Plain, Helicopters and Automobiles (Part I)

“The Happiness Dashboard”

The Rising Family™ is a happy family. We lead a plain but satisfying life in Yokohama. For example, Lady E. will soon reach six years old; she is blossoming and is high-octane curious about life. Talkative, like her dad. M. is also speaking at length without need of an audience and laughing at her own jokes. She has staked her claim in the family unit and is a lovable little nutter.

The danger of a joyful family that is blessedly free of major problems is that it lacks the drama or fodder for stories that you, dear Reader, might find interesting. In that sense, “plain” is a pain. I soldier on nevertheless, and offer the following two tidbits from our Yippie Yokohama existence.

"Orange Hawk Down"

Background to this anecdote: The V-22 Osprey is a multi-mission, tilt-rotor aircraft with a vertical take off and landing (VTOL) capability. It has been in use in branches of the US armed forces since 2007. The V-22’s development was long and controversial, and it has been plagued by a reputation for glitches and accidents. Once the Department of Defense announced the V-22 would be deployed to Japan there has been a long and pronounced public outcry about potential safety hazards and potential for crashes in Japan’s densely populated urban areas.

Courtesy of the US Dept. of Defense

Flash forward to the present: I am a childish man. That said, I occasionally indulge in “man toys.” One such purchase was a cheap, remote-controlled mini helicopter. I brought this with me when I recently took the girls to a local park that has a wide open green space, perfect for takeoff and landings. Or so I thought.

Amid a lull in the usual jumping, screaming and climbing that goes with such trips to the park, I snuck away and pulled out my toy for a test. The trial showed the mini-heli had two directions: up (very, very quickly) and straight down. Immediately after this test I was surrounded by a gaggle of kids, mostly young boys, who materialized out of nowhere. Feeling very much the middle-aged pied piper, their enthusiasm was infectious—more tests...go go go.

 

Test flight #2 was memorable. The helicopter went straight into the heavens, remote control was severed at about 50 ft high, and it plummeted straight down into the sidewalk where the crash impact split the nose off the fuselage. Carnage!
 

My helicopter was mostly destroyed, but I was laughing my ass off. Why? Immediately after witnessing the crash of the mini heli, the group of kids surrounded the downed helicopter and, almost in unison, cried out: “It’s the Osprey!”

Who says kids these days don’t follow current events?

Doubly Grumpy

Yomiuri Giants win Japan Pro Baseball Series
The Yomiuri Giants won the Japan Series in early November, defeating the Hokkaido Nippon Ham Fighters 4-3 in Game 6 of the best-of-seven series at Tokyo Dome. They won the series, 4-2, thereby capturing the baseball crown in Japan for the first time in three years--and their 22nd overall.

 

I can’t help but note the alignment of the baseball stars, since the San Francisco Giants won the 2012 World Series by sweeping the Detroit Tigers 4-0. Thus, the Giants on both sides of the Pacific have triumphed. I have no animosity toward the SF Giants. I thought their 2010 Series win was a kind of cosmic denouement to Barry Bonds’s career, even though he had already retired by 2007 season. Moreover, the 2012 SF Giants 2012 were talented and the win made sense.

Still, I just cannot get behind a Yomiuri Giants championship because they stink too much of the stacked game that the NY Yankees run: pugnacious national popularity, league dominance due to deep pockets, and, in my view, no soul. So a pox on the Yomiuri Jiantsu. Blurrggh—I’m puking as I write this.

Courtesy of the Japan Times

2012 US presidential election:
I’m just glad it’s over. Here’s another Brian McFadden comic.

Courtesy of the New York Times

Summer’s Really Over: Punchin’, Scratchin’, Screamin’

“Now I’ve got you, ya slow little bitch,” I cackled as my scooter passed the other sad sack middle-aged driver on his commute home from the train station. I thought: I am racing another working stiff from my neighborhood on a 50cc scooter for no other reason except than I am really bored. Oh man, that’s so sad.

Not sad in the sense of “unhappy or miserable.” More like, “hapless or pathetic.”

This little Friday night fever episode aside, last weekend we had a balmy 25ºC (that’s 77ºF) two days, and then the bottom fell out.  I realized that with baseball season nearly over, I had to accept the fact that summer truly had come to an end.

So, in celebration of the summer of 2012 and all the good stuff that happened to the Rising Family, I have put together a parody of the classic 1979 Journey hit, “Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'” from the Evolution  album. This is about the Rising Daughters, and the sibling chaos we endured over the summer.

Punchin’, Scratchin’, Screamin’
You make me scream, and I want ya to die
When you touch my toys
Punchin’, Scratchin’, Screamin' at each other

(Elena) I'm never alone, not by myself
You're always, always so close..it’s hell
Little sister, go away, and let me play

You're buggin’ me so hard, every every day
You're annoying me, you little turd
Oh what can I say
You're buggin’ me so hard

(Marina) It won't be long yes, 'til you're at school
Then it’s just me and Mom, ‘cause I’m still only two!
And you’re at school, now who’s the fool?
(Elena) Sis, you’re buggin’ me so hard,
Oh every every day
(Marina) I think I’m gonna fart
To make you go away.
‘Cuz I dig Elmo, SpongeBob he’s not.
 Now it's your turn, girl, to cry
 Na na na na na na
 (Repeats)

 

A Trip Supreme – Ich Bin Ein Vancouverite

…and so we landed in Lotusland. The sight of Grouse Mountain triggered a time warp back to my not-so-troubled youth. I recalled when Lady Van first seduced me around 1986, beckoning me with her mystic charms, perched on the edge of the continent with promises of escaping adolescence. The second phase of my infatuation came a few years later, when mere words from native son Douglas Coupland added to her allure while a recession prompted an exodus of Ontario youth to her shores. I had to do something more dramatic than just fly out to be with her; instead, I took a motorcycle trip across the continent in 1994 that ended up there. Since then, even an ocean can’t keep us apart and so I drag my family along to for a stopover in Vancouver whenever we go back to Canada for a visit.

Now back to the trip supreme tale:

As Tourists: we landed and checked into the (Sort-of) Comfort Inn. The luxury of my parent’s house was quite different from the reality of budget lodgings. But fear not! We jumped into a blinding array of sights, rambling around, just doing stuff.

Stanley Park—of course. Perfect for the kids. The tour of Vancouver Aquarium this time was far better for us than the last. Perhaps it was because we weren’t temporarily insane from jet lag like in 2008? Found the fish and other aquatic animals have a far better deal than their captive counterparts do in Japan. Dolphins don’t jump through hoops any more—don’t they have KPIs like the rest of us? Besides more living space and better union breaks, I think the aquarium has given the marine animals the vote. Only in Vancouver. I sound like Allan Fotheringham.

We love Richmond! I daydream, sense that if we moved here our lives would be as perfect as those depicted in IKEA catalogues. Even the Chinese food at the mall is Michelin-guide delicious. And here – no xenophobia intended – I feel like I am back in Japan thanks to my being among the small minority of non-Asians strolling the streets. Plus, I was “shushed” by one of the stern-faced producers of one of the Hollywood North TV shows that were filming as we strolled around Steveston. Overall, in two words, Richmond “felt right.”

Next day-Pacific National Exhibition: cruising for parking spot off East Pender St., an older Asian woman flagged us down and we parked in her nearby garage for $15. I enjoyed stiffing the outrageous parking prices of the city-run lots. We went to the PNE’s livestock area, walked among the rides.

Elena enjoyed it--like when we were in Guam, she reveled in being less constrained by rules. Got all you can ride day tickets for Naomi and Elena, and they went on a frenzy of mom-daughter bonding.

Marina seemed OK with being stuck with me most of the time. I went on a few rides with Elena. For lunch, we snorted back some plutonium-flavored poutine. I gambled toonies on the roulette wheel with zero luck—goddamn carnies. It was outrageous family fun; like a six-hour John Mellencamp song.

Nearing the day’s end, I caved in—despite my spidey senses telling me don't do it--and decided I would ride The Revelation. It is a 160 ft. tall skyscraper rotating arm with cockpit seats on both ends. Looked like something out of 2001: A Space Odyssey. But it provided the expected rush for this aging adrenalin junkie. The g-forces and the view were worth the extra $20 cost. Highly, absolutely and ecstatically recommended.

Soggy Granville Island: it had to rain at least once, right? I had a great coffee moment at the Granville Island Market (filled with retirees): swilled a freshly brewed gustatory masterpiece fashioned by a surly barista, then I perused the Georgia Straight while the Rising Daughters were magically docile for a few minutes. I took that as a sign and bought some very special healing crystals…Had you there, didn’t I?  Just messing with you, Reader. I am not Yanni.

Our trip clock was winding down. Day before departure for home, we took an afternoon drive out to Horseshoe Bay and basked in the view.

Returning to the hotel via Hwy 1, with perfect timing we crested a hill offering a nice view of New Westminster just as the Beach Boys’ “God Only Knows” played on the local classic rock station. A Perfect Moment.

After the kids fell asleep, a couple of nights I skulked out of the hotel room and took off for catch-ups with old friends in Vancouver. Like my friends in Ottawa, this is another reason I love to travel. We connected the dots between the years, information garnered from random stay-in-touch emails, and our present lives.

The night before we returned to Japan, we went on a night cruise in the car to downtown Vancouver. This is something we like to do in summer nights regardless of location. Drive around, suck in the summer night air, and the kids fall asleep in the back seats. Vancouver’s night scenes, new to our eyes, engaged the eyes and mind.

Excuse me, while I kiss the sky (in the City of Glass).

(Courtesy of the Internet.)

That’s it.

A Trip Supreme - Ottawa

Over two weeks have passed since our return; I have decompressed and can type objectively. Finding the right word to encapsulate the entire trip has proved elusive. Instead, like a good free jazz session, I will boil down the disparate, loosely defined elements to concoct a demi-glace of memories. Beware of the aftertaste as I offer only fleeting glimpses, banal thoughts, and silly sensations of our summer retreat to Canada.

Ottawa: lush and green despite local obsession with the “dry” summer (no wildfires threatening Kanata, now were there?). After four years since our last visit, I again appreciate the space and envy the ample elbowroom between people—an extrapolation of the expanses between cities, towns, and buildings. Curiously, only during this trip do I sense that the road lanes are definitely narrower than in cloistered Japan. Or maybe because the vehicle was larger? One warm evening, I introduced my family to the Britannia beach neighborhood and Naomi felt the same kinship with the place that I do. Must be the aquatic link and squadrons of shithawks patrolling the skies. Later that week, together with my brother and his girlfriend, we enjoyed a tour of the capital’s sightseeing spots while perched on a London-style double-decker tourist hauler. All the while, I ignored the ironic voices in my head and enjoyed the moment.

Family: The point of this trip was being with family. Every wonderful and occasionally exasperating moment of it. Mom made a tremendous effort to make us feel completely welcome: the downstairs bedroom was sparkling; a new bathroom was installed just for visitors, and this main course was topped off with an array of playthings for the Rising Daughters that would shame Toys ‘R Us. 

We sucked the marrow from the ten days. Examples: my extended family came for a mid-summer “Thanksgiving” dinner. Nearly two decades since I’d last seen my cousin M., who now has a very happy family not unlike my own. In general, Grampa and Nana did their best to keep the girls occupied.

We took a trip out to Calypso water park, which was splash-tastic. On the way back, we dropped in on some other relatives and found that my other cousin R and her husband had produced the cutest little girl on the continent: “L.” Here she meets “E” and “M”. We Are Family.

Old, Irreplaceable Friends: I am lucky to have remained friends with many fine people who tolerate our whirlwind visits with generosity of time and abundant humor. I am grateful that our personalities still jibe in defiance of the passage of time. We had a visit that featured mammoth, delectable burgers, and ample good cheer. Bringing family with me meant no booze, though, as did the afternoon time frame. With myself entirely to blame, such hyper-catch-up visits are like speed-dating except these are people I really want to talk/drink/swim with for more than a few hours. Next time!

Fishin’ and Drinkin’. This vacation timing was such that I could join the infamous Father-Son Camping Weekend that Steve-O and Dad have been attending over the years. Canoed in and out of the camp spot with my uncle Pat, who has a human hard drive of great stories from his globetrotting over the years. He was kind enough to mentor me on long-forgotten canoeing skills, otherwise I’d still be going around in circles on the lake. And no chicks allowed! Key words: canoe, bivouacking, beer, cussing without remorse, fish in beer batter, nasty snoring and enormous, horrifying farts issued with extreme prejudice.

The main leg of our trip home thus ended, and we lit out for Vancouver.

Rising Daughters are Hosers, too

Summer vacation this year was a trip to Canada to visit family. Lady E and Ms. M, growing up and being socialized primarily in Japan, are now in the Great White North(west). It’s a curious process to see them endure the long trip over the Pacific and then adapt to the new environment as they embrace their Canuck roots.

The Long Hop: Unlike our prior trip to visit with Lady E this time the 14 hours we spent airborne went easily—low expectations breed positive outcomes.

The girls slept a fair amount during the Pacific hop. The people sitting next to us were compassionately understanding of the situation. No screaming ensued; only 22 trips to the toilet.

Vancouver Airport: Disembarked the plane, and amazing First Nations art everywhere captures the eye as we entered the arrival gate and throughout the airport facilities; a very cool way to be welcomed home for me.

The girls were craning their necks at times to figure this new imagery out.

I noticed many half-Asian kids in the Immigration line with their parents. Felt like a real-life Benetton ad—we are not alone!

Jet Lag: Omnipresent concern. Tried to modify our sleeping hours but alas first day plagued by nod-outs, slurred speech (without the benefit of alcohol) and odd behavior. (Kids were fine, though.) Initial few hours together spent doing the work-ups to transition Nanna and Grampa from Skype People to real flesh-and-blood sentient humans who provide lots of food, love, attention and toys.

Work-related: I felt compelled to connect with work email--responsibility trumps common sense. Picked up Infiniti JX. This super-CUV thoroughly trumped the driving experience provided by Dad’s very good Chevy Impala. Rising Daughters enjoy the sunroof options. Thus ended days one and two.

Traded to Oblivion

The NY Yankees have acquired 10-time all-star outfielder Ichiro Suzuki for…ah, who cares? I despise the Yankees. Yes, this is another rant against the Evil Empire…starring ICHIRO. The Seattle Mariners let him go, that I can understand. But why wear the pinstripes, Ichiro, for crying out loud? 


Courtesy of The New Yorker

Ichiro has been the rare Japanese guy that transcends the country’s overpowering culture of humility. I’ve asked my Japanese friends what they thought of him, and they’d say: “oh, he’s full of himself, don’t be duped.” I’d think—good for him. He was/is a terrific hitter and seemingly a class act, and I think the country could use a few more people like that who excel on the world stage rather than stay in the home islands safety zone. So in that sense, moving to a big market, big ambition team makes sense. But for chrissake, Ichiro, why not the Dodgers?

Yes                           NO NO NO



He had to go and ruin it all by joining the Bronx Bombers. First Hideki Matsui, now Ichiro. When will the madness end? Sayonara Suzuki. Buh-bye!