いってきます

love and true love.

One Way

Home being only what one can make it, I have come to treat this little town (called city by some) as a really lovely and pleasant and wonderful place to live and to breathe.  With each passing day, I laugh at the love that I had for that hole that used to be such an integral part of my life- which, only with distance can it be viewed as anything but a monster.  

There is a campaign going on right now to promote tourism to my region, which I support in equal and unequal measures. The last thing I would want is an influx of nonsense, but I do know that, just as I once had pride in the Rotten Apple, I now wave an altogether different flag.

      

Or.

I have been busy, busy, busy these past two weeks or so (more on that next time), but in all this rush and excitement, I somehow caught a cold (or allergy, as speculated by Other Half). Not being allergic to anything but work in my whole life, it is most likely the latter.  Who knows?

Anyway, with time to spend today at home, quality time I must add, watching things of little quality (which I could not reveal here, as they would really ruin your image of me), I also in my many diversions today came across this image which I absolutely adored in high school history.

I did love American History so much...that is, up until a certain point.

Anniversary Tin

Other Half has a thing for tins, as do I (though I rather just look at them than own them), so when we first laid eyes on the 110th anniversary tin for Shiseido (Parlour) around the holiday season, it was surely a thing to behold.  The red color pattern with sparkle is visually striking, and whatever contents were in it (biscuits, it turns out) were only secondary.  Unfortunately, in the few times that I have seen it on display, it was sold out.  I did not give it much thought until a few days ago when I saw it again, but this time was available for purchase, but I did not buy it there so as to bring Other Half to see its availability in full glory.  Alas, when I did so, it was sold out again and I was roundly told off for not buying it then and there, but upon my revisit a few days later, it was for sale once more and at long last, it was ours.

It turns out that the biscuits inside are quite good, too.

Six.

This past autumn, I had the luck to discover my favorite tie maker in the world, who was in town on one of their semi-annual visits to the luxury department stores.  Quite surprisingly, I found that it received compliments from a person who is used to seeing me wear ties all the time, but this is not really surprising because the tie is absolutely remarkable, extraordinary.

Well, for the past week, they have been in town again, and I went to their booth four times.  The first time was just snooping around with no direct intent.  The second was a full on attack, uncovering even the boxes underneath the table, and I wound up with five ties.  I went back a third time just to make sure and, lo and behold, talked myself into a sixth tie.  Today was the fourth time, and I restrained myself from picking up at least two more (though will probably complain about it later), but really because I bought the two lovely saleswomen a gift from a local confectionary.  I have had such a great time, and future many great times to wear those ties, that I needed to give them some kind of thank you.

That is the extent to which my devotion towards this material possession has become, and, as I told them, greatly look forward to their return trip in the fall. 

the location.

the score.

Briefcase

Those among you who have been following me may remember that I was up in arms about the weather, not the usual complaints that summer is too hot and winter is too cold, but rather that this climate is conducive to mold.  Now, that is something that I have never had to deal with, and it has seriously curtailed my spending (because of the effect that mold has on books, in particular).  And, it also destroyed my most beloved vintage leather briefcase which was perfect for me, and I am sure would have lasted to the end of my days (even if I lived a long time).

So, I have been making do with a canvas tote bag (self designed, hand made though it is and which I also love), but in my heart of hearts (one of them, at least), I wanted another briefcase.  I kept my eye open on my give or take weekly searches and was able to find something not elaborate and not quite "it," but which nonetheless fits the bill.  There was something about it, though- so when looking through my design files later on, I realized that it was a bag (Japanese made) which had been in my mental reference for years already!

The only addition I will make to it is the ubiquitous strap, which displays the ever heroic and wonderfully cute character/mascot of this city, Musubi-Maru.

Moonrise.

The films of Wes Anderson, stylized reels all, I somehow never actively seek out to watch, but, after viewing them, become a subconscious part of my visual and emotional memory.  Such was definitely the case with Fantastic Mr. Fox (most especially the wonderful displays at Bergdorf Goodman Mens' Store windows some years back), and last night found me at a showing of Moonrise Kingdom.  While it was surely not my favorite of the many films, some elements startled me in their bringing back old memories and feelings- none of which I will describe here, though perhaps you know what I mean, and I think you might.

Endurance

There hasn't been much of external interest for me recently apart from some material desire, so I escaped further by watching some films.  My interest in arctic exploration, while certainly limited, was pretty much limited to what kinds of clothes that they wore (particularly in cold climates, as I have developed a distaste for the winter which almost rivals my hatred for the summer), but somehow I decided to give Shackleton's Frozen Hell a viewing.

Although it had recreated scenes, the story itself somehow shone through, pure inspiration itself- and it got me to jotting down in my list of "books to buy" those written by Frank Worsley, who seems to have been the real heart of why Shackleton has claimed his fame in history.

What a story!  And it was all true!

Frank Worsley, the man himself.

the men.

Hot Tin

Food items don't usually make it anywhere near this blog of mine, but I have to make an exception because of the seductive trickery of the graphic design and also the "limited edition" aspect of it.  When I visited Nagano many years back and had the soba noodles, the red pepper condiment (togarashi) in the distinctive tin (featuring Zenkoji) was everywhere, and I had to buy one.  Fast forward to years later, and my sister, who I found was visiting there, brought back as a souvenir one of the "limited edition" tins for last year.  It was a small and fun gift and I did not give it any further thought until the recent appearance of the makers at the department store, where the new "limited edition" was in evidence.  Thinking it over whether I should pick it up (and deciding against it), Other Half did it when there was an hour to kill (and I was at home).  

Now, I wonder if there were editions before last year's, and what will be next year's edition? Oh no...the collector's mind kicks in yet again...

Next Attraction.

In my never ending quest for nonsense, today finds me after a good run of writing looking at antiques on-line.  If you are wondering, it started in the folk art section, deviated to Japanese and then to inkwells before I stopped looking altogether.  Now, you know it is a really slippery slope from desire to acquisition to collection to hoarding to out of control no money in the bank and nothing to show for it except a bunch of material junk, but I thought even more so of the accumulation of visual imagery that continues to flood and pollute the mind.  I am, of course, one of the worst people in this respect, and it is both fortunate and so unfortunate that my brain is marked with much graphic information, although at times I do stop and try to stop the prodigious intake of such.

If I didn't, it would keep going, on and on, straight to doom.  The Next Attraction, always next, next, next, it never ends.

That Old House

There was an old house nearby which always hurt my eyes to look at because of the shabby way in which it was kept.  This happens quite often, I would suppose, as the homes become like the owners- old, older, broken, and finally kaput.  It is not difficult to accept because it is plain fact, but sometimes it does hurt a little.  

So, when the old house was torn down (the majority of it), I wandered in to an area well out of sight (the remnants of a living room) and snooped around, taking a few visual memories and photographs before it was goodbye forever.  Time being as quick as it is, it was adieu inside of a day, and now there is nothing left but an empty lot.

I am sure some atrocity will take its place.  Isn't that usually the case?  I didn't make any attempt to stop it, so who else but myself to blame?  

Reveal

When one of the old houses nearby was torn down (with the ridiculous speed that this country exhibits), what was left over was not just rubble but a small Japanese garden and an old shrine.  As there are no markers of any sort, it would be impossible to guess on a date for it, but its very appearance was hidden by the house, perhaps being contained inside of it. What I do know is that in the many times I walked by it, I wondered what it used to be (the ground level being a store, but with no signage).  Again, it shows how nothing lasts forever- although I do hope that the shrine continues to be there.  Even more wonderful, though highly unlikely, is if it becomes a small park or rest area.  One can dream.

Haniwa

To say that I am obsessed with the clay figures known as "haniwa" since seeing them that many years ago would be a bit of an understatement, but to actually want to own them would be rather strange as they are intended as ritual objects and to be buried with the dead.  That they are put on display is a curious thing of anthropology and culture in general, and in specific, but I really haven't anything bad to say about this digging up of such a wonderfully humorous treasure.  There are other types of figures too, but the representative ones from the museum (the National Museum in Tokyo) with the Scream looking mouth and hand raised are clearly the mascots, in much the way that William the hippo from the Metropolitan Museum of Art is, and every bit as lovely.

Lupin

You probably know by now how much I like to chase after certain kinds of history, in particular literary landmarks of a bygone age.  This was something that was already in my blood from the very first time I visited Japan over twenty years ago, making pilgrimages to sites once occupied (or currently occupied) by such writers as Kawabata Yasunari, Tanizaki Junichiro and Soseki Natsume.  This kind of thinking and desire has only continued, and my recent trip to Tokyo found me in the one time literary hang-out that is Bar Lupin in Ginza, which I was enticed into going after finding out that the famous portrait of Dazai Osamu (a writer whose work I appreciated in my youth, though not so much now) was taken.  

It was a pleasant enough experience and unlike what I expected.  The bar-goers on that particular early evening were for the most part young, at least ten years younger than myself, with the most notable and humorous example of one clearly older and dapper dandy of a fellow with a pimp hat who had just finished a round or two of shopping at designer boutiques (something I noticed when I went to use the washroom).  It wasn't a letdown, but it wasn't the greatest, either- although I knew that it would not be a literary roundtable going on, I would have liked it to be so.  The staff were quite amiable too, including one who gave me a pamphlet of the bar, seeing my obvious enthusiasm at visiting the place.

Golden Lines

What seems many years ago but was in fact probably only six or seven or eight (at most nine) years ago, I remember going to the Gallery of Horyuji Treasures, a spectacular building designed by Taniguchi Yoshio, the architect who helped the New York Museum of Modern Art escape from trendiness and quick obscurity.  While the building's contents, Buddhist sculptures, are for the most part  giant yawns for me, the wonderful thing about the place is the design, the spaces, the mysteries inherent in lighting, display and small details (such as the following image, which is a metallic strip affixed to the gallery walls, and which shines and disappears as one walks through the spaces), a small but absolutely genius stroke.  

Brushes

Just came back from one of my increasingly frequent and ever fun filled trips to Tokyo.

Bright and early before it opened at 9am, I was there with cold drink in hand on a warm winter's day, waiting for the doors to slide open at the historic brush shop known as Edo-Ya.  My partner in crime had wanted a brush from there, or possibly one from Mason Pearson, and thinking that time was now spent in Japan, rather than idolizing the outside, it would be more appropriate to give patronage to an ongoing Japanese house of handmade production.

With brush in hand, the shopkeeper showed me a woodblock illustration by Hiroshige which depicted the street on which the shop was located (showing of course how it looked three hundred years ago).  I was excited to see that Mount Fuji could be seen, but was quickly told that was no longer the case, given all the tall buildings and other nonsense now blocking the view.  He did tell me, though, that the newly built Skytree could be seen, but that continues to be of little or no interest to me.

Ticking.

Time being time and just time, only time, here is an image from the old building (Minka) open-air museum/graveyard I visited over the weekend- a broken clock, one of many I saw, one of many that is a reminder of how time ticks away, for me, for you (yes, even you) and for everything else living and non-living on earth.  What of it?  Nothing.  It's just time.

Snowbath

Over the weekend, with my partners in crime (my family here), we took off to not sunnier but snowier climes, about an hour or two away (time flying by so quickly going there, with such joy, that time meant nothing).  The plan was to spend a day/evening at the hot springs (onsen) hotel, which was a first for me in snowy weather.  Even more amazing is that there were entirely outdoor baths, which could only be accessed by walking outside (along a shoveled path)- being the only one there, naked and alone among the elements, the full moon above, snow descending down, snow from the mountains being blown- that was freedom, freedom, freedom.  

An extraordinary experience, and made even better by having the feeling of being alone but with my most familiars nearby.

night (view from room of the semi-covered bath)

day view

from which it comes

Wants.

Nostalgia is nostalgia, and it's all good, but is it in fact when looking at past time, actual time is in fact slipping away, and time replaces time, and it is our own age which ages and which being future then present is quickly past, and yet the looking backwards continues, or so it does for me, as always.  When what is, or was wanted, is no longer needed.

Mr. Golgo (ミスターゴルゴ13)

Every time I used to visit Japan, some of my time (though not much of it) was spent at the bookstores and the newsstands.  With the pathetic nature of my language, I could not delve deeper into the ocean of literature, so have always stayed at the margins by looking at images and things easier to understand. One of the things which did attract me was a manga called Golgo 13, based on a sniper for hire.  I used to look at it every now and then, but I was (as I am still now) scared by the sheer number of editions available (I believe there are 157 or so at the moment), so my collector's mind shut down that pursuit, though I still look at it every now and then.

When I first came this time around, that was one of the earliest anchors, and I found out there was an animated series based on the comic stories. Of course, I watched all fifty episodes, such is my nature, and all within the span of a week.

My favorite part is that he realizes and is seemingly perfectly fine with being alone all of the time.

as he walks away.

Showa Shonen.

 It is no surprise to say that for the most part I have never been interested in the contemporary world, and  for the longest time (probably, still) I would wonder quite why. Although I have my explanations for it, it is unnecessary to go into here. More importantly is that in my quest for things nostalgic, I happen to become invigorated, informed and enthusiastic, as if the future were not that bad at all (even if the present seems a chaos).

A book that gave me a lot of pleasure was this illustrated one of growing up in the Showa period, where I learned a lot of things that were once popular (now forgotten). Time is time, as always, and the flame always burns fast.

Sunsetting.

Following on the previous post on Natsume Soseki, today sees the appearance of another pioneer of literature, Dazai Osamu, whose flame burned and fluttered and went out at an early age (from a supposed suicide).  His writing was, like F. Scott Fitzgerald's, something that helped me get through my  late teen years, but to read it nowadays (as I did when I reread "The Setting Sun" after twenty plus years), something has surely changed- not the writing but myself.

Nonetheless, I am still very much interested in the former material possessions of people I am interested in, as if they somehow are the key to the magic itself (though they usually are not)

the author.

what he left behind.

where he met his end and the poem for his wife.

Soseki.

The author Natsume Soseki is someone whose name crops up every now and then, often in the most unexpected places.  Even at the height of my reading Japanese literature in translation, dating back over two decades ago, his work was always at the periphery of my interest.  The same holds true now, but what I do find fascinating is the back story of the man himself, from the lonely time he spent in England, his stature as the beginning of the Japanese modern tradition, and the image of him which is often shown (the pensive look).

While at the library the other day, during one of my breaks, I went into the literature section and looked through a book on Soseki, and was pleased to see some images from his life, including the much loved (by me) photographs of the writer in his studio, the specially designed printing board for his writing, and an image of the author laid to rest.  For it is death which is the ultimate reminder of what life is, or can be.

the custom designed stationery board

an example of Soseki's writing on the stationery

gone, not forgotten.

I also include the following image of a figure that I bought of Soseki, which was from a collection of historical figures that included Beethoven, Michelangelo, Christopher Columbus and some others.  Those were not of interest, having seen them on-line.  In the photo are several fellows accumulated over time, such as the green glass octopus (from London), the re-edition of Membros (a birthday gift from Matt), a Lisa Larsen lion keychain (Japan) and a reclining frog given to me by a wonderful bank teller in New York when I asked her where she got it (Puerto Rico).

fun and serious things

Coasting.

Although I haven't really been drinking much these days (in the over half a year since I've been here), I can't really say that I miss it all that much.  Sure, the need to have a drink every once in a while hits me (often just one beer, or one or two of my own pours of whiskey on the rocks), but for the most part, since I do not go out (except rarely, and even then not in the evenings), the need for social drinking never comes into play (whereas, before, drink was the main reason we all gathered, old friends).  With that said, I still like a drink now and then, but was unsure which would be my drink of choice here. Of course, there are the lovely 18, 20, 21, 25, 50 year varieties, but that would tap into my rather limited finances here, given my generosity of pours, so I thought I would try out the Torys brand, having been seduced by the Ryohei Yanagihara designed character Uncle Torys.  I had expected it to taste dreadful, but in fact it is quite drinkable and easily my go-to drink of choice (although not at a bar, which is often far more upscale and would not convey the same atmosphere).

They often have some kind of promotional give-away here, in limited quantities (of course!), and the whiskey was no different, with a set of six (in total) coasters, one per bottle.  I thought I would not collect them, but, alas, there's no going against one's own character, and now the set is mine.  I can't say they're not practical as well as fun, though, and I do love them.