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Assertion of purpose Sunday May 28

Some people at work seemed to take interest in the fact that I maintain a blog. Certainly, I am aware of the many cases of people who have gotten into troubles at their workplace for writing about it online, and I don't intend to do anything like that. Moreover, I went back through my archives once again and tried to see if there was anything even remotely questionable. Luckily, I didn't find anything.

Over the past four years, this blog has gone through many, many changes; many of those accompanied changes in me. Blogs aren't just cool anymore just because they exist, unfortunately. They have to have worthwhile content, something I've struggled with. When this was a totally personal blog, it was easy to make relevant content: it was all self-centered, and people close to me read it to keep tabs on me (in a good way).

Now that I've successfully distanced this blog from that past, it needs better content to stand on its own. Everything I read suggests that by offering well-written, concise content on a specific topic that I'm knowledgable about, I will draw readers. I'm not sure if that's entirely true, but as time goes on, I see that the best way for me to offer value to the Internet at-large is to do just that: offer something that no one else can.

As such, from here on I'm likely to write more perspectives on topical issues in Japan, and less about myself personally here. I am making an effort to increase the recipe catalog as well. I think that that will be more interesting to the general public and those who know me personally. However, I will not let this blog lose its personal edge entirely. That is, in effect, what makes it mine, what makes me keep it going, and why I write.

Anyway.

I'm currently finishing school in these next two weeks, but have started working part-time in the afternoons. Life is a little crazy; getting home at 7:30pm and trying to cook dinner, make lunch for the next day, shower, and do homework all before midnight, but somehow I've managed not to die after week one, so I think I can handle one more.

I've been getting some messages recently regarding my postings on 43 things about living in Japan, so I may also start up another section complete with information I learn about living in Japan that would be helpful to other foreigners. Seems to be some strong interest in that, which is a whole other topic I'll have to cover some other time. Why is Japan so cool in the States? Why is the States so cool in Japan? I refuse to simply accept the "complete opposite" theory stating both cultures are 180 degrees apart from each other, thus interesting.

Oyako-don

(1) chicken breast, (2) egg,
(3) mushrooms (shiitake, if you've got them),
(4) mitusba


You don't have to go to this
length to make broth. But I did.


One key thing is to not stir the
egg once you've added it.


Too much liquid will make it more soupy.

You'll notice that the ingredient list here is actually very similar to Zousui, which we made in March. I apologize for letting over a month pass with no new recipe goodness.

One clever bit about Oyako-don is in the name. This recipe uses both chicken breast and egg together; in Japanese, "oya" means parent, and "ko" means child. Oyako-don, quite literally, then, is "parents and children served over steamed rice". Mmmm. Wonder which one came first?

Ingredients

• 1 teaspoon Hon-dashi (or katsuo-bushi, if you want to make it from scratch)
• 2/3 cup water
• 1/4 cup soy sauce
• 1/4 cup mirin (Japanese cooking wine, slightly sweet)
• 2 tablespoons sugar
• 150g boneless chicken breast (skinless is up to you)
• 1, maybe 2 eggs
• 1 bunch mitsuba†
• 1 pack shiitake mushrooms, or other non-button type mushroom (I used namatake)
• White Rice

Preparation

1. Mix the first five ingredients (dashi, soy, water, mirin, sugar) in a saucepan and put over low heat.
2. Cut the mushrooms into slices, use your judgement on how much mushroom you want.
3. Cut one bunch (1/4 cup?) of mitsuba into bits, but leave them big enough so the leaves are mostly intact.
4. Cut the chicken into bite-sized pieces.
5. Mix the egg in a bowl.
6. When the saucepan liquid has started to simmer, remove it from the heat and set it aside. Measure out 1/2 cup of this liquid and put it in a different saucepan over low heat.
7. Add chicken and mushrooms. When the chicken is cooked through, add the mitsuba and stir in.
8. Dribble the egg mixture into the pan slowly and evenly. Do not stir the egg in once added.
9. Reduce the heat to just barely on, and in the meantime, serve a helping of rice into two rice bowls, leaving room at the top.
10. After 30-40 seconds, or to taste, depending on how runny you like your egg, pour half of the saucepan mixture on top of each rice bowl and serve.

Notes

• † As I've noted before, mitsuba may be hard to find Stateside; you simply need a fragrant herb that is slightly sweet, pungent, and good. Chives are a little too...oniony. Something not so onion-y. Parsley might not be sweet enough, but it might work well.
• If you like this dish, and wish to try it again, go ahead and add onions too. It's also good that way.

Cigarettes and Kimono Sunday May 21

The weather was beautiful yesterday; twenty-three degrees and clear. The first recognizable typhoon of the season formed far south of Japan last week; it swirled into mainland China, lost its strength, and then came to Japan in the form of a rainy day. The day after a typhoon is always wonderful like this.

Enjoying the weather, Michael and I walked to Roppongi; we ended up at Heartland. Heartland is a casual bar at the base of Roppongi Hills; the clientele is more than half foreign. Businessmen from the above skyscrapers come down after work to relax and have a beer or two. Tourists hear rumors of this must-see bar, or are brought by their resident friends. Heartland even sports its own brand of beer; it's light, a little hopsy, but definitely drinkable.

One other characteristic of Heartland is that since so many successful, foreign men go there, many Japanese women looking for boyfriends, sugar daddies, or what have you also go there. Now, that isn't to say that all the Japanese women there are on the hunt, nor to say that Japanese men never go. I merely am indicating the trend.

Indeed, an American female friend from school told me once of being dragged to Heartland at the request of her two Japanese girlfriends: they suggested that if an American accompanied them there, it would add legitimacy to their presence. Yes, gentlemen, we speak English, come talk to us.

Last night, I saw a young woman stroll up in a modified kimono; possibly it was a yukata? I wasn't paying enough attention, but it was definitely very colorful, and quite becoming, if you're into the kimono thing. Anyway, she was waiting to meet some friends outside, where we were. She stood there with a beer in one hand, cell phone and lighter in the other, slightly struggling to get the cigarette in her mouth going.

My feelings on smoking aside, it was just weird. A clash of two totally different environments. But then again, that seems to be exactly what Heartland's clientele goes there for.

Billy Joel and Research Tuesday May 16

Never, ever underestimate Billy Joel's ability to put you in a good mood. Hell, even if you're listening to "We Didn't Start the Fire", it can make your day. A brilliant songwriter. And I'm not talking about Piano Man at karaoke here, although that might be in order next time I go.

I credit Todd with turning me from a "yeah, Billy Joel's all right" person into a fan.

We're (that's the royal we) currently looking over the results of two hour-long interviews we conducted last month, integrating that data with conclusions from Kelsky's book, including research from the nineties. Specifically, in even the past five years, Japan has been in a state of continual social change. How should we interpret Kelsky's conclusions in 2006?

There's another interview tonight, this time with a fourth-year college student who just returned from a year abroad. I think three is going to be the most I can do for this project, limited by time. My project advisor seems to like my initial drafts, and I'm excited for the final product. Of course, it's all in Japanese; most of you may just have to take my word on it. Maybe I'll translate it to English when I'm finished.

Certainly, American conceptions of gender in society are not as rigidly defined as they are in Japan. That's part of what's changing, and so I hesitate to use the word "rigid", but as a simple socio-cultural comparison in my head, that's the case. One of my informants said the following of work leave (by both parents) following the birth of a child: "Both countries have that system [child care leave]. The difference is that in the States, people actually take their leave."

Yet, at my school, one teacher, who happens to be a mother of three, managed to make it work. Now, I could throw around examples and counter-examples all day, but one of the major points made by Kelsky, and echoed by me, is that the perception of reality can be different than reality itself.

Why?

Reality only exists in the present (see the previous post).

Perspective is often a cumulative sum of previous experiences, and sometimes is not properly weighted by the reality of the present. Gender transformations have been happening in Japan much faster than they did occur (and continue to do so) in the States; the result seems to be that a sense of an unchanging Japan remains amid changing circumstances. Confusion, anyone? I'll take two, thanks.

Yet, societal conditions are not black and white; everything is a trend. Japan is better than it was ten years ago in terms of gender equality in terms of the workplace; I believe that much is clearly true. However, to what extent patriarchial thinking remains, I'm not sure. The one thing I am sure of: enough of it remains to seemingly scare off many of the women who leave the country for any reasonable amount of time.

This plays into Kelsky's internationalist narrative. One of my interviewees, when asked about future partners, indicated that it'll likely be someone who can speak English; consequentially, probably not a Japanese man. If he were Japanese, she offered, he'd at least have to "know" a world other than Japan.

Personally, I can't say whether any of this is "good" or "bad". It merely is. That's part of the interesting role of the social anthropologist: judgement should be held to a minimum; the key is not to criticize or fix, but simply to understand the undercurrents that fuel societial patterns.

The Only Constant is Change Sunday May 14

I don't remember where I first heard that expression, or when I first truly took it to heart, rather than laughing it off as a clever contradiction in terms. In college, there were times where I smiled, knowing a circumstance was not going to persist, but cognizant of my enjoyment in that instant.

When I left home, Dad was in the process of moving houses. Mom was thinking about it.

The house I grew up in belongs to someone else now. Chance passed on in the New Year. Mom just called this morning to let me know that Otto's been very sick.

Despite all of the changes that have accompanied my life in the past few years, the physical presence of my "home" in Roscoe has remained. Chance and Otto have remained, and those symbols together have been a key fabric in granting continuity to otherwise ever-changing circumstances. I don't know what's going to happen with Otto, but the point remains the same either way: in just ten months all but one of those symbols have disappeared from my life, and I hold their memories alone.

I guess the "training wheels" have fallen off, but I'm still riding.

Someone saw a picture of me the other day from last year and said I looked a lot younger. I suggested that it was just that I weighed more, so I had a rounder face. To an extent, that was probably just an excuse. I probably have aged a little. It's amazing how the body does that amid your circumstances.

I have just settled in my program here, but what the director said to us on the first day was that ten months would feel very, very short by the end. He was absolutely right, and at that moment, I knew it. I've enjoyed just about every bit of it. I think I've finally starting to learn to really live in the moment; planning for the future, remembering the past, but keeping track of the fact that the only true world is the one that's existing right now.

I can't decide if that's one of life's most beautiful designs, or one of its most bitter realities. Nate has a great quote on that about accepting things gracefully. I just added it to my 43 things.

十日か？ Saturday May 13

最近、僕の名前をググッてみたら、このサイトは一番上に出てくる。名前はサイトに一回も入ってないのにグーグル分かる。ある意味でそれはすごいなと思うけど、しばらく考えてきて、このサイトをグーグルから（つまり知り合いじゃない人から）隠そうとするか、サイトに乗っている内容を改めて「皆のため」綺麗にするかと。

判決は後者だ。

あまり変更しないし、つまらない話ばかりだし、この日本語のブログはあまり改めなくていいと思うけど、写真、英語でのある部分を見直すのは必要。だって就活やっているでしょう？雇い手や顧客に検索されたら、こういうマークは確かにマークなんだけど、ビジネスに適切じゃないイメージかなと思ってる。

Cabbage, sushi, and sharp knives Tuesday May 9

Tonight when I got home, I finally bested the Super Cabbage™. Three weeks ago, I had a party, and I went food shopping beforehand. Spring cabbage had just come into season; they were huge and mad cheap. I'm talking a head the size of a bowling ball for a dollar. That sucker barely fit in my fridge. Having seven people over, I thought people might get hungry, and cabbage-based okonomiyaki is a great way to feed the masses. Yet between Emily's guacamole, my Three-Cup Chicken (recipe to follow later this week), and a few other dishes that people brought, we were all stuffed.

So here I am, left with a bowling ball of cabbage.

I despise throwing out food. One, it's food, I mean, hello? Two, I paid for it, so it seems like throwing out money, and three? If I throw out an ingredient, it probably means I can't make the thing I wanted to make in the first place (thus instigating the purchase).

In this case, the latter doesn't really apply, but nonetheless I resolved not to throw any bit of Super Cabbage™ away. Cabbage keeps for quite a while if you treat it right; even if it starts to go bad, it doesn't "go bad" in the way that milk, meat, and tomato sauce do (college memories, m-mm). It starts to wilt, and given that it's a pretty sturdy veggie in its own right, that doesn't make it so bad. Especially when you're going to fry it anyhow.

Super Cabbage™ wasn't having any of that wilting talk. For weeks, I kept taking leaves off, and it was as if the inner heart of the cabbage was breeding, possibly getting too chummy with the onions (who sprouted stems unusually soon, I'm suspicious). Point being, I made okonomiyaki at least five times, which actually takes a bit of cabbage, and I still was only making small dents in the thing.

Tonight, after weathering weeks of culinary battles, I finally defeated the little bastard.

What I failed to anticipate was that upon finishing off the Super Cabbage™, the sense of raw power and freedom would go to my head. I would feel a sudden urge of creativity and inspiration to cook, as I was now released from the neverending spiral of, however tasty it may be, making the same damn cabbage-laiden food three to four times a week.

This past weekend I had some great fresh sushi. Today, while picking up eggs at the store, I thought "what the hell" and bought one of those bamboo sushi mats. I already have seaweed. I have rice. I have cucumbers and carrots. I have vinegar and sugar. Mmm-hmm.

While I was making these kappa rolls (cucumber rolls, but incidentally kappa is not the word for "cucumber"), I decided that the most prudent thing to do would be to save them in the refridgerator for tomorrow. After all, I'd already eaten, taking down the cabbage beast. Now, I know what you're thinking. "Mark, I know where this is going, you ate the rolls, you couldn't help it, right, gotcha, what's your point" but there's actually more to it than that. Yes, I did eat the rolls.

It's because I had to; they were falling apart. This isn't because I made them poorly, though; I have the skillz.

Oddly, it's because my knife wasn't sharp enough to cut them (without smushing the result) into pieces.

I bought a decent set of knives for $150 a few years back, and I've tried to take good care of them. I like them so much that I actually brought them with me to Japan, in an effort to save on up-front moving costs. I always considered them sharp, but after today, I've determined that there's a whole new class of "knife" that I don't even know about: the kind that sushi chefs and pros use. I'm talking iron chef here. I'm talking have-to-keep-it-locked-up-so-no-one-dies sharp.

I'm in the right country for sharp knives, so if a windfall comes my way, hide the kids.

And don't think about commenting "did you try the serrated knife too?", because you bet your bottom dollar I did, and it actually produced even more of a mess.

I can use my knives to halve skinned chicken breasts, ripe tomatoes, or whatever with relative ease -- but I can't sever wet seaweed that's less than a millimeter thick, and easily tearable with one's hands. How Zen.

Fresh sushi at six-thirty Sunday May 7

Any guidebook of Tokyo is likely to list "the fish market" as a destination. Where else can you see a gigantic tuna auction? Where else can you eat fresher fish than where it's being sold? Sure, there are other fish markets around Japan, but Tokyo's tsukiji is famous in its own right. They're thinking of moving it, too; it's so close to Ginza that I'm sure the real estate is worth far more than the cultural heritage.

Anyhow, since the market starts before the regular world starts its day, you have to go very, very early if you want to catch the action (and the freshest fish). How convenient, then, that the club I went to on Friday night is just a ten-minute subway ride away? You'd almost think they planned it that way.

A classmate told everyone back in November about this great idea: since the trains don't run all night, you have to stay out until sunrise if you don't catch the last train. This is atari-mae, or just common sense, in Japan, but if you're going to stay out all night, why not end with fresh sushi?

Saturday morning. Six-twenty a.m. Waiting for the revolving sushi conveyor belt to start up. Let's have some more tea, I'm trying to fight off the urge to sleep. I hate to use this expression, because it's so tired, but it's also so true: only in Japan.

五月の目標 Wednesday May 3

しばらく前、「５月までの目標」というメモを書いて机の前の壁に貼っといた。今日、「あれ？もう、５月じゃないんですか」という意識をした瞬間があって、振り返った。

確かに上達した。それは当たり前、日本に住んでいる以上、毎日日本語の学校へ通っている以上、学校以外日本人と接する機会がある以上、大したことはない。しかも文法のミスまだ残っている。先週鈴木先生に言われたのは「もう一回ゆってー全然分からなかったよー」。鈴木先生はこんなに大変。励ましてくれない。完璧な日本語を期待しているから失敗すると、バカにされちゃう。まぁ、とにかく、自慢話にしたくない。友達一人がよくいうのは自慢話は悪くないよって。それはそうかも。自分を挑戦してみて、結局成功することだったら自慢じゃなくて現実の承認になるんじゃない？

ポイントは目標の内容だ。

マディの話が理解できるようになる：　日本人もマディの話分からない場合もある。ステータス、微妙。

勧められた本を読む：失敗。

テレビのニュースが完全に分かるようになる：微妙。使っている言葉による。天気予報はばっちり　（マーク、難しくないよ！）

辞書なしで新聞を読む：成功

日本で就職できるように敬語を学ぶ：微妙。でもそれを書いたとき、就職のことそのものについて考えてなかった。確実に言葉より能力が大切。敬語が話せるかどうか別として、就職できるのはポイントだった。

これからどうなるかな・・・　じゃ、一応５月を消して八月を記入。

Thrown in Jail Monday May 1

It is a fact that our school does not have much money. What we do seem to have, though, are connections. The staff has recently hooked us up with great seats to concerts, plays, and cultural events. It's almost an extension of my days of seeing free shows at Foellinger.

Last Thursday, more than half of the students received tickets to go see the "Muscle Theatre" in Yokohama. The theater itself is in Minato Mirai, and thus within walking distance from the Center, so many of us were familiar with it. The show changes annually, but the theme is centered on human strength and endurance. These performers don't just dance, they work: flips, jumps, human pyramids, you name it. Personally, the excellent sound system also helped win me over. So, this year, the theme is "Dogs". Everyone was dressed up in these great dog outfits, and the storyline loosely depicted a stray dog trying to pass all of these challenges so he could become human.

About halfway though the event, eight or nine guys come out in "human" outfits. "That's odd," we thought, "everyone up until then had tails and ears and all that?" They were dressed as construction workers, and they came out with a big set piece that had metal sheets suspended from wires, making a huge, but spartan, vertical xylophone. Then, the guys laid down, and in order, did sit-ups, each time purposefully clanking their helmets into the metal sheets to hammer out the tune. It was wild.

Out of nowhere, one of the guys got up and ran offstage, saying he "had to go to the bathroom". Now, we all had seen in the program beforehand that "audience participation" was part of the show, but no one had anticipated this: the "lead" constructor worker starts looking out into the crowd to fill the absence; they can't finish their song unless someone plays that note. He walks towards the steps down to the audience of about 1,000 people.

The students from my school were in various places in the theater. Jon, Ken, and a few others were in the front row, but on the opposite side of the stage from this guy. Joanna, Val, Teja, and myself were in the seventh row on the side of the stage where this guy was. Val's a big, tall guy. He does martial arts. He's a badass. I swore they spotted him ahead of time and were making a beeline for him.

But it was I who was sitting on the aisle.

"You," he pointed.

And then there's a spotlight on me. People are clapping and cheering. I'm supposed to get up onstage and help these guys finish this song. I hear Jon, Ken, and the first-row crowd screaming out cheering for me. I get up there, put on the helmet, and get in position to do the sit-ups. And then this thought: "Mark, you're onstage with eight muscular, beefy dudes who can do probably eighty sit-ups a minute. You haven't done any sit-ups in probably over a year. This could be a potentially very embarassing moment for you."

The guy who had "gone to the bathroom" had played his part out before, and I had been paying attention from my seat (it was a real simple melody), so I actually knew when to clank the metal. The "song" began again, and I sat up and knocked my helmet against the metal when I thought I should. When I did, they all immediately stop, look at me, and start saying no, no, no. The audience loves it.

"Oh, I get it," I realize. I'm being set up here. They're screwing with me. All right, so if doing the melody right is wrong, I just won't do anything next time. So they start up the melody again, and when I know it's my "turn", I don't do anything. Same reaction: no, no, no, and a roar from the audience. But unlike all good stories, though, there's no rule of three here. I only got two chances. So, they ushered me to my feet after I "failed" the second time, and I was led to stage right, where for the first forty-five minutes of the show, a huge curtain had been covering a set piece.

The curtain dropped, and the stage lights revealed a huge jail cell with a single chair in the center of it; a uniformed guard stood at the back. The door slammed behind me, and here I am, looking out into the bright lights, having no idea what I'm doing in jail, or what I'm supposed to be doing onstage in the first place. I know I hit that melody right. The show continued. At one point, the guard handed me a piece of ribbon on a stick, as I was supposed to wave it around though the bars (which faced the audience) to mimic the motion of the dancers onstage (who were far more graceful).

The hero of the show came onstage after about four or five minutes. Since he's a dog, he can't speak, and the "dialogue" was displayed via projector on screens on the sides of the stage. The only problem was that, well, from my unique jailcell vantage point, I couldn't see what they were saying. Thus, I had no idea that the hero was saving me from prison, or that I was supposed to only "reluctantly" give him the ribbon that was supposedly one part of allowing him to become human.

After I gave it to him, I was handed a complimentary bath towel, thanked, and ushered offstage back to my seat to watch the rest of the show. Unfortunately, photography was prohibited, so there's no evidence of any of this.

After the show, all the students were beaming about how great it was that one of us got picked to go up there. We felt special. Then someone suggested, "wait, we were probably picked because we're foreigners, and thus have an appeal of our own in that environment," which was then immediately connected to the fact that we had gotten the tickets for free (with good seats) through the good offices of the school.

Do you see where I'm going with this? I was set up.