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:
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:
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
I think I just hawked up a piece of my brain. Even I was appalled by it.
Gawddammit I don't want to get sick again.
PAWS. Damn if I remember what it stands for, I just know I loved that program. Remember? The typing program? The silly orange cat, a as at ask asp asks...I could hammer away on a clackity IIe for hours. I don't remember playing it that often (how could a kid from San Diego resist Carmen Sandiego?), but I remember being pretty good at it.
Next memory: growing up, I had a clunky plastic typewriter. It was blue. I rarely used it, but it was neat. I don't remember actually doing it, but I have this strange feeling that I wanted to take it apart. I'm sure I did. It was all caps. I didn't realize that wasn't normal until I used a typewriter in the library job. The library typewriter was electric, and that combined with both cases just blew my mind. It scared me at first, after years of doing everything on a computer. Clackity clackity. I grew to love it, even though I never mastered how to center a title.
All this comes up because one lazy morning, G asks me if I know how to touch type, or whatever newfangled word he used for it. All I remember (terminology-wise) is something about home keys, and always being shit at reaching the period with the proper finger. (I remember the cat would get angry if I didn't press the key in time, so I would just use a different finger.) I was a little incredulous, a little offended (to me, people that hunt and peck are inferior) but then again, he's never seen me do much more than check my mail. Always the same position--left hand holding up head, right hand picking out the letters in my addresses. I guess he's never seen me write email. ::shrug::
Funny, the things we still don't know about each other.
(And to salve my pride just a little, I checked a few typing tests online. About 60 WPM, averaged over three tests. That makes me feel better.)
I remember on the morning of high school graduation, it was absolutely essential that I put nail polish on. I'm sure it was something unnecessary, like clear. After the whole thing was over, after we rushed from our seats to stand with best friends to sing the alma mater one more time, I went to Olive Garden with my family. The guy who I had kind of dated (but had long since gotten over me) was there with his family as well. I don't remember how I felt, if it was embarassment or rage or irritation. I remember his mom was nice though. She liked me.
I am one of those lucky people that loves my high school friends fiercely. But high school life itself wasn't the high point of my life. I'm grateful for that, too.
I'm a sucker for silly personality tests.
1. You are more INTUITIVE than rational.
Other personalities you would probably get along with are the Hippie, the Starving Artist, and the Robot.
So the internet addiction has been (temporarily?) replaced by a book addiction. (Rather, I have revived my book addiction--I used to read books as though anticipating crisp $20s tucked between each page.) I just finished Wicked, which I've been meaning to read since a coworker coveted it like the holy grail. (A college library coworker, who waited for it to be returned to the library for weeks.) Last week I blew through The Cider House Rules, and it gave me a monster of a headache. Good stuff, but I read A Prayer for Owen Meany first and for some reason expected the stories to flow similarly. Oh well. Doesn't hold a candle to Margaret Atwood novels, that's for sure.
My elementary students were impressed that I was reading a book in English (duh kids, come on now). I'm pretty sure they still think I'm Japanese, albeit a retarded one.
After I finished Wicked, I remembered that it was made into a musical, and I don't like the clips I heard on amazon. The cast looked impressive, but the voices lacked the depth I found in the book. Poorly chosen clips, I suppose. Oh well.
And also, because I haven't quite figured out what I think of it, I also skimmed through the amazon.com reviews for the book, to see how I would react. This one was my favorite by far:
[1 star of 5]
Wickedly evil book, kelleypen (from UT) February 14, 2006
This book intrigues me--I really like the whole twisting the Wizard into an evil despot and Elphaba into an Animal rights activist. There were certainly parts that were well worth reading. But the plot is disjointed and has too much just hanging there. I HATED the whole Philosophy Club part. I'd never read bestiality before, nor did I intend to, and there it was. How did it further the plot? Why was it even in there? How did Elphaba know to tell Glinda not to go in there? And what was it about the whole Ama funeral followed by the men's trip to the Philosophy Club that made Elphaba decide that she needed to go there and then to see the Wizard? And why did the result of that interview convince her to leave school? I just didn't get it. The connections weren't there for me. I feel guilty for having read the whole of it. I don't want my copy of the book any more, but I'm ashamed to give it to any one I care about.
[1 star of 5] Zzzz...., February 8, 2006
This book, is a book I head so much about and that it was so good you have to read it. Plus, I live 35 minutes away from the city, so everybody around here is telling me that the play is fantastic. WELL, I think the book sucked, and there is no way I'm going to go to see that play. The book drags on and on and on, and every time it starts to get interesting, it comes to an abrupt halt, and you zoom past like 5 years of Elphaba's life, to something leaving you confused. This book, is not a big deal at all. It reminded me of those books teachers would require students to read in high school, its boring, and dumb. I felt like beating myself with this book, it was so stupid.
Reviewer: Dee "Dee" (NJ) - See all my reviews
I really like baked beans. Well, to be totally honest, I really like baked beans from a can, with the shrivelled bit of bacon suspended somewhere in the middle and a few extra tablespoons of brown sugar to make it even better. Left alone, a perfectly acceptable dinner would be hot dogs (sliced, no bun) and baked beans. Vegetables if I remembered them. British beans (whatever it is they give you at breakfast for...your toast?) come in at a pretty decent second. No, third, because I can't abandon my refried beans.
That being said, I'm going to miss natto. I remember getting it in LA for that sushi competition, so I'm not concerned that I'll never see it again, but I'm going to miss the variety here. I've found my favorite (large beans, non-offensive odor--really!), and I know it'll be one of the many things I'll crave when I go home.
Yesterday I had dinner (nabe) at a vegan's house. Said Vegan is pretty awesome because he invites me (through G) quite often, even though we never reciprocate and host anything ourselves. And it made me even more aware that I don't need to have meat at dinner. I was sated, and the closest thing I ate to meat was probably a potato. Or a mushroom. No point to that, I just wanted to remind myself that food doesn't always mean meat.
Dammit, that's coming up.
My sister has a pretty good post up about what Valentine's Day was about in our family. Me, my favorite memories were from junior high school. When the hormones made us all run amok.
Every year, some group sells flowers that can be delivered during class. I don't remember getting one, but that could be my crap memory. And I don't even think we were selling roses. We sold carnations. And a boy picked up a broken one and gave it to me. A really sweet gesture, even though we had already flirted and moved on months before. I saw him again years later. He was working at Denny's and I was absolutely floored.
Another time in high school, there was a boy and we wrote on each other's lockers. I think he drew a rose on mine. That one went absolutely nowhere, but I still had fun. No clue what happened to that one, even though our colleges were pretty close to each other.
Now, I'm going shopping for a real Valentine's gift for my very real boyfriend. Shh. Don't tell.
I want fake buttery croissants, like the ones that come out of a Pillsbury can. I want pizza, I want tomato soup, I want a grilled cheese sandwich. I came home yesterday to my cold apartment, and I could almost smell a grilled cheese sandwich.
Yep, I'm definitely getting better, but a 3am fit of coughing might mean one more day at home. I went to work yesterday to finish up a game I was going to do yesterday (cancelled out of concern from the teacher) and then took the rest of the day off. No classes? Why should I be there?
on where I come from:
"There is science, logic, reason; there is thought verified by experience. And then there is California." (Edward Abbey)
Ganked from The Writer's Almanac, a new distraction of mine.
Productivity is:
Just watched Billy Elliot. For the first time. It came out in 2000, meaning that I could've watched it ages ago. I even have a copy. But I was lazy, and now I can't remember any of the hype or the criticism. The only downside is that the closing credits' songs were painfully Year 2000 and terribly jarring after the last scene. Otherwise, a really swell movie. I should get back on the mainstream entertainment wagon.
PS to the home people: I'm sure it's just me, but the actor who played Billy (Jamie Bell) looked like David T, one of those Mexican Jews. Or maybe that's because I remember what David looked like when he was 8. Hmm. Slightly. And only when Jamie Bell isn't smiling. Great comparison. I give up, I'm still sick.
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