Monthly Archives: February 2015

Old Stuff, and Junk

by in Culture, Hmmm... | 20 Comments

—

—

—

Just before starting grad school, I bought myself a used Tektronix 468 oscilloscope.  It was already something like a decade old, but it was a bargain considering what it could do at the time. And it had been recently re-certified as accurate, which was required for my work. But it was huge and heavy, necessitating a handcart for occasions when I needed to move the thing around.

Eventually, portability would also motivate the purchase of a Tek 2336. Both scopes were pretty rugged. In fact, a Google search for information about them reveals that despite being more than 30-year old technology, they can still be bought in working condition.

Times changed, and when I found myself back in North America a decade later and again in need of a scope, I bought myself another Tektronix. This time it was a newer Tek 2465B. Four times as fast as either of the scopes from my college days, it also seemed to demand about four-times the maintenance.

Finally yielding to the outcome of an informal cost/benefit analysis rather than pay for a re-certification that would have required literally replacing parts, I anted-up for a new digital oscilloscope. I’ve owned three more since, as it’s cheaper than getting them repaired.

Nowadays, looking past the electronics equipment in my office, you might think I have an affinity for old things. I keep most of my test equipment in a 1930’s, oak roll-top that my dad used when he came to the US in the 70’s. My desk was handed down through my mom’s family, and looks like a relic from the 20’s. I also have my dad’s still functional, 1942 Underwood typewriter that I remember playing with as a child (he always disliked computers). And though the phone company might object to its electro-mechanical ring, I have a still-working, 1930’s Northern Electric telephone.

“Newer” items include the uninterruptible power-supply for my computers and my favorite guitar amplifier, which are both a mere twenty-years old. But what makes me keep these things isn’t simply that they’re old. Rather, it’s that they’re still fully functional, in some cases working better than anything currently mass-produced with which I could replace them, even if I wanted to replace them. But there are some things I do want to replace.

Having downsized into a new, old house a few months back, I’ve been sorting through a few problems inherited from the previous owners. Most of today was spent trying to get a rather expensive garage door opener to work reliably after a broken door spring apparently put enough strain on it to have caused its laminated steel track to self-destruct.

It’s supposedly one of the “best” made, which may very well be the case. Unfortunately, however, I’ve concluded that it’s like the kitchen’s built-in microwave and top-of-the-line garbage-disposal, and the brand-name forced-air furnace, and the new high-end wireless router, and my new laptop computer, and… They’re all essentially disposable devices, produced cheaply, and barely sturdy enough to do their jobs. Consequently, the modern solution to broken “stuff” is to buy more poorly-made stuff. And the pattern repeats…

Cheapness seems to be the driving factor behind most commercial goods sold in America nowadays; but that doesn’t necessarily equate to “inexpensive.” Entire city blocks are covered by stores that sell cheaply-produced goods to American consumers. We can walk aisle upon aisle of “bargains” of every type that literally cost pennies to manufacture in developing nations.

We buy a shirt or a pair of pants, and after three washes we throw it out and buy another.  Electronics, household appliances, tools,… the list goes on.  Meanwhile, entire shipping containers of unsold product are passed-on to the third-world as tax write-offs to make room as the new bargains arrive. And simply finding a place to pay more means just that.

High quality manufacturing doesn’t leave so much room for profit margins, and few investors are keen to forfeit dividends. Hence, those garage-door openers, garbage disposals, microwaves, furnaces, routers, computers… And woe be to anyone who is in a serious search for something that will last. The general modus operandi of the American approach to “quality” is more often than not to exist in name only.

For several weeks, electrical wires crossed the floor of my new office-space because I needed a buffer from the poor, local electrical infrastructure for those electronics in my roll-top.  And that old workhorse uninterruptable power supply for my computer is now on the other side of the room. I could simply have picked up something new at the electronics store in a nearby city… but I know how something reliable should work.

Eventually, the office extension cords went into the garage.  The new equipment arrived direct from an American manufacturer of industrial electronics, ironically at a price competitive with some of the junk at the local stores.  I guess there’s just not enough of a profit-margin in something that isn’t made with cheap parts and developing-economy labor to justify shelf-space next to all those bargains.

Still, it’s perhaps futile.  When that newer oscilloscope quits working, I suppose it’ll be cheaper to just toss it out and buy a new one.

Lightness Writing

by in Culture, Japan, Verse | 5 Comments

秋の和紙  著作を未読  葉が散ってる。

(Aki-no washi   chosaku wo midoku   ha ga chitteru.)      

Autumn of paper,
Writings that are left unread
Fall as scattered leaves.

Featured image

My own poor attempt at writing something that will work in both Japanese and English notwithstanding (the third line in Japanese doesn’t actually work), haiku are a traditional form of Japanese poetry (waka) that most Americans associate with a 5-7-5 pattern (onji). As very short poems, they are fundamentally ironic images communicated in a single breath, something like a comedian’s one-liner. There is a set-up, a brief pause, and an analogous comparison such that they are spoken in two parts.

Historically, haiku is a subset of “renga,” a type of poetry originally created by two poets working together. Renga are written in pairs of stanzas in a 5-7-5, 7-7 pattern. One poet first writes a 5-7-5 stanza, the second responds with a 7-7 stanza, and the process is repeated until the poem is deemed “finished”. Haiku were derived from just the first stanza of a renga, which is called a “hokku.”

While they are spoken in two parts, haiku are usually written in English as three lines.  The first two lines may contain seemingly unrelated ideas. Then the third line brings the two ideas together, creating the irony. Rhythmically, this is associated with the way in which the Japanese language works. Spoken, it is a timed language, with moras marked through subtle breaks, pauses (one of which causes the problem with my last line in Japanese), or stretched vowels. And when written, meanings tend to emerge in a conceptual gestalt. Consequently, the pattern of a haiku that is properly composed in Japanese arises from the spoken words within a single line of text.

Traditionally, haiku are associated with nature, and will contain a word that implies a season (kigo). For example, a lantern (tōrō) alludes to the start of Autumn, cherry blossoms (sakura) to spring, or an evening downpour (yūdachi) to summer. Most Japanese will recognize these references as they represent cultural archetypes; however, they may not be apparent to non-Japanese. But since Japanese translated into English tends to use fewer syllables than moras, the seasonal reference is sometimes translated explicitly.

Zen Buddhism strongly influenced the development and the aesthetic of haiku, stressing a disciplined focus on momentary existence and meditative insight. Counter to the Western ideal of epic poetry, Haiku embody the Japanese aesthetic of “ma” (間), an emptiness that leaves room for possibilities. They are as a minimalist watercolor is to a photograph, trusting the viewer to see within the whiteness. Indeed, contemplating the works of a haiku master may leave the reader as author of her own meanings.
—

The four classic haiku masters:

Matsuo Basho  (1644-1694)

Yosa Buson  (1716-1784)

Kobiyashi Issa  (1763-1828)

Masaoka Shiki   (1867-1902)

Crazy Foreigners

by in Culture, Feminism, Identity, Japan | 11 Comments

Featured image

After a night of getting good and … happy… with friends in Osaka last week, Yuki informed me that I’m too friendly. Specifically, I make eye-contact and smile at people I don’t know. And to be honest, I did smile at the girl serving coffee and sandwiches aboard the train on the way home the next morning — and ended up feeling obliged to buy something from her. But I still don’t get why a friendly gesture should be such a big social problem.

Of course, I understand that social customs vary a great deal between cultures — greetings, physical space, gestures, and eye contact. And mostly, I can play the game in Japan. For first meetings, I have a pretty good, “Douzo yoroshiku onegaishimasu,” (something like, “please, please treat me well — pretty please“). I can even include a properly respectful bow. But I guess I’m just not citified enough to be so distant, even if San Francisco’s BART has banned passengers from looking at each other.

At home in the US, I frequently run a paved footpath that crosses the small town in which I live. Following beside a main road, the route passes many homes, two private beaches, a hotel, and a lake-side restaurant. Residents use the path to walk their dogs, socialize, or as an alternative venue for chatting on phones. And visitors use the path for a variety of purposes. As a consequence, and especially during pleasant weather in the summer months, I’ll have to share my running route with a fair number of others.

Usually, in a small town-ish way, I try to be friendly while I run. I wear a bear-bell during crowded times so as not to sneak up on people… at least the ones not drowning-out the world beneath a pair of headphones.  The jingling passage combined with a not-so-fashionable Sponge Bob shirt sometimes elicit a few snickers. But I make it a point always to try to make eye-contact and smile, respond to friendly gestures, and occasionally gasp out a “Thank you!” to people who leap out of my way.

Most people will return at least an acknowledgment, if not a smile — and I’ve come to notice something about people who don’t. Insecurity breeds defensiveness and hostility. If I’m going to get bitten by a dog being walked by its owner, it will be while running past someone who won’t make eye-contact. Granted, they may scold their dog. But it’s unlikely they will ever summon the courage to acknowledge my presence, or to offer an apology — let alone medical assistance. At least the Japanese apologize well, even if they don’t really mean it.  They just don’t smile, or make eye-contact.

In Japan, appropriate eye-contact is brief, especially in one of those douzo yoroshiku moments. Proper-manners then dictate redirecting one’s gaze toward a neck or some other bodily part that indicates you’re still paying attention — though I’m still not entirely clear on just what body parts are considered appropriate. I’ve noticed a lot of crooked tie-knots and hurried AM shaves in Japan, as well as some questionably placed return gazes. But when looking down feels uncomfortable, all of my friendlier instincts say to look up, make eye-contact and smile. Hence, those awkward Gaijin moments…

Yuki suggests it wouldn’t be so bad if I was an obvious foreigner. Most Japanese know that Americans are fairly uncultured and don’t have a proper sense of social distance, so they’re willing to tolerate an obvious ignorance. But the problem for me is that I look, and speak Japanese. So what might pass for simple ignorance instead becomes an indicator of… well, social maladjustment. Or is it maybe possible for an entire society to be maladjusted? Many Japanese certainly think that way about Americans when they hear stories of how we tend to resolve social disagreements by shooting at each other.

But in a country where a guy can openly read porn-manga on a crowded commuter train without fear of being socially ostracized, what makes a mere friendly gesture such a great social faux pas? And when squeezed up against a chikan hand that’s definitely not where it should be, a little eye-contact can go a long way toward preventing a misunderstanding. And it doesn’t even need to be friendly. In fact, I’d argue that’s a good time to look like a crazy foreigner, maybe even one from America… or at least socially maladjusted enough to just possibly be dangerous.

Regardless, it’s all moot as I write this while hidden within my “shell” seat during a flight back to the States. Out of sight, earphones inserted deeply, I’m hidden within an anti-social bunker of about a meter squared. But there’s an old man who I’ll sometimes jog past as he walks through the local park near my place in Tokyo, and he always gives me a generous smile. I don’t know who he is, but I feel like I should.  So I think I’m just going to keep on traveling the path the way that makes me feel best inside, eyes up and smiling.

For Fifty Pounds of Silk

by in Culture, Japan | 7 Comments

Featured image

The start of Japan’s “Edo” period (1603), some two-and-a-half centuries of relative peace and isolation from the outside world, also marked the founding of a formalized Japanese courtesan society. Best known among its practitioners, though largely misunderstood by Westerners, is the “Geisha” culture and its associated “Geiko” entertainers and “Maiko” apprentices. Less well known is the “Oiran” culture, a tradition that also arose from within the ranks of “yūjo,” female prostitutes who resided within the pleasure quarters or “hanamachi” (flower-towns), those parts of Edo era cities to which brothels and entertainment businesses were restricted.

During the 1600’s, Geisha were actually male entertainers employed to play music and to culturally and intellectually engage guests at parties. It wasn’t until the 1700’s that some females within the pleasure districts began to attain a similar status as entertainers, and not solely as prostitutes. Subsequently, the two coexisting practices began to diverge, with women’s roles among the two occupations generally determined only by their initial backgrounds. However, status among all yūjo, regardless of occupation, would be measured by beauty, social skill and education.

Comparatively, the ranks of Geiko, or female Geisha, tended to include women of greater initial learning or social status, often the daughters of displaced families or deceased members of the Samurai caste. And while they might offer sexual favors, they were primarily employed as entertainers. Most yūjo who would give rise to the Oiran tradition, however, came from the families of farmers from the countrysides, who despite their respected caste as the producers of food, often faced economic hardships. Consequently, daughters might be sold into servitude as yūjo to pay debts during difficult years, or to lessen the burden of caring for a family with few male offspring. And since these young women and girls tended to be less well educated, their prospects were generally restricted to the practice of prostitution.

However, a woman of either occupation could increase her position as a courtesan by learning arts, such as the rarefied and courtly language of “yūgana” (elegant) speech, “sadō” (tea ceremony) or “shodō” (calligraphy), or by mastering traditional performance skills such as “buyō” (dance), or playing the “koto” (zither) or “shakuhachi” (flute). The highest status were known as “tayū” (太夫, literally “great dear-woman”). Able to demand an amount for their services equivalent to several month’s wages for a skilled laborer, tayū, as well as other highly-ranked yūjo, could afford to be selective. And since the ability to achieve such status was not determined by birthright, it was a unique opportunity for any woman of the “karyūkai,” or, flower and willow world, to gain a degree of control over her life.

The term “Oiran” (花魁, literally “flower leader”) first came into use during the late 1700’s, differentiating the highest tayū who were not Geiko. And since there is no moral prohibition to sexual relationships within either the Shinto or Japanese Buddhist traditions, skilled Oiran were afforded the same, if not an even more respected status within traditional Japanese society than their Geiko counterparts. During the height of Oiran culture in Kyoto, several hundred existed within the city’s hanamachi. These women could be differentiated from Geiko by variations in their clothing, and by their more extravagant makeup and fashions.

Both Geiko and Oiran would wear the traditional, heavy silk kimono. However, a Geiko would tie the “Obi” sash around the waste at the back, while an Oiran would tie it at the front in order to facilitate its easier removal. This made Oiran appear more flamboyant from the front, starting a tradition that would be expanded upon for over a century as a symbol of Oiran status. By the height of Oiran culture, an Oiran kimono might contain 50 pounds of intricately decorated silk. Traditional facial makeup was exaggerated, and elaborate hairstyles would include eight or more large hairpins and many decorations. And Oiran “geta,” traditional wooden sandals worn on bare feet, would stand nearly a foot high. Accompanied by as many as 70 attendants, the public appearance of a very high-status Oiran was a carefully choreographed spectacle.

By the end of the 1800’s, however, Oiran culture was in decline. In 1872, Japan passed laws emancipating indentured laborers, effectively freeing yūjo from their bonds to the hanamachi. The highly stylized, formal and ritualistic displays that announced Oiran status also caused them to fall from favor among a modernizing Japanese society. Men who could afford the traditional luxury of company with formally educated women increasingly preferred the less restrictive environment of Geisha culture. Some more wealthy men also found that they could demonstrate economic status by becoming a “danna,” or patron, through the financial sponsorship of a Geiko’s artistic career. And with the formal illegalization of prostitution in the mid 20th-century, the practices that first gave rise to Oiran culture were technically outlawed.

Today, fewer that a half-dozen Oiran remain within Kyoto, as compared to more than three-hundred professional Geiko. The public spectacle of an Oiran is now most notable for its rarity, often amounting to a media event. As the last few bearers of an anachronistic art form dating back more than three centuries, they represent the expression of an extreme in the pursuit of female status in an explicitly male-dominated society.