Following their animistic roots, Cosmic Buddha went to the Miwa Grand Shrine as first documented in this post. Since then, I repeatedly forgot about some of the other photos waiting to be uploaded, but suddenly remembered today. So without further ado:
This lovely illustrated guide tells you how to cleanse yourself before entering the sanctuary.
This is one of the five samurai on site for the celebrations. He was smoking a short Hope (US equivalent: Camel straight). There were supposed to be 300 samurai. Kansai Timeout, you suck (unless you published a link to this site as one reader reported, in which case you rock, doodz).
This old guy cracked me up. He had more energy in those old bones than anyone else at the festival.
The moment of truth! The mikoshi is carried from the shrine to the outer sanctuary in a flurry of oioiois and yoshas.
OK this is classic. I thought my picture taking went unnoticed but look at the ” what a perv” expressions on these miko. I tell you, real virgins wouldn’t have such fire in their eyes. The one on the left is straight out of a Tale of Genji woodblock print. Now that’s a virginal pose…
I have this strange obsession with wooden footwear… It’s just so cool.
Top 15 Names for Wal-Mart Wine
15. Box O’ Grapes
14. Chateau du Crack Chardonnay
13. White Trashfindel
12. Big Red Gulp
11. Grape Expectations
10. Domaine Wal-Mart “Merde du Pays”
9. Sam’s Dog 20/20
8. Chef Boyardeaux
7. Trucker’s Choice
6. Blue Light Special Nun
5. Chateau des Moines
4. Mogen Darryl
3. I Can’t Believe It’s Not Vinegar!
2. World Championship Wriesling
and the Number 1 Name for Wal-Mart Wine…
1. Nasti Spumanti
Courtesy of my reader, Jen
Vendor Problems
It’s never a fun thing to have to deal with yakuza because of a fuck-up created in your own procurement department.
Before Golden Week, the stupid noobie manager in Procurement, down the hall, decided to use a local company to mold parts for our products and went by their office yesterday afternoon for a friendly chat because the parts never arrived. He ended up coming straight to our office crying and about to wet his pants after noticing matching Ferraris and a Bentley in the car park of their gated office complex.
Fuck. The dumbshit picked, out of all the experienced vendors located in and around Kansai, a goddamn money trap. My manager is determined to get out of any situation we may find ourselves in without paying a single fucking yen to these guys. I find it ironic that I know otherwise and will have to explain to him why at some point in time. They hired me for my overseas business skills, but this time it’s as local as it gets. Man, they really lit a fire under my manager’s ass. He’s been in meetings with higher-ups all day. These corporate mafia types know how to threaten big companies, because that’s how they make a living. These guys are small time, though. This can be squashed at the lower levels.
I am so sick and tired of these petty mafia fucks popping up all over. Always gotta be on guard out here on the island. It’s a goddamn yakuza retirement community. One accident with the wrong car, and your ass is seaweed fertilizer. Hell, I joke about it, but another manager in this room is still making monthly payments to a yak his daughter bumped into at a nearby intersection more than five years ago. Goddamn it.
Post-GW Blues
For those of you that returned to work today and asked yourself that time-honored question, “why in the hell do I still work here?”, I present one of my most effective coping mechanisms: Drum Machine.
That is all.