Another Brick In The Wall

The writing's now on the wall for the ole Love Den - quite literally. As of yesterday, the developers have slapped 2 whopping great big white signs of death on the sides of the shop and the old curtain factory building advising of the development proposal.

A quick check online showed an interesting to-and-fro between the council planners and the developer over the past couple of months. Back in late August, Council initially said nup to the original plans on 20 grounds, and suggested more information and changes were to be made in order for the development to be considered. Chief among the concerns were the overall size and amenity of the proposal, with Council being dead against any extension of the commercial property along from the shop up Sandgate Road. Most of the other concerns were rather technical specs regarding gradings, height and car-parking logistics - although interestingly, the Council has indicated the plain looking Kassod tree on the footpath out the front needs to remain, which I thought was rather cute. What was missing, however, was any mention of any of the Heritage aspects of the proposal and whether Council had any issue with it. The omission can only suggest they don't.

The developers responded earlier this week to all 20 points, with slight amendments in the plans to accommodate the requests, and various expert reports refuting the need for others. All in all, it appeared fairly stock standard for this sort of proposal (I have seen a few), with nothing too controversial which could stop the progress. Without hesitation, the developers have slapped the public notices on the buildings and asked for the public to have their say. I don't suspect there will be much public opposition apart from the neighbours - which will be disregarded as nothing other than nimby-ism - so it's just back to the waiting game, with the knowledge that the fateful last day is closer. A factor on our side is that the owners transferred us to a periodic lease just before we went on holidays - which means they need to give us 8 weeks notice to turf us out, but we only need to give them 2 weeks notice (a veritable midnight flit!).

So, it's back to enjoying the Den while it lasts. This weekend, it's Valley Fiesta and the time when the Love Den's proximity to the action pays for itself in my mind. Tonight we checked out Lion Island, who I reviewed abysmally last week (but had a better showing tonight with a crunchier PA), before tomorrow's smorgasbord of Kev Carmody, We All Want To, The Mess Hall and Bob Log III. Sunday's gunna be a bit quieter with just Andrew Morris tickling my fancy, but I'll be saving my energy for that night's gig at West End - Gomez! And I'm reviewing it... I'm really getting back into this free ticket junkety gig thing. I could get really, really used to this again.

(For) All Of The (Expat) Dreamers

Apart from the "biggest ego in town" motifs, this is a pretty great BrisVegas travelog, accompanied by a pretty rocken song.

立山(晴) Mt.Tate(Tateyama),fine

A very cool vid showing the climb up Tateyama last week. Mt Tate (aka Tateyama) is one of the 3 holy mountains in Japan. This dude did in September last year, so same sorts of seasonal veiws. Can't wait to do Hakuyama and Fujiyama in the coming years.

Vale Urban Mountain Loafers

It was bound to happen - just days after reading the Doc's obituary for his orange sun goggles, my much loved Urban Mountain Loafers carked it.

The poor buggers have been my clod-hoppers for about 8 years, through thick and thin and in addition to being the shoe of choice for around town, have also been fine travelling companions. They've survived countless music festivals, including being honourable replacements for more appropriate gum boots at the legendary Mudford Folk Festival. They have shod me through thick and thin, across 2 countries (well, parts thereof) and despite many efforts at destroying them through inappropriate use (although this did not, curiously extend to actually climbing any mountains with them, as the Tiger strictly forbid me from taking them on our hike up 3000 metre Tateyama recently. I shall never forgive her for not allowing the Mountain Loafers to realise their true calling in life before they died). Nothing could stop them, it seemed, until their final moments trudging through the sleepy streets of Takoaka (transporting a very hungover body from a mate's tiny apartment, after a very drunken evening where I lost my karaoke virginity). A faint clip-clop sound was drilling into my head-holes with every step, annoying the absolute bejesus out of me. A couple of miffed glances behind me to find the source of this irritating sound were unsuccessful...

until I looked down and found the sole of the right loafer had finally given way and was flapping helplessly away from the shoe itself. Truth be told, this was not the first occasion this had happened, but I just wasn't ready to bid them farewell just then and so hastily glued them back together. This time, however, it was pretty clear they were unsalvageable, especially after I attempted to rip away the offending flappy bit only to come away with the entire soul (leaving them soleless... not soulless).


I picked them up at a post-Christmas Myer sale in Brisbane in 2009, prior to one of my numerous jaunts to Brendan's Byron hideaway. It took just a week of trudging around the beaches, through the hinterland and around parts of the Border Ranges National Park and in and around beer-soaked Byron venues for me to absolutely fall in love with the black buggers. My at times irrational love affair even outlasted my immature dalliance with my 8-hole Docs through high school and beyond; a love affair which left me with permanent calluses on my toes and numerous run-ins with ingrown toenails (although I still kept them in my closet until very recently, even though I officially retired them years ago). And so with still a few more walking days ahead of me in Japan - we're leaving the homestead tomorrow for a few days site-seeing around Yokohama and Tokyo before flying home on Thursday - I was in need of some suitable treads. I've never been a fan of lace-up shoes, and was rather reticent of clod-hoppers which required socks (I'm still in that phase of wanting to show off my Pearl Jam tat on my left ankle, which would be obscured by socks), and thongs have never really been my style. With that in mind, we set about finding if rural Japan had anything fitting that narrow brief. Our second store threw these up at us:



I'm still not sure about the boldness of the colour, but they're comfy as shit and are pretty easy to match with most clothing I wear. So, Vale old Mountain Loafers and welcome the Red Riding Hoofs... may you serve my tootsies well.

Family gatherings, Nagai-style

The pinnacle of our trip to Japan - apart from visiting ill Obachan (Grandma) - was the chance for the family to host an important family gathering with us in attendance. It was a Buddhist ritual of which I'm only partially aware of the intricacies, but it essentially paid respect to one's ancestors and happened only every few years. So as Tuesday rolled around the house was prepared with the rice paper wall/doors removed in the 'formal' part of the house to make a giant room focused on the freshly polished shrine in the corner. After Otosan 'officially' welcomed Satomi and I 'home' in front of the 30-odd suited family members, the formal proceedings began... which, in my world, meant just over an hour of sitting on my knees on cushions on the tatami mat floor, listening to 2 monks chant endlessly, interspersed with occasional bell ringing.
While fascinating and spiritual in one sense, it was also quite draining and the clock in my peripheral vision just made things worse in terms of time seeming to drag. My patience held out, thankfully, and the mass was soon piling into buses and cars for the short trip to a local hotel for the second part of the day - the formal sit down dinner.

Ordinarily, I was told, this dinner would be prepared at home and served by the women in the family. It was immediately clear on entering the dining room why this was not even attempted at the Nagai household - what waited for us was a 13-course Japanese feast, with huge amounts of flowing Asahi and sake. Sure, 13 courses of Japanese food isn't that taxing on the gullet due to the small serving sizes, but still there was no logistical possibility of this being attempted in the small Nagai kitchen. No-one seemed to mind, however, as food and drink we quaffed by the excitable gents and demure ladies hell bent on making this a memorable day. The food, to my palette, was similar to the other formal dinners I've had in Japan - a mix of strange (baby squid served in a squid ink sauce), exciting (sesame tufo) and quaint (braised steak served with three tiny pieces of vegetables) and best tackled by throwing caution to the wind and repressing the gag reflex as much as possible. The drinking aspect of the day is a communal affair, with the pouring of beer and sake for another being an important social lubricant. It prompts a reciprocal gesture and, of course, a bit of light banter and chatter, all building to a great sense of sharing and getting to know each other. Satomi and I took nearly an hour to work the room, with the gathered Nagai family members and neighbours all interested in Satomi's new hometown (near the Goldu Coasto for those familiar with Oz, and north of Sy-den-ey for those less conversant with the big brown land), my age (which all believed was hard to judge) and the ubiquitous plea for us to bear children.
Seriously, I've never been nagged so much about having kids as much as I have in the past 2 weeks! Not only at this gathering, but our regular visits to Obachan in hospital rarely has less than 10 mentions of having at least one great grand-child for her to dote on.

Anyway, with the meal drawing to a close, we poured back into the hotel's courtesy bus and embarked on the rowdy drunken trip back to the farmhouse for the critical 3rd part of the evening - the male bonding session of drink, deep fried foods and lots and lots of laughter and spirit. As the women-folk repaired to the living quarters, the men gathered in the shrine room and settled in for the evening, sans jackets and ties. With partial translations from Satomi, and quite a lot of drunken gesturing and drink spilling, the night carried on in jovial fashion.
The Nagai (and Nagai neighbours) seemed truly appreciative and accepting of the first foreigner in their precious inner sanctum of Japanese masculinity, and were even planning a 12-man Nagai tour of Australia, with yours truly as the official guide. Something tells me I'll be needing a brand new liver by the end of it.

After a few hours of soaked frivolity, various wives started materialising to haul their sweaty messes of what once were their husbands back to their homes to sleep off their poor states. Which left just the immediate Nagai family (including Ojisan - Uncle - who drove up from Nagoya for the event) to digest the day and what it meant. Otosan seemed genuinely thrilled with how everything turned out, particularly how Satomi and I were accepted and welcomed into the flock. I was truly humbled by Otosan's including me in this very special event, and conveyed it as being proud to call myself an honourary Nagai. And so with that, we retired and slept off the excess; but even today, I still feel I amazingly blessed that I was able to not only bear witness to such an intimate part of another culture's spiritual process, but also to be such an accepted and included member of this proud and rich family. The  overall theme of this visit has seen me feel more at 'home' and comfortable than the first visit (which in reality was a blur of excitement and social fuck ups) and truly amazed by where my life has taken me to allow me to call a tiny rice farming village in provincial Japan as 'home'.

And now, with just a week until we fly back, it's a case of cramming in as much as we can in a short time. Tomorrow we head up to Tateyama (at 3,000m it's the highest mountain I've ever seen), and then will spend Saturday evening at a dinner party in a friend's really small apartment in Takaoka, before taking the bullet train to Tokyo on Tuesday. Tuesday night will be spent at another friend's place in Yokohama, while Wednesday, that night and most of Thursday itself will be spent enjoying all Tokyo city has to offer, before the night flight back that evening.