Behold Casey's birthday cake.
Unicorn candles, angry Japanese gorilla robots, and a kewpie doll with a bamboo shoot hat were just some of the decorations that adorned his cakes. My lovely friend Makiyo spent 6 hours with me baking every layer of all 5 cakes in our humble toaster oven.

Casey and I were invited to participate in the annual Izumi English Camp. I was in charge of teaching Gospel music, Arabic script, belly dancing and being generally responsible for a team of shy girls named "SESAM5." Casey taught Patois and reggae music while simulatenously being responsible for a group of impious girls who chose to go by "JACKO." We bathed in the onsens, chased kids down the halls, and ate more ice cream than you could shake a waffle cone at.

Agfa Isolette II

I picked up this little gem on our last trip to Tokyo. It's a German, medium-format folding camera that was produced between 1950 and 1958. Because of the folding bellows design, it's incredibly portable, even if it has the density of a sturdy but slightly overweight German matron.


I've been wanting to dive into medium-format photography for awhile (I don't think lomo-style Holga stuff counts, really), and I've got my eyes out for the following:

-Rolleiflex 2.8f
-Hasselblad 500 c/m
-Mamiya C330

The used camera market in Japan is amazing, as would be expected, but it suffers from price-inflation of cameras that are considered "classic." A Rolleiflex in decent condition in the states would run between $500 and $1000, while here Japan they go for upwards of 200000 yen (about $2000). While it's undoubtedly a "collector's" camera, it's a shame to see such a beautiful tool be put on a shelf or in a moisture-free safe, never to be used. Japanese-made cameras fare better. Mamiya systems can be found for a good deal cheaper, and used Nikon and Canon lenses are overabundant. New gear skews higher in price, oddly enough, compared to the states. I've been looking at getting a SB-800 speedlight for my D80, but they cost almost $500 here, whereas in the US you can find them for $300. The discrepancy seems ridiculous considering that there's a Nikon factory here in Sendai, but I suppose the hobbyists here are simply used to getting price gouged. I've got to give it to the Japanese for being the best-equipped amateur photographers in the world. When we visited Kyoto I saw flocks of the elderly carrying massive Manfrotto tripods and pro camera bodies slung around their necks like dead albatross.

It is Hanami season, Japan's favorite time of the year. Which means you hang out under the cherry blossom trees with your friends to celebrate the arrival of spring by drinking sake until you're too inebriated to point straight.
We hanami-ed it up in Shiroishi, a thirty minute train ride south, home of the famous Shiroishi castle and annual winter home for Siberia's migrating swans. Below is Maria "ants-in-her-pants" Filippone and I giddy off the blossoms, and hamming it up for Casey.

Two weeks ago, the JETs in Miyagi put on a pantomime. Casey took pictures and helped write the skit, while I and Amy Crossley did the makeup. The best part was that I got to transform the very American and male Jesse into the Sadoko, the archetypal vengeful Japanese female ghost made famous in The Ring. He looked more like a panda bear in the begining, but things came together in the end.

Sakura, Sakura

Within a week, the cherry blossoms will bloom and initiate Japan’s sacred rites of spring. Old semi-toothed men will congregate on blue plastic tarps in the shade and tipple long draughts from tallboy cans of Asahi Super-Dry. The weaker, or perhaps more wistful among them will lay supine and let the falling blossoms turn them into pink old man cupcakes. The others will rub their noses, grimacing into the sun, and think between sips of how not to think about what it really means when cherry blossoms fall.

All around, families will crowd under the trees, their shoes removed and carefully twinned along the perimeters of their tarpaulins. They will eat from bento boxes, get cramps in their legs, and feel natsukashi*. Wind will pass though the trees and carry off chopstick wrappers and plastic packaging. The more concerned citizens will hurriedly slip their shoes back on and chase down the errant bits of wind-borne garbage, making sure to deposit them in the proper receptacles.

Naturally, there will be festival goods for sale. Tanned vendors with wizened faces will hawk plastic superhero masks and overpriced candy. Rows of canvas booths will offer yakisoba and grilled corn, chicken skewers and fried balls of battered octopus. There will be long queues and the cashiers will holler at the cooks to hurry it up. But off in a corner, the Chinese man selling beer and lime "margaritas" with his small son will not get much business. They will sit on plastic stools and the man will wonder why he is doing this again. He will think, over the hours, about fishing, about his son, and about his very beautiful wife, who is somewhere else. When I approach he will stand up and motion for his boy to take my order. I will show one finger, hand the boy 500 yen and smile as his father salts the rim of my plastic cup. When he hands me the beer I will say thank you in English and he will grin and nod and wipe his hands on his apron before sitting down again.

*nostalgia or fondness