Last night, I think in the period just before waiting, it may even have been between the snooze function of my alarm clocks, I had a weird dream. In the dream world, everything was normal except that the same proportion of people who, in the real world are straight, were, in the dreamworld, gay. The same proportion of people who, in the real world are gay, were straight. I was straight in this dream world (I wonder what this means about me in the real world), and was persecuted by bigots for being a "dirty straight". The teasing started out in a quite offhand way; my more masculine mannerisms (just so I was sure it was a dream), were dismissed as being "soooo straight", and I realised that these fools used the term "straight" as a synonym for "crap" or "stupid". Then it took became more aggressive with insults and threat. I remember thinking that they didn't realise that I was just straight and that the world had got turned around and then being chased by lots of men chanting the Communards except it was I who was the small town boy. Then I woke up. Probably means something or other...
Archive for January, 2008 Page 3 of 4
I'm not a massive comics fan or anything, but I would really like to go and see this exhibition. Over 100 artists have all done versions of their favourite Stan Lee creations. I don't know why, but I find things like this, derivatives perhaps, rather than the originals, more interesting than the originals themselves. The same often goes for cover versions of songs over the originals. For me, working within the framework of the original often reveals more about the artists or musicians than their own creations do. I'd really like to see the whole exhibition of these.
The 4.17 Tozai Line train from Nish-Funabashi is usually relatively quiet when it stops to pick me up at Myoden station, 2 stations later. For the first few stops, the passengers are mainly school and university students, housewives, the elderly and infirm and non-salarymen who looked slightly crazed at having fallen through the cracks of the employment system. As the train goes underground, the last of the students are replaced by salarymen and office ladies (charming terms that actually-quite-accurately portray the sexual-roles in the Japanese office), returning to their companies after meetings. They get off at the seven-or-so big stations, and are in turn replaced again by more students and housewives as the train comes out of the long 15 stop tunnel, back in Tokyo suburbia. The train is us usually quiet and peaceful, a Switzerland in the WW2 of afternoon commuting, but with less Nazi-stolen Jewish gold.
Yesterday, thanks to the colder weather, it was a little worse than usual, although still miles from the morning face-in-armpit-of-filthy-unwashed-passenger-next-to-you-horror. I was sitting at the end of one of the rows of seats (the prized position that I get for getting on the train early on, and which I, now fully assimilated into Japanese train etiquette, will relinquish to no old-lady, handicapped passenger or pregnant women), and next to me, in the ample standing room by a door, stood a youngish woman in a long anorak. Everything seemed normal. The train pulled into Kudanshita station, usually the last of the major salaryman alighting points. I happened to notice a man get up from the seat next to where the woman was standing and start to pull his suitcase (obviously returning from a business trip straight to the office - good boy), to get off the train. His hand (the one pulling the suitcase), brushed the woman's jacket briefly for just a second while the man was looking the other way to pick up his newspaper from the seat. As he unknowingly continued to get off the train, the woman exploded with a torrent of abuse:
"Youfuckingpervert! Don'tyoufuckingtouchmeup! Youdirtyarsehole! Whothefuckdoyouthinkyouare?! [Seeing that he had not realised she was talking to him] You with the suitcase, You.Stupid.Fucking.Arsehole! Yeah YOU! Don'ttouchwomenupyoupervertI'mcallingthepolice! PERVERT!"
By this point about five other people had got off the train terrified of her, the man had wandered off, shaking his head and I was sitting there, giggling into my book. I have never, ever, seen anyone explode like that on the train before. Quite amazing. I started wondering; maybe she had been abused before on the train (apparantly one-in-two women in Tokyo have), or maybe she was just in a foul mood, or maybe her child had been snatched by one of the notorious Tokyo dingoes? Then, a couple of stops later, as she got off the train, I noticed that she had been reading from the preparation book for the upcoming TOEIC (English proficiency) exam. It all became clear. She was just another example of what can happen when you teach an ordinary citizen something as subversive as the English language...
A few weeks back, Eri bought herself a Diana. We went out one day in December in Roppongi and Shinjuku and got these shots. Like most toy cameras I've used, the instructions for the Diana really stress the possibility of light leaks and other wierdness, but this is the first time I have really seem them as noticeably. I quite like them. I'm not sure what happened to the one of my face all chopped up. Maybe the camera couldn't handle it or something and just gave up. Click to see them all.











