Thoughts on fashion and Madonna...

The weather here is strange. One day it's terribly hot and the next it's quite chilly. Today it's chilly. I wouldn't go so far as to say cold, but it's certainly cold compared to how hot it was yesterday.

Although I have enough warm clothes for these strange summer cold fronts, I have to fight the urge to go to the local UniQlo [a lovely clothing store where you can get very nice stuff made out of a fantastic magic fabric that not only dries really quick, but also repels stains] and restock my wardrobe. I had some time to kill before work last week and spent it in that wonderful establishment. I found out that I wear a size 67 pants. [that's centimeters, but I'm not sure if that's the length or waist... Hopefully it's the length. I'd hate to think I had a 67cm waist...] What I find so amazing about the clothing they sell is that it's not only really cheap [$29 for a really nice pair of dress pants] but it's made quite well. It's not the cheap shit you'd get at Walmart, despite the fact that the prices are the same. Unlike Walmart crap, the fabric has some substance to it--for lack of a better term. UniQlo is one of the reasons I think this is a great country.

Of course, I was told that women don't really shop at the UniQlo unless they're poor. Image is everything here. Most housewives--and there are a lot of them--use their money [or their husband's money] to shop at the high-end, name brand places which only leaves enough money for their husbands to shop at UniQlo. Supposedly you can watch husbands & wives when they're out in public & the husbands look like bums in comparison to the wives. UniQlo bums. Of course, I don't think I'd be able to tell the difference.

I do have enough of an eye for fashion to be able to tell that most of the people here--especially girls in their 20's--have no idea what looks good and what doesn't. The girls here dress like Madonna in the early 80's. Layers of tattered tank tops, short skirts with leggings underneath, and hideous pumps. Each layer and section of body is a different color. Red and white hat, pink and white tank tops, green skirts, black leggings, blue peds--which are big here--and [UGLY!] yellow pumps. I don't even think these colors go together. [and I am convinced that my outfits don't clash as long as I'm wearing a pair of socks that tie everything together!] Of course, the trucker hat craze has caught on here, so on top of all of that they're wearing brand new trucker hats cocked to the side that usually have some band logo on them, a la Rolling Stones or Aerosmith. It's really quite awful. I'm going to start taking pictures.

One month and one (important) visitor down...

Because it's been raining all day, I had to take my laundry to the local laudromat. I hope I've figured out the machines correctly. I had to buy detergent here, and two boxes came out of the machine so I figured that was a sign that I'm supposed to use both. Hopefully I was right. I would hate to break out in hives or a rash because I used too much cheap Japanese detergent.

Since it rained all day, the temperature has dropped a little over 10 degrees Celcius. [not sure exactly how much that is, but it feels great!] Because the weather is suddenly so nice, I've been sitting outside attempting to play Super Mario Brothers on my computer while waiting on the laundry. Wonderful W. has found it in his heart to give me a shitload of old nintendo (and super nintendo) games. Of course, I can't make it past level 3--that's right, THREE!--on Super Mario Brothers. How could I play this game when I was young? I keep jumping at the wrong time, or hitting the forward button instead of the jump button... I'm not sure if it's my reaction speed that has slowed, or the fact that I'm using keys on the keyboard instead of a joystick, or if it's just that my memory is shot and I can't remember which keys I'm supposed to be hitting, but I can't play this game anymore. [However, as far as memory goes, it's interesting to note that I do remember where the hidden extra life mushroom is on the first level.] So, I guess, if anything comes out of my stay here in Japan, I will be able to reconnect with my youth and beat Super Mario Brothers (again). Considering how I'm playing, and my current patience level, I might never get past level 3.

It's probably a good thing that I've come to Japan alone, because with W. here, it has been proven to me [yet again] that I just can't be around anyone exclusively for any length of time, and it doesn't matter how much I care about them. I would not do well stranded on a desert island with someone. In my defense, my apartment is tiny. Granted, it's about large enough for one person, and, luckily, that person just happens to be me. Any amount of time in my apartment [even if I'm the only one there] is a lot of time considering how small the room is. When another person is added to the square footage [or tatami mat], it gets even worse. Of course, W. took all of this quite well. He seemed to enjoy being in a cramped room with me, so much so that despite my complete lack of patience and all around shitty mood, he's going to come back in four months. This next time, we're going to spend a little bit of time apart... Really, it's for the best. I can't wait.

In commemoration of my first month, I'm going to get some edammame at the local grocery store and attempt to make them edible. Really, it's just an excuse to use Crazy Jane's Mixed Up Salt [substitute].

One down, eleven to go!

The night I slept through it all

I used to say, half joking, that I slept like the dead. Now I know that statement is true. Last night I slept through my first earthquake. Apparently it was a pretty big one, too. 4.9 on the Japanese equivalent to the Richter Scale. [Somewhere in one of my books on Japan there's a description of the Japanese measurement scale, but now I can't find it... Did I imagine reading that?] It woke everyone at the school up and they all said that it was actually pretty scary. How on earth was I able to sleep through an earthquake? Especially an earthquake that even the locals thought was scary??

Although I did have something that resembled a dream about an earthquake last night. It's funny that when I'm home and sleeping and the phone rings, I usually dream about a phone ringing. Now when I'm in Japan and sleeping and the earth shakes, I dream about earthquakes. I've been promised that there will be many more before my time here is finished. I must say that I'm actually looking forward to it. There's something that fascinates me about feeling the earth move. Could it be because I come from the limestone state?

The tofu that cried chicken

Last night I learned that it is not exactly proper to describe sake as, "oishii." I also learned that it is possible for a bartender to make a Stoli madras, but that doesn't mean it will taste good. For some reason, I prefer the taste of orange juice from concentrate with my vodka, and fresh squeezed--by the bartender himself!--just makes it taste a little strange.

I went out drinking with my manager and head teacher. Now I really feel like an alcoholic. They were both drunk after two beers, whereas I didn't even have a buzz after a beer, a large cold sake (which came out of a huge chunk of bamboo) and a large hot sake. By the end of the night, my head teacher could barely walk and I was just starting to feel a little drunk. I had to come all the way to Japan to drink someone under the table.

My head teacher's boyfriend is the equivalent of a Japanese gangsta. He didn't speak much English, but he knew enough to say, "I like Hip Hop!" and rattle off some names... They wanted me to teach them some American slang and the best I could come up with was, "shit-faced." He told me that he was, "fresh," and I'm so out of the loop as far as that stuff goes that I couldn't even tell him if that was still current slang. [I'm inclined to say that it's not.]

It's confirmed. I'm an old alcoholic.

The tofu dish that they ordered for me had huge chunks of chicken in it. My head teacher said, "Just don't eat the chicken," as she dished it out onto my plate. I couldn't refuse. It wasn't bad, per se, it was just awfully salty. Why does flesh always make everything so salty?

Incidentally, my stomach is all kinds of fucked today. I'm not sure whether to blame the fresh squeezed orange juice or the chicken... My money's on the latter.