nymphti

Every so often, I have a thought. And when I do, there is almost an audible noise. It's that proverbial light going on. If you live near an airport, you don't notice the sound of planes taking off. But, if you live in the boonies, a plane is a phenomenon. Same idea.


I've decided to smoke this week. Not, "this week I decided to smoke;" but, "I've decided to smoke this week." Last night I was out with the kyoukuiinkai folk (yeah, they finally showed up), and after watching Fujio-san and Ichiro-san chainsmoke for three hours, I was jonesin' pretty bad for one. So when I got home I pulled out my emergency pack that I keep in the kitchen cabinet, and had a Lucky Strike.
I'd never really thought about the name before. Lucky Strike. What the hell does that mean? I thought about it for a moment before I made a sort of vivid association. I was thinking bowling. You know, as in, "it was a lucky strike you got there, Bubba." Bowling is something I indelibly link with chainsmoking rednecks with stupid mustaches. Excellent name for a cigarette, then.

Yes, western cigarettes are available in Japan. On every street corner, in fact. Vending machines selling soda, iced coffee, green tea, and sports drinks are on literally every corner. Cigarette vending machines are never more than two blocks apart -- even in a podunk town like mine. They have a selection of Japanese cigarettes (usually much lighter than western cigarettes) and popular US brands like Lucky Strike, Virginia Slims, and Marlboro Reds (or, as I've also heard 'em called, cowboy killers).


Last week I went to a dinner for the visiting Austrians. At this dinner there were at least 150-200 people, most of them Japanese. There were about 30 Austrians, myself, and Sarah in terms of gaijin. The Japanese were - in the spirit of "cultural pride" - some of them dressed up in traditional garb. The women, at any rate. At one point I looked up from my dinner to see an imagine which I will probably never forget. It was an image which in my mind will always be representative of everything Japanese.
There was a man, sitting back in his chair. He had a very easy posture: here was a man who has a very plush office at work. He had on a smart grey suit - perfectly pressed, of course. He'd taken off his tie, and since it was after-hours the first button of his impeccably starched white shirt was open. After casually lighting his cigarette, he let it hang so loosely from his mouth that John Wayne himself would have been impressed. His hair was in the last stage in-between salt-and-pepper and completely gray. Standing and leaning toward him, in a graceful and delicate posture, was a woman who clearly was his wife. She had darker hair, but the crows feet near her eyes and the comfortableness of her manner indicated she'd spent a lifetime of pouring beer for him - as she was doing just then. Japanese women, when they are wearing kimono, pull back their sleeves a little to pour. One hand holds the sleeve of their pouring arm. If you're sitting in the right place (usually the person being poured for), you can catch a glimpse of the layers of lace sleeves under the kimono. It's the perfect picture of femininity. She poured for him, then stepped back before putting the bottle on the table and walking -- with the tiny steps of a woman in a kimono -- to check on a friend at another table.
That one moment, a woman pouring for her husband: her in the beautiful burgundy and cream kimono and short, smooth hair; him with the elegant suit and relaxed manner... classic. Gorgeous.



Today autumn came. I've heard the Japanese talking constantly about how they have four seasons. I'd been unimpressed, because that's really nothing unusual. But what I'd heard was unusual was how strongly demarcated they are. Sure enough, that's true. Yesterday was hot and humid - around 85. Same as it's been pretty much since I got here. (Though the first week or so it was 95 and just overall unbearable with the humidity and unrelenting heat.) Today, it was 70 and windy. Smells like fall. The sky was seriously considering getting dark around 4:45 pm. Ridiculous. Guess that's the end of summer, then.

Grape festival is next Monday. It's supposed to be a holiday, but the kyoukuiinkai folk asked if I would work "selling tickets." Figuring I ate a ridiculously good meal and drank for free last night, I definitely owe them. I believe I might get a compensatory day off, too. =D Hooray-a for me! Paid to eat grapes and (possibly) drink wine at a festival! My job... dammit, I love it.

The other day, dosboof commented that I've gone -- relatively quickly -- from being a lazy "spinster" to being a fairly productive person. Reason? I love my life. (Of course, a good diet, regular exercise, and daily exposure to the cutest kids in the world have been key.)