turn the wheel
A friend of mine, another UO student who was at Waseda last year, recently got back from a 2-week Winter Break visit to Japan. While I don't necessarily agree with her reason for visiting (ask me how I feel about long distance relationships where the distance portion is longer than the "together" portion, I dare you), I am, needless to say, envious that she got to go.

She writes, I really had a great time--it was almost better than the first time I went. I guess I can nod to that. A visit to a nostalgic place is much different than living there, especially when the visit is yours to do with what you wish and not goverened by the iron hand of a diaobolical Host Mother. [I'm not speaking for myself here.]

This is where I was last year, on the 29th of December. You remember this, Chrissu?:

12/29/03: From on foot

I now realize just how simple it is to get anywhere in Tokyo... by walking. The trains make everything convenient but it's TOO convenient. Convenient enough that people forget you can walk from Shinjuku to Harajuku in about as much time as the train takes, really. Convenient enough that the perfectly capable adults in my host family consider the 10(ish)km across the Yamanote circle from Harajuku station to Tokyo station to be a bloody far distance to walk. That, folks, is a little over five miles on a flat, paved surface. In Glacier I've done 10 mile days with over 2000 feet of elevation gain on treacherous rock and skree. And my host parents were yet more impressed with my youthful abilities when today I completed the very simple feat described above.

I won't bore you with the tedious details, save to say I had good company and saw many fabulous things. (Including a rare shrine to cats, a store in Harajuku called Cowpoo, about fifty mysterious and hidden bits of the past, and several free Sony PS2 gaming centers.) The walk ended after dark in the most crowded and teeming place I've ever been-- the Millenario lights show in Otemachi. Strangely and symbolically, Chris and I entered at the wrong end and went the whole way against a tide of literally thousands of people thronging to see beautiful but quite boring displays of lights. We walked on a sidewalk roped off for free pedestrian traffic and watched the masses crowd the streets, pushed like cattle from one end of a corral to the other, hardly watching their surroundings (much less enjoying them) and at all times assaulted by needless and obnoxiously loud instructions via megaphone. It was depressingly Japanese. People here will queue for anything, even if they don't enjoy it. When the new Apple store opened in Ginza (admittedly, the first of its kind in Japan), people queued the day before and thousands were in line the morning of the opening... even though SCARCELY any Japanese use Macintosh computers. Can't say I'm sad I missed that one.

I feel I am much more in charge of the city now. There is a lightness in my heart resulting from the walk. That, coupled with the long-awaited arrival of my USA Christmas package and the purchase of a brand-new winter coat (yay! sale!) made today a VERY good day. Soon, (oh yes, very soon) I will attempt a walk from the FAR SOUTHERNMOST station of the Yamanote circle to the NORTHERNMOST station... a total of *gasp* almost TEN MILES. It will take a while, surely, as the major roads jump about a bit. But with a compass pointing due north, no map is needed. And then I will have mastered this city for I alone shall be captain and steward of all the lands between the ocean and sea from the far north country to the western hills and I... eherm... sorry, been reading Tolkein.

wtf?
Excerpt from news article:

Two-year-old's B-day party leads to 7 stabbings

Police Lt. Rick Edwards said that the little girl was not hurt and that the 7 injured were male and female, and that the injuries were all severe, some possibly life threatening.

O....K.... Male and female. Just in case we were wondering if they might be transgendered two-year-olds?!

bang/ blame
Well, Christmas has come and gone, expectedly anticlimactic compared to years before. Thankfully, I received many "flat gifts" and don't have TOO many new trinkets to stash and store. God knows I don't need more stuff. Justin and I got all geared-up for rock-climbing at REI yesterday and now we can get started on outdoor walls and maybe even sport climbing if we get confident enough.

Saw House of Flying Daggers last night. Besides a few complaints about careless effects sequencing and fake blood, it was an interesting story, but I think I still prefer Hero as the Wire-Fu flick of the year. On the way to the movie, we ran into my dad. Literally. Like, bumper boats. But eh, all Justin did was move the dirt on either car around a wee bit. No harm, no foul. And we weren't even late for the movie; a big surprise with my family.

Now, if only I could have a vacation. It's about time for this whole relaxation thing to kick in and make sense. Christmas is over, my income is secure, and I only have two more college terms and a thesis project to worry about. Hmm, I sense valium in my future.

To steal an idea from one my ryuugakusei (overseas exchange) friends, I'm going to set up a small session of "this year in review" to count down to the New Year. What was I doing at this time last year? Well, I was in Tokyo, Japan. And about now I had just started my break. And as it would be rather inaccurate to say that Japan has a Christmas break, I'll just call it my Holiday Vacation. This time of year in 2003 was a turning point for me overseas. From mid-September until the New Year I pretty much lived in constant fear of leaving the house.

Why? Well, any number of reasons, maybe. I was an outcaste who stood out more than many. My language skills were poor. I was tired, stressed, and under the weather. Whatever it boiled down to, I had a horrible case of culture shock and it took the independent planning and travel that began during that holiday season to open my eyes. Then it all became clear...

12/25/03: (from) the lantern men

Waiting at the bus stop, I saw a man walking with a plastic lantern shaped in the traditional Japanese paper-lantern style. In his other hand, he held an unlit industrial flashlight. As he came closer, I saw he wasn't alone but accompanied by another man carrying two long, rectangular sticks; the kind used to create sound effects in Japanese theatre. Every few seconds, as they walked, the stick man would hit them together. Other than that, they said nothing except to converse softly on occasion. When they passed, I saw that they both wore green arm bands with lettering and the lantern had a similar banner.

I thought this strange but not nearly as strange as when I got off the bus two stops down the same street and passed another pair in the same getup. But this time the lantern man had a megaphone instead of a flashlight. (He wasn't using it)

I can still hear them walking back and forth through the neighborhood, the beating of the sticks making a soft but sharp noise in the night.

Is it some sort of neighborhood watch? If so, why tonight? Why, in fact, at all in such a reputably safe area (-- eek! a predator on the loose? --)? Is it some sort of festive patrol? Why on Christmas of all days, when it holds so little meaning to the Japanese?

For all its crushing weight, Tokyo never ceases to amaze and confuse me. Go figure.

What are the "lantern men"? As the New Year is one of the busiest and also coldest times of the year, the combination often results in many house fires. The "lantern men" are a New Years patrol to remind the Japanese to turn off their portable heaters and table stoves.

hot oil and hot lights
Well, there were no midgets or clown cars, but sufficient to say I did enjoy myself yesterday. I had guessed correctly, after several subtle hints dropped by Justin and one accidental look into his "calls received" on his cell phone, that he was sending me to Habitude day spa in Ballard. (Did I honestly believe that Monk would drive all the way from West Seattle to Ballard just for Chai at Mr. Spots'? Noooooot really.)

So, at 3 PM I went in for an essential massage, herbal salt scrub, and scalp treatment. I came out at 6PM marinated, rubbed, steamed and broiled, feeling like a very happy Christmas Roast. I guess I'd made Justin wait for over an hour as I sauna'ed with my smoothie and then showered, but it was well worth it and corresponded nicely with our dinner plans. He kidnapped me (again) to the Space Needle and walked me around aimlessly for half an hour, nearly dragging me into Italian and Thai restaurants before stopping at a small, hole-in-the-wall Japanese place called Shiki.

The sign in front of the door said ふぐ料理(fugu ryouri) in Kanji. Which, if you're not "in the know," means "blowfish food." We weren't there fore blowfish but for the seasonal cuisine served there. It's been almost a year since I had nabe, Japanese cooked-on-the-table soup, and Justin and I made short work of a large pot.

For those in the Seattle area, the chef of Shiki used to be the head chef at Shiro's, a well-known downtown sushi bar, before opening a place of his own. He's a Japanese master chef, and the only holder of a high-ranking FDA approved liscence to serve fugu in the USA. They had some pretty amazing, hard-to-find, authentic cuisine at that place, and while I felt sort of like a traitor going to a Japanese restaurant other than Toyoda's, it was definitely good food. Well recommended.

This morning... well, this morning doesn't top yesterday for pampering but definitely for surreality. To steal a line, the strangest things are beginning to seem rather routine. I've just returned from a photo shoot with Monk at a rather conspicuous dungeoun/ studio and while well-pleased, it is probably good that I'm not going to be running for office any time soon.


Merry Christmas, everyone!! May yours be as interesting as mine.

*wink*

Kidnapped!
Huh. For some Christmas-associated reason Monk stole me away to Ballard and here I am in a chai bar awaiting a surprise that I'm sure will probably feel either really good or really bad. What the hell is in Ballard?

All right, so I'll admit I might have a vague idea... can't help it if the boyfriend drops strange verbal hints, after telling me to expect an early Xmas present.

So... Ballard. Yeah. And all this talk about Clown Cars has got me worried.

思いで

Lately I find myself slipping more and more in and out of memories from the last year. When I first got back from Japan, I didn't think about it much. In fact, I wasn't even sure what to tell people when they asked me how it was. The best I could come up with was "interesting" and when they insisted that I must have had a great time, I could, at best, reply that it was a challenge.

It took me a long time to say honestly that I felt my ten months in Japan were exceptional, and longer to stop first giving people an odd sort of disclaimer before telling about what it was like.

Now, when people ask about Japan, it calls up memories of the good times, and loses me in a fond nostalgia. But when they ask if I have plans to go back, as if that's some sort of requisite for nostalgia, I still feel myself getting a little defensive.

"No way," was my default answer for a few months. Then I said I didn't think so. I still don't have any definitive plans to return to Japan, especially to live in Tokyo. I'll admit that it does intrigue me to see how I might view the city differently now that I have some distance from it and am in another frame of mind. I know that if I had unlimited funds and unlimited time I would, without question, take Justin on a trip through the Kansai region to Kyoto, Nara and the places Alex and I went... or perhaps visit Kyuushu.

I definitely have the drive to do more sightseeing. But in a country where some cultural and linguistic undestanding is requisite for a complete and satisfying experience, the stress of being a bi-lingual tourguide for my American compatriots is not at all appealing. Last week, Justin and I entertained the idea of living in Japan for the first time. IF we were married; IF I were offered a job at Kateigaho International Edition or a similar magazine; IF he learned some Japanese first and could find a decent teaching position; IF we had our affairs in order.

I don't know if it will happen. In fact, I doubt it will, but the door has been opened.

Then, Saturday night at Toyoda Sushi, I had a fluid conversation with a Japan-born bi-lingual 20-something and remembered the thrill of speaking. We talked about the displacement of being "American" in Japan. He had returned to Japan two years prior after living in Portland for a decade, and found that though he had maintained his language skills, he was no longer a nihonjin. But there was a lot of nostalgia, too, and we discussed the frustrating lack of Japanese ramen noodle joints in the Greater Seattle Area.

I am revisting random memories, sudden and uninvited reminiscences that are crystal-clear in clarity. These aren't impressive moments, but small instances of true immersion, moments of transition, and fleeting dreams of the East.

I walk through Kyoto station as if I were there yesterday. The maps I made of all these places are preserved and packaged for further use and investigation. I remember walking the streets of Sapporo looking for our low-end ryokan, slipping on pockets of ice, and calling the owner repeatedly on his cell phone when we got lost. And day after day, the new tastes, new smells, new sights and new sounds. Life seems somehow insufficient (but peacefully so) when you're no longer, as I put it, "a spectacle among spectacles."

Japan has left a funny taste in my mouth, something lingering and strange, but not at all unpleasant, like the first bite of (good) uni. If only I could take it in small doses.

I am a friggin genius
BWAHAHAHA!!! Term grades are in and I got a 4.20. Yep! Thanks to the UO's odd grading system, I managed to pull off two A+ grades, which raised me ABOVE a 4.0. Ahem.

Did I mention I was worried about Mag Design and Production? Guess I didn't need to be! What a relief...

holiday crush
I didn't think I'd ever say this... but it's a good thing I have work to keep me from the doldrums and stressors of the Christmas season. You see, I'm working as a shop gnome for my friend Monk, maker and purveyor of hand-oiled romanian hemp rope. Yes, rope, the kind you use to tie up your plaything du jour with so that you can do naughty things to them. Monk's in the middle of his holiday rush, so that means we're busy oiling, whipping, prepping and packaging bundles and bundles of "little orgasms," as he calls them, to ship across the country and around the world (though especially, for some reason, to Australia).

What other holiday job could be as cool as this? I get to sit around all day, noshing on trail mix and coffee, helping a friend with a small business and spending hours talking about all manners of perversions.

But wait, before you get too envious, there are ways you, too, can participate!

NUMBER ONE: Buy rope! There are still lots of colors and sizes left, but they're going fast (tallys updated online). Monday is the deadline for delivery before Christmas.

NUMBER TWO: Go shopping! Monk's looking for new venues to sell his product. Boutiques like Toys in Babeland and Good Vibrations are ideal, versus large chains like Castle Superstore or Lover's Package. Where do you buy YOUR toys?

After Monday the rush will subside and holiday partying will begins. New Years promises some interesting stories.

As for the everyday, life in Seattle seems to be up and down. Being in this city appears to *still* have the potential to bring up old issues and I find myself struggling to control my stress levels for the sake of my emotional health. I have to remember to be Present and accepting of each moment. Otherwise I'll wind up having another breakdown.

Justin and I have been doing lots of family things. Eating dinner with the folks, wrapping Christmas presents, watching movies, etc. Today we went to the Woodland Park zoo to ogle at the baby tigers. And though we've been eating pints of Hagen Daazs ice cream like bowls of cereal, we're still trying to get up at 7AM a few times a week and run several kilometres to keep up the pace.

Pretty normal, pretty boring, and aside from the existential blogging crisis I'm experiencing, life is pretty much fine.

The Parking Saga Continues
At around 10:30 last night Justin and I came home from wrapping gifts at my family’s house in Bellevue. As usual, there was some Ass parked in his spot. Strangely, it wasn’t a car we recognized, but a van with New Mexico plates. I could feel Justin steaming.

“Why not deflate his tires?” I joked.

We drove once more around the block, beeping as if to imitate the frat boys upstairs, even though it probably wouldn’t work. The one time I stood outside the complex and screamed for the RED YUKON WITH LISCENCE PLATE 352-LPR to MOVE THEIR FUCKING CAR it didn’t have any effect.

He left his car in the next spot while we unloaded and at first when he bent over I thought he’d tripped on the oil slick some other Ass’s BMW has been smearing all down the hill. I heard the hiss of air come from the tire just as someone came around the corner… and walked right up to the back bumper of the van. I’m not sure if I didn’t say anything because I didn’t have time, because I was too mortified, or because I didn’t want to deal with the situation.

Thank god it wasn’t some Abercrombie and Fitch frat-freak (do they even have those in New Mexico?) but an average-looking college preppy who didn’t show any sign of rage upon discovering Justin vandalizing his tires.

“Dude, are you… um… deflating my tires?”

Justin stopped and stood up. I put my hand over my eyes.

“Well, yeah,” he said lamely, “it’s kind of my way of coping when someone parks in my spot, as there’s not much to do about it otherwise.”

Yeah, management at this complex is great. They leave at five and supply no after-hours maintenance to provide the required authorization for tow-truck calls. So, basically, anyone can use another person’s spot to their heart’s content with no repercussions except angry notes. And while Justin does angry, he doesn’t do notes very well.

“I only let out about 5p.s.i.,” said Justin, “You should be fine.” And then he helped signal the van out of his spot so the guy could park somewhere else.

Mortified seems an adequate adjective.

Climb

[ REI ROCK WALL PICS ]

Nor Cal
Justin lives in an apartment complex full of Asses. And as such, I suppose it's the same as most apartment complexes are... it's just that we got lucky with our last one.

There are Asses who party loud. There are Asses who have screaming sex. And there are countless Asses who take up his parking spot day in and day out because the management does fuckall about it.

This evening at arounf nine PM, there was an Ass or a Friend of an Ass outside honking, BEEP BEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP for minutes on end.

"Get out and knock, dipshit," said Justin under his breath. But the honking continued.

Several minutes later, I heard pounding on the door down the way. Then, suddenly, a knock sounded on our door, right as I was in the process of changing to get into the shower. I zipped up my pants and followed Justin into the vestibule. He opened the door and there stood the frattiest frat boy ever (who I shouldn't diss too much as he's probably providing me with the unsecured wireless connection I'm freeloading right now).

"Do you, um, know anything about that Pontiac parked in my spot out there?" he asked. I looked outside and all I saw wass the Yukon with the "nor cal" sticker on it that belongs to the Asses upstairs who always park in Justin's spot (or let their friends do it). This frat boy looked like the kind of Ass to drive such a car, come to think of it.

"No, sorry," said Justin. And from the tone of his voice I must have subconsciously known.

"It's not the same car that belongs to those people upstairs who always park in your spot, is it, hon?" I asked sweetly... as it dawned on me that this jock WAS the upstairs Ass with the parking problem. Justin shook his head, closed the door and gave me a look that said 'ix-nay on the arking-pay.'

He's left that jerk numerous notes and official warnings. He's even, in desperation, partially deflated his tires. And now, oh yes, turnabout is fair play.

Ha.

Ugh.
I feel used. But at least it's over.

I'm gonna crawl under a rock and hide for a few days.

GAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!
Just one more day. Onemoreday. Then it will be over. OVER.

For a rather unimpressive and non-upsetting term, I'm certainly a bit posessed by my final project this week. It's eating my soul.

But I'm almost done. And then I will have something to show for my efforts, oh yes.

And I finished my Christmas shopping yesterday. Wewt.

This pisses me off so much
As I was leaving my Japanese final today, I saw a fundie van drive by all plastered with "Yay, Dubya!" stickers and other conservative nonsense.

What stuck out at me in particular was the sticker that read

The cost of an abortion is one human life

Ok, yes, that is a rather "duh" statement, considering. But it's also besides the point.

I wanted to run up to the neo-con soccer mom who was driving the car and yell, "How about the cost of your blood-feud for oil? How many abortions does that equal??"

More than that, on the subject of unwanted childbirth, what's the "cost" of overpopulation, neglect, and abuse? I'd wager to say that it's more than one abortion.

Ho Ho Ho
With little effort, I've managed to finish most of my Christmas shopping in the last two days. If only I could get motivated to work on this design project looming in front of me. Guh.

The House of Mine Enemy

[ WASHINGTON, D.C. PHOTOS ]

It only occurred to me as we were walking away that I'd probably gained myself an FBI profile. That is, if I didn't have one already.

Friday night, we'd walked from Georgetown along the Potomac, passed by watergate, toured the Lincoln Memorial, touched the wall, and watched the sun set over the reflecting pool. Feeling oversaturated in patriotism, I snapped photos of the full moon behind a billowing American flag and suggested we go to the Whitehouse.

It was cold, and very dark, and we weren't really sure where we were going or how close we could really get to the Big Man's mansion without being shot. As it turned out, we far overshot the lawn and ended up walking through an empty park that seemed to be, but really wasn't restricted access.

At the fence, a jovial (and hugely loud) black family tossed jokes and jibes back and forth about Whitehouse trivia. The amused security guard on duty fielded their questions about the House's original location and could neither confirm nor deny that what we were taking pictures of was actually the technical BACK of the House. Droves of stupid tourists snapped flash photos into the darkness, and even those with digital cameras wondered why what they were seeing didn't come out. I wanted to hang them all.

I was contemplating the idiocy of most novice photographers, watching them crane through the bars of the fence, when Justin commented that security must have a lot of problems with people dropping cameras, purses and worse onto the lawn. Taking a second look at the fence, we realized that it wasn't very big or very imposing, and it certainly wasn't "live" (electrified) as there were people leaning their fat cheeks right into it. Now, given that this fence is in direct line of sight of the White House, we also guessed there must be some kind of hardcore invisible security in place. What could it be?

Justin and I strolled back along the sidewalk, imagining lasers, ninjas, and spikes that impaled jumpers from beneath fake turf. As we came to the street, I turned to him, Why don't you just ask the guard?

"What, are you kidding?" he said.

"No, it's just a question," said I, and then, without thinking about it, "fine, I'm cute and innocent. I'll do it." And I sauntered up to the guard.

"Now, if someone were to, say, climb this here fence and jump over to the other side, what exactly would happen to them?" I continued, as if to remind him of the possibilities in case he'd forgotten, "I mean, do you have dogs? Because they aren't here NOW. Are there snipers? Lasers? Something mean and nasty?"

The guard looked at me.

"Uh. Well. I can't exactly tell you that," he said. I was about to interject my disappointment when he carried on. "But," he said, "if you were to jump over right now, I suppose we'd all find out, wouldn't we?"

"Oh," I said, "How about I just pretend to jump over and you signal to them just so we can see it?"

Yes, I was beginning to feel like a dork right about then.

"Let's just say there are security measures in place," said the guard smiling. We wished him a good night and walked away, convinced that pictures of our faces, probably taken with some kind of lapel camera, had been paired with recorded audio and already on the way to the "code yellow" vault in the FBI building, only blocks away.