The pattern-eyed monster

(and very bad poetry)

In the winter it was Kimono,
The spring brought thoughts of Hanami,
As the seasons heated up,
I turned my sights to Hanabi.
Will the obsessions ever stop?
I sure as hell hope not!

Last night was the Kawagoe Hanabi Festival in Saitama (postponed from Saturday night because of the typhoon). I went yukata-less, not out of choice, mind you. It was a beautiful evening, but a 35 degree scorcher and I can be a real bitch when I'm dripping with sweat. I may be a yukata-maniac, but an idiot, I am not.

As the night wore on, I became pressingly aware of a deep psychological issue I may have to deal with in the near future - Yukata-Envy. Every time a lovely filly in her yukata brushed past (maybe every 3 seconds), I'd sigh and whine, "I wish I wore my yukataaaaaaa". Close to giving me a well-deserved slapdown, Matt re-assured me, "Just think how hot they are right now, Sweetie." I consoled myself by noticing all the badly-tied home-job obi (not that I can talk, cheater!) and the blisters popping up on geta-ed feet. Must. Get. Help.

On the subject of craziness, the Japanese love their Hanabi so much, I think the collective consciousness needs a bit of counselling, too. There were literally hundreds of yatai (food stalls) and thousands of people packed into the park. We made camp in a rice field a hundred metres from the action with beer (critical component of any festival), yakisoba and yaki-butta (grilled pork on skewers - f!@#in' A!).

And while it took us 45 minutes to get to Saitama, it took 3 hours to get home. Now I know why they finish the fireworks so damn early.