Cats galore 2

Cat by Mino.
More on the exhibit at Flew Gallery on through March 12.
Get off Sanguibashi Station on the Odakyu Line (two stops from Shinjuku), walk toward your left as you get out of the train station, and look down the alley behind the Seven-Eleven.

Cats galore

Masks, photos, miniatures, sculpture, prints and other artwork are on exhibit at a tiny house-turned-gallery, tucked away in an alley like a fairy-tale secret.
The theme: Cats.
Even the musicians performing at the opening are cats, wearing fuzzy head-gear complete with glowing LED eyes
Mino on reeds and trumpet, who made the giant cat heads, is one of the exhibiting artists.
I bought a figure he made of a Master Cat, posed in a welcoming gesture.
It has wires for whiskers and a disarmingly wise yet innocent look in its eyes.
Mino, who plays in a band called Kumonosu Quartet (not Kronos Quartet, mind you), seemed happy I bought his piece, though it was a bit hard to tell under the cat head with only his lips showing to play the instruments _ and talk.
"Do you like cats?" he asks, the obvious question to ask in this setting.
"Yes, I do," I said, relieved I can be honest and have what I think is the right answer.
"Have you ever had (katteta) a cat?"
"Yes, though I don't now." Still relatively relieved.
"What kind of cat?" he asks in his soft warm voice, not probing, just expressing proper interest.
"His name was Pyonta, and he was all black." Yes, he was a beautiful cat, and why hadn't I thought about Pyonta lately when a cat is so utterly important with all the fascinating features a cat possesses _ so childlike and self-centered and lost in its own world, yet so giving, shrewd, instinctual. So total. But I don't say those things.
"My cat is a tabby, and the name is Nyangoro," Mino offers with a smile. "There's no special reason for the name, except that it cries that way _ nyangoro."
We share a laugh.
"Do you like other animals? I also like dogs," I continue. "Some people say people who like cats don't like dogs, and people who like dogs don't like cats, but I like dogs and cats."
Lo, behold, we agree again: "I like dogs, too," Mino says.
The Kumonosu Quartet play at the Crocodile in Harajuku April 19.
Mino (at left in photo) has an exhibit at Gallery Yoyogi March 31-April 5.
Do you like cats?!?
Neko sukidesuka??!!

Nissan as Japan turning global?

Getting to watch high-profile people up close is one perk of our job as reporters.
This week, I did an interview with Carlos Ghosn, the chief executive of Nissan and Renault.
I can only observe Nissan as an outsider.
But Nissan has changed over the last decade in one key, obvious and simple way: The makeup of the people who work there is more diverse.
It's unclear whether that's going to just slow down decision-making, or prove a gem of an asset for an automaker trying to expand in emerging markets in a world and industry that are increasingly global.
It's a nice thought to think diversity produces winners.
But does it?
Toyota and Honda don't have diverse management.
But they're beating Nissan (profit, vehicle sales).
Obviously, a company's success is so complex there are many factors that ultimately determine what happens.
And the significance of promoting diversity is likely lost on both sides of the Pacific _ in the U.S., because diversity is so commonplace, and, in Japan, because diversity is so rare.
For some reason, it's charming to watch people from different nations talk English in heavy accents to make decisions at a big company.
Maybe it's a reminder of how corporations, even big ones, are in the end about the individual people who work there.

Story of Miu 8

Story of Miu 7 is now Story of Miu 8 as a missed past entry 4 has been added:
first chapter of the Story of Miu.
Miu 2
Miu 3
Miu 4
Miu 5
Miu 6
Miu 7

(Scene: A Kyoto-style restaurant on the 14th Floor of the Takashimaya Department Store in Shinjuku, Tokyo. The delicately shaped servings in modern geometric cups and plates line a wooden counter facing wall-to-wall glass that overlooks a noontime luscious view of Shinjuku Gyoen garden.)
Miu (Fingering traditional "tenugui" cotton towels the restaurant has given as napkins): Cool!
Me (Trying not to sound too curious): And so how's it going?
Miu: OK.
Me: You were telling me you picked up ... met someone, right, the other day? And so what's the latest news?
(Silence for several minutes; waiter from the other side of the counter brings cups of tea.)
Miu: Yes, there have been developments. He said we were supposed to meet at Alta in Shinjuku _ that was, I guess, last weekend _ to see a movie. But I didn't go.
Me: You didn't go.
Miu (Shaking head): But I did meet another guy. I went to a different club with some other friends, and there was this other guy.
Me: That's great.
Miu: Actually, I am building a database.
Me: What?
Miu: I figure you have to be scientific about this procedure. (Begins to explain hurriedly) My Japanese really improves, spending time with these guys. Free lessons! (Laughs.)
Me: And so how does the database work?
Miu: It's easy. You collect phone numbers. It must be harder for males but for females, you don't have to do much.
Me: And how many have you collected?
Miu: Lots. I haven't checked.
Me: Like 10? 20?
Miu (Giggling:) More like 100.
Me: Gosh. How can you possibly keep track?
Miu: That's the challenge. You have to take good notes _ oh, you'd know about that. How do you keep track of all the people you interview?
Me: I have to write down the person's characteristics on their meishi. Thank God Japanese are into their meishi.
Miu: What do you write?
Me: Like "did most of the talking," "said nothing," "glasses," "made joke about such and such." It's tough. They tend to be all male and old and wear dark suits.
Miu: Similar problem here. All male, young, eager to get into bed, very very boring!
But I write down what they said and stuff. And I can sometimes even take their photo with my cell phone. My cell phone has a better digital camera than my camera.
Me: At least, you are getting around and meeting a lot of people and learning about Japan. And no sense rushing into settling down with one person. Maybe I could have gotten someone better if I had held out, too. (Sighs)
Miu: Oh, don't say that. You have a great marriage.
Me: Thanks. So what do you do with all that information? You call one of them up randomly when you need to go out or something?
Miu: Something like that.
Me: Your generation _ there is so much technology available like SNS, e-mail, messaging, all that, to connect in so many ways maybe you don't feel like you've checked out all your options unless you build this ... database. (Miu shrugs as they eat with lacquered chopsticks soy-flavored grilled fish, chopped seaweed and daikon in vinegar sauce and miso soup with tofu.) The world was a simpler place when all you did was sit around at home and wait for a call on that fixed line.
Miu: You didn't do that, did you?
Me: Of course, I did. Everybody did. What if he calls and you're out? You'd miss that chance to go out with him, right?
Miu: How can you stand it?
Me: Right, it is quite oppressive, isn't it? (Pauses) Yes, you're right. The new technology is progress. But don't you feel that Japan is still stuck in the 1950s as far as images of women?
Miu: What do you mean?
Me: There aren't that many outlets for older women still, except maybe flamenco classes for housewives or something. We know studies say more women are working and some are even successful. We see them on TV. But the most desirable roles for women are defined as young and cute because it's the men who are behind the definitions. I mean, look at the U.S. presidential race. What a contrast.
Miu: But maybe Yuriko Koike will run for the LDP presidential race, and there you go: Japan's first female prime minister.
(Miu and Me laugh.)
Me: What comes to mind when you hear "obasan?" Nothing good, right?
Miu: No one wants to be called "obasan." That's like the worst derogatory thing in Japanese you can call a woman.
Me: There is "babaa."
(They laugh. Waiter brings dessert, a traditional rice-cake pastry with fruit and sweet black beans )
Have you noticed what word the sales people at Shibuya 109, the Kyoto "maiko" and night club hostesses use to refer to older women to avoid saying "obasan?"
Miu (Visibly curious): No, what?
(They sip tea.)
Me: "Oneesan."
Miu: Oneesan.
Me: Forever young _ although older. But I think this shows how society hasn't recognized the value of the female after women have gotten past their roles of reproduction.
Miu: Oh, wasn't there some minister who got in trouble for calling women "reproductive machines?"
Me: Exactly. That mentality. There are lots of women in their 30s and older who truly dread being called "obasan." If it hasn't happened already, then it could happen any second. Horrors!
Miu: Moment of metamorphosis. Society decrees you useless for preservation of the species.
Me: I like being obasan. I am proud of being obasan.
Miu: OK, obasan.
Me: Obasan is a title that you earn as a woman when you grow older and wiser and better. Sounds a bit like sour grapes, doesn't it? But I think I learned so much about womanhood _ maybe "personhood" _ through my motherhood _ or through my son, I guess, having a child.
Miu: That's wonderful.
Me: All the years my son was growing up, his friends who spoke Japanese would call me obasan. They would look at me with those big innocent eyes of theirs, trusting me because I was their friend's mother. It's respect I earned not only because of my relationship with my son but also my son's relationship with others. That's why I get to be obasan. It's real and very beautiful and full of dignity. Not some derogatory place in the hierarchy as defined by sexual desirability, work performance, whatever. It's deeper than all that.
Miu: It is. And it should be like that.
Me: Women should be proud of being obasan.
Miu: Of course.
Me: Obasan Power!
Miu: That's a good way to put it.
Me: But all you see in the Japanese media much of the time are obasan rushing to bargains, gossiping, taking flamenco lessons.
Miu: What's the solution?
Me: I'm not sure. Data show Japanese women are choosing not to get married and not to have children, even if they do by some miracle get married. (Looks into Miu's eyes.) I try to tell young women this every chance I get, but it's the most important experience in life to have a child, OK? No one really told me this. I was so lucky I did get married and have a child. The common wisdom back then was that women had to prove we could be just as good as men. And so worrying too much about marriage and children was seen as backward, something that women who weren't "liberated" (Holds up her hands to make quotation marks in the air with her fingers) did _ not women who wanted to make something of themselves and have careers.
Miu: I want a child. Maybe not now. But I want a baby someday.
Me: You will. You will. And you have plenty of time. To build databases and everything else.
Miu: This database I am building isn't about that though. I'm not sure what it's about. But I don't want to be trapped into someone just because he picks me out from the crowd. Why do I have to wait for some coincidental accident in the office elevator or some freakish event like in a TV drama to meet someone?
Me: Maybe old-style Japan was on to something when they had omiai. That's pretty orderly. So Japanese.
Miu: Then I wouldn't have to spend all this time on a database.
Me: Someday you will meet that special person _ that man who will throw that whole database out the window.
Miu (Silent then): How do you know?
Me: You'll know. You won't have to ask.
Miu: I will hear my heart go thump thump. Uh-oh, I think that's just the music blasting off at the club. I probably won't be able to hear it _ it's so loud in there (Laughs).

Bunraku/Poetry with Music

Bunraku is Poetry with Music at its Highest.
The singer is just about standing on his knees to groan, shriek and growl out the story from deep within his guts, his face growing redder with intensity.
The shamisen player adds just the right touches of bangs, strums and plings, working as much as staccato percussion as mood-evoking strings.
Then there are the puppets.
They add an unreal transcendental dimension as there's no pretense at hiding the existence of the puppeteers _ mostly very old men who look nothing like the dashing samurai or lovely princesses they play _ in full view on stage.
The men look amazingly beautiful and impeccably in control, barely changing their solemn expressions as they delicately manipulate the puppets, making it look easy, breathing in life to the lifeless puppets with their artistry.
The interview I did with puppet master Minosuke Yoshida is one of the most memorable profile pieces I ever did as a reporter.
The stunning thing about Bunraku artists is that most start at 6 years old or so and have made the art the center of their lives.
No wonder they exude that almost mystical quality.
I took the day off to catch Yoshida at the National Theater in "The Miracle at Tsubosaka Kannon Temple," first staged in 1879.
Yoshida plays a simple but selfless wife of a blind shamisen player, whose blindness is cured in their deaths because of the purity and sadness of their love.
Yoshida says the moment he loves is when a puppeteer picks up the puppet and it suddenly takes on life.
You'd have to be backstage as he was as an apprentice to catch that magical moment.
But if you've ever seen a puppet sitting on a stand, you'd know how boring and, well, doll-like the thing looks when it's not on a master's arm.

Meeting a ninja

Meeting a ninja isn't something that happens everyday.
But it's always uplifting to witness immersion in an endeavor for its unworldly intrinsic worth, not material gain, social status and other mundane purposes.
And the more unworldly the pursuit, and the more mysterious, self-effacing and secretive, like Ninjaism, that point becomes undeniable.
Real-life ninja Masayuki Waki is at a warehouse-like cafe in Kabukicho _ of all places _ to teach some tourists ninja techniques, including escaping grabs, turning somersaults and throwing star-shaped weapons.
He is patient and friendly and utterly professional.
I asked him what determines whether someone is a ninja.
But he said those kind of definitions don't apply to ninja.
Ninja is a way of life.
And so it's not like becoming a certified accountant or earning a judo black belt or graduating college.
It's more like taking the leap of faith.
A ninja could be sitting right next to you on the Yamate Line: The whole point of being a ninja is that it shouldn't be so obvious.
He says the evil-spirited assassin stereotype about ninja is false.
No one wants world peace more than ninja, he says.
Ninja also have the skills to save lives and help people.
And that could come in handy at any moment in life _ even on the Yamate Line.
Waki, 49, said he began learning ninja techniques two decades ago to use them on his job as a stuntman and fight-scene choreographer for movies and TV.
But he became totally captivated by the ninja world.
As a ninja should be, Waki is nimble on his feet, limber and quiet.
There is an airy quality about him that's a bit hard to explain, but I'd say Nordic skier Kenji Ogiwara also has that bird-like quality as though his bones were hollow and he can really fly.
Ninja are strong as an individual but not in an aggressive way of self-assertion so they also blend in with the crowd.
Very ninja-like!
Interest in ninja is bigger among foreigners, who are more in tune to the sensibilities/instinct of survival than are "heiwa boke" Japanese, according to Waki.
At a dojo where he trains, about two-thirds of would-be ninja are from abroad.
At the one-day lesson for tourists, he demonstrates how flipping a business card like a "shuriken" can make it travel across the air, while simply throwing it won't work.
He also notes jewelry and heels can serve as weapons.
And don't try to finish off your opponent.
That kind of overkill is just asking for trouble.
Just run!

Little Yellow Slut (with music)

Yuri Kageyama (poetry)
Teruyuki Kawabata (bongo, djembe, percussion)
Haruna Shimizu (kpanlogo drums, percussion)
Keiji Kubo (didgeridoo)

Recorded in Tokyo Feb. 16, 2008

A performance of poetry and music by the Tokyo Flower Children.

Little YELLOW Slut

You know her:
That Little YELLOW Slut, proudly gleefully
YELLOW-ly hanging on Big Master's arm,
War bride, geisha,
GI's home away from home,
Whore for last samurai,
Hula dancer with seaweed hair,
Yoko Ohno,
Akihabara cafe maid,
Hi-Hi Puffy Ami/Yumi,
Kawaiiii like keitai,
Back-up dancer for Gwen Stefani,
Your real-life Second Life avatar
Eager to deliver your freakiest fetish fantasies,
Disco queen, skirt up the crotch,
Fish-net stockings, bow-legged, anorexic, raisin nipples, tip-
Toeing Roppongi on
Stiletto heels.

Yessu, i spikku ingrishhu, i raikku gaijeeen, they kiss you,
hold your hand, open doors for me,
open legs for you, giggling pidgin, covering mouth,
so happy to be
Little YELLOW Slut.

Everybody's seen her:
That Little YELLOW Slut, waiting at
Home, cooking rice, the Japanese
Condoleezza Rice,
Smelling of sushi,
Breath and vagina,
Fish and vinegar,
Fermented rice,
Honored to be
Cleaning lady,
Flight attendant for Singapore Airlines,
Nurse maid, gardener,
Japan-expert's wife,
Mochi manga face,
Yodeling minyo,
Growling enka,
Sex toy, slant-eyes closed, licking, tasting, swallowing STD semen,
Every drop.

Yessu, i wanna baby who looohkuh gaijeen, double-fold eye, translucent skin, international school PTA,
maybe grow up to be fashion model, even joshi-ana,
not-not-not happy to be
Little YELLOW Slut.

I recognize her:
That Little YELLOW Slut, rejecting
Japanese, rejected by Japanese,
Ashamed,
Empty inside,
They all look alike,
Faceless, hoping to forget, escape
To America,
Slant-eyed clitoris,
Adopted orphan,
Dream come true for pedophiles,
Serving sake, pouring tea, spilling honey,
Naturalized citizen,
Buying Gucci,
Docile doll,
Rag-doll, Miss Universe, manic harakiri depressive, rape victim, she is
You, she is me.

Hai, hai, eigo wakarimasen, worship Big Master for mind, matter, muscle, money, body size correlates to penis size,
waiting to be sexually harassed, so sorry, so many,
so sad to be
Little YELLOW Slut.