theresaurus

July 4, 2015

Old

Filed under: Uncategorized — theresaurus @ 11:43 pm

Drive-by shooting of an old country woman:

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Tiny old woman I used to see all the time at the supermarket, but I haven’t seen her in about a year:

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An old man sells yakitori outside the supermarket once or twice a week, it’s served in paper cups:

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Down the street old guys had a kind of camp where they hung out.   They fed stray white cats:

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But now:

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Cats are still around.  My favorite was the only friendly one, a big old white cat with different colored eyes.  It had broken a front paw at some point and walked on the bent part.  He was talkative and ran over to me when he saw me, even let me pet him.  Haven’t seen him for over a year, either.

July 3, 2015

Happy Birthday Kafka

Filed under: Uncategorized — theresaurus @ 11:22 pm

From The Diaries of Franz Kafka:

Slept, awoke, slept, awoke, miserable life.

The craving that I almost have, when for once I feel my stomach is healthy, to heap up in me notions of terrible deeds of daring with food.  I especially satisfy this craving in front of port butchers.  If I see a sausage that is labeled as an old, hard sausage, I bite into it in my imagination with all my teeth and swallow quickly, regularly and thoroughly like a machine.  The despair that this act, even in the imagination, has as its immediate result, increases my haste.  I shove the long slabs of rib meat unbitten into my mouth, and then pull them out again from behind, tearing through the stomach and intestines.  I eat dirty delicatessen stores completely empty.  Cram myself with herrings, pickles and all the bad, old, sharp foods.  Bonbons are poured into me like hail from their tin boxes.  I can enjoy in this way not only my healthy condition but also a suffering that is without pain and can pass at once.

Apathetic, witless, fearful.  I have nothing to say to anyone — never.

The greed for books is certain in me.  Not really to own or to read them, but to see them, to convince myself of their actuality in the stalls of the booksellers.  …  It is though this greed came from my stomach, as though it were a perverse appetite.

At bottom, I am an incapable, ignorant person, who, if he had not been compelled — without any effort of his own part and scarcely aware of the compulsion — to go to school, would be fit only to crouch in a kennel, to leap out when food is offered and to leap back when he has swallowed it.

Self-pity, because it is cold, because of everything.  Now, at half-past nine at night, someone in the next apartment is hammering a nail into the wall between us.

The difficulties (which other people surely find incredible) I have in speaking to people arise formthe fact that my thinking, or rather the content of my consciousness, is entirely nebulous, that I remain undisturbed by this, so far as it concerns only myself, and am even occasionally self-satisfied; yet conversation with people demands pointedness, solidity, and sustained coherence, qualities not to be found in me.

A quarter to two at night.  Across the street a child is crying.  Suddenly a man in the same room, as near to me as if he were just outside the window, speaks.  “I’d rather jump out the window than listen to any more of that.”

Open the diary only in order to lull myself to sleep.  But see what happens to be the last entry and could conceive of thousands of identical ones I might have entered over the past three or four years.

There is a certain failing, lack in me, that is clear and distant enough but difficult to describe: it is a compound of timidity, reserve, talkativeness and half-heartedness; by this I intend to characterize something specific, a group of failings that under a certain aspect constitute one single clearly defined failing (which has nothing to do such grave vices as mendacity, vanity, etc.).

Evening in the garden of the Askanischer Hof.  Ate rice a la Trautmannsdorf and a peach.  A man drinking wine watched my attempts to cut the unripe little peach with my knife.  I couldn’t.  Stricken with shame, under the old man’s eyes, I let the peach go completely and ten times leafed through the Die Fleigenden Blatter.  I wanted to see if he wouldn’t at last turn away.  Finally I collected all my strength and in defiance of him bit into the completely juiceless and expensive peach.  A tall man in the both near me occupied with nothing but the roast he was painstakingly selecting and the wine in the bucket.

What is it that binds you more intimately to these impenetrable, talking, eye-blinking bodies than to any other things, the penholder in your hand, for example?  Because you belong to the same species?  But you don’t belong to the same species, that’s the very reason why you raised this question.  The impenetrable outline of human bodies is horrible.

The necessity of speaking of dancers with exclamation points.  Because in that way one imitates their motion, because one remains in the rhythm and the thought does not then interfere with the enjoyment, because then the action always comes at the end of the sentence and prolongs its effect better.

Those who rejoice in the sun and demand that others rejoice are like drunkards coming from a wedding at night who forces those they meet to drink to the health of the unknown bride.

Together with E.K. of Chicago. … He is wary of marriage, even though he is already thirty-four years old, since American women often marry only in order to get divorced.

When I say something it immediately and finally loses its importance, when I write it down it loses it too, but sometimes gains a new one.

Afternoon.  The way my mother, together with a crowd of women, with a loud voice, is playing with some small children nearby and drove me out of the house.  Don’t cry!   Don’t cry! etc.  That’s his! etc.  Two big people! etc.  He doesn’t want to! … But!  But!

The picture of dissatisfaction presented by a street, where everyone is perpetually lifting his feet to escape from the place on which he stands.

Nothing.

Germany has declared war on Russia — Swimming in the afternoon.

July 2, 2015

Blackberries

Filed under: Uncategorized — theresaurus @ 11:38 pm

This is my favorite garden.  Every year I enjoy watching the blackberries grow.

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And there’s a watermelon too.

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June 29, 2015

Nagoya

Filed under: Japan — theresaurus @ 11:39 pm

Sam saw the supermarket flyer advertising Nagoya specialties and begged me to buy some of the deep-fried pork-on-a-stick with dark miso topping, called miso katsu.  I never make this at home so I did.  It’s really delicious!  Tebasaki chicken wings and large deep-fried shrimp are other famous Nagoya offerings.  I wondered why ebi fry was a specialty here until I found out that the color and shape of fried shrimp reminds people of Nagaya castle.

The castle has big golden dolphin-like creatures on its roof.  When I came to Nagoya for the first time, long ago, I was told these were two grampus.  Well, I’d never heard of “grampus” before.  My English students wouldn’t believe me when I insisted that if they told foreign visitors about the grampus they’d receive blank stares.  The local soccer team is called the Nagoya Grampus.  Everybody knows, what was wrong with me?  I’m not sure what the hell those things up there on the castle really are, but I’m not going to call them grampus.

The Kishimen noodle popular here is different from other udon noodles.  I was told this is because Nagoyans are so stingy that they roll their noodles flat so it cooks faster, saving fuel.  Whatever.

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The miso katsu (I dropped them on the floor right before taking this picture — don’t tell Sam):

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The Nagoya Plate: miso katsu, the tempura shrimp onigiri called tenmusu, and unagi.

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Tebasaki:

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Hatcho miso:

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Kirin’s Nagoya limited brew:

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The castle is a reproduction, much of the city was fire bombed during the war.  Sam said even where we live, on the edge of the city, was thoroughly bombed.  Nagoya had a big aircraft industry — the freeway I can see from here used to be an airport runway.

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A cute little bag;

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The Nagoya coffee shop, Komeda’s Coffee, famous for its old-fashioned “morning service.”

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June 28, 2015

Obama city, Fukui prefecture

Filed under: Japan — theresaurus @ 11:41 pm

We visited Obama city the first summer of Barack Obama’s presidency when the small city’s hopes were high that tourists would flock and souvenirs linking President Obama with the city were readily available.  The Mikestsukuni Wakasa Obama Food Culture Museum gift shop sold an impressive selection of Obama goods:

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At the time we lived in the next prefecture but since Obama was only accessible by local roads, it took hours to get there.  Now there’s a fancy new expressway and even all way from Nagoya didn’t take long at all.  When we revisited Obama this spring, however, the mood was different.  The museum gift shop was gone.  The few President Obama souvenirs we found were in the tourist center.

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Soon nobody will remember President Obama and the original mackerel-loving cat mascot takes over:

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Obama’s last stand:

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Before visiting again, I Internet-searched for others’ experiences in Obama.  The general opinion was: “there’s nothing there.”  It’s true.  It was peak cherry blossom season that weekend, but not many tourists.   The little food museum was deserted.  A few tourist buses stop at Fisherman’s Wharf, everybody gets out and buys souvenirs, they get back in and go.

The port:

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Obama was the origin of the Mackerel Road to Kyoto.  Now there are few fishing boats in Obama port.  I don’t think there’s much fishing going on anymore.

The Miketsukuni Wakasa Obama Food Culture Museum.  These guys come alive at midnight, probably:

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Fish:

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The ancient common people’s diet.  Bummer:

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Pretty mochi:

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The origins of sushi:

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Other things:

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Winter foods:

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Spring:

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Summer:

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Autumn:

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Second floor of the museum, lacquered chopsticks:

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Fisherman’s Wharf:

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I usually buy cheese-in-fish paste, but they only had one kind:

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Fish market across the street from the Fisherman’s Wharf (closes at noon):

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Obama burger.  We looked everywhere for these Obama burgers.  At the tourist center next to the train station where we stopped to get a map, Sam asked about them and we were told to go to the supermarket.  We did, but they said Sunday was Obama Burger day.  No Obama burgers for you.  They’re made with local ingredients.  The bun of rice flour, the burger with sea bream, mackerel, or beef.

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Walking around sleepy Obama city, sleepy old shops, old buildings, hardly anyone around: this is the best thing to do.  A narrow dark covered shopping street with a few shops still open.  Everybody goes to bed early.  It must get dark at night.

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The End.

June 27, 2015

Sky

Filed under: Uncategorized — theresaurus @ 10:44 pm

Sunrise, day, storm, sunset, night.  Many things are happening in the sky.

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June 26, 2015

Weekend

Filed under: Uncategorized — theresaurus @ 11:42 pm

Photos of little Sam:

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The mother-in-law’s laundry hanging out to dry:

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The mother-in-law:

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The Kiso River:

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June 24, 2015

Hydrangeas

Filed under: Uncategorized — theresaurus @ 9:57 pm

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June 23, 2015

Battle of Okinawa anniversary

Filed under: Japan — theresaurus @ 10:44 pm

Sam’s mother has been doing a lot of house cleaning and we helped her last weekend.  Sam found a basket lined with newspaper from 1961 while clearing several shelves of junk covered with very thick dust. Turns out that his mother had woven the basket herself.  She found her wedding picture in an old file and giggled when she showed it to us.

Nearly 60 years ago, this happened:

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Today I watched news coverage of the anniversary of the Battle of Okinawa.  70 years ago, this happened:

Student Nurses of the ‘Lily Corps’ by Miyagi Kikuko in Japan at War: An Oral History:

“We were smoked out onto the cliff tops.  … ‘If we stand up, they’ll shoot us,’ we thought, so we stood up.  We walked upright with dignity, but they held their fire.  We were slightly disappointed. …  A small boat came toward us from a battleship.  Then, for the first time, we heard the voice of the enemy.  ‘Those who can swim, swim out!  …  We have food!  We will rescue you!’  They actually did!  They took care of Okinawans really well, according to international law, but we only learned that later.  We thought we were hearing the voices of demons.  From the time we’d been children, we’d only been educated to hate them.  They would strip the girls naked and do with them whatever they wanted, then run over them with tanks.  We really believed that.  Not only us girls.  Mothers, grandfathers, grandmothers all were cowering at the voice of the devils.  So what we had been taught robbed us of life.  I can never forgive what education did to us!  Had we known the truth, all of us would have survived.  …  Anyway, we didn’t answer that voice, but continued our flight.

“I had a hand grenade and so did Teacher.  Nine of our group were jammed into a tiny hole.  …  Suddenly, a Japanese soldier climbed down the cliff.  A Japanese soldier raising his hands in surrender?  Impossible!  Traitor!  We’d been taught, and firmly believed, that we Okinawans, Great Japanese all, must never fall into the hands of the enemy.  …  Another soldier, crouching behind a rock near us, shot him.  The sea water was dyed red.  Thus I saw Japanese murdering Japanese for the first time. …  Soon a rain of small arms fire began.  Americans firing at close range.  They must have thought we were with that soldier.  …  I was now under four dead bodies.  …  Yonamine-sensei, our teacher, shouldering a student bathed in blood, stood facing an American soldier.  Random firing stopped.  The American, who had been firing wildly, must have noticed he was shooting girls.  He could be seen from the hole where my ten classmates were hiding.  They pulled the pin on their hand grenade.  So unfortunate!  I now stepped out over the corpses and followed Teacher.  …  My grenade was taken away.  I had held on to it to the last minute.  The American soldiers lowered their rifles.  I looked past them and saw my ten classmates.  … Now there was nothing left of them.  The hand grenade is so cruel.

“Young people sometimes ask us, ‘Why did you take part in such a stupid war?’  For us the Emperor and the Nation were supreme.  For them, one should not withhold one’s life.  Strange, isn’t it?  That’s really the way it was.  We had been trained for the Battle of Okinawa from the day the war with America began.”

June 22, 2015

Summer solstice sunset

Filed under: Uncategorized — theresaurus @ 11:06 pm

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