new cutter

Monthly cutting practice today. Finally go to try out my new cutter. Niina-gosoke took one look at it and commented: "sushi knife." As in, it's wide and thin and made to cut. And DAMN does it cut. Problem is cutting from the draw. The thing is so wide (mihaba: width from edge to back) that it's a pain to draw as it gets caught up. I need to take it in to a polisher and get a millimeter or so trimmed of the top third, then it will be just right.
Miyazawa-kun was hung over from last night, so he was in bad form and stopped after a couple of rolls. Urabe-san has a great sword, but he needs to work on his angles and targeting. Ishiguro-san was cutting for the first time with an old sword that's been in his house for a few generations. It cut well, and he cut well.
Just goes to show you, a great cutting sword doesn't do any good if you can't wield it, and decent form will more than make up for a bad sword.
After cutting we cleaned the dojo top-to-bottom. Did the windows and mirrors, vacuumed and mopped the floor, cleaned the office, and I did the nasty-nasty bathroom.
When we were done Gosoke was really psyched, and I decided that we'll do a proper cleaning every month after cutting, since we have to clean anyway.

bye-bye miyazawa

Miyazawa-kun is getting transferred to Osaka as of April, so we had a going away party for him. I showed up late because of some last minute insanity at work, so when I arrived everyone was well and good drunk.
Like all typical salarymen, Miyazaza-kun works hard and does what his company tells him. So, when they tell him to move to the other side of Japan for who knows how many years, he goes. 32 years old, and this will be the first time he'll be living on his own. Ever. I was giving him crap like "You do know how to wash clothes right?" but honestly, I'm worried. He's not a mama's boy or anything, but he's been living at home in the sticks for his entire life, commuting to school, commuting to work, commuting to the dojo, and he doesn't know a soul in Osaka. At least the people at his company seem cool so they'll help him out, and if he has any money he can come up to Tokyo every now and then. But damn, if my company told me one day to leave my family, my dojo, my life in Tokyo and go to Osaka for who knows how many years...well I guess I'm not Japanese after all.


Been busting hard at work, and finally got a lull, so managed to get to the dojo for kumitachi practice. Haven't done kumitachi in a while, but felt good to shake off the cobwebs and crack some wood. Gosoke showed everyone the basics of taking the centerline; watch your opponent's right fist, move after he's committed, slide up, over, and down the centerline. Once you get it, keep it, and don't slop alot of muscle into it. We demonstrated a couple of times, and then he left me to teach a couple of the kata. There were six so we made three pairs and ran through the first three kumitachi: hokuto, taihaku, and inazuma.
Toughest part for everyone, besides clashing swords like a bad samurai movie, is getting the distance right. You have to cut your opponent where he is (or will be as he moves towards you), and knowing that, you have to lead your opponent in to cut you, say by giving him your forehead so that he comes in high, and sliding out and through it and taking his side. Distance is critical; it's hard enough to hit something that isn't moving, but when you're faced off with a partner...they were all having a time of it. At least they get the idea, even if they can't do it. I showed a couple more times how to take the centerline by moving in late, and the difference in sound from clashing (BANG!) to deflecting (ZIP!) They got it, even though they don't get it. Now all they have to do is work on it, but everyone just wants to hurry up and play samurai, smacking sticks together, instead of slowing down, watching distance, timing, taking and guarding the centerline, moving with intent, and paying attention to your opponent.

heeb magazine

For the Gen-Y Jew in all of us.

suits you

Let's talk about clothes. Not about fashion, that thing that happens with skinny women and ugly clothing in Paris, I mean style.
My dad has a closet full of suits. Awesome. Italian. Suits.
See, we used to live in Italy. And my dad, being American and having moved to Milan from England, found the best-dressed Italian guy at work (head of advertising, of course) and asked him where to buy clothes. My dad proceeded to learn the Golden Rules of men's clothing, and he handed them down to me. Some I agree with, some I do not.
And that's the first rule: you wear your clothes. You should feel comfortable in your own clothing, physically and mentally and socially. I simply do not understand women who wear shoes that they think look great, causing them so much pain that they walk like crippled infants. Not attractive.
My dad dropped some coin on clothes. Still does.
And that's rule the second: your clothes should look at least as expensive as they are. My parents were friends with a couple, rich, who liked to show horses. The wife wore dresses that looked absolutely stunning. You looked at her and thought "DAMN that thing musta cost ten grand!" And therefore, if she paid $10,000 for it, she got her money's worth. Note the corollary: spending lots of money on a brand name does not guarantee quality. I see plenty of leather purses that looks ten times cheaper than their made-up prices. I dropped a grand on a black, double-breasted Armani because when I wear it people go "Dude! That suit musta cost you two thousand bucks!" A bargain at twice the price. And the Armani label is on the inside, where it counts.
There's all kinds of suit styles. British, French, Italian...I prefer a more Italian cut, which basically means that liquid mercury should flow uninterruptedly from neck to ankle. That means clean lines from shoulder to wrist, neck to hip, waist to foot. No pocket flaps, no pants leg cuffs, no air vents. Lose the button-down shirt collars, too. What, you afraid your tie will try to fly away? Brass collar stays, please. No one can see them, but you know they're there.
Rule the Third is about accessories and jewelry: match your leathers, don't mix gold and silver. Brown shoes, brown belt. Platinum watch, platinum ring, platinum cufflinks.
There's a bunch of other little things I'm anal about (wide collars, different colored cuffs/collars on shirts, tie pins, suspenders) but most of that is just me being Not British.
Now I just have to wait for my dad to get old and decrepit, and then I can raid his closet and inherit his wardrobe.