Running wild in Calgary, AB

For the record, Calgary is the eastern-most city I've been to in the vast and awesome country of Canada. It is indeed a sad record that, in my four years in the land of maple leaves, beavers and hockey fanatics, I've only traveled once beyond BC. "Beautiful British Columbia," says the license plate, and this is true -- the beauty of BC should not be underestimated. But come on, there is so much more (or, so I think there is) to Canada and it is a shame I didn't get to visit other visit-worthy places. Oh well.

Can you see me running wild? Well, imagine flat land. Slightly hilly, fairly dry, low clouds and a horizon, with the occasional thunderstorm and visible flashes of lightening. Such is a view unfathomable in Tokyo or Vancouver (the endless flatness, I mean). It's not quite the perpetual-fields-of-wheat as would be frequent in Saskatchewan or Manitoba, or the tornado-ridden Redneck-land of Kansas that I dreamt of, but close enough, eh? "Wild Rose Country" Alberta is Beefland, and the steaks here are tasty. We cooked some the other night. And the storms, the storms! I've missed them for such a long time, because they don't ever happen in Vancouver. They are so cathartic.

Alberta also lacks provincial sales taxes. That means every time I buy something or eat out, I don't get slapped in the face with a 14.5% sales tax, as was the case in BC. So Sohko runs wild in the shopping mall.
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BAH!

So you see, when I don't have the luxury of a digital camera and wireless internet service, I lapse into a sort of laziness and I put off blogging. How horrible of me. Contrary to the apparent uneventfulness of my life (as proven by my lack of blogging) I have been going about my final days in Canada busily. Since my last entry I've worked at band camp, lived in student residence at UBC, flew to Cranbrook, spent a good week at Windermere where Meg's cabin is located, and then for the past few days I've been in Calgary, Alberta. On August 12 I'm off to Tokyo, Japan, where I settle in and get ready for my new job. So the past few weeks have been great fun, and I've enjoyed most of it. Now that it's past though, I don't feel like writing about it. Meh. Life goes on.
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Shakespeare in Vancouver.

If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear.
-- Puck: Act V, epilogue.

Thus ends Shakespeare's play, A Midsummer Night's Dream. As one of Vancouver's famous summer attractions, Bard on the Beach is a Shakespeare festival that annually puts on four plays for an affordable cost of $30 per seat! In the past two summers I was involved with the other summer Vancouverian attraction, Theatre Under the Stars as a pit orchestra member, so I never had the chance to go see other theatrical productions in the city. Last weekend my friend Katherine and I went to go see Bard, and boy, was it great!

Shakespearean plays are every high school student's nightmare. You have to read it out loud in class, follow the rhymes and rhythms of its poetry, and try really hard to comprehend both the subtle and obvious literary going-ons that Shakespeare had so cleverly interwoven. Many people hold degrees specializing in Shakespeare, and so you tell yourself, how am I to understand these plays?? Essay questions are handed out and exams are administered, and when you're finally done with high school, all you want to do is never read another one of his plays...ever again. (Albeit, some kids do get hooked on it.)

I wouldn't place myself in the I-detested-Shakespeare category, but I certainly was no enthusiastic advocate. A Midsummer Night's Dream, furthermore, is one of the more difficult ones to follow. There are so many characters, to begin with! But Director Gibson did a phenomenal job putting together this show at Bard. I wouldn't want to describe it here in fear of meddling with its true wondrousness. The costumes and set were full of funk; artistic freedom in delivery was utilized but not abused; and awesome actors, especially the guy who performed Puck, the mischievous faery. I don't think I've laughed so hard for a long time. If you are in Vancouver, or if you are visiting Vancouver this summer, please please please go see it. Measure for Measure is supposed to be really good, too. The 2006 season of Bard on the Beach is on in Vanier Park until September 24th.
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Valdez 2 / Forza Azzurri!!!

I came back from Valdez Island with: an extreme tan; cut up feet; two toe rings; a new found love for Pure Vanilla's Passionfruit Cheesecake; a realization that I can't hold alcohol; a missed chance at smoking an artfully rolled dubie; great memories; and really really red and puffy cheeks (a result of too much sun). The vast majority of the weekend on the Island was spent in the sun, reading, swimming in the bay, and eating (very good food). One day I will come back this way.

E gli azzuri!!! Che impressionante!! Che meraviglioso!! Molti i miei amici dicono che desiderano una vittoria francese, ma io non sono d'accordo. No no no. Le Forze Azzurri, solamente. Sono in modo da eccitato! Purtroppo, penso che non posso guardare il gioco la domenica, ma proverò, proverò duro!
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Valdez 1

Valdez Island is one of the many Gulf Islands located off the coast of Victoria of Vancouver Island. My friend Jess and her family own a cabin there, and have kindly invited me out for Canada Day weekend. It is also probably the last time I'll get to spend time with Jess for a long while to come. So here I am, in Victoria, on Jess's bed, the night before we depart for Valdez.

Going to Valdez is a bit of a trip, as early tomorrow morning we will be taking the ferry to Galliano Island, driving down its entire length to catch a water taxi that will take us out to an otherwise inaccessible land mass. As far as I know the island is fairly small, and there are no B&B's or resorts--only private cabins. Both of Jess's parents turn 50 this year, so they are having a huge feast to celebrate. From what I've heard, it consists of crabs, prawns, mussels, casseroles, salads, to name only a few selection of dishes--an "unprecedented feast," as it has been described. Such is a pretty exciting event to look forward to. The day itself will be spent swimming in crystal clear ocean water (apparently cold but not unmanageable), reading, sun bathing, etc. etc. Photos will be taken and yes, this will be a good weekend.
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June is bike month...and the police are out to get you.

I was in a hurry. I had a dental appointment at 1pm, but I had about 40 books that I wanted to donate to the Vancouver Public Library. I couldn't possibly haul it to the nearest branch by foot, so I decided that biking to the VPL was the best idea--plus, it would save me some time. It would take two trips, but with a bike I figured I could probably do it in under 30 minutes.

"Hey ma'am.....MA'AM!!! *blows whistle* Could you step over here, please?" At this moment, out went my under-30 minutes plan. A power-mongering (obviously) police officer stood by his motorcycle and beckoned me over to the side of the road. What's going on? What crime could I have possibly committed in my final days in Vancouver? I swear, I haven't stolen anything, I haven't killed anybody, and these are all books I'm about to donate to the VPL! If anything I'm committing a very very humanitarian act by donating books. I am proudly contributing to the fountain of publicly accessible knowledge...

"Where is your helmet?" he asked.

Ah. Indeed, I wore no helmet. After all, I was only taking books to the library, which was literally only a few blocks from my house. This, of course, was no excuse. I was reprimanded further for not having a piece of identification. "You have a BAG on your back, and you're telling me you have no ID on you?" "Uhh...well my bagS are full of books I'm about to donate to the library." Apparently this revelation of my act of humanity in contributing to the fountain of publicly accessible knowledge didn't distract him very much from issuing a ticket that fined me $29 for not having my helmet on while riding my bike. Moments after issuing me this rather obnoxious ticket, the police officer stopped another, and then yet another, Vancouverite riding his or her bike without a helmet, just as they have been all year long. Pretty soon there was a crowd of bikes and people forming on the intersection of 8th and Macdonald.

I went out the rest of the day warning those on bikes that the police are out to get them. June is bike month, and now it is the end of June: hunting season. And yes, I do plan on paying the $29 to ICBC. I don't really want to get stopped at customs going out or coming into Canada in the near or far future.
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So much for my resolution..

A couple days ago I ventured out to Kits beach with my friend Katherine. While I was putting on my bikini, I realized that the bottoms no longer fit me--it was way too big. I only bought it last summer, too, and having really liked the design, I was kind of bummed. But of course, I couldn't possibly survive the rest of summer with a bikini bottom that basically sagged from my hips. So I stopped by American Apparel on 4th avenue today, and found a nice bathing suit for a reasonable price of $70 (damn PST's..). The people there, like at most other clothing companies, are dressed in their own company's clothes, and boy do they look funky. 'Funk', I think, is the best way to describe AA. One-tone colors, simple designs, and yet at the same time slightly retaining a hint of the 80's. So simple and yet...so expensive! A regular cotton T-shirt for $30...but you see, it is alright, because they are completely void of any sweatshop production, much like lululemon athletica. I will indulge in lululemon when I get to Calgary.
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Leggi italiano?

Questi posti che sono scritti in italiano sono per i miei amici che parlano italiano. E anche per me, per praticare il mio italiano. Io amo l'Italia; da quando l'ho visitata nell'estate di 2002. Quando sono entrata all'università, ho deciso continuare a studiare la lingua italiana, per due anni. Ho seguito corsi numeri della cultura e la storia dell'Italia, e ho scritto quest'anno una tesi sul fascismo italiano: ha chiamata "Bodily Stones: Corpo humano, architettura, e urbanismo nell'Italia fascista." Un soggetto ostico, no? Era difficile, perché i miei documenti erano tutti in italiano, e gli molti che ho desiderato non erano accessibile. Ma, è finito, e mi sono laureata.

Cari amici, se, nel mio blog, ho fatto un errore enorme, ditemi! Io amo la vostra lingua, la vostra cultura, il vostro paese, e non voglio distruggerlì. Anche spero a creare una sezione nel sidebar che mostrerà tutti posti sono in italiano.
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I don't like YOU.

There are some incredible things people get away with in this world. Actually, it's not that incredible--I bet it's one of those things that happens very often but no one ever hears about it. Imagine if, like every other time in your life, you happened to lose your wallet, or even get it stolen. You cancel all your credit cards, notify the bank, get a new driver's license, and a social insurance card. You get a new wallet, and you think the matter is settled. Then, one day, you get a phone call from a ski rental place to tell you that a snowboard you rented was damaged. You've never been snowboarding in your life.

A front-page article on the Vancouver Sun this weekend recounted in detail exactly such an occurance. It is the most frustrating, and allegedly unsolvable, crime ever: identity theft. An 18 year-old woman had her purse stolen one night, and for the past two years she's been fighting someone who has been claiming to be her. This 'someone' has all her legitimate government ID, so for every car crash and every counterfeit cheque transaction, the finger points to her...except, she has committed none of it. And the reason why it's unsolvable by the police?

Sgt. Ken Athans, head of the Vancouver police Identity Theft Task Force, was not familiar with McAteer's file. That's because his new and highly successful task force targets large groups of people who work together across the Lower Mainland to pull off organized and very lucrative identity theft. [...] He has sympathy for McAteer and others in her situation, adding that in an ideal world there would be enough manpower and cooperation between police and outside agencies to solve a case like her's. [...] "We probably have people pointing fingers at each other saying it's your jurisdiction ... It's a huge problem. Resources are always going to be a problem. And we need to find a way to empower somebody to do something about that. That's sort of the shadow that identity criminals are able to operate in," he said. "It's really tough for her to go to the top of the pile ... There are a lot of people with stories like her's, and we hate to hear them."

First of all, in an ideal world, there wouldn't be such dishonest people. Secondly, in an ideal world, there would be no need for criminal justice systems or laws, for that matter. And thirdly, if not even that, there wouldn't be such an incompetent 'Theft Task Force' whose head-hancho stands and publicly claims that there are people "pointing fingers at each other saying it's your jurisdiction" and does just that. (Well, at least he is being honest.)

But, the true reprimand shouldn't be aimed at the police for their incompetence, but this bitch who goes around thinking she can get away with identity theft, although she clearly has and is. Whoever you are, wherever you are, you do NOT deserve to live in civil society, to reap the benefits of a safe, peaceful community. People like you who don't have common decency should never be amongst those of us who actually do. Go f%^k yourself.
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we're just not having enough sex.

Al emailed me an article he found online today, titled "Falling birth rate due to lack of sex" and joked that he was starting to have second thoughts about coming to Japan:

Japan's fertility rate – the average number of children a woman bears in her lifetime – fell to an all-time low of 1.25 last year. Demographers say a rate of 2.1 is needed to keep a population from declining...Japan came last among 41 nations in a poll last year by condom manufacturer Durex, with lovers there having sex just 45 times a year compared to a global average of 103 times a year.

45 times a year. Just so you know, that's less than once a week. The funny thing about this latest revelation about Japanese sex lives, is that the country has--and is known for--a substantial pornography culture. The dominant prevalence of pornography in Japan was demonstrated last year by Al's father's souvenir. Upon a brief visit to Japan, Al's father had brought back a magazine bought from a newsstand at probably a train station. The type of magazine that he had bought, however, was not only manga (a particular type of comic prevalent in Japan only), but the extremely sleazy type of manga that "stressed-out" salary-workers (men) would read on crowded train cars, regardless of the time of day. Thus, pornography is not limited to red-light districts and happy-ending massages by beautiful Asian women; it seems, more or less, part of any man's daily life.

So if Japanese men are as horny (perverted?) as I've made it sound, then why aren't they having sex? The aforementioned article of the Japan Times attributed to stress, "tiresome relationships," and--"no particular reason." Dr Kunio Kitamura, director of the Japan Family Planning Association, says couples need to start talking to increase interaction. But, I believe that there's much more to it than just stress and tiresome relationships. To begin with, Japanese men are probably satisfied, to some extent, with their porn. They get to read it on the train, they get to rent it at any local video store, and now they even have the internet. They're already stressed, and, the best part about videos and magazines is that without any physical effort, they can take their sex lives to a place far beyond a manifestable reality. Their wives aren't hot enough? All they have to do is resort to imagination. There's a lack of spice or passion in their sex? Well, fantasies can solve that. And, they don't have to get frustrated about pleasing the woman, because hey, it's a fantasy and in fantasies the women are always pleased.

All the blame can't lie in men only, however. Japanese women have their faults, too. A good friend of mine once described to me her friends in Japan: "They have their own careers, they have their own lives, they have their own apartments and their own toys, and they have money. Now they probably have vibrators, too, so why the hell would they need a man, or even have any desire to have a family, when they can just please themselves whenever and however they want?" Like every other time in their history, it seems as though the Japanese have once again taken things a bit too far. These are independent women--truly independent women, who don't need others to please them, because they figured they can do it themselves. No need to experiment, no need to think about pleasing the other. Like their male counterparts, they, too, have their own fantasies.

Conclusion: Essentially, you have an entire country whose citizens live their sex lives solely in their own fantasies. Now that is just a bit disturbing.
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moment shots

I've added yet another section to the sidebar. I was originally thinking of linking a photo album, but stopped short of the process when I realized three things: 1) Scripting was a major task, especially without an FTP host (which I can't figure out on blogger.com); 2) I was bound to get lazy about updating the photos on the album, and therefore not only would my original efforts at...2am would go to shambles, but also the project would simply end after the first update; and 3) No one would ever be that curious about my life to withstand a pop-up window showing you all the details of my life, moment by moment. So instead, to cater to my own short attention span as well as to yours, I've submitted a simple solution: one photo at a time, updated whenever I want to. Organized mainly by seasons (hence now, "Summer 2006"), the photos are not necessarily in any chronological order. It is truly up to my own discretion. How lovely. Enjoy!
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my jorja fox

Tadaaa! My new work bag from Matt and Natt Montreal!! Based in Montreal, QC, this company sells shoes, bags, and wallets, and they are all vegan products. The brown/blue one shown is the one I have. It is a rather large bag, easily fits my 12" iBook amongst other things (14.5" x 12"). I've been eyeing it all summer and finally it is in my hands. This, I swear, is the only shopping I'll do in Vancouver. The rest will be left for Calgary in August, the land of no PST's. I'm super excited about it, but I'm going to keep it mint condition for a week, just to make sure that I truly enjoy the sense of ownership of it. Purchases like these don't happen often for me, so when I do make them I just want to make sure I used my hard-earned money for the right things... Bah, whatever.
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20 (+2)

I turned 20 two years ago. Yet in Japan there is a traditional ceremony that I technically should've done but did not because I was out of the country: that is, the Coming-of-Age ceremony (sei-jin shiki). Facilitated much by the local government (I think), on the second Monday of every January there are multiple venues--large concert halls, auditoriums, city gymnasiums--that are utilized for the congregation of 20 year-old men and women, dressed in traditional kimonos (for women) and hakamas (for men). Some may wear tuxedos and fancy dresses, but the true way to go is in costly traditional attire. The ceremony itself is known to be fairly boring, much like many graduation ceremonies of universities...a few speeches here and there of monotonous nature, followed by a formal drinking of rice wine at the end. In Japan the legal age to drink, smoke, drive (actually you can start driving in an N license at the age of 18, but full licenses come around 20) is 20, and by that age, unless you are in school, a full-time job is an expectation to say the least. Otherwise, shame is bestowed upon you and your family...no, not really, but kind of. Strange country (let's not get started on that).

Anyway, in a recent conversation with my mother, the idea came up that maybe I should get a photo shoot done to commemorate my coming-of-age, two years belated. No real need to go through the ceremony, per se, but a photo in nice expensive kimonos is a once-in-a-lifetime sort of thing unless I come to own my own kimono one day, and it would indeed be kind of fun to have a picture of me in such...well, clashing?...attire lying around. After that conversation I surfed around and found the following three kimonos appealing (they are from a website of a place that rents kimonos near my mom's apartment).
This one is my favorite (and actually, the least expensive of all three...yes, this is a major concern, as rentals are costly. This one is approximately $350 to rent for a day). Since this is a traditional ceremony, we might as well go fully traditional by using the basic colors of Japan: red, black, and white.





This is my second choice. When foreigners first came to Japan (1800s), they were astounded and allegedly mortified by the Japanese's use of clashing colours, as in this one. Blue with orange and red and yellow (rather than blue with light blue and green, or blue with purple or lilac). I think it's quite beautiful, and nowadays motifs like these are fairly common. Back then it was a blasphemy.



This one is the most expensive of them all...if it weren't for the sale they're having the original rental cost is about $1000. I like the more subtle blue base and and purple corners. All in all this actually looks the most....well, mature.

I just don't want any butterflies on my kimono, or any bugs (like fireflies and dragonflies) for that matter. But no butterflies. It's a coming-of-age ceremony and I don't want to look like I've reverted back 10 years. Or huuuuge flowers. Or too many flowers. Again, I'm 20 (+2), not 10. Or pink or pastel purple, or even ones that are really tacky looking. Perhaps it is a bit more difficult for you to understand what I mean by 'tacky' kimonos if you're not Japanese, but really, there are some horrid pictures out there that you wish you never saw. These people destroy the art of kimonos. Somehow. Anyway.
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A bag(gage) of trust.

A man once told me that I have to "stop bringing emotional baggage like that. You have to get over it and move on, for fuck sakes." The irony, of course, was that he himself carried such 'baggage' with him. It angered me greatly at the time that he would be so hypocritical and ignorant to have criticized me for my "emotional baggage" when he so clearly hauled around his own.

But, it must be first stated that his criticism has some truth in it. As I wrote a while back, there exists a certain point, after which one must learn from his/her mistakes, from others' mistakes, somehow look upon what's happened voyeuristically, and slowly walk away from it, and finally move on. For mundane matters this is a lot easier of a task, while for other, more serious matters, it proves to be quite difficult. Yet we all know that if we keep all of our 'baggage' (I dislike that term, but whatever) with us for the rest of time, it will eventually take a toll on our bodies and we might even stop moving 'forwards', if you know what I mean. That would be bad, and quite sad.

So yes, for fuck sakes, we have to get over it and move on. But the question remains as to why boldly 'moving on' is such a difficult initiative to take. Here is my temporary answer: we grew up with mixed messages.

Think about it for a second. When you were a kid and you had an ice cream cone, but you pressed your mouth so eagerly against the round, scooped mass of sugar that you accidentally pushed it over the waffle cone. At this very moment, you cry in mourning for the now-lost, delicious ball of sugar that has already begun melting on the ground. Ants are starting to crawl around it, and you think, "You lucky ants." Your parents or your siblings or whomever comes over and either A) tell you to shut up, stop crying, "I told you to be careful, look at you, you've soiled your shirt" and the matter ends there and you are left to deal with your agonies, or B) they give you another one and this time you're extra careful.

As we grow up, we find that reality is not as sweet as they once were, and situation B rarely presents itself. In fact, we realize that while we deal with our agonies--which already is a difficult task in itself--we long for a situation B to happen, and, here's the key to it all: when B does happen, we are extra careful that second, or third, or fourth time around. Thus, while we learn a great many things through more positive experiences, it is only through our other unfortunate experiences like tipping our ice cream cone, that we have learnt the art of being extra careful. At the same time, through negative experiences we have also come to form an appreciation for those positive moments in life, so any sane person who cherishes the positive ones will also be sure to keep those coming. This means, being careful.

For great things, however, one must take great risks, says the wise, and we learn this too. Things then become a bit of a tricky pickle, because all your life you've mastered the art of carefulness, but now you also learn that we must also at times be courageous and brave, plug our noses and take the plunge. What we are fearful of, then, is that the art of carefulness--i.e. what people call 'baggage'--will weigh us down to the bottom, so not only have we taken a plunge, but we have taken a plunge more as a suicidal act than one of bravery (which it was, just for a moment). All our lives we are thus fighting with a bag(gage) in one hand--weighty, of course, being full with our past experiences--and the urge to leap forward, hopefully for a great landing (or sinkage). How could one ever be blamed for fearing that?

So while the aforementioned man's criticism was immediately annoying and offensive (and a huge turn-off), it took me a second to realize that he too held a bag(gage) of his own, and thus anger was not the most appropriate emotional response, but rather, pity.

Well, what do we do? I know exactly what I do: I stick with my art of carefulness, and take plunges only when I know for sure that things are safe down there. I think I've lived long enough to know that, while we must take great risks for great things, truly great things--ones worth taking the plunge for--only happen a handful of moments in a lifetime. I am no gambler, and when I do gamble, I gamble smart. I've taken a plunge before, and whether it was worth it or not I will decide on my deathbed, but I know that it will be a little while longer before I take another one of those again.

Yes, I have a bag(gage) in hand. Look, you have one too.
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Enticing body art. POLL

So I've got a question for you. Should I get a tattoo? The basic design would look like this:

Name:

Should I get a tattoo?
Go for it! (move on to next question)
Fuck no.

Where?
Around upper arm (i.e. arm band).
Side of arm, up-down.
Around upper thigh (i.e. thigh band).
Side of thigh, up-down.
Upper back.
Lower back (but not 'slut stamp' area).

Further comments?

Thanks for your input. If you have found other pictures of designs, patterns, or motifs you think could make a nice tattoo, feel free to post it in the comments or email them directly to me.
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I'm trying to pack.

Packing up a room is truly a difficult task. I've accumulated so much in four years, it's a huge pain the arse to go through everything and separate those things you want to keep with you as you move on, and those things you want to leave behind because they are useless or mean very little. Academic papers and photocopied articles that I used to keep will all go to recycling, all my furniture -- even my comfortable bed -- will be sold, and I will be leaving this room as of June 30. I suppose the best part of it all is, I'm making some money from it. I recently sold a quarter of my 'library' to a local second-hand bookstore, and they gave me $62 for it. Awesome. I still have about 30 books left, including one gigantic art history book, which might go for a good price. We'll see. I'm glad I'm starting now when I have an entire month to work at it little by little, because this would be such a stressful undertaking if I had left it till the last week.

All of my clothes are in order, I've got 2 big boxes of winter clothing and clothes to send home, plus a smaller box of photos and books. Whatever I make from selling furniture and books will go to their shipping costs, I'm sure. After sorting through, I've got 4 garbage bags full of clothing and clothing items that I no longer wear. A new wardrobe is in order when I go to Calgary at the end of July. For the rest of the month of July, I'll be living out of my suitcase, hopping around friends' places for the first week and then in Vanier for 2 weeks while I toil away at UBC band camp and starbucks. Oh boy.
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Groundless.

In these final months in Vancouver, I reflect: I'm homeless. If I think about it, the only thing that binds me to Japan is my citizenship and my physical attributes, and my undying appreciation for its food. Even my bloodline is groundless: half-Korean, quarter-Chinese, and quarter-Japanese. It makes me an Asian mutt. Allegedly I don't even appear Japanese. I remember those days during grade school when I would commute via the train, and I would get curious--that's a euphemism--looks and glances from other Japanese commuters. All in all, my Japanese passport makes me a Japanese citizen. But, a thoroughly western education makes me something else that's not at all Japanese. Sure, I suppose I am 'going back' to Tokyo, but it's not like I have an actual 'home'--in both the physical and metaphorical sense--to return to, let alone a cohesive family. I feel like I'm more of a visitor than a returnee.

I left Tokyo four years ago to come to Vancouver for university. Some would say that my decision was quite the jump, even a courageous thing to do. Thanks, I'll take the compliment and saturate my egoism in them for a little while. But really, it wasn't such a big deal, because I didn't leave anything all that valuable, other than my scattered family members. Friends were gone, the apartment in which we lived was gone, my belongings were all gone, my piano was gone. And with it went all the baggage that was attached to them. Leaving Tokyo was like finally cleaning up your room and purging it of all the unnecessary debris. I took all my valuables with me, mostly. Some pictures, but not very much. Some books. Clothes. CD's (it was just before the mp3 era). Money. And of course, that goddamn passport that, four years later, would drag me back to 'home', as some people would call it. Except, I don't, of course.

So here it is, four years later, with my fucking Japanese passport and my Canadian student visa. Only this time, I feel like I'm having to start life anew against my will. In four years I've grown some roots here, and although I don't feel like I'll ever adapt to the Canadian work ethic or smoke weed 24/7, Vancouver's the closest city to what an average person may call 'home'. And now, once again, I'm having to leave it. It's exciting, you say? Sure, life can be exciting when things are changing, when accidents happen, and of all people I think I'm more psychologically equipped to appreciate accidents when they happen, because my whole life has been an accident (my birth was, at least). But accidents only make your life exciting when you have a home base to return to, not just to remind you of your roots, but so that you have a reference point. A family to return to, that same room whose door you can shut behind you, that same bed you can collapse onto and smell the same scent of clean laundry. When you have all that, accidents are great changes that awaken your senses to a swirling world of excitement. It allows you to appreciate all that is stable and all that is changing. Tokyo in August is just another accident for me, like all the others that have built my life. I didn't ask for that. But I guess I didn't ask to be born in this life, either.

I'm not whining; just laying out the reality of what it's like, since only a selected few would ever understand--afterall, we live very differently. Despite all the negatives I enjoy my life in the moments I try to make the best out of difficult situations. But don't tell me that I've got to appreciate these changing times, because it's what makes life interesting and exciting. You have no idea what groundlessness does to you. You're always losing, most literally. Meeting people and saying goodbye--story of my life! Creating something great and then having to leave it--even if it were a life's work. Add to that a myriad of identity crises. You almost have to build up a level of impermeable superficiality to deal with it, so that you can maintain somewhat of a core to what you think is who you are. Could you really imagine yourself in constant flux. I mean, your entire self. Your values always in question, your personality always trying to adjust, your life style always altering. Do you even know what it's like? And excitement! Excitement in my life is the least of my concerns. Go ahead and enjoy that, but I'm truly tired of it. I really am.
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whistler -- vancouver's disneyland. And recordings!

For the second time in four years, I went up to Whistler. The first time, I tried snowboarding -- a painful experience it was. So painful that, on the second day, I took my volleyball kneepads because I couldn't fathom falling on my knees ever again.

Whistler village, though, is a world on its own. Kind of like Disneyland. People go there to yes, enjoy all the winter sports that Blackcomb and Whistler mountains have to offer, but down in the foothills of these great mountains is an entire village devoted to shopping, eating, drinking, clubbing, and more shopping. There's a GAP, a Roots, a Guess store and even a Lululemon store (why anyone would wear lululemon pants in snow-weather, I have no idea). A handful of coffee shops (including 3 Starbucks), a couple of high-end grocery stores and several pretty nice restaurants of various cuisines adorn the village paths that all truly look the same. And of course, atop these stores and restaurants are private townhomes and condos--all up for grabs, for about 2 million dollars and up. Hotel room prices in the Village, of course, fare no less. It really is no wonder that the 2010 Olympics would be hosted here; in fact, Whistler is such an appropriate location!

In any case, the reason for my trip to Whistler was a youth band/choir music festival that was taking place there. The Asia tour band from UBC went up there as, I suppose, guest performers, as well as the Vancouver Gospel Choir -- these guys were pretty awesome. An okay trip.

Right now I'm listening to a recording of our most recent concert, Artunian trumpet concerto, Music for Prague (we destroyed, in the most literal sense, the third movement), and Pines of Rome. Mmm. The fourth movement of Prague sounds actually alright...surprising. I got this CD and a DVD of one of our Taipei concerts, which I'm looking forward to watching later this afternoon. Hopefully that will turn out to be a good surprise as well.
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new sidetalk and an uncharming sidewalk

I decided to add a sidetalk--it is located in the right column of this page. Titled "Bookshelf," this section will be updated every now and then to inform you about what I am reading, what I finished, and what I (do not) recommend. I'm sorry in advance if I give away things about the book, but I'll definitely try not to.

My landlord gave me a call today and left a message. She said that the neighbors complained about our unmowed lawn. Our neighbors?! I don't know why the fuck they would care about how our lawn looks, but according to my roommate apparently they complained last year as well--it reflects upon the image of the neighborhood, they argued. What a ridiculous thought. To think that a single lawn could make a neighborhood's image uncharming--who ever thought of such things? If you thought the lawn could have such disastrous effects, you should look at this house! Of all the beautifully renovated, colourful houses on this street, this one (that I live in) is shabby-looking, old, and its paint is peeling. Lawn? Lawn?? Good heavens, fuck the lawn. Burn the house!!
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overrated secret societies

I resisted for months to read this book. I finally gave in after too many nudges that I have to read it. So I read the The Da Vinci Code after I finished my thesis, expecting that it would be a quick, fun read, which indeed it was. Perhaps a bit overrated. Secret societies and the mystery surrounding the Holy Grail is appealing and intriguing and eye-catching for sure, and its suspense was enough to warrant finishing it. But at the same time, its more obvious progression of events and plot development turned me off by a third of the way into the book. And of course the ending was slightly abrupt and anticlimatic. If you thought this was the best book you've ever read, you're clearly not much of a bookworm. Well, to each its own.

A moneymaker for sure, however. Something tells me that writing about God makes money. It is probably the ethereal that enchants us all, the desire to learn something new about the unknown.

Next book: Maia.
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