Michelle Gunn! Michelle Gunn! Michelle Gunn!

Oink Oink

In Japan pigs go ‘bu bu’. Whatever language they speak, they’re still delicious.

Pig! Pig! Pig!

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Pyon Pyon

Compared to other ethnicities, a rather high proportion of Japanese women remind me of rabbits. I’m talking faces - and teeth - here, not costume or bedroom habits. かわいいな〜。

Bunny Love

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Monkey business

Only two cards in and you may have noticed a theme. I only have three types of paint at the moment: burnt umber, cadmium red and titanium white. Mix them, you say. Damn you all to hell, I cry back.

Saru

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Dick & Me

I love postcards. It’s a small pleasure to write or receive them from far flung places around the world. Beyond that, they’re a wonderful little artistic medium. And they make swell bookmarks.

So without further ado, I’ll introduce the first card I knocked up now that my tools and materials have finally arrived from Japan.

The Bruna

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In the witching hour

I picked up the first volume of xxxHOLiC by the manga collective Clamp. The series begins with a high-school student, Watanuki Kimihiro, who is plagued by spirits, and the witch who offers to help him for a price.

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歩くの大好き

Of all Miyazaki Hayao’s films, this is the one for me. Neither flash nor overly complex, it explores the emotions and imaginative world of childhood. And the Totoros are just ace.

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Scribble scribble

Being of a certain age, I do much of my writing on a computer. A two and a half year old 15“ Mac Powerbook, since you ask.

A few months ago while slogging through a redraft, I snapped. Traditional word processors (Word and NeoOffice) were driving me nuts. For longer pieces they were too cumbersome.

That’s when I found Scrivener.

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Water world

I finally picked up a copy of Pink Box, Joan Sinclair’s photojournal of the Japanese sex industry. It is an exceptional achievement. It offers a glimpse into a side of the mizu shōbai (水商売, lit. water trade, the entertainment business) rarely seen by outsiders.

Sinclair shows us a world where all manner of fantasies are fulfilled: shaking train carriages with schoolgirls to grope, foot fetish bars, real doll clubs and yes, used panty sales. It is, in her words, full of ‘colour, kitsch, variety, and absurdity’. But first and foremost it is a staggering money spinner. Sex services in Japan are worth ¥2.37 trillion (Takashi Kadokura, 2001).

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Riced cooly beatnik.

I love ramen. I spent many mealtimes at the counter of my local ramen joints while I was living in Tokyo, enjoying their various specialities.

One place down the road from my apartment did a mean plate of fried rice. When I first arrived, I was able to shovel it down with a bowl of tonkotsu (pork broth) ramen and a plate of gyōza (dumplings). After my appetite had adjusted to Japanese portions, just the fried rice was enough.

This is a recipe I derived from watching the chef at work. It is quick and easy. After all, ramen shops are in the fast food business. It is also an excellent way to make use of leftover rice.

Details:

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A pitch black heaven

But the coloured lights fooled you. The lights were wonderful. There ought to be a monument to the man who invented neon lights. Fifteen stories high, solid marble. There’s a boy who really made something out of nothing.

- Philip Marlowe, The Little Sister (1949) by Raymond Chandler.

Summer 2007. Aomori, Japan. I stand on the plains of northern Honshū. The lights are out, the houses and farms all asleep.

Underfoot, the slow crunch of stones on the sun-baked path, tingles my ears and slippered feet. We wander into a small orchard. The leaves on the apple trees rustle against our skin. I hold her closer. City boy, city boy, where have you gone?

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