(from artist’s site; link via JeanSnow.net)

Instead of moaning over things I can’t (yet) do, let’s move on to something I do extremely well. Buying books. Is that a special skill? Nah. Is it something difficult? Well, it does get less and less easy with every try, especially when the month is approaching its third week, but on most occasions, it is a relatively simple task. I reckon I must have bought at least 30 books since the start of the year, which is probably more than what I bought for the whole of last year. What is slightly comforting is that while I must have read fewer than 10 books last year (magazines do not count. I want them to, but they have withdrawn from the competition, citing the presence of advertising and other evils, which include, but are not limited to, a monthly rehashing of content), this year I have mostly been keeping up with my purchases. Until last week, I guess.

So far, this has been a year of Murakami and David Sedaris. Very different styles, which worked out just fine because I was alternating between the both of them. I would read a Murakami novel, get all sad and depressed and weirded out, then switch to Sedaris who would, on more than one occasion, had me wishing I had spoken more kindly of people who laugh to themselves on train rides so that I would, on the convenient account of karma and whatnots, be exempted from their disdainful glances. I ran out of Sedaris before I could finish Murakami’s novels though, so there was a period of general moodiness. I also started reading ‘Watchmen’ but that, despite being an excellent read, wasn’t exactly uplifting as well.

Probably a common thing, but once I find an author I like, I tend to want to polish off everything that he or she has ever written. There was a J.D. Salinger phase (secondary school to first year of poly), even though he didn’t write a lot (Save J.D. Salinger’s Archives!). I loved ‘The Catcher in the Rye’, duh, and quite frankly, a good deal of my writing compositions then were very Holden-Caulfield wannabe. Phony, I guess. Oh well. I remembered loving ‘Franny and Zooey’ too and ‘Nine Stories’ was probably my first foray into short stories (my preference for short stories would eventually become an excuse for not reading longer works). For some reason though, I never got around to reading ‘Seymour’. I have it, but it is still wrapped in plastic with a Towers Record price tag. Odd.

(I also went through a Milan Kundera phase, though nothing of note has remained in my brain. It is very strange. I probably read half of what he has, but nothing really comes to mind now. I vaguely remember someone dancing in a mental asylum. It is scary how completely I forget some stuff.)

And then there was a Banana Yoshimoto phase. Oh! I found Lizard! It was a large paperback though. My other books are normal paperbacks. Sigh. Anyway, ‘Kitchen’ and ‘Moonlight Shadow’!, and ‘Goodbye Tsugumi’!! Her short stories! My eloquence is unparalleled.

Verbosity rules when you don’t have to verbalise words, and it makes mindless entries look impressively long (yes, this is a redundant mention of length) and thoughtful. And when you get bored, you can just end off with some random pictures:

(“Joge-e 上下絵, or ‘two-way pictures,’ are a type of woodblock print that can be viewed either rightside-up or upside-down.”)

(Joge-e images and writeup from here)

From Pasajero:

From Jiutamai:

(All images from artist’s site)

Sometimes the photographs that touch you most are the ones that are so small and quiet you can hardly make out what they are.

Photographs are taken from here.
Masao Yamamoto talking about his work (video)

Flower

Inside a box

Shadow play

Gallery (Ota Fine Arts) writeup, and exhibition details on Tokyo Art Beat (ahhhh). Here’s a review (in Japanese only) with more images of the exhibition.

(Images taken from Ota Fine Arts and Kalonsnet)

I miss train rides. A twelve-hour train ride might sound wretched, but I doubt there was any train ride more memorable than the one Joce and I took up to Sapporo nearly two years ago. There is nothing quite like boarding a train, modern and well-equipped, crowded with people perfectly in sync with the city pace in Tokyo, and switching to a local train, slower and older, in a town whose station will be the only thing you will see of it. An old couple whose wife (or was it the husband? Well, one or the other) sleeps intermittently, like yourself. You read a manga magazine, understanding only snatches but laughing at exaggerated expressions and simple jokes. Your friend sleeps next to you, both of you on seats that could change orientation when the train changes direction in the dead of the night. The old couple awakes, changes their seats, and falls asleep again. At each stop, you lose more of your fellow passengers, until finally, at 6am, you are in a city that is still cold despite it being late spring.

(And since I didn’t keep a record of that Japan trip, I shall continue to indulge myself for a while.)

What’s equally memorable were what happened after Joce and I got off in Sapporo. Like, wandering around in Shiroishi for close to two hours looking for our hostel, eventually locating it after enlisting the assistance of 1. 7-11 store assistants, 2. 7-11 shoppers, 3. random teenagers hanging around 7-11, 4. the local post office, and finally, 5. two local obasans who would, riding on their bicycles, lead the way to our hostel. And all of them were introduced to us by the previous person/people in line! We came rather close to approaching the police station; in fact, we were on our way to one before one of the two kind ladies remembered that she had actually heard of the hostel before.

Or when we trekked for over an hour to the Hokkaido Historic Village, all the time questioning if we were on the right track. The weather was lovely, in other words cold without being chilly, and there were sporadic cherry blossoms to swoon over.

Or breaking into song, namely Nakashima Mika’s さくら色舞うころ, only because we knew two lines of lyrics. Maybe fewer, actually. I think we knew “sakura” and bluffed through the rest.

In Otaru, just not the right one.

Or going all the way to Otaru (and getting off the wrong Otaru stop and wandering aimlessly for a good couple of hours) to visit a national park / cave and to eat crab, only to reach there 15 minutes before closing time and be told that Sapporo has better crabs. (The train ride to Otaru was damn scenic, by the way.) Walking around the small town was fun though, as were eating a chilled egg custard (”it looks damn nice”) and strolling along the famed Otaru canal. The gyozas were the best we had eaten, even if the service encountered in that shop was easily the most nonchalant. I swear the cold makes everything at least 20 times more delicious. We came back to Sapporo for our obligatory kani/crab dinner and for small talk with drunk old Japanese men.

And then there was the pastry shop we passed by everyday that sold beautiful pastries and cakes. I can’t remember why we didn’t try anything. I think the shop looked too posh, or we were already exceeding our budget. Probably the later, but that doesn’t seem too plausible a reason seeing that we burst through our budget rather regularly and willingly. A typical scenario runs like this:

“Shit, they have so much omiyage (souvenirs) here. Those cookies are damn cute.”
“I know!”
“Shall we get some?”
“Yeah, maybe. I think I will get a box of that, then maybe a box of this too.”
“Eh, look, they have Hokkaido kit-kats too.”
“How will we manage so much stuff?”
“I think we’ll need to post them back at our next stop.”

Rinse and repeat scenario at least twice at every town we stopped at.

I miss Japan, and/or travelling.

今日から日本語の勉強がも一度始めます。
頑張ります。寿司が食べたい。日本に行きたい。酒が飲めない。
分からないことばかり。やっぱりばかになってしまった。

Kondoh Akino. Other than the song being horribly catchy, the animation is pretty damn neat as well. His site doesn’t have any of his animations, but his drawings and illustrations are great too.

フェンス (Fence)

顔 (Face)
消失点 (Vanishing Point)
小さい星 (Small Star)

Images from artist’s site