Kids, Cones, and...uhm...Crooners.

Look out, the photos are back. Here's a small recap of my last Saturday in Japan. First we went to Meet the World. It was great, we played a game called Smother the Small Child.

That kid was really really cute. Too bad for you!
(Smother the Small Child is photo [/].)

I was assigned the kindergarten, first, AND second grade classes. WTF! All the other classes had like five foreigners each, and we had 5 between like 80 kids! Bah. It was still a lot of fun. Some people had never worked with kindergarten kids before, and it was a real treat for them. Me, I got to tie a towel to a kid's face. Three kids in fact. It was a blast.

Afterwards, I decided to go to the museums because I hadn't been in three years. The Benesse is the same, although I swear there are more plants in the weeds exhibit. We also went for a stroll in art house area. We saw a shrine with cat statues, and a lot of white cones. At the port, there were a whole bunch of cones, which looked totally normal until it got dark. Then they lit up. Brilliant. Sometimes they even ran patterns. I've never been so in love with a group of traffic cones.

And just out of sight, a new pumpkin! Weird. I thought one was enough.

The port's been spiffed up since I last visited a year ago. They even had an indoor waiting area, where the DS club played MarioKart and Japanese people watched them. No really, check out the woman behind them.

And later, I schooled them all at Tetris.
Because those are the only games I'm good at.
Aw.

Afterwards there was a musical meeting and then we went to dinner at Dear. I made it to Dear twice! That means TWO lasagnas! Hooray! And then a bunch of us celebrated Tree's birthday...by going to a different izakaya for drinks! No, we couldn't find people so we just went to a different bar to kill time...it was a pretty random group of people, but it was quality. Lots of good conversations. And I got to hang out with D four times! Every Single Weekend! That's how many times I see him in one year!

And then we went to karaoke, where we decided to get our own room, so we could actually sing songs. I mean seriously, that group was rockin it hard. Look at tamborine man. Look at the (real) welshie. I think the birthday girl was up dancing next to me. Apparently she had such a good time that she couldn't talk for a couple days. Now that's a good time.

The three tallest guys in the prefecture. J looks...normal sized. Wow.
And this is photo [/], because I took it after midnight, and was pleasantly hungover the next day.

And then we went home. I've been lucky that big events have coincided with my last weekends. I got to see a lot of people I hadn't seen in ages. People I didn't even get to say goodbye to the first time around. The best goodbye? It's a one-two punch, poorly paraphrased:

"Oh don't be silly. You know you'll be be back next month."

Followed by:

"For the record, I don't think you'll be coming back." (To be fair, that wasn't the real goodbye.)

I love my friends.

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Readjustment Day 2

As I'm not wearing socks because I rarely wear socks in San Diego, I'd like to share what I'm doing right now:

Drinking red wine (only a little, and only because it's leftover from that bottle from last month, and because I've become a boredom drinker) and reading xkcd.com, that geeky web comic. I only don't get the really science-y ones.

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I have been home for 7 hours.

I have taken some things off of my bed, I have taken some laundry out of a suitcase. I've checked most of my blogs, I kind of ate a meal.

All of these back to back trips have left me disoriented.

It's now been 4 months since I've had a job? Really? Four?

Where can I unpack if all my past unpackings still haven't found a home yet?

Hey look, matzo.

I can still feign complete thoughts, sure. For example--today I had McDonald's for the first time...since...wow. At least last year. I know I've had Burger King less than a year ago, and I remember having a tsukimi burger in Tokyo with my sister in September of 2004, but in the past 3 years, I'm pretty sure I haven't had McDonald's more than 5 times, and even that's a generous estimate. But this morning, during the drive home, we stopped at McDonald's, where half the people were in their pajamas and everyone was comparing driving destinations. I wish I had taken a picture. And when we got back in the car, I had a sausage mcmuffin in my hand, and I despised it. I could smell the rubbery egg and felt the greasy warmth and I wrinkled my nose. But food's food, and we still had another 4 hours of driving to go. So I took a bite.

And it was delicious. Not udon delicious, or yakiniku delicious, but guilty pleasure delicious. Like eating mac n cheese for dinner. I even picked the orange bits of cheese from the wrapper. And all that guilt about eating bad fast food? I realized I was in the middle of Central Valley in California, and all the food in the area was probably on par with McDonald's. Goodbye guilt.

I probably won't start craving McDonald's, but now it's in my head that McDonald's still tastes good. Bah.

I need to start making plans and setting goals. No excuses now. The internet's back, the weather's warmer, I have a car, I don't have that pesky job thing to get in my way...all that's lacking is real motivation. Urgh.

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Answers.

I'm coming back. But only for a month. Because I'm crazy. See you soon.

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The Sparkling Red (3/365)

My house is like my apartment(s). Sorry.

Sunday, October 15, 7:48pm

This is a sparkling red wine, Riunite Lambrusco. You can get it from the grocery store. (Vons, specifically.) It has a screw top. And I love it.

A few weeks ago, I went to a funeral. I didn't know the man, it was the father of a girl I used to know. My mother left the obituary on the table for me to see.

I justified going by reassuring myself that I was kind of as a representative of the old crowd that knew the family. I went to elementary school with this girl, I went to dinner with her and her boyfriend before a 10th grade homecoming dance. Most of my friends were closer to her than I was, but they're scattered. (And working.) She's a bubbly, witty gal, and although we weren't ever close, I felt the need to pay my respects.

The clincher was that another friend (who is much closer) was going. And besides, it was like 2 miles from my house. Guilt got the better of me, and I ended up going to the reception too. Sorry about the freeloading, family of the departed.

The reception was really nice though. It was subdued, but casual. It was at a local Italian place that I haven't been to in almost 20 years. They played his favorite songs, and there were pictures on the walls of him through the years. I helped set up. We accidentally put a lint roller on display, because we didn't know any better. (Hey, there was a beaver golf club cover and a farting George Bush doll in the collection.)

The food was good, too. Humble, simple stuff. Salad, spaghetti, pizza. And the family wine, Lambrusco. I was skeptical at first, but I enjoyed it. And it was sweet and sparkling. I'm a sucker for those. I will be honest, I felt uncomfortable being there, but appreciated the send-off the guy got. Intimate and relaxed. It was nice seeing the daughter again. She still sparkles like she did in high school.

A few nights ago, I snuck a bottle of Lambrusco into the shopping cart, and my dad laughed at me. "You can make a sparkling red with 7-up," he said, but he recognized the name (apparently it's been around for 25 years, who knew). I now drink a glass of wine after dinner (like my father), mostly because I enjoy the stuff. We'll see what happens when I finish the bottle.

I like it when stuff has a story.

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Eggs, Unpretty. (2/365)

The colors make me sick.

Saturday, October 14, 12:14pm
The night before, I decided I would make an omelette for breakfast. Awesome. I like eggs. Well, this is what happened. 3 eggs, mushrooms, and cheese. Cooked in a small frying pan. For some reason, I just didn't feel like hauling out the bigger cast iron one, and ended up with a fluffy, mushroom topped brick. I should've put some salsa on it, just to break up the unsettling brown-yellow-offwhite combination. I know, I can't cook. But I'm trying.

Was it good? It was good enough. It needed vegetables. It was solid eating though. That was the only thing I ate until dinner. Next time I'll try harder, I promise.

And then for dinner, I had a carne asada burrito. Heaven. I wasn't hungry, but man, I wanted it. I went into a food coma about 3/4 the way through. It wasn't that big, but after living in Japan, I guess my stomach got used to smaller portions.

Poor choice of comparison item, I know. But that burrito is still a decent size.

The eggs picture is #2 in the picture a day challenge. I think the posts might get shorter, but I'll keep trying to take those pictures.

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The Rocketman (1/365)

"What are you taking a picture of?"

Friday, October 13, 2006, 2:00pm
Hello free lunch.

This is my dad. He's a rocket scientist. (It's so awesome to say that, although I suspect the job's not very exciting.) He drinks a glass of wine every day at dinner (definitely a kitchen drinker, but perhaps not to say, L's excess), likes garlic, and once said he likes Irish Car Bombs, although I've yet to test that one. In high school, my friends thought my parents were divorced because they never saw my dad. I could share a lot of unsavory stories about him from that angsty time period, but what matters now is that when he comes home early on Fridays (because he wants to? I have no idea), he asks if I want to go out for lunch. I can appreciate this.

We went to a homestyle Italian place, and it was good enough. There was a homey atmosphere, but it seemed very calculated. Y'know how Buca di Beppo just lays on the charm? Pictures crammed on the walls, a walk through the kitchen, stuff on the ceiling. Good stuff. Faked, all of it, but fun and charming. This place, it's the suburban version. Sports bar on the side, track lighting setting the mood. Pasta not very al dente. My dad talked about buying a condo for me to live in once I got a job, because it'd be "cheaper." Boring stuff like that.

This is picture #1 of the 365 picture experiment challenge. I'm gonna try and take a picture a day. I estimate I'll get sick of the program in 2-3 months. Eventually I'll upload them all to flickr. Eventually.

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Pretty things from the internet

Boingboing harvest. But hey, you probably didn't click those links anyway.


Somebody's wedding "cake" was 400 cake penguins. Penguins made of cake. Super awesome.



An artist on LSD. I couldn't resist. That's only the second of nine drawings.




Words made of wire. I'm totally going to teach myself to do this someday.



And finally, rainbow roses. Sure they could be tacky in real life, but just seeing them fills me with awe. I want to touch one.

Oh, and speaking of touching, I touched that makeup case, and it was a let down. Tacky in real life. I consoled myself by spending the equivalent to a decent pair of shoes on makeup brushes. I totally spent all that money I "saved" by not purchasing that case...more actually. But, uhm, I needed...uhm, well I needed a dress for the next wedding, and that dress was so cheap (after my makeup splurge) that I bought another dress...and then Clinique had bonus time...I swear I'm done spending like this for awhile. Please don't snowball further.

Oh wait. Plane tickets. And shoes for the dress. Hell. I'm afraid to look at my bank account.

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Brace Yourselves.

The wedding review is coming.
Along with about 30 more pictures of this awesome kid.

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And I hope you're all there to witness it.

I told my dad about the wedding this past weekend, and I told him how the father of the bride made up a few facts in his speech. Nothing more than a few name mess-ups, but hey, we noticed. (To his credit, I was impressed how detailed he was.)

Yenniway, I told my dad this, and he said "Don't expect something like that from me." That's cool dad, I said, the father of the groom did a very simple heartfelt toast, that's good enough. I was getting weirded out by the conversation anyway. But my dad continued. "What I'd do, I'd do a powerpoint."

A powerpoint! Probably with little animated page turns.

Oh man. Can't you just see it? Remind me, when I get married, that the reception room can't have any electrical outlets. Or walls to project onto. How mortifying.

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Taming the rampant consumer in me.

Today I was coveting a makeup case that costs $135. One hundred and thirty-five dollars for faux-leather. It's a very nice bag, I'll even show it to you:

It even resembles those cute round backpacks
the (Japanese) elementary school boys have.

C'mon, I bet even the boys would agree that it's a very sharp-looking case. (Black! And Red! Darling, I know you'd approve.) It's from Sephora. Which I have a gift card for. But not that extravagant of a gift card. And so I coveted and coveted and even checked other stores to see if they had something similar. (Of course not.)

So instead of pouting because I don't want to spend money, and instead of ignoring it until I forgot about it, amazingly, I went in search of my old high school makeup case.

Even more amazingly, I found it, and it was mostly empty. Two tubes of red lipstick, some broken blue eye shadow, you know, the usual high school suspects. I even found a sequin repair kit. (Sorry non-HSers, inside joke--the high school show choir I was in had regulation makeup, and we wore sequined dresses.) So I lovingly cleaned it out.

This is what it looks like, except mine's a *much* better color ::cough:: :

They still sell them (in sassier colors), you know.
Except now they call them "retro."
Seriously.

And you know, I'm pretty satisfied with it. It's sturdy, and I didn't spend money! Who's gonna see my arsenal case? Nobody that would actually care about that sort of thing. And when's the next time I'm going to carry my arsenal case in a public place? Did people actually used to do that? Carry a suitcase and a purse and a makeup case? Do people still do that? Insane.

I'm so retro now. But still not retro enough for leg-warmers.

That black bag is still a beautiful bag, but at least now I can say I don't need it. It would just sit in my bathroom, making me happy every time I saw it. I'll go treat myself to some fluffy makeup brushes or that orgasm blush (really, that's what it's called) or something. Maybe I'll go visit the case in the store and I'll go lovingly caress it. Maybe. But what matters is that I didn't buy it today. Yay me.

PS: I'm totally going to splurge that $135 I didn't spend, just wait.

PPS: All of my packages, all 10 boxes and 2 m-bags, have arrived safely enough! I'll post about how they turned out later.

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Meme Fragment.

THE LAST FIVE THINGS YOU HAVE BOUGHT:
1. photo prints
2. makeup
3. gas
4. wine
5. more wine

My weekend ruled.

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But I don't want leg warmers.

Ew. Cute shoes though.

Check it out, I'm going to do a fashion rant.

I found an Urban Outfitters' Fall '06 catalogue, and noticed two things.

1. Subversive marketing.
You can even see it on their website, which I won't link to. I thought my sister had circled a bunch of things in the catalogue, but it turns out they're pre-printed. Sneaky. I should've known better, my sister doesn't seem like the type to get cable-knit fingerless gloves. Although you know I totally eyed them.

2. I saw all this stuff last month.
Or even last year. Some girl told me that the US tends to be about a year behind the fashion trends in the rest of the world. (She was referring to my awesome silver shoes that I have now worn THREE times, thank you very much.) I didn't really put much thought into it at the time. But now I look at catalogues. Apparently the Urban Outfitters' big thing is now *layering*! Great. That's all the non-waifs of the world need, three shirts and a lumpy jacket. Good for you L, you'll be set once if you come home, but for the rest of us (well, I'm not sure where I fall anymore), pain in the ass. I thought I got away from that. Even leggings are all trendy now. I'm not sure what I think about them yet. They look great on N (of directorial fame), but I also frequent a blog that considers them the devil. Oh well, I'll let my sister rock that fashion. She has better legs for it.

And bonus, number 3: That's my color dammit.
Fall fashion seems to have tapped my color obession of the year, and now I want everything I see in that color--shoes. scarves. arm-warmers. jacket-hoodies. I caved a few weeks ago and bought a bracelet, only because I had been keeping an eye out for something like it since April. If any of these things are still available when the sales fire up, I'll be first in line. Til then, you'll see me in the clothes I bought last year in Japan, probably still reeking of suitcases and hyaku-en (100yen) vacuum bags.

Number 4 for the road: I miss being a comfortable slob.
Man it was great living in Japan. Partially because Japan was a lot of fun, but also because I only hung out with people I knew. The likelihood of meeting new people (at parties or at work) was very very low. Which meant that my standards were equally low. Lots of jeans and the same jacket every day. I'm sure people noticed, but I didn't care. We already knew everyone, and everyone suffered through the same crap. If it's cold, there's no way I'm dressing up. I'll wear five layers, thanks. For some reason I feel like I have to try now. Maybe it's because I've been making lots of first impressions lately (weddings). I hope it wears off soon.

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Recovery Day

I kind of feel like the one all curled and dazed on the bottom.
(Link to real description at the end.)

[Afterthought and back story: My good friend, K from high school just got married. The high school group reassembled, and we partied in the hotel Friday night and after the wedding reception on Saturday. Fine for them, a bit of a challenge for the bridesmaids (me and V). It's now Monday and I need ochazuke *bad*. PS: Keep an eye out for new pictures in old posts as I get more organized. I just added some to the Ranch 99 post (Learning New Things!).]

The past three days have been a lush blur. I remember traffic, chocolate covered strawberries, good wine, bad wine, surprisingly uncomfortable shoes, new girlfriends, old girlfriends, and a margarita fountain.

Yesterday it was all over. I was struck how easily everyone said goodbye, considering this was the first time we had all been together in...ages. I'm tempted to say this was the first time we had all been together since high school graduation, although most of us have met up here and there over the years. I think Japan made me really get into goodbyes--probability says I won't be seeing these guys for a very long time. But unlike Japan, we all have our own separate lives now, which we interrupted for a quick weekend trip to revisit our high school lives.

I drove home in an exhausted stupor (no ipod music! stupid forgotten FM transmitter), and tried to catch up on the internets. My dad took me to dinner at a Japanese restaurant. It felt authentic enough, although the English menu was confusing. Disturbing, even. I'm not ballsy enough to ask for the Japanese menu though.

A dude was sitting on the far side of the counter talking with the sushi chef about some of the patrons. The udon wasn't bad, but it wasn't good either. I made my father eat a natto sushi (it was a roll, like a small kappa maki, so tame by all standards). He ordered a dragon roll. Do those even exist in Japan? It was all avacado and anago/unagi on top. Seemed like overkill.

The girl at the front greeted us with an uninspired irrashaimase. I remember clowning on the high-pitched combini girls, but it's really sad hearing it like that. She had a back tattoo that you could see because her shirt looked kinda intentionally hiked up on the side. Weird seeing a Japanese girl as an American. I wonder what the opposite looks like to a Japanese person. (A nikkei dressed as a frilly, multi-layered J-girl.)

I even snuck some pictures, which was weird. I don't have excuses for that anymore. Random photos in a normal restaurant? I think I overheard the guy in the corner saying I was on vacation.

Today the internets (boingboing.net) told me some neat stuff. The titles say them all, but I'll provide the links for the people who want them:

Rare white moose? Let's shoot it, says Norwegians.
Mechanized, motorized rideable lion. (No fur. Very awesome.)

[edit: Oh, let's just make it animal links day:]

Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo.
Wolves fly into glass. (art project)

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I am not a jet-setter.

You'll get an update eventually. But the wedding schtuff starts up Friday, and guess who got tapped to do the handwritten place cards? (Awesome funness!)

Here, whet your appetite:

I was in Santa Monica yesterday because I felt like going shopping. Two hours later, I still didn't have anything I really liked, so I went to the beach. I'm not sure if I can give this up, even though I rarely go...In other news, I barely know what day it is, and only know the date when I check my gas station receipt. Tomorrow is laundry day, and I'm kind of looking forward to it.

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Learning New Things!

Can you read that? It says "Cream Prune Drop".
Maybe next time I'll have the guts to buy a bag. Ugh.

Today I went to Ranch 99 Market! It's a (ghetto, depending who you talk to) local? Asian grocery store, complete with lots of live seafood in the back. The fish were a bit too closely packed in the tanks, but I tried not to think about that. Killing fish, I have no problems with, but packing them in a tank kinda makes me nauseous.

I always thought they only had Chinese foods (I'm referring to junk foods) but they also had the coveted kinako pocky and the Harvest sesame crackers that I like so much. I squealed and clapped my hands and amused my buddy S who took me there. I introduced him to ramune and sweet tomato juice. Good times.

We also had pho across the street. Good, but I've had better. Once I start making money, I'll start trolling around for a favorite pho place. It'll be exciting. It's so great having an English menu again!

Sorry no real update yet. Tuesday I went back to LB for a hair appointment, Wednesday I sat around and cleaned a necklace (now the pearls aren't the same color as the earrings, drat.) and then went to try makeup at Sephora. Good-ness. That place was great. Everything was available for trying on, everything was clearly priced. Comforting contrast from the intimidating department store places. Not going there again, bleh. K (the bride) settled on a blush called orgasm, a lipstick called flirt, and an eyeshadow called champagne. Great. I envied her. Someday I'll have a steady income again, and I can buy myself natural makeup that I can toss in a bag and not use. :-P

Speech contest is almost over guys! Gambatte!

On to pictures!

Apparently the questionable kodomo (kids') beer has made it to the states. I'm surprised some family group isn't all up in arms about it. Oh wait, those kinds of people don't go to Ranch 99...

Happiness! Naked baby mayonaise!
(Actually, it's pretty good--very smooth.)

Even better! Pretz! And Salad Pretz! And Toppo!
Sorry, for those that don't know--these are some of my favorites.
If you look closely, you can even see those choco-mushroom cap things.

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Exit Camino Capistrano...

There's this one part on the 5 where the ocean just looks different. It's always fuzzy on the horizon. I'll spare the poetics, but it always makes my breath catch when I hit that point. There's a scent in the air, and no one can tell me what it is. I'm hoping it's a bush or a flower, but for all I know, it's a landfill. I always put the windows down to enjoy it. Sometimes I turn my music down.

And this weekend, I got to spend the night in a condo with a view of that ocean. That particular part of the ocean. There were sailboats and a tall ship, and I could see white caps, but just barely. (Not a good day for a 6-person motorboat fishing trip.) I could've just stared out the window all day and been perfectly content. I don't need the beach with that view. The water's cold here, I forgot about that.







The weeklong trip ended up looking like this:
SD to LB to SJ to Berk to SF to Berk to SJ to LB to DP to home. All in 10 days. Tomorrow, I think I'll reward myself with a trip to my favorite beach (Coronado, by the Hotel Del, but closer to the naval base)

My life is full of organizational emails these days. It's nice to be busy, but I miss telling people about stuff. I type faster and faster, thinking that I'll be able to write someone a long conversational letter when I'm done, but then I remember to do something else. I send emails from both addresses, much to the confusion of the recipients. I'll route it all through gmail someday, I promise.

Pictures and that phone review later.

And I got invited to another wedding! Hooray! That one's gonna be a good one.

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Now Then...

Well, now that I've told people (all three of you), I'm gonna leave you. Ha!

Schedule for the following week:
Sat. Bachelorette party in SF (bride V) up north (with lunch and bridal shop plans attached)
Sun. recovery brunch and dinner in Berk with friends
Mon-Tues. hang out with grandparents (SJ)
Wed-Sun. back south (LB) hang out with bride K, be useful

Well, there goes my streak of not leaving the house. It's funny, I'm being all asocial, like D. I always thought I was a social person, but I guess it's a lot easier when you don't have to drive the entire length of Honshu (give or take) to seek it out.

Real quick, a moment of respect for the sakaiatrist, who should finally be done with school by Monday. One more paper, I think.

I'll leave you with a new BBC moment:

Don't forget to read the caption.

I'll try to take lots of photos, and I promise to keep my nose clean. :-D

Upcoming: new cell phone review!

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Hi, I'm Hungry.

I guess I should finally share this with you guys, now that I'm not around to tell you about stuff in person. Maybe this'll be my new(est) photo blog. We'll see.

Tonight I made cookies. Look at how much work I put into them:



Yep, frozen, pre-shaped cookies. Back in high school, I at least remember there being a tub we had to scoop the dough out of. The cookies turned out pretty good, but I was good and only ate one. (Eating late at night keeps me up, and I certainly don't need that.)

And while I'm here, I'd like to remind you Japan-folks what real grocery stores are like:
(If you want to do a lesson about stuff like this, I take requests.)

The lunchmeat section.

The orange juice section.

Community Art.

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I feel creepy.

So, been looking at moving stuff, and I found an easy to digest blog documenting this guy's move from the midwest to Seattle with his new wife and blah and blah and buy a condo and rennovate the condo and lose some weight and get a divorce.

I had to blink for a second on that last one. It's not a really private blog, but there it was, bam.

That's when I felt guilty about reading this guy's blog. I'm just skimming through his life, looking for something interesting or useful, and I learn about his pets and then I get too much information. Does anyone else ever feel like that?

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Where is your purse?

At the same hanging-out I referenced last time, there was this crazy friendly guy who made some comment that no purses were on the floor. Two of us pointed to our purses in a pile by our shoes. His reply? "Oh, it's cuz you're not Mexican." He turned to the third girl, who is Mexican. "Yours isn't though, right?" "Nope," she responded.

Mystery! What does it all mean?

I googled, and found out the floor represents hell, "the ultimate bad luck" and that "Women should never set their purses on the floor if they want their money to last." (link, scroll down to the bottom) I learned something new and cultural at home! How exciting!

Currently I'm googling for tips on moving North, and I'm encountering a lot of documentation about the "[City] Chill." Dammit. I wonder if (the collective we) hate transplants that much? I despise the houses that were built on the ranch on the opposite hill from us, but I haven't met the people yet. I wonder.

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Oh no the internets!

At least I can still count on the BBC. Something something crappy internet privacy software!


I like to imagine an actual company hunched around a computer like that. And some expert with a clipboard claiming "the application is not doing what it says it does." And then the poor worried guy starts to cry. dum Dum DUMMMMM. Thanks BBC, we needed that stock photo for added drama.

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Not so okay with reality

Back on the west coast, day 9.

Reality blows when you're on your way back in.

Google tells me that the phrase "I don't want to be a lawyer" generates 3,900,000 results. Thank you, google.

An old acquaintance that I've never really talked to mentioned that I'd make a good lawyer. Even though that was probably a polite observation on my people skills (my other comments that night included "You look like an Irish Freddie Mercury!!!!"), I appreciated the comment. I still don't want to be a lawyer because I'm not disciplined enough for details, but I appreciated it. He's one of those weirdos that say things and it really sounds like they mean it. PS, thanks for the burger.

I'm trying to look for jobs and apartments and considering a big ol' move (Seattle?), and I feel like I'm really behind because everyone already has jobs or has at least been agonizing it for a month longer than me. In the past week, two people have casually mentioned that updating their resume was on their to do list that afternoon. My to do list today consisted of three things--shower, find some bins that could serve as makeshift drawers (still living in the family room), and do laundry. I started that list at 7pm. I gave up on the last one. What social commitments do I have these days? None, thank goodness.

I will be chipper when I damn well feel like it. Until then, let's all bask in my fretfulness.

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I am okay with reality.

Once I wedged a photocopied poem in some guy's door. It was about boats I think. At the time, it was the only thing I could do. And as much as I'd like to think that he noticed it and at least took a moment to wonder, I'm certain that he never saw it. He probably only touched it twice--once when he stepped out and once when he scuffed it away while he unlocked his door.

[Two days until I'm out of my apartment. Current progress: it almost looks like someone lives here, opposed to someone haphazardly storing things.]

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Stress makes me hemorrhage faster.

Damn that's a difficult word to spell from memory.

Anyway. Here are the stories of note.

Recently a sticker fell off my car onto the dashboard. Not one of my stickers, one of the official ones that came with my car. I didn't look at it until today, when it said "kanji kanji kanji some time two years ago kanji kanji please do the next one by September of 2005." Last year. wtf. wtf. I googled with all my might for information about a round sticker attached to my car, and all I got was that it was a for a suggested check-up. Oh internet, you're so helpful. So now I'm stressing about that too.

Today I signed a billion hats, shirts, pencil cases and notebooks at the elementary school. They're the hardest ones to leave, I think. Even though the junior high school kids can communicate a little bit better, they just can't beat the enthusiasm of the elementary school. I've had so many bashful girls sneak me notes, I love it. And one of my favorite students tried to give me some markers, and I told him I would rather have a letter. He cranked one out in about an hour, and even ended up with some stationary. How a sixth-grade boy pulled that off is beyond me, but he's going to be awesome when he grows up. He said I love you and gave me his phone number. Thanks kid.

When I was biking home today, a couple girls stopped me. They told me there were a couple weird looking guys sitting on the street and that they walked around them. I saw them too--they were the construction guys from across the street taking a break. I explained in my tattered Japanese that the guys were probably okay, they just weren't from our town. Sure they were a bit creepy looking, but they didn't say anything to me. ::shrug::

And last one--some morning, probably yesterday, I was biking to work. I saw a guy about to drop his fly to piss in a field. We made eye contact, and he unzipped and started pissing as I biked by. Oh inaka Japan. I won't miss the public urination part, thanks.

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I wouldn't hire her.

So I've been a semi-good girl, sifting through job websites rather than playing flash games, and I happened across some quotes about how people conduct interviews. The first boss talked about how conversational her interview was, and how she asked some job-related questions. Nice. Reassuring. I even started to try and answer her questions, because they were fun--could you imagine talking about your favorite movie in a job interview? Sounds great. Boss number two had this to say:

Since I did the hiring for our store, I could decide who was brought on. I made a point of not hiring anyone with my name...unless they were OUTSTANDING. I had seen it happen too many times when people got tagged with "oh, are you talking about big Jason or little Jason?" The one person I did hire with my name went by her middle name at my request.

Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh. There are people like this in positions of power? And I'll have to suck up to these people? I don't care if she was taken out of context. Someone's got power issues. I'm glad she's not in education.

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Wacky. (more link abuse)

Fun with the dictionary:

ecdysiast: see stripteaser. Etymology: Greek ekdysIs

Them wacky Greeks. I do enjoy stumbling onto new words. Thank you Crispin Glover (scroll down to the end of the impressive quote list) for being just as wacky as the Greeks.

Here, have a clip. (Youtube link) It's good for you. No, before you ask, he wasn't on acid, he was being a character from one of his movies. I dig the pants.

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Confession.

Bouncing around the internet, I learned that President Vicente Fox is part Irish. This blows my mind in the same way my students freak out when I say I'm American. Or when I remember that there are Japanese people in South America. It shouldn't be that mind-bending, but hey, I'll admit it when I realize my perceptions are grounded in personal assumptions.

Another fun fact, the Mexican president has a term of six years, and can't be reelected after that. Period. Six years seems odd to me, but then again, I know more about spiders than I do about politics, especially international politics.

This discovery led to an even better realization--that Anthony Quinn was half-Irish. And supposedly, the guy that Zorro was based on was also Irish. That explains why they chose Anthony Quinn to be the old Zorro in the Antonio Banderas movie! And holy cow, he sure looked different when he was in Zorba the Greek! Man, I've never seen that movie, but I keep hearing about it here and there. And man! Anthony Quinn died of pneumonia in 2001? Bummer.

Wait. Wasn't he in Red Dragon?

And then all the pieces fell together, and I realized that Anthony Quinn is not Anthony Hopkins. ::sigh:: Yes, it was a slip, and I'm pretty sure I was so unaware of Anthony Quinn's career that I just kind of assumed when I heard about a famous Anthony, it was probably Hopkins. And yes, if I put more thought into it, I would remember that Hopkins is Welsh, just like Catherine Zeta-Jones and all those kids that mumble. And D, the island guy. (HA.)

The end. I just wanted to ramble a bit and abuse wikipedia linkage.

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Me and my big mouth.

I think it's hilarious when I sift through myspaces and I find old guy friends who are still single but have a million attractive girls posting comments anywhere they can cram them. Hi-lar-i-ous. I can name three off the top of my head, although it was the one I just found that clinched it.

Is it okay for me to find my gas station attendants adorable? Like not an "I want to get to know you better" adorable, but an "Awww, he forgot which side my gas cap is on, and can't do mental math" adorable. Totally okay, right? I want to pat them on the head and tell them it's okay to make the same mistakes over and over again. As I pulled away, I saw the guy who was checking traffic for me (oh Japanese gas stations, I'll miss you) pulled a long, low bow. 90 degree angle, at least five seconds long. I thought I was going to crash, I was looking in my rearview mirror for so long. Man, he might be a new guy, but he takes his job seriously.

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Tricked Again.

The internets! No one's updating them!!! Why? I demand entertainment!

Oh, right, Fourth of July. I barely noticed, and that's the way I like it. I'll get my fireworks fix in August, no worries.

Rah rah, red white and blue. I'm American, I appreciate the opportunities and am only moderately irked by the inconvenience of being judged as a result of my government, my country's history, and my country's BMI being criticized by the rest of the world.

I've already been asked (by a fellow somewhat-immigrant, no less) if I celebrated Thanksgiving. (Yes I do, and we do it with steamed rice and mashed potatoes.) I think I've felt on the fringes of Americana proper for a good long time, but that's one of the few concrete examples that I can provide. Does that make sense? It's no fun being labeled as an Outsider if you already feel that way.

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Always cheers me up.

The BBC is always there for me:

It's like a bright sunshiny day:

1. Chandelier in the men's toilet.

2. Hit his head, cut his arm. (Curiously, I recently learned that soccer/football players, when hit anywhere remotely near their head, be it shoulder, elbow, or rib cage, will fake an eye injury. Fascinating.)

3. Cancelled a Christmas role for judging a reality show.

4. HIT HIS HEAD, CUT HIS ARM. I can't get over it. I hope he was high.

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Wind from my sails.

I heard a lovely song one morning, and I felt all special because it felt like it was picked out just for me, and then I found it for myself and realized that it had been making the rounds on the music blogs. I'm not sure if I should feel cheapened by that or not.

I also still cannot do anything while I listen to music. I can't read, I can't write, I can't have a real conversation, and if I'm doing any of those things, then I'm probably really distracted by the music. I used to think that I could train myself to multitask with music, but it's been probably 10 years or so and I'm still tuning one or the other out.

I think I kind of miss being truly miserable, because that was the only time I really paid attention to music. I had to find meaning in everything; I had to assign order. I guess I still do that these days, but with less finesse.

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I was in a furniture store.

I think I was buying a bunk bed for my college apartment, so that puts us about 5 years ago. Some guy caught my eye, and it turned out to be a guy from high school. We weren't friends, but we were in a PE class together. Maybe Spanish class too. I remember him mentioning something about working with disabled kids, and I was impressed that's how he turned out. When we played football in high school, he used to sit on my head when I hiked the ball. I wouldn't be surprised if he was one of the kids who smoked out during lunch.

I clicked my way onto some girl's myspace. I knew her in high school too. She was small and twerpy, like me but stronger. I have little desire to talk to the girl, but it was nice to see that she grew up, looks happy, grew her hair out some. I barely recognize her.

Another guy that got sacked with the unfortunate nickname of Willow got all hairy and resembles Ben Stiller. He's got cheekbones now.

None of these people were good friends of mine. But it's reassuring that these people seem happy with who they are all these years later. The only people I really think about from high school days are good friends or people who've done something stupid. And of course my friends are phenomenal and can Do No Wrong, but everyone else turned out mediocre and stunted from growing up in an oatmeal suburban town.

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Cursed.

My Japanese is getting so bad that Spanish is starting to creep in again.

And I just got a song from an elementary school musical stuck in my head. Remember Cosmic Pinball? "Take me away, Let me fly through outer space, wherever you sayyyyy" Jeezus it's painful. Look at how vivid my elementary school memories are: Movie Vampires Evilly Mortify Juveniles Seeing Unauthorized Nighttime Programs!

These memories are precious because they're old. I'm not sure why else they're valuable.

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My House, My Party.

My sitemeter says that no one has come to my site in over a month. And while a very very tiny part of myself is sad that I'm all alone, the rest of me is filled with glee. I can talk about whatever I want! And I want to talk about the BBC! And clever headlines! And no one's here to catch me! Hooray! This is way better than eating cookie dough without the eggs for an after school snack.

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Shut up Shut UP.

It's time to rant about the BBC again! Looks like people in their twenties are lusting after the 60s and 70s!

Summary turned Rant
The BBC interviews white students from the London School of Economics, a school which used to be radical and politcally active back in the day. Lotsa demonstrations and arrests and stuff. The article highlights two: first a girl who thinks the late 70s were great and a lot more authentic than the world we live in now.


She makes some valid points about music becoming less precious, but not for the reason I like to cite (oversaturation), and that she has a lot more opportunites now, but for the most part, it feels like she's romanticizing it too much. And she gets quoted twice about clothes. Here's the second one:

Only having three television channels was better, she says, because individual programmes could have much more impact. And Ms Black sees the second-hand clothes culture as being more imaginative than a designer-clothes addiction.

Fashion is what you make it dear, but I'm not going to waste my breath on fashion.

The second guy I give more credit for being more conservative in his response. He talks about how people get nostalgic and forget the crap bits. Then he says he's into the '80s and how some people have '80s parties where they dress up as "yuppies with double breasted suits and with big mobile phones." He likes the "thrusting style" of '80s architecture too. (Oh you poor sexually-charged words. I've been watching too much zefrank.)

And the comments say more of the same, a good mix of romantic idiocy and grateful observations. I'm glad that at least one person said that she was grateful for not ending up as a housebound baby-maker:

I would love to have seen the Beatles and Stones live, but am happy that being born a few decades later meant that I didn't end up a housewife with four kids under my belt before I was 30.

The article ends well, with good insight from Mr. '80s, but the eagerness of the first girl kind of leaves you with a gross feeling in your mouth.

My Turn for a Story
When I was in the 7th grade, some TV station came to our class and asked individuals if we knew what the American Dream was. As a 13-year-old, I had a vague idea, but couldn't give the proper answer. I felt bad, feeling that I was dishonoring my great-grandparents that came over to make some money. Looking back, I also feel a great deal of distaste toward that TV station, as it was more than willing to spin our ignorance into a quick feature. No desire to educate us, just point it out to the general public. Isn't that sad, kids don't know about the funding principles of our Country. I don't remember if anyone got that question right, but I do remember feeling foolish and somewhat taken advantage of.

I'm sure that both of those students got spun a bit, and I feel bad for the first girl, but still.
Shut UP and go do something better than wax nostalgic.

I should also probably take that advice. I'm down to 46 days in the apartment. Damn it all to Hell.

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Oh admit it, it's kind of cool.

You know, 666. A friend of mine's hopefully getting married on 777, and I feel like I should make something good happen on 888, as everyone thinks that's what I write when I scrawl my initials. If I get married, I'm going to keep my initial scrawl. So there.

I went to see the fireflies again tonight. The weather's still really nice at night--breezy and cool. I soaked in the sounds of semi-inaka--the bugs, the frogs, the airplanes landing. And I'm going to miss it all. Perhaps not the airplanes landing, but I did get a really beautiful clip of the frogs chirping, getting silenced by an airplane, and then hesitantly coming back full chorus. I saw an airplane land before that, and it was sinister. All I could see was the lit up red tail fin, cruising above me, screaming as it taxied.

I'm going to miss being able to stand outside, alone in the dark for almost an hour without being harassed or feeling unsafe. I'm going to miss being able to identify three different frogs by sound, even though I have no idea what they look like. I'm going to miss parking on the side of the road, knowing that I won't get hit or ticketed. I'm going to miss the green, the bamboo forests, the irrigation ditches full of bugs and fireflies and usually not water. I'm going to miss these trivial seasonal things, because I doubt I'll have that wherever I end up.

It's quite a trade for becoming literate again.

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I think this is what happened.

Last Saturday, there was this really swell get-together for the third years. It wasn't a snob party, but it was a nice chance to hang out with the people I got here with. We've all gotten used to each other. There were nine of us, and in this hokey, nostalgic way, I felt like we were family. You don't know everyone absolutely, but I felt comfortable with all of them, where I could sit and talk and ask questions and listen to old stories and not mind. I'll miss them all.

However, we also took the time to get nice and drunk. Perhaps not as ridiculous as the kids outside who were having a food fight and spending money trying to get underwear out of a crane game, but we had a good time. Such a good time, that I recall a conversation that may or may not have happened that night.

No, this happened Sunday night. Meh, whatever.

I expressed this relief that I'm missing out on pop culture back home. It's not important, but when everyone is referencing it, it becomes important. I really like being selective about my news. And I say that I'm glad I've missed out on all that Tom Cruise crap--I still haven't watched the whole couch incident, and I think I'll be okay with that. But someone else proclaimed that Tom Cruise makes him happy. I can't remember why, but it's true. Tom Cruise is just going crazy, in this lovely public way, and it's just stunning. Oh I can't remember what he was talking about.

Last night I dreamed about William Riker. That's my current mental state.

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Tonight in Eikaiwa...

I learned that older people in Japan think that kids with round (as in protruding) foreheads and deep-set eyes are clever/smart. Kinda like a Neanderthal.

Also, I learned a new Japanese saying: 主婦は 二人 いらない。(しゅふは　ふたり　いらない/shufu wa futari iranai) Translated, it means you don't need two housewives (in one house). It's great. There's a woman who doesn't get along with her mother, and she expresses her exasperation with such natural, unrestrained delivery I'd swear she spent some time out of Japan. Her mother is a year older than mine, and I like to think that I would be like this woman if my mother had kids earlier.

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Snippet 2

Headline from boingboing.net:

Bacteria eats chocolate and shits electricity

Man, I forgot that English could be whimsical.

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That's really not going to help.

Wait, what was I reading about again? Jeezus. I seriously just stared at her chest in a bewildered daze. Please note that Japan is silk-screened on her right breast in gold (as you're probably still staring at her large, yet cleavageless chest). Thanks BBC, for another pretty much unrelated photo.

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No Such Thing As Overkill.

In my life and in my posts, there is no such thing as overkill.

Today I went to see the fireflies again. Third time this week, and the only reason why I didn't go yesterday was because I was hashing out harmonies in Chuo Koen. Getting devoured by the damn mosquitos, might I add. I'll go again on Friday with G, and maybe I'll drag other people along one more time if the fireflies are still alive.

The fireflies are important to me, in the same way cherry blossoms are important. They're only around for a very short period of time, and this'll probably be the last time I'll get to see them in Japan. I'm trying to say goodbye to stuff, and that means getting my absolute fill of whatever I'm focusing on.

I went last year to look at fireflies on some sweaty evening, by myself, in the dark. I was freaked out because I didn't know if it was the right place and I was afraid I was walking into someone's driveway so I only went about halfway down the path before scurrying back to my car.

This year was different. When the cherry blossoms were in bloom, I wandered the park by the airport a lot. It's a lot better than you'd think. It took maybe...3 hours to walk the whole thing (on three separate days, however). The last day I went in April it was ridiculously windy. Howling through the trees windy. And I discovered a great lookout point. I couldn't see much, but it made me feel like I was playing Oregon Trail, and I was peering into a safe, welcoming valley. I haven't seen much like it in real life, so that's all I have to compare it to.

Right, from that point, surprisingly, I recognized the udon shop by the firefly place. Something reminded me to go this week, and it was a lot better than last year, where I saw maybe three or four fireflies, and I was all bummed because I was playing mail tag with G and he ended up not coming.

It's hard to explain what makes me go back so many times. I get this impression from movies that fireflies fill the air while they bob and sway. (Although I couldn't name a movie with fireflies in it except for the one we watched last week, "When the Last Sword Was Drawn" and that depressing "Grave" one that I haven't seen.) And the ones I saw, they swoop and stuff, but they stay over their little canal. Tonight they're flying higher, so maybe I just need to wait a little longer.

I guess it also has to do with the weather. It's cool at night still, and the frogs are chirping, but not screaming. Yes, when there's enough of them, they scream. Ear-ringing screams. So it's cool with a warm breeze, and there're frogs and fireflies, and there's no way you can be grumbly when nature's being so accomodating. I took G there on Monday, and it's even better when there's a hand to hold.

Tonight there were more people, and I saw an old student. She's probably 16, maybe 17 by now. She was sending mails on her phone almost the whole time and I had to laugh. She was with her family, but still dressed up, and intent on staying in touch with her friends. Silly girl. She was squatting off to the side and someone informed her that she shouldn't be pissing there. Then her little sister (cousin) announced that she had to pee. Great. The little cousin had a small lantern shaped like a Hello Kitty head. Absolutely adorable.

I told my ex-student that I knew her (other) cousin, and she was impressed. She wanted to know why, and I just said he was a really happy kid. I didn't tell her that the damn kid runs around my English classes at the kindergarten (well, he's only three, and apparently he likes me) and likes to pull/bite/kick/grab other students. Even older students. I hope he grows out of it. I know his whole name, and for a new student, that's impressive. I only know one other 3-year-old's full name, and that's because I am absolutely in love with him. He gives me hugs and says goodbye and asks the kids who are screaming bloody murder to be quiet. And he's 3! He's going to forget me in a year or two and it'll break my heart.

Back to the ex-student. Turns out I saw her family on Monday. Her father shone this bigass bright light at me and G and didn't return our "Good Evening." Lame. But he was nice and friendly tonight when he found out I was a teacher. So there.

Later, a couple families with small kids arrived. One kid kept saying totaru! totaru! instead of hotaru. Her mom kept correcting her too. The other girl kept insisting on being held, just a little higher. It's banal when I regurgitate it, but it was really cute at the time. Right before they went home, both kids were sitting on their mothers' shoulders, a little sleepy but still fascinated. I wanted to take a picture, but those moments don't catch when they're complete strangers.

So that's pretty much my life now. I love it. No TV, no more insane nights out 'til the buttcrack of Dawn, just fireflies and frogs and a slight summer breeze. Going back to the suburbs might kill me.

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Holiday?

Yesterday I went to the town sports day. That means I "worked." Usually I get a day off on Monday to replace "working" on a Sunday. I find this silly because I'd probably go anyway since the whole elementary school has to be there. But don't tell Them that because I also like getting a free day off. Anyway, I didn't get today off, and I'm kinda grumbly about that. G gets today off because he had a sports day yesterday, and it would've been nice to bum around with him all day.

Anyway, I get home to relax, check up on the internet. Like no one has posted anything. What the hell? It's Monday, their Sunday, and they should be churning out content. Points to my sister for posting about her genius ipod. And I decide that it's just a slow day. Maybe the weather is nice. Let's see if Zefrank has something new. No, but I forgot to watch Friday's clip, and wouldn't you know, he's taking a long weekend. For Memorial Day.

Oh. I always forget about those patriotic ones.

That's all.

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Someone Else's Snippet

"slamming into an enormous black bear at 60 miles an hour is kinetically equivalent to driving into a brick wall."

Forgive the 1am coffee high, but that a beautiful comparison.

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Yes I do.

Okay, time for some wacky Japan postings.

Today was a local shrine festival. Nothing special, just lots of booths with your typical fare--goldfish game, corn on the cob (fuck you 500 yen!), takoyaki, hamburger on a stick (meat only), french fries, ice cream...I had a lot of fun. It's kind of a bittersweet thing because this was the first year I was aware of it. It would've passed again this year except both my kindergarten kids and my elementary school kids asked if I was going. One girl asked where she should wait for me. (I think.) How could I resist that?

So I went, and I ate a hamburger on a stick, drank "peach soda" (::cough:: shaved ice syrup mixed with club soda), shared french fries with some graduated students, and bounced from group to group of students. I complimented them on their lovely high heels (jeebus kids, I didn't wear heels like that until, well, ever), I admired pedicures, and even inspected a 7th grader's pierced ear. (Big big no no. It came up in the staff meeting this afternoon, and I just had to check it out.) I got punched by some kid (typical), and watched kids try to catch goldfish and freshwater eels (the latter with a hook, for eating, not keeping).

There's this one guy who's graduated that has two holes in his left ear. Two! And he keeps two giant crystalesque studs in them. Pencil eraser, maybe bigger. And he has this cute little girlfriend that must've gone to the same junior high school, but I just can't place her. They're cute. The boy seems bad, but for the record, he's the only one ever in three years to tell me what verb tense I was using in a casual conversation. Love the kid. Here's the conversation we three had (more or less):

Girl: "Look what he did!" (She's got two more hickeys on her neck. I saw them, I swear, like last week, and she only had one.)

Me, to him: "Bad boy. She's a nice girl [no clue, actually]. Do you love her?"

Guy: "Yes I do." (IN ENGLISH! JUST LIKE THAT! I wish I could've praised him without blowing his cool vibe.)

Me: "Why do you do that? Sad. She's cute. In the summer, she'll want to wear cute low-cut shirts. Now she'll have to wear a scarf. Lame."

The girl nods with me. Dumb proprietary boys. Neither one of us is really angry about it, but I feel bad for the girl. Hickeys sure are ugly. I think I also told her to give him one on his cheek.

I also bargained with my motorcycle gangsta kid (hilarious, a little bad, intelligent, obsessed with motorcycles). He had a friend on the back of his bike, and that's SOOOOO BAD. Not allowed. Nope, not at all. (Note to non-Japaners--this is funny because my primary mode of transportation in the city is on the pegs of my boyfriend's bike.) I told him I wouldn't tell the other teachers if he's good during English class. I told his friend (7th grade mouthy twat idiot) the same thing. Such threats resound so sweetly when I can call them by name.

I wish I had taken more photos of my kids all blinged out. One kid had a shiny silver cross (complete with shiny approximation of a hanging Jesus) about 3-4 inches long. I told him it was too big. I don't even bother explaining the whole Christianity connotation anymore. The WWJD bracelets wore me out, as I don't possess the vocabulary for religious explanations.

And then I went to English conversation class and one woman ranted in a very cute way that she and her husband never talk. He's a quiet guy, she said, and if she didn't initiate conversation, they would never talk at all. She once stopped talking to him, and they didn't talk for two months. Two months. While she's breastfeeding a baby. The only reason why she started talking to him again was because she had a fever. I had to think about that one for awhile.

And then I went over to this woman's house. She has a beautiful house. They just built it...maybe a year or two ago. I've only seen the downstairs, but let's sum it up in one observation: TV built into the wall in the bathroom. A small one, but really. built in! I'm going to devote an entry to that house someday.

Back to these Thursday night get togethers. It's awesome, in this weird way. I get to hang out with 6-7 women who are older than my parents (save one, who is only 5 years older than me), and listen to what real Japan is like. They pour over the grocery ads, we watch TV, we drink coffee, they ask questions sometimes. This is the Japan I wanted. Sitting and zoning out and listening and not giving a damn about rules I may or may not be breaking.

Tonight I got my nails done by their ringleader. She did almost everyone's nails. After that, she colored someone's hair. I call her crazy, but it's only a mild crazy. She's one of my favorite stereotype breakers. She's a temple minister's wife, but doesn't hold back her gregarious socialite personality. I'm reading that Ya-Ya Sisterhood book right now, and it feels like Ringleader Crazy would fit in quite well with those brassy personalities (if she didn't also possess the mandatory Japanese self-control). A few weeks ago we made hand-rolled sushi, and she dropped a fish egg on the ground. One of those big orange ones. With barely a pause, she picked it up and popped it in her mouth. Didn't even look at it for dust (not that there was any dust in that lovely house).

Final thought: did you know that "NEED TO DUMP" can be anagrammed into (among other things) "Mended Pout"? I amaze myself sometimes. Desperation truly is a great inspiration.

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Unlike

When people feel the need for change, it seems that they lop their hair off (or perhaps intentionally grow hair in different places), or buy new clothes. Me, for whatever reasons, (probably because it used to be punishment when I scratched people,) I cut off my nails. Sometimes all the way down (wow, fingertips are really sensitive! I always forget until I cut my nails off.), and sometimes just enough so that the kids stop commenting on how long my nails are. I'm getting to the point where my typing becomes inaccurate, I guess a trim wouldn't hurt.

There's more to say than that, of course, but I promised myself that I wouldn't rant about my private life on the internet anymore.

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PS: Four

When did Banana Republic go tacky-frumpy? I must be cranky. Some things are okay, but I feel like BR is becoming the Gap and the Gap is turning into Old Navy. No clue about Old Navy, because I don't bother looking there.

I want chocolate chip cookies.

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I'm gonna be sick.

One: because I've been eating imported tortilla chips made by Doritos. They're mostly satisfying, but I've gotten chubby because of it. And because they're full of preservatives and coloring and things I don't want to think about.

Two: Watched some clips of "American Otakus" going to Tokyo. It got boingboinged, but here's the address anyway:
http://libationkowloon.blogspot.com/2006/05/tv-in-japan-otaku-from-usa.html
http://libationkowloon.blogspot.com/2006/05/otaku-from-usa-part-2.html

Some Japanese program followed them around. I still haven't decided what I think about the anime/manga freaks. If they keep it to themselves, that's okay, I think, but when they start integrating the vocabulary into their native conversations, I get edgy.

I think I get nauseous because growing up, I attached this notion that such people, deep down, wish they were Japanese. They take up some martial art, they study the language half-heartedly...or maybe I'm just remembering the creepy boys who used to ask me random vaguely oriental-oriented questions. But I digress.

I guess it's just the obsession with the exotic Other that gets to me. Am I being dated because he's got the Fetish? Etc etc etc etc.

It didn't help that the guy the video clips focused on was one of those doofy geek-types. Plenty of Japanese blunders. And he was chubby-ish, further reinforcing the notion that Americans are fat. The black guy with the dreds didn't get interviewed, although I think I heard him say "Alright, a maid cafe."

Some other guy bought a maid costume because his 15-year-old daughter was into...goth-lolis maybe? I don't know. But I'm glad it wasn't translated into Japanese. They just said that Americans had some strange omiyage.

And Three: The guy who translated the tv clips also recently got a Japanese passport, and Japanese citizenship. And I'll give him credit for going through it all, whatever his reasons are. He doesn't seem like your typical lifer, all boozy and illiterate, but he did have this to say:

Having citizenship also changes the attitudes of people around you. Foreign residents, no matter how long they stay, are always assumed to be guests, and are thus constantly subjected to less than welcoming questions such as "when are you leaving Japan?" and "can you eat Japanese fish?" Being a citizen is really the ultimate nullifying answer to all these questions, and it allows people to open themselves up a little more as it gives you an air of permanence. There are a lot of other minor perks like this too, which I'm sure I'll find out about once I'm accepted.

(It gets quite ranty here, just to warn you.)

Uhm. Uhm, no. Perhaps in his country--he's from the UK somewhere--but I'm pretty sure that he won't be joining the "Japanese Citizens' Club" any time soon. He'll gain the respect from close friends that know what he did and why he did it, but for your typical old man on the street, he's still Mr. Gaijin. How do I know this? I used to get ranted to about how irritating it was that the cashier would always try to speak English even when asked a question in flawless, properly polite language. It's obvious that I'm Japanese-proficient, was the thought, why am I still being treated like a giant pale retard? [ahem, my words, not theirs] And the answer is, because they don't know that. You can't SEE fluency when you're walking down the street. Just like you can't tell what nationality someone is. This guy is going to keep getting "Oh, you're so good at using chopsticks!" but now, he'll be able to rub in his Japanese authenticity even more.

And yes, I do feel bad ranting about this guy. I'm sure he's not a bad guy. He doesn't post pictures of his pornographic doll collection (well, for the record, he doesn't give access to his archives unless they're linked), he doesn't seem to act too elitist. (Minus points, however, for ranting about "What exactly is a Japanese fish?" in broken mouseover, that I've removed. "Japanese fish" is probably an overtranslation of something.) But being a proper citizen won't change another's initial impression until you intentionally drag it into the conversation.

On the flip side: my damn kids still think I'm Japanese. At the elementary school, I wear a name tag (like all the other teachers do), and my name is written out in katakana. (Annoying, but forgiveable--no one asked me before I got here, and every. last. damn. thing. is done in katakana.) I have two Japanese names, middle and last, just like almost everyone else of my generation and ethnic makeup. They ask me where I'm from and are always always always impressed when I tell them America. And at the same time that they're thinking I'm Japanese, they're all, "Holy cow! You can eat sashimi! Holy cow! You can eat natto!" (Although I will smugly say that some Japanese people don't like natto.) Ugh, I'm pretty sure I contradicted myself a few times, but mostly that was to illustrate that JAPANESE PEOPLE AREN'T ALWAYS THAT OBSERVANT PAYING ATTENTION. That's what happens when you've grown up in a homogenous society: your brain makes shortcuts.

Last example: One of my teachers that met my parents and my maternal grandparents HAS THOUGHT THAT MY FATHER WAS "AMERICAN." I don't know if she thought he was white, or just "Not Japanese" but she has thought this for...almost two years. I gave her the rude incredulous look because she deserved it. MY FAMILY NAME IS JAPANESE. And she's not one of those stupid people, I'm pretty sure. Just not observant.

Annnd I'm spent.

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Flying pigs abound.

Today I used a gawddamn hotpack today because I was outside. All. Day. Except. For. Lunch. Ugh. And it was cold! Like 20 (68F, and I was underdressed)! My fingers were blue. I was amazed. Last year I'm pretty sure I was sweaty and gross by now.

I also made the terrible realization that when I go home, a quick udon lunch will not be an option. And the noodles will probably be slimy and overcooked. I'm going to start making udon at home, watch me. I went to some noodle restaurant website, and they had their prices listed. Something like 5 bucks for a bowl of niku (meat) udon! WHAT? Well, uhm, no, the place I usually go to charges about $4.50. But 450 yen is a steal for lunch here.

There's a post rotting in the draft section. Someday I'll put pictures from my vacation in there.

I got a new camera today, to replace the old one that died from too much drink. (I kid you not.) And after I gleefully ripped the box open, put in the battery and a memory card, I was done with it. Done. Talk about overstimulated. I guess it's not shiny enough.

Today I also paid my car tax. Whee. But what makes it extra special is that it was last year's car tax, as in, overdue. Super overdue. And I'm way proud of myself. Instead of hiding the notification (which came in an uncharacteristic red envelope), I took it to school, asked about it, and paid it this afternoon. Problem solved in 48 hours. (I was too busy on Wednesday, really.) But I was amazed. I asked at 3:30, I knew what I had to do by 3:45, and I was on my way to city hall by 4:25.

I can hear your eyes glazing over. I'll stop.

But let's rejoice over one more little thing: I found the store that sells tortillas! After almost three years! Hooray!

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Two for two.

I drove for two hours (roundtrip) for a two-hour rehearsal. I now understand why a lot of the far east/west siders don't come to town very often. And why fellow cast members bitch so much during rehearsal. Transit makes everyone cranky. I will award myself extra points because I can't sleep or read on the way home, unlike people who take the train.

Okay, time to eat my bento, which is 5 hours old.

And since I'm obsessed with the weather, here's an update. It's definitely spring, past the pretty flowering trees part, and it's still a little chilly. It's halfway through May, and I'm still wearing socks. What gives? Two years ago my family came to visit, and I was gross and sweaty after a 15 minute walk to their hotel. Curse the humidity. I guess I'm glad it's not that humid.

The kids are outside practicing for sports day, and I'm catching a cold. Ugh. Some poor girl was rocking back and forth because she was sick and cold. She was sick and cold and coughing, but she still sat outside to watch practice. Whose idea was that? I've been here for long enough where I know it could actually be her choice, to be there with the team instead of getting healthy.

No really, I'll get that bento now.

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And while I'm writing...

I guess I should note that I have about three months left in Japan. Three months, after almost three years. The frogs are chorusing nonstop, and they'll only get louder. I remember one time, maybe last year, when I woke up at 3am because the frogs had finally stopped for a moment.

Time stopped for me here. I feel ageless. Twenty...something. Not because I don't want to face becoming an adult, but because it really doesn't matter. 23? 25? 36? Doesn't make a damn difference. I remember setting a low, humble goal--learning how to be happy. It was more of a desperate grab, after the mess that was university, but I knew I needed a goal of some sort. Happiness was a good place to start.

I can do that now, along with a few other things--read a bar menu, navigate a few train stations. I'm not fully integrated in my community, but that's partially because I guarded my freedom. No extra-curriculars (buubuu--failed, I'm currently on musical number two), no taiko, pottery, dance, music...nothing. I miss having hobbies and passions, but I don't miss coming home at 11pm after two or three meetings or rehearsals.

I'm disappointed that I haven't done more, but then I look at this past weekend: I went to town late on Friday (tired and uninspired), Saturday was lunch-rehearsal-birthday party, Sunday was rehearsal and dinner with a friend, and then we passed out. That was a full weekend, and I didn't even leave the city. No, I needed to slow down, regardless of all the facinating things I'm missing. These past three years are unique because I'm in Japan, but they're also precious because I can be free. I'm going to miss that a whole bunch.

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Epicurean I am not.

Yesterday I had quesadillas for breakfast and pizza for dinner. The only reason I only had two (tiny) quesadillas is because I ran out of tortillas. The reason I stopped eating pizza is because I kept collapsing when I wasn't stuffing my face.

I am going to get so fat when I get home. Especially when I can get my hands on alfredo cup o' noodle. ::sigh::

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Mistaken Identity

Well, the BBC accidentally pulled a cab driver guy who was there for a job interview in for a live interview (links to boingboing.net post) instead of the guy they really wanted. Blah blah they wanted Guy Kewney's opinion on the Apple vs. Apple case. The case was interesting, but what I really want to know is how much BBC backstage was freaking out while this woman interviews the wrong guy. And just in case you want to know how much they messed up, here's the comparison:

This is Guy Kewney. He's an IT journalist, blah blah netnewswire geek geek something. Guy Kewney had the grace to point out that the guy below isn't a taxi driver. (netnewswire link)



This is NOT Guy Kewney. His name is Guy Goma, thus the misunderstanding. He's a French taxi driver guy from Congo who was there for an IT job interview, He also had the grace to play along. He should totally get hired for not making the BBC look stupider.



Now, don't you want to click the link (which links to the YouTube clip)? Oh yes you do.

Hilarious.

[updated on 5.16 to fix the details, etc.]

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Golden Week Hilarity.

So we're doing all this last minute floundering for hotels. Beggars can't be choosers and what not. And now we're up to a seven-day trip, and that's not too shabby. While you might not give a damn about where I'm going (a handful of islands), I figured you would enjoy seeing the hotels I'll be staying at:

And this is the view from another hotel. For once I hope I don't get a bayside view...

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BBC is better than CNN.

Well, the website at least. Don't ask me about content or layout or writing style (although I feel that the BBC does a better job of reporting, rather than sensationalizing); just let me illustrate my point, excerpt from a BBC article on David Blaine:

Nothing special right? Did you read the caption? Read it.

Oh non-sequiturs. There's another photo talking about how Blaine is training near the Cayman Islands for his latest look-at-me-look-at-me stunt. That's relevant to the article. (He's going to try living underwater for a week, and then try to break the world record for breath-holding.) Being friends with Leo is not.

And another thing--"Blaine is to get a two-way audio link" blah blah interview? Interview? He's going to be underwater, how on earth do you talk underwater? And where will he crap? I hope he farts. And I also hope that the fine people of New York City heckle him just as much as the people in London did.

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What I Learned Today

Oka Udon, an udon shop that we often go to, is closed on Tuesdays. We found this out after driving 15 minutes in the hills to get there. Boo. Apparently they're famous for their niku udon, and I'm inclined to agree.

Ministop strawberry parfaits are disgusting. Frozen strawberries. I knew better, I so knew better, but all the other teachers were getting parfaits. Well, two of four. Yep, that's right, on the way back to work after udon (at Kompira Udon, which is like Hanamaru in its restaurant chain blandness), we stopped at a combini for ice cream. Man, I'll miss this.

There's some song out there that goes, Wookie Wookie in the kitchen, Superboy is on a mission. I'm not kidding. It's very Aqua, but I can't seem to find out who it's really by. And even though I loathe it, it's catchy, and I want it.

There's another song that I heard on FM radio (radio! how retro!) today that I totally know, and it's called Only You. There are at least three songs out there with that title, but this one is a cappella. I was a bit shocked when I heard it on the radio, because I always thought it was some college group. It totally has that sound. Well, I got home and found it, and realized that it's a Yaz/Yazoo cover (depending if you're from the US or the UK). And then I got some Yazoo, and realized that I totally know a lot of these songs, but had no idea who the group was, what the titles were, or that the singer was a woman.

Why does Alison Moyet sound familiar to me? I'll never know. Great voice though.

But yeah. FM radio. Mostly English songs. And thanks to google, I've found it. Fantastic. The current program is called SCHOOL OF LOCK!!! Yeahyeah!

[edit: HOLY SHIT! I finally figured out why Alison Moyet is so familiar! I have an Alison Moyet song. What song? There Are Worse Things I Could Do. ::sigh:: I feel so much better now.]

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The Perils of Drunk Biking

Like a cartoon bump. Really.

In other news, isn't my camera phone like way awesome? I sure think so.

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Girl Scout Cookies.

I sold them when I was in elementary school, always going for the coveted (and in hindsight, ugly) stuffed animal. I loved the goldfish cracker knockoffs (golden yangles--what a terrible name), I loved the lemony ones, the peanut butter ones, the ones with coconut on them (named after an island? why???), and of course, thin mints. Thin mints went straight into the freezer where we forgot about them. In college, this proved useful when a friend came over and made alcoholic smoothies. Smart boy, that one.

Anyway. I got home today, and I was hungry. But not hungry enough to wash my damn dishes. So I reached for the closest food item. In my apartment, that's not very hard to do.

And so I grabbed a box of girl scout cookies. That my mother sent me. Last year. I've been kicking this box around for the past couple days, and finally decided to open it.

And you know what? They're delicious. I could eat the entire box right now, even though I know I'll get sick from all the preservatives and I'll regret it tomorrow.

What are they? Double something. Double dutch chocolate chip cookies. Don't you just love how American food is so overprocessed that it's still good a year later? Freaky.

Freaky delicious.

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Damn fricking Damn.

My dad likes to try and call me when it's convenient for me, but he isn't very good at it. Like he called just now, 11pm to inform me that no, they're not coming to visit from April 5 to 19, now they want to come from April 19 to May 3. And I'm sure you're thinking, what's the problem with that, and I say that infringes on both charity ball AND Golden Week. And it's not like I currently have plans for golden week, or even a dress for Charity Ball, but damn my family for infringing on my good time. My LAST good time, might I add. rage rage rage.

But now there's even talk of coming in November, when I can stick around the whole time, and maybe even stay longer than they do. That'd be awesome.

Tonight I had yakiniku with L and L and it was so nice eating with girls for once. It only took one family set to feed three of us. And I introduced them to the fantastic ice creams too. So now I'm all meat-coma-ed and trying to be good and do a load of laundry, and my dad calls me and gets me in a tizzy. Bleah.

I had a totally random weekend though. It's the first time I've been home on a Sunday night in a long time. Since G's out frolicking on the bean island, I intended to go home on Saturday morning. Maybe Saturday afternoon. Well, instead, I lazed about on Saturday, all fuzzy and hungover from the school enkai. Man, that was a good time. I was about ready to go home on Saturday at like 6pm when tattoo G calls and says let's go have a bonfire in Aji. And I say sure, because hell, who wants to go home and clean when you can burn stuff? Not me. So I stayed out another night, and passed out in my smokey bonfire clothes at G's.

I woke up all disoriented because I was alone and I wasn't sure what day it was. I sat around some more, and then went to return the bike I never used (bike to Aji? On a granny bike? No thanks.) and ran into L. I just followed L and L around for the rest of the day, stopping for sandwiches and a hair cut and finally yakiniku.

Now I'm home and still all tizzied and I haven't done laundry and I think I left my kotatsu on all weekend. Bleh.

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Pizza dinner, round two.

So I just got back from Osaka, and I'm pretty wiped out. Yesterday, day four of the vacation, I went to Kurashiki to look at old buildings, but ended up buying a whole lotta stuff. Good stuff though. So my legs are tired, and on top of that, my stomach is still used to eating real meals and demanded a real dinner tonight. And considering my sink has been full since about a month ago, pizza seemed the way to go.

Preparations went by without a hitch. Seriously, if you've got a microwave with oven capabilities, it's the way to go. 500 yen for half a pizza. Might not feed some people, but it's good enough for me. It even has raw garlic slices! Ohyeah! Pretty sheisty with the sauce, but that just means I need to buy extra sauce. I feel like R's told me about the joy of grocery store pizzas before, but I can't remember. Mmm, it's getting cold. Back to food.

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Uhm, Social Studies?

A few days ago, a fifth grader, a sharp kid, asked me what shakai was in English. I wrinkled my brow, and tried to decide if I misheard a dirty word or not. Seriously. I get asked what unko is all the time. "Poop," I tell them. And to my great delight, they elongate the "oo" so it sounds absolutely ridiculous. "pOOOp," they recite with glee. "Yes," I say. Great pronounciation, I say. I'm such a swell teacher.

Right, shakai. I was pretty confident about this one, because it often comes up in the junior high school. It's social studies. So I tell him, social studies. The kid is delighted. "Open the window social studies!" he proclaimed, displaying his crotch. What? "Open the window social studies!" I thought I knew all the words, sounds, and gestures related to the groin by now, but this was a new one.

Luckily, a teacher with good English skills was there and explained that it's a phrase they use for the fly of your pants. Mmmm. Great. I can't wait for this one to catch on. I turned to the kid. "Sorry, I made a mistake. It's society. Open the window of society." He ran off and repeated it to the kids in the hallway. "Open the window SOCIETY!"

Afterthought: Yes, I know shakai has multiple society-related definitions, but "social studies" is so engrained that I missed a (practice) Japanese test question on its definition. Whee.

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mySpace.

I guess that's the new rage these days. Friendster seems dead, and I wonder what happened to sixdegrees. That was interesting to me, but I guess it's just a crude version of what we have now. I like to ignore myspace because I'm old and I like to ignore things. Currently I'm ignoring a guy who I was friends with two or three lifetimes ago in high school. Oh Victor Manuel Bennett, I highly doubt you've changed at all. (I can't believe I remember his middle name. A lot of me hopes I'm wrong.)

But sometimes myspace generates absolute gems of ridicule. Take for instance, the latest entity to try to add me as a friend. I like to think they have a bot that harvests the names of people who are currently online, but I also like to think that there's some pathetic insomniac monitoring myspace in his bedroom.

Behold, Conflict of Interest:


Just look at that. I can forgive Frankenstein, and the hokey-looking one on the left, and even the mohawked neanderthal (eek, soul patch), but the one between Hokey and Frank? I'm not witty enough anymore, but my gawd, the intensity. Rock out, you gothy little goat.

Now, lately, I've been really open to new music. Well, desperate for new music. But I think I'll turn them down. Bleh. If I were my sister, I would MS paint it to death. Too lazy.

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