Let's do this again sometime.
]]>If you've read this site's archives, you'll know my first year here in Tokyo was no picnic. So, what with the previous three months of no blog entries, it wouldn't be unreasonable to assume that I ultimately got depressed, gave up, and bought a plane ticket outta here.
Which is pretty ironic, considering how sweet my life is right now. Stunningly sweet.
I live in a cozy apartment with a loft bedroom, a widescreen projection TV that takes up an entire wall, ample closet space and a small park just outside my front door. I'm a nine-minute walk from Ikebukuro station, one of the main transportation hubs of central Tokyo, and surrounded by a thousand shops and restaurants. In 30 minutes, I could be in Ginza. In an hour, Yokohama. In two hours, Kyoto. I work at most five hours a dayusually three. My job consists of chatting with charming Japanese grandmothers, teaching them how to pronounce words like "collateral," and answering tricky grammar questions. I spend at least an hour a day walking around Tokyo, and I eat Japanese food like sushi or tempura for lunch pretty much all the time. I have movie-watching parties at my apartment twice a month (which few people could attend if I didn't live in a hub city like Ikebukuro), and spend my free time teaching myself computer animation, watching Naruto or videoconferencing with friends over the Internet.
You'd have to be pretty nuts to walk away from all that. And yet that's what I'm doing, in four days. I don't know what my future in New York holds, but I'm pretty sure I'll be working more than three hours a day, and I'm pretty sure the job'll be a lot more stressful than just talking about verbs. I doubt I'll be seeing cherry blossoms outside my window, either.
Is my need to be a filmmaker so important? It's a pretty blissful existence I'm giving up. Obviously some part of my thinks so, or I wouldn't be doing this, but you know, I've been wrong before.
]]>http://amfilms.hash.com/search/entry.php?entry=1056
It's 30 minutes; science-fiction.
]]>But...
The Account is coming to a close. On April 20th, I'll be leaving Tokyo to pursue my film-career ambitions in New York, yet another city I've never lived in before. (I'll also be making a weeklong stop in San Francisco, if anyone wants to hang out.)
I apologize for abandoning the blog this year. Over time, more and more of my overseas friends have stopped responding to my e-mails, and by January, I wasn't sure there was anyone left who was still reading this. It's not that I stopped updating out of spite, or anything like thatit's just that it didn't make much sense to spend all that time relating my experiences to an empty theater.
In the last few weeks, though, a good number of my local friends have chided me over the lack of updates, and with my impending return to the States (and considerable increase in free time, now that all my classes are over), now's a good time to wrap things up.
Here's what you missed:
A photo of Shinjuku I took during a New Years' shrine visit with Daisuke.
February
More of the same. English teaching during the day; animation at night. February's a pretty bland month in any country. By this point, I'd already made my flight arrangements, and I began informing my students of my imminent departure.
Shao Guee, animator at large.
It all started with the Hash Animation:Master Forums, an online community of animators devoted to the character-animation software of the same name. One of the members posted a link to Haruwo, a stunningly elaborate science-fiction anime epic. At 37 minutes in length, it represented one of the most impressive projects ever put together by a Hash A:M user, and the community was in awe. Just one problem: It was completely in Japanese, with no way for the forum enthusiasts to understand it.
Which is where I came in. Now, my Japanese is still, even after all this time, sub-kindergarten level. (What can I say? Speaking English all day is my job.) But I have a good conceptual understanding of the language, and a lot of free time, and... well, you can see where this is going. I volunteered to spearhead the translation effort. The next four weeks were an obsessive, grueling crash-course in online dictionaries, yakuza lingo, dialects and slang. I made a number of bizarre mistranslations, but fortunately Haruwo creator Shao Guee was able to catch them, and helped me out with lines whose nuances I just couldn't figure out.
It was this same Shao Guee who treated me to yakiniku a few days into my self-imposed linguistic marathon, partly out of gratitude, partly out of curiosity. Shy and self-effacing, he spent hours describing his style and his influences, from Akira to H. G. Wells. My own meager animation experiments have thus far yielded about 14 seconds of finished product; now I was sitting across from a man who had produced almost 40 minutes using the same tools. "Dedication" doesn't even begin to describe it.
(Incidentally, my Japanese-to-English translation of Haruwo can be viewed here.)
April
I had to make a lot of goodbyes to a lot of great students. Being poor, I couldn't buy them going-away presents, but I did what I could and printed out a "greatest hits" selection of my favorite photos, with my e-mail address printed in the margins, and passed them out. The Karuizawa Mist image was the hands-down favorite, for some reason.
I also went to visit Daisuke in the hospital. He'd torn a ligament while snowboarding, which not only forced him to cancel our trip to Studio Ghibli, but also jeopardized his plans to attend Alliant University in San Diego this August. Now he's stuck in a grimy, sweltering military hospital, with only the pirated Hollywood movies I bring him to ease the pain.
Well, that just about brings us up to date. Sorry to leave you all hanging like that. I'll try to post a couple more entries between now and when I board the plane, but no promises.
]]>The first flurries started falling on December 29thtoo late for Xmas, but just in time for the Year of the Rooster. My neighbors responded by cowering under their umbrellas, but I was too busy feeling nostalgic for my faraway hometown of Montréal. After eight years in California, it was nice to finally see the skies let loose with the good stuff.
]]>My remaining evenings I've been channeling into more 3D-modeling work, except for the last four, which I spent making last-minute changes to a screenplay of mine for entry into the Fade In awards, a screenwriting competition for new writers. I have no chance at the Grand Prize, but even 3rd Place (in one of six categories) wins $250 and a free script analysis, so that's worth something.
What tiny shreds of free time I have leftover after that, I've been spending with random Japanese people. Basically, my policy is, whatever one of my students invites me to do, I do. This is how I find myself committed to going salsa dancing in Roppongi next weekend, even though I hate Roppongi and don't know anything about dancing.
This entry concerns the events of last Sunday, which I spent at the semiannual Tokyo Design Festa, a giant convention of amateur art. Anyone can rent a booth, and judging from what I saw, there don't appear to be any restrictions on what you can sell. Basically, try to imagine Burning Man reinvented as a comic-book convention, and populated by Japanese people. Now try to somehow get that image out of your head.
This was all Kumiko's idea. Despite Japan's reputation as a gray, conformist mega-bureaucracy of corporate enslavement, which is completely true, the people of Japan take their hobbies seriously. Almost all my students spend at least some of their time doing calligraphy, flower arrangement, oil painting, or even opera. Others, apparently, spend their free time creating unsettling sculptures. Kumiko, one of my newer students, very kindly offered to take me to the latest Festa, which she attends every year to look for peculiar jewelry.
On the left: Kumiko, our guide for the day, who I refuse to believe is 36. On the right: a giant bee.
The offerings were indeed very peculiar. I saw athletic jackets sewn from old kimonos, a tyrannosaurus rex skeleton made entirely out of blown glass, schoolgirl pinup books (being sold by the schoolgirl herself!), handbags shaped like jellyfish. But what I'll mainly remember are the dolls.
Oh, the dolls! Booth after booth of spooky, pale-skinned waifs with sad oversized eyes and real human hair. Apparently they're something of a cliché in Japan. I'm sure my description doesn't sound disturbing to you, because you're probably thinking of a doll from the Hot Topic store down at the mall. This is nothing like the Hot Topic store down at the mall. These dolls are lovingly crafted by hand by deeply obsessed people.
In fact, as you look at the works of art in these photos, I think you'll be struck by a common theme, namely, that all of them require a very, very, very high level of dedication. I expect you'll find them to be impressively enchanting/creepy.
Be sure to thank Kumiko.
]]>Peter Jennings, ABC News anchor
November 3, 2004
Yes, I'm kidding.
The scary post-Halloween election is certainly the most important to take place in my lifetime, and I'm pleased to see that my vote matters in no way whatsoever. I know the electoral college was invented to make sure the more scarcely populated states didn't get the shaft every four years, but this is ridiculous. The entire future of the country depends on a few hundred thousand people in 11 states who have trouble making decisions. That is, quite frankly, insane.
Just to be clear what I mean when I say my vote doesn't matter: I don't mean it in the big picture sensei.e., that the election hinges on which pro-war millionaire Yalie with poor public speaking skills will have the opportunity to not implement a national health-care system. I mean it in the sense that my vote will not actually be counted at all. You knew that, right? Absentee ballots aren't even opened if they're received in states where the election results aren't close. Like, say, California.
I mailed in my absentee ballot this morning for one reason and one reason only. So that when my friends interrupt me two years from now, in the middle of one of my usual rambling tirades, with, "Oh yeah? And did you vote?", I can retort, "Yes, I did," and keep going. That privilege is worth preserving. My friends interrupt me a lot.
In case you're wondering how I voted: Hell yes they should go back to calling it Candlestick Park.
]]>She showed up early with the script I had given her, and we chatted about Hitchcock's cinematography, classic horror movie taglines and Keyah's new favorite, Love Actually, which she somehow got me to agree to watch with her sometime. Finally we got down to businessa 90-second, two-character scene I'll be using as the first test of my animation abilities.
Things got off to a slow start, as neither one of us had ever really done this before, but thanks to Keyah's boundless patience and some truly demented method-acting techniques (for the record: Keyah is a very trusting person), we built up a quarter-gig of sound files for me to work with. I'm really happy with the results, and can't wait to start mixing (though I've still got a lot of 3D modeling left to do).
This was, for all intents and purposes, my first real directing work in five years. In the time since I stood on the set of Ashes To Ashes, my previous directorial effort, I've tried my hand at editing, screenwriting, a whole lot of web design, and now animation, but I haven't gotten to work one-on-one with an actor in over half a decade. It felt good, which was no surprise to me, though I give much of the credit to Ms. Steele's luminous enthusiasm.
I know, I really should do this sort of thing more often. If this project turns out well, I just might. Wish me luck...
]]>More importantly, there's a bug in MT-Blacklist that's causing all comments posted to the site to be delayed by a few hours. There's not much I can do about it at the momentI just wanted to let you know.
Another casualty of the upgrade was the loss of the subscriptions. See that little box on the right? People have been submitting their e-mail addresses in there to receive updates whenever I post a new entry, but the master list seems to have been wiped out. It's not such a big deal, really. If you were a subscriber before, and you'd like to be subscribed again, just re-enter your address. Some of you may prefer to get your notifications through an RSS feed, and that's available as well.
There have been a few suggestions to the effect that the quality of the writing on The Account has taken a dive of late, and to those people I say: indeed. It's less a question of the novelty of living in Japan wearing off (believe me, it never does) than it is of my attitude towards blogging having changed. When I started writing, I was working a punishing schedule at a monolithic corporation that left me little time for recreation. For many of those first months, I didn't even have 'net access, forcing me to hunt-and-peck my way through those early chronicles in a smokey internet cafe charging three bucks an hour. It was a baffling, isolating time, offering little by way of emotional support, or any kind of support, really. In those days, just getting that stuff off my chest was a much-needed release, and a way of feeling connected to my peers back home.
But it was an expensive and time-consuming habit. Some of my longer entries took more than a day to writemy account of the Kyoto trip required well over ten hours spent preparing photos, writing descriptions, uploading and proofreading. I'm glad my five-day sightseeing experience has been preserved for future generations, but still, ten hours. Thirty bucks.
As regular readers know, life is different now. I work shorter hours, spend more time with friends, and tinker with my animation project whenever I can. If I have ten hours to spare, I'm likely to spend it shopping for microphones in Ginza, or playing darts with Daisuke, or getting my 3D character to blink properly. All of which I've done in the last week, but who wants to read a blog about that?
Ginza, dusk.
]]>Hat-clad schoolgirls on a field trip to Kamakura. Adorable!
Our guide for the trip was Daisuke, a former student of mine from my Nova days and all-around cool guy. He hadn't been to Kamakura since childhood, so it was an adventure for him, too.
Oh, and ladies, he's single.
Our journey began on the Dankazura, the cherry-tree-lined pedestrian walkway that leads to Tsurugaoka Hachimangu, Kamakura's most famous sightseeing spot, and shrine to Hachiman, the Shinto god of war. The sun was blazing overhead; thank goodness for shaved-ice vendors. I munched on grape-flavored slush while Katherine pointed out turtles in the koi ponds.
Next, Daisuke recommended Zeniarai Benten, which we would never had found (or known about), since all the signs for it were in kanji. It was a bit of a hike, but well worth the effort. "Zeni" means "coin" in Japanese, and "Arai" means "wash." And indeed, the shrine features a small cavern whose fountain bestows good fortune on coins rinsed in its magical waters. Cave shrines like this one were one of Katherine's favorite experiences during her stay here in Japan. There's just nothing to compare them to back home.
Katherine washes her money and waits for the good fortune to roll in.
With our coins clean and shiny, we took a short taxi ride to the famed Big Buddha, which was just as impressive as the last time I saw it. Photos of the Daibutsu all look pretty much the same, but I did my best to capture the moment. Stay tuned for a cool desktop picture later this month.
The Buddha meditates in the afternoon sun.
Nearby Hase-dera was next. It was my second visit to this temple of Kannon with its renowned flower gardens, but for some reason I had never before noticed the tiny cave shrine devoted to Benzaiten, the goddess of wisdom and music. A long tunnel forces visitors to crouch before they reach her statue, which is surrounded by hundreds of tiny wooden idols. Visitor can purchase these idols, write a wish on the back, and try to nestle them into crevices where they can bask in the glory of their goddess. It's not as easy as it sounds, though. Virtually all the crevices have been taken.
From there, it was a quick train ride to Yokohama's famed Chinatown, which is a lot like San Francisco's Chinatown, only Chinesier. We wandered around for a while, looking for Daisuke's favorite, chili shrimp. Everywhere we went, barkers proclaimed the praises of their establishment's wares, which kind of cancels itself out after a few minutes. Besides, there were large photo-menus posted outside each restaurant, and every place serves virtually the same food anyway. Our stomachs grumbling, we made our choice and enjoyed a spectacular multicourse meal incorporating many tasty endangered species.
By now, the setting sun had brought the temperature down to warm-summer-night levels, so the three of us found our way to the waterfront and headed downtown along the shimmering neon waters. Small barges lit up with paper lanterns darted up and down Yokohama's riverbanks, and Daisuke explained that they were rentable "party boats"essentially floating nightclubs.
They do look quite festive. Maybe for my next party...
Finally, weary and a little sunburned, we headed back to Ikebukuro, said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. Looking back, it's still hard to believe we fit so much into one day. Not shown: cherry blossom road; Benzaiten grotto; shark-fin soup.
]]>I took Tuesday and Wednesday off for some round-the-clock sightseeing, weather permitting. This was typhoon season, and by the time we arrived at Harajuku station, dark clouds were already beginning to loom overhead. We made it to Meiji-jingu, the Shinto shrine at the center of Tokyo, before the skies opened up. We'd brought our umbrellas, but the winds brought the rain in at such an angle that we were pretty much soaked from the waist down.
Back at the station, we debated canceling the rest of the day's activities, only to take notice of the horde of t-shirt-clad pedestrians taking shelter in the station entrance. None of them seemed like they were heading home, so Katherine and I decided to stay put, figuring they knew something we didn't. Sure enough, within minutes the rain wore itself out, leaving a sunny drizzle in its wake. Welcome to Japan, home of the ten-minute typhoon.
Not that we were complaining. The rains never returned, and we resumed our tour of Tokyo's urban hotspots: youth fashion capital Harajuku, hip shopping metropolis Shibuya, electronic gear nirvana Akihabara, and finally Roppongi Hills, where we basked in the incredible night skyline from atop Mori Tower's 54th-floor observation lounge. If you're ever a tourist in Tokyo, pay the 1500 yen and head for the top. It's an breathtaking experience no other city can offer you.
You'll have to take my word for that, though. The reflective windows made it difficult to get good pictures, and my tiny camera couldn't have done justice to such an incredible view anyway. It's just too vast.
Here are three of the pictures that came out the best. More next time.
A lone visitor to Meiji Shrine claps his hands together to scare away evil spirits, and begins to pray.
A lot of gaijin dig Harajuku's Elephant Cafe, most especially the British ones.
In Akihabara, a tiny booth crammed with electronics stuff. One of many.
Not shown: a gleaming wet Shibuya, buzzing with foot-traffic; Roppongi Hills' extravagant polished-metal-and-glass shopping wonderland.
]]>(To make it easier to keep track of the days, I'm taking the liberty of back-dating the next few entries, so each chronicle of Katherine's tour will be dated correctly.)
Sunday's first stop was just a short walk away: Ikebukuro's Sunshine City Aquarium. Like everything else in Tokyo, it's cramped, tiny and crowded, but the kids don't seem to mind. We didn't either.
Katherine's a better photographer than I am, and she has a cooler camera, too.
Everyone loves aquariums.
We did plenty of other stuff that day, but I didn't get pictures of everything, so you'll just have to take my word for it. Not shown: shopping for sushi fridge magnets in Tokyu Hands; getting lost looking for an ATM in Shinjuku.
]]>Denim never dies, and neither do we!
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