Tale of Two Weekends

Kara's mom would be leaving soon, so a few of us decided to introduce her to the karaoke ritual. It was Friday afternoon, still light, and none of us felt up to drinking yet. So we chose to intoxicate ourselves instead on bad 80's pop tunes. After dusk, we doubled our numbers for dinner at Bangkok Garden, a recent and timely Thai restaurant discovery. (My local Thai place, a big favorite of Marcin and I, went under while I was in India. [I know, man!]) I ordered the spiciest stuff on the menu, to blast away the pollen colonizing my sinuses. Our numbers increased again at NegaPosi. I like this club, especially since the kanji for its name is the clever, "yin-yang." Tonite was the second Kyoto gig of Seiichi's Rustic Pans, the amazing steel drum band that I raved about last fall. From the opening strains of that jazz classic, "Caravan," I knew I was back in heaven. The front line of Sei-chan, ever-smiling Giant, and that Al Pacino lookalike kept cracking me up with their physical stage antics. I went through my usual catalog of dance moves, which is more jumping than any real dancing. When Sei-chan yelled out, "Jump! Up! Ska!" I nearly bashed my head on the overhead vents. Japan is far too low a country in which to pogo. My crouching, choo-choo train shuffle was a big hit. Going home later, I found that it is impossible to bicycle with legs of jello.

Saturday happened to be St Pats, and we chose to celebrate with Tagh at his new place, McLoughlins. Had a pint of Guinness, which was the first time in ten weeks I'd drunk an entire beer myself. So I had another, figuring that the two hour yoga class that morning at Village had entitled me to a caloric splurge. Ran into a few friends there, as expected, though we left early, before the real crowds would turn up. But how to choose, since the Kyo's three Irish pubs are all within the same square mile.
It was a cold night, but we braved it, and the crowds, at the annual Higashiyama light-up. A couple koto players played below the massive trees of Shoren-in. In front of Chion-in a fox was wed, accompanied by dozens of handlers. We followed into Maruyama Park, done up with fantastic sculptures of light. Large elaborate flower arrangements were placed near the bigger temples, and even the towering Yamaboko of Gion was well lit. A small group of people were looking into the grounds of Gesshin-in at, well, nothing at all. Miki and I fished in a greater crowd by exclaiming, "Incredible!" and "Unreal!" as we walked away. The lanes began to narrow, but the crowds didn't, so rather than carry on to Kiyomizu, we turned and went back to our bikes. We'd celebrate this cold night with ice cream instead.

Sunday night, Kara had a potluck at her machiya. It was a theme thing, so I put on my kimono, happy for a chance to wear it outside New Year's. There were a nice group of artistes huddled around the tables, warming themselves up on jokes and wine. I spent most of my night talking about India with M., who had been studying Kathakali dance. After the tables were cleared, a vast arrangement of desserts arrived. Everyone made fun of the way I piled up a plate with one of everything, then hid it behind some jackets like a dog would. Later, Brigit performed a traditional dance, moving unbelievable slowly, legs bent so low they were in near buckle. At the end, she fell back on her ass, a tribute to her butoh influences. Later still, Kara broke out a collection of multi-colored flourescent bracelets which we all put on to created a funky flashy light show. Before going home, Kara sold me the painting that I'd admired at her exhibition a week ago. Hailing a taxi out in the cold, in our dressy attire and a large painting under my arm, felt a little like being in New York...

And the following weekend? There was nothing, a mere passage of time between meals.

NegaPosi.



On the turntable: Beck, "The Information"
On the nighttable: Isabella L. Bird, "Unbeaten Tracks in Japan"