Same as it Ever Was

Back in Japan a week. The rain has finally stopped but the smell of mold permeates. The famous Kyoto festival, Gion Matsuri, has come and gone. Miki and I didn't see any of it this year, our nights ending early, sleepiness brought on by the Malachi Crunch of jetlag and high humidity. Last Sunday was my birthday party at Bosom. (I usually don't make a big deal of my own birthday--I mean, what are we really celebrating? The fact that I didn't die last year? But forty is special.) We'd thought we'd bring the whole party downtown to continue the festivities, but the food and conversation was good, and the gang lingered til late. During the day, Miki and I avoided downtown altogether, until late Tuesday when the Yamaboko parade was finished. We bicycle slalomed around the yukata-clad dregs, and had coffee on the terrace of Sanjo Starbucks, (it's the location, stupid) overlooking a Kamogawa running full and fast. I notice that the usually massive desserts have been reduced by a third. (Down Size Me?) Later at our own small gathering for two, we accidentally encountered a small parade which ran in front of our Merry Island sidewalk table.

A couple days later, the election trucks are making the rounds in full squeal. In a nice twist, a small group of Communist Party supporters make their way up our hill on foot, yelling the name of their candidate through little plastic megaphones. A nice respite for the ears, and I especially appreciate the symbolic support for CO2 emissions reduction in this, the city that spawned the Protocol.



On the turntable: Bjork, "Unplugged"