C'est bon!

Aside from sweet views of sweaty man-ass, the other big attraction of the Obon season is the hakamairi (grave visitations). Each summer, most Japanese return to their hometowns to visit the family tomb and leave offerings of incense, flowers, booze, smokes, and sweets. My family is no exception to this rule, so last week we trundled off to the sticks for a day of reconnecting with the family spirits and, in my case, wishing for hard drugs. It's not that I dislike my in-laws, it's just that their home is located here:
Or from different angle:
You will not find a Starbucks within 12 miles of this town. Nor will your cellular phone's reception ever creep beyond one half a bar. Now, I am definitely not averse to getting away from the information sphere once in awhile and basking in a few hours of ignorance of what the rest of the world is doing. The real problem can be summed up in three words: unintelligible local dialect. If my spouse is not by my side constantly to translate from local Japanese to standard Japanese, I have no clue what my in-laws are saying to me. Often my spouse doesn't understand either. Honestly, I think they confer beforehand and switch up the dialect for each of our visits to keep us from ever figuring it out. It's worse than those parts in Trainspotting where the Scottish accents get so out of control they added subtitles in deference to non-Scottish audiences.

So, I took a longer-than-necessary stroll after fulfilling my grave-visiting duties. Ostensibly to enjoy the fresh air, of which we in sooth get plenty being from a fairly rural city ourselves. It was actually rather enjoyable. I found some pretty flowers which I had no hope of identifying:

and a scene that I believe is a good, spontaneous example of the Japanese idea of "mono no aware," or an object that evokes a kind of aesthetic empathy:
So I guess the moral of this pointless post is, if you ever find yourself married to a Japanese native and getting dragged off three times a year (obon + vernal and autumnal equinoxes) to their remote rural hometown where the local dialect is completely impenetrable to visit the family tomb, I strongly recommend you take a book.

Obon? Bon!!!

My wife, daughter, and some other members of our enormous family + me visited a summer festival this week. It was held on the premises of a retirement home where one of our many cousins works. Such festivals are held all over Japan during the Obon period at temples, shrines, schools, community centers, or anywhere else with enough space to set up. Although there may be regional variations, I think the basic layout is pretty much the same no matter where you go. There will be a raised stage or platform in the middle where an announcer sits with a mic, playing canned music. Sometimes there will be actual musicians, or some combination of taped/live. Local residents "dance" around the stage. I use scare quotes here because it's not so much a dance as a procession. There are apparently traditional steps and arm movements, but nobody actually knows them. They just sort of imitate the person in front of them (who is imitating the person in front of them and so on), so it's kind of a self-organizing thing. Off to one side vendors set up tents selling yakisoba (sauce-drenched fried noodles), kakigori (shaved ice with syrup), yakitori (skewered, grilled chicken) and beer. There are also usually some games for the kids, such as popgun shooting galleries and "kingyo sukui," in which kids try to fish live goldfish out of an inflatable wading pool with a flimsy tissue net. Oddly that "sukui" bit means "rescue" or "save" and also shows up in the word "sukuinushi" meaning savior, i.e. Jesus. So whenever I see kids playing this game, it gives me a mental image of Christ bending down from heaven with a huge paper net, trying to fish out human souls before they soak through the tissue and fall back into Hell. Whoa...gotta lay off those morning glory seeds.

Everything was going pretty normally. We were all standing around outside the ring of dancers drinking beer (except for the kids and drivers), wolfing down noodles and chatting. The dancers were trotting around the stage with varying degrees of enthusiasm. A lot of them looked like they had been dragged from their beds at the retirement home, some literally being wheeled around by the staff. I honestly can't say if that was a kindness or a cruelty. Some of the old dears, like one very elderly wheelchair-bound woman who was compulsively chewing on her yukata collar, didn't actually appear to understand what was going on. I kind of wondered for whose benefit this was being done -for the retirees enjoyment, or to give a photo-op to their next of kin? However, this depressing thought was driven from my head by a sight that made me spray beer out of both nostrils. A pair of pale cheeks had ascended the stage and commenced jiggling up and down. They had a taiko drummer, wearing only a loincloth, headband and grin, get up and reel off a couple of numbers on the big drum. After all, this is the land of public, fully-nude, occasionally mixed bathing, but it was still kind of a jolt. Even after 10+ years of living here, I'm still sometimes reminded I'm not in Kansas. Kansass maybe, but not Kansas.

A tasty nosehair sandwich

As those who know me can attest, when I'm not cleansing my nasal passages or inhaling boulder-sized rocks of crack, I can generally be found clutching a greasy mouse playing through the first level of Doom...over and over...obsessively. That was until I discovered "Hanage 2." The game is sold through Japan's sprawling network of 100 yen shops, meaning it cost roughly 80 cents US. Don't be fooled by the price though. This game is a brilliant indictment of modern, consumerist society.

Premise Your guy swims relentlessly forward through the air, attacked by a variety of monsters that fly at him in sine-wave formations. Where do they come from? Perhaps from the depths of his cold, empty soul.

Gameplay This game uses only the space bar. When you press it, your guy swims toward the right side of the screen. Stop pressing it, and he drifts back toward the left. The mind-numbing simplicity, reducing the player to a cog carrying out simple, repetitive motions, is a perfect metaphor for our post-post culture in which humans are mere extensions of the machine/phallus that rules the universe.

Power ups The player can collect a number of power-ups, but these just uselessly change the character graphic's clothing with no discernable effect on the gameplay, or even more cruely, render him naked except for his briefs. Again, this aspect is highly informed by our modern culture, in which we, magpie-like, snatch up every glittering trinket dangled before us, accumulating mountains of designer clothing, automobiles and consumer electronics that are as useless and destined for the landfill as our own broken bodies.

Graphics Crudely rendered and garishly colored, they are obviously a reference to the grotesque carnival of human sexuality.

Sound The heroic music and humorous sound effects, contrast starkly with the game's darker themes, creating a keen psychological tension.

Concluding remarks Casting aside clumsy narrative and exposition, this game drives home the horror of modern existence as few others do. Even the title, "Hanage," meaning nosehair, is a reference to all we consider unsightly, undesirable and filthy within ourselves. It will hold up a cold flawless mirror, and you will shrink in terror from what you see.