Tokyo Blond Is Not Porn

Tokyo Blond is not a porn blog, about hair or even, as one pithy friend remarked, a micro beer or late 1980s glam metal band ("Dude, I just saw Skid Row and Tokyo Blond opened and played a killer set").


The purpose of this blog is to chronicle my experiences in Tokyo - poignantly, visually, irreverently - for fun.


Anybody can tag along...that is if I like you. This blog will endeavor to be entertaining and honest and frequent enough to keep those following interested including me.


Thursday, September 29, 2011

So Sumo Me

Oh My God! I gasped at witnessing my first sumo match.  Ouch! I wasn't prepared for how surprisingly violent the bouts are - short, they last less than a minute, - but violent.  The sound of flesh slapping against more flesh, actually a lot of flesh, is enough to make you cringe.  But it's strangely mesmerizing, like watching a car crash but without the messy insurance aftermath.

Russell and I went to the next to the last day of the Grand Sumo Tournament. They have six a year but only three in Tokyo.  It was fun.  Russell thought it was kind of like the Hollywood Bowl.  You sit around, you drink, you eat, and oh, by the way, there's entertainment too.  You can even get a box where they'll bring you food and drinks - just like the bowl.  There may not be any fireworks but there's a lot of rituals, like throwing salt into the dirt ring to cleanse it and guys dressed in ornate kimonos with fans.  Oh wait - those are the referees.

The tournament started at 8am in the morning but we were told the best matches are held in the afternoon.  So we showed up just in time for the ring entering ceremony or dohyo-iri for the highest ranked wrestlers - the Makuuchi and the Yokozuna (i.e. Grand Champions).  Like everything in Japan, Sumo is very hierarchical.   Earlier in the day the lower ranking bouts of Jonokuci, Majushita and Juryo wrestling took place.  The hierarchy is complicated but distinguished.

Wrestlers began filtering into the stadium wearing brightly colored aprons which covered their fronts and left the wedgie side exposed. "Hey, they're wearing skirts, actually they're called kesho-mawashi.  We gotta get you one of those Russell, or at the very least (get it?) the thong thing, called a mawashi.  Maybe later you wear that," I said with a mischievous smile.  His look indicated he wasn't amused as he took another drag of sake.

We both had a chicken bowl, which we attacked with our chopsticks.  It consisted of rice, pickled radish, seaweed strips and chunks of yakitori chicken and chicken meatballs including the bone cartilage.  The food was great.  I wonder if they have any of those squid snacks?  The indoor stadium was draped with pictures of the past grand champions, kind of like the retired jerseys seen in American stadiums.  Our seats were decent. We had a great view of the dohyo or ring.

Before each bout the wrestlers perform a ritual including clapping, leg stomping (to drive evil spirits away), staring and squatting, aka posturing.  After which they exit the ring and get a drink of water from a wooden cup and a cold towel - then they re-enter the ring and after a couple more squats and stare downs...it's on!

It was interesting to watch the different styles.  Some would attack quickly, trying to surprise their opponent, while others would literally pick their opponent up and toss them out of the ring.  Occasionally there would be a stalemate, two wrestlers grasping each other with all their might, the tension building with each second passing  You could feel the strain. Sometimes when you thought the bout was won, a sudden shift would produce a surprise slip or fall and the bout would be over.   The rules are easy.  You have to get the other guy to fall down or out of the ring.

Unlike boxing there aren't any weight divisions.  So you'd see guys twice as big as their opponent and not all of them are Japanese.  In fact there was one guy who must be pretty good because he was in the second highest division who was clearly caucasian and not fat.  He looked like a body builder, not a sumo wrestler.  Oddly the diaper looked more indecent on him than it did on the larger, more rotund fighter.  I thought this fight ought to be interesting.  It was over quickly.  The big man took him out.

In America, little boys dream of growing up to be baseball players.  In Japan, do they dream of being Sumo wrestlers? After reading up on the subject, I doubt it.  For one, these guys get paid less than $30,000 USD a year.  Sure their food and board are paid for but it's a strict household.  Actually they call them stables.  All except the highest ranking wrestlers have to wear a yukata (cotton kimono), even in Winter, and uncomfortable wooden sandals which make a racket when they walk so you can spot them anywhere.

It's a life filled with discipline and ritual and hazing - kind of like a fraternity.  The younger, less experienced guys have to wait on the older ones.  But I guess it must have great perks when you become a champion.  The sake - the women - the sponsors - the usual.

The bouts got more exciting and the crowd louder and more rowdy as the evening went on.  The wrestlers fight in ranked order, lowest to highest.   Soon it was the final bout between the champion and the challenger.  It was actually the best bout of the day and it lasted for about two minutes.  In the end the champion won, again.

Exiting was easy.  Unlike American sporting events which generally take hours to get to and away from.
Twenty minutes after the last bout we were on a train speeding towards home.  But only after we walked by all of the souvenir stands.  Yes, you too can have your very own cookie or chocolate bar with the likeness of your favorite sumo champion.  I asked Russell if he needed anything.  He said no.

But I still think I need to get Russell one of those thongs.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sumo


Sumo stadium or Ryogoku Kokugikan.  They've been wresting here since 1909.
In the background, on the left, is the sky tree, the recently completed highest structure in Japan.

Nobori banners, like war banners.  
I thought they were advertising.

Lower ranked Sumo wrestlers exiting the tournament.
Yeah, you probably don't want to tease these guys about their outfits.
There were hoards of people with cameras waiting for them to pass by.

Entrance to the Sumo Hall.

Other side.

Shrine within the Sumo courtyard.

Hospitality Hall of Sponsors waiting to give their paid patrons gift bags.
I want a gift bag.

Grand champion trophy

View from our seats.

The guy in the ornate kimono is the ref.

I gotta see Russell in this outfit.

The fight.

Makuuchi Ceremonial entrance.  Nice aprons.

Yokozuna Grand Champion entrance.
This guy gets to come in by himself, attended only by
his lower ranking stable mates.

Final bout.

These banners actually are advertising.

The Japanese Grand Champion took out the white guy.

At the end of the night they do a little stick dance.
I stand corrected - it's a bow dance (yumitori-shiki).

Tower with guys heralding the end of the tourney for the day.

Basically guys drumming.

No, I'm not going to put on a diaper.  
I don't care what you promise.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Kabuki Rhymes With....?

Nothing.

Kabuki rhymes with nothing but it is bizarre.  It is believed Kabuki is derived from the verb "Kubuku" which means out of the ordinary or bizarre. I'll say. Kabuki theater is classical Japanese drama known for the elaborate costumes and make-up.

In kanji characters it means "sing", "dance" and "skill."  However you define it, it's something anyone living in Japan should see at least once.

Russell and I went as part of our acculturation campaign.  Friday night was Kabuki Theater, Saturday night was Sumo Wrestling, (watching; not participating) and Sunday night was a party on the roof of our apartment to meet the neighbors.  After this weekend we're feeling very acculturated.

Kabuki Theater was an experience.  Our seats were great, right next to the runway. Yes, runway.  Characters occasionally enter the stage on it.  We had secured the tickets through TAC (The Tokyo American Club).  In fact one of the TAC employees who always assists me with cultural events was seated in our row.

Our seats adjoining the walkway.

The program we saw included three plays, or parts of plays, as well as, a naming ceremony.  Apparently everyone in Kabuki theater is related to each other and the acting names get passed down from one to another based on acting ability and rank.  The ceremony we saw honored a father and son both assuming their father before thems' acting name.  According to the TAC employee the father being honored today is the son of an actor who is considered a "national treasure." He is literally called that.  Can you imagine?  "Yes I'd like you to meet Mr. Russell X - National Treasure."  I can't think of any actor or athlete who is called "a natural treasure" in America.  We don't have those kind of distinctions.  In England they give out knighthoods.  In America, they just give you lots of money and gift bags.

Curtain commemorating the naming ceremony.

Apparently naming ceremonies are a very important part of Kabuki theater, in which titles are passed down through families. In fact, you can't even get into Kabuki theater unless you were born into it.   Male descendants are expected to follow in their father's footsteps.  Kind of like the Sheens and the Baldwins.  Women aren't allowed to participate. What?  In ancient days Kabuki theater was played by an all women cast.  Apparently a lot of the themes were suggestive and actresses performed off stage as well as on stage, if you know what I mean.  Some uptight shogun banned women from kabuki in 1629, after which women's roles were played by young men. However that drew another type of um, unsavory audience.  You can take the Kabuki out of the theater but you can't take the Kabuki out of the audience.  So then only men above a certain age were allowed to act in Kabuki theater.

It's been 500 years now and the boys are back but women are still banned.  Hello?

Russell and I were armed with English translators and I couldn't help but chuckle when the audio declared that one of the actors being honored, although of an elevated age (over 50), could still persuasively play female characters.  I think I need more persuasion or more sake.  He wasn't pretty.

At first I thought the acting was comical.  The sets were magical and the costumes were awe inspiring but the synchronized expressions, drawn out for maximum impact, were a little over dramatic.  But then I started to appreciate it. The translator definitely helped.  One of Russell's associates told me Kabuki was hard enough to follow in Japanese, much less English.  He was right.

Illegally taken picture of the first kabuki play.

One of the plays was about a famous thief from the 15th century.  Yeah, these people never forget. I thought perhaps it was a Japanese Robin Hood story.  No. He wasn't famous for stealing, he was famous for the way he died.  How nice.  Apparently there was a new shogun in power and he wanted to demonstrate he wasn't soft on crime so he concocted a new way to kill a thief - boil them.  I believe they call it "parboiling."  And I thought it was just a gourmet cooking term.  As this was being broadcast over our interpreting devices, Russell turned to me and said, "perfect."  I had to stifle a giggle.

After the second play we were escorted back stage by a woman who works with TAC and given the amazing privilege of meeting the senior actor being honored.  Russell and I were astounded.  The other TAC associate was with us and when I asked him if this was normal, his face and the fact I thought he was going to faint when he met the famous actor, indicated how rare an occasion this was.  Russell and I were profoundly grateful.

We had our picture taken with the actor.  In America it would be the equivalent of meeting Sean Connery or somebody equally exalted.  Course Sean wouldn't be wearing five kimonos weighing over 75 pounds and three coats of heavy white pancake makeup.

Yes, that's a real man in that costume.

Shot of the theater.
Not a good angle for me but the hair looks good.

Amount of time remaining in intermission.
There were several - each about 30 minutes long.
No wonder the thing went from 4 to 9.



Friday, September 23, 2011

Roke the Typhoon

When Russell called and told me to fill the bathtub with water and run down to the grocery store for emergency provisions, I teased him for over-reacting.  "But the U.S. Embassy sent us a warning; didn't you see it?" he uttered nervously.

"Of course I saw it.  I promptly deleted it because it's like the third or fourth typhoon warning we've gotten in the past two months and this one doesn't even claim to have more velocity than the last warning.  Is this the first warning you've read?"

"Um, yeah, " he stated rather timorously.

The last two typhoon warnings translated to some wind and rain.  And one actually left behind a gloriously clear and humidity free day.  Bring it on!

I didn't fill the bathtub and I wasn't about to go to the grocery store again.  I'd already been to two different grocery stores in the past two days and we have plenty of candles and wine.  Candles, wine and Pepperidge Farm cookies - that ought to tide us over if the warnings actually came true and we happen to lose electricity for a few days, I reasoned and turned the TV on.  Ranger settled onto the couch next to me.

Since Russell had called that afternoon it had grown ominously dark.  Looks like rain I concluded.  The wind picked up.  By the end of Ugly Betty it was actually stormy.  The wind was really blowing, actually howling and the trees in the backyard were raging back and forth.  Hmmmm.  Even Ranger took notice of the tumult.  Then came the rain - angry, torrential downpours that seemed to have a purpose: soak everything.  Oh, you're not wet yet - take that - now you are!

Watching the storm was kind of mesmerizing, more interesting than TV.  Ranger and I lay on the couch transfixed.  By the time Russell came home the rain had stopped but the wind was still creating havoc.

We had agreed to eat out but Russell was concerned about getting electrocuted by loose power lines.
I didn't want to start on the candles and cookies and I sure didn't feel like cooking. The power was still on and it was early, just 7:30p.

"Let's go out.  It will be an adventure."  Russell didn't think any restaurants would be open. I suggested La Cigogne, a French restaurant less than 500 yards from our front door.  We called and they were open.  When we arrived five minutes later, there was only one other diner.  We were trying to figure out if they were happy we were there or wished we hadn't come so they could close early.  Russell asked them and they enthusiastically welcomed our presence.  A few minutes later we saw why, they were expecting a large party.

By the time we got out of dinner the typhoon was gone.  At first I thought maybe we were in the eye of the storm, but Russell's favorite app, Weather Channel - he's addicted to Doppler, proved the typhoon had just magically disappeared, kind of like the chocolate dessert we just ate.

The next morning it was a gloriously clear and COOL day.  It was so refreshing.  It was actually 70 degrees and NO HUMIDITY.  Ranger and I were ecstatic!  We couldn't wait to get outside.  This was California weather.

The carnage at the park was proof there had been a typhoon - a real one.  Leaves were everywhere.  It was like Fall had happened over night. There were a lot of fallen trees, not just branches, but whole trees.  It was kind of scary.  Imagine if we had been walking through the park when they fell?  Yikes!

That still doesn't warrant filling the bathtub though.





Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Drunkbread

It was Saturday night and Russell and I were drunk, with friends.  It was just like old times, except we were in Tokyo, with people we just met, expats, no less.

Somehow the waiting list had been opened up to accommodate those of us who signed up late for the Cakebread Wine dinner at TAC (Tokyo American Club).  All of us seemed to be seated at the same table, the rowdy table.  

Generally I try to avoid all events at TAC due to my perception, now corrected, that all TAC members are snobs and unfriendly, unless you can further their ego or career. But this was different.  Could I have been wrong?  I was wrong once, but I was mistaken.  Was it wrong to assume that just because I smile and say hi and nobody else does it back, they're all snobs?   It seemed like a good assumption at the time.

But there we were in a room full of strangers, all vying for another pour of the Cakebread Sauvignon Blanc, when I spotted a pretty blond woman struggling with her phone, her purse and her wine.  She didn't have enough hands.  I offered to hold her wine.  Big of me, right?  Of course Russell suspected I was after her drink.  As if?!

She was a newbie, she and her husband had just moved here, and they didn't have any kids.  No way!  The few expats I've met all have kids and we have none, well, except for Russell.  But he doesn't go to the International School so I find I have nothing in common with the expat moms, plus I get the feeling they look at any woman without kids suspiciously.  Course, I'm not insecure at all.

She was nice and friendly and soon enough we were standing there talking amicably with her husband and his boss and we all had more wine.  It ended up they were not assigned to our table so we agreed to meet for drinks afterwards.

Our table was all expats, all American, except for the unlucky Japanese guest of one of the TAC members. By the second course our table was showing its true American colors, loud, raucous and merry.  The guest must have been wondering what she had gotten herself into.   Our table was lively and the conversation was refreshing and insightful.  It seems I'm not the only one with the perception that TAC members are snobby.  Apparently a lot of expats share the same view as I do and feel the same sense of newly found reserve and appreciation for the Japanese culture.  We shared our experiences about the earthquake and how the Japanese's humility and discipline, especially in the face of tragedy, had made us all take a look at ourselves and our own culture.  It was cathartic, eased along by the wine, of course.

The food was surprisingly good and so was the wine.  Between each course Bruce Cakebread would amuse the crowd with wine anecdotes and tell us what we were drinking.  We all noted how generous the pouring had been at the beginning of the evening, but how now, toward the end, it seemed to have slowed to a trickle.  Or was it that we were all just really thirsty by then?  Conversation, and six glasses of wine, can do that.  This was about the time our host himself made it around to our table.   Big mistake.

He was welcomed by an overwhelming demand for more wine, of course implored with the deepest appreciation for what we had drunk so far.  This just after the premiere red of the evening, the Dancing Bear Ranch Cabernet, had been served in one minute pour per guest.  So of course we were all clamoring for more.  

But my favorite part was when Russell enthusiastically lauded Bruce for the amazing Dancing Bear Chardonnay he said he had tried at the Cakebread winery in Napa.  Bruce looked at him strangely for a minute then slowly nodded in understanding, concluding - drunk American - gottcha, and then said, "I'd love to try it too but we don't have a Dancing Bear white." Russell undeterred, expostulated how great it had been, sure he had tried a special, white Cakebread wine with a bear on the label.  Bruce smiled magnanimously and said, "well you'll be the first to know when we do."  

Soon after that it was obvious they wanted us to vacate the premises, pretty much all of the other tables had already left.  Was it something we said?  We took our new friends and the witty conversation downstairs to the bar.   Two bottles later the house lights came on in the bar too.  Is this a hint?  I was beginning to suspect they wanted to close or something?  

The rest of the night is a blur.  Somehow we made it home.  Thank goodness we don't have a car.  One of the benefits of Tokyo - you don't need a car, it's safe, and the train or a taxi will take you anywhere you need to go, even shit faced.

The next morning we woke up with epic hangovers.  It had been a while since we'd had one.  A hangover is like a really old irascible friend who has no qualms telling you, you look like shit, and reminding you of all the inappropriate things you said the night before.  Hello, old friend.   Can you come back later?

 The rowdy table

Yes, my husband would like another glass 
of the Dancing Bear Chardonnay
















Nature Study

One of the things I miss the most about living in Southern California is the ability to get in your car and drive less than 30 minutes into nature.  I love to hike and being outdoors, in nature, cleanses my soul.  It also keeps me sane, which is nice.  Russell would agree.

Since living in Tokyo I haven't had a lot of soul cleansing.  I yearn for it.   So does Russell.

But recently I discovered that less than a twenty minute walk from my apartment (or ten minutes on a bike) is the Tokyo Institute for Nature Study.  Sounds official doesn't it?  Before I went there I imagined all kinds of weird things.   What kind of nature are they studying?  Are they breeding giant man eating turtles a la piranha?  Not quite.  Basically it's a big park that used to be some lord's property that has been left undisturbed for the past 500 to 600 years.  The brochure actually says that, "for the past 500 to 600 years..."  I love that.  Who needs to be precise?

For a mere 300 yen, about $3.60, you too can wear a pink ribbon (so everyone knows you paid to get in) and meander the gravel paths through ancient trees and marshland.  It's not hiking but it's a nice walk, with a lot of butterflies to keep you company. The turtles are the best part.  They climb all over themselves to come say hi. I wonder what they're feeding them?  Tourists?

Gravel path from 500 to 600 years ago, give or take.

Well hello there little turtle. 
Must be feeding time.

Nice dappled, path.

Summertime and the living's easy and hot.

Nice place for a nap.
Well, except for the big spiders.

They were everywhere and they were huge.
The males are a lot smaller.


I had to pay 2 yen to get this butterfly to pose for me.
Geez.

I think you can smoke this.

Blue dragon fly kept following me around.
I am Snow White - it's true.

Those are real wood log steps, not concrete
like in the park where I walk Ranger.

That's Russell - something that doesn't occur in nature very often.
He's thinking, "why did I let her convince me to walk in this heat"
See how far ahead of me he is - moving expeditiously towards the exit.

Cat got your tail?

Even the park benches are ornamental.

Where are the frogs?

Pool, pond? Pond would be good for you.

I think these are aliens.

500 to 600 year old tree