Cliff’s 2008 Japan Trip — Day 3

The saga of my 2008 Japan trip continues with Day 3!

Hibiya Park

Since Maoi and I woke up earlier than everyone else, we decided to hang out in Hibiya Park, which was directly in front of the hotel. A crowd of schoolgirls had gathered at the entrance of the park for some sort of field trip. My chromosomes tingled.

We discovered that there was a flower show of some sort in the park itself, which explained the schoolgirl thing. There was also little exhibits by landscapers. These were lovely, but would probably drive non-Japanese insane, or at least people who don’t understand the Japanese aesthetic. Most of them looked like tiny, vaguely overrun stretches of Japanese forest, which is the whole point — the care put into the landscaping was invisible, making it seem like it naturally occurred. Which of course, it didn’t, since very few things in urban Tokyo occur naturally.

Maoi in Hibiya Park

There were also a lot of people in wheelchairs riding around shouting into megaphones. Not sure what was going on there but it seemed very important.

We also saw some people running around in band uniforms. Apparently, in anticipation of the long weekend, there was a free classical music concert at the park. Awesome.

Me on a bridge in Hibiya Park

Maoi finished off her cig, we met up with her mom and brother, and headed off to– SHIBUYA!

More after the break.

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Cliff’s 2008 Japan Trip - Day 2

Ginza

Ginza from my room in the daytime

Ginza is probably what Ayala will look like when it finally grows up and gets over itself, 30 years in the future or so. The sidewalks are so clean you could eat mochi off of it, which is probably an incredible breach of etiquette. I gathered this because when my fiancee’s mother decided to eat one mochi while standing on the sidewalk (not off of it though), an older gentleman in a scorching-hot gray custom roadster kept giving her scathingly disapproving looks.

Mitsukoshi is what Rustan’s wants to be when it grows up, too. And Mitsuya is what Greenbelt 5 wants to be. It has half a floor dedicated to objects that share nothing in common except for the fact that they have excellent design, like clocks, notebooks, aroma dispersers, chairs, and toys. It has an entire section dedicated to fine paintings and calligraphy. And footwear. Lots of footwear.

It is at this point that I begin to get bored. If I wanted to shop for Western designer apparel I would have stayed in Makati. Fortunately, the ratio of attractive women is very high in Ginza so I wasn’t too bored. I found myself developing a crush for 1 in every 10 women that walked by. My fiancee and I discussed this and we decided that this was my dormant genetic memory being reawakened, since I’m part-Japanese. My chromosomes were getting all tingly.

I treated everyone to lunch at the basement cafeteria-type place. I had cold soba, everyone else had sushi or ramen of various kinds. It cost me 10000 yen, or roughly 5000 pesos. Clearly I had underestimated cafeteria prices in Ginza. Actually, they overcharged me slightly and after consulting with our waitress, they realized they charged me for ‘ni’ tenzaru soba instead of ‘ichi’. I looked at the cashier in the waitress outfit with apron and said, “Ichi.” She giggled. She was cute.  Curse my genes.

By the end of the day I was beginning to get cabin fever. In a mall. I was in Japan, for God’s sake. The rest of the city was calling out to me — Shibuya, Shinjuku, Harajuku, and Akihabara. But I was stuck in Ginza.

Not so, proclaimed my fiancee’s mom. We were going to Roppongi Hills that evening. Finally, out of Ginza!

The taxi ride to Roppongi was pretty fun. I sat in the passenger seat, which is of course, where the driver’s seat would be back home, so I pretended I was driving. Traffic wasn’t bad at all, I guess mass transit was so efficient that only people with private cars took to the roads. Plus the taxi ride was getting expensive. What would have been a 160 yen train ride was now costing us 2000 yen. Oh well, not my money.

Roppongi Hills

A wall display in Roppongi Hills

Okay, Roppongi Hills is beautiful. THIS is what Greenbelt wants to be when it grows up. Unfortunately I didn’t come to Japan to go to Greenbelt-Plus so I stood around carrying shopping bags while shopping for French purses was going on.

We entered a chic shop that I can only describe as a Japanese Ikea. High tech furniture, neat gadgets, Roppongi prices. I got myself a notebook clip/pen holder for 800 yen and left it at that — after all, I was still smarting from my lunch fiasco.

We had dinner at an izakaya on one of the higher floors. This was very stressful because our very patient waitress could speak very little English, and my future mother-in-law compensated by repeating the same English sentences over and over again, only louder and more slowly, attracting the attention of the other patrons. ”FISH! WHAT - KIND - OF - FISH - DO - YOU - SERVE - HERE?” “Gomen nasai, wakarimasen…” “FISH! WHAT - KIND - OF - FISH –”

Eventually, using the little Japanese I knew, I finally managed to order dinner for everyone and a bottle of sake for myself. Hey, it was an izakaya, I was expected to drink. The food was excellent  (in our case consisting of assorted fish, meats, and vegetables on sticks and some chu-toro sashimi, in my fiancee’s mom’s case a whole grilled fish of some sort that she had picked out of a basket the waitress brought to the table) and the alcohol brightened my mood considerably.

Foo:D Magazine in Roppongi

We walked down the street to a large two-floor konbini store called Foo:D Magazine (oh those literal Engrish names) where we bought our breakfasts for the rest of the stay. Peyangu sauce yakisoba, instant curry ramen, bread and butter, some cheeses, and a lot of bottled water, even though the tap water at the hotel was potable. Can’t be too safe I guess.

The famous all-female Takarazuka Revue

Ginza at Night

When we got back to the hotel, Maoi and I decided to explore Ginza a little bit more. We discovered a side exit from the guest tower (to avoid the rest of the maze) and found ourselves outside the all-female answer to Kabuki, the Takarazuka Theater. We decided to stick around because a large but very well-behaved crowd composed mostly of women had formed outside the theater, waiting for the star to exit.

This was a very surreal twenty minutes, because everyone was so very quiet. Every time the door would open, the crowd would stand up expectantly, like a wave of hushed fandom. And then they would sit back down again, all of one mind, when the people who would come out turned out not to be the star. This repeated itself over a dozen times until finally the star, a very tall and handsome looking woman,  finally made her appearance to very muted applause. No cheers or whistles, just quiet clapping, like golf claps only even quieter, and the flash of cameras going off.

Ginza street-level at night

Along the main streets of Ginza the neon signs flashed, and drunken salarymen and OLs made their way to the train station. We passed one guy puking his guts out into the gutter, while his friends patted him on the back consolingly. After checking out the local arcade (which had 3 floors, modest by Japanese standards), we made our way back to the hotel.

I turned in, wanting to get up early, since tomorrow was the day I was finally going to Shibuya.

Cliff’s 2008 Japan Trip - Day 1

Manila

I didn’t manage to get much sleep the night before. Japan! Was it true? Was I really going? Did I know enough Japanese to get around? Would I look like a complete hick with my less-enlightened fashion sense? Would Japanese women squeal at the sight of me? Ah, the thoughts that pass in the small hours.

After one last leap into the fray that is Metro Manila traffic, we arrived at NAIA. The wait at the airport wasn’t too bad. Since my fiancee and her family were flying in executive class (even though I could only afford to get myself an seat in economy), we got to stay at the airport lounge which had free wifi. Still feeding my internet addiction right up to the point I head off to Japan.

Japan. Like the wait before my trip to the UK, I worried that Japan wouldn’t, couldn’t possibly live up to my expectations. Aside from the warped impression I formed as an otaku, there’s also all those short documentary segments they show on TV. You know the ones — they all have this pleasantly mild English voice-over describing the many wonders of certain aspects of Japanese culture — green tea cuisine, paper-making, pottery, new mutant strands of rice resistant to nuclear attack, and so on.

The actual flight to Japan itself was very relaxing. I was the only person on my row, and I chose a window seat. Looking out as the plane made its way across Luzon toward Japan, I saw icky brown tailings spilling out from a river mouth into the great blue sea, diffusing into it. With any luck we’ll all poison ourselves before we take anyone else down with us, I thought.

On the other hand, seeing the untouched areas of the Philippines from the air made me wonder why we were tearing the land up in the first place. To pay off our debts to international bankers, which we incurred because our fatcat politicians need to buy their mistresses new designer-label purses, or to pay for trips out of the country. Like to Japan, for instance.

Oops.

Narita

Anyway, after flying over a disconcertingly clean cityscape, we finally landed in Narita. Every time I ride on a plane, I rate the landing on a scale of 1 to 10, 10 equivalent to “I didn’t even feel us land!” and 1 being, well, burning wreckage. This was a 7. Par.

We met with the guy who was driving us to our hotel in Tokyo. I’d tell you what his name was except I never found out what it was. He regaled us with stories of how he went to the US for college and eventually spent the whole time playing golf. He went to USC. I’m not sure golf would have been my diversion of choice if I was in his shoes. Eventually, he told us, after he went to Jamaica, 9-11 happened and he was denied reentry into the States. Because Japanese layabouts skipping out on college and living on their parents’ money are prime candidates for terrorist acts, I guess.

The Imperial Hotel

The Ginza Skyline from my hotel room window

After oohing and ahhing our way through Ginza (”Oooh Kabuki Theater! Ahh Ginza!”) we arrived at the Imperial Hotel. My fiancee’s father warned us that it was like a maze. This was less of an exaggeration that I would have thought. For example, to get to our room, you have to enter the main lobby, take the elevator up to the mezzanine, walk across to the guest building, enter your card key for access to the guest elevators, go up to the 21st floor, and then hang a right at the end.

On the other hand, to get to the diner we at our late dinner at, you need to go down to B1, and then… actually I have no idea how we got there. B1 was an even more confusing maze than the upper floors were. All I know is that I had the beef curry and it was delicious and extremely overpriced.

I was roommates with my fiancee’s brother, so no taking any strange girls to my hotel room. Kidding. Maybe. Anyway after haggling over what to have for breakfast the next day (”2100 yen for a slice of melon NO WAI”) we finally went to sleep.

Big day tomorrow, I told myself.

I’m a human being, God damn it! My life has value!

O RLY? YA RLY — Philippine Politics Edition

Thanks to Magical Girl Sammi for the Miriam pic, and tagsmaker.com for making the Joker pic possible

EDIT: Added by Sam –

Martin Luther King Jr.: Something to Die For

From Tim Ferriss’ blog:

“I say to you, this morning, that if you have never found something so dear and precious to you that you will die for it, then you aren’t fit to live.

You may be 38 years old, as I happen to be, and one day, some great opportunity stands before you and calls upon you to stand for some great principle, some great issue, some great cause. And you refuse to do it because you are afraid.

You refuse to do it because you want to live longer. You’re afraid that you will lose your job, or you are afraid that you will be criticized or that you will lose your popularity, or you’re afraid that somebody will stab or shoot or bomb your house. So you refuse to take a stand.

Well, you may go on and live until you are ninety, but you are just as dead at 38 as you would be at ninety.

And the cessation of breathing in your life is but the belated announcement of an earlier death of the spirit.

You died when you refused to stand up for right.

You died when you refused to stand up for truth.

You died when you refused to stand up for justice.”

-Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
From the sermon “But, If Not” delivered at Ebenezer Baptist Church on November 5, 1967.

The Merchandise is Worth Dying For

“He turned the power to the have-nots / And then came the shot”

– Rage Against the Machine, Wake Up

On August 21, 1983, a man took a plane home to his country knowing full well that he was most likely going to be killed. He did this for his convictions, his principles, and his beliefs.

And now we’re using him to sell shirts and sunglasses. The merchandise is worth dying for.

Twenty-five short years and we’ve already forgotten what it was like to live in a time when principles mattered, where standing up for what you believed in was an admirable trait, not an annoyance to tune out. Twenty-five short years and Ninoy is on our money and our clothes. We’ve handed his image over to a multinational advertising agency that doesn’t give a shit about what he did or what he stood for, to companies using him to raise money and get tax breaks from charitable donations.

You’re Ninoy? Please.

“Fist in the air in the land of hypocrisy”

- Rage Against the Machine, Wake Up

I’m not sure I would have seen eye to eye with the man if he were still alive. I’m pretty sure I would find him sanctimonious and possibly irritatingly self-righteous.

But I would have respected his convictions, and his willingness to subject his beliefs and principles to the test. Ultimately the final test killed him.

But ideas are bulletproof.

Unfortunately, they’re also subject to subversion, corruption, and decay.

And that is precisely what has happened.

The merchandise is worth dying for.

“So called facts are fraud
They want us to allege and pledge
And bow down to their God
Lost the culture, the culture lost
Spun our minds and through time
Ignorance has taken over
Yo, we gotta take the power back!”

– Rage Against the Machine, Take the Power Back

He died so we can get further in foreign debt? He died so we can continue to pay taxes to a government that no longer governs, but simply rules? He died so that fatcat businessmen can carve up our country into smaller and smaller pieces for them to keep for themselves while the rest of us starve, while the rest of us labor day and night to pay the taxes that keep them fat and corrupt? He died so that the politicians no longer fear the population that they are supposed to be serving, that they are supposed to represent?

Why do we send the worst of ourselves to be our representatives?

What the hell are we doing? We escaped the darkness and tyranny of twenty years of autocratic rule and systematic oppression, into what? Pointless consumerism? A declining standard of living, of education, of public healthcare and infrastructure? The farce of the administration and the so-called opposition, both sides standing for no principle greater than greed and stupidity?

This is it? This is what he died for? To be reduced to level of Che Guevarra, adorning the shirts of people who have no clue or respect for what these people have accomplished?

And now they get to be Ninoy, too? They get to pretend they bled out on that tarmac? They get to lie in that casket? They get to claim credit for a revolution that was nothing short of a miracle?

The merchandise is worth dying for.

‘iamninoy’?

Don’t make me laugh! Don’t make me punch you in the fucking face for this travesty. Because I will.

And then they try to scare us into letting them stay in power because of a nebulous fear that the alternative will be worse? That chaos would prevail if they did not dictate what we can do or can’t do, say or can’t say, think or can’t think?

Is that a threat?

Then let chaos prevail.

You are not Ninoy. WE are Ninoy, the people. Not the ‘masses’ or the ‘elite’ or the ‘bourgeoisie’, empty categories used to divide the population — and a divided population is easier to quell. No, every single person out there who has been elbowed out by fat bureaucrats, corrupt clergymen, and media spin doctors who want to hog the teat of the motherland, everyone who’s been marginalized and underrepresented just so Congressman Blowhard can watch another boxing match in Las Vegas, just so our corrupt little leaders can feed their corrupt little broods at the expense of all of us.

Us. The people. Everyone who remembers what EDSA was really all about, before the politicians and the Church and the spoiled families of our heroes claimed the credit for themselves. We are Ninoy, not them.

We are Ninoy. And they should be very very afraid of us.

Because we are willing to die for what we believe.

…So what do we believe in?

Why I Won’t Be At The Salubong: Manila BANS BarOps

From GMA:

MANILA, Philippines - Manila has barred the holding of bar operations or “bar ops” for the 2008 bar examinees this September to avoid traffic jams on Taft Avenue.

Radio reports on Wednesday said Manila Mayor Alfredo Lim’s action was prompted by the call of Supreme Court Deputy Clerk and Bar Confidant, Ma. Cristina Layusa, to the city government to stop issuing permits to bar ops organizers.

The activities have been the tradition of school organizations and fraternity groups to demonstrate their support for bar examinees. Organizers put up tents, use loud sound systems and create other forms of hoopla, including partying on the streets.

According to Layusa, these activities snarl up traffic, making it hard for both commuters and examinees to pass by the exam venue. She added that in the past bar ops, some streets along Taft Avenue have been closed to accommodate the supporters.

So let me get this straight. We can’t have the post-bar celebrations — richly deserved, I might add, which is plainly obvious to anyone who’s ever taken the bar — because some people don’t like the traffic? But we have to deal with it whenever Pacquiao comes home from beating the shit out of someone?

You took the bar, Mayor Lim. You understand the hell we put ourselves through. Ask yourself if it really isn’t worth celebrating just to spare people some traffic during their Sunday drives.

Needless government intervention FTL.

(thanks to trinagar for the link)

Morning Musume - Jyosei Kashimashi Monogatari

A couple of my friends sent me this video. Now I can’t stop watching. Too… much… cuteness…

How to mix a Cliff