Please forgive me!
Dear Japan,

I'm sorry, Baby. All those bad things I said about you, I didn't mean them. Let's not let America tear us apart. That man-whore doesn't deserve me. With you is where I want to be, Japan... you know I like my men effeminate anyway. Nevertheless, I'll take my punishment as you see fit. Can we give it another try?

Your loving subordinate,
Kat

In all seriousness, I mean it when I say I've reconsidered all the bad things I said about this country when I first came here. Though most of them certainly hold true and are STILL a *pain in the ass*, I appreciate them as a "flavor" that adds something to my way of life, rather than a hindrance to my ability to cope in Tokyo.

I think I may be one of the few people, at this moment, for whom this trip has exceeded personal expectations. Certainly classes haven't met any grand hopes... but I'd say that was no real surprise. In the realm of language development and personal growth, however, what I have accomplished has blown me away. I'll talk more about language development later. What I've been fixated on recently, instead, is how *secure* I feel... in my self and in my surroundings... since I had my little "epiphany."

Though I think Michael Moor is a pompus ass, I also think his thesis about American media is true. America has created for its residents a quite prominent "Fear Culture" that reaches even the smallest towns and creates a sense of paranoia from which no one can escape. I can honestly say I've never really felt plagued by anxieties consciously on a day-to-day basis... as a strong person, I convinced myself I was exempt from that. But now that I've lived here for eight months I realize what a difference it can make to be outside of that repugnant Fear Culture and in a place where I can walk down nearly any street in the middle of the night and KNOW that I will be OK. Japan is changing, has changed even since I came here, and will change enough that I think Tokyo's sense of safety may soon be lost.

Nevertheless, this city will always be the place where I "found myself," a home I can come back to whenever I want. People have asked me, time and time again, if I think I could live in Tokyo... as in, set myself up here for permanent residence. My answer has unanimously been "no." Now that I think about it, however, I realize that is the wrong response. I already *do* live in Tokyo, albeit without the responsibility of rent, utilities and full-time work. But even as a host in a Japanese home, I have my own separate set of duties for class and commute that I can well equate to those of a normal, functional life. I see no reason that I couldn't "live" a normal life in Tokyo, even in Shinjuku, and make enough friends, have enough of a social circle, that I wouldn't feel completely comfortable.

On the other hand, I still don't think I could stay here outside the span of a few years. Part of the thrill of being in Tokyo and in Japan in general is that there is never a dull moment, even in the dullest of times. Everything is so different that it is fascinating. Though I don't doubt the small things would lose their thrill after a while (as many have already), I think the energy would just be overkill eventually. There are certainly quiet places in Japan to settle down, most within easy reach of a large metropolitan area... but I fancy that part of settling down is making a nest in a place where one is easily accepted and Japan has yet to open its doors to foreigners in a way that appeals to my sense of homemaking.

What made me realize that I already DO live in Tokyo was Hightech Luddite's suggestion that I should, now that I am "leaving," attempt again a few of the things that I tried when I first came here. I'm certainly eager to do that. In fact, tomorrow I'm going to Kamakura, a place I haven't been since October, with my host family. However, the aforementioned comment also illuminated the fact that those things I did when I first got here are now the things I do every day. As strange and novel as they must have seemed at first (i.e. riding the subway, walking through kabukicho at night, going to the convini), they are now normal and quite comforting. There isn't really *anything* that I can think of, outside of more experience with travel, that I could repeat for new results. It's all just faded into my way of life. An unexpected realization.

I used to worry that I would return to America without having found the "real reason" that I'd come to Japan. Before I left, I could list reasons a mile long for WHY I was going, but I didn't really know what I hoped to accomplish. In truth, even two months ago I thought I'd accomplished nothing here.

I just hope I can maintain this confidence when I get back to Eugene and I don't fade into the realm of being a "nobody" all over again. Living in Tokyo has made me a celebrity in my own right. Much of the attention is unwanted and annoying but even that, in its own way, has made me feel empowered. There is certainly a large portion of "positive attention" and celebrity that comes attached to being tall, white, female and blonde in Tokyo. When I first arrived, I thought I would drown in the sea of people but now, on the simplest level, I don't feel lost even when I'm in a crowd. I'm not nobody.

As a blogger, I'm now one of the ten-to-twenty writers in the Tokyo blogger network. Just last week, five of the more well, known Tokyo Bloggers gathered for Kim and Matt's going away party. Introductions followed a strange but exciting format, "Oh, you're XNAME from XBLOG? I'm..." I like that feeling. I'm well aware that at heart, I'm still a simple college chick from Nowhere, Oregon, but as an International Blogger, I've been elevated up from "trite ramblings" (despite what some may still say) to part of an esteemed circle.

Boy, that sounds egotistical.

What I mean, metaphorically speaking, is that I'm quite afraid of going back to being small. Even more than I'm afraid of going back to being afraid, I don't want to become lost. I know that I've changed a lot and look forward to my return to show me how much I have... I just wonder if I've changed enough to maintain my strength of will.

The things that I hated about Tokyo when I got here: the noise, the lights, are now the things that I love. I can walk through the Kabukicho, a place that at one time raised my hackles with its very noise level, and hear/see nothing "out of the ordinary."

This worries me. If Tokyo has become "ORDINARY," what kind of crappy Culture Shock am I in for when I go back to America? [I mean, God, tonight I saw a man dressed as Pikachu bouncing quite eagerly around the street trying to recruit salarymen for what was probably either a bar, a scam or a hostess club. I had a White Russian in a ladies-only Lesbian bar called Kinswomyn and watched as foreign men tried to enter and were kicked out. I went transvestite watching and easily saw five Shemales in one minute. This all in the span of less than two hours. Normal?]

Frankly, I'm not ready to go back yet. I'm still enjoying my just-begun love affair with Tokyo. While I don't want something negative to happen in the next two months to convince me that I desperately want to go home, I hope that I feel more ready when the time comes. Otherwise I might just be a mess. (I'll be a mess anyway.)

At least I can't say I have nothing to keep me busy when I get home. Here's a potential summer schedule.

June 27- return to US, spend night in Vancouver before driving to Seattle
July 4th weekend- at beachhouse in Rockaway, OR
Later that week- drive to Eugene for language placement and portfolio review
July 10th- Carmina Burana in Seattle
July 11th- friends' wedding
Last two weeks of July- go to Michigan with family to see relatives and old friends
August 1st-27th- (fly from Michigan to) internship in Montana with Montana Magazine
August 28th-Sept 5th- in Glacier for annual trip till Labor Day
Mid-Sept- move everything back down to Eugene, and start work for Spencer (the MAN) once again
Sept 27th- classes begin


Rock on.

You want it, you got it!

Rowboat, southern Okinawa beach


PHOTOGRAPHS. Check out the Galleries for Hokkaido, Okinawa, Kansai and more. Expect Tokyo photographs and local excursion galleries to be posted by the end of next week's vacation. The new software makes it very easy to upload, caption and post. I'm sorry for the pea-green, no-frills layout. Because the software is php and server-based, I can't touch up the HTML like normal site design. I expect I won't have a more color-coordinated Gallery until after I return to the states. But the photos themselves are what matter, right? There should be enough to keep you amused for now.

As for me, I'm lonely and feeling restless again. I haven't heard from my parents or grandparents in months, outside of one ill-timed phonecall and several email from dad lambasting Bush (yay!). I've sent numerous postcards home and I know that they check this blog every now and then, probably just to be disappointed in my choice of words. However, I haven't recieved a single letter or post card since Christmas or before. I don't expect my family to be personable with me, as it doesn't seem standard practice in my bloodline to befriend the children... but a status-check, even if just to ask how the technical things (financial or whatever) are going, would be nice.

I know I'm on the other side of the globe but I haven't exactly isolated myself over here. I write in this blog nearly every day. I post pictures and share very personal thoughts and experiences often without regard for my own potential embarrassment. [Because, really, I don't care.] I've sent out flocks of postcards, often numbering five or more at a time, to different family members in order to let them know I'm still alive in case they DON'T read the blog. I didn't want to risk being accused of abandoning my "filial duties" or some hooba-joo like that... but here *I* am feeling abandoned.

Hello, relatives, are you out there? Are you alive? Just because you can read about MY life doesn't mean I can read your minds!

the most beautiful thing
Wednesday night, 10PM. Chilly, fifty degrees, wind.

There is a cloud in the sky above my house in the exact shape of a whale, splashed huge and dense across the black ocean of sky.

I stopped where I stood and stared upwards, craning this way and that in awe at its massive perfection. I've only seen one other cloud in my life that's succeeded this one in amazing shape, and that was years and years ago driving down a country highway midday in Northern Michigan. That cloud looked remarkably like a cartoon dog (imagine Disney's Pluto) and people had stopped their cars alongside the road to photograph it.

As I watched, the whale above me appeared to be fading upwards as if surfacing. An optical illusion... if I looked again it was still there and still the same but still fading upwards. But I had only stood for a few seconds when a couple coming down the alley toward me walked into my reverie. I left them standing, also looking upwards, trying to figure out what it was I'd seen.

It's a shame I don't know the word for "whale."

whirlwind
Yesterday, the wind roared through Tokyo and shook all the windows with the madness of a typhoon. West Shinjuku, which is normally a windtunnel when everywhere else is still (hence the proliferation of wind sculptures) looked like a warzone. Trains stopped due to wind and amubulances screamed by to unknown accidents but the Japanese just pulled their coats around themselves and held their umbrellas tighter as if it were a normal day, which, I suppose, it was.

Six of us skipped class to eat lunch at TGIFridays in Shibuya and then Hanna and I braved the Shinjuku wind (it was ridiculous) to go to South Kinokunia Books. I picked up The DaVinci Code at a non-unreasonable price (books are marked up here too) and because the weather was so perfect, I plowed through most of it last night.

Host mom says the wind was, in fact, not a typhoon but simply a low-pressure front. Today, as if we needed more proof summer is coming, thunderclouds are growling on the horizon, menacing my still-wet laundry.

I'm much more relaxed this term. "My classes are practically non-existant," to quote a friend. What classes I do have, outside of Japanese, which has itself gotten markedly easier, require practically no work of me. My Harvard professor, who seems to be the only one of my profs this term actually interested in intellectual thought (albeit primarily her OWN), has made attendance to her classes voluntary. I'm grateful for the decreased workload, not just because it gives me a chance to slack off, but because I'm sick and tired of having to PROVE to my University that I can think through ungodly amounts of soul-crushing busy-work. I've been here four years, gotten all but two As, and attended nearly every class. I'm paying enough that my participation should be voluntary and expressed in fewer, major assignments. I think I've learned how to take care of myeslf by now.

On top of that, with exactly two months to go before I leave, I've got to start packaging boxes to mail home, coordinating the layout of my luggage, closing accounts, saying goodbye to friends and seeing as much of this city as is humanly possible in the time I have left. It's not as if I don't have things to do outside of class.

I have a day off tomorrow, and next Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday are also National Holidays. This series of consecutive holidays is known as Golden Week and is one of three national vacation times in Japan, the other two of which are New Years and Obon (August 12-16). My host parents may be making plans for us all to go to Shikoku, Kyushuu or Kamakura for two nights over the weekend. Unfortunately, in their usual way, they haven't figured it out exactly yet... they'll probably tell me on Friday the EXACT times we'll be leaving and returning.

Two days ago I went with my family to the Buddhist ceremony for the seven-year anniversary of
my host mother's father's death. As a rite, this ceremony is held on the first, third, seventh, etc, etc years of death on until either the 50th anniversary or everyone who cares as died or forgotten. It was, conceptually, more of a major event than I realized but the ceremony was also shorter and less formal than I thought it would be.

Host mom, Ayumi and I took the train out to the cemetery while Host dad met us there with the car. The cemetery was definitely one of the larger I've seen, situated in a small town that's sole purpose seemed to be catering to the needs of the dead. The stores lining the streets to the cemetery sold tombstones, water buckets for ceremonies, flowers and incense.

Once everyone in the family had arrived, direct extended relatives included, we proceeded to the gravestone, which took a little work as no one had been there for four years and they couldn't find it at first. A monk (with hair!) prayed over the stone for about half an hour, after which family members each offered a prayer to and poured water on the grave. Then the monk prayed a bit more and concluded the ceremony with a sermon that was much longer than everyone's patience for religious propaganda... I could tell by their faces. After he finished, he looked at me and said, in Japanese, "I bet you were wondering why I have hair." In fact, I had been wondering that, so his comment took me more than a little off-guard. As it turns out, he's a part of a sect that requires its members to shave their heads once, at age 9 and then permits them to choose whether or not they want to be bald or not-bald for the rest of their practice.

The family all went together to a traditional Japanese restaurant after the ceremony. The biggest surprise of the day came when my host mother, the coordinator of the gathering, distributed omiyage, or thank-you gifts, to the family members who had gone out of their way to come to the event, myself included. Again, it was just like the wedding. Even though I was simply flattered to be invited and my only desire, to take pictures, had already been accomplished, they thanked me profusely and presented me with gifts. I'm not talking trinkets either. Inside the large box was a set of two tins of Yoku-Moku cookies, a department store delicacy and not inexpensive treat. Inside the smaller box... was fifty dollars in $10 gift certificates to Odakyu department store.

I'm not stupid, so of course, I attempted (privately) repeatedly to refuse the gifts but of course my host mom refused. As much as I think I do, I guess I'll never understand the Japanese mentality.

Oh, and in case you thought I was kidding about Japan treating the released hostages poorly... It's far worse than I thought, and it's all printed in this article. Not only have the hostages been shunned and shamed, they're being fucking FINED $7,000 each for "getting in trouble" like naughty children. That is sick. Shame on you, Japan. Shame, shame, shame.

Come on, people, it's time to revolutionize this place. Wake up.

USER POLL
A recent letter from a reader, let's call it "fan mail," has made me question my intent in writing here. As I replied to the writer, the content expressed in the message won't change the blog in any manner. Even so, it has made me wonder what exactly I should write to keep this journal... flowing.

The truth is, I've been markedly uninspired lately. This, of course, is a result of the absense of drama and confusion in my life. Because I use this blog as an emotional outlet, the content tends to suffer in times of happiness or outside obligation. However, I want to keep writing regularly... especially because I only have (EXACTLY) two months left in Tokyo. Even though I've always maintained that I keep this blog for MYSELF as a chronicle of memory, one thing that has always motivated me to write has been the potential of "reaching" or entertaining an audience.

So as a solution to my Writer's Block, I want to ask you, the readers, your opinion. In the time before I leave Japan and therefore fade again into obscurity, what is it that you want to see/read?

Photographs?
Personal gossip?
Daily life?
Ethnographic essays?
Reflections?
Experiences?
Timelines?

I know that my writing isn't easily classifiable. It is, in fact, unclassifiable prattle in large quantities, as my writer so kindly put it. Nevertheless, I don't consider myself on the same level as the newspeak-writing 13-year-old blog bimbos who chatter about their schooldays in the most inane fashion possible, so I'd like to keep writing... rambling... whatever... and if you'd prefer the same, please tell me what you think.

Thanks in advance for your input. More in the morning.

nightlight

family car, east shinjuku

Meaning in Pain

Japanese cemetery

I suppose by now that you've all heard the news about Japan's Self Defense Force hostage situation. With death tolls rising in Iraq and explosive carnage around the world daily, it is, after all, old news. Here in Japan, however, a nation virgin to the horrors of war for fifty years, the "hostage crisis," even ended, appears to be a non-ended matter of national concern.

The day the kidnapping occurred, the atmosphere in Tokyo was vaguely reminiscent of a somewhat subdued September 11th. Every five minutes during the duration of the kidnapping, television stations would tune to the news just to tell wary viewers that no, indeed, the hostages had not yet been released. When the hostages were returned, almost every channel cut to news and repeated the message for hours afterwards-- "They were freed!"

Now the morning talk shows, the news channels and the political analysts are all talking about and reviewing the footage... including previously unreleased clips of the hostages being threatened and abused at gun and knife point... in order to analyze what exactly the hostages were thinking, feeling, saying and especially if the situation they were in was somehow THEIR FAULT.

According to my host father, the families of the victims, incensed at their plight, blamed the government and asked for reparations of some kind. Now that the hostages have been returned to Japan but are asking leave to go back to Iraq, Japan is attempting to paint them as some sort of careless victims in order to make itself look better.

For a country so unaccustomed to war, this makes sense. In a way, the naivety of Japan is refreshing but, more than anything, it is terrifying. Of course the hostages-- and any member of the SDF-- should have (and probably did, as volunteers) known the risks of going to Iraq, but so should the government. If such a large "scene" is taking place over the capture and release of three unharmed individuals, I dread (anticipate?) the uproar when someone is killed.

More American soldiers die every day, many without the luxury of negotiations for their release. If we dedicated the television broadcast time that the Japanese have to the torture and death of our own soldiers, there would be no space for even the most well-paying advertiser to run a 30-second commercial. But no one wants to watch that... we're all too numb and distanced anyway. Americans, I think, are overcome by a feeling of helplessness at the costs of war.

I want to shake Japan and scream, "Hey, this is how it is!" but by doing that I might give away my own fear that I can do nothing and make no difference until it is far too late. In an insensitive way, I'm glad that the Japanese SDF is in Iraq so Japan can learn what's so shitty about the world today. I have nothing against isolationist policies that involve common sense (like, say Canada's). But the Japanese government doesn't seem isolationist (or anything) of their own will. Rather, the governmental policy of Japan seems to be the result of social and international herding and a vast unawareness about the reality of the political connundrums overseas and the danger that Japan may itself face someday soon.

My Japanese expressed her views to our class on why she thought the hostages were released. She said, "perhaps the captors realized the hostages they were good people and that they Japanese were not enemies." She thought that the petitions signed by the Japanese people and the plea of the captives' parents touched the hearts of the guerillas. Yeah. Right. I can't say that her opinion is predominant but I have a sinking feeling that it may be.

Returning to reality: There is no reason for the Special Defense Force to be in Iraq. As a reparative force, they should be sent if and only if Iraq is ready to be given humanitarian aid. As deaths have increased daily over the past few weeks, I think it's plainly apparent that now is not yet the time for whatever reparation the SDF can offer. This war was officially "begun" and "ended" without any understanding of what beginning or end meant.

While Koizumi faced a definite Catch-22 in sending the SDF, especially concerning American/Korean governmental policy as a lever, I nevertheless see him as a spineless coward. I understand the connundrum of withdrawing the SDF (giving in?) versus remaining stationed but as the SDF never should have gone in the first place and can accomplish nothing where they are now, except as further leverage for terrorism, I think withdrawl would be the best case.

I can only imagine Bush as glad that this Japan, perhaps in the very state the US government envisioned at the end of WWII, is ready and willing at his beck-and-call.

But so undeniably internationally na?ve is this nation that in a state of "high terror alert," the best they can do is put a handful of unarmed police in Shinjuku station during rush hour and put paper over the trashbins when five feet from the papered over trashbins (which have usually been opened anyway), there are five dollar lockers that would easily fit a bomb big enough to level the station. On the platform itself, no one has bothered to consider the conveniently placed "bottle recycle" containers next to the vending machines as dangerous.

And what necessity do these posted officers serve? Occupied every second with giving directions to or conversing with passer-bys, they offer no more than placid reassurance to a placid people. Who are they looking for? What do they think a terrorist looks like? Would they stop a white man? A black man? A middle-eastern man? Would they stop me if I look "suspicious"? I see nervous and agitated people, crazy people even, go through that gate every morning and evening and in the flow of thousands of people, no one ever looks twice. Some days my bookbag is half my size. If it were a bomb, would they expect it to be ticking?

Would I rather they had metal-detectors installed at every station gate? X-ray machines? Armed military? No, certainly not. I don't even think it's logistically POSSIBLE for the Japanese to protect the train system given any danger. On top of that, I think American security is superflous and unnecesarry. I'd even go so far as to say it's ineffective and simply another form of terrorism by a conspiracy-bound government. But given the possibility that something *might* happen in Japan, I'm nevertheless amused by the futulity of these measures.

As I said before, in a way this naivety is refreshing. I'm glad to see a people who remain unterrorized by their own government. But I'm also wary that someone, terrorist or otherwise, might take the incentive to show the Japanese the error of their security measures. Then where would Japan be? Just another America?

One missile costs hundreds of thousands of dollars, one short existence as a hunk of metal as expensive as a public school, perhaps slated to explode over that very type of building. War is expensive but somehow the lives of people are not. Japan has a lot to learn, yes, just as America has a lot to "unlearn." I'm afraid to say it but this country needs to be woken up... and that awakening will most certainly take a death to inspire. Spain had the balls to "pull out" and I can only pray that Japan will do the same when the time comes. What is coming is coming soon and I hope that everyone, both here and overseas, is ready.

...Or something like it.
I've got something all ready to post but I need to edit it more so it won't be up until tomorrow. Thoughts on the high terror alert in status and the recent hostage situation and such.

Life here has been becoming more and more surreal lately. I keep getting the feeling that I'm going to be in such deep shit when I come home. I'm not ready to leave Tokyo... not at all. I can't imagine what it will be like living in Montana (of all places to go) for a month right after returning to the states.

I went to Kim's soubetsukai (farewell party) tonight and while we had a blast, it was really rather sad to say goodbye, even though we didn't know each other that well.

Onnnn the other hand, good mood and inspiration to write were ruined by the unpleasant reminder that there are still, despite my best hopes, a lot of ASSHOLES out there whose mommas di'int raise 'em right.

So instead you get to read this piece of crap and I get to go to bed. G'night.

lost in translation



I got this poster... in Japanese


The more you know who you are and what you want, the less things upset you.
-Bob Harris, Lost in Translation


Of all the ironies, I went to see Lost in Translation yesterday in Shibuya... but there weren't any dinosaurs on the giant screen when I walked by it on the way to the theatre. [Yes, that is Shibuya Hachiko crossing in the poster background. Although, to be honest, that montage isn't exactly true to life.]

The movie was good, though somehow not as satisfying as I expected and slightly obnoxious in that "main characters are spoiled, rich brats" sort of way. However, I think my overall impression of the film was weakened simply because, as I expected, Tokyo is no "foreign" enough to be exotic in a way that is neccessary to the film. I imagine this is why I've heard that the Japanese can?t really "get into" the movie (although I bet bad subtitles and cultural references has a lot to do with it too). I liked it for a different reason. My perspective is a unique mishmash of insider/outsider and so I may, in the end, get more out of the movie than either Japanese or American.

You see, the Century Hyatt Hotel (called "Park Hyatt Hotel" in the movie for some reason) is four blocks from my house. I walk by it in the morning on the way to Shinjuku station. One night, five months ago, around two in the very drunken morning, I took the elevator to the 26th floor of the Hyatt and walked around the swimming pool. In fact, I'm planning to go have a drink at that bar sometime soon, if I can afford it.

Lost in Translation was released in America about two days before I left for Japan. Though I was well aware of its existence, I didn't see it for a lack of time. I'm not positive, but I think I'm glad that I didn't watch it before I left because it may have created for me a whole new slew of expectations that I don't think would have been. On the other hand, I might have peed myself with joy when on that first trip home, the bus drove by the "Park Hyatt." Who knows.

Let's talk about "translation." I don't know if any of the Japanese was subtitled in the American version but here in Tokyo it was not. Since regular Hollywood movies, like The Last Samurai released in Japan still subtitle the Japanese in English, it leads me to believe that the Japanese in Lost in Translation was meant to be taken as-is. Nevertheless, I understood about 98% of everything that was said. As much as any of the Japanese in the theatre or MORE, was mortified by the "translation" scene. While it is feasible that a professional translator could be so-so at English, I find it exceedingly hard to believe that one would be that bad. Then again, this is Japan...

I was also highly confused by the people in stores and at the hospital who insisted in speaking to Bob and Charlotte in rapid, fluent Japanese. If you?re a foreigner, that just doesn't happen. I have to WORK to get a salesperson to speak to me in Japanese even if I use it myself. In my case, the butchered English is more difficult to understand than the Japanese. If you recall the "hospital" scene from the movie, even the doctors seemed to think it necessary to speak to Bob and Charlotte as if they were Japanese natives. Yeah, um... riiiiight. But that's why it's fiction, yes?

The Japanese were by far more amused by the "what kind of restaurant makes you cook the food yourself" comment concerning Bob and Charlotte's "bad" shabu shabu lunch. This is because anyone with a grain of salt knows shabu-shabu tastes damn good even if you cook it yourself; which is an excruciatingly EASY process. Oh, and they wouldn't bring out two plates of meat like that-- you only get one even if it's "all you can eat."

While I'm being technical, I have a "beef" (yuk yuk) with the scene in the end where Bob flees the taxi to confront Charlotte. Taxi doors are automatic in Japan. If you touch the door handle to try and open or close the door yourself, the driver will scream at you. Don't try it. The drivers open the doors for you via a button in the front of the cab. That's just the way it is.

As stupid as it is, I have to mention that I was also mortified by the scene in the Hotel gym. Excuse me? Do they want to make it look like there are Elliptical Training machines only in Japan? And that these special, evil Japanese EFXes try to throw you off if you use them? No, I'm sorry? they only go that fast if you MAKE them, Mr. Whiskey Man. I didn't buy it at all.

Oh, and just "happening" to meet in a strip club like that? I don't think sooooo. Like it's free and easy to just walk in and see naked ladies? Not likely. I'd expect a hefty cover charge and that a white woman like Charlotte couldn't even get in the door by herself in mainstream Tokyo. In real life, I don't think anyone who ends up in a joint like that is surprised to be there unless HEAVILY intoxicated.

OK, I'm done talking about my problems with suspension of disbelief.

I thought the movie dialogue was interesting but not nearly as intense as I expected. Again, I think the edge was taken off the setting by my familiarity. However, I related quite directly to the predominant scene of being "lost" and "found." While I still think Charlotte is a bit of a snotty brat as a character, I can't really say any better of myself. When I came here I was about as messed up in the head as I could be... while I still pride myself on being crazy now, I'd like to think that it's in a good way.

What I mean is, though I came to Tokyo of my own volition, I was just as lost as Charlotte. I sat in my room, overwhelmed by everything outside my window (the exact same setting, as it were), too terrified to begin to understand. I loved the potential of Tokyo but I hated it. And I let it bother me because I didn't know anything about who I was or what I wanted. It sounds pretentious to say I do now, but I'd like to think I have a better idea.

Bob and Charlotte only had a few days in Tokyo and therefore Lost in Translation can only portray the Fresh Off Boat exoticism of Tokyo. It has nothing of the weeks that follow that first overwhelming novelty, fear and exaltation. I'm glad that it didn't try to make a story of that process because I think it's something too complicated and individualized to put into words and pictures... even in this journal, my own immersion is a jumbled mass of emotion.

As the movie takes place over a period of only a few days, it is fitting (I think) that it have a rather unresolved ending. It didn't need to be a story of love affair, divorce or enlightened epiphany. I liked that all those things were unsaid because it lent the plot a lot of credibility that it would have otherwise lacked. Life doesn't always work out... especially not in a three-day plot arc. Still, I think the movie ended in a good place. While I didn't leave the theatre feeling euphoric, I was still satisfied.

I took a good look at the (see above) movie poster on the wall outside the theatre and I realized I am the girl with the umbrella. I bought the poster as a reminder of my life here. Though this story isn't over yet, I honestly prefer my own resolution over that of Lost in Translation. I don't want to give away the ending... but I think I can say that being here and getting "lost" has actually caused me to find myself.

More than the dialogue or connotation of the story, I was intrigued by the images of Tokyo in Lost in Translation. They already give me a nostalgic feeling and I have two more months (only!) left here. If anything, this movie will make an excellent reminder of my time here. I expect that I will cry profusely throughout the entire film when I watch it after coming home.

Oh no they di'int!
I really ought to sit down sometime and ask my host parents more about themselves. I'd rather it seem like a conversation and not a drill, though, so I'm not sure how to "pry without prying," so to speak. Here are a few interesting things I've learned in the last week:

-Host mom used to frequent an English Language "conversation" chat room with the Internet Handle TRIXIE.

-Host dad went to college for five years, one year longer than the "acceptable practice" in Japan, as a history major. Though he would have stayed longer to avoid work, he dropped out after his fifth year without graduating for a "secret reason." These are his own words. (Can anyone sense an unwed pregnancy?)

-My host parents are liberal enough that because of strongly principled opposition, they have never once visited the Yasukuni shrine.

Um, busy?

Japan Tobacco advertisement in JR train

Today- Starbucks with girls from kokusaibu, tons of purikura, dinner in Shibuya with Rachel

Tomorrow- English lesson, Lost in Translation, prep for Thurs nihongo presentation

Thurs- presentation, class and work

Friday- class, workout, Kill Bill vol. I

Saturday- write 3-5 page paper, go to Kim's party

Sunday- 2 hour English lesson, visit family grave with Host Family

I promise I'll get back into the swing of things here soon. I'm just flitting about in the sun for a while.

The Return
It looks as if I may be coming back to the states on Sunday, June 27th. The travel agency OKed me for a stopover in Vancouver, which means someone can drive to pick me up. The downside of this is that I still have to pay them an extra $35 to stop over on top of the $35 to change my ticket date... the upside is that it's a better option than trying to buy a separate return ticket with the $200US they can offer me for my original, student-class voucher. Bastards.

In any case, there was only one student seat available from June 26th to July 10th and it has my name on it right now. Should anything else come up, including flights from Vancouver to Seattle, the agency says they'll let me know. I can effectively hold that seat for the 27th until my current scheduled return date, June 15th. I'm still not pleased but I know that I'm certainly getting a better deal than most of the other students simply because I've been so assertive. I think when I swore on the phone in front of the Japanese sales agent the other day it really freaked him out. 2 points for me, 0 for STA Travel.

In other news,

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JUSTIN!!!

Love ya, Wolf Pup...

HAPPY UN-BIRTHDAY, BLOG!

Because Schoolgirl Sophistry is about to hit 50,000 visitors, I thought I'd give a shout-out to everyone who's reading this.

As they say in Japan, HARRO!!!!!

Give me a shout-out back, eh?

Movies
and a short review of Appleseed
OH MY GOD, I love Roppongi Hills. They're showing Appleseed with ENGLISH SUBTITLES!!!! UAAAAHHHH!!!! Here's how I'm going to spend $50 during the next week:

Tonight: Appleseed at Roppongi Hills**see update
Wednesday: Lost in Translation in Shibuya (Ladies Day! =D)
Next weekend: Kill Bill Vol. 1 at Takadanobaba "discount" theatre
Also next weekend: Peter Pan at Roppongi Hills
Thurs, the 29th (no class): Kill Bill Vol. 2 at Roppingi Hills

UPDATE: While the CG/ frame animation in Appleseed was groundbreaking, the plot was somewhat less sophisticated than I'd hoped and the characters were far, far too underdeveloped. However, I went for the action, the eye-candy and the techno so I supposed I "got what I paid for."

The truth is that I got far more than that because didn't pay for anything. I asked Host Dad along and he paid for my train fare and my movie ticket as well as randomly buying me a 3000 yen pass for the Oedo line to "cover our return trip." Then he told me to keep the pass and use it later. So, err, I guess I'll be going to Roppongi a lot more often now, because the Oedo line goes a whole lot of nowhere else.

Anyway, back to Appleseed... I suppos I was a bit jumpy through part of the movie because we stole someone else's seats. In Roppongi they assign you seats by ticket number and because we got there five minutes before the movie started, we got screwed and had to sit in the front row. However, as expected, either the presale tickets didn't sell out or some rich farts didn't show up, so we got up and stole primo seats mid-theatre after the previews started. I figured that I'd haul host dad into my culturally taboo free-for-all to embetter my movie viewing experience and save my neck from pain.

I was also worried after Host Dad started fidgeting that he hated the movie. As it turns out, he thought it was really interesting (or so he says) and thanked me profusely for making him get out of his lazy chair to go see it with me. I guess I shouldn't have doubted him so much. He apparently loved Die Hard so why would a little (beautifully)ANIMATED violence bother him?

As I was saying, Appleseed's plot was vaguely reminiscent of...err... everything else that has ever involved cyborgs and humans in an ethical dilemma. But because Appleseed's story dates a from decade or two earlier, I guess it was probably more original when it first came out. However, all complaints about content aside, the animation was amazing. Seamless. Beautiful. Mouth watering, whatever. Except for the fucking cars.

I HATED the car scene. See the movie and you'll know what I'm talking about. It looks like a bad episode of Reboot and served the single purpose of embarrasingly over-simplified plot illucidation. Though objects often appeared too shiny or metalic, the CG was fantasically well incorportated and the characters especially were gorgeous. I would give Innocence a 5 on a scale of 1-10 for CGI and I would give Appleseed an 8.8. So sue me; I'm waiting for the industry to conform to my impossible standards.

I really could have done without the romantic connotation between underdeveloped main characters. I mean, (wo)man-machine love seems a bit contrary to the whole "continuation of the human race" plot. Durr.

The soundtrack kicks ass. I was happy to see some Paul Oakenfield on there and also surprised that apparently I'm exposed to enough techno now to recognize mixes by various artists who happen to be on my 103-song techno playlist, including a the lesser-known group Adult.

Anyway, that's my bit. Go see it yourself. Or weep in envy and wait patiently for it, all you state-siders.

purikurAWESOME

100 yen costumes, Kabukicho Game Center.
MY LIFE KICKS ASS.

the watcher
I've been feeling strangely apathetic these past few days... but also ancy as if I'm waiting for something big to happen. I don't think it has anything to do with my plane ticket situation, as I've pretty much resolved to the fact that I'll have to cough up another $500 to $800 for a separate return ticket home as there are now no seats available even on the flight from Narita to Vancouver since the agency still hasn't been able to answer my questions or demands.

Rather, I feel like I'm impatiently watching my own life for the appearance of the next important plot element. I remember this feeling. It's the feeling that I get after reading a good story or watching a good movie/series, that perhaps some of the magic of the characters or setting has transferred into my own life. I remember, for days and weeks after finishing an involving story when I was younger, this feeling would attach to me, a sort of fleeting romance. But it's been years since I've really allowed myself to feel this way... because even this fictional "possession" involves some sort of innate pleasure in one's life and a satisfation that allows self-impowerment. First, I've been too busy to invest much time in fantasy and second, I've spent the past "however long" being far too unforgiving of myself to permit this secret pleasure.

But now.

I'm sure it's Spring, to some extent. But I imagine that far more of my refound ability to dream comes from my reassertion of self. I have accomplished the one thing I dared not hope to expect... I have found strength enough to stand on my own two feet and say "I am here, in this now and this is my life MOVING FORWARD." No more second-guessing; there are no words unspoken. What avenues remain unwalked will stay that way for good reason.

So now, when I watch movies or read stories, I no more cast myself as the victim or villain and my lover in a similarly dark role. Even though I enjoyed playing that part for a time, I'd forgotten for too long the simple luminant joy of being my own heroine. I forgot that I deserve to play the good guygirl and love the white knight.

But my refound involvement in the story creates for me also an unfortunate distraction from real life and the expectation in my life or more excitement than is probably due. When I finish one book/movie series, I'd much rather move on to the next than do homework/sleep/eat/etc. And I certainly don't have time to devote to passive entertainment either.

The point of this whole entry is that I'm upset that I've finished the anime series Full Metal Panic. Despite one reader's suggestion that I download and watch the comedic sequel, Full Metal Fumoffu (??!?!), I don't think that I would enjoy it as much. I really liked the characters in FMP and ONLY because there was a certain serious aspect of the series that well balanced the juvenile (but somehow still remarkably funny) humour. I liked the characters enough that I forgave gaping plot holes, explanative oversights, dead-end storylines and even anticipated an unresolved ending but kept watching because my primary investment in the series was the developing relationship between the two lead roles. Which, of course, went nowhere in the end... damn you Japanese traditional storylines!!! ARRRRGHHHHHH....

So. Yeah. I need more movies and fast. Thankfully, there are a LOT I want to see that are coming out here in Japan but that means MONEY. The cheapest (and best!) seats are 1000 yen (about US $10) at Roppongi Hills and that's an "Exchange Student Discount" from the normal rate of 1800 yen. Ouch. So here's my list. Give me more, especially anime.

-Kill Bill Vol. 1 (playing at the Waseda "cheap" theatre for 800 yen)
-Kill Bill Vol. 2 (eye candy. swords. violence. nuff said.)
-Peter Pan (I saw a preview for this and I almost creamed myself... OMFG...)
-Appleseed (uh, ditto. eye candy squared. w0w.)
-Lost in Translation (this WILL be in Tokyo soon, damn it!)
-Heisei tanuki gassen pompoko (A Ghibli/Miyazake film about Tanuki. Shut up.)

umbrella: an anthropological record

Red parasol at Ryoan-ji, Kyoto

The umbrella in Japan is a disposable commodity; everyone owns one, if not several. Tossed into storefront racks and forgotten, left in restaurants and stations, collected and traded, stole and borrowed, designed with genders and personalities in mind, they are like character cards for the Japanese personality.

This is no Seattle, where the bumbershoot is a symbol of the weak-minded and the typical commuter braves the daily drizzle in daywear or, at best, a goretex hoodie. In Japan, an umbrella is mandatory. This is the realm of the umbrella in rain OR snow. Some sensitive-skinned asians carry them even on sunny days.

Forget or lose your umbrella? Buy a new one immediately, they're on sale everywhere! Or better yet, if yours was pilfered, simply pinch another umbrella in a storefront stand where it waits for the owner within. More innocently, pretend you dropped it HERE and claim another floater from the hundreds waiting at any lost and found counter. But don't go out in the rain without one.

Red, blue, black, pink, orange, transparent, opaque and patterened, these tiny canories pepper the streets on rainy days. In a sea of umbrellas, the already crowded sidewalks of Tokyo become even more like the dangerous streets. Umbrella-toting pedestrians, partitioned off into bubbles of safety beneath bumbershoots, no more heed their neighbor than if they walked the streets alone. Under the umbrella, beset by a mask of anonymity, the pedestrians, in ones and twos, become like cars driving on a rush-hour highway. The flowing river of color, though beautiful, is as impersonal and dangerous as the ocean itself.

Pushing along in an anonymous sphere, one walks a rainy Tokyo street self-aware but impassive. With an umbrella, one is immune. Not only to the rain but also to everyone else. The rainy day weapon of choice is the umbrella... and in this city it's best to be armed. Though traffic in the river-street-sidewalk proceeds at a crawl, no one heeds the other vehicles. In this commute, there are no laws of traffic except the rule of flow. Break flow and you risk extremeties to hook or puncture. Fear for the lives of the too tall, beware the too short and pity those who try to walk at a reasonable pace. There are no turn signals, no brake lights, no horns and no sense except that of common courtesy, which is more often than not forgotten.

So beware rainy days in Tokyo, for the sea of ebbing color bears its own unique dangers. Though the rain rolls off the canopy and away from the bearer of the umbrella, don't chance the sea without your own bumbershoot-- for those who carry umbrellas also carry countless spines reaching for the eyes and the flesh of the unfortunate, the weary and the wet.
*************


I confronted my Anthro prof. She fully admits that she doesn't know much about swords and claimed that a friend of hers told her a while back how to determine if a sword had been well-used or not. I'm slightly confused, because she agreed that a katana's hamon has nothing to do with this wear and tear but she STILL gave that VERY INCORRECT impression to students yesterday. I give her some points for admitting her mistake but I don't forgive her entirely because she still decided to talk her way out of it. As much as I think it possible that some katana may show signs of use, I don't think any of these museum pieces would have been the kind of sword carried by a man who retained chip, scrape or scratch. So, she's on probation for now. The challenge still stands.

Tonchan
Oh, I�d just like to add that last night I went to dinner with my neighbor (who I met by chance at the Tokyo Ginza Apple store and will henceforth be referred to as Apple Guy) and his wife. Apple Guy�s wife, who you may remember me mentioning before, is named Midori� and I really, really DIG that name because it translates directly to �Green.� So that�s what I�ll call her.

Anyway, we three went to some place nearly literally across the street from my house that I never would have known existed had they not regaled its cheap goodness. True to their word, the little hold in the wall was cheapngood in a surprising way. I thought it was going to be a Tonkatsu (fried pork cutlet) place because of the shop name, Tonchan, but since it doesn�t even serve Tonkatsu, I can only guess that Ton-chan might be the owner's nickname.

Green was phenomenally pretty and though she isn�t *quite* half Apple Guy�s age plus seven years, I can forgive them that for being a cute and civil couple. Plus, she�s the first Nihon-jin I�ve met who has expressed an absolute lack of interest in learning/ obsessing over the English language, so I have to respect her for that.

I�m in serious trouble here, folks. I don�t know when it crept up on me (I have a good hint though) but life here has become satisfyingly normal. I�m just �used to� living in Tokyo. At some point this city stopped being a terrifying and hostile mass of metal, concrete and flesh and became for me one of the most amazing places on earth. It�s becoming harder and harder to �feel� what life was like back in the United States. Of course I still remember, but those memories are distant like a dream. I�m going to have a hell of a time readjusting. Whoo.

Blade to the Heart
There it went, all my respect for my pompous, self-righteous, know-it-all but somehow academically likeable ex-Harvard professor. Out the window with one little comment.

Today she took my class of ninety to Yasukuni shrine. It was the first class field-trip I'd been on since... oh, gosh, middle-school maybe? Thankfully, only half the class showed up, as I expected when she made attendance voluntary, so it was a less-than-painful experience even with the forty-some of us that were there. Because of her ties to Ise Taisha, the priests gladly let our class into the shrine's inner sanctum where we were subsequently purified and observed the ritual of offering to the shrine gods. All in all, it was a novelty but not nearly as interesting as I'd hoped compared to some of the other religious ritual I've seen of late. Afterwards, the shrine staff admitted our whole class into the adjacent museum free of charge.

While observing the war parephenalia, in which I have no REAL interest, I attempted to keep up with sensei to hear any commentary she said. However, probably as a result of having been to the museum countless times before, she was proceeding at a breakneck pace and I, unfortunately, had fallen behind when the offending comment was spoken. Only a few minutes later, when paused before a beautiful original admiral's katana did a classmate chance (why, GOD?) to feel the need to repeat to me my sensei's pearl of "wisdom."

"Did you hear what the professor said about those?" My classmate asked, pointing to the katana. I replied that I had not. "She said," Marcy continued, "that the ones with the wavy line above the blade like that are the ones that have cut through more bone."

I died. Not laughing even, mind you... but died inside.

SHE SAID WHAT??

"That's absolutely not true. She said that? Why would she say a thing like that? How many people did she say that in front of?" I was a mass of whirling questions and somehow found myself personally embarrassed. Surely, I don't expect my sensei to be a sword expert AND a pompous ass, but PLEASE, could she at least refrain from speaking absolute IDIOCY as fact???

For those who don't follow what I'm saying, though I can only claim to understand by the proxy of my boyfriend's sword hobby, the discoloured "line" above the sharp edge of a katana, sometimes wavy, sometimes straight (pictured here) is called the hamon or, more accurately, yakiba. It is a product of the sword's temper, in effect, how it is created and shaped. The yakiba is most often called a "temper line" in English and has NOTHING WHATSOEVER to do with the number of human bodies the sword has chopped, sliced, skewered, filleted or whatever. And I honestly DOUBT that any of those high imperial grand magesties or whateverthefucktheyare ever even USED their lovely dress swords to chop up the peasantry.

So excuse me for again proving myself an absolute dork but I am livid, LIVID that she would convey so ludicrious a bit of misinformation to a group of students. In fact, as much as she will probably hate me for it (and oh how I wanted her to like me!), I can only do my duty in addressing her privately after tomorrow's class to redress her mistake.

From one novice sword-lover** to a so-called anthropological expert on Japan, I issue the following unspoken challenge: You have thirty days to redeem my respect in all things academic. Until that time, I will hang on your every word and if you again dare to fail me in such a manner, I will be sure to let you know in so many words that it is your personal failure that has caused my disenfranchisement with the entire academic system. The burden rests on you.

** (the by-product of my cohabitating a year-and-a-half with my beloved boyfriend, an otaku of all things pointy and sharp)

O Canada
As much as I love you, please stop clubbing baby seals. It just isn't cool.

Save the best for last

Today's randomness is brought to you by the number "P" and the letter "2."
Thank you and good night.

Same story, different day
Today was really tiring.

I got out of bed after practically no sleep at all and had to go to the same class with the same bunch of blathering idiots.

Last night I had to do laundry until midnight because my explosive flatulence from Saturday's bad sushi stained all my clothes.

I'm pissed off. Early this morning some pervert stole all my panties off the washline. Today *had* to be the day a salaryman groped me on the train while I was wearing a skirt, didn't it?

I feel sad, because Erin and Rachel are complete bitches. They told everyone I have an STD, just because I slept with both of their boyfriends on Saturday night.

I've been thinking about it a little more and I want to tell the world that I'm gay. But you know that. Right?

I am tired of all the publicity for my site from Google porn searches. After today, there will be no more weblog. I'm through.

I want to say thanks to the world for absolutely fucking nothing! You all suck. I feel so alone, no one ever reads this journal, or even comments to let me know that I'm not suffering alone. It's cold here, and I want to die, but I cannot figure out how many of you to take with me when I go.

I went to see a doctor yesterday, and he said that my heart will explode and I have bipolar disorder, which makes me different enough to be interesting, but the same as all the other cool people with bipolar disorder.

That's enough for now. But I'll leave you with this thought - sharing your life with strangers on the internet is the cheapest form of therapy available. Leave a comment and tell me I'm beautiful.

Oh, and P.S.:
You should all do this quiz! It's amazingly accurate. You just put in your name and birthday, and it will tell you next week's lottery numbers.

I believe everything I read on the internet. How about you?

Created with the Gregor's Semi-Automatic LiveJournal Updater. [Some additions are my own.] Update your journal today!

BUT if you think that's unbelievable, try this. Via CNN.com: Man bets his all on red at Vegas roulette... and WINS.

insomnia
I hate how some night before I'm even in bed five minutes, I know that it will be one of those nights that I don't "really" sleep. Last night was like that. Even though my eyes were closed and the hours passed one on the other, my thoughts swirled round and round my brain in incohesive bilingual nonsense and luring, rearing half-dreams. Of course I slept, because I know I dreamed at least once. If it had been true insomnia, I would have lain awake gazing at the numbers turning on the clock rather than facing the digital glow what seemed like every five minutes to find another hour passed.

Still, with my brain so LOUD and my heart racing, it was impossible to get any real rest. Thankfully, even with laying 7 full hours, eyes closed and prone seems to get me enough rest to be fully functional some days. The truth is, when I went to bed last night, I wasn't even tired after a full day working, photographing, exercising, shopping and studying. Of course it's stress; this sort of thing always happens before a big event or test that I'm anxious or exited about. Huh. Guess my head was just a little too gambarou about today's Japanese test.

But I think I'll feel it at the end of today.

IN OTHER NEWS: Japan's beloved Beckham is a perv. I mean, are we really surprised? He married an ex Spice Girl for Chrissakes. And an anorexic one at that. But heck, if I were as good looking as him, I might go after the ladies too. You know, just because I could.

OY, MY TICKER
Ugh, it's no wonder I've been feeling so off-kilter lately. I think I need to see a heart specialist again.

I was laying in bed wondering why my body feels so shakey, sort of swaying irregularly as if there were earthquake tremors around me. I've been experiencing this feeling when sitting and laying down lately, which brought me to the conclusion that I'm utterly too accustomed to the possibility of earthquakes... but...

I have a heart arrythmia. I've had it since after I graduated from High School. It took me a while to figure out that there was something wrong with me and then, as paranoid as I was, to convince my parents I wasn't just being a hypochondriac. When I'm in a relaxed state, my heart seems to enjoy not the drumbeat clockwork regularity of a normal pace but a spastic patterned or non-patterned set of triplet and quadruple beats.

They called it a pre-Atrial contraction, which means my heart just goes a bit extra sometimes. Because it only does it when I'm relaxed and not when I'm excersising (though I have wondered lately...) and because it causes me no faintness or nausea (well, it does but only minor discomfort...) it's not a problem. I've never experienced any serious symptoms and it's not even something they put on my record. They said a lot of women experience abnormal heartbeats in their early twenties.

But...

I just clocked my resting heart rate at 112 beats per minute... after I had been lying prone in bed reading a book for 45 minutes. Every 3-4 seconds, my heart is beating in rapid-fire octuplets with a .5 (or so) second pause between sets. And the reason I felt my body move is because it's pumping away with a fervor that would make you think I was running.

I don't suspect I'm about to drop dead... but I'm just a wee bit freaked out. My sister has Wolf-Parkinson-White syndrome and the doctors told me there's no way I have the same problem. But I'm beginning to wonder. Even so, when she went in for repairative surgery, they couldn't fix the thing that was supposed to be wrong with her because it wasn't there. So we're in the same boat regardless. I guess I just need to get on with my life and forget about it, eh?

UPDATE: This morning after I got out of bed, I clocked my heart rate at 120bpm. Same octuplet pattern. UGH. Well, I'm still going to the gym today and I'll try to observe what it does when I'm running to see if it's really developed into something to be paranoid about.

UPDATE 2: Clocked my heart rate at the gym to find it the same as usual. When I exercise, even though I'm in pretty good shape, my heart rate is usually around 140bpm but in a completely steady pattern. One thing that concerns me is that my heart rate during exercise seems to stay fairly high even when I'm taking a break but that may just be a result of my normal (70-80 bpm) resting heart rate.

ups and downs

Lone pagoda near Kiyomizudera, Kyoto

I'm feeling depressed today. I'm not entirely sure why... but I suspect that a lack of sleep and a slight, lingering cold (or allergy?) has just worn me down. If I were able to maintain a constant level of energy between classes AND a social life, I might not feel so malcontent right now.

Even though I'm calm, I feel somehow sad inside. I'm lonely even though I've got a ton of friends here. I want to go home even though Japan where I really want to be. I'm short on cash and pressed to give what little I have left in my bank account to the travel agency scam just to get myself home.

What it comes down to, though, is that I definitely need more sleep to be a happy camper.

It doesn't help that with all the talk of coming back to the states, I've been obligated to think about the people I'm leaving behind here. Certainly I'll miss my host family a lot-- but the friends I've made at school have been the real diamonds in the rough. Thankfully, a great number of the people of whom I've grown fond are University of Oregon or OUS students and I will probably see them again. There are, however, a few people whom I love dearly but I don't expect in all seriousness to ever see again after this year is over.

When I moved to Washington from Michigan in 1998, I lost my primary group of friends to neglect and distance. Since then, my policy (and thus the source of some of the greater drama in my life) has been something akin to "No Friend Left Behind." To me, this means that anyone who is important in my life, all changes aside, should be someone who remains important to me forever. I lost Lesley, Sian and Emilio, my best friends in Michigan, because I was too naive and selfish to admit the importance of maintaining ties over distance. Certainly, I can't help either I or my friends change but I'd like to feel that I can maintain a sense of value and a shared appreciation over the nature of the relationship.

It makes so much more sense to me now why I worry so much about other people and have trouble moving on. I guess I should just trust that those who are meant to be in my life will remain there whether I try to keep them or not.

I hope that those of us who have formed some sort of mishmash cameraderie here in the Kokusaibu Freak Show can maintain that spastic friendship in a different and similarly bizarre context and surrounded by another sea of alien peoples in Eugene, Oregon.

Hmm, given the degree of our mutual insanity, anything within the realm of possibility is likely.

Thank God for that...
I went out for Sushi and Shochu with my neighbor from the Apple store and found out, after much anxiety on my part that he is married. Yahoo! You see, I "friend" much more easily with guys than girls and I'm so tired of meeting great people that want nothing to do with me after thay find out I'm dating someone exclusively.

My relationship is very important to me... but it isn't my entire life and I don't like that my self-introduction seems to require that information. I much prefer NOT to talk about my S.O. unless the conversation comfortably turns that way because otherwise I feel a bit co-dependent and awkward. However, I've disovered that because most men won't ASK if I'm seeing someone and thus assume I'm talking to them because I'm SINGLE, the unfortunate burden of revealing that I don't want to date them (and thus usually cancelling the friendship) falls on me.

I'm glad to have met someone in my neighborhood who I can talk to and who seems genuinely interested in Japan and in learning Japanese, who I can (for the most part) relate to and who is different enough from me that I can learn new things. I live to talk and I love to meet new people to talk with. I've gotten used to weird coincedences happened to me during my stay in Tokyo... but this is one weird coincidence (even with only 2 1/2 months left here) that I can definitely appreciate.

rumble.
Oooookay... Magnitude 5.3 this time. That makes three quakes in four days. I'm getting a little concerned.

Four Years

We've got crabs.

Today, the day dawning in America right now, is the four year anniversary of when Justin and I first started dating. Though it had been obvious to us both for some time before that we were in a relationship outside of the "platonic" bounds we'd set for ourselves, the seventh of April was the day he asked me, just like I wanted him to, (in a cliche sense of the word) "to be his girl." As short as it all seems looking back from now, it's been a long-- and sometimes very difficult-- road. But, though it honestly took some convincing during my darkest of days, I haven't regretted any of it. We have a long way to go together still, he and I.

When he and I started seeing each other, I was fresh out of another long-term relationship with a boy to whom I will proudly gift the title of "my first love." What my first love and I were and how we became it is another story for another time. Needless to say, he and Justin were close childhood friends and in the aftermath of the breakup and the "rebound," their friendship slowly and quite painfully (for all of us) crumbled to dust.

Outside of forging a new connection with Justin, the last four years have been spent still clinging to that triangle, rebuilding what needed to be saved, forgetting what needed to be erased and trying to remember the important things. The three of us have dwelt (in the physical and emotional sense) in remarkably close proximity and though I can't say the hurt and the pain have been minimal, I'm amazed at how gracefully we've all grown in ourselves and with each other.

So in a way, the last four years haven't been a story about two people, they way that maybe they should have been, but a story about three people. However, over the last two months I've exeperienced a tremendous amount of grace and healing both at the hands of friends and through my own sudden ability to gather outside perspective in retrospect. And after opening my eyes one morning, I knew suddenly and clearly that I wanted, from here on out for this story to be about two only. He and I, together. This is where we came from:

Less than six months after we started dating, I moved four hours away to college. I was sure that was the end of my rebound relationship but somehow we just kept on going. That year and the next, he showed immense faith and fortitude by coming to see me nearly every weekend. I'm sure that his visitations were the source of numerous roomate disputes but his willingness to stay by my side through nearly every walk of my hellish existence Freshman year and my wallowing, Depo-Provera induced depression Sophomore year were proof of true patience.

The spring of Sophomore year and for the whole year after, we lived together. That year of cohabitation was "the best" of so many things in my life to date. Then, after much consideration, I came here, to Tokyo. It was a difficult choice, and one I thought would probably end the relationship. My decision was based on my desire to get away from the two opposing forces in my life and to think... I decided that after three years of being torn, I needed either to let him go or to find a way to let go of the hurt that would not leave me alone.

For a long time, nothing changed here in Tokyo except that I may have become even MORE confused. Even during the last week of his visit here, I broke down crying for having "accomplished nothing." Then, in light of that very difficult night, I started to realize that everything had changed. Then, one morning sometime between before and after he left Tokyo, I woke up and although I was the very same person outside, everything inside my heart was new and different.

It's hard to explain what's changed within me. In fact, I don't think I will even really try. I already know what any nay-sayers are thinking because I have asked these same questions of myself.

"After four years, how can anything really change?"

Well, the truth is, I don't know what exactly is different but I do know that something HUGE has lifted from me and that the change is for good. For reasons that were both masochistic and selfless, I carried a tremendous amout of guilt the last four years. I both nurtured and resisted a relationship that was initially a rebound and grew into something more. Because of where we came from, he and I, and where we were going together, I felt a strong pull toward and against a future together. And having grown accustomed to living with that feeling, being torn in two and tortured, dreaming about my indecision and always loving my partner with one foot in the door, I also well know (by the law of opposites) what it feels like to be free of it all. And now I am sure. Concretely. Absolutely. Undeniably. The poision is gone. What needed to be let go has flown away, drained away and gone away to the regions of dark and light where such things dwell. I am moving on to a life with gratitude, peace and happiness for the two of us.

We have another hard year ahead when I come home to live in Eugene while he studies in Seattle. I don't like long distance relationships but I can do them. In fact, I've been doing them for the last seven years and I think I'm quite skilled. I have enough patience to wait as long as it takes for another chance at the quiet cohabitation we had before. I may have once though a domestic life the end of the road for an adventuresome person such as myself, but I now see that if I'm with the right person, a home base is not a trap but a place to retire after one adventure is over and before the next begins.

Even though, as I said before, I'm ready for this to be a story about two people and not about three as it has been for so long, I want to give a few words to both of my closest friends in order to explain my feelings.

TO ALEX, Thank you for being my closest friend, then and now, and for opening all these infinite doors for me. Thank you for helping guide me to this place and for giving me the chance to walk a road with you beyond where it could have ended in pain. Thank you for listening and for talking. Thank you for your smile. Thank you for the secrets you've shared. Thank you for your patience and your closeness, for those word games and the bond they gave us. Thank you for the distance and time to think. Thank you for your continuing friendship even in the quiet. Thank you for knowing and understanding. Thank you for being there when I finally let go... and thank you, deeply, for still being there and still smiling even after I knew something had changed.

I love you truly and gladly. I am proud to have walked this far with you and I would be happy to keep you close to my heart for the rest of my life.

You are one of the reasons this existence is, for me, truly exceptional.

DEAR JUSTIN, Thank you for being exactly what I wanted all along. Thank you for being strong and sensitive, for having a lovely smile, for needing me to be with you, for being a good cook and giving good back massages, for telling me to stop being ridiculous when I get overly emotional, for helping me with those "tough" indecisions, for singing to me, for reading me stories, for giving good head, for daring to climb mountains, lift weights, run, wrestle and play, for writing bad poetry (sometimes), for listening to me rant and rave, for having your own fashion sense, for understanding that sometimes I need time alone, for letting me be my own woman, for giving really, really great HUGS, for smelling nice even when sweaty, for brushing your teeth before going to bed, for not being afraid to adapt and adopt, for taking good care of Rupert, for accepting my neurosis for cleanliness among other things, for being outgoing enough to make friends with my friends, for giving "us" as many chances as you have and finally, though the list goes on forever, for being patient with me and waiting for this time to come...

I love you. I want to be with you now and always and I will gladly marry you someday, whether that day is tomorrow or in the far off future.

I am glad for the chance to be with you.

Happy Anniversary, Wolf Pup.

Kanamara Matsuri

DISCLAIMER: I'm sorry mom, I'm sorry grandma, if you read this post and it offends your sensibilities, just remember I didn't make up the event itself OR any of the slang used to describe it. And as for "loving the cock" and all that... let's just say a healthy dose of realism never hurt anyone. If you hadn't, erm, "been young once," I wouldn't be here at all. Is that really so perverse? 'Nuff said.

"Ladies" of the night

Sunday, seven of us got up early and headed out to Kawasaki in the drizzle for the yearly Kawasaki Kanamara Matsuri, the Festival of the Steel Phallus. I'll explain a little first, but really the PICTURES (linked to gallery) can speak for me. We trained from JR Shinagawa to Kawasaki Daishi with one change along the line. The shrine was really close to the station and easy to find, as a steady stream of people were heading for it when we got there. The festival was slated to begin at 11AM, and I thought that meant they'd be taking the Mikoshi (portable shrines) out at 11 but found out pretty shortly that what began at 11 were the traditional Shinto rituals concerning purification and that the procession was, in fact, very last.

That's not to say there was nothing to do. We quickly found all sorts of penis-shaped goodies to amuse us. As we were among the first of the big crowds to arrive, we broke the ice with the shrine staff and tourists by climbing all over the peter-totters (I guess they weren't really teeter-totters but whatever) and buying a stash of cock shaped sweets. It's lucky we hit the candy booth early because when we went back to buy more later, they were entirely sold out.

There was already a pretty big crowd around the three Mikoshi (portable shrines) when we got over there but not nearly as large a crowd as came later. Each of the three shrines represented some different facet of the festival and was donated by/ carried by a different group. As best I gathered, the mikoshi featuring a mid-sized black cock in a boat was given by some company and I'm not sure what it represented. (Overseas diplomacy? Hee. The NAACP would probably protest its size...) The giant, pink penis was carried by a group of cross-dressers from a local club who spent the whole time preening and passing out fliers in case any new men might want to join them in their hobby. I believe the pink shrine had sort of a gender/sexuality activist theme to it. The smallest but most important shrine was carried last and contained a squat, thick wooden phallus that is the symbol of the original diety enshrined at Kanamara Jinja. This was the shrine blessed first by the high priestess during the opening ceremony and the one that see-sawed crazily all over the road at certain intervals. I still have some bruises on my shoulder from when I carried it for a few minutes.

Only a minute or so after we started taking pictures of the huge, pink shrine, Rachel looked up and said to someone I couldn't see, "Holy shit, you're Dave Attel!... I love your show!" At which point I thought to myself, "Who is Dave Attel? Not one of those obnoxious English teaching Gaijin celebrities, is he?" Then someone either mentioned it or it simply occurred to me when I looked at him that he is, in fact, the host of the Comedy Central show Insomniac, a program that features late-night and often drunken travelogue comedy. Truth be told, I hate Insomniac and I hate Dave Attel but even though I thought "oh, it's THAT asshat," I said, "Nice to meet you!" and puckered up for the camera like the sellout I am.

Needless to say, I never imagined I'd get my "15 minutes of fame" at a Japanese schlong festival (of all places!?!?). I think that we seven (especially Rachel, Erin and I) will have a few minutes in the one-hour episode when it airs in July or September. We were interviewed, photographed, waivered and then cameod all over the place after signing the form. I'm not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing we were carrying around that candy... I can think of a few instances where I'm mighty sure the camera caught me in some, uh, compromising situations. But then again, that was the whole theme of the day, eh?

After we played with the TV crew for a bit and peeked in on the rather secretive opening ceremony of the Sacred Flame, we all paid our respects to the shrine diety in return for the genetalia themed request of our choice (fertility, wedded bliss, STD safety, whatever). The High Priestess blessed the mikoshi, the miko danced (aren't they a wee bit young for this??!?) and everyone got ready to take part in the procession.

Colin, Chris and Rachel in particular helped carry the "wooden phallus" mikoshi. Of all the ironies, there were three Navy guys also on standby to hoist the shrine who, despite the credit I give them for even BEING THERE, made an embarrasing number of extremely loud and lewd comments. I mean, obviously some wisecracks are necessary at a festival like that... but those guys were overkill.

Then, at the beat of a drum, we were off into the streets, joined by several hundred revelers, for the better part of an hour. At some point the TV crew drifted away, off into other parts of Tokyo and I never got to ask Dave Attel for his autograph. Oh well, there's the photographic evidence anyway. After that, the rains set in and it got dark and quite cold. For themes such as that, I daresay warm and wet might work well but cold and wet was a bit unsavory... so we all went home. The festival, in entirety, lasted from about 11AM to 3PM. Not bad for a 400 yen daytrip from Shinjuku!

I apologize for the unattractive and ungainly setup of my new Gallery. I'm working on getting it so that it doesn't look generic, green and gross. It seems to function well enough, though! The good news is that by this weekend I'll easily have all the Spring Break photos labled and ready to go in their own albums. In fact, they're already there but you just can't see yet. MUAHAHA.

Now then, I wonder what sort of strange Google hits this post will get me...

Errm, the end is near?
Those crazy earthquakes... there goes another one.

Hmm
I love Canada... somehow, they can just exercise common sense even in the media and on TV.

I'm really sore. I went to the gym yesterday for the first time since Spring Break started. OW.

My new prof, whom I have for two classes (6 hours a week), is an ex-Harvard teacher and "the" major researcher of the Grand Ise Shrine rituals and also a shinto priest/priestess. How badasstical is that?

Penis.
Good, now that I've got your attention, I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to postpone the post about the Kanamara Matsuri until tomorrow. I spent most of the afternoon after the festival walking around tired and hungry in the cold, cruel rain so I kinda crashed early. I didn't have the energy to upload the pictures and they're really, really necessary to illustrate the post. Let's just say there was a lot of cock (penis lollies, penis snacks, penis jewelry, penis charms, sacred penises, peter-totters, veggi-penises, etc., etc.) and a lot of luvvin the cock. Girls loved the cock, guys loved the cock, a group of extremely crass Navy guys loved the cock (you KNOW it), some surprisingly secure Japanese loved the cock, some insecure Japanese pretended not to love the cock, and a huge number of gaijin grinned quite smugly and cracked bad jokes... full well knowing we might later relive the whole thing on US National cable TV. But I'll say no more until later.

Pictures. I promise. I took about 350 of 'em and they're all PRICELESS.

I told you.

April 1st is the Japanese equivalent of a new fiscal year. Companies roll over their calendars, students start school anew, and novel policies and changes are executed all over the city. For example, the Eidan subway line is now called the Tokyo Metro, and in stores everywhere, tax is now included in the written price of commodities. In my house, my family replaced a long-broken light, bought new bathroom slippers (with cats on them) and replaced the fuzzy toilet seat covers and foot mats with newer, gaudier, more embarrasing varieties.

I enjoy the toilet seat slipcovers for their ability to keep my ass from freezing to the porcelain in the dead of winter... especially given that the house has no insulation and the bathroom windows are always open. But I'd much rather that my family would opt for a newer Japanese future-toilet with a built in seat warmer because the toilet seat covers seem like they are a really, really dumb idea sanitarily speaking. Dry porcelain holds very little bacteria and people still shy away from wuzzling their bottoms on it. But put a cloth slipcover over it and I'm sure the toilet seat becomes a nesting ground for nastiness. I'm not entirely comfortable with this. But so far nothing's crawled... yeah. So far I'm ok.

This evening my host dad told me I had "flava." He was searching for a translation of a word to describe why so many weird coincidences occur around me and why they think that's so cool. He first came up with "aura" but decided that was incorrect, so then switched to "flavor." I said "I have flava?" and he replied "yes, flava... sou desu." So... Just call me Flava-Flav, please. WORD UP G-HOMES, WHO'S YO DADDY?!?!

I had a moment of supreme hilarious epiphany earlier today. I was watching an anime, Full Metal Panic to be precise, and a group of guerilla vigilanties were battling it out with a huge mech in what looked like the Tokyo harbor. I saw a dock, boats and a ferris wheel so my brain immediately said this must be Odaiba even though I wasn't sure. A bit later, one of the tacticians was deciding where to land their retaliatory mech attack. She wanted somewhere dark, secluded, open, and away from the city. The Tokyo Big Sight is PERFECT! I thought, Oh, just how hilarious would it be if they were actually to... And, you guessed it; though she never called the place name, in the next screen pan, there it was. I laughed my ass off. I mean, heck, I was just there for an anime expo last weekend! I guess I've been here long enough to think like a real, live anime character. It just goes to show you that real life in Tokyo must not be *that* different from a cartoon.

earthquake!
My, that was a big one. I mean, it noticeably lasted only all of 7 seconds but I felt it quite strongly on the ground floor of my house. COOL.

SPRUNG.
(spring is)
The freaks are out tonight.

I rode the Marunouchi from Ginza to Nishi-Shinjuku. Two stops before I got off, the man got on. I noticed right away, as he entered the train, that his fly was unzipped and down, and even though his belt was buckled, his button was undone.

He stood directly facing me and the two girls next to me. It was quite apparent that they noticed his "problem" too, as they both put their heads down almost immediately and "went to sleep." I took a minute to analyze the situation.

His trouser button was not missing even if the zipper was broken. Yet his fly was agape and askew, flapped out to where he could surely see it in his peripheral vision, jutting a good three centimeters from his crotch. Indeed, I saw him take a few long looks at his belt, as if to check that everything was in place. But he kept standing there, facing us, not even holding on to any of the handles. When the train pulled to a stop at the next station, he shifted, lurching round in a circle, far too precisely to be off-balanced. I saw the eyes of the women on the side opposite me shift to avoid looking at his waist. I saw a man look once and then look again before glancing away. I almost laughed.

He turned back toward us. I thought for sure he had to be a pervert of some sort but he showed no real signs of agitation or arousal. I started to wonder if he was showing something off, but the flap on the inside of his zipper was covering any part that would tell whether or not he was wearing underwear. I tried not to stare but he was hilariously fascinating. Why was he consciously showing off his open fly at the eye-level of female passengers?

I thought better of taking out my camera, even to get back at an exhibitionist, but even then it was too late. The train lurched out of a station and the man, again not holding onto any of the subway rings, lost his balance and hurtled down the car ten feet, where he pulled himself together next to the train door and stood there silently until I got off at the next stop.

I'm scared.

This freakish ad was coupled with another that describes the new alpha-numeric system of labeling subway stations. What I gather from the ad is that this confusing and nonsensical system is designed to help foreigners who are not only retarded but also too illiterate to read either a subway map or the english signs in all the stations. WTF?

I have so much to write. Too much, in fact. Enough that I'll probably forget most of it and what I do write will come out seeming cheap and unreal. The second problem is an unfortunate byproduct of my current state of happiness� and all starving artists know that good works come best when emotional energy is dark.

Spring has softened everything around me. With the lingering feeling of normalcy instilled by Spring Break, I can honestly say that Tokyo feels like home now. That's irony, isn�t it? This feeling of belonging was given to me by a temporary visit from the very people I�ve left behind. Of course, I don't miss them any less� and I want to be with them even more� but I feel that Tokyo is the place I need to be at this moment.

I know, however, that I will go when the time comes, and I will go fully satisfied and completed by my experience. It's funny to think that two-and-a-half months ago I was wondering why I ever came here and what I could ever gain from it. Now I can say with some certainty that this is the most amazing and successful venture I've ever made in my life. Far more has come to me here than I ever could have imagined. Though I may not have improved in terms of my anxiousness, I've grown by leaps in terms of balance, stability, maturity and self-confidence. I talk to strangers� in TWO languages. It's occurred to me more than once that coming here has actually tipped the pendulum that was swinging between "adult" and "child" over to the grown-up side but I'm hesitant to label myself as a true "wo-man" in terms of mentality because a) I don't really know what that means b) I've never thought of being "grown up" as a good thing, so I'm loathe to apply it to myself strictly speaking and c) I think it's the job of an outsider to tell me how I've changed� not my own.

But I do know that now, at this moment, I see my path laid before me, shining and clearer than I ever have before in my life. My heart is filled with a sense of quietude and openness. Where before I had to block the noise of the city streets with music while I walked, I now find myself without headphones and humming my own tunes. I know where I want to go and I know whom I want to go with. I wouldn't be at all surprised, though, if life threw some changes my way. I know to expect that much now.

I learned in the last few days that a classmate of mine was married over Spring Break. The guy, a Canuck, got hitched to another exchange student, an Israeli, whom he met here at Waseda during my friend's birthday party. The newlyweds had known each other less than six months but they knew they wanted to be together. They also knew that because of their nationalities and their home countries' relative marriage policies, that Japan would be the best place to tie the knot. So they did it� and now they only have to work out the kinks between who is coming to live where first; Canada or Israel? That's a big change in life plans� I really haven�t seen anything like THAT yet.

It really is a shame. I've met all these awesome people at Waseda and in this city and only learned to appreciate them recently. As expected, I'm becoming the closest with my Waseda friends and meeting the best new people now, so shortly before leaving. The friends to whom I am closest will be scattered to the four corners and I'll be back in the center of my own ex-universe with people who I still love but who are also one year distant. I'm quite aware that I will be culture-shocked to the extreme when I get home. I can�t anticipate WHAT exactly will get me but I know that something (Everything?) will. When I came here, what bothered me was that Japan seemed so NORMAL but so utterly WRONG in subtle and terrifyingly hostile ways. Now life in Tokyo is a passive existence that irks me only in the same way life in the states did. I can walk easily down the streets without feeling like Japan is going to assault me at any second. My surroundings are quaint and if not peaceful, utterly unsurprising. This very unexpected and unsettling development leads me to believe that upon my return home, I should expect to feel the exact same way as when I came to Tokyo. Except maybe worse because I�ll be in Montana. Hah.

Where do I go from here? Upward and outward, I suppose. It�s completely plausible that in a month, a week or a day, I may find myself irritated with this city and being dumped on by frustratingly Japanese circumstance but I think it utterly unlikely that I�ll wake up to find myself in the exact same hole as before. Something has changed inside me, concretely and completely.

I�m so glad I decided to stay on exchange for the whole year. Spring here is going to be wonderful, I can feel it. Fall has always been my favorite season in America� but this year in Tokyo may cause me to re-evaluate that choice.

Oh, and I've totally fallen in love with this four-year-old that I tought at work today. Aside from being cute-as-a-button, she's absolutely unbelievably smart. Her English pronunciation is perfect and she already knows colors, numbers to twenty, body parts, foods, clothing items, animals, animal sounds, what animals eat, how animals move (crawl, hop, etc) and on top of that she understands the alphabet and can read simple English really well. Everything I tried to teach her she already knew and every question I asked her she understood (or faked understanding) and answered quite cheerfully. I want to take her home!!!!!

Spring makes Kat love babies.