KimuTaku's Mom's Speech

June 26th was the day of KimuTaku’s mom’s speech here at the shrine. Because was a Saturday and the BIG tea ceremony is coming up, we still had tea class per the usual, albeit a little earlier than normal. Expecting that I would get leave from class early (since I was going to be pitching in to help with things all night), I was antsy to have my turn and then go back upstairs and change (I’m wearing Yukatas and Kimonos now, every week). Unfortunately, for whatever reason, I was kept around as audience for everyone else’s ceremonies as well, and by the time I got to go up and change, I only had about and hour and a half to change a relax before going back down to make preparations for the speech that night.

I’d made plans to have dinner with several of the ladies in the class, and Miho, the girl from the host club tour, at the local (literally next door) ramen place. The place is your typical ramen restaurant, no tables, only a bar, and when you enter you buy a ticket for whatever kind you want (yes, there are SEVERAL types of different ramen) at the vending-like machine in the corner, then sit down on a stool and hand it to the guy behind the counter. You’re given a glass of water, though there’s a pitcher full of it for replenishing, standing next to the napkins and jars of dried garlic and other toppings. When your orders done, the cook places a massive bowl before you with a spoon and chopsticks and you go to town, though its extremely hot, thus the slurping. Japanese people slurp their soup and noodles, and I think part of the reason is to cool it down as they eat. Instead of waiting for things to cool, or blowing on hot food like Americans do, the Japanese never wait, but slurp it in, thereby cooling it, or chew loudly with their mouth open, which cools the food within. These things are not rude eating customs in Japan. If you’ve eaten all your noodles but still have lots of soup left, you can order more noodles only (I forget what the word is), which usually cost 100 yen (sort of, about $1), and the cook brings the strainer over and plops them right into the soup for you.

Anyway, I’d thought that I was going to get to go to the ramen place with everyone to eat, but instead my mom had me stay with her and the other girls that work at the shrine and we busied ourselves laying out fliers on the folding chairs and serving tea to the boorish patrons of the shrine that sat down with my host dad and smoked and, presumably, talked about finances. About an hour before the shindig was set to start, when my host mom was entertaining the aforementioned patrons, KimuTaku’s mom came in and I welcomed her and we chatted a bit, then she was shown into one of the tea rooms to change. Instead of a formal looking outfit, which I had suspected she would wear, she changed into an avante-garde looking thing that seemed to me to be halfway between a jogging suit and a kimono. It was purple and very strange. Then she went out for a walk.

When the patrons finally finished their talk, my host mother hurried myself and the other helpers into a side room and we all scarfed down (as fast as we could) the sushi bentos that were our dinner. In short order, people started arriving and taking their seats.

The topic of the speech, ‘Being a Good Mother’ wasn’t of particular interest to me, but still, I’d been looking forward to the speech, and since I’d gone to the trouble of helping out, was hoping that I might get to sit back with like the other girls who’d helped, and watch. But, unfortunately, when the twins (4 yrs. old) started getting loud and fussy, my host mom had me take them upstairs and entertain them. It was more or less their bed time, so they were fussy already, and to make matters worse, I couldn’t figure how to switch the TV over to the cartoon channels, but we drew in my sketching book and made paper airplanes, and for about an hour and a half things went by fine. But, as kids are wont to do, they remembered they had a mother and missed her and insisted on going back downstairs. And their arrival was loud and caused a ruckus loud enough to interrupt the speech. At that point, I got to see about the last 20 min. of the speech, before bowing everyone out the door.

I got my picture with Mrs. Kimura, then myself, the other helpers and the two boy scouts (for lack of a better word since they’re both in college and my age) that I’d met with and cleaned dishes with before one night a month ago, all helped to put the chairs away. And that was really about it. There was no glamour to it and though I was told the speech was quite wonderful, what I heard of it only seemed to reinforce the ever-present ‘good wife, wise mother’ mentality that is imposed upon young Japanese women today. But that’s the stuff for my gender class, not my blog.

Ancient Japan, Ketchup Cup Urine Test and KimuTaku's Mom

So once again, I’ve been shirking my duty of reporting all the interesting things that befall me here in old Nippon, but I’ll do my best to catch up before anything else new and interesting happens. The first thing after the Alice Nine concert that’s worth writing about was going to the Chakai with my host mother and her friend on the 11th, which admittedly was some time ago. We got on a train line I’ve only been on once in my life and rode it for about 45 min. (it being the super express) and made our way out of Tokyo completely and into another prefecture, though where exactly we ended up, I’m not entirely certain only that the name had ‘Chikatetsu’ in the title. This chakai, or tea meeting, was particularly special as it’s only held a few times a year and the ink painting/calligraphy master and his wife make their way all the way from Nara, where they live in the mountains, to Tokyo just for this nice little event. The entirety of the festivities are held in a very, very high dollar kimono shop that’s stood in that same place for the past 200 years (no joke), and while parts have been renovated to accommodate the times, most of the structure is the same as it always has been. This kimono shop was the embodiment of what I, and most westerners, think of when they think “Japan.” The room where one of the tea ceremonies was held, and where the calligraphy tables were set up was, of course, a room of tatami mats, wooden beams and paper sliding doors. That is, except for the one ‘wall’ which wasn’t in fact a wall at all, but rather a large window the size of a wall which could be slid back to open out onto the traditional looking Japanese garden/stream. Yes, they have a stream in the courtyard. The building is built sort of like an O with the middle open, and through it runs a stream and a pond (complete with turtle), over which hang lazy sakura (cherry blossom) trees whose petals, when their hour has come, drift in droves like summer snow, down into the quiet pond below. There is vegetation everywhere, plants of all sorts growing out of the soil and stream alike, and you have to use stepping stones to get anywhere. And there were the large, standing stone lanterns one gets used to seeing in such places. In the large, aforementioned room, there was, of course, the god shelf, though the Japanese name for it I’ve since forgotten. As is always the way, within it was incense, a large ikebana display (this one happened to be of still-green, Japanese maple leaves), and then a large calligraphy scroll, naturally given as a gift from the visiting master. The master himself was quite a character, but I shall get to him presently. The last space I got to explore, and where we received our first tea ceremony, was in the tea room, or chashitsu, This room is actually it’s own separate structure, very small in size and square. All of the grand houses in the old days in Japan had these rooms. They usually fit either four or six tatami mats, have a god shelf and sometimes a removable piece from the floor for people wishing to practice macha (powdered green tea). I might mention that tea ceremony and all other manner of bowing from the seiza (sitting) position, both long ago and now, is built around lines on tatami mats. For example, depending on your rank, you sit on a certain mat at a certain place and bow this far or that far from the edge of the mat. Thus, these tatami mats are not placed in any room willy-nilly, but all according to some ancient plan. This tea room was got to by a narrow walkway skirting the garden, covered by a bamboo veranda.

The tea ceremony here, in contrast to the other ceremonies I’ve been to, had a third person (besides the person doing the ceremony and her helper), who attended. It was a man whose sole job was to sit and explain various things to the guests (us), to be conversational, and to overall create a nice atmosphere. He explained about the tea, the tools being used, the ikebana display and then read and explained the writings on the scroll (which are often written in such a messy and mysterious way as to be unreadable to most Japanese people).

Now, to the character I met. First of all there was the guy who worked there. And by that I mean as a part time job or what not, and he was the only person present (minus me), who was not dressed in a kimono. His job was mainly to greet guests and take pictures, but he was quite exceptionally friendly to me and I found him a pleasant sort of young man. Then there was the owner of the kimono shop and heir of the place, and I took to him quite expediently. He was dressed in lovely, grand evergreen robes and looked like he could have been the crowned prince or something. That’s not to say he was exceptionally good looking or young (late 30s perhaps), but he had that regal sort of air about him, and dressed as he was, it was as though he’d stepped right out of the past, or that I’d stepped into it. Even so, he was a pleasant fellow, kind and quick to smile, not at all stuck up, nor did he have that feeling that many really rich people do. There was a woman (who I assume to be his wife), who skirted by us a time or two, but didn’t say much. She gave the second tea ceremony and she was dressed in the most beautiful kimono I’ve ever seen. Of course, if she’s married to a Kimono maker, she should be. But it was so gorgeous. It was a light, powder-blue with pink Sakura petals here and there on it, and the Obi was so elegant, embroidered to look like a painting of pastels, almost like a spring mountain scene so that, to look at her from the back, her entire ensemble could have been a grand painting on a wall. It was magnificent. There was the calligraphy master’s wife, also in green who we didn’t talk to much, and in our group a lovely, thin older lady who was all smiles and humility. And then there was the master.

Oh if he wasn’t a character. He had long hair, pulled back in a ponytail and gave me a cheery speech on how samurai of old kept away from the sins of drink and women and achieved balance and strength by practicing tea ceremony, calligraphy and ink painting to quiet their soul. It was these practices that renewed them for the next days discipline. He was dressed in yellow robes, and a very interesting man indeed, and not near so old as I’d imagined him to be. To know his personality, is to understand what my host mother means when she says, “He lives in the mountains in Nara.” Indeed.

He seemed a quite spontaneous fellow and on a whim had us all sitting around him and he determined to make each of us an ink painting. And then he pulled out a piece of paper, a brush and began. And it was like magic. To do it, one would have to know exactly how much ink was on the brush and how it would come off the paper, and have a very clear idea in mind of what they wanted to paint. But without a pause for thought, he would start moving his hand over the paper, and as if by magic, by some enchantment, what seems like random scribbles and scrawls from a brush running out of ink, suddenly transforms into a mountain scene or a river with boats or whatever else he can think up. There were paintings of Sakura, and mountain streams and even tea ceremonies and it was lovely. And he was insistent that we all write whatever thoughts (or words) came to mind to express our feelings. He was insistent about this because he wanted the day, the experience, and the painting itself not to be just about him, but about us all together.

In other news, though not necessarily good news, our school (as I suppose all Japanese schools do) had a mandatory health check day on the 15th. Now, I had to have a freaking physical before I came, so I assumed myself exempted from this (you need one per year). No one said a word to me and I thought I was in the clear. And then, true to form, my school leaders e-mail me around 9 pm the night before saying I need to be there the next day at somewhere around 8:30 am. Now, it takes me an hour and 20 min. to get to school. You do the math. I was ready to murder someone. But, as they say here, shoganai (It can’t be helped), so I dragged my lady butt into the school bright and early and had to begin the regime. First there was the form to fill out (all in Kanji/Japanese of course) and you don’t know the humiliation of having a nurse explain tuberculosis, diarrhea, constipation, etc. to you via charades in front of the whole student body. That being done, I was then instructed to go find a bathroom and pee in a cup. We’ve all done this, right? Not in Japan you haven’t. The Japanese urine cup is a bit behind the times. Unlike it’s modern American counterpart (unpleasant but fairly easy to use), the Japanese urine ‘kit’ consists of a… to explain the ‘cup’ I must call to your mind the small paper cups at McDonald’s into which people squirt ketchup for their fries. Have that in your mind? That’s what they give you. And a small squirt bottle reminiscent of a tube of lotion, only empty. Thus, if you’re lucky, you get a western toilet, and if not you get one of the toilet’s in the floor (my school is old and backwards and retarded so we have mostly all toilets in the floor). So you’re squatting, or sitting, trying to somehow aim for a ketchup cup, and once you’ve succeeded in that, you must then squeeze all the air out of the bottle and suck the urine up into it to a line (mostly full).

This hurdle thus overcome, I proceeded to an Xray machine in the back of a van, then height/weight and gave blood. Next a vision and hearing test. Then I was told to sit on a conference table and hike my shirt up so they could stick little nodes on my for an EKG. Last was the old, ‘breathe in deep for me,’ and then I was out. Out but irate. Man I hate that school.

The last bit of news is quite the most interesting in my eyes. I’ve often blurbed about KimuTaku at this point. Mr. Takuya Kimura, the veritable Brad Pitt of Japan. One of the biggest money makers and a man with so much pull in the entertainment industry here that planets have started revolving around him. He even got to sing “It’s My Life” with Bon Jovi. Yes, well, he’s been my newest interest lately, and as I was walking with my host mother the other day to the Lawsons 100 (dollar store) just around the corner which I never knew existed, she told me that Mr. Kimura’s mother was coming to our shrine on Friday (the 17th). Of course, my jaw dropped to the floor. It seems she’s to make a speech about motherhood on June 26th and wanted to have it at our shrine, thus she was coming to check the place out. My host mom was fairly blasé about the news, but my host father and I both went ape. So, Friday afternoon at 1 we were down on the first floor, ready to receive her. She was a very beautiful lady. She looked somewhere around 40 though she’d have to be 60 or so in reality. She had that elegant, opulently rich and refined air about her, like a lady who might go to the races in a big hat. Her makeup was light and flattering and her clothes probably designer. Even so, she was polite and gentle and kind in her speech. I introduced myself and brought her some tea and she complimented my Japanese (as everyone in this country does, even if you can only say one word), and went so far as to say I had very pretty Japanese, prettier and more refined that most young people today. After that I went off and was set at the shrine’s main office window where I received a very handsome man, tan and tall and obviously (as was later confirmed) a surfer. He’d driven all the way from IbaragI (which is quite a long way), to pick up the Daruma dolls we hadn’t sold at New Years. It turns out he makes the dolls himself, which I find to be very interesting indeed. He was humble to everyone and only slightly embarrassed when my host mother harangued him about not being married yet and then he packed up his boxes and left. Around then, KimuTaku’s mom finished her discussion with my host dad, we all posed for a picture and then she was on her way out the door like a Hollywood actress walking the red carpet.

Well anyways, that’s all I’ve got for now, though I’m off to a baseball game on Friday, so that should be fun/interesting. Who knows when I’ll post again. I won’t make any promises, but I’ll get back to you when I can!

Fangirlism

Well, today I dipped into true fangirlism. I did what only a groupie would do. I became a true fan girl for a day, and even I think I was insane. Let me set the stage. Probably the coldest freaking day of the freaking year: overcast and windy and me in a thin top, a coat and leggings. You see, I was going to Harajuku because Alice Nine was going to be at a taping of a radio program there, and as it’s only like 10 min. away by train, and as I promised myself that while I was in Japan I would do everything fan girl/see Alice Nine as many times as humanly possible, since I may not get to ever again, so I went. You see, the studio is a station called Ameba, which is typically a blog hosting site (for famous and non-famous people alike), and they have a radio station which they tape and stream online. Well, they’d been advertising for some time that Shou, Hiroto and Tora were going to be there today for a show from 5:30 to 6:15, and if you wanted, you could potentially get tickets and watch. Awesome, right? Well, we’ll see.

So they rules, or guidelines if you like, were to line up at 11 am, at 12 noon they let everyone in line pick a number out of a box, and the people with numbers 1-350 got a chance to watch. Okay, an hour isn’t so bad, right? Well, of course, being the OCD person that I am, I show up at like 10:30, but there’s already a line, so whatever, right. Freezing my butt off. Freezing my butt off. Freezing my butt off. And we hit 12. Still nothing. Two young men dressed in snazzy black jackets and scarves (one who was the spitting image of Lee Jun Ki but with deep blue, almost imperceptible streaks in his hair), come down the line with one of those clicker counter things, and looking behind me is a line of probably 900 people in all. (So 1 in 3 get to go, right?) Anyways. These two young men spend another 40 freaking minutes sporadically telling us to scrunch up, or move back, or move over out of the way (since we’re on the sidewalk). Also, from time to time they come by to explain the rules, though in the most polite Japanese there is, so I don’t understand a word. And I’m freezing my butt off. Freezing my butt off. A lane of traffic beside us is cordoned off and then a very strange procession makes its way down the street: a few dudes dressed as ghosts howling, a few people waving flags that I’m only guessing had to do with graduation (it’s that time of year), and others with megaphones making some fervent speech about something I couldn’t catch. It was all quite strange. And I’m freezing my butt off. And I’m freezing my butt off. Freezing… Finally a girl comes up with a makeshift box with a hole in the top and I’m told to pull out a number. I look down at it and it has #197 written on it, a time (16:45) and a bunch of rules in Kanji I can’t read. So, I’m assuming they have the winning 350 numbers up somewhere (at this point I thought it was just a regular luck-of-the-draw lotto you see. So I go up to the Ameba front window (it faces onto the street), but instead of numbers, there are only polaroids signed by celebrities. I notice how everyone else has broken off and are going all ways, so I go home to wait it out til 4.

Come 4:30 It’s now even colder. I go, expecting a line or at least people checking some sort of board with numbers on it and still I find nothing. I walk around until the allotted 4:45 and notice a huge line of about 350 people that somehow I’d missed before. It still has not dawned on me that people who drew numbers under 351 were good to go, so I went up to a girl managing the line who worked there, showed her my ticket and asked where the crap I was supposed to go. Evidentally we were lining up in order, and after a few tries, I found my place. And we waited and it got dark and it got colder and I’m freezing my butt off again. Freezing my butt off. Freezing my butt off. It’s 5:15, the show starts at 5:30 and nothing’s happening and I’m freezing my butt off. Why aren’t we going in? Freezing, freezing, freezing, 5:30, freezing, freezing, 5:35, what-ho we’re moving. But… Alas… We’re not going inside. Now previous to this last 2 + hours of standing, I had wondered to myself just where they were going to fit 350 people in such a small looking building. Oh where indeed. I was in for a bit of a disappointment. Rather than getting to go in somewhere, sit down and watch the entire 45 min. performance, they were cutting us into groups and moving us in front of the window for 5 min. spans of time. Oh yes. 4+ hours of waiting for 5 min. I was slightly saddened at this discover. My toes were numb, my cheeks chapped, my hands now red with cold and I was freezing my butt off. It was dark by now and colder than it had been and I could have sworn I felt miniscule raindrops. Was this really worth it? Was it indeed. I was leaning towards no. And then, my turn came and we got to up to the window and there sat Tora (ever cool, with his shades on), Hiroto and Shou, all smiles and laughter, as close as if we were sitting on opposite couches. By the way yes, I AM a lunatic/dork/insert-word-here. Of course they were answering questions fans had sent in, and while Hiroto went on about his spoilt Pomeranian (which admittedly made me love him a little more), Shou spent his time looking at the crowd, each and every one, and being the overall sweetheart that I find him to be, even taking time out to get up in the window and read some letter a girl had plastered up there for him to see. What was really so cool about it was, first of all getting to see them upclose (and yes, they do look just as good as they do in the pictures), but also to actually interact with them, making eye contact, waving to each other, etc., which you don't get to do really at lives.

So anways, there was lots of fun chit-chat and laughter and then, when our 5 min. were up, we were all ushered out of the cordoned off space, the fans (myself included) waving goodbye and the guys all waving back. And that was it. Yes, that was all. All that time in the blustery, wintery weather for a brief 5 min. But yes, it was totally worth it. I tell you now, it was worth it. That being said, it was the most fan-girly thing I’ve ever done and I probably won’t do it again, but still… I’m glad I did. Granted, by the time I got back to my apartment, I literally couldn’t feel my toes, but a piping hot bath and two cans of warm coffee took care of that easily enough.

On quite another note (and sorry, this post is turning out long), you remember my last post about old KimuTaku? (If not, refer below). Well, I’ve broken down and decided to watch one of his more famous dramas to see if it furthers or retards my liking of him. In fact, I’ve taken up two (Gift and Beautiful Life), but have decided to start with the latter, as, from the description of Gift, I’m afraid it would sully my already shaky impression of him (you see, I watched Million Stars Fall From The Sky, and that just wasn’t alright). But, much to my chagrin, Beautiful Life is a terminal illness storyline (you just knew it would be). At least it has the decency though, to tell you right at the beginning, basically, “I’m/you’re dead now, let’s reflect on our past relationship” rather than moving things along and then boom, hitting you with the low blow of surprise cancer/leukemia/insert-terminal-illness-here. (I didn’t mean that to sound harsh). So I’m probably setting myself up for a fall, but I tried Pride once before and since I don’t like hockey, I couldn’t get into it. Well, getting back to what I’d originally wanted to say, in the description of Beautiful Life, on top of saying she’s in a wheelchair, he’s not, they like each other and try to cope (which is the premise from the get-go), it says they’re drawn closer together by a terrible car accident. Well that’s just great! So I’m now halfway through episode 6 and for the first time, they’re in the car TOGETHER, and of course it’s raining and they’re fighting and I just know it’s about to happen and I’m finding it difficult to push through. I suppose I’ll find a way to muscle through it, but I really just don’t want to. Well, we’ll see what progress I make. Anywho… tomorrow my host brother and his girlfriend are taking me to what they call an Izakaya (which basically is a place where you go after work to drink and have appetizers, sorta like a bar but classier), called The Lockup, though from what I’ve heard about The Lockup, it’s not so much (or at all really) an Izakaya as it is a themed restaurant. I’m not so sure about this place. But they want to go so hey, if they’re willing to take me, why protest? Anyway, I’ll blog about that later. Above is a picture from the taping (which I nabbed from a person called mandramoddle, so thanks to her for that). Well, talk to you cats later!

I Think I'm Turning Japanese

How does the song go... "I think I'm turning Japanese. I really think so." Well, maybe not TURNING Japanese, but I'm at least one step closer. I discovered much to my bafflement and surprise (and perhaps even an pinch of disappointment), that I've quite fallen for Kimura Takuya. For those of you who don't know him, old KimuTaku (as the Japanese affectionately call him), is pretty much the premiere talent in this country. Everyone knows who he is. He makes wads of cash and does music, commercials, dramas, movies, magazines, variety shows... you name it, he does it. And he's been doing it since...just about since I was born. I mean Bon Jovi let him sing "It's My Life" as a duet with him. So anyways, most of the people here love KimuTaku, and everyone knows everything about him, whether they like him or not. Except me. I was always that one exception. And then yesterday I watched a clip from SMAPXSMAP (the variety show he hosts with the other guys in his band, SMAP), and I finally got it. In a mere 20 min., everything just clicked. And I can't really say why. It's like some mysterious power that is inexplicable. I mean, he's not a great singer, he played a weirdo/creep in the only drama I've ever seen him in, he's not what one would call conventionally handsome and he's much, much older than myself. But still... there's just something there. So, I have taken yet another step to being absorbed into the living organism that is Japan.

In other news, I went with my host parents today to the family grave, as this time is when everyone goes to visit/pray/clean their family graves. The Nishiyama family's graves happen to be a pretty dang far way away, so I got to take a roadtrip (3 hrs. each way), into the rural, mountainous (if that's a word), country. It is, in just about every way, different than Tokyo. And yet it was so lovely. The mountains are very unlike our own in the US, because where as our mountains are kind of like large, rolling hills with even slopes that swell to a top, the mountains here are very sharp and tall and thin, as though jutting up from the ground like overgrown stalactites. Or rather like God reached down, grabbed up a handfull of grass and jerked it upwards, and things just stayed there. They're sporadic and not really connected to each other, and not rolling but jagged looking, though entirely covered with trees and shrouded in an eerie, Samurai fog when it rains. Also, in the country, there are very few towns, most of the land being used as stretching rice paddies with one lone, ramrod straight road running through them for harvesters. When there is a town, it's not much to speak of. Usually, but not always, there is a gas station, sometimes a grocery, inevitably a bunch of very towering, grandiose-looking houses built in the old style (regardless of whether they really have money or not, they look grandiose), and there is always a Pachinko parlor. There may not even be a gas station, but there's a Pachinko parlor.

We finally got to Batou, which is where my host father's family hails from and where the graves are, and stopped to by fresh veggies/fruit (it's Strawberry season now), and to have lunch. Though they did serve Horse Sashimi (yes friends, that's raw horse meat), we opted not to have that, and stayed save with soba noodles and fried tempura, which was good and nice and warm on a chilly, rainy day. Then we pushed on to the house of my host father's second cousin, who runs the shrine in that town and holds down the fort on the family's ancient land. For countless generations, the Nishiyama family has been a family of Shinto priests and, strangely enough, doctors. The aforementioned second cousin's father had died just last year and he had to give up being both a pilot and a cop to come back to Japan and take over being a priest. Talk about being dedicated to your roots. As such, my host dad talked with him for a long time about general priest stuff that I don't understand, and while he did that, the cousin's wife showed us around her house. As it is a traditional Japanese house, I'd never seen one before, so she showed me around. Of course all the rooms have tatami mat floors and no beds, but futons. Instead of doors, they have sliding wooden doors that are covered, not with paper, but with silk on which are hand-painted scenes of Sakura (cherry blossoms), sparrows, bamboo, etc. Most of the rooms were full of priest stuff (their Hatama leggings, robes, special offering stuff, etc.,) but in one room, where the big shelf/cutout thing is where they hang the scroll to the god, she showed us a bowl made back in the edo era (a LONG time ago, pre-USA), a fake samurai helmet made all of money, a display case of ancient arrows, and a real katana sword, which evidentally you have to have a special license to even own and it has to be tied shut. So that was cool. I also got to check out a real Kotatsu, which is a heated table thing. Let me describe. There is a deep cut out in the floor long enough to hang your legs in, as if you were sitting on a ledge. On the bottom part, where your feet are, under raised slats of wood, is a POWERFUL heater. Then there is a table covering it, and blankets thrown over the top of the table so that when you slide your legs in, you put them under the blanket. Hard to describe, but there you have it. Also I went to a Ukio-e (wood block paintings) museum and had a strange Japanese dessert with red beans, jelly cubes and soft serve ice cream.

But before that, we went to the graves. Now, most people in Japan are both Shinto and Buddhist and celebrate both ways. When they are born, they have Shinto rites over them, when they die they have a Buddhist funeral. This is true for almost everyone. However, as my host father's family has always been Shinto priests, they're a little special and so you take care of their graves differently. The first set of graves we went to were very tall things with names and employment positions on them. Up until I think it was the Meiji era, though I forgot what I was told, Buddhism and Shinto were the same in Japan and so a person could be both a Temple Master (Buddhist) and a Shinto priest (Shinto). Some of the ancestors of the Nishiyama family were both. Moving on... So for the Shinto graves, you pour water over the top of the stone to clean it off, you light candles before the grave, you put mostly leaves or green plants in vases, and when you pray you clap twice. Also, you offer sake. However, there were some family members (more distant) that were buried Buddhist, and we went to see their graves too. As with the Shinto graves, you pour water over the stone to clean it off, and instead of candles, you burn incense, and instead of leaves, you put down flowers. Also, no sake and no clapping. So there's a crash course in that. Anyways, and that's really all that happened today.

I got my Kimono yesterday and wish me luck on figuring out how to do it. I've been shown twice and still seem to be quite lost. You wouldn't imagine how difficult it is. Just folding it back up the right way to put away takes 20 freakin' minutes! Even so, I'm gonna do my best to get it on tomorrow and go for my tea class. Also, my host brother's girlfriend just graduated and we're going on for dinner to celebrate. Then on Sunday I'm going to TRY desperately to get tickets (it's a raffle, so it'll take luck), to get in to see a taping of ALICE NINE!!! at the Ameba studio in Harajuku. Gosh I hope I get to go! We'll see. Then monday I finally have a day off, then Tues. meeting with my advisor and hoping, really hoping, that he can tell me what classes are offered this semester, when those classes are and... you know... when the first day of class is. I feel like I'm going to have a conniption most of the time. These freaking people. I hate my school. Then on Wed. I have a concert (The KIDDIE) and then on the 3rd, I'm going to Hanami which is sorta like a picnic/party where everyone takes time out to go and sit under the Cherry Blossom trees and admire them. They're just about to blossom here in Tokyo and everyone's already got lanterns strung up down the rivers and in the parks, pretty pinkish red and white lanterns for night viewing, once the buds finally bloom. So, not much longer for that! Anywho, I'll upload pics soon, though I didn't get many. Talk to you guys later! Wish me luck with everything!