SHORT STORIES
JAPAN DIARIES 2006
Monday, July 20, 2009
HEY ALL!
WE WENT TO JAPAN IN FEBRUARY.
IT WAS DOPE.
HERE'S A RELATIVE PLAY BY PLAY.....
FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE LIKE MYSELF AND ARE TOTALLY REPULSED BY SELF-INDULGENT SONGWRITERS MEMOIRS- - - - CHEERS!
DAY 1
It was one of those rare, uneventful, unhurried and suspiciously painless airport experiences.
It's always a pleasantly frustrating surprise to find that you've overestimated the amount of time you thought you needed at the airport, and that you could have, in fact, slept a little later, dreamed a little longer and rushed a little less. Miraculously, there was no line.
The terminal seemed empty. I didn't see any other passengers, just calm, cool, uniformed Korean ticket-taker's, welcoming us with a smile and an unspoken eager promise to be kind, swift and efficient in the handling of our baggage.
I began entertaining the notion that maybe, indeed, I was still at home sleeping, for I had never seen tranquility so displaced in all my life. Every airport experience I have had, since i've been born, has been a frantic, unenjoyable collision of stress and aggravation. As far as I'm concerned, one is not ALLOWED to enjoy going to the airport. It is something to be dreaded, and nothing more.
That's why I thought that I must be afloat in the sheets and the safety of my own bed- buried deep in Hollywood - dreaming of this glorious affair.
But quite shortly into the daydream, I was awakened by our fearless
Korean Air ticket agent who looked me right in the eye, didn't blink or flinch- hesitated for a long, mysterious second and then reached out to me, handed me my ticket and said it.
They were words that would make a sizable dent in my memory.
"Have a nice fright, Mr. Bronko".
It was a curious start.
•-
The first quick surprises arrived with the food on the plane.
Notable white fish.
I'd like to think it was lightly breaded and sautéed on a nearby grill with red and green pepper cubes, onions, salt and paprika then placed evenly next to the white rice and vegetables, but I don't think they've got a skillet in the rear of the plane. And I don't think the stewardess', competent as they had been, had the wherewithal to cook for 150 people at once at 35,000 feet.
They do, however, have the means to make fresh chocolate chip cookies.
Warm, too,
Another surprise.
Unfortunately, that was the last of the surprises.
The rest of the flight was filled with me thinking of ways to temporarily cut off my legs and arms so I can get comfortable and possibly get some sleep. Two very steep requests, apparently, for a 747.
Arrival.
After a brush w/ a malnurished Customs agent, we meet Moto and Keiji (our hosts) and ride 2 hours to Kamakura. When we roll in, Kamakura feels more like a village than a city and nothing short of the perfect place to start the tour. A soft rain fell unobserved. If you looked hard enough, you could see the street lamps admiring their reflection in the drizzled pavement. And if you looked even harder, you could see a tall American tourist scribbling mediocre witticisms about the weather into a notebook bought at STAPLES, and sadly mistaking it for poetry.
Time for bed.
DAY 2 :KAMAKURA
I awoke in the morning with a request from the white fish.
He apparently wanted an encore.
The bathroom was quite small. I compare it to the size of a room you keep bad memories in. It was not what they called a western-style bathroom. Frankly, I don't know what style it was. It was more like a small sink, hastily dug into the floor, and attached to a rusted pulley.
Immediately I begin thinking about an advertisement I had seen on the plane. It was for a Sony cellular phone that had a still camera, a video camera, a music player, Internet connections, and a toaster. And another ad I saw for a digital camera the size of a quarter that was also a translator, a calculator, a DVD player and a beard-trimmer.
I wondered what prevents a culture that's so technologically advanced from doing research into somethng so simple as plumbing accessories or, at the very least, basic ceramics.
With all these thoughts circling I ventured, unaccompanied and unschooled, into the cold foreign netherworld of vulnerability. I swore I would take my time. I kept repeating over and over to myself that there was no rush and to relax. I thought if I could just relax, and take it slow, there would be less chance of an unfortunate accident. But I didn't consider how difficult it is to relax while your pants are down, especially when you're in a strange, unheated room performing a magical, unrehearsed balancing act while praying earnestly to any god who will listen. Nobody told me how difficult it would be. Nobody warned me. And, most importantly, nobody told me I was supposed to remove my pants entirely when using a traditional Japanese bathroom.
I pee'd all over the back of my jeans.
It was 6am, Kamakura time.
The day was only ahead of me.
I walked to the beach and extended the Pacific Ocean a deep breath and a few sacrificial beach pebbles. The sky was overcast and I was alone except for an old man with an umbrella. He was humming loudly a faded song as he faced the water. I felt like something important was happening, but I was missing it.
I walked back to the hotel to do laundry.
____
DAY 3- NAGOYA
Mt. Fuji pulled itself through the clouds just long enough for us to take a quick picture of it. It's snow-capped teeth graciously smiled for us as we clicked.
The rest stop was filled with fish cakes and vending machines and western boys scribbling landscape narratives into a notebook bought at STAPLES and sadly mistaking them for poetry.
We were headed for Nagoya.
If Tokyo is Los Angeles, and Osaka is San Francisco, then Nagoya is like Bakersfield. It's like Bakersfield if Bakersfield had better sushi.
We checked into the hotel and had a half-hour before sound check.
I wearily opened the bathroom door to check our plumbing situation and, with luck, discovered a western style toilet.
But this bowl came with a seat-heater, a bidet, and something labeled "SPRAY".
The "Spray" function came equipped with a choice of four temperature levels and a remote to help aim the device correctly.
I was perplexed.
Yesterday, I pissed all over myself and sprained my ankle while going to the bathroom- And today, I'm about to get a personal rectal cleaning with water heated to whatever temperature I want.
There seems to be a conflict buried deep in the bowels of the Japanese people....
Or maybe it's just me.
We played a place called KD JAPON- it was packed and sweaty and dreamy.
I went looking for trouble in the red light district later on that night, but trouble seemed to be hiding from me in the warm dark places known only to locals.
I jumped on some late night noodles and smoked the last of my first pack of Japanese cigarettes. The brand is called HOPE...ironically; they are shorter and cheaper than regular cigarettes.
DAY 4 - OSAKA
Osaka is a giant pinball machine.
Lights, bells, movement, whistles, traffic, octopus balls, bicycles, 6-story camera stores, Ferris wheels under construction, sex shops, aquariums, musty tunnels underground, rattling trains overhead, pachinko after pachinko after pachinko, department stores piled on top of each other, neon, flyers, posters, purple plastic dragon statues, 7 eleven, vending machines armed with beer and cigarettes, Denny's and western boys scribbling abstractions into a notebook bought at STAPLES and sadly mistaking them for poetry.
DAY 5 - HIROSHIMA
After our show at Kapone, I was fortunate enough to be kidnapped by some locals to witness some of Hiroshima's nightlife. It consisted of booze, live music, food and bars.
Thankfully, I am well versed in all 4 of these arenas.
The club was hosting a band called the TEENAGE NIGHT-something-or-others and they hadn't started yet. It was four sassy 20-year-old girls all dressed the same way, pink dresses, bob haircuts and oversized instruments.
I waited.
The 90-pound drummer clacked her sticks together four times and they were on...
The music hit like a strong wave with an even stronger undertow- it knocked me down and pulled me in. They were screaming at the top of their lungs and banging hard on their instruments, which were, thankfully, in tune. They keyboard player had her leg up on the keyboard. As she screamed, I wasn't sure if she was playing the right notes, but I was sure that it didn't matter. The bass player was close to me, and I counted her fillings. 12.
I started thinking about taking them to Los Angeles with me and having them open up every show for us.
It was then I knew I was drunk.
I hailed a cab and showed him the address of the hotel that was written in Japanese on my arm with a sharpie.
We had the next day off and some time to spare. We woke up and went to the Hiroshima Memorial. It was an in-depth, step-by-step walk-through of the entire bombing of Hiroshima. Diagrams, official letters, timelines, recovered artifacts, melting mannequins and more. There's a lot to say about this...but, for now, let's just say that if you are looking for a fun, uplifting way to start your day, the Hiroshima Memorial will fall quite late on your list.
we had 4 more shows...more to come!
WE WENT TO JAPAN IN FEBRUARY.
IT WAS DOPE.
HERE'S A RELATIVE PLAY BY PLAY.....
FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE LIKE MYSELF AND ARE TOTALLY REPULSED BY SELF-INDULGENT SONGWRITERS MEMOIRS- - - - CHEERS!
DAY 1
It was one of those rare, uneventful, unhurried and suspiciously painless airport experiences.
It's always a pleasantly frustrating surprise to find that you've overestimated the amount of time you thought you needed at the airport, and that you could have, in fact, slept a little later, dreamed a little longer and rushed a little less. Miraculously, there was no line.
The terminal seemed empty. I didn't see any other passengers, just calm, cool, uniformed Korean ticket-taker's, welcoming us with a smile and an unspoken eager promise to be kind, swift and efficient in the handling of our baggage.
I began entertaining the notion that maybe, indeed, I was still at home sleeping, for I had never seen tranquility so displaced in all my life. Every airport experience I have had, since i've been born, has been a frantic, unenjoyable collision of stress and aggravation. As far as I'm concerned, one is not ALLOWED to enjoy going to the airport. It is something to be dreaded, and nothing more.
That's why I thought that I must be afloat in the sheets and the safety of my own bed- buried deep in Hollywood - dreaming of this glorious affair.
But quite shortly into the daydream, I was awakened by our fearless
Korean Air ticket agent who looked me right in the eye, didn't blink or flinch- hesitated for a long, mysterious second and then reached out to me, handed me my ticket and said it.
They were words that would make a sizable dent in my memory.
"Have a nice fright, Mr. Bronko".
It was a curious start.
•-
The first quick surprises arrived with the food on the plane.
Notable white fish.
I'd like to think it was lightly breaded and sautéed on a nearby grill with red and green pepper cubes, onions, salt and paprika then placed evenly next to the white rice and vegetables, but I don't think they've got a skillet in the rear of the plane. And I don't think the stewardess', competent as they had been, had the wherewithal to cook for 150 people at once at 35,000 feet.
They do, however, have the means to make fresh chocolate chip cookies.
Warm, too,
Another surprise.
Unfortunately, that was the last of the surprises.
The rest of the flight was filled with me thinking of ways to temporarily cut off my legs and arms so I can get comfortable and possibly get some sleep. Two very steep requests, apparently, for a 747.
Arrival.
After a brush w/ a malnurished Customs agent, we meet Moto and Keiji (our hosts) and ride 2 hours to Kamakura. When we roll in, Kamakura feels more like a village than a city and nothing short of the perfect place to start the tour. A soft rain fell unobserved. If you looked hard enough, you could see the street lamps admiring their reflection in the drizzled pavement. And if you looked even harder, you could see a tall American tourist scribbling mediocre witticisms about the weather into a notebook bought at STAPLES, and sadly mistaking it for poetry.
Time for bed.
DAY 2 :KAMAKURA
I awoke in the morning with a request from the white fish.
He apparently wanted an encore.
The bathroom was quite small. I compare it to the size of a room you keep bad memories in. It was not what they called a western-style bathroom. Frankly, I don't know what style it was. It was more like a small sink, hastily dug into the floor, and attached to a rusted pulley.
Immediately I begin thinking about an advertisement I had seen on the plane. It was for a Sony cellular phone that had a still camera, a video camera, a music player, Internet connections, and a toaster. And another ad I saw for a digital camera the size of a quarter that was also a translator, a calculator, a DVD player and a beard-trimmer.
I wondered what prevents a culture that's so technologically advanced from doing research into somethng so simple as plumbing accessories or, at the very least, basic ceramics.
With all these thoughts circling I ventured, unaccompanied and unschooled, into the cold foreign netherworld of vulnerability. I swore I would take my time. I kept repeating over and over to myself that there was no rush and to relax. I thought if I could just relax, and take it slow, there would be less chance of an unfortunate accident. But I didn't consider how difficult it is to relax while your pants are down, especially when you're in a strange, unheated room performing a magical, unrehearsed balancing act while praying earnestly to any god who will listen. Nobody told me how difficult it would be. Nobody warned me. And, most importantly, nobody told me I was supposed to remove my pants entirely when using a traditional Japanese bathroom.
I pee'd all over the back of my jeans.
It was 6am, Kamakura time.
The day was only ahead of me.
I walked to the beach and extended the Pacific Ocean a deep breath and a few sacrificial beach pebbles. The sky was overcast and I was alone except for an old man with an umbrella. He was humming loudly a faded song as he faced the water. I felt like something important was happening, but I was missing it.
I walked back to the hotel to do laundry.
____
DAY 3- NAGOYA
Mt. Fuji pulled itself through the clouds just long enough for us to take a quick picture of it. It's snow-capped teeth graciously smiled for us as we clicked.
The rest stop was filled with fish cakes and vending machines and western boys scribbling landscape narratives into a notebook bought at STAPLES and sadly mistaking them for poetry.
We were headed for Nagoya.
If Tokyo is Los Angeles, and Osaka is San Francisco, then Nagoya is like Bakersfield. It's like Bakersfield if Bakersfield had better sushi.
We checked into the hotel and had a half-hour before sound check.
I wearily opened the bathroom door to check our plumbing situation and, with luck, discovered a western style toilet.
But this bowl came with a seat-heater, a bidet, and something labeled "SPRAY".
The "Spray" function came equipped with a choice of four temperature levels and a remote to help aim the device correctly.
I was perplexed.
Yesterday, I pissed all over myself and sprained my ankle while going to the bathroom- And today, I'm about to get a personal rectal cleaning with water heated to whatever temperature I want.
There seems to be a conflict buried deep in the bowels of the Japanese people....
Or maybe it's just me.
We played a place called KD JAPON- it was packed and sweaty and dreamy.
I went looking for trouble in the red light district later on that night, but trouble seemed to be hiding from me in the warm dark places known only to locals.
I jumped on some late night noodles and smoked the last of my first pack of Japanese cigarettes. The brand is called HOPE...ironically; they are shorter and cheaper than regular cigarettes.
DAY 4 - OSAKA
Osaka is a giant pinball machine.
Lights, bells, movement, whistles, traffic, octopus balls, bicycles, 6-story camera stores, Ferris wheels under construction, sex shops, aquariums, musty tunnels underground, rattling trains overhead, pachinko after pachinko after pachinko, department stores piled on top of each other, neon, flyers, posters, purple plastic dragon statues, 7 eleven, vending machines armed with beer and cigarettes, Denny's and western boys scribbling abstractions into a notebook bought at STAPLES and sadly mistaking them for poetry.
DAY 5 - HIROSHIMA
After our show at Kapone, I was fortunate enough to be kidnapped by some locals to witness some of Hiroshima's nightlife. It consisted of booze, live music, food and bars.
Thankfully, I am well versed in all 4 of these arenas.
The club was hosting a band called the TEENAGE NIGHT-something-or-others and they hadn't started yet. It was four sassy 20-year-old girls all dressed the same way, pink dresses, bob haircuts and oversized instruments.
I waited.
The 90-pound drummer clacked her sticks together four times and they were on...
The music hit like a strong wave with an even stronger undertow- it knocked me down and pulled me in. They were screaming at the top of their lungs and banging hard on their instruments, which were, thankfully, in tune. They keyboard player had her leg up on the keyboard. As she screamed, I wasn't sure if she was playing the right notes, but I was sure that it didn't matter. The bass player was close to me, and I counted her fillings. 12.
I started thinking about taking them to Los Angeles with me and having them open up every show for us.
It was then I knew I was drunk.
I hailed a cab and showed him the address of the hotel that was written in Japanese on my arm with a sharpie.
We had the next day off and some time to spare. We woke up and went to the Hiroshima Memorial. It was an in-depth, step-by-step walk-through of the entire bombing of Hiroshima. Diagrams, official letters, timelines, recovered artifacts, melting mannequins and more. There's a lot to say about this...but, for now, let's just say that if you are looking for a fun, uplifting way to start your day, the Hiroshima Memorial will fall quite late on your list.
we had 4 more shows...more to come!
