of the bonfire of the vanities? Savonarola, an upstart preacher in renaissance Florence started the tradition of a giant bonfire, burning all the "vanities" that he felt were condemning his city to moral turpitude. These included the writing of ancient philosophers, poets, playwrites as well as paintings and sculptures by great masters. It seems astounding to me, and an example of the brand of righteousness that seems to be afflicting politics in the United States right now.
Grimness begone!
Tonight, I'm looking forward to an easy evening of watching exciting tv episodes of "Alias" and possibly "Lost". This is what we do at the Highlife Morii, an apartment complex inhabited by an inordinate number of foreign English teachers.
And thus, I have updated my much-neglected blog.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
What you waiting, what you waiting, what you waiting for?
What is the point in writing anything unless it's a comment, a broadcast of the current, disguised or undisguised in theme? So I thought as I sat at my desk with nothing to do in the waning hours of the afternoon. I thought about the story I was writing, which is themed on optics, and it seemed to me to be so divorced from anything real or now. Reading about the revolutions that wracked South and Central America I remembered stories by Jorge Luis Borges that entranced me with their intricate paranoid conspiracies, and I realized it was all based on reality for him. Burroughs took it to the next level for fantasy by inducing realities that could be written with authenticity. That's why Naked Lunch is possibly the best book ever written. It's a true fantasy.
IN the words of Gwen Stefani:
What you waiting, what you waiting, what you waiting for?
Take a chance cause you might grow
.....
look at your watch now
you're still a super hot female
which seems applicable to me, except for the last part. This is the problem with a super hot male listening to female singers - the inspiration is usually just slightly off. I've just listened to her song nine times in a row now. It's good.
The Japanese I learned today: migi ni magaru = turn right.
IN the words of Gwen Stefani:
What you waiting, what you waiting, what you waiting for?
Take a chance cause you might grow
.....
look at your watch now
you're still a super hot female
which seems applicable to me, except for the last part. This is the problem with a super hot male listening to female singers - the inspiration is usually just slightly off. I've just listened to her song nine times in a row now. It's good.
The Japanese I learned today: migi ni magaru = turn right.
Sunday, November 07, 2004
ZeZe
magic bunny
What's in the fridge?
We went to ZeZe this weekend. There was a shopping mall, a red fridge and a bunny at the foot of the stairs. We bought mushrooms and molasses cookies at Waco. What's in the Redfridgerator?
I've updated this post with another picture of Veronica because really the atrium picture doesn't do her justice. This new picture is from our Mountain hike in the summer. It's also a nice reminder of warmer days and jungly foliage.
Mount Ibuki in my backyard
The Oncoming Cold
I just got home from Ishiyama. Took the train part way with Veronica, who was heading out to a lunch with her Vice Principal, still full after our bolted breakfast of french toast and bacon. The sky is grey today, but we agreed that it is a nice day, a good day for being outside, as it is so warm.
We both dread the cold. I refuse to be "shut in" by the cold. I put "shut in" in quotation marks, because it's something that happens to Japanese people, not so much from cold as from shyness. Some people never leave their houses except to go to the combini for a snack or to the video store for a movie. Well I come from Canada, dammit, and even if my apartment is not heated, I refuse to be shut in by this oncoming cold. In fact, since my apartment is not heated it gives me even more reason to go out, because it's like I'm outside already. Only my massive goose down duvet will protect me. That thing is so warm! I had it on one morning, and I got out of bed and puttered around the kitchen for about forty minutes, then I crawled back into bed and it was still warm! So my duvet will be my heat saviour. Either that or I'll have to pitch a tent with Veronica and we can camp in her bedroom, conserving valuable heat. This is life in Japan!
We both dread the cold. I refuse to be "shut in" by the cold. I put "shut in" in quotation marks, because it's something that happens to Japanese people, not so much from cold as from shyness. Some people never leave their houses except to go to the combini for a snack or to the video store for a movie. Well I come from Canada, dammit, and even if my apartment is not heated, I refuse to be shut in by this oncoming cold. In fact, since my apartment is not heated it gives me even more reason to go out, because it's like I'm outside already. Only my massive goose down duvet will protect me. That thing is so warm! I had it on one morning, and I got out of bed and puttered around the kitchen for about forty minutes, then I crawled back into bed and it was still warm! So my duvet will be my heat saviour. Either that or I'll have to pitch a tent with Veronica and we can camp in her bedroom, conserving valuable heat. This is life in Japan!
Friday, November 05, 2004
Sunny Day corn flakes
A few bright beams are sneaking through my morning curtains, promising a sunny day for Kansai. On a sunny day, usually anything is possible, and mediocre things are great. The proper sort of music must be played for a sunny day, and now it's relaxed guitar songs. Of course I couldn't have a playlist going without a few electronic elements, supplied this morning by Royksopp. That's such a cool name. I love Nordic names and Nordic stories. Bjorn Ulvaeus, Ragnarok, Knut Hamsun, Valkyrie, Strom Thurmond. Heh heh I have no idea if Strom Thurmond was Nordic, I just read his name in the US history text I was reading yesterday. I read for about four full hours yesterday - no joke! To me, this is a productive day. I hope more of my classes are cancelled today so I can do more reading. I'm a great teacher, aren't I?
Hello to all my friends who have been reading this and sorry about the infrequent contact. I'll send out a mass email soon. I wish I knew who was reading this!
Hello to all my friends who have been reading this and sorry about the infrequent contact. I'll send out a mass email soon. I wish I knew who was reading this!
Sunday, October 31, 2004
I live in the Kinki Region (It's true!)
Didn't go to the Hallowe'en party, but did go to Kyoto this weekend. Together, Veronica and I saw the glorious GOLDEN TEMPLE, also known as Kinkakuji temple, also known as The Most Touristy Temple In Kyoto. And there's a good reason for that, which is: it's really beautiful.
The Golden Temple (Kinkakuji)
It's covered with gold paint or gold leaf and it really looks amazing, sitting out on stilts that support it right over a pond. The landscaping of the garden was really beautiful too, and we got to walk through on a mini tour along the nicely guided path (there are low wooden fences to guide us). The forest was a very strange sort of man-made wildness that was eery in it's controlled, measured randomness. A contradiction, but we both wanted to step over the little barrier and explore. Except that it was raining. It started raining almost as soon as we got to the temple, after a confusing bus ride and much map-consulting at Kyoto train station. I must tell you about Kyoto train station some time. So our tour was rained upon, as were our noggins. Veronica had her waterproof gore-tex space-age coat on, because she's into space-age materials, and I had my recycled plastic pop bottle fleece coat, which is not waterproof. I hooded it over my head like a babushka and took pictures trying to keep my camera dry. I have yet to see how they turned out. Actually I got a preview on the little screen and they look pretty good.
All in all it was a nice experience, despite much complaining about rain. Then we went to see Resident Evil 2, called Biohazard 2 in Japan. It was scary as all get out and I cringed like a little girl and jumped out of my seat when the zombies attacked. The first one was much better though. However, the second one is filmed entirely in Toronto so it was interesting to see the streets of the city that I know and love. But they kept calling the Don Valley "Raven's Gate Valley" and some school, maybe Loretto Abbey in the Annex, was called "Raven's Gate School" which it so obviously wasn't. And then I was sad it was filmed in Toronto. It was so-so. So this critic says: "go see it when it comes out in the repertory theatres, or rent the video".
And now I'm drinking a can of Kirin Beer and eating a bento which has nasty fish tempura but good other stuff. I shall soon watch one of three movies that I rented. That's kind of pathetic, I know.
The Golden Temple (Kinkakuji)
It's covered with gold paint or gold leaf and it really looks amazing, sitting out on stilts that support it right over a pond. The landscaping of the garden was really beautiful too, and we got to walk through on a mini tour along the nicely guided path (there are low wooden fences to guide us). The forest was a very strange sort of man-made wildness that was eery in it's controlled, measured randomness. A contradiction, but we both wanted to step over the little barrier and explore. Except that it was raining. It started raining almost as soon as we got to the temple, after a confusing bus ride and much map-consulting at Kyoto train station. I must tell you about Kyoto train station some time. So our tour was rained upon, as were our noggins. Veronica had her waterproof gore-tex space-age coat on, because she's into space-age materials, and I had my recycled plastic pop bottle fleece coat, which is not waterproof. I hooded it over my head like a babushka and took pictures trying to keep my camera dry. I have yet to see how they turned out. Actually I got a preview on the little screen and they look pretty good.
All in all it was a nice experience, despite much complaining about rain. Then we went to see Resident Evil 2, called Biohazard 2 in Japan. It was scary as all get out and I cringed like a little girl and jumped out of my seat when the zombies attacked. The first one was much better though. However, the second one is filmed entirely in Toronto so it was interesting to see the streets of the city that I know and love. But they kept calling the Don Valley "Raven's Gate Valley" and some school, maybe Loretto Abbey in the Annex, was called "Raven's Gate School" which it so obviously wasn't. And then I was sad it was filmed in Toronto. It was so-so. So this critic says: "go see it when it comes out in the repertory theatres, or rent the video".
And now I'm drinking a can of Kirin Beer and eating a bento which has nasty fish tempura but good other stuff. I shall soon watch one of three movies that I rented. That's kind of pathetic, I know.
Friday, October 29, 2004
The Freakshow Runs Every Day
Indeed there's a Hallowe'en party tonight, but I am not in attendance as I don't FEEL LIKE IT. School is difficult these days as my fellow foreigner, Nick, is a raging bull and I have to placate his bullheadedness. He's a Detroit scuzzy mean-talking, bad-rap-loving, mean-to-his-japanese girlfriend, resentful kind of guy. But he's usually ok and he's funny. It's just that two days ago he said, out of the blue and very matter-of-factly, "Pluto is not a planet". Actually I don't think it was entirely out of the blue. I believe the subject of planets had come up. But naturally I was surprised by this claim and I said, with joking fervour "yes it IS!". Good-naturedly. And he's a big joker and he calls his friend Goi sensei a "fuck" just for laughs (this is their humour), so I didn't think this would be taken amiss. But apparently it was, and it continued to be for about 15 minutes of clueless joshing by me, as Nick ever more stubbornly, and without evidence or support, insisted that it was not a planet. We looked it up on the internet and found several websites like "ashleylavigne.com" or something and "kidscience.com" saying it wasn't a planet, but a NASA site saying it was a planet. Then Nick declared that clearly popular opinion meant that it wasn't a planet. Then we talked about whether random websites or NASA are more trustworthy on matters of planetary debate. Apparently if enough people say it's not a planet, it doesn't matter what the scientists say, it's simply not a planet. I was laughing, but then I realized he was pissed off.
The next day the first thing he said to me in the morning was not "good morning!" or "how are you?" it was "Pluto is not a planet,". He became belligerent and said that I was not allowed to ever mention it a again to him. Then he sulked for the rest of the day until I asked what was wrong. He was very angry at me because I had been disrespectful to him. "And," he said "you have to give me more respect, because you depend on me, and I don't depend on you. I speak Japanese, and I don't see you speaking Japanese. So I was thinking 'why would he disrespect me?'. It doesn't make sense. You have to show me more respect than I need to show you, because I don't get anything from you, but you get a lot from me."
I was stunned. I mentioned that I was stunned. I also said he was very bold, and I explained that although I don't speak Japanese, I don't think of human relationships in the same way that he does, and I consider the two of us to be equals. I told him that the day before was mainly a misunderstanding, and that it shouldn't ruin our relationship, which I thought had been pretty good. I attempted to placate him, basically. I had even apologized for being rude even before we got started, but he said "people say 'sorry' a lot, but it doesn't mean anything". I don't even think I was particularly out of line. I was just taking liberties that he had taken with me in the past.
Anyway, the next day he was absent from school due to "illness". I wonder if it was caused by a desire to avoid me. Or maybe he was avoiding cleaning the school bathroom, which is something every teacher has a turn at (crazy, ain't it?) and which he has been avoiding assiduously. Or maybe he was avoiding me and the dirty bathroom. But he came to school today, and didn't say good morning when he came to his desk (right in front of mine). Knowing that I'll be sitting opposite him for another 8 months I tried placating him, and even bought him a dessert bean bun, I forget the name of it, ends in KA and sounds like a place in Japan. And although he refused it, as I suspected he might, he finally seemed to accept that I'm not his enemy and maybe even could be his friend, at least while we're at work. Because frankly I don't like him enough to want to be his friend outside of work.
So I wasn't feeling very sociable at the end of the day and decided not to go to the big JET Hallowe'en party in Omihachiman. I only sort of wanted to go and the idea of having to avoid Nick there was not appealing. Not that that was the deciding factor. Mainly I just don't have the energy for a social occasion tonight. Instead I'll have a good time this weekend in Kyoto at this crazy golden temple that looks like its on stilts in a pond. I'll file a report on it. I asked Veronica, my fellow Kyoto-traveller, to invite Mike, Shannon, Warren and Steffi on the trip. I know it was a disappointment for Veronica that I wasn't coming to the Hallowe'en party. She wanted me to see her costume and I wanted to see her costume - she's a cat and she sewed it herself! And it would have been cool to dress up - I was going to be a green leaf man. But I hope she understands.
The next day the first thing he said to me in the morning was not "good morning!" or "how are you?" it was "Pluto is not a planet,". He became belligerent and said that I was not allowed to ever mention it a again to him. Then he sulked for the rest of the day until I asked what was wrong. He was very angry at me because I had been disrespectful to him. "And," he said "you have to give me more respect, because you depend on me, and I don't depend on you. I speak Japanese, and I don't see you speaking Japanese. So I was thinking 'why would he disrespect me?'. It doesn't make sense. You have to show me more respect than I need to show you, because I don't get anything from you, but you get a lot from me."
I was stunned. I mentioned that I was stunned. I also said he was very bold, and I explained that although I don't speak Japanese, I don't think of human relationships in the same way that he does, and I consider the two of us to be equals. I told him that the day before was mainly a misunderstanding, and that it shouldn't ruin our relationship, which I thought had been pretty good. I attempted to placate him, basically. I had even apologized for being rude even before we got started, but he said "people say 'sorry' a lot, but it doesn't mean anything". I don't even think I was particularly out of line. I was just taking liberties that he had taken with me in the past.
Anyway, the next day he was absent from school due to "illness". I wonder if it was caused by a desire to avoid me. Or maybe he was avoiding cleaning the school bathroom, which is something every teacher has a turn at (crazy, ain't it?) and which he has been avoiding assiduously. Or maybe he was avoiding me and the dirty bathroom. But he came to school today, and didn't say good morning when he came to his desk (right in front of mine). Knowing that I'll be sitting opposite him for another 8 months I tried placating him, and even bought him a dessert bean bun, I forget the name of it, ends in KA and sounds like a place in Japan. And although he refused it, as I suspected he might, he finally seemed to accept that I'm not his enemy and maybe even could be his friend, at least while we're at work. Because frankly I don't like him enough to want to be his friend outside of work.
So I wasn't feeling very sociable at the end of the day and decided not to go to the big JET Hallowe'en party in Omihachiman. I only sort of wanted to go and the idea of having to avoid Nick there was not appealing. Not that that was the deciding factor. Mainly I just don't have the energy for a social occasion tonight. Instead I'll have a good time this weekend in Kyoto at this crazy golden temple that looks like its on stilts in a pond. I'll file a report on it. I asked Veronica, my fellow Kyoto-traveller, to invite Mike, Shannon, Warren and Steffi on the trip. I know it was a disappointment for Veronica that I wasn't coming to the Hallowe'en party. She wanted me to see her costume and I wanted to see her costume - she's a cat and she sewed it herself! And it would have been cool to dress up - I was going to be a green leaf man. But I hope she understands.
Sunday, October 24, 2004
Veronica in Ishiyama
This weekend we were supposed to go to Kyoto and watch foreign movies at the Goethe Institut. Instead we woke up late Saturday morning and missed our chance, so we stayed in and ate breakfast at a very leisurely pace and just spent some quality time together. Yesterday we explored the rice field in her backyard and did some nature-watching. There's a little stream that runs between the fields, and we tromped along beside it and looked for frogs. We didn't find any, but there were many crickets that would hop away as our feet brushed the grass, and we saw some red dragonflies and several butterflies. She said that dragonflies are a sign of a healthy ecosystem. I was worried that the clear water of the stream meant that it was acidic so that no algae would grow. The dragonflies meant there were mosquitos, which are their food, just as we were the mosquitos food. I guess this means the dragonfly is very high up on the food chain. At one point we sat by the river and watched a butterfly fanning it's wings, with a motion that made me think of mechanical things. Was it drying its wings? It would flit from one flower to another, then perch and flutter in jerky movements. Then it flew toward us and we were rewarded in our nature watching by a close-up view as it perched on a blossom very near us.
The sun was warm this weekend and I remarked that this would be great if it were the regular winter weather. I hope the winter goes by quickly, and is warm. They say the ocean water around Japan is unusually warm this year, and that's why there have been so many typhoons. So perhaps the warm water will make for a warm winter.
The sun was warm this weekend and I remarked that this would be great if it were the regular winter weather. I hope the winter goes by quickly, and is warm. They say the ocean water around Japan is unusually warm this year, and that's why there have been so many typhoons. So perhaps the warm water will make for a warm winter.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
The Tani, The Guchi, The Taniguchi
Curious boops and clicks serenade me.
By way of explanation, Taniguchi sensei is my tantosha, aka supervisor or the teacher who is directly responsible for me at my school. Nick sensei and I concur: she is not a pleasant individual.
Today was a mixture of triumphs and defeats with the beast that is Taniguchi. It began when I entered the classroom to "team-teach" with her. This name is an irony which will soon be appreciated. I walked in and saw her standing at the desk, looking at a textbook. There were four girls in the class. I said "Hi!" to her with some enthusiasm. No response. With less enthusiasm, I said "hi" again. She didn't even look up. I was standing right next to her. So, feeling like I shouldn't be there, like I've come in at some crucial moment in the covent's meeting, I ask her quite honestly "Do you want me to leave?".
She looks at me for a moment. "No. It's ok." Nose returns to book.
The class was off to a good start. Before each class begins the two teachers greet the students with a formula:
Japanese Teacher: "Good morning class."
Class: "Good morning ___."
Anthony: "Good morning class."
Class: "Good morning Nick, garble garble uh Anthony"
JT: "How are you?"
Class: "I'm-fine-thanks-and-you?"
JT: "I'm fine. How are you Mr. Anthony?"
Anthony: "I'm a-ok, thanks." or "I'm superb." etc.
With the Taniguchi, this formula is corrupted to the point that I am not addressed by the class. After she greets the class and asks how they are and they have a nice little chat, maybe some tea and crumpets, then, oh yeah, you can say hello Anthony. So today I asked her "Today is it okay if I say good morning class right after you?".
She grimaced and mumbled "anything is ok". Which is not strictly true, as yesterday when I corrected her ("What do you mean vegetable? What do you mean fire truck?") mode of questioning, she gave me a serious talking to after class. I must not interrupt the flow of the class. Even if that flow is a brown river of poop, apparently.
I am a human tape-recorder. I am told when to speak. Generally I read sentences from the "tekistbook" or off giant flash cards. I am not allowed to hold these flashcards. Other teachers let me hold the flashcards godammit! I want that! She speaks in Japanese to the class pretty much all the time. Then there is a pause. People look expectantly at me. OH! I'm supposed to read something now. It would be nice if she told me when to speak or what to read, instead of making me look like a foreign devil in front of the class.
But the triumph came today after lunch. I was in class again with the Taniguchi, and I had had a particularly filling lunch. She asked me to read a passage. The class grew quiet, and at that moment a long, low burp escaped me, relatively quietly, but not unlike the call of a distant bullfrog. Burping in Japan is like farting in North America. I wasn't sure who heard it, and I started to giggle. Then I started reading, but as I read I just started laughing. Soon the whole class was laughing, and even the Taniguchi. I still don't know who heard it.
By way of explanation, Taniguchi sensei is my tantosha, aka supervisor or the teacher who is directly responsible for me at my school. Nick sensei and I concur: she is not a pleasant individual.
Today was a mixture of triumphs and defeats with the beast that is Taniguchi. It began when I entered the classroom to "team-teach" with her. This name is an irony which will soon be appreciated. I walked in and saw her standing at the desk, looking at a textbook. There were four girls in the class. I said "Hi!" to her with some enthusiasm. No response. With less enthusiasm, I said "hi" again. She didn't even look up. I was standing right next to her. So, feeling like I shouldn't be there, like I've come in at some crucial moment in the covent's meeting, I ask her quite honestly "Do you want me to leave?".
She looks at me for a moment. "No. It's ok." Nose returns to book.
The class was off to a good start. Before each class begins the two teachers greet the students with a formula:
Japanese Teacher: "Good morning class."
Class: "Good morning ___."
Anthony: "Good morning class."
Class: "Good morning Nick, garble garble uh Anthony"
JT: "How are you?"
Class: "I'm-fine-thanks-and-you?"
JT: "I'm fine. How are you Mr. Anthony?"
Anthony: "I'm a-ok, thanks." or "I'm superb." etc.
With the Taniguchi, this formula is corrupted to the point that I am not addressed by the class. After she greets the class and asks how they are and they have a nice little chat, maybe some tea and crumpets, then, oh yeah, you can say hello Anthony. So today I asked her "Today is it okay if I say good morning class right after you?".
She grimaced and mumbled "anything is ok". Which is not strictly true, as yesterday when I corrected her ("What do you mean vegetable? What do you mean fire truck?") mode of questioning, she gave me a serious talking to after class. I must not interrupt the flow of the class. Even if that flow is a brown river of poop, apparently.
I am a human tape-recorder. I am told when to speak. Generally I read sentences from the "tekistbook" or off giant flash cards. I am not allowed to hold these flashcards. Other teachers let me hold the flashcards godammit! I want that! She speaks in Japanese to the class pretty much all the time. Then there is a pause. People look expectantly at me. OH! I'm supposed to read something now. It would be nice if she told me when to speak or what to read, instead of making me look like a foreign devil in front of the class.
But the triumph came today after lunch. I was in class again with the Taniguchi, and I had had a particularly filling lunch. She asked me to read a passage. The class grew quiet, and at that moment a long, low burp escaped me, relatively quietly, but not unlike the call of a distant bullfrog. Burping in Japan is like farting in North America. I wasn't sure who heard it, and I started to giggle. Then I started reading, but as I read I just started laughing. Soon the whole class was laughing, and even the Taniguchi. I still don't know who heard it.
Monday, October 18, 2004
In words, music, a temple
I've been downloading a bunch of songs by a band called Giant Sand lately, which I read about on the Strange Fruit music review website. I'm listening to their track called "drab" right now. It's an eclectic smattering of piano and triangle. Oh my. A person just spoke "and upon the union they lay their cloth..." in a James Dean voice. So I'm not sure if I agree with Strange Fruit's glowing review, but I sure liked reading it.
Today Nick was talking about the face he makes during sex. He speaks very openly in the teachers room, as it is his belief that the teachers have no idea what he's saying. I think he's in for a surprise. He said he looked up into the mirror at a "Love Hotel" during sex and saw for a moment his own expression before he had a chance to realize what he was seeing and adjust. Quickly he returned his gaze to his girlfriend because it was too embarrassing. Then he tried to recreate the expression for me, but he was laughing and it wasn't quite right. So I suggested he get serious and then try again. He actually started making the motions of sex with his chair, which I thought was hilarious, especially since he seemed unaware that he was performing in front of the five or so teachers that were still in the room with us. He confuses communication with speech. I pointed out the spectacle he was making of himself and he stopped. The great thing is, even though the other teachers know what Nick's doing, and understand so much of his put-on pissed-off commentary, they just don't react because it's the crazy gaijin (foreigner) and he's outside the rules.
I'm experimenting with being inside and outside the rules. I take off for the convenience store when I have a spare period without asking if I can leave, although strictly that's against the rules. However it's common practice to come and go among the JETs, and I make sure I get my work done. I'm also trying to make friends with the other teachers and students. I help clean the school during the daily cleaning sessions in which the students are all out en force, strange prog-rock music playing over the P.A. I've got to make a compilation of The Cleaning Music of Nish Chu. Cleaning with the students has led to a lot of positive feedback. Students often say "Anthony sensei. You are cool," when they see me cleaning. Teachers say "subarashi!" (Wow!) when I fulfill my cleaning duties. At first the idea of having to clean bothered me, and I shirked even after the vice principal told me I had to. But now I don't mind at all. It's very casual and it gives me a chance to get up, move around and interact with the students informally. So this is part of the compromise that I'm creating between being "good" and doing things differently.
This weekend I went to Kyoto with Veronica and bought a book at Maruzen, the bookstore famous for its foreign selection. It's a book of American History, inspired by the man himself. I think it's important to have a grounding in history to understand our time, and I really don't know the details of US history. We also looked at a temple in Kyoto, and got to go inside. It was amazing being inside this huge room with tatami mats and sliding rice paper doors for walls, in the center of downtown Kyoto. Outside we could here the traffic passing, but inside it was calm and peaceful, meditative. A japanese man was praying at the altar, and another foreign girl had come in with us and sat on the other side of the room. I sat facing Veronica, rather than the front of the temple, because I like to experience the temple my own way rather than according to the script. Buildings control behaviour in their layout, in their history, to the point that action is scripted. Stepping outside that script lets me see the building.
Now I'm listening to a 1 hour 14 minute set of club music dj'ed by Bjork, and featuring the music of Llorca, Tosca, Bjork herself, and some other people I don't know. It's really good, and I like the idea of Bjork up there mixing it. What is it about aging female pop musicians that makes me sad? Bjork and Madonna, both with children, attention divided between music and family. But it's sweet and I wouldn't wish it otherwise. And I like Bjork's lyrics, especially off Homogenic and the one about going up onto a mountain top with a radio. Something about the Nordic writer really appeals to me. Read Knut Hamsun, he's brilliant, simple. The Hemingway or maybe Kerouac of Northern Europe (Norway I think?). I also have a book of poetry by a Norwegian whose name I forget (Christian something) but it's in Toronto. Could somebody send me all my books please??
I miss you sister and hope you're still reading these blogs.
Today Nick was talking about the face he makes during sex. He speaks very openly in the teachers room, as it is his belief that the teachers have no idea what he's saying. I think he's in for a surprise. He said he looked up into the mirror at a "Love Hotel" during sex and saw for a moment his own expression before he had a chance to realize what he was seeing and adjust. Quickly he returned his gaze to his girlfriend because it was too embarrassing. Then he tried to recreate the expression for me, but he was laughing and it wasn't quite right. So I suggested he get serious and then try again. He actually started making the motions of sex with his chair, which I thought was hilarious, especially since he seemed unaware that he was performing in front of the five or so teachers that were still in the room with us. He confuses communication with speech. I pointed out the spectacle he was making of himself and he stopped. The great thing is, even though the other teachers know what Nick's doing, and understand so much of his put-on pissed-off commentary, they just don't react because it's the crazy gaijin (foreigner) and he's outside the rules.
I'm experimenting with being inside and outside the rules. I take off for the convenience store when I have a spare period without asking if I can leave, although strictly that's against the rules. However it's common practice to come and go among the JETs, and I make sure I get my work done. I'm also trying to make friends with the other teachers and students. I help clean the school during the daily cleaning sessions in which the students are all out en force, strange prog-rock music playing over the P.A. I've got to make a compilation of The Cleaning Music of Nish Chu. Cleaning with the students has led to a lot of positive feedback. Students often say "Anthony sensei. You are cool," when they see me cleaning. Teachers say "subarashi!" (Wow!) when I fulfill my cleaning duties. At first the idea of having to clean bothered me, and I shirked even after the vice principal told me I had to. But now I don't mind at all. It's very casual and it gives me a chance to get up, move around and interact with the students informally. So this is part of the compromise that I'm creating between being "good" and doing things differently.
This weekend I went to Kyoto with Veronica and bought a book at Maruzen, the bookstore famous for its foreign selection. It's a book of American History, inspired by the man himself. I think it's important to have a grounding in history to understand our time, and I really don't know the details of US history. We also looked at a temple in Kyoto, and got to go inside. It was amazing being inside this huge room with tatami mats and sliding rice paper doors for walls, in the center of downtown Kyoto. Outside we could here the traffic passing, but inside it was calm and peaceful, meditative. A japanese man was praying at the altar, and another foreign girl had come in with us and sat on the other side of the room. I sat facing Veronica, rather than the front of the temple, because I like to experience the temple my own way rather than according to the script. Buildings control behaviour in their layout, in their history, to the point that action is scripted. Stepping outside that script lets me see the building.
Now I'm listening to a 1 hour 14 minute set of club music dj'ed by Bjork, and featuring the music of Llorca, Tosca, Bjork herself, and some other people I don't know. It's really good, and I like the idea of Bjork up there mixing it. What is it about aging female pop musicians that makes me sad? Bjork and Madonna, both with children, attention divided between music and family. But it's sweet and I wouldn't wish it otherwise. And I like Bjork's lyrics, especially off Homogenic and the one about going up onto a mountain top with a radio. Something about the Nordic writer really appeals to me. Read Knut Hamsun, he's brilliant, simple. The Hemingway or maybe Kerouac of Northern Europe (Norway I think?). I also have a book of poetry by a Norwegian whose name I forget (Christian something) but it's in Toronto. Could somebody send me all my books please??
I miss you sister and hope you're still reading these blogs.
Friday, October 15, 2004
Hussle for Husserl
Greetings, blog.
Due to technical difficulties, my access to this page has been restricted. I will not blame the recent dearth of posts on this. It is due only to my inwardness and fixation on the aforementioned author, McLuhan. I have spent the better part of every day since that last post reading his book. The fever finally broke today on page 181. Perhaps this is a page many have trouble with. The earlier troubles in "engaging" were readily resolved almost immediately upon further perusal, only to be replaced by greater complexities. Reading McLuhan has now become an issue of memory. There's so much text that it's difficult to keep ready what has been said. There's a processing lag of about one chapter. Much like Freud's Interpretation of Dreams, the significance of the text only dawns with the keys that are found later. It's a circle with multiple entry points, none of which are perfect. I know for sure that the alphabet is very important. It's the cause of lineal thinking. It's one of the extensions of man that caused a revolution of thought.
What would McLuhan have thought about the internet? He was almost hinting at it in 1963 with his accelerated communications and the convergence of things toward information. The internet is the perfect culmination of his theory of an abstracted, unified space. McLuhan seems more and more to be a mystic. This bothers me. I don't like to deal with mysticism in my media studies. But those who leave the mystical out of their writing are pedantic documenters and sorry scribes, so I'll take what I get. This idea of media as the extensions of man's existing faculties - the senses, reason, rationality - now seems perfectly natural to me and I wonder that it wasn't obvious. It's naturalness gives it the ring of genius. I no longer doubt that this book has massive merit.
The book continues to astound me, and McLuhan astounds me with the range of his reference. I'm inspired to begin my preparation for grad studies in earnest. Tomorrow I will travel to Kyoto with Veronica and choose a book of history. I don't know nearly enough history to make a proper attack on modern communication theory. I should get a book on communication theory. I might buy one on philosophy, whether modern or ancient. Philosophy is always a difficult read for me, although the Republic was dull but straightforward. I didn't finish it. I've got to get a book of twentieth century philosophy, although I always think I should read the full publication of a work to understand it properly. I could use the survey as a jumping-off point. It is apparent to me how little educated I am and how much reading I have ahead of me.
Due to technical difficulties, my access to this page has been restricted. I will not blame the recent dearth of posts on this. It is due only to my inwardness and fixation on the aforementioned author, McLuhan. I have spent the better part of every day since that last post reading his book. The fever finally broke today on page 181. Perhaps this is a page many have trouble with. The earlier troubles in "engaging" were readily resolved almost immediately upon further perusal, only to be replaced by greater complexities. Reading McLuhan has now become an issue of memory. There's so much text that it's difficult to keep ready what has been said. There's a processing lag of about one chapter. Much like Freud's Interpretation of Dreams, the significance of the text only dawns with the keys that are found later. It's a circle with multiple entry points, none of which are perfect. I know for sure that the alphabet is very important. It's the cause of lineal thinking. It's one of the extensions of man that caused a revolution of thought.
What would McLuhan have thought about the internet? He was almost hinting at it in 1963 with his accelerated communications and the convergence of things toward information. The internet is the perfect culmination of his theory of an abstracted, unified space. McLuhan seems more and more to be a mystic. This bothers me. I don't like to deal with mysticism in my media studies. But those who leave the mystical out of their writing are pedantic documenters and sorry scribes, so I'll take what I get. This idea of media as the extensions of man's existing faculties - the senses, reason, rationality - now seems perfectly natural to me and I wonder that it wasn't obvious. It's naturalness gives it the ring of genius. I no longer doubt that this book has massive merit.
The book continues to astound me, and McLuhan astounds me with the range of his reference. I'm inspired to begin my preparation for grad studies in earnest. Tomorrow I will travel to Kyoto with Veronica and choose a book of history. I don't know nearly enough history to make a proper attack on modern communication theory. I should get a book on communication theory. I might buy one on philosophy, whether modern or ancient. Philosophy is always a difficult read for me, although the Republic was dull but straightforward. I didn't finish it. I've got to get a book of twentieth century philosophy, although I always think I should read the full publication of a work to understand it properly. I could use the survey as a jumping-off point. It is apparent to me how little educated I am and how much reading I have ahead of me.
Sunday, October 10, 2004
McLuhan
I figured out how to connect my laptop to the tv for stereo music listening pleasure. It's exactly the same as how I've been watching movies from the laptop to the computer, only I listen to music, so I didn't figure it out so much as realize it all of a sudden.
I've been reading McLuhan, Understanding Media, and I have a problem with hot and cool media. How can tv be a cool medium? A cool medium is defined by McLuhan as "low definition", and "high in participation or completion by the audience". Hot media is "high definition", "well filled with data" and passively received. McLuhan says film is a hot medium and tv is a cool medium. Now, I can see that film in a movie theatre is a more immersive experience, and that film has a longer narrative than tv, but I just don't see tv as requiring so much more participation than film. Perhaps it has something to do with the advertising segments breaking up the program. If anyone has an idea on this, please post a comment. Other than this, I wonder how much the terminology of hot and cool media contribute to a real understanding of media. McLuhan seems to be weaving a very compelling theory, but is there such a thing as a "cool society" and a "hot society"? He says that tribal societies are cool societies. This is so vague and unelaborated that it's meaningless. I could be misunderstanding. He does elaborate on cool, tribal societies, but not in the direction of establishing them as such.
I am having trouble engaging with these ideas. Not that the ideas are unengaging. It's just that in engaging with them, so many problems crop up. I'm not sure that I understand properly. Is this going to be a problem for me in getting into grad school?
I've been reading McLuhan, Understanding Media, and I have a problem with hot and cool media. How can tv be a cool medium? A cool medium is defined by McLuhan as "low definition", and "high in participation or completion by the audience". Hot media is "high definition", "well filled with data" and passively received. McLuhan says film is a hot medium and tv is a cool medium. Now, I can see that film in a movie theatre is a more immersive experience, and that film has a longer narrative than tv, but I just don't see tv as requiring so much more participation than film. Perhaps it has something to do with the advertising segments breaking up the program. If anyone has an idea on this, please post a comment. Other than this, I wonder how much the terminology of hot and cool media contribute to a real understanding of media. McLuhan seems to be weaving a very compelling theory, but is there such a thing as a "cool society" and a "hot society"? He says that tribal societies are cool societies. This is so vague and unelaborated that it's meaningless. I could be misunderstanding. He does elaborate on cool, tribal societies, but not in the direction of establishing them as such.
I am having trouble engaging with these ideas. Not that the ideas are unengaging. It's just that in engaging with them, so many problems crop up. I'm not sure that I understand properly. Is this going to be a problem for me in getting into grad school?
Friday, October 08, 2004
God 1, Nietszche 0
Tonight I went to Joshin with Monjun to buy some blank media. On the rainy way back we stopped at Mos Burger (a Japanese Burger joint) for dinner. I have discovered that MOS stands for Mountain, Ocean, Sky, which are the wide regions of this burger chain's love and benevolence. In the blessed seats of Mos Burger, what began as a casual mention that my girlfriend is Catholic turned into a discussion of religion. I actually enjoyed it, which is rare.
(flash forward to October 9th)
Inspired by this conversation with Monjun, I decided to finally bring up the subject with Veronica. Religion. I like Veronica's take on Catholicism, because she rejects so many aspects of it that I also disagree with, such as the control over sex, the condemnation of gays, and the sexism that doesn't allow women to take the same role as men in the church (clergy). It was interesting to talk about transubstantiation with her, in part because she sees it as dubious. I never knew that Catholics were the interpretive Christians. That's the best way to read the bible, unless you want to live in the 4th century B.C.
In the end I think we're similar in our general idea of "god", or the space-time-continuum, or krishna, whatever you would like to call it. The thing is, people believe things fundamentally according to the way they were raised (unless they change!). In a scientific-skeptical household like mine my sisters and I were taught to try to understand things rather than to blindly believe them. (This proved to be a problem for our early political indoctrination, but my parents have mellowed, so I really shouldn't bring that up, except who reads this anyway? Hi Cris!). Thus, I like to think of myself as rational, skeptical and scientific, even if I'm usually not all those things. Usually I'm experiential, impressionable and scientific, which is not such a bad combination. Even given Veronica's re-evaluation of her religion and her compromises she is a religious person. Instead of thinking of this as a problem, I like to see this as another interesting aspect of her. Her difference helps make her the person I'm so attracted to. May it remain as a seed of interest rather than become a kernel of discord.
(flash forward to October 9th)
Inspired by this conversation with Monjun, I decided to finally bring up the subject with Veronica. Religion. I like Veronica's take on Catholicism, because she rejects so many aspects of it that I also disagree with, such as the control over sex, the condemnation of gays, and the sexism that doesn't allow women to take the same role as men in the church (clergy). It was interesting to talk about transubstantiation with her, in part because she sees it as dubious. I never knew that Catholics were the interpretive Christians. That's the best way to read the bible, unless you want to live in the 4th century B.C.
In the end I think we're similar in our general idea of "god", or the space-time-continuum, or krishna, whatever you would like to call it. The thing is, people believe things fundamentally according to the way they were raised (unless they change!). In a scientific-skeptical household like mine my sisters and I were taught to try to understand things rather than to blindly believe them. (This proved to be a problem for our early political indoctrination, but my parents have mellowed, so I really shouldn't bring that up, except who reads this anyway? Hi Cris!). Thus, I like to think of myself as rational, skeptical and scientific, even if I'm usually not all those things. Usually I'm experiential, impressionable and scientific, which is not such a bad combination. Even given Veronica's re-evaluation of her religion and her compromises she is a religious person. Instead of thinking of this as a problem, I like to see this as another interesting aspect of her. Her difference helps make her the person I'm so attracted to. May it remain as a seed of interest rather than become a kernel of discord.
Thursday, October 07, 2004
Fear and loathing in Otsu
My dad called tonight. It was good to talk to him. He asked me about class and I told him about my morning class which went like this. I come into the room and Fukuhara sensei is there, as is the rest of the class. He's discussing something with one of the notorious girls. She wants to leave. He says stay. She continues to move toward the door and argue. He keeps saying sit down. (By the way I'm assuming this is what they're saying, because it's all in Japanese). Finally we have the "Hai please stand up!" and the students stand for the greeting. "good morning class-" I begin to say but Fukuhara sensei asks me to wait. The girl is in the hall and he's trying to negotiate her in. I ask her "please". She smiles for a second but it doesn't matter to her. We manage a greeting and the girl is flopped on her desk. As Fukuhara sensei begins the lesson she walks over to her other desk and flops overtop it, her butt in the air, rummaging for her books and pencils. Then as I start reading out passages, she complains to Fukuhara sensei. During the first ten minutes of class I just have to speak over her voice. The other girls are amused at her audacity, but the class is not with her on this one. So that was that.
Later today I went to Otsu due to a surprise granting of permission to get my re-entry visa immediately. By 1:00 I was finished with my business so I wandered down to the waterfront and sat on the rocks, looking out on Lake Biwa. The sky was a flat grey without any evidence of individual cloud forms, but they stood sentry against the sun. The lake, which seemed a sea, rose and fell in thousands of choppy waves. I began to feel it draw me in, in the very pit of my stomach, so I rose and walked along the waterfront. I wandered dizzy and thinking of many strange things, till I found myself in a small open amphitheatre. It was made from cut stone in the side of circular bank, and I walked up the few steps and sat at the top. It was quite empty. In the centre stood a lone tree, and concrete columns marched off from the opening of the theatre. What plays where held here, and to what drama would it one day be stage? I thought of these things as a helicopter roared in the sky, and looked for all the world like a goldfish, swimming perfectly straight, a thousand metres up in the air.
I began to feel unfixed from humanity's affairs. And so I took the train up to Ishiyama, which is quite close to Otsu, and paid Veronica a surprise visit at her school. She said I knocked her socks off with the surprise of it all. It was great to see her. She put me back on track and made me laugh. I took the mid-evening train home later, reading my latest book.
Later today I went to Otsu due to a surprise granting of permission to get my re-entry visa immediately. By 1:00 I was finished with my business so I wandered down to the waterfront and sat on the rocks, looking out on Lake Biwa. The sky was a flat grey without any evidence of individual cloud forms, but they stood sentry against the sun. The lake, which seemed a sea, rose and fell in thousands of choppy waves. I began to feel it draw me in, in the very pit of my stomach, so I rose and walked along the waterfront. I wandered dizzy and thinking of many strange things, till I found myself in a small open amphitheatre. It was made from cut stone in the side of circular bank, and I walked up the few steps and sat at the top. It was quite empty. In the centre stood a lone tree, and concrete columns marched off from the opening of the theatre. What plays where held here, and to what drama would it one day be stage? I thought of these things as a helicopter roared in the sky, and looked for all the world like a goldfish, swimming perfectly straight, a thousand metres up in the air.
I began to feel unfixed from humanity's affairs. And so I took the train up to Ishiyama, which is quite close to Otsu, and paid Veronica a surprise visit at her school. She said I knocked her socks off with the surprise of it all. It was great to see her. She put me back on track and made me laugh. I took the mid-evening train home later, reading my latest book.
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