Balloon Rooms of the World
Today, because of next week's school tests, I got a chance to sleep in and enjoy Bernie's morning radio show. It airs at 10-midnight back home which makes it the perfect morning radio program on Japanese time. However, I usually don't get a chance to tune in because of Wednesday's Japanese school in the city.
A little after noon I exited my house in Tai with a big smile on my face, mostly because the sun was shining and I couldn't see my breath on the air. I noted two children playing on a see-saw in the park, one clearly out-weighing the other.
The bus ride to Okayama city was pleasant, and I opened the window a crack for some fresh air (the bus heaters are always going full blast). The man occupying the seat across from me fell asleep in a funny position, awaking with a start when the bus came to a halt at a railway crossing.
Japanese school went smoothly, and Kimura-san resisted the urge to put anything over her head. Following class, Cori, Janna, and I went to a local bookshop which was sponsoring an English book drive; cardboard crates full of all sorts of treasures. I found a hardcover copy of "Tattoos of the 1950s" wedged next to a copy of Kurt Cobain's diary placed next to Dickens' "A Tale of Two Cities." I resisted the urge to buy all three and settled for a book by a Japanese author and James Joyce's "A Portrait of the Artist at a Young Age."
Cori and Janna had to catch the train home so I wandered the evening streets of Okayama in search of excitement. I found an art gallery featuring collaborations between children and adults, which struck me as an obvious yet rarely employed artistic technique (so says I, the artistic village idiot). I struck up a conversation with the curator who had constructed a sort of human skeletal and muscular sculpture in the center of the room, plastered with entries from children's diaries written on everything from paper to plastic bananas. In the back room of the gallery I found the most unexpected display, a room full of multicolored balloons with digital projectors beaming clouds onto the white brick walls. About 6 or 7 people were rubbing the balloons all over their bodies and sticking them to the wall. Occasionally a balloon would pop, making the whole room jump.
After the art exhibit I thanked the curator (he gave me some cookies, also unexpected yet appreciated) and set off down the street to the station. I was stopped by loud hip-hop music drifting from a second story window of what I discovered to be the "Hip-Hop Dance School of Okayama." I walked up a corner flight of stairs with the full intention of finding a window to grab a peek of japanese guys spinning on their heads or crip-walking. I instead opened the door to about 15 girls performing a crazy hip-hop "fist pump" in unison if front of a massive wall-sized mirror. Some stopped their fist pumping and turned to see who had invaded the amateur hip-hop dance class. Others continued the pumping. I just stared with what was probably on open mouth, amazed at what I had found. I watched for a minute then politely excused myself, making a mental note to return some time in the future when I didn't feel quite so outnumbered.
After the dance class I crossed to street into a store called, "Bimbo." It was full of crazy chairs, pillows, and other amazing apartment accessories. I bought my host mother a small bobble-head daschund (her passion) and some japanese looking accessories for myself.
I ate dinner on the second floor of a bread shop looking out on the street, silhouetted by the brightly lit Symphony Hall. While waxing poetic over a potato and ham sandwich I scribbled this on a paper bag from the book store before striking up a conversation with two women and a man sitting in the corner of the shop discussing the man's purchase of a new digital camera:
"Some would say that an enjoyable life is an expedition into the unseen; the winking glint of sun from the corner of a glass; the striking resemblance between the man on the stairs and the late composer Chopin; the way cardboard never bends exactly where you want it to, silently expressing it's resistance to change..."
After dinner I caught the bus back home, drifting in and out of sleep. I gave my host mother her gift (she couldn't stop laughing, a good sign) and crossed the park to Saeki-san's house for a guitar lesson. Jirou-sensei dumbfounded me with his guitar skill, which I attempted (and failed) to duplicate. I was offered some dinner and had an English conversation with the family in exchange for the lesson and the food. At one point, Saeki-san said "I am grandmother," instead of "I am glamorous" which resulted in uncontrolled laughing. I said goodbye, quite full, then ran into the night. To my house.
By any standard, a great day.
A little after noon I exited my house in Tai with a big smile on my face, mostly because the sun was shining and I couldn't see my breath on the air. I noted two children playing on a see-saw in the park, one clearly out-weighing the other.
The bus ride to Okayama city was pleasant, and I opened the window a crack for some fresh air (the bus heaters are always going full blast). The man occupying the seat across from me fell asleep in a funny position, awaking with a start when the bus came to a halt at a railway crossing.
Japanese school went smoothly, and Kimura-san resisted the urge to put anything over her head. Following class, Cori, Janna, and I went to a local bookshop which was sponsoring an English book drive; cardboard crates full of all sorts of treasures. I found a hardcover copy of "Tattoos of the 1950s" wedged next to a copy of Kurt Cobain's diary placed next to Dickens' "A Tale of Two Cities." I resisted the urge to buy all three and settled for a book by a Japanese author and James Joyce's "A Portrait of the Artist at a Young Age."
Cori and Janna had to catch the train home so I wandered the evening streets of Okayama in search of excitement. I found an art gallery featuring collaborations between children and adults, which struck me as an obvious yet rarely employed artistic technique (so says I, the artistic village idiot). I struck up a conversation with the curator who had constructed a sort of human skeletal and muscular sculpture in the center of the room, plastered with entries from children's diaries written on everything from paper to plastic bananas. In the back room of the gallery I found the most unexpected display, a room full of multicolored balloons with digital projectors beaming clouds onto the white brick walls. About 6 or 7 people were rubbing the balloons all over their bodies and sticking them to the wall. Occasionally a balloon would pop, making the whole room jump.
After the art exhibit I thanked the curator (he gave me some cookies, also unexpected yet appreciated) and set off down the street to the station. I was stopped by loud hip-hop music drifting from a second story window of what I discovered to be the "Hip-Hop Dance School of Okayama." I walked up a corner flight of stairs with the full intention of finding a window to grab a peek of japanese guys spinning on their heads or crip-walking. I instead opened the door to about 15 girls performing a crazy hip-hop "fist pump" in unison if front of a massive wall-sized mirror. Some stopped their fist pumping and turned to see who had invaded the amateur hip-hop dance class. Others continued the pumping. I just stared with what was probably on open mouth, amazed at what I had found. I watched for a minute then politely excused myself, making a mental note to return some time in the future when I didn't feel quite so outnumbered.
After the dance class I crossed to street into a store called, "Bimbo." It was full of crazy chairs, pillows, and other amazing apartment accessories. I bought my host mother a small bobble-head daschund (her passion) and some japanese looking accessories for myself.
I ate dinner on the second floor of a bread shop looking out on the street, silhouetted by the brightly lit Symphony Hall. While waxing poetic over a potato and ham sandwich I scribbled this on a paper bag from the book store before striking up a conversation with two women and a man sitting in the corner of the shop discussing the man's purchase of a new digital camera:
"Some would say that an enjoyable life is an expedition into the unseen; the winking glint of sun from the corner of a glass; the striking resemblance between the man on the stairs and the late composer Chopin; the way cardboard never bends exactly where you want it to, silently expressing it's resistance to change..."
After dinner I caught the bus back home, drifting in and out of sleep. I gave my host mother her gift (she couldn't stop laughing, a good sign) and crossed the park to Saeki-san's house for a guitar lesson. Jirou-sensei dumbfounded me with his guitar skill, which I attempted (and failed) to duplicate. I was offered some dinner and had an English conversation with the family in exchange for the lesson and the food. At one point, Saeki-san said "I am grandmother," instead of "I am glamorous" which resulted in uncontrolled laughing. I said goodbye, quite full, then ran into the night. To my house.
By any standard, a great day.
5 Comments:
http://www.mit.edu/people/adorai/seuss/seussboy.html
By mom, at 12:56 PM
P.S.
and of course WE LOVE YOU!
By mom, at 1:03 PM
i enjoy the fact that instead of purchasing the Seuss book, "Oh, the Places You'll Go!" as many parents are inclined to do, you instead send a link to my blog of a plain text version with a broken image link at the bottom.
and in a silly way, i think that means more to me than a tangible book
By Benjamin, at 12:00 AM
I just caught up on your last few days and it doesnt seem like you ever have a slow day! Doesn't it get tiring?
By Bernard, at 1:49 AM
Hey Ben,
Please post your mailing address as a comment here so I can have easy access to it while I'm away. Maybe all the people who secretly read this blog will then take it upon themselves to send you little gifts, cards, letters and perhaps small or large amounts of cash while you are thousands of miles from home. Woot
By mom, at 2:19 PM
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