rhiasorr

I've made no secret of my distain for much of the reservation, however this spur-of-the-moment emergency trip back has yielded some reconciliation. For now.
I definitely feel more proud of this place and am more mesmerized by it when I return for short periods at a time. Sometimes, I never realize what little and magestic wonders I find here. I guess I miss them because I'm so pissed off about everything else.
Here, I'll share a few pics; I have tons, but I don't have the time to pick through the best. I suppose I'll have to rely on picasa, but, again, it'll take time to get things on there going again.

My dark lord and master, Marilyn Manson, has finally pulled his bile-filled carcass out of the proverbial gutter called "love" and is back (and has been for a while; since May) with a vengence! Well, at least better than he was during his dud of a comeback with the "Eat Me, Drink Me" album - an album that was way too personal for a guy who was never known to take anything personally. Because I have been an unworthy servant to his highness, the Anti-Christ Superstar, I've barely acquired his new album, "The High End of Low," despite it being out for 4 months now. I'm actually quite pleased with this album. Though it's not as great as his last great work, "The Golden Age of Grotesque," its songs are reminicent of, what I consider to be his greatest album, "Antichrist Superster," and hint of "Mechanical Animals."
The single "Arma-Goddamn-Motherfuckin-Geddon," quite frankly, is one of those songs that just makes me want to get up and go. It's definitely the first track on my Zune, so I can easily access it as I head off to class. However, despite this "jump" I get from this song, the second one right after it is "Heart-Shaped Glasses," from the previous dud album. I don't care what anyone says about "Eat Me, Drink Me," "Heart-Shaped Glasses" is absolutely my favorite song from that album. Written in the throes of his romance with Evan Rachel Wood, there was something so sinfully beautiful about it. Well, it could be the element of circumstances at the time, the music video, and the Nabokovian aspects of it - Manson was 40, Wood was 19. Hell, I can't argue with a video portraying hot, bloody sex between the two.
Then again, I'm kind of grateful that Manson is back to his old self, with his kinky hand gestures and deliciously malevolent and sexy sauntering - something lost in "Heart Shaped Glasses" and replaced with cheesy dreamy gazing and tonguing of the microphone.
Well, I'll end here. If I don't I will end up writing an entire dissertation of Manson's work in relation to nihilism and literature. I've already did extensive research into Nietzche's master-slave morality pertaining to "The Beautiful People" and from there went into studying sado-masochism from the master himself the Marquis de Sade in "120 Days of Sodom." What can I say, I love all things dark and disturbing.

As I'm doing peer review, I at last came across an essay that didn't make me want to stab my eyes out - you know those overly sentimental, cutesey nostalic, fairly tale memoirs about lost love and hardship and the triumph of the human spirit, you know: girly shit. Sad thing is, a fair bunch of those essays were written by men. *sigh* I know male writers have it hard; composition and literature are not very high up there on the manliness scale, but COME ON! Any guy who starts a biography piece with "She is perfect" needs to kiss his writing career and testes goodbye. But I digress.
Anyway this one student wrote a pretty entertaining piece about her name and how she abhorred it, mainly because no one could get it right. The narrative goes on about how people have tried to re-name her and how she felt her identity was warped by trying to fit into a certain community when her name was clearly from a different racial group.
This memoir brought back a horrific onslaught of repressed memories of grade school. For those that haven't heard the story yet, my parents named me after the Fleetwood Mac song "Rhiannon" and I've held it against them for as long as I can remember. It was odd, because the rest of my cousins have common names - the majority named after older relatives. My sister and brother were named after my grandmother and deceased uncle respectively.
Throughout grade school (until about 8th grade), NO ONE could read out my name on the first try. No one remembered it (which didn't bother me a whole lot, since I was the quiet kid everyone had to watch out for). No one said it, not even my family. Over the years I've accumulated a great many nicknames, all of which were used more than my real name and some far more bizarre: Rhian, Rhi, Anna, Yannon, Yan Yan, Missy, Hoohoo, Asdzaalbahi, Asdzaaneez, and a few more I don't care to list here.
Again, I digress.
What this young lady's essay did was invoke a horrific revisiting of an incident that occured in the 2nd grade (or maybe 1st grade). The whole class was in the nurse's office, awaiting vision and hearing tests for some reason or another. The old bag had a radio that she always blasted loud enough for people to hear outside the office. And guess what song came on for the whole class to hear?
The details after that are a little grainy, but I do remember that I was crying. It's strange. Earlier that year, I swear I tripped at least 8 times in one day (I don't think I knew how to tie my shoelaces then...) and fell off some playground equipment, losing a tooth in the process, but it took a mob of children running after me screaming the chorus line of that insufferable song "RHIAAAAAAAAAAAANNON!!!!!!" to make me cry.
Well, after so many years, I thought I'd face this skeleton in my closet head on - so I looked up "Rhiannon" on, where else?, youtube and was pleasantly surprised.
The live video I found is so much different from the Greatest Hits, 3-minute, slow rock version I'd grown up hearing. Actually, DAMN, I had no idea what a rockin' song "Rhiannon" was. If this version had been playing on the radio, I think I would've been like, "That's right, bitches. I am the darkness."



Why they cut the guitar solo and Stevie's big finish from the mainstream version will always be a mystery to me.
People who do know the song and are crazy Fleetwood Mac fans always give me the background story of Rhiannon. Some say she's a witch, some say a goddess, some say a Welsh nymph. Frankly, I don't give a damn. The important thing here is that I've finally managed to get over this whole name thing, thanks to a little push from a quaint, little essay. That being said, Mom and Dad, I forgive you.

So I'm just bopping around....waiting for inspiration to hit. I have so much to talk about and yet no interest in talking about it.... Or am I just saving it for my Senior Year Experience? Some brilliant essay I have planned for the future? I don't know. What I do know is that I need to get my writing ass in gear, lest I really end up being a starving artist for the rest of my life.
People need to see my work....bottom line. Publishers aren't going to pay me for my journal pages (nor do I want to surrender them). They won't pay me period if my work sucks.
I went to the SLU graduate school fair....and the prospects didn't look good. Engineering, pre-med, IT, law, business, education students....they're wanted and in demand. A quixotic, sociopathic, ardent, impetuous dreamer/kendoka? Not so much.
Trying to make it big in the literary world will either kill me or immortalize me. Let's hope for the latter.

Says Jimbo to Randy in that episode of South Park when all the men go metrosexual. If you haven't seen that episode, it was meant as an insult, in case you were wondering. Now that that has been established, let's ask the question now, is it true?
To fairly answer this question I will present several fashion trends that have swept through Japan and provide an additional commentary on what I, myself, have seen so that you, the reader can judge for yourselves. Let me note here that I'm only going to discuss women's fashion, since the title is referring to women specifically and that Japanese men, in general, are pretty snazzy dressers, save for the gangsta-rapper wannabes; that look exclusively belongs to its inventors and has never looked good on anyone else.
If any contender would contribute the most to the above claim of horrendous fashion, it would have to be the "Ganguro". Behold:

Yeah.... "Ganguro" literally translates to "black face". Obviously their faces aren't black, but that is the "blackest" any Japanese would really dare to go. Because achieving this level of tan is nearly impossible for the average Japanese (except if they live in Okinawa and even then, their tans are REAL, as I shall explain) and tanning booths are not only expensive, but rare, most ganguros paint their faces. I've actually seen "Ganguro paint" in some cosmetic stores. Other characteristics of this look are bleached hair, white lipstick and eye-shadow, bright clothes and a ton of jewelery. While this look reached its peak in the early 2000s, every so often, I'll see a ganguro...usually in fashion districts like Shibuya or Harajuku. And while I appreciate that the ganguro fashion movement's purpose was to "rebel" against old-fashioned ideals of feminine beauty and to promote self expression, I link this look to America's "Valley Girls," the bimbos. I don't really see the individualism in taking up the spoiled, materialistic, dim-witted look of America's ganguros. That being said, I deem this look a contributer to the negative image of Japanese fashion.
The next examples are the two of many different versions of "lolita" or in Japanese, "Lolicon" (Lolita Complex).


Well, let me just say that this probably shouldn't count simply because this is really just a hobby for most Japanese youngsters (like cosplay, which is why I'm not going to go into that). Unlike the ganguro, lolitas don't go about their daily lives in this get up. Only on certain days of the week do they all get together at cosplay hangouts like Akihabara and Harajuku, but rarely will they ride the train (on their way to these gatherings and back) in their lolita get-up; they usually change in the public restrooms. The only reason I include this fashion trend is that it really does give a bad (or should I say promiscuous) image of lolita aficionados. Apparently, many Japanese aren't familiar with Nikolai Nabokov's infamous novel (or they are, but really aren't aware of the controversy that surrounded it) and could easily explain why this fashion trend leads many dim-witted foreigners to think that all Japanese women are sexually promiscuous.
I should also state here that "kawaii" or, "cute," is a cult of sorts. I'm going to say even though it might be a gross over-generalization, but from the 6 months I've been here, I've even had Japanese say it to me: all Japanese women want to be "cute". By cute, I mean being extremely feminine to a point that I'm not used to. By cute, I mean carrying having dozens of Disney and Hello Kitty merchandise hanging from a cell phone or a purse, despite being in one's late 30s. By cute, I mean a child-like cuteness that sort of makes the whole becoming an adult thing kind of pointless and creeps the hell out of me. What makes it worse is that someone also told me that "cute" didn't simply mean "aww, look at the cute little kitten/baby/puppy"; it also has sexual connotations. I'll tell you that cleared up a LOT when I saw this video about love hotels...where the "Hello Kitty S&M Room" was apparently a big hit. It's just me, but I've always had issues discerning "cute" from creepy.
This next fashion trend....I honestly don't have any comment....

Next, I want to move on to Visual Kei:

I actually think visual kei is fairly simple. It's basically Japanese glam-rock with subgenres in metal and punk-rock. Think David Bowie, except I think Mr. Bowie succeeded in being EXTREMELY talented, standing the test of time, and looking like a sexy MAN in his heyday. Did I mention that those were ALL men that photo? Yes, I cheated. I said I was only covering women's fashion, but seriously, I thought visual kei was a woman's thing. I wish I were kidding.
And finally, a classic:

Ah, yes. What man hasn't succumbed to the fantasy of the schoolgirl at least once in his life? I'm not going to go into details because this look has and always will be the iconic example of Japanese fashion. I just want the reader to guess: Which girl is living in the 1990s "loose socks" era? Which girl is actually going to do something with her life? In Japan, you can always tell which girls are the more likely to go to top-notch schools like Tokyo, Waseda, and Keio Universities by the length of their skirt.
In all honesty though, the pictures and commentaries aforementioned are what anybody can look up and read about without going to Japan. More than likely, these are the clothes most women would most likely never want to be caught dead in. This is what the outsider sees. From the inside, though, I can tell you: it's not all that bad. In fact, I'll be coming home with a new wardrobe this summer (partialy because I like what I see that much and after a 15+ pound weight loss, I NEED a new wardrobe). Sure, some fashion disaster walks by every other day or so (heels with 80s aerobic socks anyone?), but for the most part, I'm impressed with what I've seen.
But I'll tell you, no modern fashion trend can stand up to kicking it old school:

I'm on hiatus. I'm REALLY sorry, but February is finals month and I have essays due every week, tests almost every other day and a couple of presentations.
HOWEVER! I will take this opportunity to state, for the record, a few topics...err..titles (don't want to give too much away) that are already in the working. So here they are:
"You have the fashion sense of Japanese woman!"
"Greatest 'WTF?' Moments of Japan"
"The Beautiful People"
"Resident Evil 5 Countdown!"
"Salaryman: Super Hero, Or Slave?"
"Nihonjinron: Japanese the Aryans of Japan?"
"The Tale of Genji: From National Treasure to Porno"
These are a few of my ideas that are working titles.
Coming this March!

So I'm wandering on the sidewalk of life, completely avoiding ratrace traffic, looking over my shoulder at every turn for fear of being run over by cycling paranoia, playing pedestrian chicken with uncertainty, when I took an unexpected turn and ended up getting to where I needed to be after being lost for so long. This isn't my final destination, but it is the port of entry to the rest of my life.
Long story short: Happy days are here again, the skies above are clear again!
That unexpected turn happened when I did something completely out of the ordinary: I decided to party.
Now before you gasp a second time, let me clarify that this wasn't your average Japanese "nomikai". It was a welcome-party-for-the-friend-of-a-friend's-wife type of party. An interesting twist was that the party guest list was limited to several grad students, yours truly making up the total undergrads.
Anyone who really knows me knows that my circle of friends are uniquely different from the average 20 year-old American. Anyone who knows me at St. Lawrence knows that my friends are limited to a few very special peers(you know who you are), a couple or so grad students, and a couple or three people over the age of 30. So that's about 10 people that I cannot get enough of and just enjoy being around or being graced by their company.
So to say that I haven't made many friends is an understatement. You get the picture. But I'll tell you, it wasn't from a lack of trying. It just didn't happen.
First, they told me I needed to belong to a group. After that, I'm in and my back is covered. What better group to join than one who has always had my back from the beginning of my college life: Kendo.
I'm sorry to break your heart again, Alex, but even in Japan, kendo is capable of being desecrated. Get this: difference between the kendo CIRCLE and kendo TEAM - more practice for the team. Schedule: change, no warm-up, 15-minute kata practice, put on men and do keiko for the rest of the class PARTICIPATION OPTIONAL, and, if the sensei is there, get a few pointers. The TEAM just gets to do this 5 times a week instead of 3. It is also totally fine to stroll on in when class is half over, which many people do on Saturdays, because thats when everyone gets to do the oh-so-awesome nomikai, where you, the non-drinker who ordered a single soda, get to help pay the $400 tab everyone else racked up while being thrown out of the place for basically overstaying your welcome. Rinse and repeat.
For if this samurai cannot be with her "uchi," (house or clan) in New York, she becomes a ronin...
Trying to befriend other international students didn't quite work out either. I'm sorry, but just as with entering college, where you never realize that there are so many people out there who are so much smarter than you, you also realize an even greater number of people are that much dumber, the same applies with study abroad programs as well. Sad to say that the greatest number of ignorant and bigoted people are, not surprisingly, American. It doesn't help me when I dare to divuldge my nationality and everyone sort of figuratively inches away. Talk about defeating the whole purpose of studying abroad...
So when I came to this party and everyone I'd made an attempt to converse with (which was everyone) responded well and were genuinely hospitable to each other like every decent human being should be, and knew the harm lies not in wine, but in drunkeness and carried themselves accordingly, I knew that I'd found my place, myself, at last.
And because I feel that I've robbed everyone of a story, "reporting", if you will, in the subsequent days, I will post various snippets of letters and journal entries that chronicled my life abroad up till now.
My sincerest apologies to my readers, especially to you guys who've been in touch with me and have been faithful reviewers. I owe you guys especially.
So here's to you all:
I'm back!
KAMPAI!!!

I'M BACK! And it's been six weeks since my last update...nice.
My next excuse for going MIA again? Broken space key. I had NO idea how hard it was to get around without the space key. Well...luckily, I could bring up the on-screen keyboard and click-space all my work, but really, what a pain in the ass... Some how though, despite being a complete tech retard, I was able to fix the damn thing with a flashlight, some tweezers, and a sewing needle.
Seriously though, regarding the lost reporting...it's hard to put my finger on what's been causing me to lose interest in something that defines me. Then again, you can say that simply being in Japan has definately changed me. It has been for the better for the most part, but in going through these changes, I'm starting to lose sight of things that initially motivated me to come here in the first place.
I'm going to admit that I wrote fervently in a notebook. Why I feel reluctant to write explicitly on this blog is beyond me. Do I truly feel reluctant to report? Even though I know only three or four people will actually read this? At this point I'm starting to feel that I'm not cut out for journalism, seeing as I'm simply too timid to allow others to see my work.
I don't know.
I'll sit on this for a bit longer and see what happens...

I'm horrible, yes. I've been skimping on such much needed reporting and I apologize with every ounce of humility that is left after one profoundly insightful trimester here in Japan. I don't want to use the worn out bullshit excuse "I have no time," because truthfully, all I have is time. I'm only three months into this 10 month deal. I'm also broke and Tokyo is expensive. I don't have the funds to be hopping trains just to browse the miles of ridiculously expensive clothing and useless knick knack shops. Right now I'm on Autumn break, so, as aforementioned, I'm simply biding my time before Round 2 starts December 2nd. Although, I did go with a few classmates to Hakone this past week for a two day backpacking trip, which I will explain in greater detail later.
What I want to do in this entry, though, is lay out a sort of table of contents/timeline in a desperate attempt to play catch up. Hardly exciting, I know, but it will also serve as a quick overview of what has been going on since my writing has pretty much been MIA for the last 3 months. Please bear with me.
September:
Perhaps the hardest month to endure. The heat. The nostalgia. The adjustments that needed to be made. The heat. This was when I realized what a nonentity I was in this overcrowded metropolis. Believe it or not, this is when I needed to hang on to my identity for dear life. If I were gaijin (specifically "white"), everybody would either gawk over my appearance with a sort of dubious fascination and curiosity, or glare daggers in my direction when I wasn't looking; I'd be a minority. I am a minority, even moreso than the traditional gaijin. But in this society, I am largely ignored with the exception of a few strange looks, most likely from people who are probably either wondering what the hell I am or thinking that I'm one ugly-ass guy/girl. Other things that happened this month: I went to my dear friend Yuka's house. I also went with Yuka to Kamakura, home of the Great Buddha and the kyuudo demonstration that I wrote about last time.
October:
Highlight of this month in three words: TOKYO. GAME. SHOW. Yes, I joined the march of the geeks and took part of a pilgrimmage to the Makuhari Messe where everyone got to pay a visit to the various shrines devoted their favorite games, guarded and maintained by vestal video-gaming vixen priestesses known as "booth babes." As for me, I stayed in Capcom's section and drooled over the awesomeness that was Resident Evil 5. I saw some disturbing and wonderful things that day...ranging from witnessing a middle-aged man cosplaying as some character from Sailor Moon to falling in love with virtual violence all over again. Other highlights of the month: being named a Takase scholar, discovering Takarazuka Revue, watching a documentary about the Hibakusha (atomic bomb survivors) and their contemporaries.
November:
I didn't mention it in October's paragraph, but that was around the time that I started getting more curious about the darker side of Japan that NO ONE wants to talk about. It wasn't until the beginning of this month that I bought a book from the ICU bookstore titled "Shutting Out the Sun: How Japan Created Its Own Lost Generation". The honeymoon stage of culture shock was over long ago, but I just didn't really get into questioning the underside of Japanese society until I realized that I shouldn't be afraid of being labeled a "racist" for wanting to dig further beyond the happy happy joy joy bullshit that gets spewed in my face on a daily basis. Hell, up until we dodged the blazing comet-sized ball of shit that was John McCain and *shudder* Sarah Palin, I was embarrassed to call myself American. I'm still a little bit wary of divulging my nationality. However, I must say, witnessing Barack Obama being elected the first African-American President of the United States made me feel like basking in a little unapologetic patriotism. More on that later. Other stuff this month: hobnobbing with Takase company officials, my trip to Hakone, and most importantly, KENDO.
I don't know which, if any, people are most interested in hearing about. But if there is something you just HAVE to hear about right away, let me know. Also, now, more than ever, do I need people to review my writing. I'm missing out on advanced English classes that I should be taking now at St. Lawrence rather than being here, so I need to stay sharp. Again I apologize for the skimpy reporting and will be getting my ass in gear.

I know, it's been a while. But this is it, I'M FINALLY HERE. After starting all those study abroad forms and papers nearly a year ago, it has all culminated to this: JAPAN, BABY!
I know I've left you all hanging wondering where the hell I was, and I apologize. It's been over a month since I arrived, and it was a hassle, but I've settled in long ago. For those wondering, yes, it was a nightmare getting here. Being my first time flying overseas, I expected a long, ass-numbing flight. What I wasn't expecting was my plane having engine trouble, having to disembark, having to catch another flight that was going to send me to Salt Lake City, Los Angeles (in a span of two days, with no hotel coverage), having my baggage lost, and having to deal with airline personnel that barely spoke English. I escaped having to spend a night in Salt Lake City and half a day in Los Angeles simply by re-booking altogether for another flight leaving one day later, but losing my luggage was the worst I had to deal with.
Well, all is well and I'm finally falling into the groove of things here in Tokyo. Right now, though, my biggest dilhemma is having to choose which one of the many things I've experienced in the one month that I have already been here will be the first thing I'll write about.
Hmmmm............
Well, since it was this time two years ago that I was first introduced to the wonderful world of kendo, where I met some of my closest friends, I will dedicate this entry to my current observations of budo here in Japan.
UNFORTUNATELY and SURPRISINGLY, I haven't seen a whole lot of budo here in what a friend of mine calls "Kendo Land". That's right. Occationally, I see a young man carry what is unmistakingly a shinai in its case walking through the train station, but other than that, those dojos must be carefully tucked away in the innermost depths of a highschool or college gymnasium. I had a chance to ask a few people who were members of my own university's kendo club, and they actually don't recommend it for the experienced and seasoned. They call it a "circle", where attendance and fees are not mandatory and practice is extremely lax. Apparently, there is no sensei, and the club is run by a student captain, who basically just covers the "pre-men" basics. One student actually recommended that I seek an outside, more private group after I told him that I've been involved with kendo for a couple of years.
So, the search begins.
Well, I think I should get a hold of my hakama, gi, and tenuguis before seeking another group. Plus, my schedule needs to be free, or they'll probably kick me out before I even enter.
What I had the fortune to see, though, was kyudo. A few weeks ago, my host mother took me to an Autumn Festival run by the Odagawara Family, who apparently established their own school of archery back in 1102. Impressive, I know! Even more impressive was that the demonstration was being held at the family's Shinto shrine! Never did I think I'd have the privilege to see something like this in the first month I was here! I fail to really explain how excited I was. My excitement was not to last, however...
Upon arrival I was somewhat appalled to see the conditions of the exterior of the shrine. Just outside this sacred place...was at least a half mile row of takoyaki (fried octopus), yakitori (chicken shishkabab), and yakisoba (pan-fried noodles) stands with really tacky colors and cartoon characters on them. Think hotdog, hamburger, and curly fries stands right outside a dojo. When the actual archers came marching in, I noted right away what an eyesore these second-rate food stands were in contrast with the magnificent costumes the Kyuudou-ka were wearing.
It took nearly another hour before the actual demonstration began. The archers marched into the shrine, removed all their gear, sat, and prayed, all in and extremely ceremonious fashion. In the time it took for all prayers to be completed, gear up, and march to the actual range, many spectators had all gone back to get seconds at the food stands, or resumed browsing various souvenir shops. When the archers had taken their position at the range, in an instant, people flocked back, cameras at the ready. It was nothing like a Kendo or a Sumo match, where there are a few seconds of intense action. From knocking the arrow, to the draw, to the release, and the expression, or energy, after the shot; everything was drawn out and ritualized, like Iaido.
Anyone who has been to the first day of Iaido and kendo practice at St. Lawrence knows how fast the crowd dies down after discovering that they can't really learn to use a sword in real life and thus immediately becomes disinterested. It wasn't long before just about everybody left satisfied with their pictures, souvenirs, and full stomachs. There was even a limit to how much budo my host mother could take. We left half an hour later, before the last group of archers could have their turn.
Amazing how even in its own country, budo has become a tourist event. As for me, this was great material I could use in my reasearch project for my Contemporary Japan class. Since the end of World War II, Japan has been encouraged to commercialize everything to the tourist trade (cheap export items, etc.), which iniatially helped its economy, but now, seems to have gone too far in my opinion.
Japan definately is not the only country/society guilty of this. Hell, there are people in my hometown who'd let tourists take pictures of them in their cowboy/indian hybrid get up for a bit of change that would go toward booze.
At the end of the day, I'd gained this experience, which in itself will be unforgettable, and also, a perpetual hatred of yakisoba. Did I mention people were not only smoking in the food stands, but also in the shrine? My host mother insisted I eat something. That something turned out to be a greasy tray of yakisoba that, combined with the reek of cigarettes, made me sick to my stomach.
Take it from me, yakisoba is a Japanese junk food you should just stay clear of. And don't smoke. For a country that is known for it's impressively long life expectancy, tobacco is surely making a dent in these numbers. Not to mention the alcohol consumption....
But that's another story.

Two years ago today, I let down my (once) incredibly long hair, donned my best rocker tee, and jammed to the bands of the Family Values Tour in Albuquerque, NM. I'll admit, though, one of my greatest reasons for being there was simply because the J-Rock band, Dir En Grey, was going to be there. Honestly, I was there more for them than the main band, Korn, which was my favorite childhood band (yea, I grew up with heavy metal). Little did I know, two years later, I would be gearing up to travel to their home country. Little did I also know, they weren't going to be as big in their home country as they are in America. One of my greatest dreams was to watch them perform in Japan. Unfortunately, the majority of their performances are going to be in America *tear*.
Which is why I dedicate this entry to the second annivarsary of the day I saw Kyo, Kaoru, Die, Toshiya, and Shinya live, before my very eyes.
There isn't much to say about the tour itself, except two words: PIT SEATS. The whole day, my sister and I remained planted to the fence that separated us from them, Dir en Grey. ALL DAY. We stood there, because there was no way in hell that we were going to move from that special place. The rest is history.
The music, though, that is a whole new thing. I know heavy metal is often thought of as just awful noise (which I must agree is partially true, especially with the newer bands), but I firmly believe that metal music in general has a lot more poetic meaning in it than any other type of music. With Dir en Grey, however, the problem is the language barrier and the hidden meanings in their music that even native speakers have a hard time interpreting. For example, there is a song of theirs call "Mitsu to Tsuba" (Honey and Saliva) and is often referred to also as "Tsumi to Batsu" (Crime and Punishment) when the kanji is read backwards. The translation to most of their songs are also really twisted and bizarre, often not making any sense while disgusting a lot people. This is where I say Kyo (the head singer) makes up (or even further distorts understanding) for this with his stage presence.
Heres an example of what I saw during their performance (with commentary by Johnny Davis from Korn):




During the show I watched, he slit his wrists, scratched open his chest wound, and stabbed it with the microphone until it was drenched in blood.
Sick, twisted, disgusting. And yet, I can't help but feel all the emotion behind all that bloody rage even though I don't understand the lyrics. This is what I feel makes this band so great. During the show, even the depraved Marilyn Manson fans with the self mutilation scars and Deadsy's wannabe vampires stared horrified by the display they'd just seen. Kyo didn't even acknowlege the crowd or give them incentive to cheer. He just yanked up his crate, threw it, and stormed off stage while his band nonchalantly threw their picks/drumsticks to the crowd and followed.
I'm biased because, like I said, I grew up with metal. I know I probably won't convince anyone to like it (just like no one can convince me to like rap, EVER). But before you write this one off as just another group of immature screaming hormonal men, I'll leave a couple (or three) other songs that give you a taste of what else this band is made of.

I've just seen "The Dark Night" and, *sigh* am completely amazed!!! If you haven't seen it, but want to see it, don't even bother reading this; GO SEE IT NOW!!! But if you love hearing me ramble, then go on and read what I have to say. Don't worry, no spoilers here.
I admit that I'm a little biased, since I've always been a Batman fan and have always backed him in the timeless "Gotham's Dark Knight" vs. "The Man of Steel battle", but Christopher Nolan's interpretation and vision far out weighs fandom. You don't need to be extremely familiar with the comic fanchise in order to enjoy this, and its predecesor "Batman Begins", film. Everyone's performance is incredible, even down the very last extra. But everyone knows that the greatest asset The Dark Knight has going for it is the late Heath Ledger's final performance as one of the greatest villians of all time: the Joker.
I could write a whole disertation on the Joker, if I wanted to. His original origins in the comics might be a little dubious and shaky, and although Jack Nicholson's performance was without a doubt iconic, but Heath Ledger indeed redefines the psychotic, "fiendishly intelligent", "newer" class of criminal the Joker was established to be. I'll save space and simply refer you to Wikipedia.
As for the rest of the movie, it simply needs to be watched. There are so many themes present in the film, as well as memorable scenes. The shockingly humorous "magic pencil" trick near the beginning of the movie is perhaps one of the most infamous and memorable scenes of this movie. Aaron Eckhart's performance as Harvey Dent/Two Face is also noteworthy.
This is perhaps one of the last films I'll be able to see in the U.S. theaters. I'm going to regret not seeing "Quantum of Solace" this November. For those of you who read my "Biohazard 5" blog and know about my affinity for secret agents, you know how devastating this is for me. However, I would not give up this trip to Japan for anything.
For now though, I'm pretty satisfied today's events: reply from the Ohnishi family, purchased a ticket to Japan for $600, saw James Bond trailer in theatres, and FINALLY saw the Dark Knight. Woo Hoo!!!

Finally! Despite all the shit that has been happening, I finally got my certificate of eligibility and have applied for my visa. And, I finally got the information about my host family. I will be staying with the "Ohnishi" family in Suginami, Hamadayama (thats a mouthful), Tokyo. The commute is about 45 minutes to the university, but I'm not complaining. One of my friends has a two hour commute from Saitama everyday. And at last, I finally got Japanese text installed on my computer (コンピュータがよく好きじゃない). My biggest concern now is getting into shape for all the walking/traveling/brutal-most-likely-everyday-kendo-practices. Whats really got me bummed, though, is that I twisted my foot (not ankle, FOOT), and now cannot walk, let alone run, properly. Just when two miles was starting to get easy, too. 
Well other than that, my grandpa's 90th b-day is coming up and we're gonna have one helluva bash for him. In this day and age, life expectancy is getting lower and lower in developed countries due to bad lifestyles. Japan is an exception. And everybody (should) know why. My grandpa is a very interesting case. I won't go into details, but I can tell you that he's a 90 year old tuberculosis survivor with one leg, who can still drive to his sheep/horse/cattle/llama ranch which is an hour away every single day and back. 
Anyway, along with camping out at his ranch and a traditional pot luck involving sheep heads and innards, we plan to put together a collage of pics (some of which are from the 1930s) depicting various stages of his life. After sorting through what seemed like thousands of pictures, we came upon quite a few of those painful, embarrassing, instruments of blackmail called "baby pictures". We laughed, we cried, we stole incriminating portraits of ourselves in diapers, sitting in the mud and ant piles. Sometimes we had nothing on at all, which were the ones everyone just wants to burn, and wonders why parents have such an affinity for nude-baby-on-a-rug pics. The most painful for me? Seeing that I was once a scroungy, athletic kid who could scale a 30ft. piece of playground equipment with the expertise of a capuchin monkey. 
Among those pics, there were quite a few of my relatives on my fathers side, which carry the "Asian look". Had I scanner, I would post a pic of a 20-something year old pic of dad, who bears striking resemblence to Bruce Lee, had Mr. Lee ever tried on a pair of Wrangles, cowboy boots, and a flannel shirt. 
These pictures, this point of view, is invaluable to my Japan journey. What will these people make of me? I'm not  the sterotypical, blone-hair, blue-eyed gaijin. What will they make of my relatives, some of which have the epicanthal eye fold unique to Asian peoples? 
We shall find out soon.

You never realize how corrupt the cops are around here are until you experienced it first hand. Now, more than ever, I want to leave and never come back. It was so bad, even the family is ready to up and leave if nothing is done.
Today, my brother was chased by the cops for no apparent reason other than they thought that he had a "real gun". My brother, a tiny 12 year-old kid, loves to hunt. He was shooting prairie dogs along our fence, in an open field by our house, with a bb gun when the police happened by (they weren't even supposed to be patroling there). They slowed to watch him, and when he noticed this he put the guns aside and tried to calmly walk back to the house. The peeled after him. He ran inside and my sister, who was the only other person home at the time went outside to hear the police's story. They had their weapons drawn and demanded to see the gun. She showed it to them, and they simply said, "someone needs to talk to him," and left.
What the hell?
Well, mom called the department and, of course, they gave her the run-around before finally admitting that there was no chief for her to address this incident with. Eventually they just hung up on her. And now, I am writing a complaint that is going to be sent to three different offices, as well as the to local newspapers. It goes a little like this (keep in mind this is supposedly written by my mom, but she actually made me, the cheesy english major, write it):

"To: Honorable Chief of Police
Honorable President of the Nation
Honorable Speaker of the Navajo Nation

This is to express my concern regarding the actions of two Navajo Nation police officers traveling along NR112, milepost 5 on 7/8/08 at approximately 12:15pm

My 12 year-old son was hunting prairie dogs with a BB gun in an open field next to our home in Fort Defiance. He noticed a police vehicle stop along the road and the officers observing him, so he put his gun at his side and turned to walk back to our house. When he noticed the officers speed after him, he became afraid and started to run.

My 17 year-old daughter was watching over him at the time and claimed that he ran in, frightened, saying that he was being pursued by the police. When she went to the door, a police vehicle, in a rather false and unnecessary display of urgency, raced into the parking area, dust flying after. Two officers got out with guns drawn and demanded to see the weapon. She showed them the aforementioned BB gun. They asked to speak to me, but I was away at work. When she informed them of this, they said, “Someone needs to speak to him,” and then departed.

I would like to know, exactly, what I need to speak to my son about. He is not a troublemaker, I assure you. He is a 7th grader in the Navajo Immersion School, a cross country runner, and a wrestler. He visits with his 89 year-old maternal grandfather weekly to assist him with his needs. He is one of the few members of the reservation’s youth who is ardently interested in preserving his culture through participation in recreational activities associated with the traditional past, such as hunting.

First of all, I have to ask, is hunting prairie dogs in an open field a crime? His paternal grandfather comes from a very rural part of the reservation, and it is very endearing for him to know that his grandson hunts prairie dogs for food, a now forgotten staple with the changing times. He always asks if he has some prairie dogs for him to eat. My son does not have video games or electronic entertainment equipment. He likes to collect rocks for their aesthetical and geological significance and to practice shooting his BB gun. He took a Navajo Nation gun safety course (Arizona Hunter Education Program Certification Card No. 107332, Issued 7/9/06 by instructor Larry Joe of Navajo Fish and Wildlife Department) and has gone hunting on many occasions for turkey and deer with his uncles, who are seasoned and experienced hunters.

Second of all, when I returned home and found that two police officers were at our front door with guns drawn, I first became frightened and then understandably angry. What if something had gone terribly wrong and my children were either hurt or killed? Poor judgment on the part of the reservation police could have put an end to the precious lives of a couple of children who’d done nothing wrong. I immediately called the Window Rock Police Department and asked to speak to the officer in charge. I was first asked my name and whether or not my children had fabricated the entire incident because they claimed no officers were on NR112 at that time. I was then transferred to SGT Six and as I had expected, she stood by their own claims. When I asked to speak to someone else of higher authority, she informed me that he was not there. I then asked to speak to anyone above her line of authority but she refused to assist me. When I requested a name that I could direct a letter of complaint to, she informed me that I could write my complaint and deliver to their office. I informed her that this would not guarantee delivery to the appropriate personnel. Therefore, I asked her several more times to give me a name of an individual that I could direct my complaint to, but she eventually hung up on me. I was appalled by this unprofessional behavior.

I would like the following issues addressed:
1) Why was this handled by these two officers in this manner? My child was not wandering in a public setting or shooting randomly. When one is in a field of prairie dogs and aiming at prairie dogs, common sense dictates that the individual is, indeed, hunting prairie dogs and, therefore, not a danger to anyone. One would expect that these officers, even at the lowest GED level, can assess this situation and deduct that there is a child shooting at burrowing rodents in a field. Is this a crime? Even if it is, then the officers should have handled this in a mature, professional manner instead of chasing a small, frightened child with guns drawn.

2) How can we keep this from happening again? As I mentioned earlier, my son is an outdoor person. Today’s youth are obsessed with TV and video games which are ruining their minds and sense of morality and police have a right to be cautious when investigating suspicious activity like the incident I am addressing. However, my son wants to hunt. His paternal grandfather is hospitalized right now and it would have given him great pride to have the food he is always asking for ready for him upon his release. Is this going to happen every time he tries to hunt prairie dogs? Are there more rules other than those outlined by the Navajo Fish and Wildlife department regarding hunting in an open field? If so, they need to made more clear.

3) The unprofessional behavior of these officers needs to be brought to the attention of the proper authorities. One cannot expect respect unless it is extended. My children were unnecessarily frightened and threatened and no respect was extended to them. This incident will surely negatively affect their respect for the tribal police.

4) My greatest fear was the fear of my children being hurt for doing no wrong. They watch a plethora of illegal activities going on in the very next house over: drugs, alcohol, public intoxication, driving while intoxicated, domestic violence, and, most recently, illegal fireworks. They have been exposed to these activities their entire lives and are adamant about not allowing it to happen in their own household now or in the future. Police officers are there on a regular basis and yet there are no consequences for these illegal activities. There are no guns drawn, yet my son was only hunting and he was frightened, threatened, and intimidated by the police department for no sincere, logical reason.

I am a medical professional who has provided a much needed service to the Navajo Nation for 29 years (17 years in this community). The reason I stayed on the Navajo Nation was to expose my children to the Navajo culture with the hope that they would learn to respect and carry it on. Not only has this incident tainted my and my children’s love for the Navajo Nation, the continued misuse of power by the Navajo Tribal Police and the injustices by the offices that employ them is becoming more apparent and is surely contributing to the crumbling of our privileged nation and people.

I write this with the thought that I will not get a response and with some reservations of retaliation, BUT when my children’s safety is threatened by the one organization that is “To Serve and Protect,” I cannot remain silent.

I will be awaiting a response from your office.


Barbara J. Sorrell"

Yeah, we're all pretty pissed off. There ya go. The tribal cops in one angry, spite-filled letter. I actually want to go back to New York...and just stay there. Maybe I won't go home for breaks anymore.... Probably best for all of us. Saves money too. 
Come on, Japan. Still waiting for that certification for eligibility for a visa...

Despite all my fretting and anxiety about leaving my home here on the Navajo Reservation, and America as well, I'm actually feeling more and more eagar to get the hell out of here. In the time that I have been home, I've realized how low this place actually is. Seeing the place flooded with trash, teen mothers, dead-beat dads, low-life reservation employees on power trips, corrupt police and tribal delagates, gang bangers, and all around poverty makes me wonder if it is all worth saving. At this point, this place is beyond saving. I used to dream about coming back and doing something about it, but I'm starting to think that it's time I abandon this sinking ship.
Again, I had "the talk" with my mother: the "10 years-from-now-all-of-this-will-be-gone" talk. And she's right. The Navajo culture is just about dead. The elders are just about all gone. The language will be gone too with the next generation. We've pretty much sold ourselves out to the damn tourist trade with the signing of a casino construction by our dumbass president and advertising "All Indian Rodeos" and "Contest Pow-Wows" on highway billboards. We've pretty much become a fucking museum exhibit.
On a personal level here's what's engendering today's journal entry: my damn neighbor is a retired tribal official, drunk, and wife beater. His late wife was my clan grandmother. After she passed on, he began bringing all his party friends over and they'd get drunk, start barbequeing outside and shooting off fireworks, damn near burning our house down. When we called the police to complain, no one showed up. When he called the cops on us when dad started building a fence to prevent said burning of our house, with permission from the landlord of course, three patrol cars and an undercover cop showed up in no time ready to shoot us. A family friend was shot in the face by her husband when an emergency call went unanswered, and just last week, my cousins got arrested for collecting cans and shooting praire dogs with a bb gun "too close" to some lady's land. The sickening part is that a group of teenagers who butchered an elderly woman and her granddaughter are free and my cousins, college students majoring in bio-chemistry with dreams of coming back to the rez to be enviromentalists and livestock veternarians, had three squad cars aiming M16s at them as if they were crazed meth addicts. These land-grabbing nut jobs are the worst. I cannot even go running without getting harassed by sheep hearders claiming "land rights" because they have grazing permits. Just this morning, an old sheep herder lady took a swing at me with a stick because our dog scattered her sheep. Yea, I know it must be a pain in the ass to have to round them back up, but we offered to help. Instead she took to threating us.
The sickening part is that the tribe gives power to these people. There is really nothing anyone can do about it. The sad part is that the people who can actually make a difference are driven away because of the lack of opportunity and the drunken, drugged-up, obese Indians they have to put up with. I myself know that I may never really return. As an aspiring writer/jounalist (perhaps for National Geographic *heh heh*), there is really nothing for me here.
With these thoughts in mind, I sometimes question what kind of representative I will be in Japan. Do I take pride in being part of this dying culture? Do I lie and paint my ideal picture of reservation life? Of course not, but I really can't say that the "white man" is the only one to blame for this cultural genocide. Or do I? I don't know. Am I a traitor for thanking the "white man" for the education I am getting now? Or is it really mine for the taking? Should I be ashamed for thinking that maybe the Federal Government should take this land away from us? Like an adult taking a prized item away from a group of children who will only tear it asunder if they keep fighting over it? Am I victim of all of this myself?
I really don't know. I just can't wait to leave.

Or as it's called in the U.S, Resident Evil 5. I'm crazy with joy and longing as the new RE5 trailer was released. Yeah, for those that don't know, I'm a HUGE Resident Evil fan and a moderately active gamer (kind of layed off after my junior year of high school). So basically, yes, I really don't have a life sometimes and have to revert to the virtual world to escape the frustration of our own.
Another great thing about Japan is the games and gaming technology that they come up with. Mario, Tekken, Final Fantasy, Resident Evil, Nintendo, Playstation...it's impossible to name them all here. However, at the present, my latest obsession, following Resident Evil: Umbrella Chronicles on the Wii, is Resident Evil 5.
While Resident Evil 4 was absolutely incredible (and I adored the new Leon Kennedy and Albert Wesker, yes I'm such loser for secret agents, especially the fictional ones), it took FOREVER to come out. It also took quite a few crappy side games and two especially shitty movies before they could get the formula right and actually create one of the greatest games ever made. Sure, they threw out a few defining RE features (3rd person camera angles, zombies, t-virus, Raccoon City, worry-free cutscenes, etc.) but it was time for change anyway. The only thing that sucked about RE4 was waiting for it to come out. Hell, they started RE4 and then scrapped it when it was about half done and started all over again. Hopefully, the same won't happen for RE5.
Resident Evil 5 is actually looking really good (especially the new and much improved and, dare I say, sexy protagonist Chris Redfield; yep...major loser T.T; who once looked like a cheesy boyscout monkey man...thing). And, it may actually be out on time (2009). They kept the first person camera view of RE4 and some other creepy tidbits from that game (like a chainsaw-wielding maniac *shudder*). One thing that I'm going nuts with joy about is its resemblance to the 28 Days/Weeks Later movies. Slow-moving, flesh-eating zombies are a thing of a past now. Time for some realistic, maniacal super-human killers!!! The arsenal provided appears to rock! As much as I love the fictional men and women of the Special Tactics and Rescue Squad, Umbrella Special Forces, HCF, and other secret/combat organizations of the Resident Evil world, I love the equipment even more. Perhaps because the weapons utilized are the most realistic features of the game (sad....so sad...there is no hope for me...).
My only worry, other than a late release date, is the new chick. I'm hoping she'll be as original and badass as other RE women (namely Jill Valentine and Ada Wong), and not Mary Sue-ish like "Alice" in the RE movies (God, I hate Paul Anderson).
Okay, I'll stop creeping people out here. If I go on, I'll lose my privilege to even say the word "dignity" in the presence of the deep, scholarly people I once thought I was a part of. Time to deal with reality now and go in for a skin graft. I spent the entire day outside and am over-cooked.

Continuing on about aspects of Japanese traditional and pop culture, I feel obligated to comment on a lost piece of history that the Japanese government itself has been trying to cover up. About a year ago, my Japanese TA was enraged about an article in the New York Times about how a dying generation of elderly Chinese women pleaded for a formal apology from the Japanese government for the sexual slavery they were forced into during the Second World War. The prime minister refused to do so and even went so far as to say that no such military comfort women were employed, let alone forced, to service Japanese troops during occupation of China. These women are in their 80s and dying.
This immediately brought me back to a book I'd started reading, "The Rape of Nanking" by Iris Chang, but hadn't quite finished. Well, I just finished it and am simply disgusted with Japanese militarism. For those that don't know, the Rape of Nanking, aka The Nanking Massacre, occured in the old capital of China, Nanking, in 1937 after the city fell to the invading Japanese troops on December 13. For the next six weeks, the soldiers plundered the town, looting, raping, killing, and buring down buildings. Mass executions and human experimentation took place similar to the Jewish victims of the Holocaust. However, some of the methods of disposal were far more torturous and gruesome than the what the Nazis did. People were burned alive, beheaded with katanas for fun, hunted down in killing contests, dismembered and buried alive, buried to their waists and torn apart by dogs, thrown into pools to freeze death, castrated, hung by their tongues, and the list goes on. Family members were forced to commit incest. Women, from 8 - 80 years of age, were raped day and night in open streets, tortured, and killed. Pregnant women were also raped and had their bellies cut open, and fetuses removed. Babies were thrown in the air, caught on bayonnets, and tossed into boiling pots of water. 
I heartily admit that every culture has their good and bad sides. And although the Japanese are an amazing group of people with a colorful, sophisticated, and rich aesthetic culture, their activities during the Sino-Japanese war is their ultimate worst. It isn't even the people as a whole, but the soldiers at the time; soldiers who claimed to be heirs of "noble" samurai-warrior linage. This brings me to critique the discipline-driven nature of Japanese budo. This is especially hard for me to do because it was through Kendo that I believe I was able to survive my first year of college. But, from one of the last conversations I had with a couple friends from kendo, I have drawn some inspiration, you might say, and pondered idly about how this brutal display of human behavior was PARTLY engendered: by old Japanese warrior culture. 
The difference between Western militarism and the traditional Japanese militarism is that in the western military, you follow orders, you do your duty, you satisfy your superiors. In Japanese militarism, nothing is ever good enough. Discipline and social heirarchy are key. The line that defines superior and inferior are clear and relentless. An example of discipline in kendo is the quote "If you haven't thrown up during each session, you aren't practicing hard enough." Even then, nothing is "good enough". These ideals were instilled into the Japanese military. Officers slapped their inferiors around and ingrained in them the belief that their lives were worthless and that their service and loyalty to the emperor was their only worth. With that belief, the typical Japanese soldier considered anyone who was NOT Japanese lower than him. From that perspective, Chang states, "The richest Chinese was lower than the lowest Japanese soldier". With ideals of world conquest, it is not surprising that they pillaged with such ardent resolve.
However, it still does not excuse the extent of their brutality. I take the Nanking incident as an example of the darkest side of human nature.

As I bide my time here in the United States for another 2 months before I leave for Tokyo, I begin my research about Japan, you know, statistics, social etiquette, geography, pop culture, etc. While conducting this research there is one thing that has haunted my mind for the past few hours of riding clown-car style in the Yukon (yes, I do in fact have that much crap to haul home): tarako.
Tarako is basically cod ovaries. Although I don’t know how popular the actual thing is in Japan, I know that one by-product from some company had sparked a HUGE advertising campaign for a ramen noodle-like topping. While my dear friend Yuka was here in the States, she made me a bowl of tarako noodles. I can’t describe in clear enough detail the hesitation I felt about eating fish eggs, especially when the product’s mascot was a human baby-faced cod ovary staring back at me. After a few double-takes at the bowl of fish egg-sprinkled noodles and the wrapper, curiosity, hunger, and my obligation as a world traveler to keep an open mind gave in. It wasn’t bad: subtle, zesty, and just plain fishy. It was definitely more genuine than your average pack of ramen noodles.
What haunted me, though, is not the actual product itself. It was the advertising. Let me express here that the Japanese do NOT do anything half-assed when they want your patronage, or, at the very least, when they want to pique your interest. It worked a little too well with the music video (yes, I said music video). The video… That song… Take a look. I GURANTEE you will not be able to look away.

Good luck getting that song out of your head... I spent 10 hours in a car with "Taarako! Taarako! Ta! Pu Ri, TARAKO!" reverberating in my head.

Upon the suggestion of a certain friend (you know who you are...and kudos to you for convincing me to do this in the first place), I finally decided to go public with this new chapter in the life of me. Thaaaat's right! It's the live-journal of Anna's topsy turvey journey to the Land of the Rising Sun!
I really should've started this on the 29th, the day I turned 20 and, coincidentally, received my offical confirmation letter from the univeristy in Japan. Really, how neat was that? Then would have been the perfect time to scribble (or type maniacally) something profound and sentimental about embarking on a new odyssey in my life and expanding my horizons far across the ocean to the Eastern world and finally escaping the suffocating atmosphere of Muffy-ville and Larryland, but I'll spare everyone the cheesy English major (hereafter, CEM) dribble. Don't get me wrong, I have my CEM moments, but I'll warn everyone before an outburst. Then again, maybe not. My journal, my writing style. Don't like it, don't read it. Yet again, what's a writer without readers? Ahh...the trials of the starving artist. 
Well, considering that this is the obligatory intro entry, I don't feel THAT obligated to go on further. Just bear with me people. I promise to (try to) include all the merry mahem, psychotic monologues, and quixotic ponderings you don't get to see in my daily facade. As you will read throughout, it does manifest itself quite clear in writing. 
ANYWAY, that's enough of that. I'm done. For now.