I did not need to wear the color any more.

At one time in my life, I quite liked the color orange. To me then, the color seemed to represent vivacity and free thinking. I actually wore orange clothes. My friends laughed at me.

Then, I think the process of internalization started. the color orange started to penetrate into the core of my soul. I learned to live orange, rather than to wear it, and after the learning process was over, I did not need to wear the color any more.

I wonder if a similar process of internalization happened when as a kid, up to 4 or 5 years, I quite fancied the color red, and then ceased to have red items all of a sudden one day.

Recent tweets

Here are some of my recent tweets.

When your time is up and you fall, you can become a nurse log, and protect and nurture life at large. In forest nothing is lost, even death.

In order to grow, you need to have a root. The difficulty is that the root is invisible and can be quite easily overlooked and ignored.

If humans were able to change shapes like the moon periodically, what a dynamical life would follow. Just imagine that!

The value of diversity, whether biological or cultural, is that you are overwhelmed. You feel small.

To enrich and respect the diversity inside you means that you give up controlling everything. You float on a wave of things.

Having a chat with my philosopher friend Ken Shiotani. Pragmatism is different from utilitarianism, he says.

http://twitter.com/kenmogi

The color of sea was something very subtle.

So one day in my twenties, I finally made it to Prince Edward Island. If I remember correctly, I flew from Montreal, and had to land twice before reaching Charlottetown.

After a few hours on the island I discovered that the island is a charmer quite independent of the Anne series.

Most enjoyable was the bicycle ride from Cavendish to North Rustico. It was a seaside road, and the wind blew against your face as you sped along. There were few cars, and you felt quite safe.

One in North Rustico, there were loads of restaurants providing the definite local delicacy, lobster. I sat at the table waiting for the lobster, but quite unexpectedly, something quite different finally won the day. The mussels. The steamed mussels were so tasty that I had to have a second helping, despite the fact that the serving was very generous in the first place.

The color of sea was something very subtle. There was this exquisite gradation from the seashore to the offshore, apparently reflecting the combination of effects due to the water surface reflection and the underlying sand, which was famously and in fact red.

Starting the day thus as an idiot

When I was a senior high school student, I was influenced by the German culture a lot. I loved to (and still love to) listen to the works of Richard Wagner, and avidly read the writings of Nietzsche.

I was over 30 when I finally made it to the land of my fantasies. My virgin landing was made in Munich, the town of King Ludwig II. Munich became my favorite destination, not least because of the National theater where you can appreciate the finest performances of operas.

Among the many things that I enjoyed while being in Munich, I must count beer as the foremost joy. I was surprised that the default ordering unit in many beer houses was one liter. When you sit down, and say "Bier, bitte", they automatically bring this huge thing. Another surprising thing is that you are able to consume the thing somehow.

One of my classics was when I visited the Hofbräuhaus in the morning. I believe it was at 10 a.m. sharp. At this early hour, and it was a weekday, there were already some customers.

I ordered the default beer ("Helles!"), and drank from the heavy glass. I had my favorite pratzel. The salt goes very well with the beer.

By the time I finished my second glass, I was completely red colored and merry. When I stumbled out of the beer house, it was broad daylight. I went into the direction of my next destination, although I don't quite recall what it was.

Starting the day thus as an idiot was one of the best things that I ever did while on road.

In order to explore the vast universe of ramen noodles, I need to have more exposure time

I have several weaknesses in life. One of them is that when I eat ramen noodles, I invariably go for the miso flavor.

I know there are other flavors, such as salt, soy, and tonkotsu. If I had ramen three times a day, I would probably have a fairly balanced diet in terms of the ramen flavors, as I can start with the "secure base" of the miso flavor. As it happens, I cannot have that much bowls of ramen noodles. I am always in a state in which I am hungry for ramen noodles.

When I walk along the streets of Tokyo, I am incessantly on the lookout for ramen noodles. Most of the time I do not make it, as I am too busy or am otherwise occupied or engaged.

So when I finally have a chance to sit down at a ramen restaurant counter, I have a strong urge to choose my very favorite favorite flavor, miso, and satisfy my urge.

In order to explore the vast universe of ramen noodles, I need to have more exposure time.

These were the days when I had to form a sentence before I started to speak

During my stay in Vancouver, I went to the Langara college to take English lessons. I used to take the bus, and would ask for "transfers". "Transfer, please" was the first daily colloquial expression that I learned by heart. I remember quite well the strange sweetness of time passage as I waited for the bust to come. The buses were numbered, and I had to take a certain number. When a bus approached with a number that I was waiting for, my breast throbbed with relief.

These were the days when I had to form a sentence before I started to speak, or, when I tried to do it on the spot, the words came out of my mouth only reluctantly and in a clumsy manner. I enjoyed speaking (or rather, to be more precise, trying to speak) in English, all the same.

On the latest visit to Vancouver several years ago, I went to Langara college, to meet myself in the past. The buildings and the campus greens had such a resonance in my heart, until I remembered in a vivid image the linguistically impoverished fifteen years old me walking around with paper bag lunch.


The Langara college campus.

There was something definitely primitive in literally eating "from hand to mouth".

One of the things that I really enjoyed doing in British Columbia was blueberry picking.

Verna took me to the Richmond Nature Park, which was about 10 minutes drive from 7580 Railway Avenue. The Park was a vast extension of shrubs and larger trees, and you could pick up blueberries. Taking the tiny fruits from the boughs and eating them straight away was an incredibly rewarding and enjoyable experience.

Verna explained to me that people were allowed to eat as much blueberries as they liked. Only don't bring bottles, Verna said. You were not allowed to take blueberries back home, to make jam, etc. I thought the regulation was fair enough.

There was something definitely primitive in literally eating "from hand to mouth". There were times in the history of human kind when the wild meant abundance, and the blueberry picking brought back those ancient times.

In a flash, I realized how stupid I had been.

When you are young you do incredibly stupid things from time to time. Incredibly stupid seen with the benefit of hindsight, that is.

When I was roaming in Vancouver at the age of 15, my mind was filled with all these strange ideas.

I was originally drawn to Canada by the "Anne series" written by Lucy Maud Montgomery. Consequently, I was on the look out for anything related to Anne, no matter how faint and irrelevant the connection might be.

There was a shopping center at Oakridge, and once I wandered into it. There, I happened to notice that a store attendant lady was wearing a nametag of "Ann". I think that was the fish shop.

"Oh, your name is Ann", I said. The lady, noticing that I was apparently a young boy from a foreign country and having no idea what I was up to, just answered "Yes", and smiled.

At that moment, I think, something extraordinary happened. I was no longer living in a fantasy land, and was being exposed to the reality of the everyday life. I felt the living throb of the new world through the lady. In a flash, I realized how stupid I had been. The mundane scene of a shopping center appeared to glow in a newly recognized brilliance.

I did not now say "you're name is not spelt with an 'e'", by the way.

Equations for happiness could be simplified

After my initial sojourn in Canada, I repeated the visit several times, and learned to love British Columbia and the surrounding areas.

Life styles are different from country to country. One of the things that I really liked in Canada was the habit of picnic. It was also a very simple and unassuming matter. You simply brought some buns, hamburgers and vegetables. You flame the burgers out in the open, and make a sandwich. The vegetables are put into the dip and eaten straight away. No fuss, no lengthy preparations,
just taking it easy.

I learned from these outings in the parks that equations for happiness could be simplified, uncovering the trembling of the inner self open to the larger world.

And then the sunshine laughs.

I would like to embrace the clumsy in me, in everybody.

When your English is still clumsy, and you have a small vocabulary, you have a hard time among the native speakers. The most trying is when you are the single foreigner among the patriots. Worse still, in the English speaking world of the Americas people tend to assume that you are a speaker of their language as a default, regardless of your ethnic origin.

The most difficult task is to carry the conversation in a home party, where nobody pays an extra attention to the fact that you're from a country where English is not the first language. Then you develop a set of skills designed to make life comfortable for you and people around.

For example, you develop a skill in which you divert people's attention and direct the conversation with a short sentence.
It is rather like the technique described by Kurt Vonnegut in his essay "A man without a country." I quote:

As I kid I was the youngest member of my family, and the youngest child in any family is always a jokemaker, because a joke is the only way he can enter into an adult conversation. My sister was five years older than I was, my brother was nine years older than I was, and my parents were both talkers. So at the dinner table when I was very young, I was boring to all those other people. They did not want to hear about the dumb childish news of my days. They wanted to talk about really important stuff that happened in high school or maybe in college or at work. So the only way I could get into a conversation was to say something funny. I think I must have done it accidentally at first, just accidentally made a pun that stopped the conversation, something of that sort. And then I found out that a joke was a way to break into an adult conversation.

Kurt Vonnegut, "A man without a country."

When I was in Vancouver in the summer as I was 15, I tried to get into people's conversation with short jokes or "pointers" that make people take attention and smile. When I look back on my desperate efforts I would like to embrace the clumsy in me, in everybody.

I'll beat you up, heat you up, and eat you up!

t was the summer of 1978. I was a freshman at the senior high, and I was being bombarded by Trevor and Randy with English every day.

I sometimes suspect that being exposed to the unrestrained and spontaneous way kids speak might be a necessary process for one's language to mature. When you start learning a foreign language in the restrained and orderly manner typical to an adult, the music of language might remain stagnant.

It then befell on me somehow to cope with the free and dynamic conversation style of Trevor and Randy. After some while, I invented some strategies to counter the dynamo, and make the conversation flow.

I coined some own expressions to impress the kids. Kids respect people with their own words, you know. So I would go, for example, "I'll beat you up", and then follow, "I'll heat you up", and then say, "I'll eat you up", so that the verbs would rhyme.

"I'll beat you up, heat you up, and eat you up!" Trevor and Randy, especially Trevor, got a kick out of my clumsy invention and started to imitate me.

Everything was so unexpected.

When I was 15, I traveled to Vancouver. It was summer. That was the first time that I ever went abroad.

Although I had by then studied English for three years at the junior high, my language skill was still poor.

Verna came to pick me up at the Rembrandt hotel. When we arrived at 7580 Railway avenue, two boys dashed towards us. They were Trevor and Randy.

Trevor and Randy wanted to play with me the moment we arrived. So we played the Game of Life. What followed was the most trying time in the history of my learning English as a second language.

Adults make considerations for the fact that I am not a native English speaker.

Kids don't. Trevor and Randy bombarded me with questions and comments like a rapid fire, and I had to respond in kind. The first ever game of life played in English was a milestone in my upbringing.

Everything was so unexpected.

Please can I have a T.V. show which can be enjoyed in 30 minutes

When I was young I used to have many objections against the so-called blockbuster films from Hollywood. I liked films by Yasujiro Ozu, Andrei Tarkovsky, Ingmar Bergman, Ermanno Olmi, Víctor Erice, and so on. The more popular ones almost never thrilled my soul, to be honest, cross my heart.

In Tokyo, the films that I love were shown in a few theaters, while the blockbuster films were shown everywhere. I used to walk around the Tokyo streets with my like-minded friends, and complain that I never understood the foundations and rationale for the popularity of these things.

That was then. It is now. I can now see the motives behind the blockbuster films, apart from the obvious one of making money. I admit that good things might come out of the popular trends, though my emotion still resonates with films of minority sensitivities, like the ones I mentioned above.

One thing I realized in the meantime is that I rather like American T.V. series. The discovery came on the airplanes, when I watched the installed video. These T.V. shows, shown typically in the concise duration of 30 minutes or so, were more to my liking than the extended two hours format of the typical Hollywood films. I could appreciate the effort that went into making a concise, slim script which can entertain people in a short time on the air.

I am thus unconsciously always on the look out for good American T.V. shows. There is one important condition, though. The episodes must be self-contained, to be viewed individually. I cannot take the kind of shows which keeps going and going, as a continuous single story. That would be eventually worse than the 2 hours format of the films.

Please can I have a T.V. show which can be enjoyed in 30 minutes more or less, please.


Seinfeld is a typical American T.V. show that I like. The episodes are self-contained.

A plum blossom seem to symbolize a distant past long forgotten

The other day, walking along a Tokyo street, I noticed that a plum tree had started to bloom. While my mind was being deeply shrouded in the winter atmosphere, nature had already begun the preparation for the rejuvenation in the great cycle of life.

Until several years ago, I used to live near a very large park. It was my custom to go for a jogging there. It took about 15 minutes to go around the park. At one corner, there were tens of plum trees. In the cold weather of January, these trees started to bloom, and gave comfort to the lonely soul which was making physical effort, to no practical avail apart from good health.

Near the plum trees, I sometimes witnessed an old man, with a bicycle on his side. He used to practice singing, with a bottle in his hand. Occasionally, he would drink from the bottle, and go gurgling, apparently in an effort to refresh and enliven his throat.
As I was always running past, I could only take a snapshot vision of this gentleman of this intriguing behavior. When I chanced upon him, I considered it as a bonus.

I wonder if the gurgling gentleman is up and well these days.

As I was passing the plum tree the other day, all these memories came back to me in a flash.

The smell of a plum blossom seem to symbolize a distant past long forgotten.

The cloud has already arrived

People talk a lot nowadays about cloud computing. When put in the strictly algorithmic context, there may be many targets and obstacles, still to be reached and dissolved. In terms of the way information is traded between human brains and nurture cultural environment in that process however, the "cloud" has already arrived, if without a resounding fanfare or a vengeance.

When I write this journal, for example, I put the resulting chunk of words into the internet, which the kind-hearted people access and read each day. It may seem a small thing, and it is a small thing in the context of human civilization as a whole, but the trading is here and now, where the like-minded are shrouded by a common medium materialized by the daily communication of information.

The Amazon kindle automatically archives issues of periodicals on the web, relieving the machine of the need to store incrementally heavy information. This is a particularly explicit instance of cloud computing. A similar process is already here for the human brain.

You know pragmatism is different from utilitarianism.

I had a chat with my philosopher friend Ken Shiotani over lunch. He was lecturing in Hosei University, and I caught him as he was waiting for the elevator in the hall.

These days, I make a point of having a time for discourse during the time of my day, as otherwise my intellect would suffocate and become just practical.

Our conversation on analytic philosophy led to Shiotani's appraisal of philosophy in the United States.

"The Americans have an inferiority complex towards the Europeans as regards philosophy", Shiotani said. "As a result, they stress pragmatism as a philosophical fruit borne out of their own tradition".

"Isn't it great," I countered, "that they have their own problems, and find it, define it, and elucidate it?"

"That's right," Shiotani said, "whereas the Japanese philosophers traditionally just import the Western philosophy and translate them, pretending they are their own. Unless the Japanese philosophers identify their own problem, their contribution in history would be limited."

Then Shiotani suddenly remarked. "You know pragmatism is different from utilitarianism."

"You mean, being pragmatic does not just imply a concern about the utilitarian significances of a particular system of thought, but rather, pragmatism is a whole organic network of methodologies involving epistemology and ontology, a particular way of looking at the world at large?"

"More or less. That's the gist of it"

It was lunch time, and our conversation had to end prematurely.

It is nice to go out of your way a little bit and have this window with your best friend of 25 years, towards stimulating my soul.


Ken Shiotani arguing about pragmatism over lunch.

Ilya Farber

I met with Ilya Farber on Sunday afternoon. When I first heard that he was staying in Tokyo from Friday to Monday, I was amazed at his hectic schedule. Then I learned that he is actually on transit from the U.S. to Singapore, where he is now teaching at SMU.

We found ourselves seated in a soba restaurant. In the next couple of hours we talked about the neural correlates of consciousness, the pros and cons of analytic philosophy, problems in university life here and there, the prospect of consciousness studies in the future, how to liberate qualia from mysticism, and the joy of life in Singapore.

Ilya is such a fascinating person to talk with, so witty and full of love.

I learned that Ilya is fond of Japanese culture, his favorite manga being Ranma 1/2.

It is rare to get on a conversational jet coaster to ride from Dennetian arguments to the creams of pop culture within 10 minutes.

It was so fun.



Ilya Farber in a Tokyo restaurant.

The parameter space for the character heterogeneities

The functions of molecules such implicated in social contexts as vasopressin and oxytocin would naturally depend on the biochemical and biophysical contexts into which these molecules are placed. Therefore, the contexts ("keyholes") are more important than the molecules ("keys") themselves.

The more robust existence of empathy in female subjects might be related to the balance of oxytocin and vasopressin, but they would remain a indirect cause, the direct cause more explicitly accounted for by the specific neural circuits involved.
Keeping in mind these reservations, there are some arguments for the explicit treatment of these molecules as socially active parameters.

If there was an instance where these molecules are in effect traded between individuals through some measures, that could lead to an effective construction of their social functionality.

The intricate interaction of these "social molecules" would ultimately lead to, for example, differences in character. Therefore, the parameter space for character heterogeneities might be effectively written in terms of the parameter space of these social molecules, in addiction to a description by the specifics of neural circuits.

Relatively mild

I don't like wearing a coat even in the middle of winter, as I dislike the feeling of suffocation as one enters the indoors.

Consequently, I opt to wear a T-shirt, and then only a sweater, which is full of small "holes" by their nature through which bitter winds would inevitably blow.

When I went to Hakata the other day, it was snowing and the temperature was very low. As I ventured out of the hotel to have supper, the bitter wind was blowing through my sweater onto my bare arms with an astonishing force. It was at then that I felt a "danger" for my life.

Undaunted, I just hurried on to the restaurant, with my arms gathered around the chest area to protect and shield.

Once I was in the restaurant, I was OK.

Unrepentantly, I go about in the winter Tokyo today with my T-shirt and the sweater. People are astonished to see me without a coat. It can certainly make you alert, reacting to the changing weather. And it is just great once you are inside, without the nuisance of having to get rid of the coat.

It is just the winter of Tokyo that I have to withstand, which is relatively mild compared to, say, one in Russia.

Nobel Peace Prize for Google!

Nobel Peace Prize for Google!

http://twitter.com/kenmogi