The Post-Apocalyptic Techno Poem

痛！

Eunja and I walked all over Marunouchi yesterday (and all over Odaiba, too).

We met up in Asakusabashi at 10am and headed to Tokyo Station to begin our walking tour. We wandered out toward the Imperial Gardens (taking a moment to note the renovation progress on the Meiji-era facade of Tokyo Station). We meandered through the East Gardens, taking in old tea houses and the foundation for the tenshu (keep) of Edo Castle (originally built by the second Tokugawa shogun, Hidetaka, in the early seventeenth century). At the tenshu the clouds parted enough for us to view the partial eclipse of the sun that was taking place so we took a number of pictures of that as well.

Even through the thick cloud cover it was way too bright, so we didn't take many and didn't look at them very closely while we did either. They might have come out kind of bogus. ;>

Done at the gardens, we had lunch in the basement of the Mainichi Shinbun building - really tasty pork katsu with a rich sesame sauce - and then headed to the Museum of Modern Art. A regular customer of Eunja's restaurant happened to work there and had given her two free passes. We first went through the Gauguin show, which featured a number of Gauguin's early works.

It was really interesting to see a Gauguin show that ran chronologically and focused on how his painting and theoretical philosophies developed. Typically, when you see a Gauguin it's some half-naked Tahitian girl, and you think about Orientalism and exoticism and concepts of the male gaze and otherness, etc. (Well, if you're me, you do.) This time I had more scope from which to consider Gauguin... where he had come from, how he got to where he ultimately ended up. Some of his early pieces were really lovely. And he actually captured more of Island life than just naked women, so good for him.

We explored the rest of the collection, which included some fantastic modern Japanese pieces, and I pulled a prank on Eunja in one of the rooms. We had just come around a corner into a gallery and there was a set of two chairs facing a completely blank wall. "Oh this is really interesting," I said (as if to myself, but loud enough for her to hear). "It's really complex, isn't it?" She turned back to the blank wall and made this classic face... like, "did I just smoke something...?" So I relented and confessed it was a joke. She scolded me.

Our feet were really dying by the time we got out (two and half hours later), so we stopped in a coffeeshop for half-an-hour to rest. Then we elected to walk back to Tokyo Station and head down to Odaiba.

When we arrived at Shinbashi, where the Odaiba monorail line (known as the Yurikamome) starts, I realized that I'd have an opportunity to visit the huge Gundum that's been erected there by Green Tokyo. (I had read about the Gundum, and had thought that visiting it would be fun, but then I forgot.) So we headed for that, and (aided by the most amazingly amusing plethora of guide-signs) found it without any difficulty whatsoever. (Seriously, though, the signs were hilarious. At the bottom of the escalators was a huge one: Gundum, this way; Fuji TV headquarters, that way, and at the head of the secondary staircase was a poster... a reproduction of the giant Gundam with a one-word tagline: "Really?" I died.)

We saw the Gundum, who was - indeed - huge, and then walked along the shoreline. There were tons of jellyfish, and jumping fish, and other signs of marine life. And the lights were beginning to shine on Rainbow Bridge. Slowly, but surely, the floating Karaoke bars were making their way to the middle of the harbor. We wandered into a department store to shop (and I bought two (TWO!) hilarious t-shirts for only ten bucks), and then got some doria for dinner. Doria is a gratin pot - some kind of melted cream sauce over meat, vegetables, and rice - baked in a oven and served piping hot. I had chicken, edamame, and cheese; Eunja had bacon, grilled eggplant, and tomato cream. Very yummy.

The sun set; we both ate in a kind of exhausted silence (it was nearly 8pm by this point). With dinner done, we called it an evening, fought our way back to Asakusabashi Station, and parted ways. I walked home, got into my jammies, cleaned up, and fell asleep before it even hit 9 o'clock.

I know, I know. Lame.

However, in all fairness, I was jetlagged (and I had woken up at 4:45), and I had been on my feet all day walking crazy distances and looking at art.

Hell, I'm still sore. I need to do some yoga before I leave because there's a good deal more walking in store for me.

Day One:
Got up at 4am to prep and catch the flight to Chicago. Met my boy, Rocky, at O'Hare around 8:30am. Into the city for breakfast (belgian waffles and corned beef hash). Walking tour of Chicago. Free Admission at the Art Institute in commemoration of the opening of the new modern wing (designed by Renzo Piano - who knew he was still alive?). Took a stroll through Millenium Park. Broke for beer at the Park Grill & Bar. Out to Lake Michigan and Lake Shore Drive. Watched the water as the winds rose for evening. Dinner at Giordano's Pizza - ordered a deep dish Chicago-style pie that was bigger than both of us combined. Took 85% of it home for leftovers. Miyazaki marathon: Nausica and Howl's Moving Castle. More beer. More pizza. Went to bed around midnight.

Day Two:
Up around 10. Pizza for breakfast. Headed for the annual NRA (National Restaurant's Association) show for more partying. Free food and beer samples. Met a delightful sake distributor from California, who invited me to join his party in Niigata in March for sake tasting and cultural exchange. Super excited about that. Picked up free samples of Jarritos soda pop for the evening. Stopped off at the Park Grill & Bar again for more beer and conversation. Dinner at Harry Carrey's Tavern in Wrigleyville. Red Wings beat the Blackhawks while the Cardinals beat the Cubs. Sad day for Chicago (unless you were a Sox fan, which we weren't). Had cod Po' Boy sandwiches, a lot more beer, and the fun that only the camaraderie of a sports bar can offer. Back home for more Miyazaki (Spirited Away), more pizza, and more beer. Went to bed sometime after 1am.

Day Three:
Up at 9:30 for a leisurely breakfast (fruit parfait!) and decadent train ride (just kidding) back out to O'Hare for the 1:30 back to New City.


We've totally got to do that again.

Yet another whirlwind trip has come to an end, and tomorrow we all go our separate ways once more. What a delight it's been. We saw a number of shows, went on constant walkabout (uptown, downtown, in Chinatown, all around), shopped hither and yon, ate very, very well, conducted awesome conversations, museum rambled, the works.

On Friday we headed down to the Grand Central Station area and the public library to take in a few exhibitions. (I love how the public library always has some kind of awesome exhibition going on.) We also walked around and about the area, taking pictures of oddities and interests as we went. For dinner we went to a favorite place of ours, Zeytin's, where I had a seafood pasta that was to die for and gruyere phillo rolls (yum!) to start.

On Saturday we enjoyed a day at the Met in the company of my dear friend, G., who used to go to school in New City but left our halls for Columbia. I'd missed her terribly this past year, and loved having the chance to meet up with her again. We chatted through quite a bit of the museum, but we did manage to look at things as well. I made a possibly interesting discovery in the South Asian galleries--these cool little yaksha (nature spirit) figure-shaped rattles from first-century BCE India that appear to be drumming. They've got me thinking about all sorts of intriguing Silk Road connections.

( Yaksha, Shunga Period, 1st Century BCE )

Cool, huh?

At the close of the day we found another great place where I had the most delicious matzoh soup (the matzohs themselves threaded with little shavings of carrot and onion) and a wonderful assortment of salads. We're definitely going back there.

Today we moseyed through Central Park and also did some thrift shopping after we'd hoofed about in Chinatown for a bit. Then we stayed in the rest of the evening, because we were all beginning to feel rather run down from all the back and forthing (forth and backing?) and a relaxing evening before travel seemed to be the best prescription.

I've loved this trip. But I'll be glad to get back home to things. I still have some work to do to wind up my applications, turn in my thesis, complete my VRL obligations, prep for teaching duties, and lay the groundwork for Grad Expo operations. And I also have yet to post my thoughts on Equus, which I have formulated a bit more coherently since my last blog.

Please look forward to it. ;>

Through desire to meet up with a very dear friend, I found myself in the strange world of the American Studies Association annual conference. A number of mind-bending delights awaited me; including the observation of distinguished faculty in the act of getting down to "Whoop! There It Is!" in the Marriott ballroom, and the amusing (though somewhat disheartening) application of the popularity game - graduate school style - in situations both serious and sparring. Regardless, the opportunity to spend a couple nights in the company of the fabulous A. is well worth any expenditure on my part, and I'm happy to say that our first evening together was rapture - with sinful Italian food, a little bit of funk, Gackt's magnum, and a deliciously dangerous Manhattan thrown into the mix of giggling, goofing, and gallivanting.

(I was asked at one point to define the gendering of a Manhattan cocktail, however, and that really threw me for a loop. I'm sorry to admit that, as an unserious academic, I've never bothered to ponder the gender-neutrality [or lack thereof] of alcoholic beverages. But then, again, I'm 丈夫 and tend to do what I want because of that. I've been known to drink my bourbon straight - much to the astonishment of some male friends. I've also been known to drink fuzzy navels and dance around in my pink, rose-print underwear - not to the astonishment of my male friends.)

In browsing through the ASA events listing, I found two back-to-back panels that dealt with issues related to East Asian and Asian nations as they intersected broader issues of American hegemony, colonialism, racial dynamics, politics, and sexuality, etc.

Of particular interest to my was a paper that examined the largely-forgotten "Miss Nagasaki" beauty contest of 1946, which was the brainchild of American servicemen stationed in post-war Nagasaki and which was dubbed, by servicemen newspapers, as the "Miss Atom Bomb" beauty contest. Naturally, the local women of Nagasaki - who had been brutally disfigured by the bomb - were not part of this contest. This use of bomb terminology served to legitimate and normalize the act of dropping the bomb, by implying that the Japanese of Nagasaki were so okay with the situation as to have named their contest after it. Most interestingly, the deployment of the term "Miss Atom Bomb" in place of "Miss Nagasaki" was so pervasive that it dominated accounts of the event even in Japanese history books until the mid 1990s. Thus, this legitimation of the bombing of Nagasaki was perpetuated (in the minds of other Japanese) for quite a long time after the actual event, marginalizing the citizens of Nagasaki and their experience in the process.

Now, granted, the American motivations for "taming" the terminology of the bomb often had little to do with legitimation and a lot to do with their own fears of life during the cold war era, but it is - nevertheless - a particularly ugly example of American imperialism at work.

I was blown away by this presentation.

In brief.

I'm a little too tuckered out for much more than a rundown. A lot's happened in the last week, and I think it's catching up with me. Nevertheless, I want to sketch the details out while it's still fresh.

In the morning yesterday we headed through an absolutely sun-dappled day across Central Park over to the Met. The weather was perfect, in the high 60s, with just the right touches of sunshine all over. We ate out at a Mediterranean restaurant called Zeytin's, where we had Gruyere stuffed philo rolls for starters and grilled salmon over sauteed spinach.

At the Met I able to return to the Japanese galleries and take higher quality photos of certain key images from the 13th through 16th centuries that intrigue me. We also had time on this visit to take in the European and Modern galleries. In one gallery, buried behind the endless Impressionists, was a late painting by Georges Braque - 1939's The Studio. I was utterly fascinated by the texturization of this image, spending timeless moments in front of it.

You never know what you'll find in the lesser visited galleries of a museum. I'm awfully glad I found this...



After the Met we took in the Broadway show Chicago, which starred Bebe Neuwirth as the irrepressible, irresponsible Roxie Hart. I'd signed on to the show with the sole desire of seeing Bebe Neuwirth, but I was truly blown away by the show. It was totally awesome. Crazy, zany, fun.

Okay, this isn't brief. So I guess I'll type up the lowdown on today's exploits tomorrow.

On a trip this evening, we traveled through a very dark and stormy night indeed. On the windshield of the car, sitting right in front of my superstitious nose, was a condensation mark that would not fade - and it resembled (very strongly) a pirate flag with the skeletal mask and crossbones of that emblematic banner.

Talk of evil omens!

Through my mind flashed remembrances of all the stories I'd ever read of people who got themselves into healthy helpings of trouble after seeing some kind of fabled, magical deathmark. But of course nothing of undue interest occurred on the way. Conversation, strange radio stations of the heartland, a little dinner, and the usual suspects you find on a road trip.

And a few you don't generally encounter.
For example, a road sign that read: "Flushing Bethesda."

Seriously.

Talk about darkness.

Going to sleep on two-thirds of a bottle of Beaujolais meant that I slept better than I had previously, but I still woke up stiff the following morning. As a result, I was eager to get up and get moving around to wake my bones and stretch my muscles out. Check out time was 11am, and we left the hotel at around 10:20am - after having washed, dressed, packed, and scanned the room in a final valuables check.

My flight out of JFK was not until 8:30pm, and Mom and I wanted to spend every available moment together, so we stowed our bags in the lobby and caught a taxi down to the MoMA. Modern art museums often feature works that draw an eye-roll from me, but I was delighted to view the wonderfully staged exhibition Manet and the Execution of Emperor Maximilian as well as some related works by Gerhard Richter. There were also a number of fine Fernard Leger's on view, as well as works by Carrie Mae Weems and Yayoi Kusama. I left the museum with a sense of satisfaction and before I had to see any pieces by Donald Judd (always a plus), although I was subjected to a Carl Andre (can't win them all).

Wandering the museum had worked up our appetite and we ducked into a little nearby Irish pub where we had absolutely delectable homemade tomato soup and simple, but filling, sandwichs from scratch.

Our next stop was the Onassis Cultural Center, which was hard to find because it was listed as being on Fifth Avenue between 51st and 52nd, and it was really on 51st (although the address was a Fifth Avenue address... strange). We went into the Rockefeller Center to ask directions, but they didn't know where the Onassis Center was, which struck me as bizarre. I suppose two suns hold not their sway in the same sky, or something. At the Onassis Center we saw the Athens-Sparta exhibit that I blogged about earlier here, and it was fairly interesting. It was a well-designed exhibition that featured some fascinating information about the early Greeks, and it was the only place we went that didn't cost a mint, so that was alright. All in all, not too much to write home about, although I wouldn't go by my opinion honestly - I like Greek art, but I don't like it that much, and I couldn't help feeling a tinge of exhaustion towards the end of the exhibit. I suppose that's why I don't study Greek art.

With our museum questing over, we took a cab back into our neck of the woods and got coffee and hot chocolate, relaxed in a nice, warm cafe, and chatted over the events of the weekend. Then we got the car out of the parking garage, picked up our bags from storage, and began the long, traffic-filled jaunt out to JFK airport. Mom dropped me there early, which is better than late any day, and I sat and sat in the terminal, as my flight was delayed due to weather. (The perils of flying during the winter.) I finally got home around 1:30am, and J. was a gentleman and picked me up, late as it was, took me home, and slept on the couch without a word of reproach.

And my great adventure had ended.

One of the themes of this play that stays with me is the idea, echoed in a quote by Edmund Burke, that "all that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing." The play dealt with the Iraq War as one of its major points of contention between the two main characters, and the Julianne Moore character was largely of Burke's opinion. Her Nadia Blye believed that it was the responsibility of the West to do something when faced with the suffering of the world. When asked why one should persevere and continue to hope in the face of such despair she responded that we have no other choice.

And, of course, she's right. And wrong. There's always a choice - the easier choice to do nothing, to turn away. I think, though, that the heart of her belief had merit. In the face of despair, a decent person has a duty to continue to try. This challenge can be met with anger if necessary, for while anger can be destructive it can also be galvanizing, and there's nothing wrong with raging at the universe, or at god, or at whomever. God can handle our anger. The greatest crime against her, as against life, is indifference. As the play commented, terrorism is the wrong answer to the right question. Terrorists make the mistake of throwing their anger at people instead of at god, forgetting (or perhaps never knowing) both that she can take it and that she's the one who's earned it.