How I Learned to Stop Worrying & Flee the Country

Farewell Party...

2005-05-16T00:33:00.000+09:00

Yesterday was my last day of work. It was a fairly uneventful day, other than the fact that I got some flowers and gifts. However, this day one of my greatest fears while working at said Establishment was realized. The school that I worked at was [and is] located above a store called Muji [Rushi--if you're Japanese]. This store sells all kinds of shit, from clothing to shoes to sheets and blankets to bikes. I've been thinking since I started working at said place that my dream job would be to work at a place such as Muji putting together their bikes. So yesterday I was out on the balcony, as I often was, above the line of Muji bikes. I had put my can of Coke on the ledge and was talking to the new teacher, J., about god knows what, when a strong wind came from out of nowhere and blew my Coke can off of the ledge. I screamed, "Shit!" and tried to grab the damn thing before its inevitable fall onto the bikes, but unfortunately was just too slow. I crouched down and J. jumped back against the wall to hide. After a few seconds I got up to see what had become of my can. None of the passersby seemed to take any notice and nothing was out of the ordinary, other than the fact that there was a banged up Coke can lying between the row of bikes down below.

It's important to note that a few hours later, the can was still there.

There was a party at the end of the day, at which point the alcohol and bullshit flowed. There were a lot of students there that I wouldn't normally spend a considerable amount of time with... One of these students, who was in one of my classes, was sitting next to me for a little while asking me about the phrase, "I'm so hungry I could eat a horse." Of course, he had left out the, "I'm so hungry," part. Because I had been drinking what was the equivalent to malt liquor, I started telling him about my own take on that lovely little saying. I told him that when he's talking to native speakers he could say, "I'm so hungry I could eat a small child." I told him that the native speakers would understand what he was saying and think that it was funny. I think this will be my lasting impression on the school. They will eventually remember me as the vegetarian who ate small children.

Lying goodbyes

2005-05-13T10:47:00.000+09:00

Of course, I can't tell my students that I'm quitting because of the school's mishandling of a situation with a budding sexual deviant... So instead, I have to lie to them. I am looking my students in the eyes and telling them that I have a family emergency and that I have to go home. If they ask--which some of them do--I'm telling them that my grandfather is in the hospital, that we don't know what's wrong, and that I have to go home. Only one person wanted more details, at which point I started talking faster and using words like, "Lymphoma," and, "chemotherapy." Lucky for me, I know a little bit about both.

I find that it's pretty easy to lie to these people. The only time that I have difficulty is when there's a student in the class who knows the real story. It's harder to lie to a group of people when one of them knows you're lying.

So I've been lying for four days now, and I only got choked up twice. Some of these people I'm really going to miss. It's not all jack off kids and hellish children... Part of me feels like I am making a mistake. [the same part that likes to point out that I'm going to be officially homeless in a foreign country for three weeks.] On the other hand, I've thrown down a rather sizable amount of cash on a multiple destination plane ticket, and I'm really looking forward to driving around Australia and laying on a beach in Thailand. [If you can believe what you read in the Japan Times, the beaches in Thailand are the cleanest they've been in 20 years, all thanks to the tsunami!]

I've only got two more days of this job... And five more days of a home. This is quite possibly the stupidest thing I've ever done.

Official notice given...

2005-04-27T10:16:00.000+09:00

Today the top gaijin in the Company, M., came to my school to talk with me about my quitting. Of course, that meant that I needed to give him an official resignation letter, which is as follows:

To Whom It May Concern:

Please accept this as my letter of resignation. My last day of work will be Saturday, May 14, 2005. The reasons for my resignation are as follows:

1. In December of 2004, while teaching a Voyage class with only one student present, said student (a high school boy) starting touching himself in a sexually inappropriate way. I told the staff of my school, starting first with my head teacher. I was told that this problem would be taken care of as soon as possible. Due to problems with the logistics of scheduling, as well as the feelings of the students, I was told that my last day of teaching this class would be Thursday, February 11, 2005.

In the beginning of January, 2005, Henry, the Kids' Trainer, came to our school to tell us that Shimokitazawa would be starting kids classes in April. At this time, I told him about the situation and the solution that staff had devised.

On February 16, 2004, I saw that the Voyage class was still on my schedule. I was told that I would only have to teach this class for two more weeks. It was at this point that I notified Henry. I had already spoken to him about this problem and I wanted to let him know what was going on, just in case two weeks turned into two more months. Henry told me that he would make some calls and get back to me. The next day, he called me back and told me that he had asked a Japanese trainer to speak to my manager, and then told me that they had said that I would only have to teach this class for two more weeks. I explained that I knew that, and had in fact spoken to my manager about that the other day, and that my reason for contacting him was to let him know what was currently happening with my situation. He told me that he would speak to them again and talk to me during an Interview Workshop which I was scheduled to attend the following week. Later that week, Henry told my school that I did not have to go to the workshop and I never heard from him again. When I saw him at a Kids Training Workshop at the end of March/beginning of April, he did not say anything to me.

2. On April 12, 2005, my manager told me that one of the children I had interviewed had signed up for my class. This class was to begin Thursday, April 14, 2005 at 6:00 PM, the same time as my Voyage class. I asked my manager about the Voyage class and she said that it had been cancelled.

The fact that I have never wanted to teach children, and said so from the initial interview on, is beside the point. Had the situation with the Voyage student never happened, I'm sure that I would be less upset about having to teach a child. However, the staff at my school were either unable or unwilling to help me when I was having a serious problem with a student and could not just cancel the class, as was initially discussed, until a child signed up in that time slot.

I know that the staff at my school did as much as they could to help me. I don't blame them in any way. However, that doesn't change the fact that I feel like my problem was minimized and ignored by all the Aeon employees whom I spoke to about the situation. It is with this feeling in mind that I feel that I cannot continue to perform my job here in a way that is both fair and enjoyable to the students.

Sincerely,
JK

M. was really very kind to me. He was sympathetic and understanding. He apologized on behalf of damn near everyone in the company. He didn't make me feel bad or patronize me. Of course, this approach made me feel kind of bad. And it made me wish that I had gone to him months ago, instead of dealing with that incompetent Henry.

Now that it's done, I don't really feel any better. I don't feel like a weight has been lifted or any great sense of relief. It's just over...

The beginning of the end...

2005-04-22T23:04:00.000+09:00

I gave notice today. I received a lot of guilt and bullshit about responsibility in return. I responded, "Maybe it's because I'm an asshole American, but the only responsibility I have is to myself."

There was talk of getting rid of the kid's class I have, but I know better than to trust any talk of canceling classes.

When they asked what I would tell the students, what reason I would give for quitting, I said, "Well I'm not going to tell them about Y. [jack off kid], if that's what you mean."

But I must admit, there is a part of me that does feel bad for fucking them this way. I'm supposed to tell them tomorrow my final decision, as it were. Then the appropriate people will be called, dates and times arranged...

It is only two months more work when I return from Golden Week. Two months on paper isn't so bad. But two months of miserable work is a little different...

At what age will I grow out of this inability to decide?

Another example of Japanese animal training

2005-04-11T23:41:00.000+09:00

Cat in a dress on a tricycle

Lest I be misunderstood, Japan is not all doom and gloom for me. The job is shit, but the place itself is okay.

After a particularly shitty day at work--because it was a Sunday and therefore my usual day off, and also because it was one of the last days to see the cherry blossoms [a big deal in Japan] and instead of being in a park getting drunk under the trees with my friends, I was stuck at work teaching make up lessons for students that weren't my own, and it was an absolutely beautiful day--I met my friend J. at Yoyogi-Uehara so that we could go to Yoyogi Park and have a mini hanami [to use Japanese English, "Cherry Blossom Viewing"] party.

We got to Yoyogi at about 6:30 and it was packed!
Everyone [except us] was drunk. We found a spot under the trees--which we couldn't see very well because the sun was quickly setting--and drank our overpriced alcohol beverages.

After we finished our beer and sake [respectively] we decided to change locations. I wanted to go to Yasukuni because I had been told that they keep the trees lit until 10PM. J. thought that we should go to Meguro River because it was better and closer. Proximity won.

We were walking by the Meguro River [which, truth be told, is more of a stream or drainage ditch than a river], trying to find an izakaya that J. wanted to show me when I saw a woman walking towards us pulling what I assumed was a child on a tricycle. I couldn't tell what was actually on the tricycle until it got much closer. Much to my [christ, should I say it?] shock and awe, the woman was pulling a cat in a dress on said tricycle. This poor creature was standing on the seat with its front paws on the handlebars. The strangest part of it was that the damn thing looked completely comfortable. J. ran back and asked the woman if I could take a picture. She was kind enough to stop and I didn't want to take up too much of her time, so instead of trying to find my camera in the bowels of my bag, I just grabbed my phone. Unfortunately, the cat wouldn't look at me [probably because the woman was talking to it] until I took the picture.

In years to come, I think I'll probably forget all about the cherry blossoms--which were beautiful--and only remember that poor cat...

A New England

2005-04-10T00:47:00.000+09:00

On the way home from a night of drinking, I was, to use the local terminology, packed like sushi on the train. There was a couple being very un-Japanese [ie. showing public displays of affection by touching each other in a romantic way] next to me. In fact, for two stops, I was so close to this couple that my arm was resting on the woman's shoulder because a space hadn't opened up enough to allow me to put it by my side. I was looking at this couple and starting to really get homesick when said Billy Bragg song came on the trusty I-Pod. I instantly started thinking about hearing this song while I was changing my sheets at home, exchanging one pair of T-Shirts for the next, and singing in my best British accent... I remembered being in the front row at the concert, singing with the crowd, in between a little guy [that looked more like a rat than a man] and S. I remembered driving down the interstate singing it while listening to talk radio and thereby fighting the road rage.

When the song stopped I wondered what it would remind me of when I got home...

The pen is mightier than the poisoned dog treats

2005-04-06T22:44:00.000+09:00

You can't tell me this letter looks good!

I am constantly amazed at the behavior of dogs on this island. Unlike in the Western world, dogs here are incredibly well behaved. They sit and stay where they're told, they don't chase after people, and they don't bark. I don't know what the Japanese secret for training dogs is, but if I were a dog person, I would certainly try to find out.

However, my opinion about the behavior of dogs has recently changed. For, by my sleep deprived estimation, 9 straight days, I had been woken up in the wee hours of the morning [i.e. anywhere from 7 AM to 9 AM] by my neighbor's evil little dog's yapping. And it hasn't been just occasional yapping. This dog barks at everything! People walking by get barked at, strange noises get barked at, birds get barked at. And then the neighbor's child gets involved and starts barking at the dog, which, in turn, makes the damn thing bark more.

This evil dog would wake me up occasionally before, but that would be maybe once every week. Now that it's starting to warm up, the housewife has been keeping her sliding glass door open, which means the dog barks at everything constantly.

In the interest of my sanity, something had to be done. I decided that killing it would be the most surefire way to fix this problem, but there could maybe be legal complications associated with that. I thought about calling the cops--especially after an hour of dog barking and baby crying starting at 7 AM on a Saturday! Where the fuck was the damn mother?!--but, unfortunately, one must speak Japanese to call the cops. I decided that the best thing to do would be to write a letter.

I allowed myself time to calm down before writing the letter, if only because most of the things I was thinking can't be translated into Japanese. [Never trust a language that doesn't use profanity!] I wrote what I considered to be a rather polite letter and my Head Teacher offered to translate it for me. When she returned the letter to me, she told me that she had written something along the lines of, "My American friend has a complaint about your dog," and then translated my letter into the second person. This was not at all what I had wanted. First off, I didn't want the lady to know I was American. It didn't seem very pertinent to the issue, and, to be quite honest, I didn't want it to effect whether she did something about the beast's yapping. Second, I didn't want her to write the damn translation under my original letter. It just looks bad.

I took what my Head Teacher had given me and asked one of the Japanese teachers to rewrite what she had written, minus any references to me being an American.

On my way home, I stopped by the house of the evil dog and lazy housewife [who does nothing when their child has been crying for an hour?!] and dropped the note in the mailbox. This morning, I woke up to the sound of my alarm for the first time in what was beginning to feel like months. Of course, the dog was still barking, but this time it wasn't out on the balcony barking directly at my window.

Attitude adjustment

2005-03-28T18:42:00.000+09:00

Over the past month and a half, my attitude towards this job, and therefore, by association, this country, has been rapidly declining.

About two weeks ago I was standing outside my school on the stairs, watching a huge crow fly away with a clothes hanger in its mouth, when it hit me... I just don't love it here. When I was in Paris, I loved it. Really. I felt like I was home. Maybe that's because I was young and a little impressionable. But the fact remains that I don't love Tokyo. This is just the place that I happen to be living now. This is where a small amount of my stuff is...

I'm not sure exactly why I don't love it here... I don't think there is an EXACT reason. But I do know why my attitude has changed.

Before the New Year's holiday I had a 16 year old high school kid jack off in one of my classes. He didn't whip it out or anything, but he was definitely doing something other than scratching his balls. Towards the end of the class, he was hard and there was a small wet spot on his pants that hadn't been there before. I was alone with him in the classroom.

The powers that be at my school said they wouldn't renew his contract, said that they would get him out of my class, said that they would talk to his mother, blah blah blah. I believed them and was relieved. My last day of teaching him was supposed to February 11th. That was the best they could do. They promised me that I wouldn't have to teach him anymore. The following week, he was still in my class. They called his mother in, and ended up not only renewing his contract, but moving him into a higher class. [which would completely negate all the arrangements they had made to keep him out of my class] The gaijin trainer that I spoke to never got back to me, and in fact completely ignored me when I saw him last week. My manager now doesn't believe that it happened at all because, "Boys that age aren't thinking about that stuff." My head teacher can only shrug and say, "Yeah, well," when I bring up the fact that the manager doesn't believe me.

So my attitude took a turn for the worse on February 16th, when I found out that not only are these people, and in the grander scheme, this company, in no way concerned with me and my well being, but they also have nothing resembling integrity and will whore themselves out for money. I suppose, being an employee of said company, I qualify as one of their whores to be used as they see fit.

The worst of it is that they are now denying that it even happened.

So the way I see it, I can either keep my head down and do my job and deal with it until July, or I can tell them to go fuck themselves and go home. If I go home, I won't need an attitude adjustment. But if I stay... I'm not sure if I'll make it to July feeling the way I do now.

Random, bizarre and twisted emails to the wrong person

2005-03-22T21:53:00.000+09:00

While this title might refer to the whereabouts of a certain email I thought I was sending to my parents regarding the rental situation of my house, but most likely got sent to the renters through a fault that can only be my own, [clearly I can no longer listen to music, think about the damn US taxes and compose emails at once anymore, which means I am quickly approaching middle age...] it actually refers to a random, bizarre and twisted email I received from a complete stranger. The email is as follows, and is titled, "my last rant," [in lower case]:

jennifer...i'm crazy about you. thats the truth. just
have this gut feeling that it will always be one
sided.
the last thing i want to do is have you think of me
as some pushy, needy dork.
just kinda feel like i'm making a fool of myself.
none of this is normal for me. i'm normally the kind
of guy who would just play around and make you laugh.
but not have romantic feelings.
the more i type; the more i can't believe what i'm
saying. but it's all true. i know it in my heart. i
like you sooo much that i think i better just leave
you alone so you can meet a guy that you're more
accustom to...i know i'm probably not your type. i'm a
new york city guy...not a good ol boy. i am sure you
like guys who hunt and fish and go muddin in their
pickup...i'll never be that guy..not even close. i'm
into art,music,cooking ect.
you are so beautiful. great personality. nice
body...nice everything. and i can listen to your voice
forever. you'll have no problem finding someone better
than me. just keep your eyes open and don't be afraid
to open up a bit and say how you feel.
i hope that you find somone great. and that you and
adria are always happy. you deserve it!
thanks for three great days!
much love,
-pete

It would seem that I am not the only one out there in the email universe that is having trouble sending emails to the correct person. I don't know anyone named Pete, and I'm actually having trouble remembering a time when I did know someone by that name... Have I ever? I seem to remember someone from elementary school, but maybe he wasn't a Pete after all... Maybe he was a Chris...

After my initial, "Who the fuck is this?!" reaction, I read it again. On the second read, I started wondering about the intelligence [and age] of my doppelganger. I began to wonder if any girl in her right mind would choose a "good ol boy" as her type. And what self respecting woman over the age of 15 would fall for this kind of transparent bullshit? It's the old, "I'm going to make a gross stereotype of your 'type' and then follow it up with a nice, perky characterization of myself and wait for you to come running to me," routine. I suppose this sort of thing is understandable, maybe even forgivable, for those still in high school, but come on, Pete! Check your email address before sending this kind of hooey! [And regarding the above mentioned mix up with my own emails, I'll start taking my own advice, too.]

As far as a reply goes, I think ol' Pete should sweat it out... Hopefully he'll come to the conclusion that "jennifer" was so moved by his, "last rant," that she went out and bought her own gun, her own fishing pole and her own truck and decided to give a fuck off to all the men she knows! Hurrah!

Brief Encounters in the Laundromat

2005-03-17T11:42:00.000+09:00

Because I wanted some kind of normality during this Experiment, I brought my beloved T-Shirt sheets along. I figured that as long as I was sleeping on my sheets, once I closed my eyes I might be able to forget the fact that I'm living in an area that would've fit in the bedroom of my last apartment with room to spare.

The only problem with the sheets is that I have to go to a laundromat to wash them for, realistically, a few reasons:
1. I've already broken one washing machine here and, I daresay, the employers would not be pleased if I killed the new one, too. [And yes, putting heavy loads in a washing machine will kill it. This is good to know if you're living in an apartment with a shit washing machine.]
2. Allowing the sheets to dry on their own by hanging them outside requires way too much forethought on my part. I would have to get up early, strip the futon, wash the damn things and then hang them outside while I go to work. I just don't get up that early, and usually my thoughts aren't that clear in the morning.
3. I'm not entirely sure that the sheets would dry in time if I just hung them outside. And it's dirty out there, which kind of negates the reason I went through the trouble in the first place.
4. It's just worth the time and money to me to walk to the damn laundromat and have the whole business taken care of in an hour and a half.

I get off work at 9ish, and usually get home about 9:30. The laundromat closes at 10. Of course, "closing" means they shut off the lights, but the door remains open. I can usually get the sheets in the washer before the lights go out, but it's always dark in there when I put them in the dryer.

Last night was like all the other times. On this particular occasion I was taking up two washers--and later, two dryers--because I had to wash my blankets, too. [I'm not sure how the Japanese feel about this behavior, so I try to do the switch when no one's there...] When I went back to get them out of the dryer, for some reason the blankets were dry but the sheets were not. I went to the Coke machine to break a ¥500 and was checking the sheets again [maybe they really were dry and my hands were just cold...] when the door that leads into the house/office opened. A woman came out and started talking. I pulled one of my earphones out and said, "Eh?" She asked me if I spoke Japanese, which I'm sure I responded to in English. [Japanese only really comes out of me at the video store.] She then asked me in English if I spoke Japanese, to which I replied, "Not enough to count." [Although I was thinking, "Only the dirty stuff!"]

Turns out this woman spoke English really well. She allowed me to dry my sheets for another 10 minutes, and for 10 minutes I stood there in the dark and talked to her. She told me about her friend, Rita, who goes to school in Florida. She told me about the resort she goes to outside Tokyo. She told me why she didn't like the snow. She asked me what I did in Japan, what I thought of Japan, where I lived in Japan, how often I got to see my friends here, what I studied in school, what I used to do in America, why I changed my mind about becoming an attorney... I told her that most of the attorneys I had known were very unhappy, and that I was afraid that would happen to me, too. I told her that I was being paid to lie to people that were lying to me, and that I was getting really good at it. I told her that I didn't want a career where the ability to lie was so important. She said that maybe I was too honest. I assume she meant for a career in law...

Then she asked what I wanted to do when I went home, and why I was going home for Golden Week since I would be done here shortly thereafter. When I was telling her my reasons for going home, I started getting really depressed. I told her how hard it is to be here, how hard it is to be deaf, dumb and illiterate. I told her that I missed being able to understand people. I told her that I missed being able to ask people questions, stupid as they may be. I told her that I wanted to go to a busy place and just listen to people. I told her that I missed my friends and family. I told her about W. The more I told, the more depressed I felt and the more I wished that I could just shut the fuck up...

The dryer stopped. I thanked her for giving me the extra ten minutes and for talking to me. I told her that it was really nice to talk to someone [that I don't know, although I didn't say that] in English. I told her that I hoped to see her again. And then I walked home. I didn't even get her name.

It was dark in there. I hope I'll recognize her if I see her again.

My burgeoning germ phobia...

2005-03-11T00:02:00.000+09:00

While one might have been able to describe me as a tad bit neurotic [in a Woody Allen sort of way, I like to think...] before entering into this Japan Experiment, one could not include any sort of germ phobia as part of that neuroses.

Tonight, on the train home, it struck me [quite possibly literally] that Japan might be changing that.

People are constantly sneezing, coughing, hacking and making all kinds of noises associated with sickness on the trains. This would be acceptable if these people would cover their mouths, and/or not be practically face to face with you on the insanely crowded trains while doing it. Everyday someone on the train [who is standing closer to me than I stand to my friends] coughs, sneezes, etc., in my general direction. Everyday I close my eyes and hold my breath when this happens. Everyday I think to myself, Please let the immune system be working right now!

Tonight on the train, there was a man standing uncomfortably close to me--uncomfortable because the train wasn't crowded enough to warrant such closeness. He was a nervous looking businessman. When I looked a little closer at him, I noticed that his skin was discolored and he seemed to be shedding some of it in small flakes. It was at this point that he started scratching his face. I thought about something I had read in some high school era science class:

"Every breath you take is made up of approximately 80% dead skin cells."

This man was scratching his skin off and it was going directly into my nose. I shut my eyes and tried to hold my breath. I cursed the man, who, when I peeked, was still scratching. And then I started thinking about germs. I couldn't help myself... I don't know what was wrong with this man's skin. Maybe he had just gotten a sunburn and was peeling... Or maybe he was in the beginning stages of leprosy.

I think this is how these things usually start. A stranger scratching his skin into your nose on the train one day leads to a lifetime of repetitive hand washing the next. God help me.

NYC is being populated by Tampa people...

2005-03-10T00:26:00.000+09:00

Looks like I'm going to have to move to NYC upon returning home... Sadly, damn near all of my good friends have or are moving there. It's a shame I just don't like the place all that much.

How about Boston? What would it take to get everyone to move to Boston? So how about it, J., S., S. and M.? Boston?? Come on... The town has its own Leather District! That, I think, really says something...

Last train woes... Part 2.

2005-03-01T22:47:00.000+09:00

Trains in Japan are never late--unless someone has thrown themselves onto the tracks. Thankfully, I live on a rather nice [private!] line and therefore people don't [or haven't yet] decided to end it all on it. [Rumor is that if you kill yourself by train, your family gets charged for the repairs and clean-up needed. This is why people kill themselves on the Chuo line, because it's old and doesn't cost as much to repair. At least that's the rumor. It is true, though, that if the Chuo is running behind there's a pretty damn good chance that someone committed suicide.] When you see movies, such as the Bourne Supremacy, where characters jump in front of trains to escape the bad guys because they've looked at the train schedule and know exactly when the next one will come, keep in mind that that scenario would only be possible in Japan. Let's just say, I would only feel safe [reasonably safe, that is] jumping on the tracks to get away from the bad guys in Japan. [Although maybe not on the Chuo.]

Movie night this week was held at F.'s house in Soshigaya-Okura. After some popcorn, a grapefruit Chu-Hi and some conversation following The Conversation, I had to walk rather quickly to the station to catch the last train. [Which, incidentally, is at 12:50 AM.] F. had given me a mission for my way home: Drop her videos at the video store.

It's important to note that in Japan, there's no slot in the door of the video store. There's no box to drop the videos. You have to actually go into the store, possibly wait in line, hand the videos to the clerk and then wait for them to scan the videos and thank you. I personally think this policy is rather inefficient, especially if you're in a rush.

At 12:43 I get to the video store. There are two clerks working and they're both helping what I can only assume to be lonely customers. One of the customers was, I assume, having some kind of problem with his card and the other one must have been asking stupid questions. I say this because he already had his videos in hand, money had already changed hands, yet he was still standing there talking to the clerk. At 12:43 in the morning, who stands there and talks to the damn clerk?!

When the lonely guy finally finished, it was 12:46 by the video store clock. I was still about 7-10 minutes from the station--which doesn't count the time to get the ticket and get up the stairs to the platform. I slammed the videos down on the counter and said, rather loudly, "Dencha! Dencha!"* The clerk gave me a perplexed look. Clearly no one had EVER slammed videos on the counter and yelled, "Dencha! Dencha!" After what was probably 10 seconds--but felt like 2 precious minutes--I screamed, "Hii!" and turned around and ran [RAN!] out the door. Running down the street, I passed the lonely guy, who seemed to be looking for someone else to talk to.

I ran, zig zagging around people and puddles of spit on the ground, until I couldn't run anymore. I walked for a little while and then started to run again. Finally the station was in sight--with a train passing. That can't be my train, I thought to myself. I ran past the man selling sweet potatoes and up to the ticket machines while people were pouring out of the station. I overpaid for a ticket [it's only 130 yen from Soshigaya to my station, but for some reason the machine didn't like my 10 yen coins and in the hurried confusion, I hit 150 by mistake...] and started the mad dash through the turn styles and up the escalator. Without fail, any time I try to run up an escalator in this country [which I've done a few times] I fall. Since this day is like all the others, I fall on the escalator. Luckily, the superhuman ability to bounce back up that I discovered on the ski slopes works just as well on escalators and I make it to the top without too much harm. When I get to the top, I'm out of breath and more aware of my left hand than I usually am--damn escalator!--and there's no train in sight. No headlights, no brake lights, no people, no fucking train. There's a station attendant walking towards me sweeping up trash. I make the international umpire gesture for, "Safe!" to this man, who mimics it back to me. [I don't have any idea why I made this gesture, but apparently he knew what I meant...] Cursing, I walk [WALK!] back down the escalator.

When I get to the turn styles, the damn thing beeps at me and starts saying something in Japanese when I try to go through. Of course, in Japan, you can easily just push through the laughable guards on the turn styles, which is what I do. I go to the station attendant booth and put down my ticket. In a very forceful voice, the old man says, "Where you go?!" I respond, "Kyodo." Of course, he's looking at me funny because I bought a ticket that would've taken me farther than Kyodo. The attendant from the platform shows up and explains to the old man that I missed the train. The old guy gives me my money back and I walk back past the sweet potato man to look for a taxi.

The cabs are parked around the corner. Because the travel gods are not smiling upon me, I pick the only cab with a lunatic driver who has the heat cranked to what must be 40 degrees while chain smoking with the windows up. I say, "Kyodo eki," and then wakarimasen my way through the rest. It cost 1220 yen to go two stations by cab.

The moral? When you're trying to catch the last train and your friend wants you to drop videos, a polite, "Fuck off," will suffice.

*"Train! Train!"

And the Oscar goes to...

2005-03-01T04:27:00.000+09:00

Let me say that I am very disappointed that the Oscars are not being broadcast live on the internet. I could [and did] watch the presidential & vice-presidential debates online, which is as it should be. I think we should be able to watch damn near anything online. Of course, that doesn't seem to be the case regarding the Oscars. The only thing I can watch at the moment is live coverage of the press room, which is dead right now...

An elderly couple from the Old World just showed up in the press room, Oscar in a death grip. I have no idea what they won for, much less who they are. I guess this press room coverage is supposed to go along with watching the actual awards ceremony. Luckily I've got things to do today or I might be tempted to send an email complaining to the bigwigs at ABC.

Thoughts on paint...

2005-02-13T23:29:00.000+09:00

First and foremost, paint is obscenely expensive in Japan. Most things here are obscenely expensive, but the price of paint just boggles the mind.

For reasons discussed elsewhere, I've been feeling incredibly homesick since returning from the Snow Festival. Today I spent most of the day inside scrubbing my horribly disgusting bathtub. The former occupant of my lovely abode apparently smoked in the bathroom and never cleaned it. And he lived here for six years... I got one corner of it clean. After I don't even want to know how long, I only got one corner cleaned. Tomorrow I'm going back to the hyaku yen to get steel wool. If that doesn't work, it's off to Tokyu Hands for a $10 bottle of Comet.

I was trying to keep myself occupied for an hour before heading out to meet the fabulous F. for dinner in Shimokitazawa. Occupied in a way that did not involve me scrubbing and cursing everyone from the makers of the laughably shitty bathroom cleaner to the distributors of Comet to my employers for not taking care of said mess in the tub.

I started a painting about two weeks ago, which since then has been laying on a [quite old] Tampa Tribune Metro section [thanks Mom!] in the middle of my, for lack of a better word, living room. While sitting on the floor and painting the head, the words of someone who was once very important to me sprang to mind...

This person had, I'm sure inadvertently, hurt me terribly many, many years ago. After a very long absence, he unexpectedly popped back into my life. We were having dinner--a very uncomfortable dinner, for me--and drinking sangria that had more fruit than wine. I was trying to find someone to help me paint my bedroom. I didn't much care who. He just happened to be there. He asked why I needed help and I said that I didn't like to paint. I remember he looked at me strangely for a second and then said, "But you're a painter."

I had no response to that.

I think it's interesting that I've never thought of myself as a painter. Never. Not even briefly. I paint. Sometimes. But I'm not a painter. However, here was someone who not only remembered that I had painted, but also thought that I was very good at it, and, in fact, a "painter."

Sometimes, every now and again, I have the ability to see myself through other people's eyes, eyes that aren't as critical as my own. And sometimes I catch myself saying out loud, "But you're a painter." I don't believe it yet, but here's to hoping someday I will.

My second attempt at snow skiing...

2005-02-10T14:02:00.000+09:00

Icicles at the rest stop on the way back from Mt. Niseko

Sometimes when traveling, one feels obligated to do things one wouldn't normally do. Case in point, we took a bus to Mt. Niseko to go skiing. This required us getting up at 6 am and shlepping it down to Sapporo station to try to find the ticket booth and catch the right bus at 7:45 with our extremely limited Japanese. Surprisingly enough, this wasn't too difficult.

The bus ride from Sapporo to Niseko was about 3 hours, I think... I fell asleep about twenty minutes into the ride and didn't wake up until we stopped for a bathroom break. When I got off the bus at the rest stop, it was snowing fairly hard and absolutely freezing.

I didn't really start getting nervous until we got to the ski place. Let it be known that I went skiing once, about fifteen years ago. And that was in a place where I spoke the language.

The man at the rental shop didn't speak any English at all. None. B. disappeared for a little while and somehow I managed to tell the man my shoe size. ["ni ju yon to go"] After saying it a couple times, it hit me that I was saying it wrong. It's not "to go" it's "ten go"... He seemed to understand nonetheless. This is where the fun began... All I could remember about the ski boots from fifteen years ago was that they were supposed to be tight on your ankles. We spent about 30 minutes with this poor man trying to figure out how much room our toes were supposed to have. This consisted of a lot of gestures while saying, "Dijobu?" Of course, I wasn't making "Dijobu" into a question... I was just making different gestures and saying, "Okay." It's no wonder it took so long.

So after getting clothes and skis and boots and all that, we headed out. This ski resort didn't have anything resembling, "bunny hills." Apparently we were supposed to learn as we went down the mountain. This is when I got scared.

We managed to get the skis on and were just standing there trying to figure out what to do when we noticed a couple people speaking English near us. Somehow one of the guys noticed the look of desperation I know B. had--and I assume I had, as well--and came over to help. He offered to show us how to ski. He said that he would take us to the top and help us. He was a smarmy guy from Nepal who had obviously been born with skis on, but he was going to show us what to do and this was all that mattered. It was at this point that B. fell down. I'm not sure if she was moving or not when she fell, but we hadn't had the skis on for more than five minutes and if she was moving it couldn't have been far... The Sherpa tried to help her in a much nicer way than I was... [My help consisted of telling her that she needs to remember her common sense... If she falls on her left side, she's got to put the damn poles in her left hand to push up.] After what seemed like 30 minutes, but was probably only 15, B. managed to get up by having the Sherpa take off her skis. After another 10 minutes, she got the skis back on... She moved maybe a foot and fell again. The Sherpa tried to help her again, and again I was giving common sense advice, while she was huddled on the ground saying, "I can't. I can't. I can't..." It was at this point that the Sherpa decided to quit wasting his time and skied off, which is when I started getting pissed.

This scenario replayed itself again and again, minus the Sherpa's help, for another hour. I would alternate between giving common sense advice and being, what I thought was, incredibly patient. Finally, B. gave up and I was left to try to ski on my own. I skied off incredibly pissed.

When I got on the lift, the terror set in. I was afraid not so much of getting down the mountain or breaking anything [I knew I would get off the mountain one way or another, and chances of me breaking something were incredibly small], but that I was going to miss a turn somewhere along the way and end up on the expert course instead of the family course... Luckily I was able to turn at the family course fork and I managed to get down the mountain in one piece, although it took about an hour. I only ran into a group of people once, and I was going very slow and "Sumimasen"-ing my way through. They laughed at me. I fell quite a few times, but only fell on my face once [and slid a little bit]. The snow was so powdery that it didn't hurt at all.

When I got to the bottom, my knees hurt like hell and my ears were cold. I decided if I went again, I probably wouldn't be able to walk the next day. That, and I might miss the bus back to Sapporo. B. was waiting outside the lodge when I got to the bottom. She saw me coming down the mountain and came outside. In the end, I felt kind of bad that she couldn't do it, but really good that I did...

Why you should take your bikes inside when you live in Sapporo

2005-02-07T13:52:00.000+09:00

Bikes on the street in Sapporo

Being born and raised in a place where it never, ever snows, seeing something like this is a little surprising... And amazing. And makes me feel strangely giddy.

Hopefully my last visit to a Japanese doctor

2005-02-04T23:39:00.000+09:00

I'm going to Sapporo in two days for the 50-something annual Sapporo Snow Festival.

As luck, and Murphy, would have it, my body has chosen now to get sick. As good a time as any, I suppose. Lucky for me, whenever I get sick I lose my voice. It's one of those freak occurrences that's not so freaky for me, but other people seem to think is freaky and a sign that I'm dying and therefore I get to stay home from work. It works to my advantage I think.

Normally I avoid doctors. I don't like them, I don't think many of them are very good, and I don't like leaving my house when I feel like shit. However, I'm going to be on a plane in two days, and I'm not sure if it's such a good idea to mix an unknown Japanese medicine with Robitussin, so I went to the doctor. Because I'm sick--and not in my right mind--I didn't bring a book with me to the doctor's office. I met my translator at the station and we went to the doctor's, which is located in the shopping center at my station, as it should be. I sat down while she talked to the receptionist and gave them my insurance information. She gave me a form to fill out--in English!!--describing my symptoms, which consisted of a few boxes of symptoms that I could check. I checked the following: Fever, Sore Throat, Head Ache. They didn't have boxes for Stuffy Nose, Body Aches, Cough, All Around Shitty Feeling. When I turned in the form, the receptionist gave me a thermometer. This thermometer didn't have anything covering the tip. In fact, it looked rather beat up and dirty. I looked at my translator, who told me to put it under my arm. It said 37.5, which apparently means, "Slight fever."

Then the waiting started.

Forty-five minutes later, and god knows how many games of Tetris on my [thankfully] charged cell phone, the receptionist calls my translator up and asks if it's okay if I don't see the main doctor. I can see the assistant doctor from the university quicker than the main doctor. I say that it's fine with me, that I just want to get some medicine and go back to bed. Another thirty minutes pass and I hear a faint, "Jennifah-san" coming from the back of the room. [I always forget to put my last name first.] Behind the rows of sick people is a door which opens into a tiny room where the assistant doctor works. I sit down on a stool in front of the doctor and my translator stands behind me. The doctor starts talking to my translator for some time very quickly. My translator looks down at me and says, "He wants to know if you have diarrhea." This strikes me as a very strange question and I am suddenly reminded of the words of my friend, F., from months ago...

"These people are obsessed with diarrhea! They talk about it all the time. They think it's acceptable to talk about it in class. Do you think that's okay? Me neither! It's sick!"

After I say no, he takes out a metal tongue depressor--METAL!--and looks at my throat, while I'm wondering where he got that thing and who he used it on before me and what they had and whether it's been disinfected since its last use... He then starts writing and talking. My translator tells me that my glands are swollen and I have a cold. He's going to give me some medicine and we have to wait for a little while longer. That turns into another hour, and some more Tetris, followed by twenty minutes at the pharmacy to get six different types of medicine, including two powders, a bottle of something that looks like iodine [that I have to use, "about this much of," and mix it with, "about this much," water] and some green LifeSaver things that I'm to use when my throat hurts, but no more than 6 a day! That's very important! No more than six! To which I say, "Yeah yeah. No more than six... Show me what, 'this much,' of that iodine stuff looks like again."

On the way home, I stop at the video store and pick up "Murder on the Orient Express", mostly because I have fond memories of "Death on the Nile" from childhood... I tell you, that Angela Lansbury's underrated.

Joe Jaxon

2005-01-16T00:10:00.000+09:00

I walked home in the rain--which was supposed to be snow--after a night of drinking with the staff of the school [and, truth be told, slipping down the stairs & probably laughing too loud--in that gaijin way--about it.]... On the way home, Joe Jaxon by Volcano I'm Still Excited came on the I-Pod. It suddenly occurred to me that I am making the right decision to go home instead of renewing for another three months. This song reminds me of waiting at the light at Highland and Hillsborough Avenue, with the windows down, singing loudly & making faces at the people next to me who are looking at me funny, after a shitty day of work... Waiting to get home to check my mail, to pet my cats, to watch Catherine Crier Live on Court TV, to see W., to eat some kind of side dish for dinner, to lay with W. on the couch while watching some kind of trashy movie on HBO/Cinemax/Showtime, to eat some popcorn... Good, American popcorn that pops completely & doesn't leave those horrid little half popped monstrosities that hurt my teeth.

Shit. To even have enough room for a couch... Or a W. To be able to eat fake meat... To be able to read a menu... To not have to ask, "Kore wa niku desu ka?" and then have to follow it up with a, "hi ka iie?" which, I've been told, is a little rude...

It's official my friends... Despite all its faults and flaws, I am homesick. Joe Jaxon just reminded me.

Today marks the six month anniversary...

the A-Bomb Dome

2004-12-28T12:18:00.000+09:00

Hiroshima's A-Bomb Dome at night

I walked down to the Peace Park and sat in front of the Dome. There were a few people around; some of them sitting on benches, some with cameras and some riding their bikes through the park. All in all it was very peaceful. The river was behind me, and, except for the occasional streetcar going over the bridge, it was very quiet.

Sometimes the light from inside the Dome would flicker a little, like it was a flame. Although I'm sure it was caused by the wind, I thought this was a nice touch.

After sitting there for a little while, what was most surprising to me was that I wasn't thinking about the hundreds of people that had died instantly right on this spot 59 and a half years ago. I wasn't thinking of the pain and the suffering of those hundreds of thousands of people in the surrounding area that didn't die instantly. I wasn't thinking of any role that members of my own family may have had in the destruction of this beautiful city. What I was thinking was this: I am traveling alone, in a country whose language I don't speak, in a city I've never been to before, and I am sitting beside a shell of a building, at night, beside a river, and I feel completely safe. This is unheard of... I would never walk near a river at night alone, let alone sit by one. I would never wander a city at night alone. But here, in Japan, I'm not concerned about all the possible bad things that could happen to me because there's a feeling of safety that I've never felt before. The lurking paranoia and need to look over my shoulder has receded. The only thing I need to really worry about is getting lost, which, thankfully, I don't worry about.

It's wonderful to feel this way, to feel this safe. And it's truly a shame that chances are slim that I'll ever feel this way in America.

Last train woes...

2004-11-28T00:46:00.000+09:00

an old man at a concert in Shimokitazawa

Desperate for some kind of live music, we ventured out to see a half gaijin, half Japanese band that was compared to Echo & the Bunnymen in the Japan Times. Let it be known that the Japan Times should never be trusted due to its complete lack of any factual content. Case in point: This band sounded nothing like Echo & the Bunnymen. They kind of sounded like they wanted to be compared to them, if only for one song. Actually, they seemed to have a bit of difficulty in deciding exactly which band they wanted to sound like most. The result was a mess.

After the concert--which started promptly at 8 and was finished by 10--we decided to go bar hopping. We started at one of my favorite bars, The Boy Peach. The only reason I like this bar is because they have some pretty good music--which you can request--and the bartenders will sing along to the Smiths. The drinks are cheap, too.

We were slowing losing members of the party due to last train schedules. At some point during the night I had stopped looking at my watch. My last train leaves at 1:07am. At 1:02, my friend, J., saw the time & somehow managed to get the bill, pay it, and get both of us out of the door. We rounded the corner and could see the station--with my last train pulling in! A mad, drunken dash ensued. We ran down the length of the station, rounded the corner & started running up the [very steep] stairs. Somewhere near the middle of the stairs, my legs, lungs & soul decided simultaneously that they couldn't go on. I said something to this effect, which in a drunken, melodramatic way probably went a little like this:

"I...just...can't...go...on... You go... without me. I'll just... sleep here..."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt a hand on my back & a swift push up the stairs. I made it through the turn style, down the stairs & somehow into the still open doors of the last train, which closed right behind me.

Through all of this I've learned that a good friend is someone who will push your drunk ass up the stairs when you can't get there on your own...

the Buddha's soul escapes at night

2004-11-23T13:55:00.000+09:00

Desperate to get out of Tokyo, we headed to Kamakura, home of the infamous Great Buddha. It probably took as long to get there as it did for us to figure out which platform we were supposed to be on in Shinjuku... While the wonderful cell phones do tell us how to get from one station to another, plus the times and costs of the trains, they do not tell us which platform they depart from.

Kamakura is a relatively small town, especially in comparison to Tokyo. It seemed that the bulk of the population consisted of tourists who couldn't find their way around. Since we, whether consciously or not, always seem to end up following the people in front of us, it was literally the blind leading the blind. Despite this, the Buddha was easy enough to find, and we ended up spending a considerable amount of time just sitting near it in silence. "Basking in the glow of the Buddha," if you will.

By the time the sun went down, it was freezing, and, after eating sweet potato ice cream, we decided to duck into a coffee shop/art gallery to warm up before heading towards the beach. The downstairs portion of the place was an art gallery with a huge grand piano taking up more than half of the space. There were three people sitting around it drinking wine. Up a very steep and rickety flight of stairs was the coffee shop section. There was hole in the middle of the room which opened down to the gallery and was surrounded by a small counter with chairs. One of the women in the gallery was playing something truly beautiful on the piano beneath us. When she finished, and after we stopped clapping, like a true artiste she went into a broken English rant about how it was an original song which she composed on the spot, and that's the only way she'll play music. For the first time in a long time, I felt peaceful and warm and glad to be here in Japan.

After freezing on the beach we decided to go to Denny's. After all, what's a trip to Japan without going to Denny's? Being somewhat naive, I was really excited about having some pancakes. The interior seemed Denny's enough--ugly booths and fairly hideous wallpaper... But when we opened the menu, there was no Moon Over My Hammy to be had, nor any pancakes. There were various soba dishes, and lots of meat items, green tea ice cream and Bubbalicious for sale at the register, which I bought without even looking at the price... I blew bubbles all the way home--much to the chagrin of the natives.

Window displays...

2004-11-16T11:15:00.000+09:00

Obviously Japan is not a country founded on Puritan beliefs... Case in point, how should one try to sell Calvin Klein underwear? Sex!!

Chikan!!

2004-11-07T10:19:00.000+09:00

Well, it finally happened. I got groped on the train last night. Funny thing is, it wasn't by a Japanese guy. It was by a fucking gaijin.

Through the help of Metropolis and my friend B.'s sharp eye for ads, we found an Israeli restaurant specializing in falafel, hummus & kebabs. [which is not exactly what I think of when I think Israeli food, but what do I know?] The falafel was actually good! And not kind of good, like all the other falafel places, which were kind of good only because I've been wanting falafel so much & it's been so long since I've had some that ANYTHING resembling falafel is good to me... This falafel was actual falafel!

In mourning the election--and in celebration of the end of the week--a good amount of shitty beer was consumed. It was kind of late when I started the trek home. Of course, there were the usual sick drunks coughing and hacking on me on the Yamanote line.

When I got to Shinjuku, there were people running through the station & the voice on the intercom was probably saying that the last train was leaving soon. It's easy to get caught up in the group here and I started running towards the train. When I finally got on the train I had to wait another five minutes. Right before the doors closed about six more people crammed in & somehow I got pushed to the other side of the car. Maybe I wouldn't have been pushed so far if I hadn't been drinking, but that's pure speculation. During the push, I stumbled past two gaijins, and ended up crammed against the door.

Somewhere between Shinjuku and my stop, the gaijins ended up behind me. Had I taken my headphones out, I probably would've understood which language they were speaking. It wasn't English, it wasn't French and it wasn't Spanish, that much I know. One of them started grinding into my ass and then rubbing his crotch. I could see him reflected in the glass of the door and he was looking at me and smiling. We were coming to the next stop when I elbowed him somewhere in the gut area. The doors opened and more people shoved in and I could move away from the asshole.

When the Lonely Planet book talks about getting groped on the train, they should really make a point to tell us that it's the gaijins we need to look out for...

Halloween & flying flesh...

2004-11-02T13:31:00.000+09:00

Halloween is a purely gaijin event in Japan. While waiting to meet up with A. in Shibuya, there were quite a few drunk gaijins dressed for the occasion. Little did we know that A. was going to be one of them...

We decided that if he was going to live through the evening, we would need to get some food into him quick. On A.'s drunken insistence, we went into what we thought was an izakaya. It turned out to be a yakiniku establishment instead, i.e., a place where you order raw meat and they bring a grill to your table. The grill is put in the middle of the table and everyone gets the joy of cooking their own meat. I guess the Western equivalent would be that fondue craze that hit in the late 80s...

A.--who was still in his Halloween costume--went into a drunken, broken Japanese ramble with the poor waiter about the types of meat that he wished to have, while I apologized to him as best I could and ordered some kind of caramel dessert.

When the flesh arrived, A. started cooking with his chopsticks--instead of the metal tongs provided--while telling rambling, drunken stories. Let it be known that they provide metal tongs for a reason. It seems that meat tends to stick to the metal mesh of the grill and you just can't get a good enough grip with chopsticks... Either that or they realized A.'s state and provided the tongs out of the kindness of their hearts. He was ignoring my comments to this effect, saying that it would taste better with chopsticks.

While telling a story, he tried to flip the meat with his chopsticks. He grabbed a corner and pulled at it. The meat didn't move. He pulled harder. The meat didn't move. Finally he yanked it. The meat went flying off the grill, hit B. in the forehead and landed on her lap. B. sat there for a second with a dazed look on her face and a black wet spot on her forehead. A. looked down at his chopsticks and then began frantically looking around the grill, the table and the floor for his lost meat. B. started laughing hysterically and pointing to the meat that was still on her lap. When A. finally realized what had happened, he got rather upset. "That [piece of meat] was almost finished and was going to be perfect!"

It was at this point that the only vegetarian at the table grabbed the tongs and started cooking. It was only a matter of time before I got hit with the flying meat, and I daresay I wouldn't have taken it as well as B. had.

Felt THAT one!

2004-10-24T18:54:00.000+09:00

I can no longer complain about never having felt an earthquake. Yesterday a rather sizeable earthquake hit... [Do earthquakes, "hit?"] I was at work about three minutes from starting my last class when it happened. The doors were moving, the lights were swinging, and I was asking, "Is this an earthquake?" It wasn't scary, per se, but it was definitely strange. It made me feel seasick. And on top of that, I also felt two of the at least three aftershocks... Granted, I slept through two more aftershocks last night. Old habits die hard.

Indians in Ikebukuro

2004-10-18T10:16:00.000+09:00

Last night I met a friend in Ikebukuro [second busiest station in Tokyo] and we decided to go to an Indian restaurant, where my friend had eaten before and had lived to tell the tale.

The Indian place was just a messy and cluttered counter covered in a thick plastic wrap, behind which were two rather large, definitely dirty men of most likely Indian descent. One of them, who was a little bit shorter than the other and had somewhat of a lazy eye, was mincing garlic. The other one, who seemed to be in charge, was smoking, seemed to be sick and had greenish fingernails from what I hope was curry. Behind them was a large gas stove with a few dirty woks on it that was smoking. There was a lady sitting at the end of the counter waiting for her food and a bowl of brownish sauce left by a previous customer next to me.

I ordered sesame nan bread, saffron rice and vegetable samosas. I didn't really want that much food, but as I've said before, I just can't help myself when in a situation where vegetarian food is present. The man with the green hands glopped some brown stuff into one of the woks and put frozen samosas into another wok. The smaller man with the lazy eye got to work on the nan. It was at this point that I took a closer look at the boss man, specifically his hands. Not only were his fingernails greenish, but he also had two festering sores on his hands. I pointed this out to my friend, who tried to convince both of us that those weren't really festering sores but probably some kind of sauce or food product. Not sure if she succeeded in convincing herself of this, but it didn't work on me. I said, and in fact hoped, that the cooking process would burn off any greenness or pus added by the big man.

My friend's brown slop was presented, then my saffron rice, then our nan bread, and finally the samosas. While it is true that the saffron rice was yellow, it did not in any other way have any taste. In fact, it only mildly tasted like rice. The sesame nan was quite good, even though I had a very strong suspicion that it would make me sick if I kept eating it. The samosas were a little burnt and the ketchup squeezed all over the plate was most unappetizing. None of these observations stopped me from eating.

About halfway through the meal, I looked down at the plastic wrap which covered the counter & saw that there was a cockroach underneath it directly above my lap. It looked like a German cockroach and was fairly small. I am still amazed at how well I took this in stride. I did not start screaming, or jump up, or act like it was out of the ordinary in any way. Judging by the looks of this place, cockroaches were probably more ordinary than customers. I pointed out our dining companion to my friend and then proceeded to try to make it move away from me, and therefore towards her, by pushing the plastic a bit and making loud noises. Of course, it was unacceptable for this monster to be in front of my friend and the lady at the end of the counter noticed the commotion and decided to help. We gladly moved out of her way. She tried to smash it between the counter and the plastic, but as cockroaches are, this one was too quick. It fell onto the small shelf beneath the counter, which would have been where my friend's knees were had she been sitting. Thankfully for both of us, this woman took a napkin and killed the beast and then flushed the remains down the toilet--which was right behind her. Our savior then sat down and finished her meal as if nothing had happened. I followed her lead and ate as much of my meal as I could, which wasn't much because my friend kept talking about the damn cockroach... Honestly, I was more concerned about the wounds on the cook than the cockroach.

During this battle, the small man with the lazy eye didn't look at us once. The big guy with the festering wounds only took mild interest, that is, he looked over and kind of chuckled.

While I am quite shocked that I was so laid back about the disgusting state of this restaurant, I am incredibly concerned that there doesn't seem to be a Health Department overlooking the cleanliness--or lack thereof--of restaurants in Tokyo...

New lows...

2004-10-12T10:33:00.000+09:00

I'm now writing emails to politicians. Hopefully Kerry will win, because if he doesn't win, I will most certainly be put on a list and will probably have difficulty returning to the US...

My email is as follows:

Dear Senator Kerry:

I am a registered voter in Hillsborough County, Florida, and I am currently living in Japan.

I wanted to let you know just how important it is that you win this election to those of us living overseas. When asked whether they plan on returning home, most of the Americans I know here say that it depends on the election. Never before [at least in my generation] has there been such a sense of shame associated with being an American.* It's a terrible thing to feel ashamed of your own country. It seems that I am not alone here in feeling that most of that shame is a direct result of the Bush Administration.

There are a lot of gaijin in Japan that are with you. We all sincerely hope the Bush Mistake is not repeated.

Good luck,

* Thought about mentioning the Iran-Contra episode here, but then thought better of it... That would just cloud the issue, and I think the shame is a tad bit greater now...

Lost in Shinjuku

2004-09-27T12:18:00.000+09:00

Yesterday I went on a hunt for an art supply store called Sekaido somewhere near the O I O I store in Shinjuku... [pronounced maru e, not oui oui or oy oy, although that doesn't stop me from calling it that. Asshole gainjin behavior continues!] My friend B. and her friend J. met me there. I had heard of this place from a student whose grip on the English language is loose at best. It turns out that this store is, in fact, only near O I O I because it happens to be on the same street, albeit about ten blocks away.

After walking about five blocks and still no Sekaido in sight, J. asked a woman on the street if she knew where it was. This woman started to give directions in English [!] and then thought better of it. She turned and started leading us to the store. She went at least four blocks out of her way--in the opposite direction!--and dropped us off in front of the store. I felt really bad that the only thing I had on me that I could've offered her in thanks was a package of Spider-Man fruit snacks and there was no way I was going to part with those!

I guess if I had actually put any thought into it I wouldn't have been surprised at the cost of the paints. Since I hadn't put any thought into it, I was shocked.

I happened to look down and noticed that I had some kind of food or coffee or something on the front of my yellow shirt, as well as what looked like big drops of mud. [Can't take me anywhere!] I decided to part company and head home. I didn't want to zigzag back to the station the way we had come and so I started walking in the direction of the station from where we were. I found the trains, but couldn't find the entrance to the station anywhere. I wasn't lost, per se, because I knew where I was. I was in Shinjuku by the Tokyu Hands! I just didn't exactly know how to get where I wanted to be. I had been jaywalking in front of people that looked like they had an official-type job, it was raining, I was hot, and I had made a horrible mess on my shirt... In other words, I was in a foul mood and I just wanted to get home.

In order to spare myself the frustration of walking around in circles, I decided it was time to put those 20 words of Japanese I know to use. I gathered up my courage and went up to one of the official-type guys and said, "Odakyu wa doco desu ka?" It was really easy! He understood what I said! He knew what I wanted! He pointed me in the right direction. Within five minutes I knew exactly where I was. Within 15 minutes I was in the station. I should start asking directions more often!

Then the feeling of accomplishment came crashing down when an asshole businessman pushed me out of the way to grab a seat that I was about to sit in on the train... It's a wonder I didn't fall face first onto the floor. Thankfully I have perfected the art of giving mean looks and I believe that they're universal. It's just too bad that the damn businessman didn't even look my way...

Another example of me making an ass of myself...

2004-09-21T13:08:00.000+09:00

I went to the video store, grabbed the video I wanted and went up to the counter. At what I thought was the appropriate time, I told the man that I wanted it for two days and three nights. [Which, in my extremely limited Japanese means I said, "Two, three," while holding up my fingers in case there was any confusion.] The video clerk started going into a very long tirade about something. As he was talking, I just kept saying, very quietly, "I don't understand what you're saying. I'm sorry. I don't understand," in English. When he had finished, he went through it again, only this time louder. I had the feeling that everyone in the store was looking at me and the fact that the damn clerk was now almost yelling wasn't helping... In the same quiet voice I just said, "Hi," and paid the money, took my video and slinked out of there...

While I was walking home I took the video out of the bag and looked at the receipt taped to it. The video was due back in a week. The man had been telling me that it was a week-long rental...

J-Pop? God help me...

2004-09-19T10:45:00.000+09:00

It has been said that the reason Japan is [stereotypically] a racist country is that it's so closed off from the rest of the world geographically. Before the conveniences of modern travel--if you can call running through an airport like a maniac trying to find the damn gate and being given the fifth degree by people with no senses of humor "convenient"--pretty much the only people in Japan were Japanese and life was happy and nice. Then the gaijins came with their greasy food and strange languages and large bodies.

In speaking with my students I've found that a lot of the Japanese people are still very closed off... When asking what kind of food they like, most of them say, "Japanese." When asking whether they think Mexicans work harder than Japanese, they say, "Japanese work harder." [Incidentally, their argument there was that the cost of living is higher in Japan therefore they've got to work harder, which means they work a lot of overtime... In Mexico everything is cheap, therefore they don't have to work hard and it's easy. I think I was successful in keeping my shock and utter disbelief that I was actually hearing this bullshit hidden from the students...] When asking what kind of music they like, most of them say, "Japanese pop."

I had successfully avoided J-Pop, dodging offers from students to let me borrow their CDs & tuning it out when it's playing in commercials, TV shows and shops. However, one morning, when I was least suspecting it, the horror that is J-Pop found its way into my own home. My neighbor was blaring something that was so awful, so painful, so truly traumatizing that I couldn't help but listen as if in some bizarre trance. The more I listened, the more I thought about Ricky Martin. Is it a coincidence that J-Pop sounds exactly like Ricky Martin music? Could it be true that bad music around the world sounds exactly the same?

If only they would hire me..

2004-09-06T13:22:00.000+09:00

On the first floor of the building where my school is, there's a store called Muji. Outside this store, on the street, there are store clerks that put together bicycles all day. They just sit out there on the street and build bikes. That's their job. That's what they do. No one bothers them. No one talks to them. No one asks them to explain the difference between, "Would you like me to..." and "Can I..." and "Let me..." It's just them, the bikes and their tools. I want this job. I want to build bikes.

Not sure whether you like a country? Go buy underwear!

2004-09-02T15:28:00.000+09:00

I have chosen to find it amusing that about half of my bras have decided now is as good a time as any to die on me. Some of the bras didn't quite make it through the ordeal of the trip here. I think that maybe the airport workers who came in contact with my luggage were rather unhappy with the sheer size and weight of one of my suitcases and manhandled it just enough to crush the clasps and/or bend the underwires of too many of my bras... Really, I can't blame them. I was quite unhappy about the damn thing myself when trying to get through the airport when I arrived.

Across the street from my school there's a lingerie shop called Secret Room Tu Tu. I think that's a euphemism, much in the same way that a woman's nether region is called her, "delicate place." Of course, it's still very hard getting a straight answer out of anyone so I have yet to have that hypothesis confirmed.

Japan, like the rest of the world, operates on the metric system. I had no idea what size bra I would wear when measuring in centimeters. The kind ladies at my school wrote down phonetically how to say, "Can you measure me, please." [Saizu O Hakkate Kudasai] When they started telling me stories about their measurement experiences I asked them to tell me how to say, "Don't touch me please." [Sawara Naide Kudasai] Granted, I was told that this was rude and I shouldn't say it. They offered instead "Fuku O Kitamama De Onegaishimasu," [With clothes on, please]. As a last resort, they wrote out in Japanese something along the lines of, "I'm an American and therefore illiterate, deaf and dumb. Please help me get some bras. Please measure me, but try not to get too close. Space is very important to me. Thank you."

So I go into Secret Room Tu Tu and try to look busy while waiting on the people that were in there to leave. If I'm going to look like an asshole, which I most certainly was, I like there to be as few people in the room as possible. Once the other customers had left, I used one of the few Japanese words I think I might have mastered, that is, "Excuse me." The clerk walked towards me, although it was obvious that she didn't want to. Of course, I screwed up when asking her to measure me because I said, "O," twice. She got the gist. When she told me my size, I mimed writing it down, which she did, although she didn't want to write it on the pieces of paper I had brought with me. [In her defense, they were folded and for all she knew I had pulled them out of my underwear...]

I picked a couple bras that were in my price range [which, strangely enough, were the ones that I would've thought would be really expensive... It seems that the plain bras are more expensive than the embroidered kind.]. Thankfully, the padding--of which there was a lot--was removable and one of the bras fit. Because the shopping gods were smiling on me, it happened to be the cheapest [$19!] and came with a pair of underwear.

I'm beginning to really like this country.

Thoughts on fashion and Madonna...

2004-08-23T22:48:00.000+09:00

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...

2004-08-15T22:51:00.000+09:00

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

2004-08-07T20:41:00.000+09:00

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

2004-08-01T16:53:00.000+09:00

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.

I'm not really looking, but thanks anyway

2004-07-30T17:10:00.000+09:00

Maybe I'm feeling a bit touchy lately--could be the varying degrees of PMS I've been suffering from since landing here--but I just don't understand why people from back home tell me that they hope that I find whatever it is that I'm looking for... What does that mean? Just because I've uprooted my life and decided to move across the globe means that I'm looking for something? I was stuck in a dead end job where I was treated like complete shit. Less than shit, actually. I think, now that I've had a bit of distance [both figuratively and literally], that I was living some kind of sick existence that was the stuff of Dickens. I was being harassed at a fairly constant rate [especially towards the end] by someone who, in a perfect world, would have no desire to even think twice about me. I was expected to bend over backwards for a bunch of men that would just as soon yell at me and tell me how stupid I was as shoot something resembling a smile in my direction. Yes, my love life was great. Yes, my financial life was great. Yes, I was building equity. [technically, I'm still building equity] But my professional life was such total shit that it clouded everything else. Did I need to run away to Japan in order to see the good? No. Did I need to run away at all? Nope. Did I run away? Don't think so. However, when one is offered a chance at an experience like this, one would have to be a jackass to decline. Although the locals here probably don't think so, I'm usually not a jackass...

And what kind of comment is that anyway? "I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for,"? Am I reading the wrong tone into it? I could be wrong, but that seems like an incredibly bitchy thing to say. When I hear that [or read that, as the case may be], it seems sarcastic. It seems like something that I would say to someone that I was either angry at, or didn't like, or wished harm upon. Am I wrong here?

Granted, maybe I'm only putting that tone into it because the first person who said it to me was an angry, spiteful little man who said it with that exact tone.

So, in response to those who hope I find what I'm looking for, whether you mean it or not, thank you very much. I'm not quite sure if I'm looking for anything, but should I find it, I'll let you know.

[in all fairness, the second person who said this to me probably didn't mean it like that at all. J., I apologize for the rant. Your comment just reminded me of said spiteful little man... Sumimasen!]

How should I use my gaijin powers?

2004-07-30T11:50:00.000+09:00

Every time I open my mouth around Japanese people I make an ass of myself. I've been trying so hard to blend in with my surroundings and I just don:t seem to be able to do it. I think trying to blend in with the Japanese people is only going to cause me more stress, depression, performance anxiety, and the like.

I need to just embrace the fact that I'm a gaijin! Yes, there are people in the street staring at me and whispering, "Gaijin," under their breath in my general direction. Yes, there are people who stare at me on the train and probably wonder what the hell I'm doing here. Yes, I use the incredibly formal and polite usage of, "Thank you very much," when receiving change from people in the Quickie Mart. Yes, I trip down stairs because I keep forgetting that little half stair that doesn't seem to make much sense. I'm going to stand out no matter what I do...

Now the question is, How should I stand out? How should I use my powers as an outsider?

Another opportunity to make an ass of myself? Don't mind if I do!

2004-07-29T17:10:00.000+09:00

Yesterday was my first day of actually teaching. Granted, the departing teacher was still there in the room supervising, but he was pretty much worthless and wouldn't even participate in the group. I think I actually did a pretty good job. A fantastic job considering it was my first day teaching anything ever. One of my students told my manager that I sounded like the lady on the language CD and/or a DJ. [there's a bit of a language barrier between my manager and me so I'm not really sure if she meant both or just thought of a better way to say it...] I came home so happy last night. For the first time since I got here I actually started to think that I could do this.

Then today happened...

I think I've got putting together the actual lesson plans down. There's no real problem there. I know the order to teach the different sections, too. The fact that I don't seem to be able to make it through all of the different sections is another matter and apparently of no real concern. [at least not yet] My problem seems to be that I don't really set up the situations very well. I'm not sure if it's because I'm not sure how to set them up, or I'm not sure how to set them up in a way that the students understand, or I'm not entirely sure of the situation itself. Whatever the reason, when I give the students a situation, or a role to play in the situation, unless they're higher level students, they just seem to sit there and stare at me. Looking back at a room of blank faces makes me freak out just a little bit. When I start to freak out, not only do I start to talk faster and use way too many words--half of which they probably don't understand--but I start to forget what the hell the point of it all is. What was the situation I was trying to get these people to role-play? Why am I standing here in front of these people? What exactly do I want them to do? And what the fuck am I trying to teach them again?!

That cycle repeated itself all day long.

The powers that be at the school don't seem concerned about this. It's only my second day, after all. Although the thought did cross my mind, I'm sure their efforts at reassuring me aren't just Japanese modesty talking. It IS only my second day. No one [but myself] expects me to be a perfect teacher right out of the gate.

So after beating myself up all the way home on the train internally--externally I was retelling a Bill Mahr joke concerning John Kerry and his wife--I decided to stop in the grocery store to buy shit that I don't really need right now, such as mini cup cakes. [which, incidentally, have a very strange taste that I can't quite place... It's not necessarily a good taste, yet not really a bad taste either. However, the taste for damn sure doesn't belong in a cup cake.] It seems that every time I have any kind of interaction with Japanese people I make a complete ass of myself. It wasn't until I got to the check out and started to see the amount of my purchase rise higher and higher that I realized that I just didn't have that kind of money on me. I had to try to get the cashier to throw some items of food back. She looked at me like no one had ever asked her to do that before. Granted, maybe she was looking at me like that because I was pointing in the general direction of the basket and saying, "No, no, not that. Sorry. I don't want that," instead of saying anything at all in Japanese. [which is probably a good thing, since my Japanese vocabulary consists of a very polite way to say, "Thank you very much," and, "goodbye," and the numbers one, two and another one that sounds like banana--I forget which number that one is, though...] Of course, the sensible food items got thrown back, i.e. the rice. [which cost $12 for some reason!] The questionable mini cup cakes made it home with me. Just as well, really. I still don't know how to work the rice cooker.

Safety in numbers

2004-07-26T17:12:00.000+09:00

Yesterday I met up with two friends from training and wandered around the Shinjuku area of Tokyo. [For those who don't know, that's one of the sections of Tokyo with all the neon and pachinko parlors and people on top of people that was in Lost in Translation.] I wouldn't go so far as to say that I've conquered the subway system, but I did get where I wanted to go and only got on the wrong train once. Granted, I only needed to change trains once... But it was leaving and everyone was running and I got caught up. [it didn't take long for me to join the group mentality...]

We tried to get cell phones, but it proved way too difficult. It wasn't just the language barrier, either. We found one brochure that was in English, but it didn't make much sense. It's funny how even when you can find things written in English, they usually still don't make sense. Then again, I think it was kind of hard for me to chose a cell phone plan at home, too. Come to think of it, it's pretty hard for me to chose anything...

We ate at a Udon Restaurant [those thick, white noodles that look like worms] and they had so much food that didn't have meat/seafood in it that I bought enough to feed three people! Whenever I find a place where there is food that I can eat I always buy too much. I ended up getting a bowl of udon w/ scallions, some tofu w/ scallions, two wild rice balls [or was that seaweed?], a piece of sweet potato tempura and a veggie tempura pancake. [This compared to their bowls of udon and one piece of tempura each.]

Now here's my main problem: I have no idea how to ask if there is meat in anything, much less to even ask what something is. A lot of this food is very hard to distinguish. God knows what they've put in the stuff. So I think there's going to be a lot of toast in my diet. [well, as soon as I get a toaster] And as soon as I figure out how to use my rice cooker, a lot of rice.

Jen vs. the washing machine

2004-07-25T17:16:00.000+09:00

It has been confirmed. I am a lazy [read: asshole] American.

I've moved into my apartment--which, by all respects, is very nice. I slept reasonably well last night, considering the noises the AC was making and the fact that the sheets didn't fit the bed and barely covered me. This morning my gigantic piece of luggage arrived via courier--they'll carry anything for you in this country! It was actually kind of fun unpacking the monster luggage because I had forgotten that I had packed half that shit. I was so excited when I found not one, but two tank tops!

The manager at my school ran through the instructions of the washing machine yesterday, but I wasn't paying as much attention as I probably should have been, especially considering that the knobs are labeled in kanji. This morning, the only thing I remembered was that the knob with the numbers controls the time and the slide knob in the middle was to be ignored.

My washing machine was not designed with the lazy American in mind. First you've got to actually turn on the water and wait for the level to raise enough to cover the clothes. This took an incredibly long amount of time as the water was basically just trickling into the machine. I found out that it's best to wait for the machine to be full of water before you turn on the timer because it's probably not very good for the clothes to be batted around by the paddle when they're basically dry.

After the time had run, I opened the machine [whose top just comes right off because it's got nothing but gravity keeping it on] and had to fiddle with the other knobs to figure out how to drain the water. Once the water is drained, you've got to put the sopping wet clothes into the other side, which does the spin cycle. During the spin cycle the entire machine jumped and lunged forward and made godawful noises. I didn't think much of this, and just figured that the reason that the machine is sitting in a plastic tray with sides is so that it doesn't jump all over the kitchen and knock something over. I kept thinking of the washer races I had seen somewhere on TV...

For some reason, and I'm going to blame it on the fact that I was doing this very early in the morning, it didn't occur to me until it had finished the spin cycle that I was just spinning the soapy clothes and not rinsing them off. The manager made absolutely no mention of this little bit of helpful advice.

Once I started ignoring the manager's advice and just hitting whatever button I thought looked good at the time, including the slide knob in the middle [which, it turns out, controls which part of the machine the water goes into], the laundry went really well. Important lesson of the day: Ignore Japanese instructions.

I have arrived!

2004-07-21T21:15:00.000+09:00

I made it across the country and across the sea... Unfortunately, I have yet to find a place where I can get my computer to work, so the posts that I:ve been working on cannot be posted yet. All in due time.

More to follow (when I can actually use a keyboard that will not start typing in Japanese for no apparent reason).

Garbage trucks and karaoke

2004-07-17T16:50:00.000+09:00

First things first... I think maybe I was high when I decided to come here. I'm not a teacher. I don't know the first thing about getting other people excited about something that I'm just not excited about. That's what The Company expects of us. And rightfully so. There are English language schools all over! I haven't seen enough of Tokyo yet to even warrant using a percentage, but I've seen at least six different schools already. English is big business here.

I think it's important to note that the first thing that I saw upon arrival in Japan, at least the first thing I took notice of, was while I was working my way towards customs in the airport. I was looking out the window onto the tarmac and saw what looked like a garbage truck speeding by. On the side of the garbage truck it said, "Friendly Airport Limousine." What should one think of a country that uses garbage trucks as limos and calls them, "Friendly?"

It's my second night in Japan. We, being myself and about nine of the other people in the training class, went to a restaurant/karaoke bar. Sadly, I'm not going to be able to remain vegetarian. They ordered a salad for me--which, let it be known, I didn't want--and when it came it was covered in shrimp, octopus and various pieces of unknown sea creatures. I picked all the seafood off--with my chopsticks, and I wasn't even drunk!--and tried a piece of lettuce, only to have to stop myself from spitting it out immediately because of the horrid fish taste. I had a piece of sushi and wasn't impressed with it at all. In fact, I had the same reaction to that as I did to the salad.

So I guess the highlight of the night, other than singing, "Hotel California," was that I ate my first omelette with chopsticks. So my original fears about starving while here might just come true, except that it will be because I can't eat any of the food, not because I can't use chopsticks. Which brings me back to the sad fact that I'm just not going to be able to remain vegetarian. Or eat out anywhere.

It has come to my attention--once again--that I'm just not very good with foreign languages. Really, it's a wonder I can speak even one language. We had our first Japanese lesson today, and I have no idea what the hell that lady was saying. I don't know what I was trying to say or what the person was saying back to me, but I think it had something to do with sushi. I only know that because for part of it we had to put on a jerry-rigged paper sushi hat.

So this jet lag thing... I don't know if it's jet lag or what, but there has been something dreadfully wrong with my eyes since about half way through the flight here. This morning when I got up my eyes were all bloodshot and I could barely see. It was like that all day. They don't sell eye drops at the convenience store up the street, so I had to wait until I got back towards the train station to stop in a pharmacy of sorts. I say, "of sorts," because it was really more like a kiosk than any pharmacy I've ever seen. It was at the corner of a busy intersection, right outside the train station, and the isles, which spilled out on the sidewalk, were packed with both people and miscellaneous pharmacy-type items. Unfortunately for me, everything is written in kanji, which made it incredibly difficult to find the eyedrops. Thankfully there was someone from the group who knew enough Japanese to speak to one of the clerks who then pointed me in the right direction. When I got the eyedrops into my eyes, it was all I could do to not scream out in pain. It felt like I was putting peppermint oil into my eyes!

So I'm not sure what I think of this mythical land of neon yet. It's so horribly humid here that it makes Florida seem like nothing. The mosquitos are really slow here, too. They're so easy to kill when they're slow. There are vending machines everywhere that sell various drinks, cigarettes [no Marlboro Ultra Lights, though], and beer. I haven't found any used underwear vending machines yet, but I'm keeping my eyes open for one. It costs more money to get a Coke than to get a beer, and much to my dismay, Coke tastes too much like Pepsi. Although I did get a 20oz. Coke at the Quickie Mart today and it came with a Minnie Mouse handkerchief, which I won't mind using in this heat--despite the Rat. The streets are all the size of one-ways, even though they're not, and the cars are so incredibly cute that I'm finding it hard not to gush over all of them.

Can you think of the last time you were able to get close enough to touch a fly? Normally those little bastards are so quick that you can't get anywhere near them. There's a fly buzzing around me right now. It was in my hair and when I put my hand up there to brush it out, it just stayed there. I touched it. Twice. Then it went into my Coke. I tried blowing it away, but it didn't move. I tried shaking the bottle a little, but it didn't move. Finally I had to stick my finger in the bottle to get the damn thing to leave. Is there any reasonable explanation for why the bugs move so damn slow here?? Are Shintos not allowed to kill bugs and somehow the bugs know it?

It begins...

2004-07-15T16:48:00.000+09:00

I'm flying over Anchorage, nearing the international date line [or so says the awful map that United Airlines provides every now and again].

Here's how my adventure has gone so far... I woke up crying and pretty much cried all the way to Chicago. Once I got into Chicago, I almost missed the flight to Tokyo because I haven't seemed to master the art of moving people with my mind. [Any day now!] Airports are busy--as a rule--and usually people are in somewhat of a hurry when they're there. So why is it that there are always those people that just wander around, zig zagging from one side of the walkway to the other, always right in front of you? So there I am, 15 minutes until the plane is scheduled to leave, trying to get around these fools when I hear the announcement, "Final call for Flight 881 to Tokyo." That's when the yelling started. "Move to the left! Excuse me! Outta the way!" After I ran for what felt like 20 miles--and dropped my ticket on the people mover and had to run back to get it--I saw the sign for the gate, and then heard my name over the intercom. I tried to yell at the guy at the gate who had just said my name, but my throat was closing, and my cottonmouth was so bad that no words would form. Thankfully, he saw me waving my free hand around like a mad thing and probably recognized the desperate and wild look in my eyes as that of a person who is terrified of being stranded when expected elsewhere.

When I got on the plane, the stewardess gave me water at the door and tried to get me to talk. Unfortunately, it took me a good five minutes to calm down enough to be able to do anything at all... I guess one of the good things that will come out of this trip is that I'll be in better shape upon my return. [Well, I can hope.]

While in the bathroom, hours later, it occurred to me that I'm probably insane. I have left behind the most wonderful man, and for what? Christ. Have I made a mistake?

Yeah, the cats...

2004-07-12T13:36:00.000+09:00

Today my cats and I parted ways. My truly wonderful friend S. [& her partner in crime, S.] took them off my hands. Of all the things that I need to get done before I leave, I sincerely didn't think much of giving the cats away to their new owners. That is until it was time to do it.

In preparation, I cleaned the shitbox, the tent that covers the shitbox [necessary, of course, in order to provide my feline companions their much needed privacy], and the transportation device, i.e. the kitty cage. When the cleaning was finished, I was drenched with sweat, covered in what I assumed to be a fair amount of tiny flecks of cat shit, and really starting to feel hungover from the night before.

S. and S. showed up and the transfer began. I think in explaining the role I play in the lives of my cats I came out looking like a terrible pet owner. More of a warden, really, than a loving, caring mother-type. For the most part, I would say that this is true. I am not the loving, caring mother-type when it comes to my cats. They annoy me, aggravate me, and make me sneeze and itch. However, when the Shits McGee got into the box and I walked the box out to the car, I was truly shocked to find that it was all I could do to not start crying hysterically. When I picked up Nigel to put him into his box, he gave me a familiar hug and licked my shoulder. Again, all I could do to not start weeping.

After the cats were gone, and after I had calmed down, I started thinking that I was a horrible, selfish person for not only owning cats who I ignore, but for taking a job that requires that I give said cats to friends so I can romp around the world. That feeling turned into a feeling of utter dread regarding this decision to move to Japan. I keep telling myself [and others] that it will be fine, that I'm making the right decision, that everything is great, but what if I'm wrong?

The cats have been gone for about four hours, and I don't feel any better. Maybe it's all the crying, but I feel incredibly empty. When they're here, I take them for granted, push them away when they want attention because they make me itch, and sometimes forget to feed them. Now that they're gone, I miss them terribly. So I guess what I'm trying to say is that when it comes to my cats, I'm just like every ex-boyfriend I've ever had.

How could we make this more difficult?

2004-07-07T11:31:00.000+09:00

God knows I hate to bitch about anything, but I'm scheduled to leave this fair country in 9 days, and I have yet to get the Certificate of Eligibility for my visa. The Company--as it will be referred to from here on out--assures me that this is no problem. I don't see how this could be viewed as, "No problem." Assuming that I have anything resembling a grasp on the workings of emigration, it seems clear that I need to have a visa in order to live and work in another country. They assure me that I should have the Certificate of Eligibility in hand by this Friday, at which point I have to call them to let them know that I got it. Then on Monday I've got to hightail it down to Miami to make a visit to the Japanese Consulate to drop off the CoE [as it's referred to in the business] and then proceed to wait around two days for them to just put a stamp in my passport. This puts me in Miami from Monday until Wednesday. My flight leaves Thursday...

When I asked the Company what the worst case scenario would be if, say, it took the Consulate more than the expected two days to stamp my passport, they told me that I would have to just change my ticket for the next day. Change my ticket? The ticket is NON-REFUNDABLE! [see previous post] I've already called the company once in a panic because I couldn't find my itinerary on their website [and I fear I really offended a man who was calling himself "Steve," although I'm not too sure how popular the name "Steve" is in India]. I can't call them again and try to sweet talk them into changing my departure date without getting charged out the wazoo. [I don't believe that those customer service reps don't make little comments in the files about the nasty customers. I worked in customer service, and believe me, I left comments all over the place!]

So instead of having 8 days to get out of my house, I now have 4. That's nothing. That's no time. Right now I feel like I could sleep for 4 days. I'm really quite stressed about it. But am I packing right now? No. I'm bitching... How unlike me.

It's over...

2004-07-01T08:56:00.000+09:00

My four year working experiment in the law firm of procrastination is finished. It actually kind of went out with a whimper, as opposed to the bang I had expected. There were no unwanted [and unwarranted] pop ins by exes, no very last minute, "Do this! Do it right now!" orders, and no cake. There was only momentary sadness when one attorney told me that I could call her collect from Tokyo if I needed anything at all and when one of the partners hugged me and told me that he loved me... [However, this was the same partner of legendary drunken Christmas party fame, so the sentiment must be taken for what it's worth.]

When I left the building I didn't have the overwhelming feeling that a chapter of my life was over, or that I was moving into the future--hurray! There wasn't any maniacal laughter or surges of emotion in any direction. I just walked out. Just like it was another day. The only difference being this: Today was the last day I'll have to drag my ass out of bed to drive to a place that I don't want to be, to try very hard to act like I really care about the work that's being done, to smile and nod when orders are barked at me, and to have to fight the impulse to run from the building screaming my fool head off. Today was the last day. Tomorrow I will wake up and not have to worry about whether that pleading was filed, or that brief has the right page numbers on it, or that phone conference has been scheduled. Tomorrow I can wake up and begin to clear my head of all that bullshit.

Still, though... It amazes me the frequency with which these life changing events [such as the final day of gainful employment] occur without any acknowledgment or fanfare. You wake up, do what needs to be done, and go home without any movie-type realizations or celebrations. Seems a fitting end for a place where the employees are openly compared to the slaves in Gone With The Wind. [And I only wish I was kidding.]

The hunt concludes & thoughts on the regrowth of souls

2004-06-29T00:17:00.000+09:00

The house is rented! Two [seemingly] lovely individuals have decided that my house would make a perfect home for them during their stay in [currently] rainy Tampa. A lease of my own creation was complimented upon and then signed, and money changed hands. As soon as they left my house, I jumped for joy and started laughing like a madman.

It's almost scary how everything seems to be coming together for my move to the far away land of waving porcelain kitties and Tsunamis. Okay. It is scary.

This week marks the end of a long, and sometimes painful, working experience in the world of criminal defense. I've learned how to use the internet to learn damn near anything about anybody and how to be a better criminal. I've become a better liar and a better judge of people. [is it strange that I see these as good things?]

Unfortunately, working here as long as I have has left me with the feeling that my soul has been whittled away to a nub; a shadow of its former self. Can one regrow one's soul? If so, how does one go about regrowing a soul? Or are souls like brain cells? Once they're gone, they're gone?

I guess the important part is that in getting out of this unhealthy work environment, this cancerous work environment, if you will, I will be able to at least slow down the inevitable erosion of my soul. In only a few days time I am going to jump for joy and start laughing like a madman as I run out of this place and into the great unknown. I daresay the people of this office would expect nothing less of me.

Non-refundable

2004-06-25T00:25:00.000+09:00

The travel gods must be smiling down on me! I found a one-way ticket to Narita for only $466! It was so cheap that I actually bought the insurance they offer.

Now I'm committed. No backing out. Japan, here I come! [unless, of course, the Japanese Government denies my visa request... And just in case you're reading, members of the powers-that-be within the Japanese Consulate, I didn't mean any of that stuff I said about George W. and the country on the whole. I was just testing my friends. Honest.]

The fall of the house of spider

2004-06-21T22:01:00.000+09:00

There's nothing like coming home after a long weekend of wandering the streets of Manhattan only to find that an enormous spider [along with its egg sack] has taken up residence on your front door. Now I'm not talking about a daddy longlegs or even a widow. These types of spiders, to use the wording of my dear friend T., "Belong in a laboratory!"

People always laugh when they find out that I'm, how should I say, terrified of spiders. Again, I'm not talking about the friendly household spiders which I can ignore completely or kill without any difficulty. I'm talking about monsters. Big, hairy monsters with the ability to steal your firstborn if you turned away for just a second. See what I mean?

So there I am, fresh off the plane from the Isle of Manhattan, ears needing a good pop, sinuses needing a good vacuum, body needing a good rinsing and soul needing a good drink. I'm walking towards my front door, key in hand, with T. walking up behind me, when I catch a glimpse of something big, dark and hairy very near my outstretched hand. Having lived in the House That Spiders Built for over a year now, I've learned that it's best to jump first and allow the eyes to focus second. I'm convinced this [now] instinctual behavior is the only way I've avoided having one of these beasts actually come in contact with my skin.

After the initial jump and recognition of the monster, the next 15 minutes or so of utter freak out is a blur. There was a lot of screaming, nervous laughter, jumping around on one foot, and bizarre plans of attack. I do remember that T. was as much of a basket case as I was. At one point I said, "You and me combined equal one big, festering pussy." [And for those of you who don't know, no man likes hearing this!]

The final plan of attack was this: I would spray it with the wasp spray--which stays outdoors for this very reason--and when it's stunned and on the ground, T. will whack the hell out of it with the broom. Finally, between the two of us, we found enough of one teste to actually go ahead with the plan. T. stood behind me with the broom, ready to whack the hell out of it, while I held the can of wasp spray and started dousing the entire door, occasionally hitting the target. Normally, you can hear these beasts cry in pain when they're hit with the spray, but this one just winced a little and fell to the ground. T. attacked it with the broom while I was, by that point, on the other side of porch yelling, "Whack it again! It's not dead! Smash the babies! Kill it!"

Did I mention this was happening at about 11:30 p.m. on a Sunday night? The neighbors must love me.

After the twenty minutes it took to kill the monster, it was off to the bar! When one attacks a monster like that and lives to tell the tale, a celebration is in order.

Giving Notice--Finding a Replacement

2004-06-15T23:32:00.000+09:00

It's always been an interesting experience to listen in on your bosses while they are interviewing your future replacement. It never ceases to amuse me to see my bosses trying very hard to make themselves seem like normal, kind and level-headed individuals. I keep trying to remember how long that act lasted when I first started here... When did that veil come down? Was it during the first week? The second?

They tell these poor prospective employees that they need to have umpteen years experience in various aspects of law, despite the fact that they really don't practice that type of law and any experience in that regard would be completely useless.

After four years here, I know what they're really looking for in an assistant: a young girl that looks cute in a dress and will blow it off when she gets hit on by one of the partners. Drunken Christmas party anyone??

The hunt begins

2004-06-09T02:33:00.000+09:00

Before I can flee the country, I have to find some able bodied person to rent my house. This is turning out to be much more difficult than I had expected.

Last night a woman that can only be described as the female equivalent to Humpty Dumpty came to look at my house. She was under the misguided presumption that she could come into my house and try to fast talk me into not only cutting her a deal on the rent [because she doesn't have a job!], but also allowing her to store her furniture in my house for a week before she actually moved in. She did a convoluted song and dance about how clean she was and how trustworthy and honest she has always been. While this woman was sitting there going on and on about her cleanliness, I couldn't help but notice her feet. She was wearing fake snakeskin slides that had certainly seen better days, and her toes, which were hanging out of the shoes all helter-skelter, were running a close second for the most disgusting I have ever seen. Her toenails were all gnarled and rotten with fungus and some of them had the remnants of nail polish which had probably been put on weeks before. How can one claim to be a clean person and have toes that look like that?

On top of all of this, she couldn't keep her multiple stories straight, which, as we all know, is the most important part of being a convincing liar. Lying to people is an important part of my current job duties, and after four years I believe I've gotten pretty good at it. The old adage, "You can't bullshit a bullshitter," rings true yet again.

So the reasons I will give for not renting her my house will be the obvious ones, i.e. she doesn't have a job, she can't afford the place, she's got a German shepherd, and it won't be ready when she needs it.

But the real reason I'm not going to rent her my house: I do not want a filthy Humpty Dumpty lady who doesn't have enough imagination and/or memory to form a convincing lie living under my roof. After all, isn't that nail fungus transmittable through bathtubs??