And you and I

A chrysalis of perfection

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Tue, 14 Mar 2006 07:44:00 +0000

In case anyone still reads this, I am, for the time being, going to sign off officially. I have a girlfriend. I know you all know this, but I like rubbing it in your faces as much as possible. This fairly recent fact is to blame for my past\future lack of blogging activity. The purpose of a blog is to update interested parties on every mundane detail of my hum-drum life. Well, there is only one detail now, and, as I said before, it's not exactly something that I care to discuss in a public forum. Plus, I'm sure you would quickly tire of hearing about her. So, I am signing off officially, though I will still allow access to viewing\commentary (which I will never check). So, enjoy this, my little chrysalis of perfection.

Sayonara, as they say.

A Year (and a half) in review

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Mon, 30 Jan 2006 04:34:00 +0000

Dear Blog faithful,

As I have more or less passed unscathed through the first half of my contract (assuming I don't end up finding a reason to extend), I decided now was a pretty good time to give you a brief rundown. Also, most of this stuff was already written anyway in that church letter and annual report I told you about.

First, for anyone who has made the unfortunate mistake of stumbling upon this site, a brief bio: My name is Nicholas Mason. I have brown eyes, brown hair, am 6 feet tall with a firm chin, and winning smile. I’ve grown up all across the South East, but my family has settled for the time being in Orange Park, Florida. I attended Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem, NC, where I received a B.A. in Music and enjoyed jaw-dropping levels of popularity. I knew I would have to attend graduate school, a music degree being not too terribly marketable, but I thought it might be time for a break from schooling and decided to go into banking. A few rejections later, I was onboard Northwest flight 7635 (I just made that up; I have no idea what my flight number was) bound for Tokyo.

Now, for anyone who wasn't able to hear my sob-stories from Tokyo: I remember it like it was over a year and a half ago, which is to say that I don’t remember it well at all. My first memories of Japan are clouded in exhaustion—due in equal parts to jetlag and my encountering of a foreign culture—but I believe overwhelmed is the best way to describe my initial experiences. The opening of Lost in Translation (the part right after the bit of Scarlet Johansson nudity) pretty well sums up my first night here: I was spent, and the bright lights, the number of people, and my complete linguistic inadequacy brought me to the brink of collapse.

My first week or so conducted itself much the same as my first night, and thus my memories thereof are a muddled collage of cute little Japanese Rail (JR) jingles, sometimes impressive, sometimes tawdry electronic displays, and the general befuddlement that comes with being not quite au fait.

Note, the above paragraph can be found, more or less unchanged, in my first or second blog post, I forget which. Look it up, I'm not going to link it for you.

All together, I spent six months in Tokyo studying Japanese, and, if I can be frank, it was pretty awful. My time there was marked with hours of downtime, hours of floundering, hours of commuting, and a few minutes of study. I had only 3 hours of class a day, which, as you can imagine, gave rise to many of those soul-searching “why am I here” sorts of questions. However, Tokyo did provide me with ample time for reading and pouring over a thesaurus for words like “au fait”.

Kumamoto: A few months before language school “graduation” I found out that I would be placed in—thank the Lord—Kumamoto, on the island of Kyushu. I say, “thank the Lord” because my only other option would have been placement in Tokyo, and frankly, I’d had enough of Tokyo. And lot's of things changed: I cut my girly hair, took care of that nasty facial growth, threw away the flower-print shirt, donated my collection of designer man-purses to the local orphanage (orphans got a right to pizazz too), and I also lost a little weight.

The nice thing about working is that it creates a bit of a snowball effect: after that catalyst (employment) is reached, one feels more inclined toward self-improvement, shouldering new responsibilities, and tackling new assignments. Once I adjusted to the rigors of the new work environment, I decided that I needed an activity, a goal to shoot for and to occupy my free time. So I chose two—a full marathon and the 3rd level Japanese proficiency exam (the Sankyu) — and did both in a sort-of slipshod fashion.

I’m attending 大江教会 (pronounced “Oe Kyokai”) out here, which means “Big River Church”. I don’t know why they call it “Big River Church” because, so far as I can tell, there are no big rivers close by. The atmosphere is warm even if the temperature is not, and the people are friendly and caring, if a little demanding. I generally show up a few minutes late, but they don’t say anything because I move all their heavy equipment and furniture for them. They can’t seem to decide where they want their piano, which floats between the sanctuary and fellowship hall, depending on the phase of the moon and the planets currently in retrograde. It’s a good thing I have another J-3 (our unofficial title out here, so called because we are part of a 3 year program in Japan) there to help me because the average member’s age is about 104.

And that rigorous work environment I wrote about above is found at my school, Luther Gakuin, “The Happiest Place on Earth”. True story: Martha Akard (our school’s founder) once lost in a high-stakes game of Texas Hold ‘Em to Walt Disney and had to give up the epithet. True story.

The reason I still use it is because of a few key members of the staff. One, who for privacy’s sake we’ll call Yoshiko, is always kind enough to correct our culture faux pas and slam shut the international office’s door so as not to let any of our air-conditioning or heating into the hallway. Another, whom I affectionately call “The Bane of my Existence”, is not terribly fond of his job as music director, so he graciously passes it on to me. But in all seriousness, it’s the students who make my time here worth it. Why just the other day I had one teach me a few obscene phrases in Japanese, telling me they were commonly used and a great way to keep rowdy students in line. For practice, I had the students start talking really loudly, and then I yelled some of these choice expletive phrases. The windows were open, and I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be asked to extend my contract.

But, by and large, I am enjoying my time here; the amount of times I’ve had my chest grabbed (very disturbing the first time it happens to you) and the number of marriage proposals is always flattering. And, I find the Japanese people to be generally polite and inviting. Ah, but, the heart of the matter: Why am I here? Good question. How will this help me prepare for my future? I've no idea. I've struggled with both of these questions and more over the past year and a half, and the general conclusion I come to is that my future and my circumstances are direct results of my decision-making, for good or for ill. The future is entirely unknown to us, and all we can be expected to do is make the best choices possible given the information available. And information is expensive. I could have chosen to do any number of things out of college, but I don't think I would trade this experience for the world.

Somewhat sincerely,

Nicholas Mason

Happy Anniversary!!

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Sat, 21 Jan 2006 01:08:00 +0000

It's been 1 month since my last post!

Look, I know it's been awhile. I was away on vacation. And frankly, I've just had a lot on my mind recently--wonderful things mind you, but things I don't feel entirely comfortable discussing in an open forum, as I believe she frequents this blog (God knows why). I'll give you an update sometime pretty soon if there ends up being an 'us'. Ha, that looked like 'anus'.

Moreover, I've had to write a letter to both a church back home--which gives money to an organization that pays my insurance costs and the costs of a largely useless orientation program I attended summer before last--and the head church here in Japan, blowing sunshine up both their asses, sunshine which details how God's work is being done over here or something. I don't know, I don't speak Christianese.

I don't mean to convey the feeling that I'm unhappy and have difficulty speaking highly of my time here, I'm just pretty sure that the letters will either fall short their expectations or sound extremely phoney. It's this agenda that keeps me from blogging regularly, although the formermost much more so than the last two.

Look, I'm not going to make any promises here or anything. In the past I've always said something along the lines of "I will rededicate myself to my former blogging excellence" or something, but I don't feel comfortable making such guarantees. Perhaps it's a start, a launching pad. Perhaps. That much I will say.

Oh, and I manipulated the date. It's not actually my anniversary.

4th Chapel Speech

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Tue, 20 Dec 2005 22:02:00 +0000

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. (John 3:16)

Love, though seen and experienced differently in different parts of the world, is a concept that pervades all of mankind. When we look across the scape of human culture and history, we find a myriad of translations that weave themselves into a colorful tapestry held together by our common experience of this phenomenon and made beautiful by our variety of views on the subject.

In what different ways do you use the word love? Love of family? Love of wife, husband, boyfriend, or girlfriend? Love of friends? Love of God or even country? The Ancient Greeks had several definitions, definitions we find mirrored in many other cultures and religions. Friendship, or the love of friends, was (and in Modern Greek still is) called Philia, a dispassionate and virtuous love that includes loyalty to friends, family, and community. Storge described the affection felt between parents and children, what in Japanese you might call Amae. Xenia was a form of love that might be defined as hospitality, an extremely important practice in Ancient Greece. It was an almost ritualized exchange in which the host would feed and shelter the guest, and though the guest might very well have been a complete stranger, he or she is only expected to repay with gratitude. In this sense, Xenia holds much in common with the Roman concept of Caritas, or the Buddhist and Hindu principle of Karuna, both of which may be translated as charity.

Eros is passionate love, sensuous and longing; it is love of the body, what in Buddhism and Hinduism is known as Kama. Although important and an integral part of any healthy relationship, it was considered one of the baser forms of love, and when experienced alone is invariably short-lived. Thus, Eros was often considered the doorway to a deeper form of love, much like physical attraction to another is our initiation into a relationship. This other form was known as Agape, which is in fact the Modern Greek word for love, though in Ancient Greek it might best be translated as “love of the soul”. It is a pure and ideal form of love that all desire but few experience. It was this Agape love that Paul glorified as the most important virtue in 1 Corinthians, chapter 13: “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices in the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres. Love never fails.”

This is the love that God feels for mankind, this agape love. He feels it so strongly that he sacrificed his only son so that we might be reunited with him in the end. And this is what the Christmas season is all about: it’s an expression of God’s love for man through the birth of his son Jesus Christ. Never forget this fact; dwell on it, speak it, celebrate it. This winter, let love cascade over your whole body, let it fill your heart and pulse in your very veins; draw in the whole world in an embrace, for God is the source of all love, and he is reflected in every loving thought we have, in every loving word we speak, and in every loving act we do. Amen.

The Wrap-up

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Sun, 18 Dec 2005 21:47:00 +0000

I know I've been out of touch recently, and to all my friends and family, I apologize. To all others, you have no business being here anyway. It's been an extremely busy couple of weeks, in case you hadn't heard. Three weekends ago I took the 3rd-level Japanese proficiency exam, for which I can't really comment on too much now as I don't receive my score back until February. I set my expectations as low as possible here (as in I had none) so as not to disappoint myself, and as such did a very sparse amount of studying and preparation. Perhaps more to the point, this exam really doesn't matter too much, I had little motivation to prepare well; a passing score on the 3rd level means next to nothing on an application or resume. It's the 2nd level that impresses, and it's the second level I'll be shooting for next year.

Then last weekend was the marathon. 3 months of hard preparation, of running in the freezing cold at night, of not being able to go out on the weekends because of training requirements (not that I had that many offers anyway), and I had a pretty lousy time to show for it. Having no history of long distance running, I didn't know how to pace myself, and consequently went out way too slowly. As I was reaching the halfway point (it was an out-and-back, not a loop), one of my students, a 3rd year high school girl, passed me going the other way, shouted my name out, and waved at me. Please God let her be running the half-marathon, I thought. Just to be safe, I sped up. I rounded the corner and turned it up a couple of notches. But the wind was against me, as were kilometers 35-39 (miles 22-24.5, because kilometers mean nothing to me either), and I couldn't make up lost time. I could hardly move for those 4 kilometers, every minute seemed like a lifetime, and I cursed Andrew's name--my friend and training partner who convinced me to do this. Then I finally reached kilometer marker 39 and felt a burst of energy, knowing that I had only 3 kilo left and seeing the stadium (finish line) looming on the horizon. I started flying. And when I entered the stadium, the stands were full, there were spectators cheering for me, and I rounded the final turn of the track in a full-on sprint.

My time was 4:06, her time was a 3:58 (she was running the full), and I was training for a sub 3:30 marathon, but I was still overwhelmed. When I finished my first 20-miler, I did a little Rocky dance and held my hands up high in celebration. When I finished my first marathon, I wept. I was so damned proud.

And now my work is finished. I wrapped up the final bit of it on Friday evening (I was the last one to leave the office!) doing a translation of a letter for a teacher, and I decided I was going to party like I've never partied before. I was in bed by 10:30.

The days are getting shorter and shorter (Winter Solstice is just around the bend), and the weather colder and colder. How is it that the wind can blow simultaneously in all directions? I'm chilled to the bone, and given its disproportinatel size, you can imagine how cold that must make me. I suppose part of it is because every building here is old and has no insulation, and maybe part of it is because I'm too skinny (?). I think I know now what Africans must feel like, except that they get to live in Africa.

And the Cowboys-'Skins game is on now, and there's nobody worth a damn left on Survivor. I guess what I'm saying is that I'm ready to come home.

I'm officially the ugliest person in my family.

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Wed, 07 Dec 2005 22:20:00 +0000

And my eldest sister, arguably the most photogenic, isn't even among them (though this comes with the hidden bonus that my diminutive and oddly-proportioned brother-not-in-law is absent as well).

Emily Post

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Fri, 02 Dec 2005 09:13:00 +0000

Sometimes I wonder why we continue to follow the rules of decency and etiquette even when we are solitary. Like, why do I feel the need to wrap a towel around myself after bathing? Why do I bother matching my clothes? Why did I used to refuse to urinate in the shower? Why, when it would be so much easier to pick up and eat with my hands, am I sitting here trying to eat this piece of fish with a pair of chopsticks?

East is East, and West is West

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Mon, 28 Nov 2005 08:57:00 +0000

I'll tell you, the Internet is truly a remarkable medium. Never has information been so accessible to so many people as it is now. I shutter to think of the times I had to go to the library to learn stuff. I wonder if 500 years in the future we'll look back on the invention of the Internet as something akin to the development of the printing press. Al Gore, of course, will be Gutenberg’s 20th century's equivalent. Come on, you know you were thinking it too.

This week looks to be rather slow, comparatively, which means I had lots of time to study today. So, naturally, I spent it all on the Internet, “researching”.
…

…

…
Kipling once wrote that "East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet", and while globalism and modernization have made dim this border, I would tend to agree with Kipling and doubt I shall ever truly understand this culture. I suppose the cultural differences I mentioned in my last chapel speech sparked some small taper of interest within me, but I've become rather curious of late about the philosophical lines between East and West. Somewhere in the peaks of the Himalayas, the snows of Siberia, and the waters of the Pacific, there is an inscrutable frontier that divides our Western, largely Greek-based thought from that of the East, teachings that seem to have originated, in some form, from the Arian peoples of India, but of which only a part trickled over those ridges.

I had been considering, as a topic for my next chapel speech, the study of aesthetics, and was planning on following the basic pattern of 1) contemplating the nature of beauty 2) defining it as imitation of, aspiration to, or expression of perfection, and then 3) make the obvious connection between perfection and God. Trouble was, as I began researching, I came to realize that this idea of beauty was fundamentally a Western (and more precisely, Greek) notion that wasn't necessarily echoed by Eastern counterparts. Admittedly, Western thought and philosophy enjoys increasing worldwide popularity (particularly its political philosophies), even amongst non-Western cultures, and the argument might be (and probably has been) raised that it stands poised to supplant corresponding thought in the East. Nevertheless, I had to give pause to the Japanese aesthetic principles of iki and wabi sabi. Throughout these philosophies runs the undercurrent of Zen and the idea of beauty in impermanence, imperfection, and asymmetry, principles we find reflected in various Japanese art forms, such as ikebana (flower arrangement), tea ceremony, and Zen gardens. These certainly aren't difficult concepts to comprehend--we all find beauty in the changing of the seasons, the fading of sunlight, and those bitterest of moments in life often have trace amounts of sweetness--and yet they conflict with much traditional Western philosophical teachings, namely the Platonic ideal of forms, and a Pythagorean universe built on perfect numerical ratios and symmetry, among others.

I'm not sure if I find this disturbing or not. Why should I? This certainly isn't the first time I've been forced to confront philosophies that run counter to my own. I suppose it's a bit troubling to find that your entire set of values and views on reality is built upon the basic ideas of a single ancient society. Even values like religious beliefs that supposedly transcend cultural boundaries are not immune to these influences (the notions of omnipotence and perfection traditionally associated with God also apparently stemming from Greek thought and may or may not have been shared by the Jewish people). What's the problem with an entire paradigm deriving from a culturally specific source? They had to come from somewhere, didn't they?

I knew that different peoples have vastly different ideas on existence and reality, but it's one thing to learn your lessons in the classroom and quite another to learn them in the real world. Furthermore, most of the peoples I had studied in an anthropological setting were of dying cultures and lived almost exclusively in the 3rd world; it's a little easier to justify your own views as correct ones when not only have you never lived amongst those who hold vastly different ones, but also all the others you've studied seem to have brought their people nothing but grass huts and a high infant-morality rate. But the Far East is thriving; whether their philosophies are remains up for debate, but as of now they're inescapable realities of the Orient, weaving themselves into a special Eastern-brand of prosperity.

I'm not a relativist: truth is truth, just as love is love, and beauty is beauty, and these three things alone make life worth living. I don't know how I rationalize away contradicting philosophies. Are they wrong? Are their adherents being duped? Perhaps even more of a concern is attraction to such teachings. Do you ever feel drawn to a philosophy, even though it conflicts with your current set of values? For me it's Objectivism; it's just so simple and balanced (drawing on our notions of equality and symmetry): 1) Man's morals come from the self and are determined by reason; 2) The individual should exist for his own sake, neither sacrificing self to others nor others to self; 3) No one has the right to seek values from others by physical force, or impose ideas on others by physical force. Obviously the first two tenets rule out the possibility of the existence of God in any form we recognize (and in fact altogether if you delve further) and altruism as a moral good. And although this three-pronged approach to reality seems attractive, it obviously conflicts with my beliefs in both God and altruism as the equivalent of nobility. And yet I’ve lost no sleep, not recently anyways; should this be bothering me more?

No existential crisis here, just thinking a bit out loud, wondering if anyone else thinks about these things or experiences these same "problems".

Liberalism: An Ideology of Contrariety

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Tue, 22 Nov 2005 08:13:00 +0000

I'm a bit starved for American television over here, so anything I can get my hands on soon becomes a bit of an obsession. Recently, I've found myself absorbed in the teenage years Superman in Smallville, which is truly an underappreciated show, in my humble opinion. I also watch an inordinate amount of reality television. And, I'm currently borrowing the first season of The West Wing. If you've never seen it, The West Wing is an Aaron Sorkin television series of the same vein as Sports Night, with fairly smart writing that requires a certain amount of viewer involvement and participation to keep up. His politics appear sometimes masked, sometimes painfully salient, but I do my best to overlook them and enjoy the quick wit of an Aaron Sorkin drama.

Until this most recent episode.

In it, Rob Lowe's character is trying to ask the daughter of the chief of staff out on a date, but she is a firm supporter of government education and he an ardent backer of school vouchers. As expected, they begin to quarrel, and a charming little scene ensues in which the woman asks her father's permission to date "a Fascist", much like a little girl asking to spend the night at a friend's might. It's like a lame and inconsequential version of Guess Who's Coming to Dinner. Her father stays out of their dispute--which is getting more and more heated by the minute--and eventually Rob Lowe is forced to come clean and tell her that really he is a sensible guy who supports government education; he was just preparing for a policy debate and wanted to familiarize himself with the opposing side's arguments

Oh, Aaron, you did have us going.

In an atwitter endorsement of government largesse, he reveals his true views on education: education, he claims, should be a right due every American, just like defense, "free" of charge. Schools should be palaces (a direct quote), and they should be free, he just wasn't sure how to do that yet.

The unintended yet candid glimpse at government's views on education and other spending aside, I had a very difficult time getting a handle on this episode. To be honest, I really haven't studied the school vouchers proposal all that much, and I'm sure there are perhaps arguments to be made against it. But the one thing I do know about it (and regardless of your views, I would think you'd have to agree) is that it does gives citizens a choice. As it stands now, citizens are able to choose between a myriad of private schools and the local government institution. And yet, they are forced to pay for a government education, regardless of whether or not they use it. Vouchers allow those who choose a private institution to pay only for that which they use (i.e. not pay taxes toward the public education system). Does support of such a system warrant being labeled a Fascist? Perhaps a quick perusal of the tenets of Fascism is in order:

Fascism is definitely and absolutely opposed to the doctrines of liberalism, both in the political and economic sphere. ... The Fascist State lays claim to rule in the economic field no less than in others; it makes its action felt throughout the length and breadth of the country by means of its corporate, social, and educational institutions, and all the political, economic, and spiritual forces of the nation, organized in their respective associations, circulate within the State. - Benito Mussolini, 1935, "The Doctrine of Fascism," Firenze: Vallecchi Editore.

How was it that, by calling for an alternative to State-controlled education, this man was given a label that calls for all spheres and institutions to be under the rule of the State? If we take the founder of Fascism at his word--that Fascism is the polar opposite of liberalism, an ideology whose very name means freedom--how was it that by supporting the addition of freedom--freedom of choice--this man became an advocate of an anti-freedom ideology?

To come at this from a different angle, by opposing the freedom of choice in the education sphere, how was this woman either actually or at least closer to being liberal (supporting freedom) than the man who wanted more freedom? Ok, not trying to beat a dead horse here, just trying to wrap my head around this: by supporting less freedom, you are somehow more freedom-loving than those who support more freedom. Did I get that right?

The logic of the Left is truly remarkable. Only under the tenets of Liberalism (with a capital L) could one reconcile completely contrary beliefs and principles (hell, its very name is in contrast to its creed). This is the same ideology under which the phenomenon of Global Warming can magically create global cooling, the same ideology where one can be both a frenetic advocate of human rights and a firm supporter of prenatal murder.

But I think I might have figured it out.

Liberalism, also known as Welfare-Liberalism, claims to create freedom by taking it away--that is, by removing some of our freedoms (here more aptly called reliances, I suppose), the government can actually make us freer (for example, taking away certain economic freedoms might free us from our socio-economic backgrounds etc.). It is the freedom to--such as the freedom to pursue our dreams and goals unencumbered by such frivolities as our level of education, inherent abilities, or the amount of money in our bank accounts--something that's called positive freedom, or as I like to call it, positively bull-shit freedom. This, of course, is opposed to negative freedom, which is freedom from, such as freedom from illegal search and seizure, freedom from theft by government agents, freedom from dandified socialist policies etc. Thus, the ideology of Liberalism is one that believes in creating freedom by removing it, an ideology I think our two characters above might identify with rather strongly.

I'm addicted to running

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Sun, 13 Nov 2005 04:29:00 +0000

It's true; I display all the symptoms: a craving for more of the drug, or of the initial behavior, increased physiological tolerance to exposure, and withdrawal symptoms in the absence of the stimulus. And this last part is a real bitch.

For the second time in my training, this past Saturday I ran 22 miles, the longest run of my program. I could run a marathon right now, and though I don't imagine it would be a very good one, still, it's an invigorating thought to think that in five months time, I've come from not being able to run in excess of 3 miles to being able to summit this peak of athletic accomplishment.

The first 22-miler:

I had sprained my ankle that past Thursday--despite all assurances from my mom that I possess ankles of pure adamant--but bought myself a brace on Saturday evening knowing the necessity of following my training schedule to the "T" (or nearly so), tender ankle or no. I left my apartment, my mind was elsewhere, and just 4 miles in, I rolled my ankle once again. Lying on the ground, cursing, I had resigned to the fact that that day just wasn't meant to be and resolved to pack it in and head by to my apartment. After taking a few awkward strides back in the direction I came, I suddenly realized that neither my energy nor my indomitable will would allow this defeat. And I turned to finish what I started, running through two sprains. I was like that guy in those war movies who has his eyes fixed on some target, some goal, and despite being riddles with enemy bullets, or arrows, depending on the time period, he remains steadfast in his aim. You know, he's usually the right hand man of the hero, a true and loyal friend with the build of a bear, but a heart as pure as gold. He risks his life in protection of our hero or sacrifices it for the cause, whatever that may be, knowing that the fate of the battle rests on him, his mission, and the fulfillment of his duty. It was the same here with me, except that I was the hero, of course. I mean, this is the "Nick Show", damnit, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let some upstart steal my thunder.

The second:

This past Saturday was also quite pleasant. It was cool out, and there was a strong breeze blowing over the city. Taking full advantage, we (Andrew and I) adjusted our heading, unfurled our spinnaker, and let the wind carry us home.

Getting back to the topic of this post, running has a way of making you feel incredibly cheerful when you finish (something about endorphins). I was in a superb mood on Saturday evening and this carried over all the way through Monday, at which point I wanted to prolong the high and could hardly wait to get back out on the road. But, as luck--or my Nazi school--would have it, I had a 3 hour meeting to attend on Monday afternoon and didn't get back until after 7, at which time I had absolutely no desire to extend my day another 2 hours with a 15 mile run. So I decided to postpone it until Tuesday.

Tuesday I ate a cheeseburger at Gusto, and if you've never had a Gusto burger, let me tell you......they're actually not that good. But, compared to Kumamoto's hamburger selection, they're haute cuisine. So I had a double one. Note to any of you amateur or aspiring runners out there: never do that. I have never come so close to--but not actually--crapping my pants in my life. I was on the verge of tears and mumbling not-so silent prayers to God to get me to a bathroom or a heavily wooded area.

People were staring.

I crossed that verge and started crying.

People were now laughing.

Somehow, by the grace of God, I managed to make it back to the lovely KKR Hotel, and compose myself so I gave off that paying customer-vibe.

Needless to say, I didn't get a decent run in until this Thursday, and I've felt like crap all week because of it. Well, that and the cheeseburger. I was lethargic, lazy, and generally depressed. These are the withdrawal symptoms. And magically, after 15 miles that Thursday, I was back on top: brain's clicking, blood's pumping, and the sunshine exposes the slightest upturn in the corners of my mouth. Yes, I'm smiling.

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This is why I don't cook.

Untitled

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Sun, 06 Nov 2005 07:14:00 +0000

Unposted

Capsule Hotel

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Sun, 30 Oct 2005 07:42:00 +0000

This is several weeks late, but, as I've run out of material, I've decided to enlighten you all on the wonders of the capsule hotel. There are many pictures that follow; I warn you, though, the room and hotel may at some times look so indescribably comfortable and inviting that you are likely to fall fast asleep at your computer. Please make sure that you have saved all important documents and are not holding any scalding hot beverages before you begin perusing.

Alright.

Renound for largesse of hospitality and its Old World Spanish charm, the lovely and luxurious Siesta Hotel sits accessibly in a back alleyway just off the Yamanote line in Tokyo's exciting Ebisu district, complete with a lovely view of the back of Ebisu station.

Never one to skimp on comfort and convenience, the Siesta Hotel staff insists on providing only the highest quality service and accommodations. Here's you can see my spacious closet already stocked with fresh linens,

and here my evening wear,

my dancing shoes,

and the hallway, which leads to...

room number 423, the deluxe suite.

It's a perfect fit!

And it even has a T.V........in glorious technicolor!!

I awake refreshed after a marvelous night's sleep.

Boy, flipping through these pictures sure brings rest to a weary soul; it's like a gentle eye-massage.

Assuming you are still awake (a big assumption), let me just encourage you all to run to your nearest capsule hotel like right now (probably Tokyo, so maybe swim). It's worth it. Seriously, you have never experienced sleep like capsule hotel sleep--it's like spending the night in a really comfortable coffin. Sometimes when I am restless and can't seem to fall asleep, I simply stack my pillows tightly around me and relive that wonderful experience, and I find that I awake a new man. This can be kind of frightening at times, especially if that man is a Jew.

I kid! I kid!

Seriously, you guys need to quit being so sensitive.

Quietude

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Mon, 24 Oct 2005 10:20:00 +0000

This evening I watched my buddy list from a distance as the State-side early morning risers began to sign on or return from away. A gentle flood of familiar names washed over me, and I took pause in the beauty of the moment. It was like watching the sun rise over the Pacific, and though I longed to, I dared not disturb them lest they sink back beneath the rippling waves.

Taxes and Apologies

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Sun, 23 Oct 2005 00:07:00 +0000

I know, I haven't posted all week. I'm actually quite surprised that my overly-demanding sister hasn't yet replied with her standard "Dude, freakin' post" comment. I love those. Incidentally, Mer, loved the picture, but in cropping it the way you have, you've mislead your viewers. If you allowed them an unaltered view, they would see, sticking out of my coat, the hand of Razmig, the little Armenian dwarf child I was trying to smuggle in the country. They also can't see--though no fault of your crop-job--that I had 34 walnuts stuffed in my cheeks. Armenians can survive on a steady diet of walnuts and Funions.

Few people actually know that Armenia boasts the largest dwarf population in the world. If fact, recent studies have shown that dwarfism may in fact find its genetic origin in Armenia. There are various theories as to why such a disproportionate percentage of the population suffers from this malformation, but the most common is that it's an evolutionary trait. As the primary staples of their diet are bite-size food items found at ankle-level--fallen nuts, the diminutive spotted Armenian toadstool, and the low-lying Funion bush--short, squatty statures and long arms (insert Scott joke here) have proven to be quite beneficial. The protruding forehead is just because it looks funny.

But I digress.

I do apologize for my hiatus, but I've spent the past several days in hiding as it appears that my taxes were due over a week ago, and I understand the IRS now has the Great Eye in their employ. It's not that I'm protesting or anything--though I have every right and reason to--it's just that I haven't the slightest clue how to do them. This has got to be the single most baffling series of documents in the whole of human history. And I'm pissed that I have to do them at all, not so much because of abstract ideological conflicts, but for the fact that I simply don't make enough to pay taxes.

I need help. I've tried nothing, and I'm all out of ideas. My fake identity will only last so long as the IRS is sure to figure out that I'm neither Hispanic nor a 350 pound flower salesman. I seem to recall that my ex-girlfriend's--Ali's--father hasn't paid taxes since like 1982, so I'm thinking of looking into that. Granted he's a lawyer, but I work out a lot, and these big guns flex for freedom.

(That sounds like the title of a country song.)

My lovely sister

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Fri, 14 Oct 2005 23:53:00 +0000

This is the best picture of Meredith I've ever seen. She looks really thin because I told her to suck in for the camera. "This picture is going to be seen by millions of people over the blogosphere," I told her, "so look your best." And she didn't disappoint.

We were out to dinner, and here she had just finished half a horse's rump. She has that glazed look over her because she is eyeing the other half. She got really mad at me for finishing it off, and her chin assaulted me. Her chin is the real reason I came to Japan.

She's got a bit of a nasty habit of correcting people's spelling and grammar. Sometimes it really frustrates me, but then I look at this picture and remember how gosh darn cute she is, and I forget why I was ever frustrated. How could anyone be angry at those gawking, glassy eyes and that protuberance between face and neck? I sure couldn't.

3rd chapel speech

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Fri, 07 Oct 2005 05:22:00 +0000

And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free. (John 8:32)

What is truth? Is it a means or an end? Is truth the vehicle that brings us to our destination, or is it the destination itself? And is there only one vehicle that can so deliver us, or are there many means of transit? And what of our destination--can we expect the same terminus, or might we each have seperate ends?

In today's world of blending peoples and pluralist societies, we have come to tolerate others' beliefs, others' ways of life. We have come to tolerate and perhaps even appreciate other truths. Is it possible then that we live in a world of complete relativism--a world of multiple destinations--where there is no one, real truth, and neither our actions nor the consequences have any meaning?

This seems as unlikely as it is terrifying; we all assume basic truths in our lives, truths that stretch across cultural and national boudaries--a basic sense of morality, the belief that our senses provide an relatively accurate reflection of our surroundings, perhaps even a notion of the Divine. Moreover, the definition of truth certainly requires some level of singularity. I think of truth as something more akin to a great tree, a tree that has been in existence since the beginning of all things. This tree has been carefully cultivated over the ages and has grown healthy and strong. Its roots run deep and wide, touching the four coners of this world. And at the cusp of these roots, we find a great host of nations, and a great diversity of peoples. This past weekend, this school celebrated its annual culture festival, Gakuinsai. But why do we celebrate culture? It seems irrational to commemorate the past acheivments of our ancestors; one way of life is like another. What gives its extolment such priority?

Culture is who we are; it's our identity as individuals and as a people. It is our root, our path to the One Truth. God painted this world with many colors and constructed it from many loams; our world is one of great variety, and God approves of it, just as he approves of the diversity of peoples, or he would not have planted the seeds of truth. We spend our lives in pursuit of God, in pursuit of truth, tracing our way back to this great tree, and we must each find our own path. Last weekend I caught a glimpse of you in your element. I heard the gentle pluck of the koto, saw the graceful strokes of the shogo brush, and watched the refined elegance of the tea ceremony. This is the Japanese way; it's ancient and it's beautiful--it's your path to truth. Take pride in your heritage, for God has blessed the Japanese people and culture; he has ordained your way of life. Do not forsake your identity, for you dishonor Him and all He has prescribed.

There is little in this world as frightening as not knowing who you are--it means separation from God, for we must know where we are before we can begin a journey. Our destination lies with the truth in our Lord God, and our starting point is our identity. Remember, to seek the Truth, you must first seek yourself, and may God be praised as you do. Amen.

A sonnet

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Tue, 04 Oct 2005 13:50:00 +0000

Truancy amidst the fall-colored lea
The yawning Erebus of brumal throes, though a dream...
Oh gentle blossom, pique of spring
Wherefore do we swill the pleasant hours of estival noontime tea?

Though forsaking the piquant tears of an unadulterated past;
Wandering amidst the opacity of a thousand tombs,
And the cliché-ridden caroms with stifling axioms.
By what Elysian streams do we wrestle free the impiety of the iconoclast?

But lo, the laminal veneer peels lazily away
Revealing the austere sheen of our ruddy pith (hear it beat!),
But for our rubato lament of pattering feet
The images all deliquesce into paludal gray.

And a rubescent hue gathers about my wind-whipped face
Oh, I am once more honored, I am once more pure, I am once more chaste.

I have a cat!

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Fri, 30 Sep 2005 10:14:00 +0000

Though she's not actually mine; I'm sitting for a friend for the next two weeks.

Her name is Neko. She was not, in fact, named after the opportunely circumstanced merchant from The Secret of Mana, but after the Japanese word for "cat". She's cute, but she has an attitude problem. She likes to play everynight from about 10pm to midnight. I hate her for that. She also urinated on my duvet. It's soaking in the tub below.

The Touch

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Wed, 28 Sep 2005 12:20:00 +0000

I spent a short while in Tokyo this past week, mostly alone, as was generally the case when I called it home. Riding the railways, listening to Peter Gabriel as I stared out across the cluttered landscape, I was reminded of the things that I loved, and hated, about my life in Tokyo. And it's every bit as difficult to describe now as it was back then; the city certainly has its attractions, particularly to a recent college graduate, but I can't help but feel sad whenever I return. I still get the same autumnal feeling I did when I lived there, the same on which I reflected that last night in Tokyo. It's a city so caught up in itself, so glutted with people, no one can seem to find one another.

And this song seemed once again to find its way to my headphones, its lyrics every bit as apropos now as they were last March. They typify my ambivalent relationship with arguably the busiest city in the world.

The time I like is the rush hour, 'cause I like the rush.
The pushing of the people--I like it all so much.
Such a mass of motion--do not know where it goes.
I move with the movement, and...
...I have the touch.

We are all searching for that touch, for contact, some so desperately that they crash headlong into others' lives like crazy love-sick fools, because, of course, that is what they are. Love is, at its deepest level, communication at its deepest level. And communication is a powerful draw; what else could have brought together all manner of poets and madmen throughout the ages? It's this deep communication, the mingling of spirits, the bearing of souls, that defines our ultimate desires. It's a beautiful but dangerous desire, for the soul is delicate, and in so bearing we allow others to penetrate our defenses.

Of course, defenses are a necessity; the true self, our vital essence, is fragile, easily crushed by deceit, fraud, and malice, all ubiquitous qualities of the outside world. (And possibly even constructs of our defenses, anathemas designed to ward off the same, giving way to some benumbing emotive arms race. For the most part, I think, the buildup is instinctive: the moment of our births--the bright lights, officious hands, the blast of cold air--we come to know the harshness of reality.)

These are facts of our existence, part of our society's lattice structure. "Suck it up," we're told, "the world's a harsh place." And through careful construction of barriers and defenses, we can prevail under such harsh conditions. But the soul is pure, modeled after the very beauty of God. And beauty is easily marred--like an ink spot on a white cloth, any blemish becomes painfully salient. Purity rarely lasts, innocence is easily lost, and unless we live the most cloistered of lifestyles, our chastity will spoil, and we will hurt.

And yet we do house this purity, this innocence, and we can either live such a lifestyle and be forever weighed down by the mask, or we can risk everything for a glimpse of such wondrous beauty.

Pull my chin, stroke my hair, scratch my nose, hug my knees
Try drink, food, cigarette, tension will not ease
I tap my fingers, fold my arms, breathe in deep, cross my legs
Shrug my shoulders, stretch my back - but nothing seems
to please

I need contact...

I tried so many things to fill that void, that unbearable loneliness I felt in Tokyo, I even tried closing it off, refusing ever to take down my defenses, and, as a result I became a reflection of that mask that I didn't and couldn't remove. I was a distorted mimicry of myself. In the end what I needed was contact.

I feel so fortunate to be in Kumamoto. I'm motivated, I'm enjoying my job (most of the time), I'm active, and I have a (relatively) large friend base. I seldom find myself waking in the morning mired in depression (God, I sound like such an emotional head case). I wake smiling and cheerful, with the sun shining upon my face. The suns seems to shine a lot here.

Don't misunderstand me: when my time here is up, I'll be on the first plane back home. But, I refuse to squander my time here any longer or to spend my days sad and lonely. Really, I can say "I refuse" all I want, but in the end, it's other people that have turned things around for me. It's that contact. I'm not in love, but I feel love and loved.

I have the touch.

FYI

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Sun, 25 Sep 2005 12:46:00 +0000

The juice was so delectable, I didn't want to miss a drop; I took to sucking and and biting my pair simultaneously this evening. I accidentally inhailed a bit of it and coughed it up my nasal passage. I can't seem to remove the piece from my tear duct and now my eye is all red.

Happenings and general silliness

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Fri, 23 Sep 2005 14:42:00 +0000

Doubtless you've all been wondering what the hey's been going on with me recently. I told you that I was busy this past week showing these new guys the ropes, but Nick's a heartless libertarian, you probably thought, why would he give two cents about the welfare of others?

You're absolutely right, I couldn't care less about how they're doing or feeling. In fact, my cold and calculating mind actually wishes them ill-will, which is the reason I volunteered my services to head up a seminar this past week whose sole function was to deceive, mislead, and generally screw with the newbies.

The following takes place between 9am and 10am.

Me: First thing you need to know about Japan: everything you've heard is true. And most things you haven't heard are true too. So basically there's a lot of truth in Japan.

Newbie 1: But, I thought truth was a constant, the very notion of permanence. Transient truth is an oxymoron and would necessitate the complete cession of all knowledge to date. Oh my, just think of the possibilities! Is there a God? Is the Earth round? Does knowledge acquired through the senses really exist? Was Hill Street Blues the best cop drama of the 80's?

Me: Did I say you could speak?! And put your pants back on!

Newbie 1: puts pants back on

Me: Now, starting with the premise that there's an abnormally large amount of truth in this country, we must assume—as truth is the primum mobile—that there are a wealth of possibilities available to us in the Orient that we couldn't tap back home. Japan is our matrix.

Newbie 2: So, can you survive falls from skyscrapers like Keanu Reeves?

Me: Can you shut your mouth for 2 minutes and let me teach?

Newbie 1: But what else does it have to compete with? Miami Vice?! There's no substance; it's just fluff, just a bunch of unshaven pretty boys running around doing fluffy things.

Me: Next person who talks out of turn will have his eye removed with this here piece of chalk *I show them my eye-removing chalk.* As I was saying, what we have come to know as our physical and mental limits is no longer a useful yard stick for measuring our capabilities. How long can you hold your breath underwater? 1 minute? 2? Try 6 weeks; it's difficult to get the time off, but a worthwhile experience if you get the chance. And what of flying? I know, big whoop, but try doing it without a cape! How do you think these karate guys can punch through steel girders and that hot chick from Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon can do all that cool shit?

Newbie 3: Wasn't that China, though?

Me: *His eye pulls free with a 'pop'* So I encourage you all to explore all these possibilities available to you, don't be afraid to try things that every bone in your body is telling you will hurt really badly or possibly bring your life to an abrupt end. Take a look at this graph up here, and I think you'll see what I mean. *I flash up disturbing images I googled of their conceptions, most vomit.*

One-eyed Newbie: Excuse me sir, but with my recently impaired vision, I can't make heads or tails out of the graph.

Me: Probably for the best, unless your dad was a pool boy.

The rest of the hour was spent dressing up our one-eyed newbie up as a very convincing, if extraordinarily whiny, pirate. I also wrapped a towel around my head and we played maharaja and palace servant. Newbie 1 makes a killer Manhattan.

More to come

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Mon, 19 Sep 2005 12:23:00 +0000

Just returned from Tokyo\Fuji area tonight; my week is pretty packed escourting new people around Kumamoto, but I'll try to find time to post in the next few days. An addendum: this new format's accidental and only temporary. What you see now was a heuristic used to try and right the problems I was having with the color scheme, but it somehow replaced the existing html.

New Blog Direction?

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Tue, 13 Sep 2005 12:43:00 +0000

I'm sure you've been noticing a few changes around here recently: the set-up's new, that goofus with the gawdy purple shirt is gone, Meredith's last comment was deleated. I've decided not only to change the outward appearance of this weblog, but also it's content, nay, it's very soul. I will rededicate this forum to weighty issues, ponderous events, and all-around super important stuff. It will be a new, conerned blog, a blog for concerned citizens of a concerning world.

Naw, I'm just playing, I'll still talk about my penis.

Hold yer horses

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Sun, 11 Sep 2005 13:33:00 +0000

Sorry things have gotten kind of slow around here. I intended to write either yesterday or today, but as I went for a rather lengthy run on Saturday, I have absolutely no energy right now. I am a large, rather chisled, static mass whose only means of recharging is through watching movies. The Chronicles of Riddick is not a good one. Said energy, once transfered, is being redirected toward this blog, not for the purpose of writing, but chanelled into its remodeling. Yes, this blog is being revamped. Priority one is getting rid of that tool with the crooked glasses. I hope to have this ship in better condition by tomorrow. Also, this is a funny, if extremely disturbing, picture.

Self-Definition

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Mason) — Wed, 07 Sep 2005 12:58:00 +0000

I watched Reality Bites this evening, supposedly one of those generation defining movies like Breakfast Club or Easy Rider, a movie which rattles off sound bites on such pressing issues of the 90's like "The Energy Crisis", the ever-present "Starving children in Africa" and "Man's existential dilemma" (is there any more overused, less understood word in the modern lexicon than "existential"? It seems to me the cachet of the faux academic, rouge for self-proclaimed intelligence.)

We the viewers are supposed to scoff at Michael, the TV executive, who has sold out--what exactly is never made clear--to become a wealthy and successful yuppie. He is actually admirable in every way except for his corporate status, which, it is made perfectly clear from the get-go, is just not cool. Our first glimpse of him is an early caveat of the movie's direction: he is driving a brand new Saab convertible and doing business on a cell phone while our two heroines drive by--they have no real jobs, so they can afford to cruise about on a weekday afternoon--in a jalopy listening to Tempted by Squeeze, which is a pretty good song, but they're still lazy bums. He's made to look terribly adroit as he tries to juggle apparently more than man was ever intended to juggle: a job, money, a nice car, direction, purpose. His life, we are supposed to assume, is a shambles; our protagonists have got it right.

Contrast our antagonist Michael, with our co-protagonist, Troy, the greasy moocher who views employment and accomplishment as a moral compromise and feels that true happiness is found only in the ordure of misery behind his bong and guitar while he plays Buddha-on-the-mountain-top (not my line--it came from the movie) with all who ask him to stop whining and pay the rent. People who take themselves too seriously really piss me off.

During the course of the movie, one of the main characters, Leila, exclaims that she had expected to be something by age 23, to which her loafer friend responds, "all you have to be is yourself," or some such clichéd nonsense. But, she replies "I don't even know who I am anymore."

Ah, the crisis of self-definition, the questioning and realization so common in post-collegiate young adults. I suppose that's the reason most of us are over here, us strangers in a strange land.
...
...
...
I remember reading an article once about Sir Isaac Newton and his discovery of gravity. The article's author had struggled as an adolescent to understand why Newton could see what was so evident, at least from a modern perspective, but for which so few had taken notice: how had he surmised from so common an event that earthly and celestial gravity were one and the same? The author concluded that it was perspective, perspective provided by stepping back from the scene to see the big picture. If one distanced himself from the action, he would see the apple always falls towards earth's center, no matter where the tree was rooted or its observer standing (or sitting, as the story would have it). It was perspective, or at least visioned so, that allowed him to uncover this truth.

And perhaps that's just what an experience such as this accomplishes--we remove ourselves from all we know and with which we are comfortable: from our family, friends, and culture. In a sense, we remove ourselves from ourselves, and in so doing, are better able to understand who we are.

Whether my comrades here are in the throes of such self-discovery, or if I am seeing who they truly are, I don't know, but I feel in many ways isolated over here. I don't mean to suggest that I'm lonely or depressed, I'm actually feeling quite happy and at peace just now, but just to point out what an anomaly I am or at least perceive myself to be. I was asked the other day when was the last AIDS test I received, and they were shocked to find out that I've never received one.

And who am I? As I said, being removed from my comfort zone has given me time and perspective to evaluate and clarity to define. From what I've seen here abroad, my generation more and more seems to resemble floundering Troy and Leila from above, those depressive souls who are drawn inextricably to misery, believing they have a monopoly on caring and good intentions and are therefore entitled to that which they have not earned. We are all drawn to drama and misery; it's easier than happiness--misery loves company, and company loves the miserable. Try gaining a crowd's attention for 10 minutes using stand-up. Then try doing it telling them you have cancer. Human belief in entitlement and attraction to sorrow certainly aren't new phenomena--Zeitgeists come and go--it's just that this one has reared its ugly head again.

So who am I? I'm a traitor to my generation and damned proud of it.