Gaijin Pawaa!

I should, perhaps, start writing things down before I forget them all, yes?

On Saturday Anne, Abby and I went to the Manga Museum. It's a good 30 to 40 minute bike ride from here, about two blocks south of the Imperial Palace.

Anne was pretty much obligated to attend for class credit, and when we arrived we caught up with her sensee, a cheery 50-something woman in a lime green dress. She graciously spoke somewhat simple Japanese – all the particles in place and all that loveliness. It's in times like this I actually feel I know something of the language. (Until, of course, I talk to a "real" person.) But I digress. The building had the feel of half museum, half grade school. I had serious Catholic school girl flash-backs, especially around the stairs, which had that damp concrete and multi-colored-pebble thing going on. Each floor was lined with bookshelves full of hundreds of manga, and patrons were free to (and did) pull books and curl up in some corner, or more commonly, stand in the middle of the hall to read.

I won't say anything of the exhibits – there's really nothing much to say. Nevertheless, I think we spent almost 5 hours at that museum. There were inking and coloring activities, you see. We were given ink wells and nib pens and told the trace the blue lines constituting a character with hair akin to George Clinton's in its angry, gravity defying flamboyance. I felt bad for her, to be honest. Tracing lines proved to be difficult, and I gave her a wobbly chin first stroke. For the next hour or so I complained of my steadily declining self esteem and Vinny (guy in Anne's class) cursed in French ("Putain!"). It was suiting. Masochists that were were, we returned later for the coloring session. It was remarkably therapeutic! Copic markers and adult coloring books (not with a capital "A") should be made available to everyone at the age of 18. Just 'cos.

Later that night we went to the river downtown to join about 40 other of the students in our program. There were fireworks, a gaggle of gaijin playing Mario Cart Racing on their DS's, a lively game of tag, fire dancers (sadly broken up by police), and a glimpse of a wedding. Anne and I left at about 11, shortly after Chris gashed his foot open playing barefoot in the river. The original plan was for him to go to the hospital, but I saw him at home an hour later, explaining that AJ knew first aid. He'd gone to get Chris some burgers; everything would be fine. Anne later suggested that the hand sanitizer produced at the scene was probably insufficient to clean the wound, and that he should maybe wash it with soap and water. She then produced tape, gauze, and neosporin, which I suspect rugby players must keep in their bra or something. Just in case.