tsuki wa kudanshita desu!

9:23 pm, Tokyo, 7/9/08
I am slowly easing out of jet lag. I cannot seem to get up at 5:45 am like I used to, so I am reverting, like so many Algernons before me, to a more evening oriented writing period. I have finally settled in to what I think will be my regular study habits. The first day of class was uneventful, to say the least. We started from page one of the first level book; even my grammar skills surpass those taught on page one. However, I am so behind on my vocabulary that even the simple words and counters being reviewed are effectively new (Dear Alan, I hate counters. Please inform whatever Chinese grammarian who thought long things needed to be separated from bowls and flat things that his positive contributions to Asian syntax are sorely in question).
Mom: not only am I being fed wonderful dishes ranging from stews to noodles to salted tuna tail, as well as tempura and ramen from great little restaurants (the ramen I will describe later), but I also contributed to the greater well being of my family by teaching my host mom how to make that pasta dish I have historically succeeded in making. For those who are unfamiliar with this particular culinary masterwork, it involves pasta boiled then stirred on medium low heat with garlic (here the domestic garlic is four dollars a head, ever since people stopped buying poisoned Chinese garlic; we used garlic powder) and walnuts; I also added spinach and sliced tomatoes. It turned out to be a very nice lunch. Later in the week I am making a month’s worth of oatmeal cookies to keep Daisuke alive at work; poor Daisuke. I see him in the mornings at breakfast and my immense respect for him grows and grows. I do not know how he is able to keep so clearly happy and light hearted; he may be working hard now, but unlike in America, as he goes up higher in the company, his workload will only increase; this for a man who regularly comes home “early” at 10:15 to see his daughter seems untenable to me, but it’s all part of life for a Japanese man. Indicative of this is that the Japanese have a single word to describe death from overwork: Karoshi (過労死).

8:02 pm, Tokyo July 10, 2008
My day exceeded expectations, certainly. After class, which unfortunately, besides for new vocabulary, seems, as a classmate confided in me later, “a bit remedial”; For my part, I will keep studying; my Japanese will hopefully improve as I get the basics down pat. This aside, the activities afterwards really made me appreciate coming to this country. We set off as a group, split off in sixes with our Japanese “guide”, to Harajuku, the shopping district with fabulously expensive clothes and even goofier fashions and toys. This didn’t make much of an impression on me, but then we went to the Meiji Shrine nearby; this was a new experience altogether. The shrine was built by Emperor Meiji and served as a retreat for contemplation and a setting for some of the most important points in his life, including his wedding. Evidence of this event remains in the form of wooden barrels of wine and spirits presented by breweries and wineries from all over the world, six barrels high and fifteen across, placed along the walking path to the main temple gate; more striking, though, were the hundred kegs of sake placed across from the barrels. Now, I do not know any event that would convince a sake brewer to keg his product save an imperial wedding, but personally, I would not mind the idea of owning enough spirit to inebriate my enemies into submission, all in a portable, nuptial friendly cylinder.
The foot-path to the shrine is wide to the point of vastness; easily twelve strides across at its narrowest, the path, surrounded as it was on both sides by impressive, tall trees, gave the impression of a man who could conquer nature not only by the slow pounding results of one set of feet, but of the millions of them he himself embodied. The path passed through an immense traditional wooden gate. Easily six stories tall, the grey-brown Japanese Cyprus structure melded with the tree-line; unlike a Chinese gate of the same intent, this was simple: Two vertical bars supporting a horizontal bar with the ends tapering up. The effective plainness of the gate made its scale all the more pronounced; I do not know why I had this reaction, but walking under it, it occurred to me that I had seen something that would stick with me for a long time; I suppose only it will tell.
We got to the main shrine, where we went through the traditional process of washing our hands, then our mouths, with spring water coming through a fountain pool, then washing the spoon we washed with. We proceeded to go to the shrine itself, where we placed our donations, clapped our hands twice, and bowed to whatever spirits, gods, G-d, or otherwise we felt we connected to the most.
Before I left, I bought my first present for the folks back home, one I think everyone will appreciate, and I got a small paper roll for myself; it contains a waka poem, one of the thousands written by Emperor Meiji himself: you could say that it is my goal to one day be able to read it with ease.