Admittedly, the fertility fest was a while ago. Almost a month. What had me waiting? Perhaps the sheer amount of pictures we took intimidated me. Or maybe I was trying to decide whether or not to show you all of them. Or… again, maybe I’m just lazy.
Maybe my twice-a-day posting will clear my good name? Because my fingers are starting to bleed from typing so much.
On Friday, my mother calls me. “What are you doing for easter?” she asks. I’m sure she wasn’t exactly expecting that I’d found a church and decided to devote myself to feeding the japanese poor for a day, but then again it wouldn’t be entirely unlikely to have coerced my friends into letting me cook Easter Dinner for them. She was downright shocked when I told her I was going to a fertility festival.
…at a shrine where women to go to pray for fertility.
So clearly that’s not why we were going, unless you consider the possibility of my praying to become a Barren Shell of a WomanTM. While there are actual legends and more serious stories that were historically associated with the fest, these days it’s mostly a tourist attraction.
And why wouldn’t it attract a lot of people? Jon has a theory that this society is generally repressed, and so when they have the opportunity to get a little crazy, they get a lot of crazy. On that note, a lot of customs in this country vaguely remind me of Catholicism.
So. What’s the hullabaloo? Well, first there’s a competition to see who can sculpt the best-lookin wang from a vegetable. I’ve definitely never thought of playing with your food in such a way, but it does lead to some interesting dinner-party options.
…and of course, there’s the educational merchandise…
And the completely inappropriate pictures to be had. This girl is, what… 8? what the hell is she doing flashing the peace sign all up near that? Seriously. Future hussy.
If it was 11am, and you were walking around with a beer in your hand, and a guy comes up to you with this thing on his face… wouldn’t you have had the same reaction I did?
This is jon’s boss, Jeremy. Look at his hat. Look… closely… at his hat.
And then the crowds parted and packed in closer together. It’s time for ceremony! It’s time for a parade! It’s time for… a 6 foot tall penis carried by drag queens? < record screech >
Oh, jesus. Was it busy. We saw more Americans here than anywhere else we’d been in Japan. I look at pictures like this and think about how very much some of you would hate to be here. But I suppose that’s what you get when the world keeps growing and everyone wants to live in the city, eh? Normally, I have no problem with this but it does make for finding a restroom a bit challenging.
I guess I’ll leave you with this. Because… well, just because I think it’s funny, i guess. All the japanese women waiting in line for their picture were patting it on the head and demurely standing behind it. You gotta get up in there, ladies!