Ah, I just can't believe the gravity of the devasation caused by Hurricane Katrina and her aftermath in New Orleans and along the Mississippi and Louisiana coasts. I feel that there's very little I can do except donate and link donation sites for those who need the extra incentive of not having to type in redcross.org, or fema.gov. Sigh.

Ah, and I just got an email from Matt Merten that says 100% of the proceeds from his CD are going to the Red Cross. You can buy it here.

Typhoon #11, Mawar, came and went without much incident. Frankly I was a little disappointed, especially with the less-than-pleasant follow up weather [See, after typhoon #2, Banyan, the deer and the antelope roamed, never was heard a discouraging word, and some other pleasant stuff happened . . . it was great. But quite the contrary post-Mawar]. I was not, however, disappointed in the name Mawar. It's very tropical. Japanese folk just use the numbers, not the names, but I feel that the WMO has got it right with their creative name usage.

I've discovered that if one listens to enough JPop, one may actually start to like it. A friend of mine told me that. I've also learned that if one starts to memorize kanji, even accidentally, the thirst for kanji knowledge will become insatiable, at least until boredom sets in. You've been warned.

The Tokyo humidity got to my little iPod, Rick James. He found his new pastel blue silicon unitard wasn't as breathable as he had originally hoped, so I threw it in the wash for him. Awww.

Let this post mark the beginning of an in-depth study of a curioiusly striking point of Asian v. Western cultural difference. First, some background:

When I stepped off the plane exactly ten months ago, things in Japan smelled differently to me than anything I'd smelled before. I imagine this fact should come as no suprise to any level of seasoned traveler. Anyway, to my nostrils the smell is neither bad nor good; since that first epic day I've come to know it fondly as "Asian Body Aroma" (though probably more correct would be the region-specific "Tokyo Body Aroma." It's alright, just different to the western nose. Sixty percent of the time it works all the time.

There are many derivations of what shall heretofore be known as TBA. Some of them are delicious, and some of them are undeniably wretched. I imagine this could be said of any BA, really. But I will not mince words; TBA has evolved some pretty powerful strains, strains that manifest themselves most prominently in any sort of confined/sealed/cramped/unventilated public venue. I spend most of my waking hours in public (or at least publicly accessible) venues graced with at least one such glorious adjective, so I am as aware of its presence as any other foreign city dweller.

On what might initially seem to be an unrelated note, public bathrooms suck. I mean, really. And when one must bounce all day from one publicly accessible venue to another, the desire to avoid moldy-smelling bathrooms, added to the desire to avoid squatting and the desire to not endanger one's weak-seamed Japanese trousers* sometimes overrides the natural urge to pee. After repeated supression of this urge, one logically and eventually begins to targed the source itself, namely water. Thus one begins to drink less and less, leading to dehydration.

These experiences of mine led me, a few months back, to hypothesize that most of Tokyo's population is likely underhydrated on a daily basis. So far I've done only cursory and inconclusive research . . . for example, I don't even know if "underhydrated" is a word. However, I've convinced a few friends that my hypothesis has validity. And thus, I'm off to turn it into a theory. Wish me godspeed.

*see "Embarassing Stories For Another Day"

My housemate Megan just went home to Melbourne for a week and brought back some oishii chocolate coated jelly babies. If they're sold in the states (I don't think so), go buy them now and eat them by the handful. Brown gold, I say.

So last weekend I explored the northwestern climes of Tokyo-To with friends Jake and Haruki. Haruki is Japanese so we made full use of his family's Toyota minivan* and his driving privileges by heading out from the 23 ward area late Wednesday night, camping in the van, swimming in the Tamagawa (a much cleaner and more delicious Tamagawa than the downstream area near my apartment), and hiking/lazing around Okutama. The quasi-canned (river and hills are au natural, but lake is man-made and barren) wilderness was refreshing in many ways. Yet the entire trip was colored with the feeling of something-exciting-happened-here-yesterday-and-before-you-came-along-we-covered-it-all-in-concrete-and-weeds-and-maybe-even-a-coating-of-harmless-grime that seems to affect the atmosphere of a lot of Japan's publicly accessible spots. Another similar feeling is that of we-built-this-structure-in-1950-and-actually-right-now-it's-only-1955-yes-we-realize-that's-impossible, which I was experiencing intently in a public park the other day. I wish there was a better, hyphen-less was to explain both, but atmosphere is difficult to describe. Cop-out. Regardless, I'll remember my Okutama experience only with fondness. Just look at it -- beautiful and mountainous.

Internationally, there's been lots of marathoning happening lately. Distance is the only track and field venue where Japanese athletes consistently succeed, so both the men's and women's marathons in Helsinki have been broadcast in full over the past two days. And I have watched. And enjoyed. Rah Japan.

*The joys of the "roadtrip" were actually some of my favorites from this short trip, I can't lie. However, 7/11's without Big Gulps and/or burnt gas-station-style -coffee are poor, empty, hollowed-out shells of 7/11's indeed, if you've ever wondered.

Ten months later and I've changed the title to "Still In Tokyo." I figured living in one place for about 300 days warranted elimination of the "just." I'm planning to be back in the States come December, though, following some long lusted after forays into the less-far-east, destinations including Eastern China, Thailand and Hokkaido.

A PLS buddy also working for NOVA (though leaving in the very tangible future) just climbed Mt. Fuji and started a blog. His pictures are amazing.

I feel a little naked without photo flourishes on all posts, so the latest is a photo of some hanging lanterns that marked the entrance at one of Fuchu's many many many summer festivals. Many. Though the excess of festivals has been tiresome for quite some time now, the paper lanterns will never be. I maintain that almost any scene, good or bad, is greatly enhanced by an authentic paper lantern. I just love 'em.

Back to opressively humid and fairly hot, it is. *sigh.* There's no escaping the moist air -- I've tried almost every conceivable way. One thing I hate about such weather is that it thoughtlessly snatches and then brutally ravages any sort of hope one might have of feeling pleasant on an early morning's or late night's jog, let alone during any sort of exertion between sunrise and sunset. I miss enjoyable runnin'.

Last Thursday Adachi-ku, one of Tokyo's twenty-three wards, held one of the summer's many fireworks festivals. I went with a couple friends -- some of the same faces as last week's Sagamiko adventure, in fact. We staked down a primely located tarp at about 3:00 in the afternoon for the 7:30 show. Quite possibly the funniest part of the day transpired when Megan and I, in poor attempts to don our newly-purchased yukata, were immediately assisted by the yukata-dressing and obi-tying stylings of two older ladies from a tarp over yonder. I do believe we were nearly as grateful for the help as our other tarp neighbors were grateful for the cheap entertainment of seeing two sunglasses-clad gaijin women being swaddled by the nihonjin elderly.

Quite possibly the second funniest part of the day transpired much much later during a rousing round of "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" at Karaoke. All in all it was a good day for Japan.