I come back to a house that is dark, wet, and cramped. A palace by Japanese standards, it seems tiny after weeks in the sprawling American homes of my friends. Worse, it smells like the shower room of an indoor swimming pool. I'm a veteran of over a dozen summers here, yet a return to the height of rainy season after weeks in the dry West feels like a plunge. This morning, it took multiple attempts to light a stick of incense, which refused to stand up straight in ash packed tight by moisture. Where's Spongebob when I need him?
On the turntable: Bjork, "Volta"
On the nighttable: Robert Ward, "Shedding Skin"
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