Exactly one year ago today, I posted this:

Fat lot of good that did, huh? So I figure, as we go from the Year of the Cock to the Year of the Dog–stop that sniggering, you bitches in the back!–I may as well solicit resolutions from even more people this year. If the elements are going to dash your dreams, make ’em work at it, I say.

In 2006, I would like liberals to decide whether they believe in protecting (1) assertive individuality, even when it has sharp edges and raises uncomfortable questions or (2) the right of the government to adjudicate every potentially offensive manifestation of religious beliefs, sexuality, and even dietary choices. I don’t really care which one they pick–though I’m hoping they go with (1), of course. They just need to knock it off with the cynical, opportunistic toggling back and forth between the two, depending on which tack happens to suit the finger-wagging point they’re making at a given moment.

In 2006, I would like conservatives to decide whether they believe America’s material prosperity and staggering array of consumer products are (1) evidence that our way of life is the best in the world or (2) evidence that we’ve lost our spirituality and are hung up on the trivial at the expense of the transcendent. I don’t really care which one they pick–though I’m hoping they go with (1), of course. They just need to knock it off with the cynical, opportunistic toggling back and forth between the two, depending on which tack happens to suit the finger-wagging point they’re making at a given moment.

In 2006, I would like everyone to forgo the opportunity to be an asshole sometimes. Say, every third opportunity to be an asshole. Yes, I know–your opponents don’t make or respond to arguments, they just parrot the same empty talking points over and over and they ignore counterarguments and they suck and you’re not going to put up with it anymore and you’re willing to be a nice person but they force you to play offense all the time. I know, I know, I KNOW. I know because you’ve told us that about a million times. What I don’t know is what you think you’re accomplishing by adding one more uncharitable jerk to the din. Fearlessly offensive, gusty expressions of free thought can be a bracing corrective to namby-pambiness in the public discourse–within reason. When they become the public discourse, we’re in trouble. If you want people to be respectful, rational, and fair-minded, you might want to get the ball rolling by setting them an example.

Best to everyone in the new year.

Yesterday’s train derailment was very unfortunate, but unlike the disaster in Amagasaki in April, it doesn’t seem to indicate any problems with JR. Cars were swept off the tracks by strong wind as the train went over a bridge; four people were killed and over thirty injured. The driver was going within the speed limit:

At the moment of the derailment, the train was estimated to be running at about 100 kph, well below the speed limit for that section, police said.

…

JR East officials said a wind meter was positioned about 1 kilometer north of the disaster site.

If the meter detects winds of 72 kph or faster, a warning is sent to an anti-disaster information system installed at JR East’s Niigata branch, which is in charge of the Uetsu Line. An alarm will also sound at the branch, but drivers are not required to reduce their speeds in these conditions.

However, trains are obliged to slow down to 25 kph when wind speeds exceeding 90 kph are registered.

Train operations are suspended in areas with winds reaching 108 kph, the officials said.

But the wind meter near the accident site only recorded a maximum speed of 72 kph at 7:16 p.m., the officials said.

For that reason, the driver of the Inaho No. 14 was allowed to operate at the maximum speed of 120 kph in that section, according to the officials.

So it looks as if any human error that contributed was involved in the design of the bridge.

It’s almost time for the New Year vacation. That means Atsushi and I will be entertaining–we’re two of the party-throwers among our friends. It also means it’s time for the yearly Great Gay Veuve Clicquot Exchange. (My theory is that there are actually only five bottles of Champagne Veuve Clicquot in existence in any given year, and they get passed back and forth in a sort of Chinese fire drill as host gifts at fag parties from mid-December to the first week of January. No one ever seems to open them.) Maybe I’ll make stew or something. The weather’s been unseasonably cold in Japan as in the States, so we’re ready for the sort of warming food you normally don’t need until the approach of February.

Of course, Atsushi and I already set a precedent for food randomness over the weekend. Usually, I make dinner on Christmas Eve; last year, I even roused myself to start preparing a week ahead of time and made sauerbraten and dumplings. This year, my flight landed on the 22nd, and Atsushi arrived on the 23rd (the banks were closed for the emperor’s birthday). Between jet lag and general tiredness, I didn’t make a single dinner while he was here. Christmas Eve we went to a tempura restaurant. Atsushi chose it because I love vegetable tempura and because Western-style restaurants tend to be packed on Christmas Eve. Tempura isn’t quite as traditional as, say, goose, but…uh, you know…tempura was brought to Japan by the Portuguese. And Portugal’s a Catholic country. So you can find a Christmas connection in there somewhere, especially if you’re on your third glass of wine.

Hope everyone else enjoyed Christmas (or just the weekend).

Added at 22:30: This guy (via Gay News) obviously moves in very different circles from me. A Ten Commandments of cocktail parties that doesn’t start talking about the drinks until Commandment #9? Whatever. I also like these:

Commandment #4:
[…] And don’t forget the bathroom! Scented candles, an elegant bottle of hand soap, extra toilet paper, and a basket of high-quality napkins or paper towels make guests feel pampered.

I’m sorry, honey, if you’re hanging out with the sort of people who can made to feel pampered by a pile of paper towels dumped in a basket, you need to find new friends. (My Crabtree & Evelyn guest towels, embroidered in saucy botanical patterns and housed next to the brushed-metal soap dispenser, are a big joke among our buddies.)

As for scented candles, this guy has dispatched them handily so I don’t have to. I will only add that having tall, fat candles lit in an enclosed space in which tipsy people are unattended and desperately fumbling with their clothes is not the brightest idea.

Commandment #7:
Keep ’em moving! The entire point of a cocktail party is to mingle. To encourage that behavior, set up your bar and your buffet table on opposite ends of the room (or in different rooms altogether). That way you don’t end up with traffic jams and a huge cluster of people in one spot. Also, sitting down is a no-no! To keep the energy up and the party moving, only provide half as many seats as you have guests. Besides, we all look thinner and more elongated when we stand.

In my experience, people who don’t want to stand will not stand. If you’ve removed every stick of furniture from the room except the drinks table, they will stretch themselves out on your floor. They will close the lid of your garbage can and perch on it. If they know where the bedroom is and you’ve locked it, they will find your utility drawer, get a screwdriver, jimmy the lock, and sprawl on the bed.

And this David Lawrence character has also forgotten in their entirety two indispensable party ingredients: salt and club soda. Someone will inevitably spill red wine. If you’re lucky, it’ll be a few drops on one of your patterned throw pillows. If you’re not lucky, as one of our friends wasn’t a few years ago, it’ll be a full glass that gets knocked over the edge of a table by someone who’s getting a little over-enthusiastic about hitting on one of the other guests. (Three guesses what color the carpet was.)

Joe thinks I’m being too dismissive of That Movie . He’s seen it and has posted about it. Here’s (to me) the important part:

Homosexual and gay are not synonymous; all homosexuals are not gay. Homosexual acts may be circumstantial–a man in prison, a drunken evening–or experimental and do not mean an individual is homosexual by nature. But experimentation can lead to the discovery of a homosexual inclination.

Once that inclination is realized, how it is addressed matters to all of us. Because then there is a choice to be made: to accept homosexuality or to resist and fight it. To embrace it is to become gay. To resist it leads to all kinds of trouble.

…

Urbanization and mobilization–particularly World War II which brought women into the workforce and men together as it took them around the world–brought with it the beginnings of a gay identity. That identity is rooted in the collective experience of those who have gone through the difficult process of making the choice to embrace their homsexuality.

The nuclearization of the family has had a major effect, too. When you bring people up to choose their own spouses, and when they know that the bulk of their emotional sustenance and support through life’s obstacles will be channeled through a partnership of two, it becomes far more urgent that their partnerships are based on not only duty but also compatibility. Extended family societies impinge more on individual identity–and they tend not to make the pursuit of happiness a high priority, let alone enshrine it in their founding documents–but they also provide a constellation of relationships with in-laws that makes difficulties with any one person easier to manage: you may not get along very well with your husband and mother-in-law, but your helpful sister-in-law and slyly sympathetic father-in-law can always be close at hand to keep you from losing your mind.

Getting back to what Joe writes, the “collective experience” part is a little on the Richard Goldstein side for me, but in a major sense, he’s right. Those of us you see publicly calling ourselves gay are working culturally, both for better and for worse, off a framework developed by men and women after World War II, especially through the 60s and 70s.

That doesn’t mean, of course, that our elders have turned their mind rays on us and turned us all into zombies. Poor Eric, practically tearing his hair out as usual to get people to remember that they’re in charge of their own lives, notes the reactions to Brokeback Mountain in a splashy Inquirer article:

From what I’ve read, the film targets the mainstream heterosexual market, but that doesn’t guarantee that they’ll be lining up to see it in large numbers. Hype won’t persuade people to see a film with which they can’t identify, nor will a good scolding. (It’s a real stretch to blame “heterosexual bigotry” for the failure of people to see a film.)

If only there’d been a major coordinated attack on the film by social conservatives with massive boycotts and picket lines in front of every theater! That might have triggered a Brokeback Mountain backlash [Say that five times fast–SRK], but the social conservatives seem to be learning what not to do. (I guess I should keep my trap shut about such things….)

MORE: I think, however, that it would be a mistake to misread this strategic silence as an indication of tolerance or an embrace of a live-and-let-live philosophy.

That’s because the hard core opposition to the film arises from a moral collectivist belief that people are not responsible for their own actions:

“If [Brokeback Mountain] encourages even one confused boy to engage in sex with another male, that makes it an instrument of corruption, not one of enlightenment.”

I may be in a minority, but I can’t think of a single time–at any point in my life–where sex resulted from confusion.

I haven’t read the short story for a while, but if the movie is faithful to it, the message it sends would seem to be that if you fall in love with another man, you end up living alone in a drafty trailer or murdered with a tire iron. Neither sounds all that encouraging, though naysayers can always work the angle of supposedly endless teenage impressionability.

In any case, I’m not sure what real, wide-ranging effect Joe expects the movie to have. Most of the public positions people are taking in response to it don’t seem to deviate much from those they were already taking anyway, though I’m sure there will be at least some cases in which people are moved by it to think more sympathetically about gays. He ends this way:

What we must see, all of us gay and straight alike, is that it’s in our interest to help open the closet door. We must make the choice to come out of the closet and become gay an easier one; the obvious one. Because that’s the right choice, the good choice, the healthy choice, for our society and for all of us living in it.

I agree, obviously; I just don’t know that a movie like Brokeback Mountain helps much. I can only speak authoritatively about my own experience, but what made the difference for me was a conversation with my soon-to-be first boyfriend. I don’t remember it verbatim, which is kind of odd considering how it affected the way my life has gone since then, but what he said was basically this: “I’m not forcing you into anything. I couldn’t if I wanted to. You want to take the line that you’re just kind of feeling experimental and stuff, you go ahead. But let me tell you what I see: I’m offering you a relationship, and you’re responding. If you want me to go away, you can tell me decisively to get lost, and you’ll never hear from me again. But you won’t.” And I didn’t, because he was right. He was just naming what I already knew I was, and it mattered because he was an actual person that I knew. I don’t think even the most seductive pop culture artifacts would have really made up for the fact that the few stray gays I’d known until then (such as my high school homeroom teacher and the squalling brats in the college LGBA) were 180 degrees opposite from the kind of person I wanted to become. Cultural acceptance is important; it matters. But it can’t do the most pressing job of getting people to own what they are and decide whether they’re going to use it for good or ill.

Added at 16:27: Joe has also commented on the Christianity Today review.

How rattled are people about the Aneha scandal? This is posted in the mail/package alcove in the lobby of our apartment building. It opened in 2000, and there has never been any suggestion whatever that its structural strength calculations were questionable. Translated, the substantive parts sandwiched between the ritual greetings say:

Recently, the “scandal in which the Aneha Design office falsified structural calculations” has been reported in newspapers and the like. Please be secure in the knowledge that none of the structural calculations for this building were contracted out to the design office at Aneha.

Furthermore, we have obtained confirmation that “this building was erected based on properly executed structural calculations.”

Additionally, the structural calculations have been checked through independent inspection by XXXX Estate’s structural technicians, with no reliance on the design firm or body of inspectors [that originally certified the building]; and the strength and distribution of rebar concrete in actual construction has been checked by quality control experts.

I’m sure that cost a pretty penny, especially if the company’s dozens of apartment buildings in metropolitan Tokyo are all being re-inspected. But it’s understandable that such measures were deemed necessary, considering the multiple levels of negligence that have been shown to have allowed Aneha to get away with his deceptions. At this point, the Ministry of Land, Infrastructure, and Transport is considering providing assistance to owners of hotels and condominiums that have up to 50% of the mandated earthquake resistance level. The money would cover up to 15.2% of inspection and retrofitting costs.

Hi! Is it obvious that I’m jet-lagged and wide awake at 6 a.m.? I tried lying sleepless in bed for a few hours to get my body used to the idea that this part of the day is rest time, but I can only do that for so long before I go nuts. Then I tried reading, but my brain is too fried to concentrate. Ditto with sudoku. And I had enough TV, after two weeks in the States, to do me just fine for a while.

I could unpack my stuff, but I’m afraid I’m so hazy that I’d start putting the navy T-shirts away in the designated grey/black T-shirt drawer, and we would not want that.

So one more post, and then I’m going to try to sleep a bit before Atsushi gets here at 11:00 or so.

I was going to let this point drop–largely because the fights I’ve had about it have been with non-blog people–but it’s something that apparently has to be said repeatedly, so here it is one more time.

I could have seen…yes, here it comes again…Brokeback Mountain while I was in the States. I decided not to. I’ll probably get the DVD, or if it plays in some arty theater here in Tokyo, I may see it there. How that can be construed as meaning that I think people who have eagerly lined up to see it–and, subsequently, been very affected by it–are suckers, I cannot imagine. Do I really strike anyone as the kind of man to sneer at people for sincere, deep-seated responses to art? Chris has a post up about it that, as his often do, moved me to tears. One of the major functions of art is to remind us that we all labor, in our individual ways, within the human condition, and I’m glad this movie’s been made so that people who see pieces of their own story in it can take comfort in that.

But those of us who don’t see our story in it have to be allowed to appreciate it on our own terms and to our own degree, and that’s where I find the implication that it’s our homosexual duty to rally around Brokeback Mountain, the pop culture phenomenon, annoying. Gays deserve as much liberty to decide whom to identify with as anyone else does. Sometimes we’ll sympathize with people without necessarily seeing them as reflections of ourselves, even if gay advocates deem it politically expedient to do so. We have to be as free to choose for ourselves as we are to speak for ourselves.

Personally, my highest hope for Brokeback Mountain is that it’s kind of like Romeo and Juliet, making a generalizable point about the raw resilience of love in the face of social pressure by taking the circumstances to an unusual extreme. Given the frantic “It’s not a gay movie!” PR fusillade, that appears to be the way its makers are also hoping it will be regarded. But that may not make it a metaphor for gay life in any kind of direct and overarching way.

In 2006, there are plenty of us who have been out our entire adult lives, with more experienced friends who showed us the ropes and became like family. I’d have to dig back in my memory over a decade to recall agonizedly burying a yearning for an electric connection to someone and tamping the dirt down over it just because he was a man. I haven’t forgotten what that was like, obviously, and if it’s depicted skillfully on screen, I’m sure I’ll find it devastating and difficult to watch. I’m not saying every gay-themed movie has to be Beautiful Thing or The Sum of Us . It’s just that self-loathing and the necessity of keeping things hidden don’t govern adult reality for many of us, and it’s not clear to me why we should push the line that Brokeback Mountain says more than it actually does about the gay experience just to get more exposure for gay love stories.

Christopher Hitchens does his James Thomson act on Christmas cheer (via Ann Althouse). OMG, that man is funny. I grew up in one of those literalist Christian sects that considered Christmas and Easter corrupt, the illegitimate grafting of pagan ritual onto Christianity as a cheap, expedient bid by nasty Papists to get converts. Passover, representing Christ’s sacrifice for our sins, was the most important day of the year; and we believed that his autumn birthday was not meant for human observance.

Therefore, I have no problem celebrating Christmas as the Japanese do. Here, it’s a couples’ holiday. You spend the seven weeks after Hallowe’en listening to so much piped caroling, seeing so much tinsel and blinky lighting, and being exhorted to buy so many red-frosted cakes that by the solstice you’re ready to shoot yourself. Christmas Eve finally arrives, and you and your honey go to a nice dinner and exchange presents. Then you forget all about it and go back to getting ready for the New Year.

In the States, where genuine religious conviction is part of the equation for many people, I can see why things get more contentious. I still think it would be nice, though, if people remembered to distinguish between censorship (the government kind) and the policies of private organizations. I think bans on crèches on public property and things like that are misguided; as long as other religions aren’t barred from making displays of their religious symbols and, conversely, no one is penalized for not playing along with this or that celebration, I don’t see what the big deal is.

When it comes to casual greetings, that goes quadruple. If I’m Merry Christmased, I Merry Christmas back. If I’m Happy Holidaysed, I Happy Holidays back. If I’m nothinged, I say, “Thank you. Goodbye!” Is this really difficult? I know all about the argument that Chanukah and Kwanzaa and the rest have been inflated in significance as a response to Christmas and that, therefore, it’s only honest to treat Christmas outright as the Real Holiday of the season. But at the same time, for all the talk about how Easter is the most important day of the Christian calendar, it’s the Christmas season in which public-sphere chatter (not to mention commercialization) reaches its frenzied peak and in which non-Christians are constantly being roped into merry-making…and are regarded as dried up cynics if they don’t oblige. I find it hard to blame people for trying to find a way to endorse their Christian friends’ general state of benevolence without seeming to endorse religious convictions they do not share.

Ah, you say, but the people pushing for denatured holiday greetings aren’t the friendly Zoorastrians down the street but rather the PC-niks trying to erase any trace of spirituality from public life. Okay. Who cares? Even crabbed, obnoxious people can have a point sometimes. If someone’s trying to get her first-grader’s teacher fired for so much as mentioning Christmas, she should be opposed. But fulminating about blandly worded commercials or about store policies that instruct employees to say “Happy holidays” when they’d rather say “Merry Christmas”? Please. If we’re going for plainspokenness in advertising, then “Christmas is the excuse for this particular sale, but really, we want your money even if you’re Anton LaVey” should fill the bill. If we’re going to let cashiers say what’s in their hearts, how about replacing “We look forward to serving you again” with “Don’t let the door hit your fat ass on the way out, bitch–assuming you can make it through with those three helpings of potato skins”?

Except at matey establishments with a lot of regulars, part of the art of working with the public is learning to be impersonally polite while giving the illusion of just-for-you friendliness. In a society as diverse as America’s, yes, that often means using the most ideology-free greetings possible. Considering the general state of customer service today, you’d think people wouldn’t be so eager to make a war out of efforts to be soothingly accommodating.

Added at 6:00: Oh, almost forgot:

If you don’t find that sufficiently offensive, here, have a picture of three flagrant homosexuals:

Would have posted that here, but I forgot to bring my cable to the States with my digicam. Eric is on the left. Tom is on the right. If you know how the process of elimination works, you can find me.

The flight today was a real throwback. Narita was–surprise!–congested, so we circled a good twenty minutes before getting clearance to land. They’d warned us it was going to be turbulent, and it was. There weren’t any scary drops or bone-jarring shakes; the plane just kind of swayed and swished its way down. It was like a water slide. A nauseating water slide. I could feel myself turning green (which at least coordinated with my light-purple sweater). The girl next to me threw up. I think it had been a good decade or so since I’d seen someone use a barf bag or been on a plane that had to circle before landing. Whether that’s because I’m lucky or because technology and know-how have improved steadily, I don’t know.

Our landing was not like the one described in the introduction to Robert Bruegmann’s Sprawl , which I picked up to read on the flight (Virginia Postrel’s been posting about it) and enjoyed immensely. Well, actually, I’m not the whole way through yet: the book isn’t what you’d call dense, but if you’re interested in the ways individual decision-making adds up to create society, there’s a fact or stat in just about every paragraph that sends your imagination shooting off in several suggestive directions. Bruegmann had me by approximately paragraph two:

When the plane banks sharply to the left about an hour and a half into the flight from Chicago, I know that we are starting our long descent into New York’s LaGuardia airport. Looking down, I can see long, wooded ridges running diagnoaly from the southwest to the northeast, alternating with wide stream valleys between them. This part of Western New Jersey is beautiful from the air. In summer the deep green of the oaks and maples on the ridge tops forms a striking contrast with the lighter greens that make up the patchwork quilt of fields in the valleys. At first glance, this landscape of cropland, farmhouses, roads, and streams seems timeless, little changed over the centuries.

…

It is difficult, at least at first glance, to imagine what all the people living in these houses do, where they work, shop, and play since there are not office buildings, shopping centers, or movie theaters in sight. It is possible that some of them work from their home, relying heavily on the phone, Internet, and express delivery services to keep them connected to the urban world, and it is possible that others drive to jobs in small towns nearby. The substantial number of houses, however, suggests that the majority must commute some distance to work, perhaps to nearby corporate centers tucked discreetly into the rolling hills or, further afield, to large business centers along highways like the Route 1 strip near Princeton. Others probably make their way daily into downtown Trenton or Center City Philadelphia, twenty and forty miles to the southwest, respectively, or into downtown New Brunswick, Newark, or even Manhattan, thirty, forty, and sixty miles, respectively, to the northeast. In virtually every case, however, no matter how rural the view from the living room window, these residents are more closely tied economically and socially to the urban world than they are to the apparently rural one they can see out their windows.

And, Bruegmann implies, that’s okay. People make the trade-offs they need to maximize what’s most important to them, and often that means they have to spend some non-negligible time commuting, and they have to do it by car. You would think that such a non-judgmental point of view wouldn’t be so jarring, but after years of reading about how people need to be pistol-whipped by zoning boards and transport authorities into living on top of each other and not driving, it’s nice to see. Bruegmann’s historical overview of urban development, which indicates that “sprawl” is far from a new phenomenon, was fascinating, too.

Of course, this was all amusing to think about as the Narita Express barreled along toward central Tokyo; within a few minutes, I was moving through shoals of evening rush-hour commuters at Shibuya Station, then waiting in a long taxi line, then finally collapsing with a sigh on the bed in my third floor apartment. I love this life, but I recognize that most other people are not bookish, childless city types. Bruegmann seems to be doing a good job of arguing that the main reasons so many commentators want them to live as if they were are cultural rather than conservationist. I’m looking forward to finishing the book, assuming I ever get back to a normal sleep schedule. I’ll be damned if I can tell you what time my body thinks it is right now.

Added on 24 December: Darn–I used to know a Peter Bergmann, so without thinking I changed the author of the book’s name. It’s fixed now.

Given the strike, it seemed prudent to ask the car service to leave extra time to get to JFK from Murray Hill–not that it needed extra prodding–and, naturally, traffic ended up being none too bad. It was rather touching to have taxis slide up to the curb (I waited outside with my stuff to make sure the drive didn’t waste time buzzing for me) and be asked by the passenger riding shotgun whether I needed to carpool to the airport. Just try getting a cab in Manhattan if you look as if you’re going to the airport at any other time! No glitches getting here and through emigration, though my thoughts as always ran along the lines of Why is it so easy for airport authorities in Asia to figure out how to set up enough tables for you to put your stuff back together after being scanned, while US airports make you take off your jackets and shoes and belt and take out your laptop…and then expect five people to reassemble themselves with a single 3’*3′ slab of formica to lean on at the end of the line? Sheesh.

The problems I’m worried about, actually, are at the other end: Japan is expecting to be hammered by snow in Hokkaido and along the Pacific coast, so Atsushi’s flight out of Kyushu on Friday could be delayed or canceled. We’ll just have to wait and see. In other Japan news, the Building Contractors’ Society of Japan is writing a manual to help people spot falsified structural strength calculations. That’s nice, but I thought the whole scary point was the that falsifications were transparent and that it was a surprise no one had caught them. (BTW, here‘s yet more evidence that one of the construction companies, Huser, was warned ahead of time of Aneha’s bogus figures. Residents of condominiums it built are asking to have the company declared bankrupt.) And there’s more information about Kosuke Ito, the LDP Diet member who went to the Ministry of Land, Infrastructure, and Transport and asked for Huser to be treated gently:

Ito, who once served as director general of the National Land Agency, visited the director of the ministry’s construction supervision division with Huser Management Ltd. President Susumu Kojima on Nov. 15, two days before the ministry disclosed the scandal.

“It’d be a problem if the company had to dismantle buildings (constructed based on falsified quake-resistance data),” the bureaucrat quoted President Kojima as telling him.

“Would you please consider his request?” Ito then told the division director.

The director said he rejected the request. “The safety of the residents is the top priority.”

Ito denied having asked the bureaucrat for leniency for the Tokyo-based Huser. “People were already living in the condominiums, so the top priority was to ensure safety of the residents as soon as possible. I thought we had no time to lose, so I took him to the ministry on the same day.”

…

In September last year, Kojima bought 50 tickets, each priced at 20,000 yen, to a fund-raising party for Ito’s political fund-raising organization. Kojima has paid a 160,000 yen membership fee annually to the organization over the past four years.

Speaking of tense relations between government bodies, the Japan and PRC foreign ministers may meet. Or, if precedent is any indication, not.

Can’t wait to get back home.

One sign of an advanced society is the TLC with which it treats artifacts of profound cultural significance.