A Cart Full of Cats

AM

Least: At 10:40am, I opened my eyes to find that most of the morning had vanished. I had half thought of getting up early for a walk, however I think last night's yakitori and beer led to deeper than deep sleep. Waking late makes special problems for AMPM because it gives little time for the least and most interesting things to happen. Maybe I'll set an alarm next time.

Most: By 11:20am, the odds that my poached eggs were going to be the highlight of my morning were rapidly increasing. With so much morning time on my hands I have been able to perefect my poaching technique. Using gas has proven much easier than struggling with electricity, and even with three burners going, blazes have been rare. The only real danger is burning the toast to a cinder while distracted. As for the poach, I allow the eggs to lay in a slightly bubbling pan undisturbed by stirring or by vinegary acids. I turn the gas off just as the toasting begins, for the heat from the grill perfectly finishes off any slightly undercooked eggs. I haven't descended into bacon yet for the health implications could be fatal.

PM

Least: Between 1:00pm and 2:30pm, I trudged around the city looking for a Halloween costume. I went to a giant shit-shop called Don Quixote which had a good range, but was dominated by sleazyly tacky maid uniforms. There were the obvious nurse uniforms, but disturbingly (but not surprisingly) there were also school uniform costumes right down to primary school. Japan's predictible bawdiness never fails to bore. I ended up choosing a semi-costume at Loft, the pictures of which will be revealed later.

Most: At about 3:00pm as I walked down the Shinsaibashi arcade, I dodged a possibly homeless man wheeling a large car filled with cardboard. Being such a common sight, this normally wouldn't rate a mention but for the number of cats that he had travelling with him. On the very top of his cart were four boxes that housed his cats which were on leads. The cats looked very relaxed and comfortable, whcih was a suprise considering that the man was also walking a dog. Japan never ceases to amaze.

The Toy at the End of the Rainbow

AM

Least: At about 9:40am, I unnecessarily purchased another can of Suntory Boss coffee. Today it was Rainbow Mountain Blend from Guatemala, and the stupid attraction was a toy car (right) sitting atop of the can. The coffee itself was rather disgusting, being too milky and too sweet for my tastes. The toy was more successful and had a pull-back motor - still it was totally pointless. Yesterday, I had bought a similar can with Luigi from Mario Bros. riding on top. Under no circumstances would I ever buy this in Australia. I think the marketing gimmick level is so high in Japan, that it has actually lowered my resistance to advertising. A small toy is now governing my spending patterns. Ouch.

Most: A few minutes after 9:30am, I dumped a huge bag of bottles and cans on the side of the road as I trudged up to the Family Mart. At the far end of the street I passed a Recycler on a bike who was crushing cans and piling them into one of two massive plastic sacks. By the time I had bought my overpriced breakfast materials and walked home, the Recycler had already rummaged through my bag and retrieved the aluminium cans. I noted with interest that he had left a steel-ish coffee can that I had foolishly bought during yesterdays AM (see above). The Recyclers are very often homeless men who pedal the streets collecting cans and selling them at repositories near Namba - given the effort and hours put into the exercise, I hope the man made some money for the day.

PM

Least: Between exactly 6:20pm and 7:50pm I was subjected to a most cruel torture. I sat in the same room as a student who couldn't help repeating parts of a sentence four or five times before getting it almost right. A number of times he began the five-cycle again even after finishing a sentence successfully. One of the other victims, a train conducuctrix (read below) was visibly irritated after completing her dialogues at near natural speed. Some time into the second hour, the smells started. Breath probably. I only hope I am spared the same 80 minutes of agony next Thursday. For the record, the poor guy was tickling forty-five and still living with his parents.

Most: At exactly 5:30pm, I began talking to a Nanakai train conductor. It was interesting to hear that her favourite train was the airport express and that the Rapit-B was hard work because of all of the freeloaders trying to get home early. I couldn't help asking her about her pink and grey uniform (see one her colleagues right), which I think is very becoming. She didn't like it too much, saying that the light colours allowed the uniform to get too dirty and that her hat was far too hot in summer. She was nice, and it was a real pity that she had to suffer through the next 80 minutes as I did.

The Man Pissing Against the Police Station

AM

Least: By 8:40am, it was clear that I had an unfairly severe hangover from last night's bottle of Soave white wine. With the heat attacking me through the window and the mechanic across the road using a machine to undo wheelnuts, I had no choice but to ride it out awake. By the time the symptoms subsided, the morning was but a shell and just as empty. I didn't go for a walk, I didn't see anyone nor did I speak to anyone. All I could really think of was the fact that tomorrow morning, I'll have to drag myself down to Wakayama once more.

Most: At close to 11:00am, I salvaged the last part of the am period by making toast. Although this is far from interesting, it was still the most interesting event of the morning. As I spread the strange Japanese margarine and the familiar blackness of the Vegemite, I thought about how small events can take on new meaning during an empty time period. I thought about the several-dozen times that I have tried to explain the joys of vegemite on buttery toast to Japanese or American people each time to no avail. Perhaps it is interesting for some people, how I can my countrymen can stomach such a salty, foul coloured sludge. Working as teachers we are all a sideshow.

PM

Least: Close to 3:30pm riding home from Namba, I became all too aware of the shoddy construction of my bike. The Impression was a sleek, black and smooth ride when I bought it for 10000yen in Tezukayama. The bikeshop staff were helpful have even pumped up my tires a couple of times. The problem is, that within only a few months of pedalling, the Chinese-made vehicle is coming apart at the seams. I have noticed that the Impression is an incredibly popular bike - I wonder if all those dreams end in the same way mine has?

Most: At about 12:30pm as I was riding towards Namba, I spotted a homeless guy pissing against the local police station. The Nishinari police station is a formerly gleaming white tower, amongst the run down shops and house in that area. Just metres away is a series of shanties built mostly of plywood and the ubiquitous blue tarpaulins. The lasting impression of the neighbourhood is of old men standing or lying around waiting for something or nothing to happen. Some hours later, when I rode past on my way home, several of the same men were still sitting where I had seen them last. The police tower might show a good example of spending in the wrong area - maybe a few more jobs for older men might've been money better spent. There have been  riots there where the police showed little mercy and removed or arrested many homeless people. Maybe the man pissing against the police station was making a political statement.

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Food note: For lunch I ate at Kua 'Aina Sandwich Japan. I ordered the 1/2lb Bacon Burger set with a drink and fries. The burger was deliciously beefy and salty with surprisingly good bread for Japan. Highly recomended.

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Post script: Terry Ito in Splatball Form (see The Problem With Terry):

Men in boxes and Women in Bubbles

AM


Least: At about 9:40am, it finally dawned on me just what I find so irritating about cooking shows on Japanese TV. It wasn't the awful stunned-mullet oishis, the whispering, the overuse of corn, or the cruelty to sea animals. I registered my strongest jolt at the sight of close-ups showing food being held, eaten or prodded by utensils. The extreme close-up shows the quivering and the pointless moving about of food in pans. I can't answer why it annoys me but, now that I've finally identified it, TV cooking shows may be unwatchable.



Most: At nearly 11:40am, I read a BBC News article about the horrors of the economic situation in Japan. In the shops it is pretty clear that things are not going well. Many shops are lowering prices to try an attract customers. In many larger shops, I have seen how the salesmen are sweating on their next sale - sometimes there seems to be more salesmen than customers. Just up the road hundreds of homeless men are sleeping in cardboard boxes or scavenging for aluminium cans while the Tezukayama locals are driving around in Mercedes'. The article warned thayt Japan could be on the brink of another big fall - luckily my company seems to attract the very wealthy - the rich tend to stay rich and the mirage at work will continue.

PM

Least: At close to 5:40pm, I recieved a chirpy phone call from headquarters. Within a minute, I was heartlity agreeing to do an early shift tomorrow morning in Kusatsu. When the caller said it was 'four stops from Kyoto' I had little idea that the school is four stops passed Kyoto. After this call, every new minute was just another step closer to getting up early to travel to an unfamiliar school, filled with unfamiliar staff and students. It made the rest of the pm far less interesting.

Most: At about 8:15pm, I was bored enought to be telling the staff at work about the be-tattooed crown at Freestyle Outro'6. I was mildly astonished to find that they were shocked at the thought of a thousand Japanese people with tatoos gathering in the one place. This was particularly surprising because one of the two staff claims to be into punk music and often speaks of her big nights on the tiles. It's hard to believe that the crowd down near the docks last Saturday night was so radical as to be invisible to the nearly mainstream. I'm not sure whether these shocked colleagues are far more conservative than I thought, or they're just living in a 1950s bubble of bubblegum music and culture.