The Osaka Sumo Tournament

Tessa and I made a sojourn to Osaka to see sumo while Amy and Lily went to see the psychotic deer of Nara (more on that in a bit).  It was only after arriving at our hotel that I realized Tessa still requires a bit of parental supervision when it comes to packing.  For a five day trip, she packed two t-shirts, one sweater, zero rain jackets and three pairs of jeans.  Luckily, my t-shirts fit her.  So it turns out that I essentially packed two t-shirts.

We went to a fancy sushi restaurant the night before the tournament.

... and had a slice of cheesecake to top it off.

Tessa wanted to spend the morning in the hotel watching Youtube shorts with the comforter over her head.  I told her she could do that when she's a freshman in college.  No, I mandated that we were going to experience Osaka.  Amy has long said that I have the time management skills of a lobotomized hamster (though even a brain dead hamster would have had a 50/50 chance of improving on my planning).  Long story short, we arrived really early and spent over two hours wandering around a shopping district in the cold rain.  To be fair, that could be described as the Osaka experience.  On the up side, I think Tessa learned a really good lesson about traveling with her dad.  Sometimes the best parenting strategy is to serve as a warning.  Modeling FTW!

"See," I said to Tessa.  "You can't see a dragon like that in Lewiston.  Totally worth it!"

After a painful hour of shambling past restaurants that only served takoyaki (octopus), it was finally 2:00.   We checked in with our tour group and made our way to our seats in the stadium.  

One issue became immediately apparent; we were seated next to an unusually attractive Norwegian man in his twenties.  That's saying something, as Norwegians tend to be unusually attractive at baseline.  In Japan, I'm always aware when there is an attractive 13 to 20 something male within eyesight because Tessa suddenly bolts and pretends I'm a stranger and hisses at me when I try to ask what happened and then later says "that guy was so hawt."  Unfortunately for her, we were sitting next to the hawt Norwegian for approximately four hours so it was hard to pretend I was a stranger.  I will say that she gave it her best effort.

The opening ceremony.

Normally when you see two portly shirtless gentleman slamming their bellies together, you know you are at the Blue Goose in Lewiston and Pabst Blue Ribbon is somehow involved.  But in Japan, you are witnessing an elite sport dating back over a thousand years.

The first sumo squatted and placed his hamhocks on the sand.  A hush fell over the crowd.  The second sumo squatted.  The anticipation was unbearable.  Several members of the audience looked faint.  The Norwegian leaned forward in an even more attractive pose.  Tessa fainted.  The second sumo's hand dangled over the sand, almost touching it.  And then ... the first sumo stood up and backed away.  The crowd murmured, questioning his strategy.  Was that the right call?  What was off about that position?  Chafing?  What had he seen?  The first sumo strutted over to the corner, took a tiny hand towel and vigorously rubbed his belly, his arm pits, and then his scrubbed his face while inhaling deeply.  Because pheromones?  Tessa gripped my forearm with dagger sharp fingernails.  "Did you see what he just did??" she said, gagging and staring at the floor.  Then the sumo chucked the hand towel at his assistant and strutted back to the center of the ring.

Back to the tense crouching.  It's a tease, I wanted to shout.  They're not going to do anything.

But then they did.  For no apparent reason whatsoever, sumo one and sumo two launched themselves into the air and impacted with a loud crack that reverberated through the arena.  There was a furious flurry of hands and large sweaty bodies pushing and straining, and then sumo two flipped sumo one onto his back.

That lasted three seconds.

By the third match, I was pretty sure I had sumo figured out.  Approach the ring, squat, glare, hesitate, stand up and rub self with towel, inhale pheromones, return to ring, squat, hesitate, stand up and slap belly with gusto, approach the ring, squat, hesitate and then let all hell break loose.

Sometimes, though, it's better to be nimble and smart than massive.  At least that's what I always told myself in middle school.

All jokes aside, the sumo experience was one of the best things we did in Japan.  But get this ... I told maybe eight Japanese people that we went to a sumo tournament and each one said they'd never been.  At least I think that's what I said.  It's possible that I said I was going to train as a sumo, which would explain why they kept ordering me another slice of pizza.

I'll end on a picture of sakura outside our hotel.  

Because sakura.

Signage IV: A New Hope

How many times did someone chuck a soda can at a dog before they made this sign?

The influence of the powerful cat diaper lobby can be felt even here.

This is kind of cat friendly sign I was expecting.  This cat either looks completely relaxed and zen or about to leap out and shred you with its claws.  As far as I can tell, this is the whole problem with cats.  Both could be true.

Japan also has angry, muscular, and slightly threatening vending machines.

"Drink this!"

Michael's home away from home?

The definition of mixed messaging.  I was so confused that I didn't even want to cross the street to take this picture.

When we did eventually go in, we discovered 'vintage' 50s clothing selling for $200 a shirt.  So ... time to raid Jim Grandpa's closet?

This is going to sound like another example of Lukeperboly, but it is absolutely true.

Amy took Lily to a tourist attraction called Nara Park, where wild deer have allegedly learned how to "bow."

This is the sign at the entrance.

Notice that it is only once you've made the one hour trip to the damn park that they give you a warning.  The deer can (and will) "occasionally attack" people, including biting, kicking, and head butting.  It's like Gladiator but with treats.  The sign doesn't warn about the worst outcome, a knock down face first into one of the many piles of deer poop littering the park.  Watch out Disney!  Here comes Nara.

Sign makers in Japan have a traumatic job.  Every day, your boss shows up with a new trauma to warn people about.  "Listen up team, we need another dog sign.  This one has to warn people not to let their dogs get strangled by elevators.  Earmark tomorrow for those freaking homicidal deer in Nara."

Come spend a fun filled evening at Snob Eternita, where you can talk about how much better you are than everyone else.  

 

Stephen King's inspiration for Christine?

Seems like smoking is not only permitted but preferred.  After seeing the exterior of this "establishment," I can assure you that pregnant women don't need to see the sign to keep on walking.

A genius pairing of caffeine and aliens.  Why didn't SKR think of this earlier?

You'd better believe dogs are ok.

Even schnauzers.

A little known sect of Buddhism that substitutes craft beer for tea.  In this faith, there is little distinction between meditation and passing out.

A store that Tessa will never, ever enter.

Because Shelob.

Who needs Night Train when you've got Lemon head?  It's so good that you won't mind being publicly humiliated.

An advertisement for an upcoming feline MMA bout.

A cat was mildly harmed during the making of this advertisement.

I'm not certain about the marketing value of a) an ice cream cone shaped like a ninja who is b) mortally wounded.  It's probably the same reasoning behind the cute/creepy talking M&Ms.  Not sure why people want to eat cute things.  

A Nara deer ice cream cone.  Here, I feel that they captured the blank look of a dissociating psychopath perfectly.  Maybe you're in the mood for one of these after being attacked by deer for an hour.

Convenience Stores

In contrast to the US "convenience stores," the Japanese konbini is a marvel of convenience.

You can buy tasty candy like Pocky and Crunky.

You can ship your luggage to the Tokyo Hilton in preparation for your return trip home. 

You can pay your electric and gas bills.  And health insurance premiums.  

You can purchase tickets to the Grampus football matches and the latest J-Pop band.

You can plaster cheap lipstick and blush on your face.

You can buy socks and unmentionables.

You can get a really good latte.  No, really.  It's good.

And you can also stock up on a dizzying array of junk food, including salted squid.

You can stock up on sake, $3 white wine, Bombay Sapphire gin, and a dizzying array of whiskey.  Also Maximum Strength Advil for after.

You can buy "beer" but not IPAs.  So not really.

Asparagus shaped chocolate crackers?  Oh yes.

You can buy good sushi!  As a bonus, it wasn't made last week.

You can chat up the store clerk and practice your Japanese phrases like fukuro wa irimasen!  

Raining outside and your daughter packed three pairs of jeans but no jacket or umbrella?  Konbini's got you covered!

The only thing you can't do at a Japanese konbini ... is buy gasoline.

The Zoo

In our travels, we have often visited the local zoo, more out of desperation to keep our kids occupied than any inherent interest in the animals.  I mean, when you have twin six year olds, you have all the feral viciousness you need.  In Adelaide, we were surprised that our children ignored the animals, as they were immediately fixated on the crappy playground equipment jammed next to the cafe that sold danishes in the shape of most zoo animals.  By the age of thirteen, our children have already seen all the animals a zoo could provide (as well as most danish shapes).  Or so we thought.  

But the Nagoya Zoo held a dark secret.

You can enter the zoo via the Nagoya Botanical Gardens so (because Amy) that's what we did.  After a thoughtful hour of gazing at shrubbery, we wended our way to the zoo proper and that's when we saw a forbidding black enclosure that loomed over the zoo.  The kind of enclosure that can only hold the most terrifying and dangerous creatures.

Was it the apex predator?

No ... it was the penultimate apex predator.

The fools have squirrels!

Now, I know what you're thinking.  This is just another example of my loose relationship with truth in blogging.  There is no way the Japanese have the hubris to think they could harness the unbridled destructive potential of the Sciuridae, a little known branch of the Illuminati.  But in this instance I am blameless.  They have squirrels.

It was immediately apparent to me that the Japanese failed to appreciate the risks they now face.  As those of us in the US northeast understand, squirrels are the equivalent of a biological nuclear weapon, a "cute" pathogen that can replicate at a terrifying speed and will terrorize your dog and eat your birdseed and tear apart your pumpkins at Halloween just because they can.  It's a numbers game.  Once they outnumber you (and they will), it's a matter of time until they escape.  And then it's game over.

When I reached the entry door, there were signs that the Japanese had come to realize their folly too late.  And when I mean signs, I mean actual signs (not just the armed guards dressed in hasmat suits).

Prevent the squirrel from escaping.  That's all you need to read.  Because that's exactly what they're going to do.

And you think closing a door is going to stop them?

Now, I'm no expert in animal containment, but I have watched Jurassic Park about five times so I think I know a thing or two about keeping vicious animals at bay. If your best idea at squirrel containment is an overtired parent wielding a stroller ... well, you actually might have something there.

But it was this phrase that gave me a chill. Two doors for prevention of "desertion." That has a militaristic feel to it. Could the Japanese be secretly cultivating a platoon of rodents trained in black ops or guerrilla warfare? Given what their little hands can do to Amy's pumpkins, just imagine what they could do to a person. Look at the facial expression of the squirrel on top.  If the CIA gets wind of this, squirrelboarding can't be far behind.

Proving my point, the squirrel detention facility was closed every time I tried to visit. What are they trying to hide, I kept asking myself and my family. Nevertheless, my persistence (and daily visits) paid off handsomely, as I was able to get evidence of the squirrel infestation.

"I got you, you bastard," I remember thinking. Or maybe shouting. It's possible I shouted, because Tessa stopped talking to me for a week after taking this pic.

Dogs in Japan

Dogs occupy a strange place in Japanese culture.  Although the cat is clearly revered and idolized and fetishized, dogs stand somewhere between fringe fashion model and neglected arm candy.  Think I'm kidding?  We have seen dogs in wagons, strollers, backpacks, and cradled like a baby while a toddler stands weeping on the sidewalk.  Dogs in strollers are often swaddled in blankets and at least one had a stuffy to keep it company.  I've been unable to document the mind blowing range of dog accoutrements because some Japanese appear to consider it bad form to take pictures of their dogs.  Oddly, they do not seem mollified when I point out that my blog could be their dog's big break.  After all, not every blog has 13 followers.

Here are my impressions of the Japanese canine fashion scene.

Although you are first struck by the clean lines of the trendy sweater, closer inspection will reveal that the outfit triumphs because of the subtle echo of the owner's accessory.

This is known as the 'fierce Santa' or 'festive lion.'

An embarrassing but common fashion showdown that involved a lot of yipping and hurt feelings.

The aging rocker look.  Spandex pants along with a bomber jacket.

The disgruntled trucker look.  Totally willing to blockade a highway for a noble cause.  Or a treat.

This is a good example of downward dog social comparison.  This pooch is totally aware of how ridiculous they look and really unable to do anything about it.

The well-dressed chap in black was not sure how to handle an elephant puppet dressed like a monstrous clown.  At one point, the man wielding the puppet spun it around and lifted its tail suggestively.  The chap in black took it upon himself to have a few sniffs but was clearly befuddled and possibly frightened by the absence of any scent.  When the dog backed away, the sociopathic puppeteer limped the elephant after him with the lumbering intensity of a zombie.  Fun times at the market!

Apologies for the poor camera work, but (from the side) the fellow on the ground looked to be wearing a saddle.

Sometimes, simplicity.

Saku-rah

I can see why people rave about sakura season.  The Japanese have a name for picnicking under the sakura tree (hanami).  From what I can discern, hanami consists of calling out sick,  grabbing a blanket and some take out, and laying in a park and staring at the sakura blossoms.  It is eerily similar to the Lewiston tradition (grillin and chillin with a Pabst Blue Ribbin) except that the sakura trees haven't been mangled by CMP and most people have their shirts on.  

We went to Heiwa park to enjoy the sakura.  I was just getting ready to really unplug when Tessa caused a disturbance.

"Dad!"  Tessa shrieked.  "Put your shirt back on NOW."

What they say is true.  When you're a father, you can never relax.

Rather than muddy the rest of the blog with a lot of "clever writing" (scarequotes by Lily), I'll just end with a few pics of sakura.