Rakkity/Shamaru

The space-time confusium

Let’s see now, as I write here it’s 8:40 pm JST; that’s 6:40 am EST, so this email is arriving at Central St blog factory just before dawn. It’s Wednesday here, so it’s Tuesday there. These are my thought
processes as I write to my intern back at Goddard in MD. (His name is Rick, and he’s a recent graduate from UMd.)

Every day Rick sends me some figures that he’s made for the paper we’re writing together. If I write in the morning, he doesn’t get that email till the next day, which is really the previous day, and if he writes to me in the afternoon, I get it in the morning of the same day. Right? Except when I write to him late at night, and he is at work and actually gets the message in near real time. When that happened once, Rick asked, “How did you do that?”

So when I critique his work, he has to figure out what I’m talking about. Is it the figure he just sent, or is it the one he sent yesterday? Or maybe its the one he will send tomorrow, and I’ve got advance notice of it.

I don’t know how we’ve done it, but together we’ve actually done some productive work in this time warp.

Mike’s the only person that I’ve been able to quasi-IM with. But Mike’s always in a time warp. (That’s due to the Black Hole in the library.) Time is only a coordinate that measures the distance between blog entries, right?

Photos of Joe wrestling his opponent at tonight’s meet between Acton Boxborough and Lincoln Sudbury. Those pictures pretty much show the whole match, except for the end when Joe pinned the guy. Matt calls him a “beast,” and now I know why.

Diane enjoyed Saturday night’s Leon Russell concert; I say, put the poor wretch out to pasture.

The Bull Run in Shirley is a dinner theater. The dining room’s a perfect rectangle seating three hundred people. The so-called stage is not elevated, and this night’s opening act, a banjo and steel-guitar-playing rockabilly soloist, disappeared below the heads of those diners in front of us. His music disappeared too. He touched on those famous locomotive cord sounds, but the train never arrived.

During intermission, Leon’s drummer and two guitarists set-up largely unnoticed. Then Leon, with his ghost-like flowing white beard and hair, and wearing a jacket, white fedora and dark sunglasses, limped to his keyboard from a nearby stairwell. There were no introductions, nor much time for applause. Leon laid his thick fingers on the keyboard and from that moment on, he pounded out unremitting wake-the-dead material.
I turned to Diane, pulled her head close, and screamed, “This is what the first act lacked,” but she couldn’t hear me. I gave up, pivoted back and waited for the quiet break between songs – except there were no breaks, because there were no intros, no repartee with the audience, and no intelligible words. With his lips pressed against the microphone, and the volume and treble maxed out, Leon rasped his way through the entire set like a hack saw screeching through a rusty Studebaker fender.
Two hours later and a single song before the end, his band stumbled away to recover while Leon played on. Stiff back, seemingly frozen at the mike, Leon shattered ear drums until his mates returned. Together they banged out a final number, after which Leon stood up, said, “Thank you,” and walked away.

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By Chris

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I think I first became a Bon Jovi fan back in the early 80’s in college. Not just because Jon Bon Jovi is so adorable, but mostly because of that. Mark is a fan as well and my friend Shelley, like me, has gone from fan to fanatic. I love his music, his tight pants, his New Jerseyness. He makes me smile, and has for some 20 something years. We have seen him many times over the last several years and I never cease to be 21 again at his concerts. And he and I are the same age, so we’ve grown up together. At least I think I’ve grown up.

Tonight we weren’t sure we were going to make it due to the weather, which fortunately let up by 4:00 enabling us to get to the FleetBankNorthBostonGarden Center or whatever it’s called now. We met Shelley and Paul there. Imagine my surprise when I saw a small platform set up right in front of us. ”Bon Jovi will be singing two songs there” was the rumor. I certainly never anticipated being that close to him, ever. We were in loge seats and not that close to the real stage. I must say the entire first part of the concert was spent anticipating the arrival. About two songs before his, for lack of a better word, ascension, security lined up at the aisle. ”Don’t grab his ass” were the instructions to those of us closest to this platform. Soon a microphone was brought out and the giddiness I was feeling was something I haven’t felt since the Sox won the Series. And then he was there. Guitar strapped on him and the first song he sang was Blaze of Glory from Young Guns. Because he was facing the larger audience his behind was facing us. This was not an issue, trust me. But then he turned around. He’s as attractive as he looks on TV, very petite but with muscular legs and arms. That hair and those lips. I couldn’t take a photo I was somewhat frozen. Then he sang song number two, Bed of Roses, and then he turned around to sing to us and started shaking hands. So my right hand touched his and I swooned. I was like those girls you see in those Beatles clips in the audience at Ed Sullivan some 40+ years ago…crying and shaking. Shelley was too. Mark couldn’t contain his laughter. Jon Bon Jovi has very soft hands, which surprised me given he plays guitar for a living. I would think he’d be callused. But no matter. I wish I had gotten some better shots, but these give you a sense of how close he was to us.

A fantastic evening all around. I had a chance to go see him tomorrow night as well and I declined. Nothing can come close to this.

Chris

How’s your hand?

Ed

Mike

Ed

Just before we headed out the door, Deguchi san explained what he wrote in thenote at the desk. He described the camera, the black pouch, and the blue bag.”What blue bag?” I asked. “Your blue bag on the bench. I put your camera in the pouch, and then into the blue bag”, he explained. “But I had no blue bag. That must have been someone else’s.” Deguchi san was crestfallen. “Then it was my mistake. I put your camera in another bag, and the owner must have taken it away. Wait here, I’ll go look around.” He headed off into another part of the volumnious lobby area and disappeared for awhile. I wondered what he was doing. Maybe looking for someone with a blue bag? In less than 5 minutes he came back with the camera! He said, “I saw someone with the bag and asked them if there was a small camera in it. And there was. The person who had it was very apologetic at having your camera.

On the way out, he was still crestfallen at having made the mistake. I patted him on the shoulder, and said, “there’s an old English saying, All’s well that ends well”.

So here’s some bath pictures. You can see Mt Fuji in the background. And there will be new pictures in the following week (which is my last one in Japan).

Shamaru
The Baths
Towel Racks

rakkity shamaru

Saturday Dec 9, 3:00 JST

Mukul and I met in the cafeteria and waited for Degushi san, who was going to take us to a nearby hot springs. Promptly at 3, his little grey car drove up to the entrance, and Degushi waved us in. Degushi san is a balding, thin, professorial type, who’s part of the Nobeyama “cosmic” staff, as opposed to “Solar” staff, like Shibusaki san. Apparently he’s working with one of his students using the 45-m telescope (the biggest in Asia) to observe the mm spectrum of galactic nebulae. While we waited for Mukul, still backin the shoe room, tying his boots, Segushi san asked me my first name.

I said, “Ed. That’s short for Edward.”

He repeated the nickname and the name, which were both new to him. He’s on a first name basis with Mukul, but it takes time for a Japanese person to use a gaigin’s first name, so I didn’t ask him his first name (which is Shuji; you can google him using deguchi nobeyama).Mukul entered the front passenger seat, and we sped out of the lot.

We drove towards Kiyosato on the same roads I had taken on my snow-biking tour. Just a few 100 m before I had given up and turned back home, we turned right at the “Nokyo” sign (one I recalled as the only English sign in sight.). We drove past hundreds of discreet apartment-like buildings, mostly hidden behind pine trees. Degushi said they were condos. About 15 minutes after we started, we were driving up to Yatkasutake ski area. My ears popped, so we had climbed a lot, and suddenly there was a great view of a spectacular mountain like Mt Adams or pre-eruptive Mt St Helens. I asked Degushi san, “Is that Fuji?”, and he said that it was. So one of our objectives had been accomplished. we’d be able to see Fugi san from the baths.

But the baths were not at the ski area any more, so we headed down hill to another town about 15 min away. Behind a parking lot with about 30 micro-minivans and and many non-Toyota-Honda-Nissan, nondescript, blocky cars that would never sell in the USofA), was a flat-topped building like a bowling alley. Inside, there was the mandatory shoe corral, where we dutifully shelved our shoes. We stuck 1000-yen bills into a machine (Y700 apiece), which expectorated 3 tickets. Five m away, we proffered the tickets to a little lady at a desk, and walked through the inviting lobby to another machine that, after some touch-screen finger gymnastics, popped open a locker for our use. We put in our keys and wallets, and proceeded to the men’s locker room.

Up to that point, we were about as far as you could get from the ancient steam baths of the Shogun era. But the locker room was partially modern, partially traditional. In the middle of the room were wooden stands with bamboo baskets for your clothes. On one wall were lockers where you could stash your clothes (all of them, no bathing suits allowed) and take the key with you on a bracelet. On the other wall were sinks with modern plumbing and mirrors. But out the door you could see a darkish, steamy room with stone walls and a big pool.

We entered the dim room, each with a towel draped modestly in front. Degushi san scooped up some water from the pool and poured it over his head. He indicated the showers on the left wall where some old guys were industriously washing with soapsuds and sprays. We stepped into the hot pool and looked at the view. A large glass wall on the far side of the pool kept out the wintry winds, but allowed us a good display of Fuji san off in the distance. The pool was just hot enough that you had to go in slowly, but it was wonderfully relaxing. We chatted a bit, and I observed that there was another pool right outside. Maybe we could go out? We waited for Mukul again, and shortly after he arrived, we decamped for the outside pool. After a few minutes of soaking, I told Degushi san that I wanted to take a picture, and went over to the bench where I had left my camera.
With damp hands, I carefully extracted the camera from its little black pouch, and got a good shot of the submerged bathers with Mt Fuji in the background. Deguchi san offered to take a picture of me, so I handed him the camera, and pulled back into the depths. After he took the picture, and verified with me that the picture was good, he put the camera back on the bench, and returned to the pool with us.

We chatted and soaked for about half an hour, and decided to head on back to the lobby for a drink or some ice cream.

DISASTER! END OF JAPAN BLOG PICTURES!

My camera was nowhere to be seen on the bench. It had nominally been in sight all the time we had been bathing, but all of us had been looking at the view, not at the bench. Deguchi san said, “I’ll ask at the desk.” He donned some shorts and disappeared out of the locker room. It took me a little longer to go out to the lobby, since somehow I had managed to drench my towel in the pools. But when I got out and met him, he downcastedly said that the desk people hadn’t heard or seen any camera.

We sat around on one of the benches numbly eating ice cream (a box of chocolate-covered ice cream bonbons for only Y100. Great stuff!) Deguchi san decided we should leave a note at the desk with names and phone numbers, in case someone returned with the camera. “Sure”, I said, disconsonantly. My faith in the honesty and reliability of the Japanese had been shattered. But at the desk, Deguchi san wrote up a detailed description of where he put the camera, what it looked like, and all the circumstances, including the blue bag that he had put it in. This was all in Japanese script, so I had no clue what he was writing until he told me afterwards.

We sat some more, and I bought another package of ice cream bon-bons for my dessert back at the dorm. I thanked my lucky stars that I had taken the 512 MB memory card out of the camera this morning, and was running on camera memory, so no pictures were lost–except the two of us in the bath! So I was crossing my fingers. Maybe one of the bath customers would call Deguchi san and say that he had taken the camera accidentally. It was a long shot. I’ll tell you later if we get a call. Unless someone calls, this is the end of the Japan pictures.

To be continued

rakkitty/shamaru

rakkity/shamaru

Mushrooms

Houses

Snow Day

rakkity/shamaru
My perambulations around Nobeyama Observatory via foot and rattletrap 2-speed.
And next door to that observatory is a museum with…..

(Editor’s note: I think shamaru’s having entirely too much fun.)

By Birdbrain

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Mike — long overdue….

I am completely enjoying(vicariously) the trip to Japan. Clean and clear writing, photos, even the food looks clean and clear. In contrast, I’ve promised you a story about my trip to Morocco…which was delightful….but hard to grasp….particularly for a white, blue-eyed female….it’s hard to connect with the locals. With a few notable exceptions:

Towards the end of the two week trip – we were in the famous main square in the heart of Marrakesh’s old city. The square is completely mis-named — as the “Square of the Dead”, it is neither square nor dead. It has to be one of the livliest places I’ve ever seen. Crowded at all hours of the day and night with snake charmers, monkey handlers, jugglers, musicians, transvestite belly dancers, and everyone selling everything, it puts Times Square to shame. I even spotted one fellow with a table full of false teeth available to sell (and a large pair of pliers to remove yours!)…… There are oranges, dates, olives heaped all around, storytellers surrounded by pensive audiences and mounds of incense, frankincense and every other conceivable herb. Horse carts, taxis, women in veils, men in jellaba pixie hoods, and the call to prayer in the air….This is not a tourist attraction; there are plenty of Moroccans in the square.

Selling is brisk, constant, and always in-your-face. “Regarde ceci ? Aimez-vous ceci ? Combien?” Constant tugging at your sleeve…look at this, buy this….”Non, merci” became my mantra. I’m a reluctant shopper at best, and this was daunting. But it was live theatre and once or twice I stepped up and haggled in high school french. No mean feat.

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In any event, in this midst of this crazy place, I found myself standing quietly waiting for 2 friends to finish the time consuming process of buying $2 perfume….wondering why it was taking so long. A fellow salesman came over and tried to get me to make an offer on his stuff…we started in French…

He: “Aimeriez-vous acheter ce parfum” (would you like to buy this perfume?)
Me:….”Non, merci”
He: Just smell it! It’s jasmine, heavenly!
Me: No thank you.

Him: Where are you from (In English)
Me: USA. Your English is good. How many languages do you speak?

He starts counting on his hand…looking up to the sky…. “Arabic, French, Berber, Italian, a little English and a little Spanish….” I start to laugh…

I ask: Do you know the joke? What do you call someone who speaks 3 languages? Trilingual.
What do you call someone who speaks 2 languages? Bilingual.
What do you call someone who speaks 1 language?? AMERICAN!

We laugh loudly together. Clapped and started a long and wonderful conversation about Americans and the rest of the world…. “Why are we the way we are??” (was his theme)…. while I would blither “Don’t judge us on basis of our government actions….people are people…” Which led to talking about our shared joy in traveling, learning and meeting new people.

At the end of this exchange – he touched his heart, bowed and said: “this conversation has warmed my heart”.

“Moi aussi”

Peter’s been touting Kilauea’s most recent eruption.