This is less of a fun post or a story post than an informative post. Many people do know, but some don't that this Christmas I'm not staying in Japan. I'm also not coming home. Instead, I'm going with a couple friends from here in Japan to India.
The plan is as follows:
1) Fly into Chennai
2) Immediately fly to Delhi
3) Christmas at the Taj Mahal
4) Mumbai for a few days
5) Goa for New Years. Party.
6) Hampi for gorgeous, freaky temples for a day or two
7) Flight out of Chennai
Obviously I can't give photos yet, but I promise bunches when I get back. And if anyone has some advice on India... I can't use it. My head is about to explode with planning this as is and if you tell me one more must-see spot to go, I'll believe you and try to make it work. Otherwise, Happy Holidays and I hope you are enjoying the snow back stateside.
Nuts to that. I need beach.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Monday, December 10, 2007
Daftfacemeltingfunkfest / I've wanted to dance for 3 months.
I saw Daft Punk in Tokyo last weekend.
For some of the people who might read this (Does anyone really read this? The whole blog idea still feels like an exercise for the ego.) that means absolutely nothing, but for those that do understand what Daft Punk is and everything that it means, I know they're already as fired up as I was when I first heard they were coming to Tokyo and tickets were available.
The Famous Pyramid
For those of you that don't know, however, Daft Punk are a Parisian electronic music duo who have been doing their thing for about ten years now. They were around as electronic music was just getting started and were among those fighting to legitimize a genre of music that many people hated. Basically, they're awesome.
On the way to Makuhari Messe, a large convention center in Chiba in between Tokyo and Tokyo Disneyland, there were a lot of foreigners on the train and I was pretty confident that most of them were going to the concert. In fact, I knew lots of people who would be going and lots more who wished they had bought tickets in time. Our arms were sore from the Typhoid Vaccinations we'd gotten just hours ago in preparation for India, and we were tired from a cold night in our capsules at the hostel in Shinjuku. But none of that could drown out the excitement we were feeling at seeing one of our favorite artists at such a huge venue... and in freaking TOKYO!
The Pyramid and Graphs.
When we got off the Subway I took a mental note of the scalpers selling tickets right outside the train station. I was so glad I already had my ticket. We got in line, got searched, and I handed my ticket to the woman. "Honto?! Kono wa Ashita!"
Crap.
I didn't look at the calendar when I bought the ticket at the convenience store and accidentally bought one for the next day. Not to be discouraged, I gathered all of my (and my friend's money) and we sprinted back to talk to those same Yakuza scalpers that I'd noticed earlier. The two grown Japanese men in white track suits were really friendly and gave us a much better offer than the first Russian guy we talked to about swapping the tickets. I suppose maybe you shouldn't buy tickets from the Japanese mafia, but I prefer to think of it as correcting a mistake rather than doing something downright evil. After all, someone had to buy those tickets. If not, both my ticket for tomorrow, AND the one he had for that day would have been wasted. Really, I'm a hero.
When the curtain on the main stage lifted, the famous pyramid of light was center stage, the two Frenchmen were wearing their robot suits and masks (Google Image them if you want to see), and people were shoving hard for the front. It was like a tide, there would be a hard push forward, and then a hard push back a few seconds later. As the duo opened with "One More Time," a classic, the pushing was still going on, and it would be another five minutes of awkward dancing/ pushing/ standing in one place because there was no space to dance, until those that were tired of being pushed retreated, and the rest of us secured our dancing space.
Red Lights. It was awesome dammit! You could never understand!
It was amazing. The music was incredible and on a whole other level than listening to the CD for the Daft Punk parties like in College. The lights on their pyramid and the rest of the stage were awesome. Then, they turned on some red lights on their suits and helmets. Everyone went nuts. It was just lights... but... yeah, I know it sounds stupid now, but it was awesome then! The set was far two short at one hour and the brief encore did little to make me feel otherwise. But despite that, it was without a doubt the best DJ set I've ever seen.
At the end of the show, it was 8:30 or so (early I know) and once again, we had no hotel that night. As usual though, we met some people at the concert. After the train ride back to Tokyo, we spent a couple hours looking for a hotel in Shibuya, and were told every single one was full. Not much of a surprise at midnight though I suppose. After retreating to the 24 hr. McDonald's to contemplate our next move, and admittedly, I was ready to sleep at the McDonald's if need be (Lord knows I wouldn't be the first) the Japanese punker we met at the show offered to let us crash at his place a little ways north of Shinjuku. We hopped in a cab, picked up a couple beers at the convenience store and then stayed up a little longer watching an old Fugazi (DC Hardcore Punk band from the heyday back in the late 80's) that definitely made me miss D.C. until we all fell asleep on the floor.
It was another great trip to Tokyo, and yes, another example of making a Japanese friend and having them save us. Can't wait to go back and do it again.
For some of the people who might read this (Does anyone really read this? The whole blog idea still feels like an exercise for the ego.) that means absolutely nothing, but for those that do understand what Daft Punk is and everything that it means, I know they're already as fired up as I was when I first heard they were coming to Tokyo and tickets were available.
The Famous Pyramid
For those of you that don't know, however, Daft Punk are a Parisian electronic music duo who have been doing their thing for about ten years now. They were around as electronic music was just getting started and were among those fighting to legitimize a genre of music that many people hated. Basically, they're awesome.
On the way to Makuhari Messe, a large convention center in Chiba in between Tokyo and Tokyo Disneyland, there were a lot of foreigners on the train and I was pretty confident that most of them were going to the concert. In fact, I knew lots of people who would be going and lots more who wished they had bought tickets in time. Our arms were sore from the Typhoid Vaccinations we'd gotten just hours ago in preparation for India, and we were tired from a cold night in our capsules at the hostel in Shinjuku. But none of that could drown out the excitement we were feeling at seeing one of our favorite artists at such a huge venue... and in freaking TOKYO!
The Pyramid and Graphs.
When we got off the Subway I took a mental note of the scalpers selling tickets right outside the train station. I was so glad I already had my ticket. We got in line, got searched, and I handed my ticket to the woman. "Honto?! Kono wa Ashita!"
Crap.
I didn't look at the calendar when I bought the ticket at the convenience store and accidentally bought one for the next day. Not to be discouraged, I gathered all of my (and my friend's money) and we sprinted back to talk to those same Yakuza scalpers that I'd noticed earlier. The two grown Japanese men in white track suits were really friendly and gave us a much better offer than the first Russian guy we talked to about swapping the tickets. I suppose maybe you shouldn't buy tickets from the Japanese mafia, but I prefer to think of it as correcting a mistake rather than doing something downright evil. After all, someone had to buy those tickets. If not, both my ticket for tomorrow, AND the one he had for that day would have been wasted. Really, I'm a hero.
When the curtain on the main stage lifted, the famous pyramid of light was center stage, the two Frenchmen were wearing their robot suits and masks (Google Image them if you want to see), and people were shoving hard for the front. It was like a tide, there would be a hard push forward, and then a hard push back a few seconds later. As the duo opened with "One More Time," a classic, the pushing was still going on, and it would be another five minutes of awkward dancing/ pushing/ standing in one place because there was no space to dance, until those that were tired of being pushed retreated, and the rest of us secured our dancing space.
Red Lights. It was awesome dammit! You could never understand!
It was amazing. The music was incredible and on a whole other level than listening to the CD for the Daft Punk parties like in College. The lights on their pyramid and the rest of the stage were awesome. Then, they turned on some red lights on their suits and helmets. Everyone went nuts. It was just lights... but... yeah, I know it sounds stupid now, but it was awesome then! The set was far two short at one hour and the brief encore did little to make me feel otherwise. But despite that, it was without a doubt the best DJ set I've ever seen.
At the end of the show, it was 8:30 or so (early I know) and once again, we had no hotel that night. As usual though, we met some people at the concert. After the train ride back to Tokyo, we spent a couple hours looking for a hotel in Shibuya, and were told every single one was full. Not much of a surprise at midnight though I suppose. After retreating to the 24 hr. McDonald's to contemplate our next move, and admittedly, I was ready to sleep at the McDonald's if need be (Lord knows I wouldn't be the first) the Japanese punker we met at the show offered to let us crash at his place a little ways north of Shinjuku. We hopped in a cab, picked up a couple beers at the convenience store and then stayed up a little longer watching an old Fugazi (DC Hardcore Punk band from the heyday back in the late 80's) that definitely made me miss D.C. until we all fell asleep on the floor.
It was another great trip to Tokyo, and yes, another example of making a Japanese friend and having them save us. Can't wait to go back and do it again.
My Best Student Just Legimitately Kicked My Ass.
There are a couple things that dawn on you when you pull on a kendo mask
1) You're reasonably well protected now from the wooden sword you're about to be repeatedly hit with.
2) That itch on your masked nose is now so out of the reach of your gloved finger that you're just going to have to deal.
Kendo is Japanese fencing. It's a pretty common thing to practice in gym class in the winter when it's too cold to have the usual relay races or swimming. Since I can see my breath in the English Classroom I guess it's time for Kendo.
After a moment of meditation, students put on their armor. At my junior high school, these pieces included a large chestplate (with an adorable little pot belly) glove and wrist guards, a sort of protective kilt, and finally the helmet made of some thick woven material with a hard metal cage over the face. It's all pretty light and easy to move around in, except for the helmet, whose unforgiving chinguard makes it a little tricky to speak, let alone speak in your third language.
After watching my students take turns walloping each other for two minute intervals, it was easy to see how their personalities in class translated to their fencing. My best student, a 15 year old girl who just recently passed a very important national English test had a very slow, methodical approach to her fencing. She rarely made the first move and almost always found an opening on her opponent, the star baseball player who had at least a foot on her in height. After he made a quick move towards her, she would do a quick forward hop, bringing her sword down across his guard and then further extending and angling her swing with a sharp downward wrist movement, thus bypassing the additional defense given by the hilt of his sword. There were no huge hits, but they did connect.
One of my other students, really more of a class clown but still one of my favorites, had a much different approach. His tactic was to almost ignore his own defense completely in favor of landing as many quick swings to the gut as possible. While his strategy seemed to yield some results against his opponent, it was difficult to imagine how he and the one girl in the class would have matched up. I knew his tactics were unique when he turned and ran away from his opponent at one point to get away from his counter attack and all the other students started laughing.
When it was finally my turn, the Gym teacher strapped on my helmet and told me I would be matched up against my best student, the careful fencer who I'd watched take down someone twice her size not 10 minutes earlier. I had an itch on my nose, was fighting in my socks, but I knew that neither of those minor handicaps really made a difference for what was about to happen. Itch or not, I was about to get my foreign, non-sword weilding butt handed to me.
The first half of the fight, she went on the offensive, and I was able to deflect her attacks for what felt like a pretty long time (maybe 5 seconds in reality right?) before she landed a hit to my forearm just above where the guard ended. As we retreated back to our starting positions, she apologized endlessly, as expected, though it really didn't hurt at all. The next go, I had her on the defensive for a while, landing maybe one or two glancing blows to her gloves before she whacked me square on top of my head. Third try: smack to the head. Fourth: Two quick smacks to the head. The 2 minute buzzer sounded and the match was over. I don't think anyone bothered keeping track of the score, the fight being as one-sided as it was. She and I were both laughing as we sat down and began taking our armor off for the end of class meditation. As soon as her mask was off though, she turned to me one last time to say, "I'm sorry!"
I know she was going easy on me. I found out a couple days ago that she's the best in the class, and has fought in competitions. I'm lucky I got away with as few knocks to the head as I did. I am hopeful I'll be invited to class again so I can strap on my potbelly armor one more time. Maybe I can join the 7th graders. They're smaller and haven't been practicing as long. I might be able to beat a 12 year old... But 15 year old girls are way too tough for me.
1) You're reasonably well protected now from the wooden sword you're about to be repeatedly hit with.
2) That itch on your masked nose is now so out of the reach of your gloved finger that you're just going to have to deal.
Kendo is Japanese fencing. It's a pretty common thing to practice in gym class in the winter when it's too cold to have the usual relay races or swimming. Since I can see my breath in the English Classroom I guess it's time for Kendo.
After a moment of meditation, students put on their armor. At my junior high school, these pieces included a large chestplate (with an adorable little pot belly) glove and wrist guards, a sort of protective kilt, and finally the helmet made of some thick woven material with a hard metal cage over the face. It's all pretty light and easy to move around in, except for the helmet, whose unforgiving chinguard makes it a little tricky to speak, let alone speak in your third language.
After watching my students take turns walloping each other for two minute intervals, it was easy to see how their personalities in class translated to their fencing. My best student, a 15 year old girl who just recently passed a very important national English test had a very slow, methodical approach to her fencing. She rarely made the first move and almost always found an opening on her opponent, the star baseball player who had at least a foot on her in height. After he made a quick move towards her, she would do a quick forward hop, bringing her sword down across his guard and then further extending and angling her swing with a sharp downward wrist movement, thus bypassing the additional defense given by the hilt of his sword. There were no huge hits, but they did connect.
One of my other students, really more of a class clown but still one of my favorites, had a much different approach. His tactic was to almost ignore his own defense completely in favor of landing as many quick swings to the gut as possible. While his strategy seemed to yield some results against his opponent, it was difficult to imagine how he and the one girl in the class would have matched up. I knew his tactics were unique when he turned and ran away from his opponent at one point to get away from his counter attack and all the other students started laughing.
When it was finally my turn, the Gym teacher strapped on my helmet and told me I would be matched up against my best student, the careful fencer who I'd watched take down someone twice her size not 10 minutes earlier. I had an itch on my nose, was fighting in my socks, but I knew that neither of those minor handicaps really made a difference for what was about to happen. Itch or not, I was about to get my foreign, non-sword weilding butt handed to me.
The first half of the fight, she went on the offensive, and I was able to deflect her attacks for what felt like a pretty long time (maybe 5 seconds in reality right?) before she landed a hit to my forearm just above where the guard ended. As we retreated back to our starting positions, she apologized endlessly, as expected, though it really didn't hurt at all. The next go, I had her on the defensive for a while, landing maybe one or two glancing blows to her gloves before she whacked me square on top of my head. Third try: smack to the head. Fourth: Two quick smacks to the head. The 2 minute buzzer sounded and the match was over. I don't think anyone bothered keeping track of the score, the fight being as one-sided as it was. She and I were both laughing as we sat down and began taking our armor off for the end of class meditation. As soon as her mask was off though, she turned to me one last time to say, "I'm sorry!"
I know she was going easy on me. I found out a couple days ago that she's the best in the class, and has fought in competitions. I'm lucky I got away with as few knocks to the head as I did. I am hopeful I'll be invited to class again so I can strap on my potbelly armor one more time. Maybe I can join the 7th graders. They're smaller and haven't been practicing as long. I might be able to beat a 12 year old... But 15 year old girls are way too tough for me.
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