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matsuri

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-eight years and a million words

Tokyo, 2010.06.11

Today I went to Kenny's day care to participate in a little festival that they put on for the kids.

We had a great time. Kenny caught three fish with a magnet on a string (the fish were made of scribble-coloured paper and had paperclips for mouths). Then he tried bowling and knocked down one whole pin! Then it was time to shoot a soft sponge dart from a squeeze-gun and Kenny got 50 points—the highest!

After that it was time for popcorn and mugicha (wheat tea), the traditional 17:00 snack in Japan. And we coloured a drawing of a tram, and we got a balloon with a touch of water in it to give it some momentum.

Then we went to get hamburgers because it was only 17:00 and Mari wouldn't be home for hours. He spilled his drink at the burger place.

From there, we went to a park, and when I asked him, "Do you have to pee?" (he'd been doing the little boy 'tug') he promptly peed. Thankfully there was an old pair of pants in the bag of clothes from the day care.

Kenny was quite pleased with events.

rand()m quote

I have a foreboding of an America in my children’s or grandchildren’s time — when the United States is a service and information economy; when nearly all the manufacturing industries have slipped away to other countries; when awesome technological powers are in the hands of a very few, and no one representing the public interest can even grasp the issues; when the people have lost the ability to set their own agendas or knowledgeably question those in authority; when, clutching our crystals and nervously consulting our horoscopes, our critical faculties in decline, unable to distinguish between what feels good and what’s true, we slide, almost without noticing, back into superstition and darkness... The dumbing down of American is most evident in the slow decay of substantive content in the enormously influential media, the 30 second sound bites (now down to 10 seconds or less), lowest common denominator programming, credulous presentations on pseudoscience and superstition, but especially a kind of celebration of ignorance.

—Carl Sagan, The Demon-Haunted World (1995)