The Nymph and Her Pack of Rats: The Windiad no. 7

beneath the stairs

Calypso the Nymph
Near the end of Odysseus’s journey, while he was adrift, clinging onto one of the planks of his ship, a nymph named Calypso rescued him. It’s fairer to say that he was fished out like a netful of squid.

Nymphs by nature go hunting for lost men and tempt them with immortality. It’s a game they play. Many men live to tell later that a nymph (who is like a fairy but human-size, without the wings, and much hotter) had fallen in love with him and begged him to stay with her. But it’s all egotistical nonsense.

As if any man would hesitate to choose immortality and bed down with a semi-divine knock-out. Nymphs get together for tea and laugh about how many sailors or woodcutters they’ve tempted in the last week. Immortality is rarely, if ever, granted. After a time, when the nymph is bored, the man is thrown back into the water to swim back home and go bragging to his mates.

Calypso had played the game for an eternity and decided she’d keep the next man she captured. Fortunately or unfortunately, it happened to be Odysseus. And she kept him around for 7 years. He’d be the first to admit, he would have stayed there longer, but he really did miss his dog, wife, son, and his kingdom, in that order. So during the night he felt an uncontrollable attraction to Calypso, but during the day when she was off tending her forest, or whatever nymphs do, he was bored and antsy.

In the end, it was Calypso who had had enough of domesticity, and she sent him off on a raft.

Portlandia
The Calypso on this trip is a whole city.

If Eugene is the city of my past, then Portland represents the city of my possible future. Just upriver of Eugene, where the laid back Willamette Rivers empties into the colossal Columbia River, Portland is like a bigger more urban version of Eugene. Or it’s like the smaller-scale version of Seattle. It’s a city of green and water, built for biking and strolling, drinking microbrews and strong coffee. It’s a magnetic city, having attracted most of my friends. Even high school classmates from Southern California have found their ways there.

Not only does my oldest childhood friend live here, but the three guys I hung out with the most in Eugene also live here. Calypso has them good. I doubt they’re leaving her island anytime soon.

me and kev

Wind’s Oldest Friend
I’ve known Kevin since we were ten years old. We go way way way back. Backer than back even.

We survived a grumpy alcoholic elementary school teacher who we adored.
We spent endless summer days swimming in his pool and then secretly smoking his mom’s cigarettes in his garage.
We snuck out late at night for midnight bike rides around the empty streets of our suburban wasteland.
We attended, somewhat accidentally, a fundamentalist Christian summer camp that didn’t allow anyone to wear shorts or hold hands, or really do anything other than to praise God (except without musical instruments and women’s voices in church).

And we’ve logged thousands of hours of deep discussions on spirituality, philosophy, existence, the universe, astronomy and mysticism.

It’s been great to see him evolve from a teenage slacker to marrying his junior high school sweetheart, Shamron, who I’ve long since counted among my closest friends, and raise two lively intelligent girls, and now a little newly-minted infant.

the rat pack

The Rat Pack or the Marx Brothers?
Then there are my boys, Gil, Omid and Jerry. Jerry I wrote about at length and you can read it here. I met them all at the YMCA. I really didn’t like any of them when I shared the gym with them. I barely tolerate them now, but I’ve kept them around because we have so much fun.

We’ve been compared to the Rat Pack. But we’re nowhere near as cool as the original. First of all, I don’t think we’ve ever worn suits with each other. But we did a lot of late night shenanigans and trouble-making. And only Jerry was smooth with the ladies. Indiscriminately so. Before he met his fiance, Omid was as subtle as a roundhouse kick. Gil was as aggressive as a stuffed bunny. And I could never close a deal.

The four of us combined were a lot cooler than we were individually.  We were a traveling sideshow, wreaking unintentional comedy everywhere we went.

It’d be easy to say Jerry is Sammy Davis Jr, but aside from their smoothness they’re nothing alike. Jerry is really the Frank Sinatra of the bunch. Charming, edgy, preening and talented, a dark cloud sometimes casting shadows on his glittery personality.

Omid is Sammy, deceptively self-effacing, cultivating an aura of trustworthiness, seemingly humble but is really sometimes just a reckless shark. He kept things exciting by keeping everything a little off balance.

Gil is Joey Bishop, kind of in the background, perhaps overshadowed by the oftentimes loud presence of us other three. But really he was the glue that held us together. Or maybe he was a roll of duct tape and staples. Gil used to chauffeur us everywhere. We coordinated our adventures through him. And he was always the most generous with his time and his place.

While Jerry and I hogged center stage and Omid glad-handed the audience, Gil was content to watch the show and be entertained. Then he’d sweep us all up in his tin-can Camry and make sure we got home safely, or at least within a few blocks of our doorsteps.

And me? I guess that leaves Dean Martin. Martin portrayed himself as a hard-drinking womanizer. It was just an act. His long-time 2nd wife wrote that he came home for dinner every night. And Shirley MacLaine said that he sipped apple juice at parties. I also come across as a party fiend. I do like to raise the energy , rile people up, make sure everyone’s having a good time. But I go home to read poetry while sipping herb tea. That’s how I roll.

That’s pretty much how we all roll these days. We’ll brag about how we spent those wild years stranded on that island, but then we’ll settle into a cozy evening with Frost and chamomile.

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The Olympics Deconstructed

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It’s the last day of the Olympics and as usual I have opinions.

Save Baseball
I just finished watching the sweaty-palmed 9th inning of the baseball game between Korea and Cuba for the gold. Korea was leading 3-2, but the Cubans had the bases loaded with only one out. The Korean catcher had just gotten thrown out of the game for arguing a pitch. And the starting pitcher was sent to the dugout after pitching a superb game.

Then the Cuban batter hit a grounder into a double play. Korea won, and that was another huge upset in an Olympics full of them. The Cubans had won gold four out of the five times that baseball has been an Olympic sport. That was a fun exciting game.

Sadly, that was the last Olympic baseball game since the sport was voted out of the next Olympics. There were a variety of reasons that the Olympic committee decided to boot baseball and softball out of the games. All of them are ridiculous.

One of the reasons cited was that the stadiums were costly to build and then never used again by the host countries. But it’s easy to turn it into another kind of playing field. And what about all the kayak slalom courses, the BMX bicycle piles of dirt, the equestrian fields? I doubt these facilities are used much too.

Baseball is one of the few sports played avidly in and dominated by Latin American countries. It’s played in sandlots by poor kids. It’s a democratic game, with many participants, drawing from many kinds of athletic skills. Baseball should be allowed to stay. But it won’t because the Europeans have never been able to dominate it.

Ditch the Boats and Horses

I began to think about the games that are less democratic, more difficult to participate in.
I think there should be limits on how expensive the equipment used in the sport is, and how difficult it is to acquire the equipment.

Take for instance equestrian events. First of all, it’s the horse that’s doing all the work. We might as well put in car racing into the Olympics. Second, who can afford to participate in this sport? A horse costs more than a luxury car. And did I mention it’s the horse that’s actually doing the jumping and running? If we’re going to do horses, why don’t we just do horse racing, cock fighting, and competitive bird calling?

Another expensive sport is sailing. Sailing? Really? How many countries can afford to send athletes, horses AND sailboats to the games? Perusing the participating countries, they are concentrated in Western Europe, North America and Australia. And how many people even in these countries can afford to ride horses or sail boats? I don’t know any one of my friends who can, and none of us are poor.

Equestrian and sailing. Get these sports out of the Olympics. Only the richest members of the richest countries can even think about joining in.

Reduce, Reuse and Recycle

There’s a second tier of sports requiring specialized, expensive equipment as well. I’m okay with rowing, cycling, and even kayaking. But I’m not okay with having 14, 18, and 16 events in each of these. I figure if you have a short, medium and long distance race, with variations of individual and team, men and women, then that adds up to 12. Anything more is excessive.

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The Rich and the Repressive
Track and field has the most events at 47. But I’m okay with these. They require almost no equipment (although I don’t know where I would get a javelin, a vaulting pole, or the thing they throw in the hammer), and they are quite varied.

At 34, I don’t quite get why there are so many events in swimming. What I do know is that a few years back Australia built hundreds of Olympic size swimming pools all around the country and now they’re a swimming powerhouse. Almost half of their 44 medals are in swimming.

So government commitment and good facilities is pretty important. And it’s only a country of about 23 million people. North Korea has the same number of people, but there’s no way they can even afford to build one swimming pool. Their swimming medal count is 0.

Basically, Australia decided there were a lot of medals to be had in swimming and went for it. That’s good strategy. China is also focusing on individual sports where there are many medals to be had and now they’ve won the most gold. But why do these countries need to be at the top of the medal count? Does it make their society better? Do other countries cooperate with them more if they sweep the fencing medals?

Rich countries definitely have an advantage in the Olympics. A rack of those new Speedo swimsuits costs more than the GDP of Haiti. The rich countries are also able to import the best athletes from poor countries. So it’s great to see a country like Jamaica do well. The Jamaicans send their athletes to train in the US but bring them back to compete for Jamaica. That’s a good strategy for poorer countries.

Nations with authoritative governments with highly organized sports infrastructures and the ability to abduct children at a young age to inhumanely train them into good comrade athletes do pretty well too. The former Eastern bloc countries are still reaping the rewards. Cuba is a milder example of this. China is perfecting this.

The rich and the repressive. They win all the medals. And they rank numbers 1 and 2 in the medal count.

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The Alternative Medal Count
I’ve often wondered what the true medal count would be based on the medals won in proportion to a country’s population, or how rich they are. That’s why I’m so excited about Bill Mitchell’s alternative medal count. Mitchell, an Australian economics professor has made such calculations. You have to check out his website: http://www.billmitchell.org/sport/medal_tally_2008.html

Based on how rich a country is, using its GDP, North Korea ranks number one, getting the most medals for the size of its terribly small economy. Zimbabwe and Jamaica follow. Most developed countries rank low.

If you compare the GDP per capita to the number of medals won, then North Korea still leads, but China is number two, and Ethiopia is next.

If you base the medal count on a nations overall population, then Jamaica heads the list, with Slovenia and Australia ranking behind.

Mitchell also makes rankings based on the team size and by gender. It’s a fabulous project and worth checking out how he made his calculations.

The Ridiculed Sports
There seem to be a handful of sports that are casually ridiculed in the American press. I decided to take a closer look at these sports and see for myself.

One of the most ridiculed is synchronized swimming. After watching the competition, I decided that it’s not ridiculous at all. It involves a lot of power, stamina and control, and yeah, synchronization. It also requires a good choreographer. The same with rhythmic gymnastics. That was just breathtaking and entertaining. It’s like competitive Cirque du Soleil.

And enough about making fun of table tennis and badminton. These are sports dealing with pure reflex, super speed and quickness. Best of all, these are sports that are easy to participate in, requiring only relatively cheap equipment.

The more democratic the Olympics is the more it will balance out the dominance of the few countries that pay its way or repress its citizens into nationalistic glory. More importantly, it would encourage more people to participate in sports, rather than be alienated by the odd spectacle of sailboats and horses winning medals for their masters.

Into a Storm: the Windiad no. 11

narita rainstorm

Wait a minute. What happened to the Windiad 7-10?  I’ll fill those in in the coming days.

After 23 hours of total travel time from when we left my parents’ home, we finally returned to Japan last night to a typhoon-like rainstorm. The rain was blowing sideways. Consequently, today is nice and cool and not humid. What a nice transition from the perfect weather that was California and Oregon.

I went to work today, jet-lagged, bleary-eyed, and quasi-nauseous. It’s only a 5 minute bike ride to work, but I was dodging pedestrians, dogs, other bicyclists, and brake-less taxis. Wow, there are a lot of people here. I also wore a tie and a dour expression.

I also went to the gym, which is in crowded Shibuya, and it was weird being back in the land of skinny stylish teenagers aimlessly meandering fixated on their cell phones. But I wasn’t grumpy weaving through them. Though I did walk exactly 3.04 times faster than I did in the US. And my body, which was relaxed and filled up space in the US, began to hold itself in and take up as little space as possible.

At the airport it was no problem to slip right back into bowing, thanking, and excusing oneself. I was newly in awe of the super-organized, orderly, smooth-running, polite (but not quite friendly) society that Japan is. I missed the clean public bathrooms, the manageable food servings, the vending machines.

When we entered our apartment, it felt like home. My trees were alive. The city light sparkled from the balcony. And this evening there was even a little earthquake. It’s home. For now.

fishwoman and totem bird

The Best Airport in the World

It’s Vancouver. T and I spent our 3 hour layover in the Vancouver airport along an indoor stream. We picked a nice spot by potted fake maple trees. We sat on plush chairs. There was free wireless internet. All the workers are patient and nice. They accept US dollars (but give change in Canadian). And it’s easy to find gates and connections. The whole airport is warmly accented with wood.

In contrast, the worst airport has got to be LAX. I can’t even begin to describe the utter decreptitude of this mess. And almost as bad is the new Bangkok airport, which has all the charm of an air duct with rows of metal chairs only a Nazi fetishist could find comfortable.

On the Banks of Rivers Past: the Windiad no. 6

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The Ghosts of the Past

The reason Odysseus knew so much about Helios’s cattle and Charybdis and Scylla was because he consulted with Tiresias. Tiresias was a blind prophet who was consulted by everyone. At one point he dressed in drag for 7 years. Basically, he was a unique character. He gave Odysseus a lot of advice on how to get home. He also gave him fashion and skin care tips because the sea salt air was murder on the complexion.

Tiresias also happened to be dead and lived in Hades. So after sailing to the River Acheron which bordered the underworld, and making all manner of sacrifices, Odysseus was allowed to contact the dead.

Not only did he meet Tiresias, he also ran into his late mother, some old friends from school, and numerous other people he knew who had died during the Trojan War. He was able to reach closure on his past and so it was a fruitful detour. Although, while he was busy with his reunions, his men were a little freaked out, shivering in the bone-chilling creepiness of the underworld.

erika and keanThen and Now
If there’s a town that represents my past (but not the underworld!), it’s Eugene. I’ve already reached closure on many levels. Many of my friends have moved north to Portland, just up the highway. I still keep in touch with a handful of very special people, but the rest I’ve long fallen out of touch with.

Eugene is where I lived for a decade, performed modern dance, played guitar like every other guy, and held court at one of the oldest natural foods stores in the US. I biked everywhere, year-round, didn’t wear a watch, didn’t have a cell phone, always had fruit and bread in my bag (usually challah), a nalgene bottle of water, and a notebook.

I had a Mohawk ponytail that I tied back, wore sunglasses, a pair of shorts, and a tank top. My wallet was a tacky retro brown velcro thing that never had more than $20 in it. And that was it. It was a simpler life.

I ate only organic food, usually bought in bulk, assiduously avoided sugar, rarely drank alcohol or coffee, consumed gallons of green and herb teas, sometimes baked my own bread, grew my own fruit, vegetables, and herbs.

Now I wear a tie to work, have several watches, have a cell phone, a mobile phone and a keitai (that’s 3 handsets for 3 countries), buy sports drinks from vending machines, use hair wax. I usually carry around a digital camera, an ipod, and probably an implanted tracking device that I don’t know about.

My wallet now bulges with point cards, a commuter pass, lots of cash like everyone else in Japan, an immigration card that I must carry at all times, all encased in a nice leather wallet that I was shamed into buying many years ago. Life is a little less simpler now.

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Sometimes, I wonder how I lived in Eugene for so long. Passing through there this time around, it felt like an unfamiliar place. Many of my favorite restaurants are gone. And I’m out of touch with most of the people that I knew. By my last year in Eugene, I knew just about everyone. Biking around town, I’d be greeted by soccer moms, street musicians, skater punks, police officers, and homeless artists. Now I feel like any other tourist.

The city has become a little more gentrified, a little more suburban. In the six years I’ve been away, there have been all sorts of new construction. My favorite is the gleaming public library. When I lived there, Time magazine called Eugene the anarchist capital of the US, because of the high density of activists, protesters and hippies, some of whom professed to be anarcho-syndicalists. I have a feeling this title has passed onto another city.

What made Eugene unique for me was the thriving dance scene. In terms of quality of dancers, the number of dance companies, the varieties of dance, and the frequency of performances, as well as the opportunities to join in, it surpassed Seattle and was comparable to San Francisco, in my opinion.

Eugene has a number of, who I consider, high priestesses of dance.  And these are some of the people who I’m most in touch with.  They are fabulously creative and charismatic.  I met two of them while in Eugene.

margo and child

There’s the incomparable, innovative Margo. Her choreography resonated deeply with audiences, her movements rooted in emotional authenticity. And she’s always been able to attract a devoted fan base.

And I also met with the magnetic Nanci, whose choreography was imbued with a sense of soaring and expansive space often with a political message.

father and daughter

Tiresias
If there’s a Tiresias on this trip, that would have to be Mike. He’s not blind, nor particularly prophetic. Nor have I ever seen him in a skirt. He does, however, offer a kind of support that could be mistaken for advice. But it’s nothing so pretentious. He’s always been a great friend. And people seek him out for something that could be called guidance, but it’s nothing so presumptuous. He’s just a sincerely, good guy who people trust. The kind of friend you would go to Hades for, just to have a chat and a few laughs.

Crater Lake: the Windiad no. 5

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The Oregon road trip is over and I’m soooo behind on writing about it. There was Crater Lake, meeting friends in Eugene, partying in Portland, driving down the Oregon coast, and today, hiking around the redwood forests. Tomorrow we head back to my parents’ place. I’ll start filling in the blanks and dating them backwards.

Scylla and Charybdis
At one point during Odysseus’s journey back they had to pass a narrow strait. On each side were two creatures, Scylla and Charybdis. Scylla was a six-headed monster that plucked sailors from their ships. Charybdis was just a big belching mouth that sucked in and gurgled up water creating a big whirlpool that sunk ships. You could try to sail through the middle but only the Argonauts (a group of demi-gods, heroes, and expert navigators) had achieved that feat.

Odysseus’s men were a collection of conscripted goatherds, winemakers, and aimless teenagers, so Odysseus didn’t have any faith in their boating skills. So he opted to sail nearer Scylla and sacrifice 6 men rather than risk sinking the whole ship near Charybdis. When the ship neared Scylla, Odysseus mumbled something about some paperwork he had to do in his quarters and went beneath deck, leaving his men to face the creature.

Wizard Island

Crater Lake

We avoided any Scyllas on this road trip. Thank goodness for that because there are only two of us to sacrifice. We would have had to pick up a few hitchhikers to make the numbers work.

We did take our chances with a big body of whirling water however. And that would be Crater Lake, probably the world’s purest water and deepest lake. Located in southern Oregon, the lake is in a caldera caused by a massive volcanic eruption. It was one of the biggest explosions in earth’s history. The result is a lake that is formed only from snowmelt and rain. It’s also the bluest water I have ever seen.

For years, I told T that I would take her there and we would go on the boat tour inside the lake to an island that is another volcano within the volcano. But because of possible bad weather the boats weren’t operating that day. Darn! We hiked down from the rim to the water anyway just to look at how clear and blue the water was.

It’s a massive lake. You can’t capture how big the lake is from driving around the rim because you’re so far up from the shore. The rocks that jut out from the lake seem small, but once on the water on the boat, you realize that they are proper islands with ancient trees. The tickets for the boat tours are limited and only the first boat of the day allows you to stop off at Wizard Island (the volcano within a volcano). I highly recommend hiking around on the island, and if you dare, swim in the icy water.