Michael Jackson's This Is It

On a very rainy Veterans' Day afternoon, I viewed a matinee showing of Michael Jackson's This Is It.

I recall being aware of the Jackson 5 and liking some of their songs; I also remember stand-out songs from Michael's early solo career. Yet, not until I witnessed him dancing did Michael Jackson hold my attention. The ways he could move on a stage, in place or across it--I was entranced.

The same holds true for this movie: I enjoyed the music; I loved the dancing...Michael's and his back-up dancers. Okay, the back-up dancers were young, beautifully bodied, and certainly talented--eye candy extraordinaire. And Michael seemed fragile--noticeably thin and shoulders slightly stooped--but, oh, when he moved, the magic moved in him. It was amazing to watch how a 50-year-old Michael could still steer all eyes to him. For the last two numbers included in the movie, Michael performed on stage alone. Whenever a camera angle cut to his back-up dancers as they watched him from the pit in front of the stage, enraptured adulation shone on their faces. I wasn't the only one mesmerized.

Time Passages

A view of Mt. Fuji from Ashina Beach at sunset.

Summers away from my life in Japan usually result in sharper delineations of certain markers of passing time upon my return; these markers stand distinct and do not merge into the blended shapes and colors of the continually passing panorama of my existence all because my summers unfold on such a separate panoramic stage.


SUNSET:

• The mama-san who lived in the big house next door--my landlord's mother--died sometime during the summer. She was in her 90s. Teeny tiny with a pronounced dowager's hump, she puttered away in the various gardens of our combined yard in the morning coolness and soft light of the rising sun. The small plot of vegetation in front of my house has never before looked so wild or so bedraggled.
  


• In August I returned to a Yokosuka where none of those with whom I've regularly traveled or hung out during my four-year sojourn here in Japan still reside. No movie buddies, no sushi buddies, no political discussion buddies, no Tokyo-jaunt buddies, no water aerobics buddies, no buddies--they have all moved on.

SUNRISE:

• Godiva Chocoiste: Dark Chocolate Cherries. Linda, the math teacher in the classroom next door, invited me to her birthday party, but because of a prior commitment with the church youth group, I could not go. Since Linda openly confesses a chocolate addiction, I decided chocolate would make a worthy gift. At the NEX I perused the chocolate section of the candy aisle and ultimately collected a stash of pedigreed goods: Lindt, Ghirardelli, Godiva, Cadbury. While scrutinizing the Godiva profferings in behalf of Linda, I discovered the existence of Godiva Chocoiste: Dark Chocolate Cherries. Although never a fan of those chocolate cherries fashioned with a maraschino cherry center swimming in a sickly sweet viscous fluid encased in a milk chocolate shell, I really like cherries and dark chocolate assuages even my guiltiest of hungers...and these morsels, according to the description on the package, were a perfect concoction for me: dried, tart cherries fully encompassed by dark, dark chocolate. I purchased a bag for me--not Linda, because who knew if she liked cherries, right?! Once in the car, I sampled and instantly attained devoted fan status. Now I have a ritual--one, I admit, majorly invoked to ration the contents of a given package (as they are rather pricey) and to discipline my fanatical desire: When I arrive home, I am allowed one foray into the deepest, darkest corner of the frig to retrieve the zip-lock bag of chocolate covered cherries; I remove six--eight, if the day warrants such or if one of the pieces is woefully small--and lay them on the counter to "thaw" for a few minutes while I take care of other "arriving home" activities; and then, when the lull emerges from the flurry, I surrender to ecstatic indulgence.
  


• This fall I have dabbled a wee bit with the culinary arts--very wee, actually, but any engagement by me with the "culinary arts" is quite a monumental moment in my personal history! While staying at the Lodge on the Amazon River in Peru last summer, my favorite dish in the array of lunch and dinner buffets was always the rice and beans...which surprised me just a bit because all of the food prepared was delicious. And I got to thinking that even someone like me, the antithesis of domestic goddess, might be able to manage the cooking of rice and beans...especially since I own a rice cooker and beans do come in cans! At the family reunion later in the summer I requested a "recipe" from my niece Carol, the family's resident expert on rice and beans; she served a church mission in Brazil and while there became a devotee of the dish herself. Now Carol is a purest and far more capable in kitchen matters and I; she buys dry beans and does the whole shebang--including the the use of a pressure cooker--to bring the beans to an edible state, but some of the suggestions she offered I have employed. As forementioned, I use beans from a can, but I have attained a measure of success with my rice and beans end product: I have never thrown out left-overs of rice and beans (something I tend to do quite regularly with other attempted meals cooked by me), and when I heated some left-over beans and rice in the microwave at school one day, I had three colleagues comment how good my lunch smelled!

• Philip, one of my students from last year, one of those students who takes over a piece of your heart and establishes a permanent residence in your memory, finally brought me a can of the energy drink Monster by way of his sister Melissa, one of my students this year. He threatened to bring me one all last year to supplant my Diet Coke, but I wouldn't commit to drinking a whole can, only to tasting it. By November, more acquainted with my "drinking" style, he agreed that maybe drinking an entire can might "kill" me, and he didn't want to be responsible for that, of course! Although sporadic talk of a Monster taste test continued for the rest of the year, it never happened. However, at the moment, I have a can of Monster in my refrigerator. I still haven't tasted it, despite having it in my possession for at least three weeks. Do you think it would "kill" me?

Typhoon Melor: The Aftermath

Then, this typhoon Thursday, we had high winds with sunshine from mid-morning until early afternoon. By 1:30 the wind had diminished enough to permit another foray into the outside world. Of course I headed back down to the sea. After all, I did want to check out the possibilities of a late afternoon run along the coast road if the wind should calm just a tad more. Well, a run along the coast road won't be happening any time later today; perhaps with Japanese industry and efficiency in play, maybe Saturday I can have that particular run.

Even with four years living in the same Ashina location, I have never before seen damage of this magnitude after a storm. Usually only flung palm fronds and sand spew across the road and walkways at vulnerable points--the non-evaporating evidence of heavy surf splashing over sea walls--mark the history of a passing storm.



THE LATEST PHOTOS:

Here is the beach road, the one that runs parallel with the sea, my preferred running route. (And no wonder the police set up a barricade barring entrance onto it during the storm.)



That is sand covering the pavement of the road, by the way--remains of the surging sea swell.

Several fishing shacks lining the sea-side edge of the road collapsed and washed onto the road.



These next two photos I took from the small shrine on the bluff above the sea where I took photos earlier in the day. (See previous post for a comparison.)


You can see quite a few people (center left) engaged in clean-up where the fishing shacks collapsed.

What's left of fishing shack row:

Here is an expanse of sea wall, one of my favorite stretches on my running route because the sea is close and the views are stunning. The sea broke it today.

More aftermath:

These palms have learned the art of surviving!

Typhoon Melor

The beginning: On Sunday sunny skies prevailed, but cloudy skies with accompanying stretches of rain, usually drizzly, moved in on Monday and maintained a "weatherly" presence through Wednesday. Wednesday afternoon our principal scooted all the teachers out of the building right after the students departed at 2:10. We had previously received notification (before noon) that complex schools for Yokosuka Navy Base would be closed on Thursday due to the impending arrival of Typhoon Melor. In it's first days of existence while residing in more southern latitudes, Melor rated a "Super Typhoon" designation, a title commensurate with a category 5 hurricane. The cooler waters it has encountered in its northward travels have weakened it; at landfall on the island of Honshu, Japan's mainland, it was expected to be a category 2 storm. At one point Melor's eye had been forecast to pass 30 miles from Yokosuka. In capricious storm fashion, though, Melor's path shifted to a more southerly landfall moment. When I arrived home late Wednesday afternoon, I slid storm shutters over the windows of my house and prepared to hunker down. Nighttime brought some hard rain and occasional wind gusts.

Now Thursday has dawned with heightening wind but also sunshine moments. As one fully mesmerized by the sea and frequently intrigued by storms, I succumbed to temptation just before nine this morning and ventured outside. Ah, silly me, I chided myself, noting the bouncing power lines above and a scattering of snapped branches on the road, this could be why one is cautioned to stay inside, and then I continued enroute to the sea. It is only a three to four minute walk to the sea from my house. As I neared the place where my road intersects the one running parallel to the sea, a clot of cars jammed the approach. Momentary reconaissance of the scene showed a police blockade of the beach road to all traffic. Thanks to the manifold meanderings I undertook during my week of recuperation after appendicitis (the doctor told me to walk as much as possible and I did), I knew an alternate route up a bluff to a small shrine overlooking the sea. However, with closer proximity to the sea, the wind kept a more constant presence and grew ever rougher. Leaves and broken branches fully carpeted the lane; some glistening shards of glass directed my eyes to the frame of a blown out window. At the shrine I finally witnessed the sea within command of the approaching storm. Truely the power of nature is a marvel...and so very humbling.

So I am safely returned to my home as I type these words. The wind has increased to its fiercest level yet. It is almost 11:00 in the morning.

I did take some photos while at the shrine this earlier, but first I have some photos to show of the same general area, ones taken several weeks ago under more conventional circumstances.

Okay, here are the photos taken today. The beach road that runs parallel to the sea--part of my usual running route--lies in front of that gray house shown in the photo below.

That white boat (above) seemed to be loose.

Dear Fellow Citizens:

I shall commence with a disclaimer: I feel cranky. And, since this sentiment has slowly escalated over the past several weeks to the crankiest level of cranky yet, a level now high enough to instigate a session before the keyboard of my laptop, I forewarn you of an imminent perch upon a soapbox.

Let me launch my tirade by stating that I am sick of and sickened by the spate of media pundits in positions arrayed across the political spectrum who engage in emotional rants carefully constructed with a narrow selection of facts and cleverly presented half-truths--not to overlook the addition of an out-and-out lie should any opportune moment arise--and then varnished with histrionics and demonizations of key opposition players, especially when said broadcast conversation is rationalized with "I'm an entertainer." I am totally appalled, however, with listeners who mindlessly accept what they hear from these talker-entertainers as the full truth and the only way to proceed. Religious people may be accused of having "blind faith" and acting in "blind obedience," but I would submit that a much greater danger exists from too many citizens practicing "blind faith" and "blind obedience" in the realm of politics and government. Just because someone says something is so doesn't make something so, even if that someone is a person we like, trust, or share common beliefs with. Never should we underestimate the impact of checking out the facts or the perspectives of multiple sources, including the opposition's; such efforts exponentially increase our own knowledge base and powerfully enhance our ability to focus and fine tune our own beliefs preliminary to pursuing a more authentic course of action.

Another current irritant for me is the glut of "Nazis" and "dictators" in our political system. Just because we don't like someone and/or we disgree with someone's political point of view does not necessarily make him/her another Hitler, Stalin, or Mao, nor does it necessarily make him/her a Nazi, a facist, a communist, or a dictator. Neither Bush nor Obama are dictators nor is either one really at all similar to Hitler in leadership style or philosophy. Name calling bridges nothing between differing points of view; it is virtually useless to any constructive endeavor.

And one final harangue before I close is directed to those who proclaim, "I want my America back." Get real! Beyond your personal conception of what America was or is, there is no "my America"; there is only "our America." Not even any of our founding fathers got "his America," the one perfectly envisioned in his mind--which is probably to their credit and our benefit, although I also believe that some of their ideas that didn't make it into the Constitution and our plan of government then are things you or I might still wish had been instituted and implemented. I also harbor some impatient annoyance toward one demonstrator within range of a TV microphone who avowed that she wanted her children to grow up in the same America she grew up in. Not going to happen. Impossible, in fact, if only because influences of continued advances in technology and globalization--which, of course, are not nearly all the reasons at all. And no matter what period of time in US history any of us might select as being golden, we should be mindful that for certain other Americans that same period of time represents a difficult period of time, one tarnished by economic, social, or political adversity.

Americans--our individual narratives are richly diverse and yet each records joy and sorrow, success and loss, abundance and hardship, and usually an unextinguishable sense of hope. Perchance we could think more often of the portrait of America we paint together instead of whether the colors of our personal narrative fall more blue or more red or even more green.

Virtual Flirtation 101

In May, angry at her on-again/off-again boyfriend of eight years, my friend Carolee created a profile on e-Harmony. She confessed when I asked about "the man" while we were in Peru. We talked--okay, we giggled, too--on several occasions during our travels about her experience with the process up to that point, and ultimately, to encourage her (Carolee is totally a social being) and offer moral support, I volunteered to flirt virtually with her for one summer month upon our return to the states. Once stateside, however, I discovered that Carolee's $20/month subscription fee to e-Harmony was one deal the company had no intention of offering me; one month for me would cost $60. Well, I backed right out of my proposal, fully admitting that $60 towards new shoes carried exceedingly more sway for me than the opportunity play the online dating game. So, while in the states this summer, I bought four pairs of shoes instead!

I have several friends who have sampled the online meet and match scene--some just to dabble, others to seriously engage with the method. One of my friends actually met her now husband on a site such as e-Harmony, and another one is still corresponding with someone she met through an online service. In August Carolee described a few of her "matches" to me, sought advice on how to respond, and continued to suggest that I check out e-Harmony's site. The week I spent in Japan before reporting back to school I finally succumbed to my curiosity and logged in to e-Harmony.

Guess what! You can have your personality/character evaluated, set up your entire profile, and begin receiving matches without paying the subscription fee! During one afternoon I took the personality survey, which seemed like a fairly accurate analysis except for the part that said I am "outgoing"--generally not a descriptor for me. Then I established my "settings" and kinda sorta completed portions of my profile by responding to about two/thirds of the guiding questions...rather briefly, I've since learned, in comparison to other's responses. Within 24 hours I received notification of SIX matches, and, within the next 24 hours, three of those six proceeded to dump me, all three providing as a reason NO PHOTO! (One also included the information that he was pursuing another relationship while another one also included that I lived too far away. Since I used my summertime stateside location for my profile, I'm sure "Japan" would have been a critically negative additional fact for that one!)

The next day I uploaded a photo of me taken in Peru--certainly not a "glamour" shot, as is a suggestion by the site for a higher probability of success--and I haven't been dumped since. Now, to fully appreciate this development, you should know that each day since I created that profile I receive notification of four to six new matches. (Four more showed up today, by the way.) I now have over fifty matches scattered all across the USA plus Ireland!

However, because I have yet to be convinced I want to spend $60 to subscribe to e-Harmony, I only have access to the profiles of my matches...minus their photo(s). That's right--I am not permitted to SEE a visual unless I subscribe. I also cannot communicate with any of my matches. Five have indicated they would like to communicate with me, four with "guided communication" and one with "fast-track." Guided communication happens by sending questions selected from an e-Harmony designed list of questions, usually five at a time. There are four multiple choice answers provided for each question or the recipient can write his/her own response. Even in my "unsubscribed" status, I can look at the questions each of my communicative matches has chosen to send my way--and all four included "Do you consider yourself physically affectionate when involved in a relationship?"--but any responses from me cannot be sent...unless I subscribe! For the "faster" track scenario, I remain mostly clueless, although I suspect it includes emailing each other directly but with e-Harmony as the host; we would not have each other's personal email addresses. However, e-Harmony will not allow me to explore "fast-track" at all without--you know it--a paid subscription from me.

For awhile I found reading the profiles of matches somewhat entertaining, usually interesting, and occasionally thought-provoking. Eventually I can always deduce why we were "matched." And I have discovered, rather eerily too, that there really are a few people out there who write into a profile--content and style--very similarly to what I write into a profile. Now, though, two weeks into this experiment, I suspect I've wearied of profile reading because I have at least ten I haven't read yet; maybe I'll be inspired to open some more of them and maybe not. The virtual world of classes to take, games to play, flirtation to employ, and whatever else has often been a difficult sell for me. I prefer real bodies in a classroom, wind in my face, and the opportunity to look into someone's eyes. And, on the scale of desire, shoes still trump a subscription to e-Harmony.

Days/Daze of Summer: in Japan

A view from above of "my" beach, the marina beach, the closest coastal area to my home (about a 3-minute walk from my house).

The swimming beach, a 10-15 minute walk from my house. (On a clear day you would be able to see Mt. Fuji on the horizon above the sea.)

With only a week and a half of official summertime freedom spent in Japan--oh yes, school for me begins on Wednesday--the record of my history here this summer is a notably briefer tome to synthesize and summarize than are my summer experiences in other places, and so bulleted notes should suffice:

• The air has weight and instantly drapes you in a clinging wet warmth; you can feel your passage through the atmosphere.

• Cloaked in leafy treetops, cicadas squeal and moan ecstatically through the sultry day-lit hours; from their shadowed corners and dark places, crickets chirp the night lullabies of dwindling summer.
  

• Although three seriously shaker quakes--all 6+ range on the Richter Scale--rocked the Tokyo area in the five days before my return to the Land of the Rising Sun, the four tectonic plates meeting below this land seem to have settled a bit. (BIG sigh of relief from me!) I have experienced only one noticeable, but little, tremble in the last week.

• Hill runs have switched out with the track work on the running plan. My neighborhood here provides multiple hill courses but no place to encourage any sort of engagement with high stepping, backwards running, etc. The base has two tracks I can use once I move some of my runs to that location.

• One morning I saw the three runners--a man with two teens--I cross runs with every fall, usually on Saturday mornings. Of course, this time it was still summer and a week day morning too. The man does the nod and the "ohayo goziamasu" (good morning), the boy nods, the girl smiles. I have never been able to decide if the man is the father or the coach. When I first started seeing them running together, the kids were middle school age. Not any more--most certainly high school now! And now I'm thinking maybe the man is the father and the kids are brother and sister; the kids show this rather detached boredom towards each other--definitely no romantic chemistry or even interest--it's all just a running thing for them!
  

• I have abandoned skating, really not a viable option in my Japanese neighborhood, for walking on the alternate mornings I don't run. In the course of my ramblings I have discovered a vending machine that sells Coke Zero for 10 yen (11-12 cents) cheaper than all the other vending machines in the area, a small cove between the marina beach and the swimming beach where Japanese beach-dude types hang in neo-hippie ambiance, and election posters everywhere, one with a guy running on the ticket for the "bring happiness party." (Okay, I can't remember if that's the exact translation printed in small Roman alphabet letters below all the Japanese, but it was something very similar. Talk about a different culture! Can you imagine how long a political party in the USA with that name would survive?)
  

Here are the vending machines where I used to purchase a Coke Zero if the need to assauge my addiction overwhelmed me while home. (I keep no soda in the refrigerator at home.) But not any more! Notice the recycle bin for the drink containers--and either hot or cold drinks are available in these machines--to the right and just in front of the post box.

Here is my newly discovered cove between the marina beach ("my" beach) and the swimming beach.

Nearby beach houses with neo-hippie ambiance...lots of surf boards around, too.





Election posters.