Renae, Simon, and I just returned to Shizuoka from Kyoto, where we spent about four days. And in those four days, we probably experienced more random acts of kindness than we’ve experienced in the last four months:

• When we arrived in Kyoto, we headed straight for our hotel, a small ryokan, or traditional Japanese lodging. Unfortunately, the map we had didn’t detail all of the city’s side streets (of which there are many). Suffice to say, we quickly got lost and began getting increasingly frustrated. We eventually asked for directions from a young couple out for a stroll with their own child, and they proceeded to spend the next 15-20 minutes helping us find our way. They walked us to a police box, found the ryokan’s location—which, as it turned out, was basically right around the corner—and insisted on walking us right to the front door.
• As we were touring some of the city’s shrines, we got caught in a sudden rainstorm. While we were huddled at a bus stop, a random woman came running out of her restaurant, which was about half a block away, handed us an umbrella, and without a word, went back to her restaurant.
• Simon did incredibly well, given the circumstances, but he had his limits—and the return of teething didn’t help matters. Thankfully, the citizens of Kyoto, as a whole, seemed quite prepared to help out with his outbursts. We had numerous people, mostly older grandmother types, giving him little presents and charms in stores and on the bus, making funny faces, offering up their seats, and even giving him little crackers. Which may seem like little things… until you have a screaming one-year-old on your hands.

As I’ve said earlier, Renae and I have tried hard not to romanticize Japan, and yet, when we experience gracious actions like these, and many others, what else can we do?

More random observations as we traverse the Land of the Rising Sun:

I’ve always looked down my nose at minivans despite being very aware of their usefulness (when you’re traveling long distances with children, they’re certainly a godsend). However, being in Japan has changed all of that. Nearly everyone here (or at least, in Shizuoka) drives a minivan, but these aren’t your typical soccer mom rides. They’re sleeker and more compact, and come loaded with features—including rear-mounted video cameras. And speaking of cameras, everyone here parks backwards, so being able to see what’s going on behind you can be a real plus.

I alluded to this earlier, but if you’re going to travel anywhere with a young child, you can’t go wrong with Japan. Everything here seems so much more child-friendly, from the play areas in major department stores to the detachable high chairs in restaurants. And of course, there’s the fact that you’ll have complete strangers come up and say “Hi” and play with your child—little grandmotherly types, teenage girls—and yet, it doesn’t feel at all threatening or unsafe.

Dealing with credit card fraud always sucks donkey balls, but it sucks really big donkey balls when you have to deal with it while overseas. And all of those security procedures that banks put in place to protect your account? They’re great so long as you’re in the States. If you’re overseas, however, they make it nearly impossible to truly fix things. On the other hand, getting your tax refund deposited while you’re overseas is a delight—it means that much more money for good food, souvenirs, etc.

I’m not really much of a beer drinker, but I don’t want to drink anything else when I’m eating yakitori.

And since we’re on the subject of food, everything’s been wonderful so far. From the fresh strawberries—there are strawberry booths all over the place here—to the fresh citrus that you can pick right off the tree, from the sashimi to the tonkatsu, it’s all incredibly tasty and quite inexpensive. And talk about presentation: even the bento boxes you buy from a cheap, hole-in-the-wall roadside stand look gorgeous.

I don’t want to keep going on and on about traveling with kids and whatnot, but it is a very different tourist experience. In fact, you don’t really feel like tourists at all. I had always envisioned traveling through Japan on my own, or at most, with my wife, but never with children in tow. Having Simon along has really changed the experience: you travel at different times, you check out different places (like shopping malls and childrens clothing stores), and your dining experiences are quite different as well (kids fuss at the table in any country, it seems).

We’ve also spent a lot of time with other families—our hosts, their neighbors (another American missionary family), their Japanese friends—and that also dramatically changes the tourist experience. Again, you feel less like a tourist, and more like you’ve just skipped down the block to have coffee and lunch with some neighbors. Only these neighbors live halfway around the world and speak a different language. Not really all that different, though, when you get down to it.

For another strange experiences, simply attend church in a foreign country. Your own culture shapes how you view your religion in so many subtle ways, and when another culture is inserted in its place—even if all that that entails is singing familiar praise and worship choruses in another language—it’s a slightly jarring experience. Not uncomfortable or bad, by any means—it’s always a good thing to be reminded that the Church and your nationality are not one in the same, but that the Church transcends and trumps your nationality—but jarring, still. It also adds several layers of oddness when you’re listening to a sermon via translation but you can still hear the sermon, in Japanese, over your headphones… and the one giving the sermon is American. (OK, maybe not so odd on paper, but in person, it is.)

There is always a sense of alienation when you travel in a foreign land and speak very little of the native tongue (as I believe I’ve mentioned before, most of my Japanese comes from anime and samurai films). Not a bad or depressing sort of alienation, but you do find yourself questioning the “we’re all connected” mantras that you hear so often these days. When you walk into a fast food restaurant or up to a yakitori stand, and your only interaction with the person in front of you is to hand them several thousand yen, and you know that there is a 0.0000000001% chance of ever seeing or interacting with that person again, and an even smaller chance of ever having a significant interaction with that person… well, it does some weird things to your head. Of course, this is also true even in your hometown of Lincoln, Nebraska, but the sense of this is heightened while overseas.

On the flipside, you are reminded that the notion that people really are much the same, regardless of where you are, is not some trite cliche, but actually a great Truth.

Renae and I are really struggling with romanticizing Japan. It’s easy to forget that our trip is happening under very ideal circumstances, what with our good friends helping us out and all. Even so, we’re continually impressed by the Japanese. At the risk of sounding ignorant and naive, they do seem to do so many things consistently well. Even the parking attendants, which are pretty much a necessity in the busy and crowded parking lots here, go about their job with a focus that is quite remarkable, regardless of weather or time of day.

On a related note, it’s all about the details here. For example, the woman who asked if the souvenir I bought was a present, and then proceeded to take a brown paper bag and a little bow and turn them into the most exquisite gift-wrapping. Or the coffeehouse barista who, upon learning that we’d be driving for about 20-30 minutes, put a cold pack in the bag to ensure that Renae’s latte coffee pudding would be nice and cold when we arrived home (at no extra charge, of course).

Seeing Mt. Fuji is an impressive experience, even when 90% of it is obscured by clouds.

Everyone under the age of 50 is dressed to the nines, regardless of the time or place. Case in point: we ascended Kunouzan-Toshogu (aka, the Thousand Steps), a stone stairway that ascends through the mountains to a temple that overlooks the ocean and surrounding countryside. It’s not an impossible trek, but definitely no walk in the park, and yet the woman in front of us did the entire thing in 3” heels.

If you’re a hypochondriac or are obsessive compulsive about coming into contact with a toilet seat that has touched someone else’s buttocks, than Japanese toilets are for you. They’re basically holes in the ground, albeit covered in porcelain, that you just squat down over and let gravity do the rest (just remember to face the hood). I won’t go into any more graphic detail—I’m sure you get the idea—but I will say this: make sure you do some stretching and exercise before using one. It’s murder on your knees and thighs to stand back up after finishing your business (if you’re over 60 and/or have even a touch of arthritis, forget about it). All of which leads me to believe that the Japanese must have the strongest upper legs in the entire world.

More to come after we get back from Kyoto…

We’ve been in Japan now a couple of days, and so far, so good. Jet lag—which normally puts my butt in a world of hurt—has been notably better this time around (maybe staying up 24 hours straight is the way to go). We haven’t done much sightseeing yet—we’re still resting up—but sakura (i.e., cherry blossom) season is upon us, and we’ll be heading out soon enough to see all that we can.

In the meantime, here are just a few random observations from the trip (in roughly chronological order)—and you can find all of our travel photos here.

Northwest Airlines are bastards. Not because they forgot to put one of our bags on the plane to Japan (meaning that we were without toiletries and most of Simon’s clothes for awhile) or that their flight attendants were mean (which they weren’t at all) but because of the videos they play for their coach class passengers that highlight all of the amenities enjoyed by their business and first class passengers. Footrests, built-in video players, fully reclining seats—these things are not meant for us plebs in coach, and yet as soon as you get situated in your only slightly debilitating seat, they show you a video displaying the luxuries you could be enjoying… if only you had shelled out a couple hundred extra dollars (if not more).

All of the guidebooks that we read told us that Japan is a wonderful place to bring children because the Japanese, as a culture, adore the kiddies. We discovered this truth while still on the plane. There were approximately 20-30 Japanese girls in their late teens/early twenties on the flight, and they were all enamored with Simon, exclaiming “kawaii” (transl. “cute”) whenever they saw him, playing with him, taking photos, etc. And of course, Simon, the little flirt, did nothing to dissuade them. It’s been much the same ever since we landed in Japan.

Japanese airports have the most advanced bathrooms in the world. I walked into one, and I thought I’d somehow walked onto a Borg cube. There were approximately 18 devices that I can only assume were related to the evacuation and disposal of bodily waste. The toilet was vaguely recognizable, but even it was super-charged, complete with bidet, a fan for drying, and probably an automated wiping device. I’ll confess, I did experience a little stage fright. All that being said, heated toilet seats are quite nice. We’ll have to look into giving Opus HQ’s bathrooms an upgrade when we get back.

We passed an egg vending machine on day. I was a little confused by how they kept the eggs fresh and all, until our friend pointed out that the chickens are in the back.

We’re currently staying with our friends in Shizuoka, which is a lovely city located near the ocean and the mountains. Which means that on a clear day—such as the one we had yesterday—you can see forever over the ocean and see Mt. Fuji in all of its glory.

Japanese bento boxes might be the world’s greatest fast food. (If only they could find a way to integrate bacon…)

Mister Donut is pretty much the only place here in Japan to buy donuts. And they serve a donut that is part hot dog. Make of that what you will.

I’ll admit that most of my impressions and initial visions of Japan stem, for better or worse, from the movies and anime that I’ve watched throughout the years. Which I know is a very distorted way to think of a country. I don’t expect giant robots to appear out of the blue and duke it out in front of me or anything, but even so, I’m experiencing a curious form of deja vu every time we run an errand, make a run to the store, etc… like I’ve somehow stumbled into a scene from one of the movies I saw so long ago.

Shizuoka is an incredibly confusing and complicated city, especially if you come from a place like Lincoln where most of the streets are laid out in a grid. On a related note, I’m incredibly impressed with the Japanese ability to make the most of even the tiniest amount of space, be it a clever storage cabinet in the house or a small, yet beautiful park in the middle of a packed urban area.

Shizuoka’s city parks are incredible. Each one is a little oasis of natural beauty in the city, and yet, they blend in perfectly with the surrounding urban landscape. One in particular is especially cool, with forest paths and obstacle courses, and it’s just a short distance from our friend’s front door. If Simon were a few years older, he’d think he was in heaven.

The Japanese are serious about pet feces. There are signs everywhere reminding you to clean up after your dog/cat.

The sound of a bamboo forest—the wind rustling the leaves, the clacking of the branches—is one of the most peaceful sounds I’ve ever heard.

Engrish really does exist, and it’s as awesome as you’ve heard.

Perhaps it’s the urban environment we’re currently in, or that we’re still surrounded by a number of Americans—our friends, their neighbors—but we sometimes forget that we’re in Japan. It’s strange, I know, but it does happen. And then something little will happen—we’ll see an ume (plum blossom) tree in full bloom, or come across a Buddhist cemetary—and it all comes rushing back.

More to come in the following days and weeks.

I’m currently in the midst of a flurry of activity as I try to get as many things done as possible before we leave for Japan next week. Most of them are work-related—getting projects to a good stopping point, writing documentation so others can pick up where I left off, etc.—but there are several “personal” projects that I’m also in the process wrapping up.

At the top of the “personal” list is the website for Redeemer, the church plant that Renae, Simon, and I are a part of. When we—myself and others in the church—started working on the website, we had pretty grandiose ideas. But honestly, we bit off quite a bit more than we could chew, and as such, the website kept getting delayed. So a few weeks ago, we decided to just take a step back, move everything that we’d been working on with regards to the website to the back burner, and start from a clean slate—just so we’d finally have something other than a “coming soon” page.

And so I’m very pleased to say that the Redeemer website—or at least the first version of it—is now live. In the coming weeks and months, we’ll be fleshing it out a bit more, but for the time being, what you’ll see is an extremely condensed, streamlined version of the site.

The first thing you’ll probably notice is that the website is just one single page. I’ve been wanting to do a single page website for awhile now, as I find the approach comes with a few interesting challenges of its own.

It requires a slightly different way at approaching the design because each pixel means so much more. You can’t just assume that this graphic or that piece of content can be moved to another page because there is no other page. You have to use the space more efficiently—you can’t just cram everything you want onto the page because that will quickly lead to a page that’s far too much in terms of filesize, bandwidth usage, scrolling, etc. You’re forced to strip away all of the inessential stuff, in terms of both the content and design, so that the final product isn’t too cumbersome and find different ways of presenting the content.

For example, I’m using a slightly modified form of the jQuery UI‘s tab functionality to display the ministries. Clicking on the ministries menu will display each of the ministries in the same space, allowing the user to quickly cycle through the content. In essence, you’re condensing a whole section’s worth of content into a single space.

Of course, there are trade-offs. If someone wanted to a bookmark a particular ministry’s “page”, it’s possible but a little more involved than simply hitting Ctrl-D or Command-D in their browser. And the scrolling isn’t perfect. If someone has a big monitor and/or expanded their browser window, than scrolling down to the “Get Connected” section might be cut-off due to the amount of space available for scrolling (try scrolling down the website with your browser window set to different heights to see what I’m talking about).

But there are always going to be trade-offs, that’s just the nature of web design. And you always have to evaluate which trade-offs are acceptable to make in order to reach your final goals, be they getting a website launched quickly, building the foundation for future website growth, getting information out there in a timely and efficient fashion, or some combination thereof.

And of course, the website is running on ExpressionEngine. For example, the photos in the upper-right corner are managed by the photo gallery module. The list of ministries is coming out of its own weblog, and the other pieces of the website are individual entries in their own weblog as well. Which, IMHO, is yet another testament to EE’s flexibility.

In one week, Renae, Simon, and I will be making our way to the “Land of the Rising Sun” for a three-week vacation. We’ll be splitting our time between Shizuoka, Kyoto, and Tokyo and while we’re very excited to experience another land and culture, we’re also excited to reunite with some familiar faces—our dear friends and former neighbors Bryan, Jamie, and Jones; Chris and Molly; and Paul Nethercott (with whom I spoke at Cornerstone several years ago).

They’re all serving in Japan as missionaries, and we’re looking forward to hanging out with them, seeing their ministries in action, bringing them goodies from the States, etc.

We’ve been planning this for a year, more or less, and now is the perfect time to do something like this. Admittedly, when I look at everything going on today, especially the snafu that is the economy, I wonder if it’s wise and prudent to embark on this adventure. It seems so… frivolous. But then I realize that we either go now, or we wait 20+ years until Simon has left the nest, along with any other Moreheads that might have come into the picture by then.

In all honesty, the only real downside to our Japan trip is that we’ll miss Battlestar Galactica‘s final episode. However, I think a visit to the Ghibli Museum will more than make up for having to wait a few weeks to learn the final fate of Adama, Roslin, et al. And besides, that’s what DVRs are for.

When the re-imagined version of Battlestar Galactica was first announced, one of its most famous and vocal opponents was Richard Hatch, who had played Captain Apollo in the original Battlestar Galactica series. Hatch had campaigned for a sequel to the original series entitled The Second Coming, even going so far as to produce a trailer that he showed at various sci-fi conventions in an attempt to drum up support for the project.

Eventually, though, Hatch came around to support the reimagined version, and even accepted a role in the new series, playing a political revolutionary and terrorist named Tom Zarek. It was an interesting turn of events, and Hatch’s involvement not only provided a tangible connection to the past, but also paved the way for some the new series’ more interesting plotlines.

However, not all of the Battlestar Galactica alumni have been so gracious and accommodating, as it were. Dirk Benedict, aka the original Starbuck, wrote a pretty scathing indictment of the new series back in 2004 which was re-posted at Big Hollywood in January of this year (and was also re-posted on his official website in 2006).

Witness the “re-imagined” “Battlestar Galactica,” bleak, miserable, despairing, angry and confused. Which is to say, it reflects in microcosm the complete change in the politics and morality of today’s world, as opposed to the world of yesterday. The world of Lorne Greene (Adama), Fred Astaire (Starbuck’s Poppa) and Dirk Benedict (Starbuck). I would guess Lorne is glad he’s in that Big Bonanza in the sky and well out of it. Starbuck, alas, has not been so lucky. He’s not been left to pass quietly into that trivial world of cancelled TV characters.

“Re-imagining”, they call it. “Un-imagining” is more accurate. To take what once was and twist it into what never was intended. So that a television show based on hope, spiritual faith and family is un-imagined and regurgitated as a show of despair, sexual violence and family dysfunction. To better reflect the times of ambiguous morality in which we live, one would assume. A show in which the aliens (Cylons) are justified in their desire to destroy human civilization, one would assume. Indeed, let us not say who the good guys are and who the bad are. That is being “judgmental,” taking sides, and that kind of (simplistic) thinking went out with Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan and Kathryn Hepburn and John Wayne and, well, the original “Battlestar Galactica.”

In the bleak and miserable “re-imagined” world of “Battlestar Galactica,” things are never that simple. Maybe the Cylons are not evil and alien but in fact enlightened and evolved? Let us not judge them so harshly. Maybe it is they who deserve to live and Adama and his human ilk who deserve to die? And what a way to go! For the re-imagined terrorists (Cylons) are not mechanical robots void of soul, of sexuality, but rather humanoid six foot tall former lingerie models who f**k you to death… In the spirit of such soft-core, sci-fi porn I think a more re-imaginative title would have been “F**cked by A Cylon.” (Apologies to “Touched by an Angel.”)

And what lies behind Benedict’s critique? What is so amiss about the new series? In a word, “feminism”.

One thing is certain. In the new un-imagined, re-imagined world of “Battlestar Galactica” everything is female driven. The male characters, from Adama on down, are confused, weak and wracked with indecision, while the female characters are decisive, bold, angry as hell, puffing cigars (gasp!) and not about to take it any more.

Now, Benedict’s column isn’t entirely off-point. In its last third or so, he levels some equally scathing critiques at the “business as usual” attitude that permeates much of film and TV. Or as he puts it:

...movies and television shows are not made to enlighten or even entertain, but simply to make money. They will tell you it is (still) about story and character, but all it is really about is efficiency. About the Formula. Because Harvard Business School Technocrats run Hollywood and what Technocrats know is what must be removed from all business is Risk. And I tell you, life, real life, is all about risk. I tell you that without risk you have no creativity, no art.

I couldn’t agree more, but seriously, criticizing the movie and television industries for being cultural, intellectual, and spiritual wastelands is the critical equivalent of shooting fish in a barrel. Everyone knows it, but that’s not the sad thing. The sad thing is that few folks are trying to change it, are trying to present an alternative.

And in my opinion, some of those folks include those behind the new Battlestar Galactica series. As might be obvious by now—if you’ve spent any time reading Opus in the last year or so, that is—where Benedict finds a TV show that is “bleak, miserable, despairing, angry and confused”, I find something that is risky, enlightening, and challenging.

Now, at one time, I would’ve agreed with Benedict wholeheartedly. I hated the reimagined version when I first saw it and was instantly put off by all of the negativity and bleakess. It was only after my wife saw the mini-series and liked it that I gave it a second chance.

Seeing as how it appears that Benedict’s article is substantially the same now as it was several years ago, I can only assume that Benedict’s assessment of the new series has remained unchanged throughout the years. Which adds to the sense that most of Benedict’s comments stem, not from any critical evaluation of the show, but rather, from a case of nostalgia for the “good ‘ol days” (back “when men were men, women were women and sometimes a cigar was just a good smoke”, as he puts it). Which creates a rather myopic view of a show that is far more complex than he seems willing to give it credit for.

When he complains that the new series’ male characters, such as Adama, are weak and confused (i.e., unmanly), I wonder what he’d think had he seen the evolution and development of the character. True, the new Adama is no Lorne Greene, but I can think of few characters in recent television history who display as much integrity and honor as Adama.

And then there’s Helo, who has been consistently noble throughout the series, whether defending the fleet or fighting against the hatred and discrimination shown his Cylon wife. Let’s not forget Anders, who fights hard to save his marriage, even as he struggles with the darker, more unsuspected sides of his character. And don’t get me started on Tigh, who started out the series as a mean drunk (and was fairly close to Benedict’s criticisms), but has become progressively more interesting, complex, and even admirable within the last few episodes.

As for the new series’ female characters, I find Benedict’s criticism rather lacking there as well. Laura Roslin has certainly had her defining moments as President of the fleet, but she’s also displayed horrible lapses in judgment and been party to criminal deeds and terrible abuses of justice. Not surprisingly, Benedict has an especial amount of vitriol for the new Starbuck, who is—horror of horrors!—a cigar-chomping lady rather than a cigar-chomping dude. Sure, the new Starbuck may be angry as hell and a helluva smoker, but she’s hardly presented as a heroic figure. She’s among the the most confused, indecisive, and pitiable characters on the show, and her anger and boldness are merely masks behind which she hides the doubt and fear at the heart of her character.

I’ve found that one of the new series’ greatest strength is the extent to which it portrays its characters as flawed—even the Cylons. Indeed, no show on television seems as intent on revealing and investigating—and to be sure, at times revelling in—the brokenness and fallenness of its characters.

Benedict hates this moral ambiguity and wants to be able to call the good guys “good” and the bad guys “bad”. And there’s certainly an appeal to that. We all want obvious, clearcut heroes that we can admire and be inspired by, and we want clearcut villains so we know who to fight—we want to see things in black and white. But the truth is that the world we live in is, in fact, a morally complex place, and that’s only become more obvious within recent years. We live in a broken and fallen world, and nothing is as broken and fallen as humanity. And to that extent, Battlestar Galactica is as honest and truthful as any show I’ve seen.

Battlestar Galactica is undoubtedly bleak, and at times, the writers do seem to take a sadistic pleasure in heaping as much misfortune on the characters as possible. But let’s not forget that it’s a show in which the central premise is that the whole of humanity has been reduced to a ragtag fleet of 50,000 survivors drifting through the galaxy trying to find a new home while being pursued by machines bent on their annihilation. If that’s not bleak, if that’s not a cause for despair, then I don’t know what is—and I daresay that the new series is far truer to the setting than the original series. But I won’t go so far as to say that it is hopeless or nihilistic—and neither does it display any falsehoods about the nature of humanity, both the good and the bad.

One scene in particular stands out in my mind. In the episode “Crossroads, Part II”, the final episode of season 3, Dr. Baltar is on trial for treason, having been charged with assisting in the destruction of humanity. Through various events, Lee Adama—Adama’s son—is now serving as one of Baltar’s defense attornies. Called to the stand, Lee gives an impassioned speech in which he directly confronts the broken situation in which humanity’s remnant’s find themselves and realizes that only one thing can save them.

Lee contends that it is only through forgiveness—by showing grace and mercy to even the worst of offenders—that humanity can be saved, can be redeemed. For, as he explains with great detail, mentioning one great transgression committed by himself and others after another, everyone is guilty.

In his criticism, Benedict complains that the new Battlestar Galactica is no longer a show “based on hope, spiritual faith and family”, but rather “a show of despair, sexual violence and family dysfunction”. But in that moment with Lee Adama, and other smaller ones like it, I see threads of hope within the new Battlestar Galactica. But it is not a false and easy hope; it is not a hope rooted in a glossed over, halcyonic vision of the world and human nature (or a nostalgia for the “good ol’ days”).

It is hope that remains, even when confronted by the worst in us, and strengthened by the realization that we need eachother to survive, that the only things that will truly see us through are grace and forgiveness. And while there is certainly plenty of despair, sexual violence, and family dysfunction within the new series, such things are never presented as laudatory and praiseworthy, but rather as the trials and tribulations of survival, and hopefully, something to overcome when Galactica finally arrives at her destination—wherever that may be.

I wonder what Alan Moore would think of this?