Presumptive or Presumptuous?~

Okay...I'll take the bait!

Sarah Louise (Heath) Palin was born February 11, 1964. She is the current Governor of the US state of Alaska and is the presumptive Republican vice presidential nominee for the 2008 United States presidential election.

Holy cow! If I thought John McCain had gone around the bend before, this proves it beyond the slightest doubt.

I know. I know. There will be people who will say: If you object to the "inexperience tag" when it comes to talking about Barack Obama, then how can you criticize McCain's choice for VP?

Easy, actually.

Barrack Obama has been out there for the last two years running for a national office and won the popular vote--some 18 million (plus) of them. He won the most delegates, the most caucuses, and was nominated by his party to run for president. Nobody got to do that with Sarah Palin. She just appeared suddenly on the ticket four days before the convention and... poof, all is supposed to be accepted as vetted. This is McCain through and through and I'm pretty sure most Americans won't feel too safe with someone who makes choices like this after two (count them, TWO) meetings with the person who would be a heartbeat away from being president.

But back to Palin.

Here's her history in brief: born in Idaho, her parents took her to Alaska as a young child. Okay, so far. She went to Wasilla High School where she met her husband, Todd. Okay. This is fine. She won the Miss Wasilla contest and was runner up for Miss Alaska, instead winning "Miss Congeniality." (Maybe this is the real reason McCain picked her. He could certainly use some of that on his campaign. A recent spat he had with a Time magazine writer certainly was anything but congenial.)

Reasons I think she was chosen:

She will inoculate John McCain from the tawdry tale of Ted Stevens, Republican senator from Alaska, who is under indictment for corruption.

Because Sarah is governor of Alaska, she might be able to keep a red state that color in the fall. From all I hear, it was up for grabs until yesterday. Plus, you guessed it, she wants to drill ANWAR. Will wonders never cease.

But the most insulting to our intelligence is this: McCain must actually think that all the women who voted for Hillary Clinton will now immediately turn their allegiance to him because he has a woman on the ticket. I wasn't a Hillary supporter, but I doubt those women are that stupid. Do you know her record?

She is Pro-Life, although she believes in the death penalty. This one always amazes me. It's like fishing really or perhaps crabbing. If the fish is too small you have to throw it back until it reaches a certain pre-ordained legal limit...THEN you can kill it. Don't even ask about Roe v Wade...

And speaking of killing, she is a NRA member and hunts with the Big Boys up there in AK, bagging herself a moose before breakfast, we're told.

She believes in teaching creationism in the public schools and doesn't think people are contributing to global warming.

She supported Patrick J Buchanan when he ran for president. His website has this as the opening line: Right From the Start. I hardly think that women who supported Clinton would consider supporting Buchanan.

Miss Wasilla? She used the money she won in the "Miss Congeniality" contest to attend University of Idaho. I'm sure her major, communications and journalism, taught her all she will need to know as vice president. Oh, she did minor in political science, so that will be a help should John McCain drop dead while in office. Don't forget he is 72-years-old and has melanoma.

I am old enough to remember Bess Myerson, who held the dubious honor of being the first Jew to win the Miss America contest. She went on to become a game show panelist for The Name's the Same, a silly little game that entertained families across America during the 50s and 60s.

A Goodman-Todman production, each featured a contestant had a "famous name"; i.e., their full name was the same as either a famous person, place or thing (with the latter usually taking the first initial "A.", such as "A. Table"), or occasionally an action (such as "I. Draw", or "Will Kiss"). The contestant was introduced and referred to throughout the game as "Mr. X" or some variation thereof. A small curtain was opened to the audience, showing a placard with the contestant's name, along with a drawing depicting the namesake.

We were all amused and Miss Myerson was charming and often quite witty, but she was never considered to be presidential material. I guess post-Bush anything that walks, or in this case wears a dress, can be considered presidential material. It reminds me of Queen for a Day. Maybe we can call it Vice-President for a Day.

But I think the real reason McCain chose her is that none of the Big Boys (Charlie Crist, Mike Huckebee, or Mitt Romney) would take the job. They are afraid he will lose in November and their political futures will hit the skids.

Let us hope so.

A Day at The Hospital~

Gifu Shouhouji Daibutsu is not a compact car in competition with Daihatsu. Actually, it's a lot bigger than a Hummer and one of three Great Buddhas in Japan. The other two are in Nara and Kamakura. .

Sam is scheduled for knee surgery the day after I leave Japan and had to go to the hospital for blood-work and pre-admission paperwork. All doctor's waiting rooms look the same, and Japan's are no exception, so while he was busy doing his busy work his parents-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Oba, took me to visit the Buddha, located at the base of Gifu castle in Gifu City.

It was created using a central pillar of Ginkgo wood, six feet in circumference. The framework was then constructed from a latticework of various woods and his body knitted together using many types of material. The surface was then hardened with clay and covered with sheets of Buddhist scripture. Later it was covered with multiple layers of lacquer and gold leaf. The priest in charge of the project, Ichyuu, had a struggle obtaining enough scripture pages and ended up traveling throughout Japan asking for contributions. He spent 25 years working on the Buddha and died in 1815, his project still uncompleted.

Out of respect his successor, the 12th generation head priest, Kohshuu, completed the project 13 years later, taking a total of 38 years to complete.

Height--44.2 feet (13.63 m)
Length of face- 11.91 feet (3.63 m)
Length of ears--6.96 feet (1.31 m)

After our visit we sipped coffee at a small shop across the street. Our only conversation: Japanese on the Oba's end and English on mine. We don't know each other very well, but the silence was pleasant enough and when a small infant is present it always becomes the focal point, a bit like a silent TV in a room, but more interesting.

Then it was back to the hospital to pick up Sam and Yuka.

Hospital waiting rooms seem to be universally depressing places. This one was no exception, except the television screens were larger and more plentiful than other hospitals I've been in. But then we *are* where Sony and Panasonic originated. We waited and waited and waited for Sam to get finished, and in that time Michael Phelps won yet another gold medal. It has been nice to be in Japan during the Olympics. I get tired of US coverage of the games--we seem to focus only on our participants. Here I have seen mostly Japanese athletes and consequently a lot of Judo and kickboxing.

Lunch today was Unagi-- eel. For those of you who have never eaten eel, do so the moment it's offered to you. Wonderful stuff. This particular restaurant makes their eel a bit crispy on the outside and tender on the inside. A sweet thick sauce, similar to hoisin accompanied the eel and it all lay happily on a bed of rice. I'm not sure how to describe the taste of eel. It's not fishy but it's not meaty either. Hmmm... maybe a little like very fresh tuna-- try it when you get a chance.

The restaurant was gorgeous; built using old timbers in the form they were found. A central hall, where Hannah spent most of her time, separated individual serving rooms. Very cozy and private.

Sam teaches English in the Japanese school system in Godo and also does private lessons on the side. That night I went back to the hospital with him where he is tutoring four pulmonary physicians. I enjoyed an hour with them, talking about why they want to learn English (so they can converse with other docs at international medical symposiums), what they will be doing with their vacations(one is going to La Paz, Mexico; one is going to the northern islands of Japan; one is staying home), and generally chatting about this and that. I told them the story of my lost wallet in Narita Airport and they were all impressed that I got it back. I assured the gentleman going to La Paz, Mexico that it would never, never happen there. Never. One of the docs was quite fluent and the other three were game to learn.

Tomorrow we are going to Tanigumi, my favorite temple!

Of Sushi and Little Girls

Most of today was spent walking about the little town of Godo, in the prefecture of Gifu, where Sam and Yuka live. This area of the country is relatively rural, although in Japan that means small inter-connected towns with lots of rice fields and electrical wires overhead.

Gifu is landlocked prefecture in the middle of the island of Honshu, the main island. Its northern region is mountainous (for Japan) and the southern region, around Nagoya, is mostly arable plains.

Historically Gifu has been the epicenter for paper making, creating a fine, yet strong, rice paper (mino washi) for lanterns and parasols, and sword making. Seki is known for making the best swords in Japan. These days it is a major center for aerospace technology and car manufacturing. Rice farming in towns like Godo, is still viable. Sam's in-laws, the Obas, have five subsistence rice fields they tend, raising all their own rice for the year.

The weather was hot, 90 degrees and humid (a lot like Costa Rica, actually). I was the only one fairly acclimated to it. But then their weather ranges from 39 degrees Celsius in the summer to -6 degrees Celsius in the winter. I would find that range hard to cope with.

I went to the supermarket for some groceries and poked through the shelves of unknown items, but did find a tube of toothpaste--TSA took mine at the Portland airport--called Cool. It says it offers "dental etiquette." That should do the trick.

The other part of the day was spent playing with the object of my affection: Little Hannah Oba.
She is now crawling and getting into all manner of trouble. She likes to spend a lot of her time chewing on the TV table. Yuka put a strip of black foam rubber along the glass rim and Hannah thinks it makes a wonderful teething bar.What is it about small children? You can buy them the fanciest teething rings and playthings money can buy, but their favorites will always be the stuff they find in your house.

The end of the day was a treat.

Sam took me back to the renowned Sushi Man and his wonderful restaurant, Tysin, near Godo. Two years ago we ate there and had some of the most memorable sushi I have ever eaten. He creates them as you eat, sending out little packages of goodness over the counter: salmon, eel, tuna, and tamagoyaki, all on sticky sushi rice. Yum! By the time I got to the end of the meal my stomach was stretched to capacity. I kept wondering how I would sleep.

Not to worry. On the way home, Yuka's father said there was a summer festival near his mother's house and did we want to go.

Held in a small neighborhood park, the festival was in full swing when we arrived. Music blared--and I do mean blared--from crackly speakers; a most God awful sound. I could see women sitting at instruments inside a small building and went to have a closer look.

There were probably ten of them kneeling in front of a low bench, playing kotos- a harp-like instrument they plucked creating a twangy, definitely Asian sound. People milled about outside buying meat on a stick, shaved ice in florescent colors, or beer. On closer inspection I discovered our sound system was simply a bull horn in front of the players, so we got music and the cacophony of the mingling crowd. I was driven back to the far edge of the park where several others had taken refuge.

Neighborhood kids were all dressed in traditional kimonos and wore elevated wooden shoes. My daughter-in-law's uncle shoved a beer at me and said something welcoming. Just the thing for an already over-full stomach. Yuka kept telling me to toss it in the bushes, but I didn't want to be impolite and sipped at it when space opened.

The party was full-on. About the time I thought I couldn't stand the racket from the speakers anymore, they stopped and someone put a cassette in that was, if anything, scratchier than the music. Yuka's uncle motioned everyone to form a circle around the yagura (櫓 or 楼 for those of you fluent in Kanji), a bandstand turret constructed for the celebration.

Yaguras are often seen in Japanese castles and were used as watchtowers, armories, and, according to Wikapedia, sometimes as astronomy observation towers for the feudal lords.

Our yagura was a bit less ostentatious, constructed as it was out of bamboo and paper. Up in the crow's nest was a traditional drummer. I will include this photo, but it is not our drummer. We couldn't see our drummer behind the paper turret. Only the drum sticks appeared every now and again.

He began a syncopated beat and, led by the uncle, people began to dance around the circle.

The dance consisted of motions for hoeing and pulling, wide swinging arms for--what?--perhaps cutting rice with a scythe, Yuka wasn't sure.

Many of the participants didn't know the steps, but elders and ones more familiar demonstrated and the dance proceeded round and round the tower. There were different dances for different tunes. Yuka's uncle knew them all. It has been said that, "In Taiko you return to the roots, the beginning of humanity," True, and I found it moving that these traditional dances have been kept alive and the drumbeat goes on.

When they finished it was time to play Bingo. BINGO? I doubt this is a traditional game from centuries back, but who knows. In any event Bingo is difficult if you don't know any Japanese, so I sat on the sidewalk and Sam and Yuka sat on a window sill above me, calling out numbers in English as they came. Yuka's uncle came by and gave me another beer. Ah, just what I needed, thank you. By this time all the sushi was floating on the suds. I thought I would explode.

And then, BINGO, I won.

My present, which I opened the next morning morning, was 50 meters of plastic wrap, that I donated it to Sam's household.

Lost In Transition

(I am actually back in Costa Rica now, but will post these on the dates I wrote them. There was no way to connect to the Internet while I was in Japan. Sorry for the delay.)

I arrived in Tokyo, Japan's Narita airport, last night about 5PM and proceeded to immigration where I went through the security checkpoint. There were lots of instructions in Japanese I would never have understood had I not been through hundreds of these baggage and personal screens for terrorists in the past: all liquids in a quart sized plastic zip-lock bag, please, shoes off, computer out of its case, place all items in a tub, and hoist it onto the conveyor belt. You know the routine. They change it slightly from time to time, I think when the TSA (Thousands Standing Around) need extra toothpaste or new perfumes.

Getting clear, I made haste to the money exchange booth and cashed in about $200 of the $300 US dollars I was carrying into Yen because I would need it when I arrived in Nagoya. Sam was busy teaching an English class and told me to buy a train ticket to Gifu where he would meet me. Having accomplished that, I still had over an hour and a half to wait for my connecting flight so I went to an Internet connect booth, and checked my email. Then I continued on down the concourse to my gate.

The first thing I noticed was a whole lobby set off from the rest of the airport with multi-level futon-like seats. people were spread eagled (sound asleep) or sitting cross legged (text messaging or reading). I sat down and placed the small of my back at theplace where the elevation change occurs on the seats and popped my aching back, working out the kinks of a 10-hour flight.

By that time we were ready to board. Once settled in my seat for a short 45 minute flight to Nagoya, I opened my purse to tuck my boarding pass into my wallet.

It wasn't there.

Can you spell p-a-n-i-c?

I startled up from my seat and fought my way upstream against the river of traffic headed down the aisle to their seats.

First the flight attendants said they would accompany me off the plane to look for it, then they said I would have to take my carry on items off the flight and go through re-screening if I returned to the plane. The Northwest Airlines people were great, even if we did have trouble communicating with each other. They called immigration clearance even though I knew I had my wallet after that. They called "lost and found" and they hadn't recovered anything. They also called my son in Godo to tell him I was now without money to catch the train once I arrived at Nagoya.

The littlest of the ticket agents kept asking me: "Are you going to re-board the plane?"

"How do I know. If I don't have any money, it's going to be hard to do anything once I arrive in Nagoya."

"Well this airport closes for the night. You can't stay here." I could see myself, like the guy in the French airport who lived there in limbo for years waiting for immigration issues to be resolved.

I was about to re-board when their phone rang.

Lost and found had my wallet. Someone had turned it in. We waited, for what seemed like hours, for the wallet to arrive. When it did, all money and credit cards were present and accounted for. One of the flight attendants said: "It had to have been a Japanese person who found it or you would have been striped bare.

It was quite the entry into the country and me, the seasoned traveler.

I love Japan!

I was met at the train station by a welcoming party: my son, Sam; his wife, Yuka, and their very charming daughter, Hannah--the (real) reason for my visit. No bones about it- she's a cutie. And she was wide awake and cheerful at 10 PM.

Home in their cozy apartment-- a nine tatami mat space that is barely as big as a small hotel room-- I settled in on the floor of the living room on a comfortable futon and passed out for the night.

Quite the entry into Japan.

Cell Phone Etiquette- Hello?

Culture clash #2.

Okay, I am now at the Portland, Oregon, airport and waiting for my flight to Japan, so I thought I'd write this up before I forget. I just returned the rent-a-car, boarded the shuttle bus for the terminal, got myself comfortable in the back, and waited for the rest of my fellow passengers.

One of the last to board was a large lady--and I use that term both literally and figuratively. She plopped herself down in the two seats next to me and settled in for the short trip. After everyone was in and the doors locked, we departed. No one was in a chatty mood so the bus was totally silent when the large lady pulled out her cell phone and made a call.

There is a voice we all recognize when the caller is speaking to a message machine and my guess this is what she was doing.

"Hi. Just to let you know that I'm at the airport and everything is okay." This seemed logical enough. She was letting family know she made it, I thought. But she went on.

"I think the hurt feelings are taken care of and I have no idea what their problem was really. I think it's just a 'guy thing' and maybe it's because we left them alone for too long. Who knows? But don't worry about it. I took care of everything and settled all the ruffled feathers. Okay. I'll talk to you later and have a good day."

Now I know I am a relatively private person and I never use the cell phone in public unless I can help it, and granted I live a rural life where using a cell phone is a rare event in the first place, but I am not used to people talking on the phone as though no one in their immediate vicinity existed, much less mattered. I noted that the conversation lifted no eyebrows among the other passengers some of whom were male. I tried to make eye contact with someone so we might share the joke, but everyone stared straight ahead.

How is it that people have come to feel they can intrude on your life with their inane conversations on the phone? And why is it we tolerate it? I know. I know. There are worse instances than this one, but I mean really!

My flight leaves at 2:30PM pacific time , headed for more culture clash… Next post from Japan.

Stimulating the Economy

I usually have some sort of culture clash when I come back to the United States and this time was no exception. All was going well; I got the rent-a-car and drove, zipping about on freeways faster than I’ve driven in over a year. All that was good and seemed normal enough. Then I picked up my daughter, who arrived from Sydney with her infant son and the flight from hell (see her blog) for a visit with her dad and her grandparents, my parents.

She said that G.W. Bush in his wisdom had sent her an economic stimulus check and she assured me that she was here to rescue our faltering economy with her $300 check. Problem is, she has no checking account in the US anymore. She asked if she could endorse it to me and I could cash it at Wells Fargo. Sure, why not?

We went to Wells Fargo and she endorsed the check to me. I approached the counter and explained our situation. No. Wells Fargo could not take a third party check even though it was issued from the US Treasury, even though I have an account with them and they could take the money from my account if the check turned out to be bogus.

“But she has come all the way from Australia to stimulate the economy,” I said. No one thought it was funny. They were inflexible and the answer remained: No.

“Where are we supposed to cash the check then, now that it is endorsed over to me?” I asked

“Try WalMart,” they said. “It might cost you $3, but I think they cash government checks.

Now I know about the Nigerian problem and all the forgeries that are better than the real McCoy, but it seemed ridiculous that they could debit my account is the check turned out to be a fake. We went to WalMart.

They were fine with the check after they saw her ID and passport and were all set to cash the thing until they turned it over and noted the endorsement.

“Oh, I’m sorry. We cant cash this because you have written on the back,” they said.

We told them about how she was here to rescue the economy. No one laughed and no one thought it was funny.

“Okay,” said Meraiah, ever the practical one. “Let’s take it to one of those dodgy check cashing places. They’ll do it.”

So we drove around town until we happened on the perfect place with large signs out front: CHECKS CASHED, PAY DAY LOANS, WESTERN UNION.

The Mexican American woman who ran the place was very simpathetic when Meraiah explained about the endorsement problem she said, “No problem. Just fill out this form verifying that you signed it and everything is set.”

M signed the form paid her $6 and retrieved her $294 from the kind lady at the counter.

When did things change in the United States, we’d like to know, when institutions have become inflexible about rules and put a person through bureaucratic hoops that make Banana Republic countries look easy to move around in? And why is it that it now takes a Latina to sort through the mess and fix the problem for the customer?

Oh, and she is the only one who thought our joke about M single-handedly rescuing the American economy was funny

M still hasn’t been able to spend the money the Shrub sent her.

It’s no wonder the economy is in mess.

Grandmother Always Loved You Best~

To avoid having two grandchildren grow up with a Smothers Brothers' complex, I am heading off to Japan next week to visit the older of my two new--well not so new now-- grandchildren. This is my second attempt at the visit. Last time I had to cancel due to our neighbors and their shenanigans here in Costa Rica and only made it as far as Australia to see the one. Hopefully the land wars here will remain calm this time around and I can complete the trip.

Sam and his wife, Yuka, have been very understanding, but it is time for me to introduce myself to their first child and my first grandchild, little Hannah Oba, before she graduates from college. I gather she is already crawling and has a tooth(!) so I better hurry up and get there.

I love Japan, so this will be fun. I look forward to visiting my all time favorite temple, Mt Tanigumisan Kegonji Temple at (get this) Tokuzumi Tanigumi-mura Ibi-gun, Gifu. I can't pronounce a thing in Japanese and always try to answer them in Spanish, which is patently ridiculous. I tend to bow a lot and say "yes" and "thank you." Thankfully my son speaks the language and, of course, Yuka does, otherwise I would be entering banks thinking they were bathrooms and vice versa.

So I will be in good hands. I plan to take photos this time and hopefully can send in a post or two to the blog while I'm there.

I'm off to San José tomorrow and fly to the good old US of A on Tuesday morning. I will spend some time with my parents and coincidentally, my daughter Meraiah and her little boy, Morgan-- my second grandchild-- will be there at the same time.

I am very excited.