In 神様`s country

It was the Emperor's birthday yesterday (he turned a sprightly 65 - Banzai!), so us common people were given a holiday to celebrate his Imperial Highness's continuing good health and fortune (double Banzai!!). It was also a nice(ish) day here so I decided to skip my usual jog and head for places higher - Muroran dake.

Initially I was thinking of doing the classic Gaynor door-to summit-to door route, but then my inner-55-year-old-self told my outer still-thinks-I-am-35-self to cop the f*** on. It may be a nice day, but it's still winter.

So instead I drove up to Danpara ski-jo and then stomped the two kilometers to the top. I didn't bother with snowshoes which meant I had to posthole through deep snow in a few places. My inner-55-year-old-self should have warned me about that too.

 

It was a tad windy though some of my fellow summiteers were saying it was a far better day than yesterday. There were in fact a fair few people hiking/snowshoeing/skiing/snowboarding up and down the mountain. Muroran-dake's relatively low elevation (911 meters) and its location on the Pacific coast side of Hokkaido means it gets a reasonable amount of sunny weather in winter and not so much (relatively speaking) snow. This attracts a lot of hikers who want to get their winter trail fix in but without going to the extremes. 

And at 55 years of age I have (partially) listened to my inner self and no longer go to the extremes.

Nightlife

 

Haven't experienced it in a long, long time. Primarily due to three main factors:

(1) Living in Muroran

(2) Being a father

(3) Being a 55 year old father who has (unintentionally) conditioned himself to get incredibly sleepy at around half past nine at night.

Yesterday evening we were in Sapporo meeting some family friends for dinner. We stayed until about 9:30pm (or "my bedtime" to use the correct technical term), and then drove back to Muroran (Cian had to work today). Even though I shotgunned a Red Bull before starting the drive back, I was still yawning for most of the two hour journey. Red Bull should put a warning on their cans: "May have no effect whatsoever on anybody aged over 50".

In between the yawns I was trying to recall the last time I was in Sapporo city centre after dark. And for the life of me I couldn't remember. And that's principally due to factors (1) and (2) above.  Not much nightlife in Muroran. Though the Hokkaido Shimbun did report on a brothel being operated in the town a couple of months back so things aren't completely moribund.

Anyway, Sapporo on a Saturday night in February was both cold and absolutely humming. As I tried not to slip on the step smoothed snow, I looked around and saw, nay, felt the youthful vitality coursing through the streets and alleys. So this is where all the young people in Hokkaido have gathered. They are certainly no longer in the ageing, wheezing towns and villages flyspecked across the island's inaka hinterland. 

April - the most stressful month

 And so, with its usual unstoppable momentum, April has rolled around and with it the start of the new school and business year. Sanae must contend with the most changes. She has been transferred to a new elementary school, though thankfully still within a 20 minute drive from home. But that is about all the gratitude she can evoke. The students are new, her fellow teachers new, the parents new, the routines, customs, and unwritten rules of behaviour all new too. It has placed her under immense, chocolate fueled pressure. The cumulative stress of wrapping up (or "snipping off") the loose ends in her old school and then subsequently looking for the threads of normalcy in her new school are enacting an ongoing, fingernails-bitten-to-the-quick toll. 

One of the defining features of the Japanese education system (up to the tertiary level) is its systematic rotation of teachers between schools at 6 year intervals. There are, perhaps, solid, research based, informed policy reasons for this, but damned if I (or Sanae) know what they are. When I look at her, all I see is unwanted and unwarranted stress. 

And this is replicated right across the country, and not just in schools either. Civil servants, public sector employees, police, firefighters, not to mention the vast majority of employees in private companies, are, every Spring, subject to a vast process of internal migration. And it is not just jobs that change. Home addresses change too, as do schools, friends, neighbours, neighbourhoods, and the daily patterns and practices of every day life. All disrupted, all have to be started and seeded again.

So, in Japan in April you see (and experience) stress. Not cherry blossoms. Stress. The longer that I live in this country, the more convinced I am that this is a society that exists in a perpetual, self-sustaining state of stress. For historical, geographical, and tectonic reasons, the easy option is never an option. 

Such a deeply ingrained attitude makes for wonderfully reliable cars, but a forever fraught place to live.

Earthquake predictions

Continuing on the 地震 (earthquake) theme - this is Japan after all; one of the most tectonically active countries in the world. Last week the Japanese Government issued a fairly comprehensive report predicting the likelihood of major earthquakes occurring in the next 30 years. Now, some of this is geological tea-leaf reading, but a fair chunk of it is based on science and statistics.

It doesn't make for very reassuring reading either. Basically if you live on the Pacific coast south of Tokyo you are rolling the dice. And for every day that ticks by, the odds get shorter. Depending on the projected size of the earthquake, the potential number of fatalities quickly climbs into the hundreds of thousands.

Mind you, it's not much better up here in Hokkaido. To the east and southeast of the island lie two major fault lines, respectively the Kuril trench and the Japan trench. Here's a helpful map.

On the map, the two trenches are named in yellow on the top left, with the actual trenches the purple and orange (russet?) patches on the Pacific ocean side of Hokkaido and Tohoku.

Okay, the next diagram is a little trickier to explain, but thankfully you have RTE's very own earthquake expert on hand to to do so.

Yes, I know, lots of numbers and some of that indecipherable kanji writing. But let me take you by the hand ...

'M' is Magnitude. So, yes, you've guessed it, M7~8 refers to a magnitude 7 to 8 earthquake. The roman numerals indicate the possibility of an earthquake occurring in the next thirty years. A 'I' represents a less than 3% chance, whereas a 'III' means there's more than a 26% chance of something big rumbling our way.

'X' is where scientists think Godzilla will most likely appear.

So looking at the above map you can see that all down the Pacific Ocean side of Hokkaido we have an unhealthy mix of IIs and IIIs. A lot of IIIs in fact. All representing odds of 4 to 1 (or less) of a magnitude 8 earthquake occurring before my eightieth birthday.

Finally, we come to this equally cheerful graphic showing the potential maximum height of a tsunami should said magnitude 8 earthquake happen. Muroran is estimated to receive a tsunami with a maximum wave height of 9.4 meters. That's higher than your house. Hiroo-cho (広尾町) where I used to live (and where my heart lives still), is expected to be hit by a tsunami 25.4 meters high.

Twenty five point four freaking meters! In Dublin you would want to be living on the upper floors of the Capital Dock to avoid getting wet.

Thankfully, where we live in Muroran is forty-two meters above sea-level so we aren't too concerned (though I keep a surf board handy just in case). However, the elementary school where Sanae works is basically across the road from the sea. So, I am now making her wear a life jacket to work everyday. In Japan you can never be too prepared.

Earthquakes and p-waves

 

Earthquakes, as you may have noticed, are not uncommon in Japan. We had a rather big one late on Wednesday night. This link to NHK News shows what happened as it happened - what look like explosions are in fact power outages from electricity sub-stations.

It woke me (though my Japanese wife and reared-in-Japan son slept right through it. Centuries of geological-genetic conditioning perhaps? Could be a research paper in it.)

Anyway, the foreigner was woken. Now interestingly, I woke about a minute or so before the house began to shake. And even in my liminal state (with Sanae's snoring the only disturbance), I knew there was a tremor coming.

Earthquakes are essentially waves of energy dissipated from the source of the quake. And there are three types of wave: surface waves, p-waves ('p' for 'primary' or 'pressure'), and s-waves ('s' for 'secondary' or 'sheer'). S-waves are the ones that cause the seismic tremors resulting in damage. P-waves are considerably less intense and arrive before the s-waves as they travel through the earth considerably faster. Earthquake warning sensors are designed to detect these p-waves and provide advance warning of the stronger s-waves that cause all the shaking, rattling and rolling.

Here is a diagram I uploaded from the internet expertly designed  to explain waves.

Many animals can sense these p-waves (it is often why you see birds suddenly take flight before an earthquake strikes), as can some humans.

I am one of those humans. Apparently I am possessed of 'keen senses' (whereas Cian is often possessed of no sense at all) that can 'feel' the vibrations made by a p-wave. Which, here in Japan, makes me akin to a minor deity. Or a demon. I am not too sure which.

Anyway, not for the first time, I awoke in the middle of night knowing that there was an earthquake imminent. And I have no idea, coming from a seismically inert country like Ireland, how I ever developed such a sense.

3 years done, 3 to go

Today was also the half point in Cian’s secondary school education. And this being Japan, yes, of course, the event was marked with an official ceremony to which the parents were invited (expected) to attend.
So we went.
In Japan, second-level schooling follows the American system in that it is split up into junior high school and high school with three years in each (for, maths fans, a total of 6 years). At the end of junior high school there is an emotionally intense, tear-laden graduation ceremony, and then the same again three years later at the end of high school (but with everything dialled way up to 11).
However, Cian’s school is unusual (by Japanese standards) in that it is a single secondary school where students go for six years. With the result that there is no graduation ceremony at the end of year 3.
But no ceremony at all would go against the very fundamentals of Japanese society, rend open the portals of rice-eating reason, and unleash unimaginable chaos on an unsuspecting world.
So, instead they have the 前期課程修了式 which Google translate renders as
“Closing ceremony for the first semester”,
where ‘semester’ in this instance is three years long.
And, so we went.
To the school gym where all the students were presented with a very officious looking certificate, the school principal made a speech (and closed it out with a cúpla focal as béarla), and all the while the god-awful school anthem played on repeat in the background.
As a cultural aside: pretty much every school in Japan has its own school song. Invariably these sound the same (think Enya with more piano), with the same anodyne aspirational lyrics that invariably reference ‘the future’, ‘sky’, ‘wings’ and ‘dreams’. Inexplicably there is never any reference to more adolescent concerns like ‘contraception’ or ‘the shocking price of provisional license car insurance’.
The ceremony also marked the end of compulsory schooling in Japan (at 15 years of age), so from next month we have to start paying school fees. And you can imagine how much I am looking forward to that.

 

Saint Patrick's Day in Hokkaido

 

So we flew the flag to mark the day that’s in it. Sanae’s initiative. I made a few squeaks of embarrassed protest but quickly assented. Cian had already gone to school when we hung up the tricolour and declared a little piece of Hokkaido as ‘Tír na Gael’.
Later on in the day, when I was home for lunch, a couple were walking by and wondered aloud when the Mexicans had moved to Muroran.
Personally, I blame the schools, particularly the primary school teachers …

Winter is coming ...

 ... as it always does around this time of year. Last Thursday saw the first snowfall on Tokachi Dake in the center of Hokkaido. The Hokkaido Shimbun sent up their helicopter to take some footage and you can watch it as this link:

 https://www.hokkaido-np.co.jp/movies/detail/6275976206001

And yes, the Hokkaido Shimbun has it's very own helicopter. Makes the Irish Times look like a provincial rag.

Magnanimous vaccines.

Yesterday, myself and Cian got our second vaccinations at the University.  All done in 30 minutes, happily in contrast to the 2 hour epic we had to ensure for our first shots. Admittedly, that was also the first weekend the University commenced its vaccination program, so there were bound to be glitches. But still, 2 hours...

Last night no after effects; this morning didn't feel too bad - a bit woolly in the head but that tends to be par for the course on a Monday morning. Cian was fine, but we gave him the day off school anyway. That's the sort of magnanimous, easy-going parents we are. Or rather I am. Sanae is Japanese and there is no equivalent of 'magnanimous' in her language. While 'easy going' refers to the engine performance of your average Toyota. So, I went up to the university and did the usual round of first-day-of-the-week email responses to student queries "The textbook is sold out. What should I do?" - dare I say it, order another one. "I would like my course registration cancelled as I am quitting the university next March". And all of it in Japanese. As the morning rolled on my magnanimity rapidly ran dry.

By lunch time I had the chills, my muscles ached and standing up was making me dizzy. So I self diagnosed (I am a doctor, ahem, after all), 'vaccine after effect' and gave myself the rest of the day off. Back home, Cian was fine, albeit bored. Seeing my distressed condition, he magnanimously washed up his own lunch dishes and left me do mine.

As I write this, I am feeling a tad feverish; there is a bit of rosy glow to the cheeks and I can't stand to watch Netflix. Classic symptoms. Tomorrow Cian will definitely go to school, but I may have to extend my own magnanimity to another day at home.

Social distancing

Reckon this wouldn't be a bad auld spot to give it a go.
Any guesses as to where this is?

Another state of emergency

 Last Tuesday, exactly a week ago, primary and secondary schools all across Japan reopened and millions of children went back into their classrooms. On the very same day, Tokyo along with 6 other prefectures, declared a joint state of emergency and closed all their schools. This neatly (perhaps too neatly) sums up the haphazard approach Japan is taking to the pandemic.
'Haphazard', listen to me. 'Half-arsed' is the appropriate technical term.
On Sunday, Sapporo city here in Hokkaido declared a second state of emergency in response to the sudden increase in coronovirus cases in the past week. And so, from today, schools in the city closed again. This morning's online edition of the New York Times highlighted Hokkaido as a case study in the adverse effects of lifting restrictions too quickly.
But of course, dear reader, you already knew that, for when you are not 'oohing' and 'awwing' at the rhetorical and intellectual virtuosity of this blog, you are of course perusing the Gray Lady (though that does sound a tad unsavory).
Cian, understandably, is raging as we live too far away from Hokkaido's 'Big Smoke' to be included in the school closures. Though, as I tell him, it is only a question of time. The numbers across Japan are ticking up at a fair old clip and I reckon we are perhaps at most only a week away before a state of emergency is declared for the entire country.

Japan, the coronavirus and applied linguistics

Yes, I know, an intriguing title. So read on, dear reader, read on.
As of today, April 4th, Japan has 3,139 cases with 77 deaths. What Japan doesn't have as of today is a national lock down, or even a Tokyo lock down, where the majority of new cases are occurring. Nor does it have a strict policy of testing for the virus, enough face masks, or ICU beds for all the potential cases that are about to emerge.
What it does have, however, is a series of new geographical designations based on the number of cases. These are:
1: Warning of areas with increasing infections
2: Area with confirmed infections
3: Uninfected areas
So, unlike other countries who are combating the virus with strict social isolation policies, and legally enforceable stay-at-home rules, Japan is fighting the virus with, yes, ... semantics!
Oh, how us Applied Linguists feel so emboldened. Finally recognition of the vital role we have to play in stopping this pandemic.
This is as good as an example you will ever get of the perils of political administrators deciding health policy. Four days ago the President of the Japanese Medical Association called on the government to officially declare a state of emergency, warning that if the number of daily cases in Tokyo reaches 100, "it is highly likely that the medical system will collapse".
Today, the number of new cases in Tokyo reached 118.
I never studied political policy making but in years to come they are going to have to introduce a new course, based on Japan's approach to the epidemic, called, 'Rolling the dice'.

Hokkaido and the coronavirus - part 6

Well, I suppose it had to happen.
The coronavirus has officially arrived in Muroran. A receptionist at a pediatric clinic in the city was diagnosed earlier today. She had returned from Hawaii last week, went to work, a few days later began feeling 'a bit dodgy', got tested and lo and, indeed, behold, she has successfully taken the title of Muroran's 'patient zero'.
Cian thought it would be me, but no, yet again I disappointed the boy.
Mind you, I'd say there a fair few worried parents in the town tonight who have visited the clinic with their children over the past few days and must be imagining the worst.
And yet the Made-in-Japan absurdity train keeps right on rolling along. The school year is set to start as normal next week. Children will be asked to wash their hands a lot, wear masks, and the classroom windows will be opened at the end of each period.
There is snow forecast for this coming weekend, and masks can't be got around here for love nor money.
People are still being politely requested to 'refrain' from venturing out at weekends. As if the coronavirus only struck on Saturdays and Sundays. 
Then there was this morning's paper. After a weekend that saw three successive days in which a new record was set for the number of new confirmed cases of the virus in Japan, the Hokkaido Shimbun's front page led with ...

Yes, that's right, the Olympics. Or more specifically, the new proposed course for the Olympic Torch relay. You couldn't make this up. The country is on the brink of an uncontrollable epidemic and Hokkaido's largest newspaper thinks that the most newsworthy topic is an event that has already been rendered utterly irrelevant by the rest of the world.
I would describe this as 'ostrich head in the sand' stuff, but that would be cruelly libeling the intelligence of the bird.

Tokyo and the coronavirus

I think this is when we begin the ominous duuuh-nu, duuh-nu, du-nu, du-nu, du-nu theme from Jaws. The graph shows the sudden spike in confirmed cases within the largest city on the planet. Still relatively small, but what is worrying is that many of the cases cannot be traced to a specific person or cluster as the source of the infection. Based on what is happening in New York, this would suggest that the virus is already quite widespread in the city and that we are going to see an exponential rise in cases over the coming days.
And yet, the main story on yesterday evening's seven o'clock NHK news was about the cancellation of the Olympics. That's sport's news, in fact it is now 'old news'. There are much more pressing and important matters to be concerned with.
In a news conference last night, the governor of Tokyo, Koike Yuriko, called for the citizens of the city to remain indoors over this coming weekend and to work from home as much as possible. What was interesting that this was a 'request' rather an 'order' or even a 'directive'. It was phrased in elaborate 尊敬語, (sonkeigo), the honorific form of the language used when you trying to convey your apologies at how much of an imposition your request is. It is the sort of language Japanese politicians typically use when they are announcing unpopular measures or policies.
Unfortunately, this gives the impression that the crisis is still a political rather than health crisis. The implication is that the people of Tokyo have a choice; that they can ignore this request, venture out on Saturday and Sunday and at worst be thought of as selfish individuals.
What was needed (and will probably happen as the situation escalates) our medical experts, particularly epidemiologists, to explain clearly and calmly (and without using 尊敬語), what is happening, what needs to be done, and what the consequences are if expert advice is ignored.

Ad Astra - A brief film review

Now, like most of the other important international media (New York Times, The Guardian, the Economist, the Hokkaido Shimbun), it would be very easy for this blog to become all consumed with the coronavirus.
But I am not going to let that happen, dear reader. No, I will balance the darkness with light, the tragic with the uplifting, the Mayo Footballers with the special genius that will be forever Joe Canning.
So, with this post I am going to commence an intermittent series of brief film reviews. With my university classes suspended until April 22, and no overseas travel for the foreseeable future, I now, finally, have some time to catch up on matters celluloid.
First up is Ad Astra, a science fiction film starring my doppelganger, Brad Pitt. In this movie Brad plays a man suffering from bradycardia. For the medically illiterate among you (and by now that should be a vanishingly small number of you), 'bradycardia' describes a medical condition whereby a person suffers from an abnormally slow heart rate.
Ad Astra details Brad's increasingly wild attempts to accelerate his pulse into beating more than 40 times a minute. He free-falls from an exploding space station in low Earth orbit and his heart rate barely budges above 40. He gets assailed by Pink Floyd fans on the dark side of the moon and still his cardiogram blips along at the four zero mark. He tries to escalate matters by getting attacked by psychotic baboons on a spaceship (no, seriously) just beyond the Asteroid Belt (a.k.a. Cavan). And still his heart tick-tocks along under 50. He even gets as far as Neptune, has a bit of a schmozzle with his old man, all manner of things get blown up and yes, you guessed it, still no cure for the bloody bradycardia.
I will have to say that this film affected me deeply. Like Brad, I too suffer from bradycardia. Like Brad, I too possess a whiskey-oak handsomeness that defies age. And like Brad, I too have spurned the desperate love of Angelina Jolie (it's why I came to Japan. Long story).
Five stars.

The Tokyo Olympics

 This is Mori Yoshiro, former prime minister and current head of the organizing committee for the 2020 Olympics. Yesterday he presided over a packed press conference where he said that over the next 4 weeks a decision would be made regarding the event.
Yes, 4 weeks.
To make a decision that every dog on the street knows is inevitable. The question is no longer if the Games will be postponed, but rather until when? Indeed, just this evening the prime minister of Japan announced that he and the IOC are planning to postpone the event until next year.
But that's not why I am writing this piece. No, my interest is in Mori-san. Like I said, he appeared before the world's press and acknowledged the difficulty in proceeding with the Olympics as scheduled. Lots of reporters, lots of questions, lots of excitement in the air. God only knows what else was in the air, too.
Mori Yoshiro is 82 years old. What on this plague-stricken Earth was an 82 year old man doing in a hot, stuffy, windowless room with a crowd of people from all directions of the compass answering a question that we all know the answer to already?

Hokkaido and the Coronavirus, part 5

It would seem, from the number of page views, that my insightful explanation of Japanese work culture isn't particularly popular.
Philistines.
No, panic appeals. My posts on the coronavirus have by far and away the most views. So, loathe as I am to pander to people's acrid taste for the sensational, I must nevertheless abide by that journalistic axiom to give the reading public what they want.
So, here it is, another series of observations on the virus and its pernicious effect on life here in Hokkaido.
Let's begin with some comparative facts and figures comparing and contrasting Hokkaido and Ireland. Hokkaido has a total area of 83,424 square kilometers and has a population of 5,268,166 people. Sapporo is the largest city on the island with a population of 1,969,793. The island of Ireland has (including Northern Ireland) an area of 84,421 square kilometers and a combined population of 6,806,900 people. Dublin has a population of 1,273,069.
As of yesterday, March 22nd, Hokkaido had a cumulative total of 162 confirmed cases, with 6 fatalities.
In Ireland, the respective figures are 906 and 4.
Hokkaido recorded its first case on January 28th, in Ireland it was a month later on February 29th.
Sooooo, what can we conclude.
Firstly, I think that the number of confirmed cases in Hokkaido misrepresents the number of people with the virus. Japan has not been particularly aggressive with their testing and the paranoid, Alan J. Pakula fan in me suspects that this is a deliberate policy on the part of the government. They are trying to strike a very difficult balance between health concerns and economic interests. On Thursday, the 3 week state of emergency called by the Hokakido prefectural governor came to an end and wasn't renewed. This was despite the continuing uptick of cases on the island. The principal reason behind this wasn't that the emergency measures - chief among them school closures and people voluntary staying at home - were ineffective, but rather, from an economic point of view, they were proving to be overly effective.
Tourism (along with agriculture) is the main driver of the island's economy. Once the state of emergency came into effect, it basically fell of a cliff. Hotel reservations were cancelled by the thousands, restaurants, bars, cafes closed, tour bus companies went bankrupt, and a large swathe of part-time or contract staff suddenly found themselves without a job. In the face of all this, the governor declined to renew the state of emergency while at the same time calling on people to 'take care' when going out.
This, I feel, has bred a dangerous sense of complacency; the subjective (and scientifically unproven) feeling that perhaps the worst is behind us and we can begin to move on. Today the ministry of education announced that under certain conditions, schools would reopen again in April at the start of the new academic year. Meanwhile, the national figures for the spread of the virus are now increasing by 40 to 50 cases daily, with more and more cases cropping up in the three large urban centres of Tokyo, Osaka, and Nagoya.
And, adding to the rather surreal, head-scratching situation we find ourselves in, the Olympic flame has arrived in Japan and has begun its journey around the country. Given that the Olympics themselves seem set to be postponed by year (if not two), it will be a long slow journey. Better hope the flame doesn't go out entirely.

An unexpected visitor

A rare sighting of Aquila chrysaetos

We had an unexpected visitor to the bird feeder in front of our house. A wonderful surprise. Now, I am just an amateur birder, not an expert, but even I can recognize a golden eagle when I see it.
A truly magnificent bird.
Just look at that majestic, piercing gaze and that golden, bushy tail.
Though I'm not so sure about the eagle's, eh, ears.
But still, a spectacular photograph I think you'll agree.

Presenteeism

The Oxford Dictionary defines 'presenteeism' as "the practice of spending more time at your work than you need to according to your contract, in order to appear to be working hard". I would append that with "innate to, and ingrained within, Japanese work culture". The very fact that you are in the office, shop, factory, or, in Sanae's case, the school staff room, is equated with 'work'. Being present is considered more important than productivity. Well, maybe not more important, but more socially acceptable. Being present maintains a social norm - 'we' are all working. In contrast, completing all your work and then going home would be regarded as self-centred individualism.
This links with another, off-cited aspect of Japanese life - the distinction between tatemae and honne. Books have been written about these concepts. Most of them are woefully tenuous, unsubstantiated rubbish, people's subjective opinions sequinned onto a thin gossamer of what they pass off as objective fact.
This blog is no different but at least I'm upfront about it.
Anyway, 'tatemae' can be equated with 'appearance', while 'honne' refers to a person's true feelings buried beneath their seemingly placid, acquiescent demeanour. Japanese working life, and particularly presenteeism, provides instructive example of this inherent duality. In the office, people are seen to be working; they may not be doing anything particularly productive, but they are seen to be 'working'.
When I worked in Shibetsu in the preceding millennium, this time of year during the spring holidays, I would have to go into the office of the Board of Education. Next to me sat S-san, a man ostensibly in charge of the procurement needs of the schools in Shibetsu. When he wasn't out being wined and dined by blackboard manufacturers, he would spend his days sitting at his desk, puffing his way through a pack of Seven Star cigarettes (like I said, this was the last millennium), slurping Boss canned coffee, and idly flicking through furniture catalogs. He was, in the apt words of Karl Marx, when explaining historical materialism and the concept of labour surplus, "doing fuck all". And I'm sure he knew that. In the heart of his honne, he no doubt realised that this wasn't anything even resembling work, but he was working for the town office, he had a good, pensionable job for life and if the most he had to do was maintain some tatemae by spending an inordinate amount of unproductive time at his desk, then what the hell: crack open another can and light up another cigarette.
Hokkaido is now into the fourth week of school closures, yet teachers all across the island are still required to be in school by 8:15 and be there until 5:15. This is institutional presenteeism and nobody objects. Or rather nobody objects in public because that would be revealing your honne when you should be maintaining your tatemae. Sanae comes home in the evening and fairly vents; it takes a couple of beers and a long foot massage before she finally calms down. She (rightly) points out that having 30+ people confined to the same room for 8 hours every day directly conflicts with the health advice being given about people maintaining their social distance.  Yet, nobody in authority wants to burst this particular bubble because to do so would be a refutation of not just presenteeism, but a quintessential part of Japanese work culture as well.

Okanyňyz üçin sag boluň!

That is the Turkmen for 'Thank you for reading'.
According to the always fascinating statistical information provided by Google about this blog, this week I have had 12 page views by my avid, cultivated, and clearly well-educated readership in the great country of Turkmenistan.
By contrast, I have had all of 6, yes, 6! shagging views from the country of my birth. Ignorant feckers.
Admittedly, Human Rights Watch describes Turkmenistan as one of the world’s "most repressive countries. The country is virtually closed to independent scrutiny, media and religious freedoms are subject to draconian restrictions, and human rights defenders and other activists face the constant threat of government reprisal."
Still, they have excellent taste in blogs.

A modest statue honouring the magnificent author of the Gaynor-Takahashi blog.  The resemblance, you will have to admit, is uncanny.