Hong Kong!

For the second time in my life, I went to Hong Kong. This time I was a chaperone for the high school choir who was participating in a choir festival there. The rehearsals were long, and I think it was a bit too much for the kids, but they probably learned a lot seeing how they sang Bach's B minor mass--a hard piece for their age. They also sang a piece commissioned by the hosting school who was celebrating their 40th anniversary. As such the school threw some big money into the occassion, and the kids got to perform their concert in the city hall. That was pretty cool.

All in all the week was a bit too sacred in character for me, and I reckon that I could raise hell for the rest of the week and still be eligible for heaven.

Bought a couple things at the night market, which is always fun. I was introduced to new orgasmic dessert there called "Mini Mango Delights" which consists of fresh mango puree, mango ice cream, and chunks of Phillipine mango on top. So good--they must've existed when I was there last winter, but no one was there to inform me about it! If you ever go to Hong Kong, try it.

Also met up with a former elementary school counselor of mine. That was pretty cool. I hadn't seen him and his wife for about a decade, and they were always people we wondered about as alumni of the school. Unfortunately I didn't take a picture with them but here are some pictures from the trip:
> From HKIS on a sunny day!

> Stanley market. I had lunch (alone) in a local restaurant at the far end.

> Past curfew @ the night market. Oops.

> No friendly conversations with the bus drivers here!

> Concert in Hong Kong City Hall (remember this, UBC Wind Symphys?).
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A brand new passport.

On Sunday I got my new, Japanese passport. There is something really exciting about getting a new passport, I'm not quite sure what. It was made with great haste, as my last one was only valid until October 4th, and I needed one valid at least for another 6 months to enter Hong Kong. I thought I looked like a convicted criminal when I had my picture taken for it, but once printed on the passport itself I don't look that bad. Just a bit on the tired side, but that's what I get for taking a passport ID photo at the end of a long work day. The best part of it is that the new passport is valid for 10 years--until 2016! I can't even fathom where in the world I would be then, with whom, and what I would be doing!

This new passport has this hard plastic page inside it, which apparently contains an "IC chip." The computer chip contains my identification information, complete with my ID photo, date of birth, nationality, etc. It says that because of the chip I can't get the passport wet, and if I do happen to break the chip I have to get my passport replaced, and pay for it. I kind of thought that was unfair, because it's not really our fault if the chip is fragile. I'm going to be carrying my passport under my shirt when I go to Peru, what the hell's going to happen to the IC chip if I sweat like a pig (which I will) on the Machu Picchu hike?? Brutal.

But in any case, it's pretty exciting. The first place I get to go with this new passport is Hong Kong!! My last passport had stamps from Taiwan, Hong Kong, Canada, U.S., Rome, and Japan. This one will have tonnes more--Hong Kong to begin with, and several countries in South America from next summer, and then the U.S., followed by London...or so I hope.

Sidenote: the current music director at the international school we're visiting was the music director at the Canadian international school the UBC Wind Symphony visited back in December 2005/January 2006. It will be nice to visit Hong Kong again, and reminisce about the good (and bad) times. I will try to post pictures and whatnot while we are there.
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Mr. Trainman

Ever heard of this guy? Well, he's out there, somewhere in the crowds that inhabit this city. Mr. Trainman works as an IT specialist at a company. Whether it is because his desk is hidden in the corner of the office floor, or whether it is because he is so quiet--well, probably both--we cannot say for sure, but he often goes unnoticed by everyone around him. He commutes to and from work hiding behind backs, pillars, and shadows, slithering through the crowd. When he is noticed, it is because he has tripped on nothing and has fallen on his face. Or he's woken up in a screaming fit on the train.

When he goes home, he sits in front of his computer and his social life begins there. He knows not the faces or the voices of the people he types to, but they are his friends nonetheless, and every night they talk to each other about...life, I guess?

Anyways, there is a happy event to this apparently miserable and pathetic story of Mr. Trainman. He meets a girl one day on the train. She is being harrassed by an intoxicated salaryman, and he steps in. Well, he kind of throws himself onto the man from behind and shudders by the door whilst the attacked drunkard transfers his frustration upon him. Luckily, some train officers intercept the drunken man and drag him off the train. The girl asks for his contact info so that she can get a hold of him later, to send a gift, perhaps.

So to make a long story short, with the help of his online friends he refashions himself, changes his way, and gets the girl in the end. They marry.

This story portrays a man that is so typical in contemporary Japan. It also vividly portrays the lives of his so-called 'friends', who lead various lives of their own--a heart-broken nurse, a detached wife, her silent husband (they don't know that they're in the same chatroom until the end), a depressed youth, and three students who don't have any idea what they want to do with their lives--and the ways in which they 'refashion' their selves while they cheer and encourage Mr. Trainman along.

The story was a movie (^-^). And it was based on a true story. So Mr. Trainman is still out there, living his happy life with his beloved wife! Isn't it a great story? Programmes with plots like these are so common, I find. Whether it's because people here are longing for some 'pure' form of love or some other idyllic notion, I don't really know. I can't help but be reminded of the article that I wrote about before...
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Snakes and Earrings

Recipient of the 2004 Akutagawa Literary Award
She was 19 when she wrote it, and this short novel contains ample sexual and visceral imagery. Although the award nomination committee accepted this work without much discussion, for a while both the book and the author were widely acclaimed amongst Japanese intellectuals with much debate and criticism. After all, the author was only 19 and, from the standpoint of the Japanese intellectual elite, what could a 19-year old possibly have to offer to our complex society?

The book was recommended to me by the English Department here, who all read it in English. I thought it would be neat to read it in Japanese (seeing how I'm fluent in the language anyway). Their reaction to the book varied, but was often one filled with a curious type of disgust and a desire to remain distant from, yet within reach of, the reality that it portrays. This reality, however, is the reality of youth culture in Japan, and although the author takes a radical example set from it, she still manages to show what it's like in the world that people rarely see.

(Breif analysis follows--it might ruin the ending. Read with discretion.)

"I'll be God myself."
They also thought that the reason why Loui goes 'back' to the tattooist, sadistic boyfriend Shiba (could be spelt Shiva, alluding to the Hindu god of life and destruction) is because she was lonely. I think there was much more to it than that. After her boyfriend Ama died, she didn't care and couldn't care less who she was with. The fact that the man was possibly related to Ama's death, in fact, only urged her to be with him. After all, Ama was dead and Shiba wasn't. The key was that this was another reality that she could change. She told herself, "It's okay, he might've killed him, but it's okay..." and then tried to change her surroundings--including the physicality of Shiba. While in some ways this probably was in an effort to get rid of everything tangible that existed and/or pertained to Ama's death, it was also a way for Loui to retain a will to live on. Loui's tendency to want to change the tangibles of her life was mostly apparent in her split tongue and her large tattoo on her back. 'Tis why Loui gradually lost the will to live as her tongue and tattoo were completed. By the end of it, she needed something else to change, something else to give her a purpose to live. Shiba was the answer.

At the same time, the reason for Loui's desire to make these changes is not necessarily because she needed constant change in her life. In fact, it is the ultimate paradox: the desire to change in order to attain perpetuity. She wanted to change Ama's hair color after finding out about the murder report on the newspaper not for the sake of changing, or just so that the police wouldn't recognize him, but also so that she can keep him, just the way he really is--gentle and at times childish, and always by her side. For her, changing his hair color would facilitate perpetuity. Then, when she loses Ama, she looks towards Shiba to provide her with the same opportunity, and it is here that her fundamental motive for change becomes particularly apparent (if it wasn't so apparent in Ama's case). At the end, she wants him to change how he looks, and she wants to change the scent of the incense, not because she doesn't want the police to find out in case there were any witnesses to his murder of Ama; rather, because she wants to make the change and make her desired reality stay. Just as she declared in the beginning of the novel, she had made herself 'God'.

Is such a phenomenon--the desire to always be changing but always be looking for a home plate--relevant? I think so, both on an individual level, as well as on the greater, cultural level, here in Japan. Highly recommended read.
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Silver lining...where is it?

They say that every cloud has a silver lining. But do they really? Recently I find that it's become increasingly difficult to focus on that silver lining--the small glimpse of all things great and happy. Maybe it's because I am tired at the end of the day, or because I am left with so much time to think and ponder all by myself. My work entails a lot of interaction with people, which is great. I have a lot of friends here who know so much more about life and work and everything else, it seems. So when it comes to asking for advice, they are inspiring and helpful, and hopeful as well. Yet, the heart-sinking feeling doens't subside and I'm often left to stand on my own. Is this what being an adult is like? Am I to make life-changing decisions without a support system or an intense conversation? Am I to go on and only share the low and high times over email?

Really, what I lack is something as simple as a friend who is going through the same transition, the same instability, the same self-doubts; someone standing on equal ground, with similar roots, with the same mindset as my own. And it hasn't gotten to me until now. There is no one to turn to when I have a bad day, or when I've been having a bad week. Emails are great but there's only so much you can say in one email, and everyone is busy; replying to emails isn't such a simple task sometimes. My good friends are scattered across the globe and the person I really want to be with is on the other side of the world, and he's probably not even half as upset as I am on a daily basis, as he is substantially more apt at finding the good in things than I.

I feel like I can't live in the now. I am always looking towards the end of the month, the end of the term, the end of the school year, in fact! Surely that is no healthy thing, and no wonder I am less motivated than usual to do the things I love and enjoy. In fact, I almost feel like I can't do the things that make me happy right now because I'm working towards a final goal--grad school. Doing things that make me happy now somehow seems to lessen the chances of me achieving the final goal. Thus, I've succumbed to a delayed form of gratification, no longer looking for things to make me happy now. Perhaps I am tired of looking for a 'silver lining' anymore, crossing my fingers in hopes of it appearing in front of me on its own. Maybe I need a vacation, but hell, it's only September!

A former roommate once told me that the incessant desire to sleep means one is usually upset in some way. It is probably true, as all I want to do these days is sleep.
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Slow days..

This is a picture taken in Stanley Park, Vancouver. The duckling seemed curious of the camera as it came charging at it.

Things in Tokyo have generally been slow. The weather is cooling off--this is a very good thing, as the heat mid-summer here is unbearable. The students are starting to settle into their daily routines, as am I. I don't have much to do just yet, as the kids haven't been assigned too much stuff and they have yet to write their first essay of the year. Once those come in I'm sure some will start asking for aid.

I researched a bit about my trip to South America next summer. Only the middle leg of it, actually--from Calama, Chile, to Cusco, Peru. We are trying to book the Inca Trail hike to Machu Picchu at the moment, as I hear that those get booked up pretty quick. Allegedly there are tons of things to be done in Bolivia, and a substantial amount of time will be spent in Chile as well, so Al's figuring out the details to those parts of the trip.

Going to Hong Kong in a few weeks, so that should be fun. The high school choir is going there to participate in a festival. It will be nice to see Hong Kong again. Expect pictures and updates.
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Coaching is...

HARD!!! So diffcult!!

Well, no, now I'm just being dramatic. It's a lot of work is what it is and communicating matters of physical movement is, as expected, difficult. Furthermore, matters of mental state are also difficult to convey. Volleyball isn't some sport where you can stand around and not move; it's no weak sport, truly. You have to throw yourself out there, and work your butt off. There's an additional difficulty if you're not tall. Like basketball, unfortunately volleyball is a sport that discriminates against us Tiny People. Blocking is out of the question--if you're short you ain't blocking, you're digging. And even if you're short, if you can jump that's great, but you really have to jump. But it can still be fun for everyone, so long as everyone understands the important roles people can and must play on the team.

Just thought I'd throw that out there.
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Keiko Abe and New Japan Phil.

I was looking for a ticket to the Carmina Burana show with the New Japan Philharmonic Orchestra. The cheapest ticket went for 4,500 yen (appx. $45), which is a drastic difference to the $10 rush/student tickets or the free tickets I used to get for the VSO. While browsing through the NJP site, I came across an exciting option: Keiko Abe as featured marimbist for the October 13/14 show. All the cheapest tickets were gone, but there were a few B tickets left, going for 4,500 yen. I would've waited for my new United Mileage Plus credit card to arrive, but the tickets were going fast. So out came my wallet and my VISA card, and now I have a ticket to see one of the best marimbists in the universe after Evelyn Glennie. How exciting!

I have to keep these spenditures to a minimum this year, because I have a Masters programme to pay for next September (if I get in), in addition to a $2,000 plane ticket that will fly me from Tokyo to Santiago, Quito to D.C., D.C. to London. Brutal. I really don't know if I'll have enough money.
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I am Urashima-taro

Just as I expected, I feel like a foriegner in my own country.

It's been only two weeks since I've left Canada to start my new life in Tokyo. I saw my mum for the first time in three years, I am working with my former teachers with whom I am now on a first-name basis, I've gone out to at least 3 parties where booze never ran out but the food always did and everyone was dancing by the end of the night at the principal's house (not to mention 3 parties in two weeks for Sohko is a huge anomaly and ground-breaking event). My Japanese is slowly but surely coming back, and I can now create full sentences without blatant grammatical errors. I'm still looking for some place to do yoga, and speaking of which, I've already bought a pair of shorts from Lululemon Japan. The food here is glorious, just like I imagined it to be, and the heat unbearable, at least for these first few weeks. Soon, autumn will hit and the food will only get better.

Amidst all this transition and re-adaptation to Japan, I am everything but adjusted and comfortable. Reverse culture-shock, they say, is harder to deal with than any other usual form of culture-shock. I'm used to how things work here -- the transportation system is the best of its kind in the entire universe, as far as I am concerned -- and know what to expect when I go to Shibuya on a Saturday evening. There are so many things here that I recognize, but that's all it is -- mere recognition. Somehow in these past four years something has changed, and I no longer feel the roots of my own identity, grounded and saturated in the soils of one of the most oddly spectacular countries of the world (if they ever were, that is).

There is a folk tale that is retold to children in this country, which tells the story of a young man by the name of Urashima-taro who saves a turtle stranded on the beach. The turtle in return offers to show its gratitude by taking the man to an underwater paradise. The man complies and spends a grandiose time, until one day he is prompted to return to his home above the sea. He is given a box as a token of gratitude, which he is warned not to open. When he returns home, he is unable to control his temptation and opens the mysterious box, only to realize that by doing so he has reawakened to a vastly changed reality, and that he himself has turned into an old man.

I feel like that man who has spent years abroad and upon returning to his origins he realizes that time has not stopped and the reality he was used to seeing no longer existed in its original form. Some things resemble its older form, but most have undergone an unrecognizable form of change. It's one thing when you can identify what kind of change has occurred, but unfortunately, there is an unsettling discomfort that lingers inside you when you are unable to say exactly what that change was. If you get what I mean.

All in all, however, it has been a good two weeks. The kids are starting to come in and coaching keeps me busy. I hope blogger keeps working on this computer so I can keep the updates going. Also, check out my flickr site (link is located in sidebar), there will be pictures there for you to view.
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From Calgary to San Francisco - Aug. 13

It has been a while, there were some techincal difficulties with updating my blog, so here it is, in all its glory: my life for the past few weeks.

My journey back to Tokyo, Japan, began with a painfully annoying experience of the competencies and incompetencies of airline companies. Newly installed in certain airports are so-called 'Self Check-in Booths', which I first encountered at Vancouver International. You stand in front of this slick machine, and swipe your passport or your airmiles card, and on the computer pops up your flight information. After a number of confirmation messages, the computer prints out your boarding pass, and all you have left to do is to take your check-in luggage to the counter and off you go. Solid. This efficient process was a nice welcome at Vancouver International, and again at Calgary International. Yet, what thwarted my all-encompassing admiration for this small glimpse into our near future of flying was nothing more than a single wake-up call. That is to say, United Airlines made it, literally, boldly clear on their website that passengers were to arrive a stunning three hours before departure time. For my 6:33am flight, this meant I had to be at the airport at a stomach-grueling, faint-inviting, vomit-inducing hour of 3:30am. There was no point in sleeping, so Al (oh, poor Al) and I stayed up all night, playing pool, watching Forrest Gump, making a song, and dozing.

Anyhow, the most frustrating part was that, despite the bloody early hour, responsible passengers like myself arrived promptly at the airport at 3am, only to be welcomed by not a single staff member of the airline companies. That certain security measures undertaken at this time (being post-9/11 and with the recent, successful aversion of the 'terrorist attack', which apparently took 12 years of planning and its instigators allegedly included a man 18 years of age...which meant this man had been planning this supposed attack from the age of 6, which is in itself a scary thought) take a long time is understandable. But to demand passengers to be up at 3am and not have the staff ready to check them in until at least 4:30am is ridiculous, and makes no logical sense. What was the point of making us wait an hour and a half?

This annoying logic was, of course, one of the many frustrations that haunted my journey. It took an additional 40 minutes to get through U.S. customs and security on the Canadian side (as it has been arranged), followed by carry-on luggage security, at which not only was my Legacy Games memorabilia swiss knife taken away (for obvious reasons; it was foolish of me to forget, but again, it was early), but I was selected for a thorough search which included taking everything out of my bag and getting a body pat-search. Of course, one wonders why I always get selected for these allegedly 'random' searches. In frustration I downed a tall caramel macchiato in under 15 minutes. I finally got on the plane, slept for 2.5 hours and landed at San Francisco International...on time!

At San Francisco I had a 3-hour layover. I treated myself to a bowl of udon for lunch, which was yummy, as I was fairly starved at this point. I had to go through carry-on luggage check again, and again I was treated to a thorough searching...and I didn't even beep when I walked through. Seriously, there must be an alarm siren ringing on top of my head and "I need to be searched" written across me. Two searches in under 5 hours is too much. Oh, and of course, they had to take my deodorant. Great, I thought, I'm cranky already, and now I have to smell. It passed U.S. customs the first round? As did my white-out pen. They almost took my mascara and my concealer, but the security officers had a 'debriefing' this morning, and they were told that mascaras and cosmetics as such were okay. But the deodorant and my white-out pen were confiscated the second round.

Lastly, Canadian loonies and toonies are globally useless. I have $12 in toonies left and have no idea what to do with them, as the currency exchange depot stopped taking them. I am at least 900 yen less than planned. Brutal! I tried to reason it out with the duty-free shop attendant, but she declined to listen. "Only bills, only bills," she said. Bah! F*&% you. Al, I'm sending you $12 in change, plus a handful
of dimes and nickels and pennies.
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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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