Girl on the Train

Girl on the Train

:[ On the CTA the other night, coming home, the usual large group of Cubs fans came on board with their noise and smell. Earlier, as I boarded, I noticed a young Asian woman sitting in a corner seat of the car. Now, earlier this year, I understand that the Cubs have gotten a new Japanese acquirement Fukudome. So now, Fukudome Mania is sweeping across Chicago, because praying to Jesus isn’t going to get the Cubs a World Series (Nor a winning season for that matter.). Anyways, the chatter and the brewery smell got too much for me that I put on the headphones, opened John Gardener’s "Grendel" and tuned out.

One time on the train, after a game, this over-masculine fan asked me, after I mentioned that I no longer have any large interest (beyond scores) in professional sports, he asked, "How can you still count yourself a man?"

You know the type, overly manly, knows everything about sports, but is too manly to acquiesce to wearing anything with a sports logo on it, just expensive leather, silk shirt and big, huge watches and chains. They usually have the talkative sidekick (in the sports stuff and stupid hats) that regurgitates the stuff he just read on his phone and the manly guy just shakes his head going "yup" as if his sheer manliness had lead him to know it all already.

"How can you still count yourself a man?" he asked when I say I quit following pro sports. I look at him and reply, "Well, I took responsibility for the lives of my wife and children."

He said nothing to me further after that.

So when I finally reach the end of the line and get up to get off, I notice the young Asian woman still sitting there. Pretty really, light complexion and neat face. I noticed that she was staring off at something in the train. Naturally curious I follow her gaze across the car and there it is.

In Japanese culture, the swath of cloth tied around the head, called a hachimaki, is worn when getting serious about the work at hand. Most famously, worn by the samurai, a old societal class during the Edo period. (If I’m mistaken, please correct me.) It was during WWII that the wearing of the hachimaki was resurrected by the Japanese Navy along with the concept of "kamakazi" (or The Divine Wind). This especially took root in their bomber pilots, the idea of suicide fighters that devastated Pearl Harbor. They flew planes into the ships of the US Navy throughout the war. What marked them was the red Rising Sun emblazoned on the hachimaki they wore into battle.


(photo from Wiki)

Now, sitting across the way was a young obvious Cubs fan. He wore blue face paint and a white Fukudome Mania hachimaki in the style of the Kamakazi fighters. It had the Cubs logo on it surrounded by stylized Japanese script. It was then I realized that the young woman was possible Japanese because she was staring, eyes moving, reading the script on the hachimaki. On her face you could clearly, CLEARLY see a mixture of shock, sadness and disgust on her face. But she knew better to speak up for fear of "Go back to your own country."

Obviously, the Japanese are only good for overly-sexualized depictions of geishas, samurai video games, and helping the Cubs win. Leave it to the good old USA to take something deeply cultural and turn it into another commercialized, American colloquialism for you to wear to ball games. But we’re good at that, aren’t we.

(photo from "guono" on flicker)

Ode to a Big, Fat Kitty

Ode to a Big, Fat Kitty

I am not a "Cat Person" by any means. But I must note a few words for a kitty that has touched my heart. I do not get all worked up about pets; I do not call myself a "Pet Person" and rarely owned any pets. Yet, I must write a few words for a kitty that has touch my heart.

She was never mine to begin with. I never owned her. She was so fat that first time I laid eyes on her, she looked like an ottoman with paws. My first words to her were, "Dang, that’s a big, fat kitty."

She had a terrible disposition towards me at first. We joked that she did not like me. We also joked that if she could talk she would have the throaty croak of a cigarette-y woman named Vi. Later, we decided her personality was more an Al Swearengen type. It fit.

As the years wore on, we discovered a sweetness underneath. She looked out for our two girls; waiting at the door for them as they returned from school or trips, hopping onto their beds in the dark when they were scared, cuddling with them when they were sad. She was protective of them.

We were settling in, in 2006 or so when she was diagnosed with stomach cancer and given a few weeks to live. Those vets never knew how stubborn she was. Our landlord graciously allowed us to get more cats in light of the news. So here came new kitties. The New Guard was not very welcome by the Old.

As young children are wont to do, their focus of attention was on the young and cute, not the tried and true. Suddenly, she became "our cat", Bonnie’s and mine. She snuggled with us as she still did with our girls, she hunted socks and mittens for us nightly, dragging them into our room to share, she would join us on the couch for movies, Deadwood, and The Daily Show. She then kept the Young Guard in line, even mothering the smallest. When ever we left the house we would call out to her that she was in charge. It was comforting.

Later on her Girls came back around. She became our house mascot. Attention, adoration, responsibility; heavy lies the crown for our big, fat kitty.

...Then, the dog arrived.

Our ever gracious landlord permitted us a dog. So, once again, she made adjustments. Bonnie and I imagined if should could talk, in her best Swearnegen, would say to us, "Kitties pooping, girls need cheering, and now a dog? I have to deal with that!"

But her sweetness shone through once more. She became protective of the young kitties she once railed against. As the dog jostled in her pen, there was our big, fat kitty standing sentinel, keeping an eye on the pup as her kitties ate, or moved past to go upstairs. She also kept the youngster from bothering the pup, agitating her.

Then, when it seemed as if the world had righted itself, and as it must to all cats, death came for our big, fat kitty.

-o-

Bonnie found her Monday morning in a seizure and rushed her to the vets, where she passed. The stomach cancer which threatened her life, finally took it. The vets were surprised at her longevity, having diagnosed her two years ago. Our Girls were able to say goodbye and give our big, fat kitty one final pet before we took care of arrangements.

-o-

She was found in the streets from an abusive home over fourteen years ago. She endured many moves, many younger cats, many other pets. She was in the girls lives the entire time from their arrivals from China. She watched our house, kept things in line, prowled for socks and mittens nightly. She watched over our two girls as a second mother, almost.
Not bad for a Big, Fat Kitty.

Splendid behavior.

Her name was Chelsea.