Lesson 7: What's this?

I used to read Murakami novels and think that no one actually drinks that much coffee. Then I grew older and my sleep habits became worse. If I was having a particularly sleepy morning, I put a pot on. My coffee maker would boil water, releasing steam into my poorly insulated Japanese apartment warming my skin, and the black gold would careen down my gullet and get me all toasty inside. I NEED this, I started to think. It soon became an institutionalized part of my morning, voted in unanimously by my Diet. Now, I can’t imagine weathering the ever-present cold of the Japanese winter without it. That’s to say nothing of weathering 8:40 English class after a week of deficient sleep.

What’s this?
What’s this?
It’s a wreck, it’s a wreck, it’s a wreck.

What’s this?
What’s this?
It’s again and again and again.

What’s this?
What’s this?
It’s a crap, it’s a crap, it’s a crap.

What’s this?
What’s this?
It’s a basket case!

I love coffee. I love being on the top of my game at work. I love it when my brain works smoothly and I can form a full sentence. I love when it makes me adept at Japanese. I love keeping up with people at work when they think I’m not listening. I love feeling my thoughts race by as I deftly grasp that tiger by its toe.

I had too much coffee today.

A Poorly Written Thought Catalog Piece (or How I Learned To Start Worrying and Fear The World)

I started to notice something after I quit Facebook last year. Whenever I have to present "myself" or be socially present or even visible, I have this sickening gut reaction of wanting to evaporate into a mote of dust. I think, obviously, this is something to worry about because it seems mildly antisocial at best and sociopathic at worst. Still, whenever I'm in a situation where I have to share something of myself I instead pull it close to my chest like I'm afraid it'll disintegrate in direct sunlight. I know this doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but it's almost as if social media has devalued thoughts by flooding the thought market. Everyone is so quick to share every little bit of information about themselves for the world to see that the value of secrecy has skyrocketed.

Here's a fairly common occurrence, for example:
I meet up with my friends and the topic of conversation inevitably drifts toward work. I'm pretty sure there's nothing I hate more than talking about work. This is because (1) there is nothing unique about my work situation. There's nothing to complain about that hasn't been complained about by decades of ALTs passed. There's rarely an achievement not yet achieved. Thus (2), talking about the work becomes either self-congratulatory when you talk about something good happening or masturbatory when you selfishly burden others with tired complaints just so that you can enjoy a moment of relief.

I was recently asked by a friend to watch a YouTube video blog that they'd recorded the night before. The most bizarre thing about this for me was the person in question still being in the room at the time. I don't know if this is true for everyone, but I usually get sort of weirded out when I see a video of someone I know. (Non-interactive) things happening on a screen are so far away from reality for me that my brain is never quite sure what to do about this blending of the real and the unreal. Multiply that feeling by ten when the very real person to my side is also inside a screen right in front of my eyes.

As my brain screamed "PARADOX!" at the top of its lobes, I swiftly hit that creepin' feeling over the head and swallowed, probably in a disingenuous, overly affected way.

So we're watching this video and I'm quietly freaking out and starting to get anxious about what kind of reaction they expect of me when all of a sudden they starts laughing. Imagine that! Laughing at a pre-recorded version of your own joke! Moreover, they were laughing at themselves in the video, too. You already know what's about to be said. You already laughed at it. And even before that, you thought of it. Some tired synapse in your brain engineered this moment and holy hell the selfy-ness in this room is thick enough to choke a yogi.

All of this is compounded by the fact that I didn't find the video funny at all. I realized instantly, however, without even a shred of conscious thought, that laughing at the video was a social imperative. If I were to not laugh at it, I wouldn't just be destroying their expectation that I would like something they liked, I would be damaging their expectation that I would like them (or to put it more accurately, find them entertaining). My friend was laying it all out here. For some reason, they decided to share much more of themselves with me than I would ever care to know in a moment so intensely sincere and self-aware it horrified me. It was downright pornographic.

So I chuckled and thought about death.

I'm well aware of the irony in posting this in a public Internet space. Truth be told, my diminished Internet presence over the past few months isn't just a result of being busy all the time. It's also a product of fierce anxiety over the constructed meta-me inside the screen. It's about growing up and starting to be a little afraid of people and a little angry about the world. And maybe my commitment to writing something every day is some sort of therapy. After all, hey, I'm only human.

If you think you might be crazy, LIKE MY STATUS AND RETWEET.

How To Get Kidnapped By Buddhists (And Other Stories)

Hey there.

Haven't seen me around, you say?

I'm looking for a new job, teaching 22 classes a week, tutoring kids part time, and training to run 10 miles at the beginning of April. Well yer darn-tootin' you ain't seen me 'round.

Hark, I have a few things to say.

First, as part of a prior FebNaNoWriMo obligation (which is just National Novel Writing Month for people who are too lazy during November) I'll be writing SOMETHING every day in February. I don't have time to write or novel, but I figure this may be a realistic, achievable goal.

Second, I wanted to recap some things I wrote last year and some pictures I want to share with you guys.

On the game-related side of things:

My reaction to Superbrothers: Sword & Sworcery EP, a beautiful drop of condensed gaming culture:
http://beforethesneeze.tumblr.com/post/6001958208/sword-sworcery-the-ur-game

The results of a nostalgia experiment that yielded unexpected results:
http://beforethesneeze.tumblr.com/post/12922583993/timeless-final-fantasy-ix-parasite-eve

An loving account of how a game psychologically ravaged me (and I liked it):
http://beforethesneeze.tumblr.com/post/16863287464/memento-mori-a-love-letter-to-dark-souls

Last, I leave you with a thing a thing I wrote for a newsletter that appears to never have been published (even though it was supposed to but then it wasn't or whatever?) I love you all. Enjoy.

How To Get Kidnapped By Buddhists

1. Stop in at your favorite local restaurant for dinner one night. You don’t usually go by yourself, but that’s all right. You’re grateful to have some time to meditate, to decompress. Sit alone and muse over your Twitter feed. Take in the relaxing Nepalese melody playing over the sound system and order your favorite curry.
   
   
2. Finish your meal. You won’t feel like moving, so just sit there for a minute looking around. Notice that all of the other patrons have already gone home, save for two guys around your age. Do your best to ignore their unconventionally noisy conversation.
   
   
3. Respond noncommittally when they try and speak to you. You’ve been through this before. People always want to try to practice their English with you. Normally, you’ve no problem with obliging them, but tonight you’re just not in the mood. Only a moment ago you were reveling in your solitude.
   
   
4. Skillfully transition the conversation into Japanese. Discover that these two dudes actually are around your age and seem pretty cool. Get into it. Remember that everyone you know is moving away or dying or slowly building up enmity towards you, and that you’ll die miserable and alone if you don’t make friends. Exchange numbers with them.
   
   
5. About a week later, receive a call from one of them. Arrange to get lunch with the both of them this coming Sunday.
   
   
6. Invite another one of your friends to tag along. The more the merrier, right? Tell him that we’re all meeting at the station and are going to go somewhere in town.
   
   
7. Be surprised when you show up to the station on Sunday. Only one of the two guys from the restaurant is there, and he’s in a car with a balding man in a business suit who claims to be a rakugo TV personality. Ask him what the car is for and where we’re planning to go. If he says he’d like to go to a charming pasta joint down the block, go back to step one because you’ve failed to get kidnapped by Buddhists. If he says he wants to take you and your friend to a really, really delicious and cheap restaurant in Omiya, do your best to ignore your building sense of dread and take a seat in the back.
   
   
8. Enjoy the ride. Make pleasant small talk and laugh more than is appropriate.
   
   
9. Notice how we have to pay for parking. Notice how you’re being led to large office-looking building accented with black marble. Notice that this is weird. Ask yourself why a cheap, delicious restaurant would be located inside a building like this.
   
   
10. Enter the cafeteria. Make excuses as to why your new friends would take you to a cafeteria for lunch. The food must be good? Despite seeming well enough off and driving close to an hour to get to Omiya, they’re actually both pretty poor and enjoy eating in cafeterias?
    
    
11. Order some vegetable stir-fry somethin’-er-other. Nothing looks any good, but you pick something that looks relatively edible. Brace yourself for what you hope to be a veritable taste explosion. Find ways to cope with your disappointment when then food tastes like it looks.
    
    
12. When the rakugo guy starts to talk about Japanese history, respond warmly. You took a class on the Heike Monogatari in University; your friend studied Buddhism. Drawn into this interesting conversation, slowly become aware of how the focus has shifted to Nichiren Buddhism miracle stories. Perceive a fevor burning behind Mr. Rakugo’s eyes. Start getting worried when he tells you that Nichiren predicted the earthquake and that only way we can save Japan from being invaded by China is to pray the Lotus Sutra. Realize that this guy is crazy and quietly freak out behind your composed countenance. If you’re fearing for your life, then congratulations! You’ve been abducted by members of a New Religious Movement (新宗教) based in Nichiren Buddhism called the [name redacted].
    
    
13. Get angry. Get real pissed off. Get angry at your friend as he continues to converse and egg them on, oblivious to the fact you’ve been hoodwinked. Rage inside at these people who’ve tricked you. Most of all, be furious with yourself for believing that “other people” aren’t crazy. They are. They most certainly are. My god, Satre was right. Dispel your delusion that people are generally good inside and gently stoke the flame of paranoia.
    
    
14. Remember that you’ve got to find a way out of there.
    
    
15. Rebuke all attempts at conversion. Reject the English-printed copy of the Lotus Sutra. Reject the numerous advances to take you to the prayer room. Resist laughing when they tell you miracle stories to convince you: a reformed taxi driver who used to drink 2 liters of shochu a day, a reunion with a high school sempai suffering from domestic abuse, a man’s kids FINALLY EAT THEIR VEGETABLES. Consider suggesting that they take their stage show on the road.
    
    
16. Insist that you have to leave. You thought you were eating back in your town and you have another engagement this afternoon. Get back in the car.
    
    
17. FIND A WAY TO GET OUT OF THE CAR.
    
    
18. Have them drop you off at the station. Run around the corner and down the street for a few blocks. Stop at a convenience store and get a six pack of beer. Sit in Omiya Park and drink yourself clean.

The Real Problems of Municipal Jets

Something I wrote for The Memorandom, the Saitama JET Programme newsletter:

http://www.pref.saitama.lg.jp/uploaded/attachment/442385.pdf

Singapore

Sometimes it's best to just do things. Don't think too hard about it. Just do it. Nike made a fortune by exploiting people's love of the spontaneous. Splurging on a new pair of shoes, for example, often happens on a whim. Deciding to go to Singapore, on the other hand, usually does not.

Clarke Quay: A shopping center-like yuppie haven somewhat near our apartment. Actually, that pretty much describes all of Singapore (but that doesn't mean it ain't great).

Bridge on the River Singapore

a market street in Chinatown

My impression of Singapore: awesomely multicultural, in a way that I've never experienced. These two temples of completely different religions were separated by just a few blocks.

Akiko lives in Singapore now, so naturally we met up for dinner. This is "Hoakers", a Chinese food market street.

Sentosa Island: A resort/tourist trap that includes Universal Studios and... the BEACH.

Yup. Did a zip-line down the side of a mountain all the way to that little island in the distance.

Jurong Bird Park

world's tallest man-made waterfall at Jurong Bird Park

The Singapore Zoo has a special "Night Safari" open from 7PM to 11PM. It's basically just a very dimly lit zoo, but that's pretty cool.

The Merlion Hotel--expect a full post on this one later.

It might still be chilly in Japan, but it was in the 90's in Singapore. Coolin' off on a boat tour.

Fruity drinks and $70 crab on the riverfront!

ATTN: Look at Here

After much deliberation, I've decided to move my blog. Kind of.

I'll still be using this one, even double posting things sometimes, but I'll mostly be posting on my Tumblr:

http://beforethesneeze.tumblr.com/

There are a number of reasons for this.

1) I hate the interface of Blogger. Formating a post takes much longer than it should for me.

2) Tumblr is clean and pretty and easily edited and it includes all sorts of other neat little features which I fancy.

3) The focus of this blog has changed for me. I made it so that I could let everyone know what's going on with me in Japan, but now I want it to be more than that. To that end, this blog will remain for things I don't want so public, and the Tumblr will be for everything else.

And look! If you click that link you'll find a hilarious post about Pokemon waiting for you. Who doesn't like Pokemon, right? RIGHT???

Meltdown

MARCH 18th, 2011

Following a 9.2 magnitude earthquake off the coast of northeastern Japan Friday afternoon, parental hysteria levels were assumed normal after a precautionary check later that day. The situation became unstable, however, when news of a possible meltdown at the Fukushima Daichi nuclear plant in Fukushima prefecture reached dangerous levels of hysteria in the wake of foreign news media's coverage of the crisis.

Among the numbers affected by the hysteria plume were the North American MOM, DAD, and GRANDPA L.U.V. Emission Plants. L.U.V. specialists believe that contamination of the MOM unit began when the plant was hit with a high density stream of hysteria originating from her needlessly panicking offspring. Surveliance records show that MOM received a call over Skype at approximately 4:32 PM that day, the contents of which included both fuming and bawling-type hysteria. Fortunately, her cooling functions were not damaged in the attack, preventing a complete meltdown. Hysteria levels remained high throughout the day though, now believed to be a by-product of her having blown a gasket.

The crisis intensified Wednesday with unit DAD showing signs of contamination. DAD had remained out of communication since the earthquake, but experts had asserted that DAD posed no visible risk--hysteria levels in Japan were still considerably low, ranging between .03 and .07 microbullshits. Their claims were refuted when a routine check of background hysteria in and around the plant showed levels ranging well above average and a "GET OUT OF THAT COUNTRY NOW" rhetoric leak. When efforts to contain the hysteria proved futile, workers at the plant resorted to showering the react-er with a stream of level-headed information. Conditions remain stable for the time being, but scientists are closely monitoring the unit for any indication of Common Sense loss. Should ferver burn though the react-er's protective Common Sense casing, DAD could potentially stop recognizing his son as an adult, the results of which may be dire.

Communication with unit GRANDPA has been sporadic at best, partially due to his full transplant to the west coast. According to Skype voicemails earlier this week, the plant reportedly began billowing misinformation in response to an MSNBC broadcast, but the authorities had him properly informed within the hour. Concerns over the incident stem from a fear that the misinformation could have been a great deal more sensational or fear-mongering, and given its offhand, hearsay-like transmission (a voicemail rather than a person-to-person communique), a release into the public consciousness could have been disasterous, giving rise to a manic downpour or worse.

Experts now concede that hysteria within foreign media outlets has rendered them inoperable and recommend abandoning any plans for rehabilitation. Hysteria levels on CNN's Nancy Grace, for example, have been measured at upwards of 560 millibullshits, well-above the amount of bullshit that an average person can take in a year before his brain shuts down. If you believe yourself to be exposed to foreign media bullshit, authorities advise that you turn off your TV, put some tea on, and read a book.

Music in the Key of Fab

At the Eigokan Peformance Day last year, I accidentally let my hidden passion for karaoke show when I was asked to help the band with the English lyrics to "Do-Re-Mi". This year, I was asked to perform a song.

"What song?"

"Any song you want."

"Wait. Really?"

"Sure, you can wear a costume too, if you want."

And thus, it was decided even before the words had left Hasegawa-san's lips. This was a "yes" moment of epic proportions. This was my one chance to live out the secret fantasy of performing glam indie pop in front of a completely inappropriate audience.

Look forward to the next performance. I'm penciling it in for my wedding reception.

iPhone 4

I was riding my bike through the not-quite-rain-not-quite-snow this morning, my face numb, my hands frozen, trying my best to think of something, because anything at all is better than being conscious of the inescapable frigidity, when I starting thinking about my iPhone. The ability to send your location via text to other iPhone users through Google Maps is really hard to wrap your head around. It's a navigational revolution! In just a few years, no one will ever be lost. The very concept of "lost" will cease to be. Why, just this weekend, I was able to invite my friend to a cafe in Harajuku just by sending him a Google Maps pin. I almost completely forgot he was coming, I, hunched over a table, doing my best to look at some photos James was showing me. Turning my head this way and that, I fought the glare. The pictures were from his recent trip to Kyoto. And then, I was aware that my friend was behind me, his hand gently clasping my shoulder,

(by the way, and this is really important, but the friend I was waiting for is my ex-boyfriend. I stopped talking to him after he decided to erase me from his life following our break-up 9 months ago, but over the course of the last few months, against my better judgment, I started talking to him again. I don't know what I was thinking. It seemed harmless enough starting out. He would start talking to me on Skype, small talk, the litany of usual complaints about his work situation. He mentioned to me that he was taking the TOEIC the following month. Would I talk to him on voice chat, y'know so he could get some English practice? I trembled at my keyboard. My face felt hot. I told him that I didn't think I could. He naturally asked for an explanation. I replied that I just.... just couldn't. He said that he understood. I spilled tears on the trapezoidal area of tatami between my legs, holding back the bile and vitriol pent up inside me for months. Why did he do that to me, I mean FUCK what the hell is wrong with someone to do that do another person, to reduce them to a handshake?

The whole experience was very enlightening for me. It proved to me something that I already knew, somewhere in the deeper parts of my being that I try not to look at. Turning my head this way and that, I fought the glare. I couldn't live if I continued to harbor these feelings. I couldn't carry that weight on my shoulders. It was too hot, too heavy. "And so my burden I began to divest". Don't worry, I didn't try to kill him. I just thought those lyrics might sound rather poetic here. But don't worry, it's nothing. I mean, just don't look too hard into it. I'm not trying to draw any parallels between myself and a fictional child murderer. Like, seriously, just drop it.

It's so bright in here.

I resolved to meet him. We made plans to meet up one night in January, some organic food buffet in Shinjuku, so like him. I was hoping to get him alone, to tell him that I was still mad as hell, to lay bare the unresolved, to vomit my emotional intestines across the dinner table, to scar him, to make him pay. He asked if he could bring his friend. This was war. I invited my friends. We all had a big, uncomfortable dinner together like a big dysfunctional family. He punched me in the arm like a good friend, said that he felt nostalgic upon seeing my bag. I was bursting. Pulling my stitches taught, I made it through dinner. Although, for most of the second half, I could barely keep up with the conversation, couldn't hear it above the screaming in my skull, GETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUT. I wanted nothing more than to leave.

A few days later, we talked again on Skype. Same small talk, same litany of complaints. Then, he casually remarked, "Well, you were the man that I loved". This is when I finally flipped my shit. I couldn't let this stand. This was Lexington & Concord. This was Morris Island. This was Pearl Harbor, and if you think it's culturally insensitive of me to say that, you can suck a bag of dicks. I had blood in my eyes. Turning my head this way and that, I fought the glare.

Since "letting him have it", things have been better. I've found new things to feel emotionally unstable about, sure, but my relationship with my ex-boyfriend has finally reached the point where I can look at him without frothing at the mouth, talk to him without gnashing my teeth. In a twist that I would never have seen coming, I've actually been hanging out with him a lot and, dare I say it, enjoying his company. I detoxed, flushed out the impurities, and down in my core was the sad and undeniable fact that I really do enjoy being around him. So I invited him for coffee yesterday.)

so I turned around all bright and cheery-like, surprised but happy to see him. Oh yeah, I thought. I invited him. It's amazing what they're doing with technology nowadays.

Aim for my skeleton, synthesizer!

For my birthday, Marisa got us two tickets for The Antlers/Local Natives show last Monday. We'd been talking about it briefly the week before; we both sort of wanted to go, but it's on a school night and the show is in Shibuya, and it's a foreign act so the prices are priced a little higher than they reasonably should be, and we'll probably cry all the way through The Antlers and who the hell is Local Natives anyway, oh yeah, that guy I met when I was waiting in line to take a shower at Fuji Rock was telling me how impressed he had been by Local Natives the day before, had he said that they were like a mix between Fleet Foxes and who was it again? I don't remember. Let's not go.

But she bought the tickets as a birthday present in an effort to force both our hands. As soon as she told me of this brilliant plan I was convinced. It was a brilliant plan.

Despite having been to numerous concerts around Japan during my time here, never had I before seen such a large number of hipsters in one area at one time as when I entered the venue. To be fair though, I should clarify that the room was filled with Brooklyn-style American hipsters rather than the Japanese hipster aesthetic which is both prolific and utterly different. I haven't quite figured out how it works, but I've surmised that it involves wearing Cosby-like Christmas sweaters and leggings beneath your jean shorts. I wore my turtleneck in an attempt to seem both existential and vaguely French, a wardrobe choice I thought would be appropriate for The Antlers set.

As the lights dimmed and the crowd hushed, I suddenly realized that I'd had it all wrong. It wasn't Local Natives opening for The Antlers; The Antlers were opening for Local Natives. I hoped that maybe it would be like the Mew/Flaming Lips Show with two 90-minute sets. It wasn't.

It didn't matter, however. They played 5 songs, and those were the only songs I was really interested in hearing anyway.

The Antlers are not one of my favorite bands. They had an amazing, amazing album in 2009, but why do I think that the album was so amazing? In retrospect, my opinion is based on the three or four songs from the album that I really like, songs with the lyrical intensity of a thousand suns. Musically, they're really quite mediocre, I think. They use a lot of melodic repetition and looping noise, which can be interesting but does not a good band make. The lyrics, on the other hand, god, the heartrending lyrics! How I feel moved by "Bear" every time I hear it, even two years later; how I can sing it at the top of my lungs in my house even when I'm all alone and feeling tiny. Listening to "Bear" on the train one day, I distinctly remember texting Marisa saying, "Please, never, ever get pregnant. Unless you mean to".

It was short, I had a beer and was extremely happy. I looked around, but it was impossible to tell whether anyone else had enjoyed it as much as we had. The room was full of bearded faces, arms crossed and indifferent.

Then, Local Natives. Marisa and I moved to the back of the room so we could have a better view. We didn't feel the need to be close to the stage, and evidently a lot of other people did. I eagerly awaited hearing something new, something that obviously had quite a following in Japan judging by the audience response before the show even began. They began playing. It was... something. They were certainly more upbeat, more energetic than the opening act. They did have that Grizzly Bear/Fleet Foxes-like harmony going on too. The five-piece band consisted of two guitars, a bass, a keyboard and drums. It was loud. I felt completely bored.

Moments of brilliance would occassionally shine through (a cover of Talking Heads' "Warning Signal" and the final song, a song that they introduced by saying that it had been written far before any of the other material we had heard that night and which was about working really hard on something and not being able to tell if it's garbage or not and how impotent that can make you feel as an artist), but overall I just felt bored. BORED.

This blog was originally started as a means for me to both keep track of and inform others about my activities in Japan. Part of that was because I've never felt like a good writer (or at least a person who could write anything good) and thus, it wasn't worth trying to extend its purpose beyond the pragmatic. Lately, however, I've felt that to just chronicle my life would not only bore others, but also myself. Also, I want to try to be a better writer (or at least a person who writes better than someone who doesn't write anything good). Okay. Tangent aside, my point is that I'm really writing this update because I want to talk about music and music criticism and why it's hard for me to think of a more unnecessary profession.

Music (and I think a lot of art, although not all art follows suit) is really not up for anything outside of personal criticism. I feel that this is especially true of music in that it's a wholly abstract art; there's no visual component (well, music taken alone anyway). No concrete base in an image. I know that there's music theory and that some major chords always sound triumphant and some minor chords will always sound sad, but all that aside, I don't feel that there's any specific formula for making music. Music doesn't have to be pleasing to be good, just like how no one would say that Duchamp's Fountain was aesthetically beautiful. Like John Cage or Alvin Lucier's work.

I am sitting in a room.

Using words to describe music is ultimately futile. Even your best approximation is too tainted by your perception of it. If it were a painting, even an utterly abstract one, you can still probably achieve a more objective representation of it through language than if it were a song. It has its basis in shape, color, line. With music, people fumble around, trying to describe the "sound" by comparing to another "sound". Hence, the stupid comparisons I've made throughout this post. After all, no one describes a song to someone by saying "Oh man, there's this great new song where the chorus goes A#, G, F, Cb!!!!" (Do music nerds do this? Someone let me know.)

When the crowd went crazy for Local Natives, I wasn't surprised. I just didn't get it. This became painfully evident to me when I met someone once who genuinely found the music of Taylor Swift to be moving. I don't get it, but I can't deny the sincerity of your emotion. You say tomato, I say tomato.

I said that I was going to do a "best of 2010" list or something a while ago, but forget that. It's a stupid idea in a self-congratulating, self-propagandizing sort of way. Instead, here's my favorite song of 2010.

Here's "Bear" by The Antlers, my favorite song of 2009:

Last, here's a song that I've just had running through my head this week:

Don't Let the Sun Go Down On Your Grievances

It's coming. I'm almost 24 years old. Yes, dear parents, you read that correctly. I was born nearly 24 years ago.

My two week long birthday celebration has been pretty great so far.

Akiko and I decided to have a combination birthday bash again this year. Since she's leaving this Saturday, it also turned into a bit of a going away party for her. We kept it small this year, just going to Sambandha and karaoke.

There they are!

Nothing makes you feel as valued as a birthday party. It's a time when the people who really like you get together and celebrate YOU. Even if you don't necessarily want them to. I always feel uncomfortable saying things like, "Well, it's MY birthday" on my birthday. I don't think being brought successfully into the world entitles you to anything other than a momentary congratulations. Being a friend, however, does. These people gather not because they think it's great that you made it out of the womb; they gather because they think you're a good person who they like and who they value their relationship with. It makes you all fuzzy. I love my friends.

Sarah drew me this fan-tastic picture of Chopper. I honestly can't fathom how good it is.

Or check out this sweet thing:

Really, Momoko? REALLY?

Later in the evening, once I found myself stonking drunk and hungry after my karaoke session, we went up to Omiya for some ramen. It was there, illuminated from behind as if it were the very will of heaven, that I happened upon the face of true partydom.

BEHOLD!

Last weekend I went on a tour of a sake factory. I went with the people from SIEN, that jolly group who I went on the walk with last November. It managed to be both educational and delicious.

An anecdote: As we were ushered into the room full of antique bric a brac, the president of SIEN, Ryoji, took the lid off an antique medicine box, exposing a tiny, yellow box within. It looked like a pack of playing cards to me. It turned out to be the Showa Era version of Midol ("now with SAFFRON!"). The kanji on it basically said that it's for stopping up a bloody vagina. The upside to this really gross story is that I learned an out-of-date word for vajayjay: 子宮 (shikyuu). The characters mean "child" and "Shinto shrine/palace". Wow.

This kindly old lady said to me in English, "You're wearing a very thin jacket, young man". I replied, "Thanks, Mom."

This is how they do it.

That evening I saw the live action Gantz film with some friends. It was so bad, and not good-bad. Just bad-bad.

Sunday, northeastern Saitama had the final, final going away dinner for Akiko at her favorite restaurant in Satte, Road Station. Now, I'd never been to Road Station. When I first moved to Japan, I asked Akiko about her favorite place to eat in Satte and she mumbled something about sausages and drew me a map. For the next year and a half, Marisa lovingly referred to it as The Sausage Place, but we could never find the time to actually GO there. We wanted to go with Akiko. This was our last chance.

Road Station is, frankly, bizarre. It's a sausage, pizza, and pasta restaurant inside of a log cabin owned by a Chinese couple. Over the loudspeaker, a chintzy version of "Like a Virgin" in Mandarin extends the tendrils of its slightly unsettling ambiance over a table bathed in twinkling Christmas lights. Then, a giant sausage shows up.

Rally the troops! Attack!

Obviously, it's my new favorite restaurant.

How Stella Got Her Groove Back

Hello, everyone. I'm leaving Facebook.

If you know me, you're likely well aware of this fact, but I'd like to take this personal forum, the only one where I feel comfortable feeling entitled to have a voice, the only one where I know people care about what I'm saying because they care about me (or they don't, or they're curious, or whatever) to sort through my feelings about it.

I think it's fair to say that Facebook has become a ubiqutous part of our lives. I know that no one will argue with me if I say that it's dramatically changed the way people keep in touch and communicate with each other. You're able to exchange information with people across the globe, people you may not have seen for years but have added you as a friend because they're curious about what you're up to these days.

Facebook exists on the basis that people are interested in other people. I feel like this is more true than ever before. This is old news here, but mass media has become increasingly focused on what other people are doing. Celebrity gossip, the rise of reality television, blogging, Facebook; our media culture has turned us into voyeurs. We're conditioned to care about other people because it tells us who we are. We're invited to identify with (or not identify with) these people in a carthartic release that makes us feel good about being ourselves. It validates us. This is why I LOVE reading my Facebook news feed.

It's one of the most entertaining moments of my day. I get home from work and I open Facebook to see what the world is doing. The problem is that, in truth, I'm only seeing what people want me to think that they're doing. Facebook has you create a profile for yourself that's visible to whomever you wish based on your privacy settings. You condense and define your personal into "Activities, Music, Books" etc. How do you want the world to see you? Well, you'd better get your profile right because Facebook is only becoming more important by the day.

When I meet someone new, I don't get their phone number or address or e-mail address; I ask them if they have Facebook. I friend them and then I look at their profile. Forgive me father, for I HAVE JUDGED PEOPLE AND THINGS AS ARBITRARY AS WHAT BOOKS THEY SAY THEY LIKE ON THEIR FACEBOOK PROFILE. Even if it wasn't a conscious decision, I know in my heart that I have come to THINK that I understand something about a person based on an internet persona that they have created to show themselves in a good light. No one says that they're a compulsive liar or that they like to bite their toenails on Facebook. You start to think that you know people without really knowing people.

The real reason I feel this why is because of the news feed. There are some people (I won't name names, but I'm sure most of you know) like my former roomate who I have not really spoken to in over a year. I just didn't feel that I needed to. I was getting updates about his life from his Facebook status updates.

I feel like I know people without ever really knowing them.

Facebook tells that I have 400 some-odd friends. Why aren't I happier?

I think that recently I've identified a fatal flaw in my perception of the world. If something is fun, I don't often consider whether it's good. This is the reason people become slaves to World of Warcraft--because the game is really, really fun. I've never played it, but I'm guessing it's a veritable cornucopia of enjoyment based on the way people pour their lives into it. My Facebook account is really fun. I have spent hours and hours reading about what other people are doing and loving every minute of it.

But it's rather empty.

There's a different sort of happiness. I can feel it right after I've had a really good conversation (of which I've had many lately; thanks, Joe) or after I've done something I've never done before or after I write something that's really for no one but myself. There's happiness and then there's Happiness.

As much as our potential for communication has expanded through social networking, hasn't it been irrevociably cheapened? Take the 'like' button on Facebook. You don't even have to come up with an original comment to show your approval. This is the face of modern convenience. I love it when people complain about there not being a 'dislike' button on Facebook. Think about the precious seconds we all could be saving!

Does Real Human Connection happen on Facebook? I believe that sometimes it does. Sometimes I see a worthwhile discussion. Most of the time, I see that someone's going to see the 7:20 showing of Marmaduke.

It's just so ego-centric. In this voyeuristic media culture, we feel just as entitled to be watched as we are to do the watching. Even now, writing this feels a little dirty to me because I'm posting my thoughts in a public place where I expect people to care. Like I said at the beginning though, I do sort of assume that you care because the people who read this care about me. Or you don't. Or you're curious about me. You can watch me from your seat of anonymity and maybe glimpse something.

Goodbye, Facebook.

One Everything

Busy, busy, busy.

I mean that in both a literal and Bokononist sense. Now that I've finally entered winter break (which, despite having no class means that yes, I have to sit at my desk for 8 hours at a time), I have time and inclination and free will which I dare not waste and so without further ado I present a series of adventures from November 2010 to December of that same year (i.e. now).

Hey guys, I went to a Japanese wedding!

Knowing full well about Japan's love of ceremony for ceremony's sake, I still found myself unprepared for the sheer breadth and magnitude of a Japanese wedding. They're super weddings, I tell you!

The chapel was a room inside a hotel inside Kyoto Station, about 3 and a half hours away from Satte. You might think it strange for there to be a chapel inside a hotel, but rest assured, it's never used for Sunday service. Strictly weddings.

Ironically, the ceremony itself was quite short, maybe 30 minutes or so. My now married friends Ben and Akie are American and Japanese respectively, so they said their vows, and exchanged their rings, and signed their names in both English and Japanese, all to the tune of a few Disney classics sung by two choir girls who looked dressed to show up at your doorstep on Christmas Eve. A lot of people cried. I felt a little embarrassed because the ushers sat me right next to the stage in the closest possible seat. I was seated closer than any of his family members although my pew was perpendicular to the stage, so I didn't have the best view. "You're highly visible. Don't vomit."

After the ceremony, we went outside and the newlyweds rang a bell while we all took pictures and threw petals at them. I was especially proud of myself for pushing the petals into a ball which exploded in a blossom storm when it connected with Ben's face. Ca-ching. Don't worry, he liked it.

Next came the reception. This was the real meat of the event. A 3-4 hour multimedia presentation with costume changes and a 10 course, all-you-can-drink meal. They sat me at a table with all my friends from JPN club back at UF and we "shot the shit" as they say for the duration of it. Fun, fun, fun.

Any real wedding might end there. Not a super wedding. Next, we went to another all-you-can event they had reserved at a bar and which was (unknown to me at the time) Ben's early birthday party. I'd really like to tell you more about it, but I don't remember much about it.

Which means I REALLY don't remember much about the karaoke session after that. I do remember walking the streets of Kyoto with Marc, munching on fresh peanuts and singing Tina Turner while we tried to find the Japanese-style inn we were staying at. Nutbush City Limits, indeed.

I woke up to find that I had a bag full of party favors. SUPER party favors. Some furikake to put on my rice. Candies. A nice ornamental bag. A catalog.

A catalog? Yes, the bride and groom have bought you a gift from a catalog and all you have to do is pick one from an entirely too large selection.

I haven't decided yet, but I think I'm going with the coffee maker.

A few weeks later, I was back in Kyoto.

Well, Shiga really, but it's close enough. This time I was going for an Japanese/English interpretation training seminar. Being roughly 4 days of very intense training it was, of course, very... hard. Incredibly exhausting mentally. With my meager language skills I just managed to slide through by the skin of my teeth.

Skin of my teeth... I just Googled that and it turns out it originated in the Book of Job. Huh.

Maybe it wasn't THAT bad, and at any rate trials like this tend to reveal something about your real character, something that even you might not know or understand about yourself. In my case, it reminded me that I have no idea what I'm doing with my life.

WHAT AM I DOING?

I've put all my eggs in one basket and I'm not sure that I've even chosen the right basket. Moreover, I promised myself that I wouldn't throw this basket away like all the other baskets I've tried over the years: (in chronological order) drawing, baseball, jazz dance, writing, trumpet, French, film, painting, acting. The thing I liked about studying a foreign language is that your progress is quantifiable, practical, and involves interpersonal communication which I've always enjoyed at least in a superficial sense, even if I can't get a grip on the illusive Real Human Connection.

So I've dilligently worked for 5 and a half years on it. More time than I've ever earnestly spent on any other pursuit. Yet, there's the simple fact that I'm not THAT good at it. Fundamentally, I've never been a clear thinker. I have a lot of trouble relating what I mean in English, let alone a foreign tongue. I fail to see how anyone can be a successful interpreter without being exceptionally articulate and and level-headed enough to think clearly under a metric ton of pressure.

I've always prefered reading to speaking. My eternal hard-on for written Japanese is difficult for me to put into words. It's complex and beautiful and fascinating and a large factor in what's motivated me to keep at it for the past 5 years. Trying to express Japanese text in English is both challenging and rewarding.

I could do this for a living.

Could I do this for a living?

This whole seminar just forced me to re-evaluate: how good is good? How good do you have to be? Naturally, there will always be someone who is better than you at something. That's common fact. But how close to the top do you need to be to find work? You only have this one skill. What separates you from your peers? How can anyone forge a sense of identity in the sprawling, bloated 21st century that makes everyone feel entitled to a voice, heard and recognized?

Remember when you were 23?

I've got this complex from the time I took an IQ test in first or second grade. I needed a 140 to get into the Gifted program. I got a 130. Frustratingly close, but not close enough.

I'm not giving up on Japanese. I promised myself that I wouldn't long ago. I just need to consider what the hell I'm going to do after JET. Narrowing my options down, my dream jobs are:

1. translation/product localization team member

2. Jurassic Park groundskeeper

3. restaurant/bakery/cafe owner

4. unicorn

5. art critic

6. Ke$ha

Anyway, I'm waaaaaaaay off topic now. What else happened in December?

I went to a David Byrne art exhibition. One installation was an electic guitar hooked up to an amp and looped through 40 or so foot pedals. Byrne himself at some point played a few chords on the guitar and sent the sound looping through the system eternally. Visitors are asked to walk over the pedals, changing the sound with every step. It was awesome. Turn on all the reverb pedals and things get CRAAAAAAZY.

On Christmas, I actually got to eat turkey! (Thank you, Grant!!)

I finally read Cat's Cradle (if you couldn't guess from the beginning of this post) and I'm reading a bunch of Chuck Klosterman essays entitled "Eating the Dinosaur". It's rocking my world. (Thank you, Marisa!!)

This year was the best year for music for me EVER, so I expect my next post will be my pop culture top 5 lists for the year.

Toy Story 3 made me cry even though I didn't think it was that good. TRON: Legacy made me laugh even though I don't think it was supposed to.

My apartment is freezing cold and lonely, so I try and spend as little time there as possible. Hence, you haven't seen me around Skype lately. Expect me back when the weather warms up.

And on that note, toodles.

The Dog Days Are Over

Hey, guys. I'm back. At least, I hope to be.

Of course I've done a lot of stuff in the past six months since I've posted. At the same time though, I feel like I've been a little dead inside. Or maybe just in stasis. Like, a spiritual hibernation.

Yesterday was a pretty amazing day.

SIEN is an international... er, club? Association? In all honesty, I have no idea what the acronym stands for, but basically, they're a group of Japanese and foreigners who like to get together and hang out every once in a while. Go on trips, do events; that sort of thing. My last post, about hanami in Shinjuku-gyoen, was one of their events. Yesterday was a national holiday in Japan, Culture Day, and with little to do, I decided to go to a SIEN event that was provocatively titled "Mystic Walk".

What the hell does that even mean?

Knowing next to nothing, I met up with the group around 11AM at Shinagawa Station in Tokyo. The walk was a hike to 4 different "mystic spots" in Tokyo. The locations were kept secret from everybody save for the president of SIEN, Ryoji. He was one of two people there who I remembered from the event back in April. For the most part, I knew nobody.

My Wednesday holiday and here I am in Shinagawa at 11AM going somewhere with a bunch of someones.

Just before we set off, Ryoji told us that the whole trip will be about a 40km walk with multiple breaks. Fair enough. Plenty of time to get to know people. I met, Aleksandra the Tokyo University graduate from Bulgaria, Tomoko the girl who tried to teach me a song which she herself did not know the lyrics to, Amy the fashionable preschool teacher who latched on to me immediately, Ootake-san the photographer who took a trip to India all by himself this past summer, etc.

They're good people.

The first stop was Sengakuji, the temple where the gravestones of the 47 samurai stand. Here's the short version of this story (one of the most well-known events in Japanese history): daimyo Asano Naganori was completing his two-year stay in the capital as was required of all daimyo during the Edo period, when some guy (who happened to be a court official named Kira Yoshinaka) got all up in his grill. He drew his sword on the guy, but failed to kill him. What's more, for taking arms against a court official, he had to commit seppuku. Oops.

47 of his retainers were not so happy about this. They planned and schemed for two years trying to find an opportune time to kill Kira. They found it, succeed, and OH WAIT WE COMMITTED MURDER. In order to save face, they all had to kill themselves too. People in the Edo period LOVED this story. Nothing says "loyalty and honor" like ritual suicide.

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The second "mystic spot" was a whole lot less mystic, but no less wonderful.

The Yamanote line is the most popular train line in Tokyo. It makes a big loop around the center of the city hitting just about anywhere that's anywhere. Shinjuku, Harajuku, Shibuya, Shinagawa, Tokyo, Akihabara, Ueno, Ikebukuro--all on the Yamanote.

The longest break between two stations on the Yamanote is between Tamachi and Shinagawa. They're actually building another station right now to make that no-man's land a little more accessible. For now however, you're forced to walk, and what's worse is that there's only one passage under the tracks in that LOOOOONG distance. The second spot was that passage.

The passage looks like it's old as time immemorial and is almost completely underground. It also turns out that its drainage systems are not so great. There's a warning at the entrance that warns commuters that during heavy rain, the tunnel is often completely underwater. Here's the real kicker though: the ceiling is probably only about 5'4" high. Even I had to duck! And people ride their bikes through this thing! There are probably people who commute by way of that tunnel every day of their lives!

Finding the light at the end of the tunnel, we stopped to have lunch at an artificial park constructed on top of a water treatment plant. I sat in the shade and the autumn wind chilled my face. I pulled my winter coat up tight.

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The third spot was the Rainbow Bridge, a giant suspension bridge that connects Hamamatsucho with the arificial island of Odaiba. As we arrived at the foot of the bridge, Ryoji brought up an interesting point: "I'm sure all of you have seen the Rainbow Bridge many times, but how many of you have ever walked across it?" I didn't even know that you could.

The walk is great. There are plenty of observation decks and you can get a really good view of the whole city. The wind blew the smell of the bay way up into the back of my nostrils. The sun was quickly descending. I laughed.

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Coming off the end of the bridge, Ryoji asked us all if we knew why Odaiba is called Odaiba (お台場). Ironically, Aleksandra had just finished explaining the story to me about 15 minutes before. Here's how it works (get ready for some Japanese):

A daiba (台場) is the location where a houdai (砲台) is placed. A houdai is the gun battery which holds a taihou (大砲). Taihou is the word for cannon.

When Perry first arrived in Yokohama with his black ships, the government in Tokyo didn't have a clue what to do were he to approach the capital. One plan was that if Perry were to try to bring his fleet into the Tokyo Bay area, they blast him with cannon fire. They built 6 different cannon stations in the bay and waited patiently. He never came.

The name stuck though. We concluded the "mystic walk" with a trip out to one of these islands, now a cape. Down at the end the gun batteries still stand, weathered and cannon-less. We laid down the tarp for one final picnic. The sun was setting down behind the buildings and the clouds. It illuminated the water so brilliantly it hurt to look at. But it hurt so good. I looked around at these people who I'd gotten to know surprisingly well over the course of an afternoon. I was cold, but happy. I was happy.

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The whole trip reminded me of how I had been before. When I'd first arrived. When everything was still new and exciting. How every yes lead to a spectacular adventure. All the hope that I'd lost in the past few months slowly trickled back into my psyche.

There's still so much for me to do, to learn, to grow. The past six months have tested me. Showed me things about myself which I didn't think I was capable of. Sometimes terrible things.

But sometimes it's darkest right before the clouds break open enough to let the sun's brilliance dance on the bay water.

Cherry Blossom Easter

I like that the Japanese word for Easter is 'fukkatsusai' 復活祭, literally "revival festival". It really fits with spring, a time when the world is coming back to life. Coming back into bloom.

And, boy! Does Japan bloom! At the tail end of winter, the plum blossoms burst white followed by the deep magenta of the peach trees. The coup de grace, of course, are the cherry blossoms. Iconic, the cherry trees start to bud at the onset of spring weather, explode into a light pink for about a week, then begin to let their petals drift down to the earth like snow. It's said that the Japanese fascination with cherry blossoms stems from their ephemeral nature mirroring the Buddhist theme of impermanence or yadda yadda yadda, whatever, they're beautiful. I don't care who you are, they will move you.

Two weeks ago, I did 'hanami' for the first time. In short, it amounts to you gathering up your best mates, sitting under the cherry trees, and getting sloshed at hours when, really, no one should be drinking. We went to Gongendo Park (which I think I've mentioned before), Satte's #1 tourist attraction. The park is situated at a bend in the Gongendo River. In times long past, the people of Satte built a levy to protect themselves from the often overflowing river. On the top of the levy they planted numerous cherry trees for stability and unintentionally created the main source of revenue for the city their tiny hamlet would become. The park is distinctive for its juxtaposition of the pink cherry blossoms above the fields of yellow rape seed along the riverbank. It's a beauty to behold, and you can see it in the video below. You'll also see me and my friends acting like we'd recently been lobotomized.

On the following Sunday, I agreed to go to an Easter parade put on by Mr. Oogushi's church. I've probably never mentioned this before, but Mr. Oogushi and his family are devoutly Christian. They go to church every Sunday, attend Christian retreats in Canada, the works.

As the parade approached me, marching down the streets of Kasukabe, I was suddenly swept up in it. Urged along down an alley toward the church. As we turned the final corner, I was surprised to see the street lined with food stands and games. It looked just like a Japanese festival! They even had goldfish scooping, which I got to try (another first for me). This really was a 'revival festival'! After having the best pizza I'd had since coming to Japan, I got to speak with some of the foreigners affiliated with the church. A guy from Philly, a guy from California. In the middle of the conversation, I realized something amazing for me: these people weren't trying to convert me!

I could really dig this Japanese-style Christianity. So far, it seemed to me to be a religion based upon the virtues of good food and catching goldfish with a tiny, paper scooper.

A little while later, we got to the main event: a performance of the resurrection story. Not an unusual Easter festivity. But it was in Japanese, and in that respect, it was certainly an unusual experience for me. The footage is below.

Last weekend, I did hanami again with a group of people I'd never met from SIEN. Don't ask me what that stands for. I can't tell you. But I can tell you that they were all very nice Japanese people who wanted to practice English and share a few good drinks.

The event was at Shinjuku-gyoen, right down the street from KCP, the place where I did my study abroad program. Shinjuku-gyoen is a giant park in the middle of Tokyo, tiny in comparison to Central Park, but sizable none the less. To get straight to the point, it was gorgeous. At one point I came upon a tree where the petals were just raining down, spinning in the wind. In Japanese, they call this 'hanafubuki' (lit. 'a snow storm of petals'). I was awed. It's also in the video below, so without further ado, enjoy! Watch in HD to feel LIKE YOU'RE REALLY THERE.

The Meddlesome Gods #2 - A Contemporary Tale of Bravery

I've had this sitting on my hard drive for a while, just never got around to posting it. So with that, feast your eyes! And any feedback is appreciated.

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A Contemporary Tale of Bravery

K worked at a company in a good position. He had no children, but he had a beautiful wife, and to some extent, he got by with more than he needed. Nothing much changed for him-- he was just an ordinary, middle-aged man.

If you had to cite a change in his life, stopping over in the neighborhood park after leaving the house would be about it. Making a round through the park every morning before his commute became a part of K's daily routine. It somewhat made up for his habit of not getting enough exercise, and besides, it refreshed him.

On that day, however, the park didn't look what you could call "refreshing" and he was on his guard. As K strolled along, a young man sitting on a bench stood up and started to speak to him.

"Excuse me, are you Mr. K?"

"Sure, but who are you? And what do you want?"

"You're not going to like this."

"What the hell are you talking about? Just spit it out."

"It's hard for me to say this, but I'll just tell you flat out. I'm going to kill you."

"What? Are you crazy?"

The young man restrained the shouting K. He briefly pulled out a handgun, and then immediately returned it to his pocket. Then, with it still in his pocket, he pressed it against K's body. "Please, don't raise your voice. This is a new type of silent handgun. If I pull this trigger, the bullet will force the life right out of your body."

This was no joke.

"Are you going to kill me here and now?"

"If you try to escape, then yes. However, I would prefer to wait a little longer."

"What do you mean?"

"If possible, I would like you to return to your home and die there."

"What are you saying?! My wife is home!"

"I have been entrusted with killing you in front of your wife's eyes."

"Who the hell would think up something that cruel?! And without even a reason..."

"Since you're going to die anyway, I might as well tell you. Due to your company halting distribution of its products, a certain company went bankrupt. The manager committed suicide by jumping in front of a train right before his wife's eyes. In other words, it was said that you, the manager, killed him. At that, his widow took an oath of revenge. Taking it upon herself, she saved the money, and so that you should be killed under the same circumstances, she hired me. It's a real contemporary tale of bravery, isn't it? It's seldom that you see a lady so admirable. I even took the job on cheap."

"Well, wait a sec. Something like that may have happened, but that was done under company policy; it's not my responsibility. That's no reason to kill someone! Please, save me!"

"I can't do that. It is my job to follow the policies of a client. Putting it that way is no reason for me NOT to kill you. I can't save you."

"If she has some kind of complaint against me, she could come to me personally."

"However, killing you is not something which should be borne on the hands of of a lady. And so, I was hired as her agent."

"What a bullshit story."

"Complaining to me won't get you anywhere. I'm only an agent, you see? Now, how shall we proceed? Would you prefer to die here, or shall we go to your home?"

K thought for a long while. If he died here, it would be the end no matter what. He didn't want to surprise his wife and get her entangled in this either, but he had to buy himself a little bit of time. In that, he might be able to find a method of escape.

"Let's head towards the house."

"Well then, shall we go together? Please don't think about trying to escape en route or anything of that sort."

Without speaking as much as a word to the young man, K looked for a chance to escape. However, the assassin could see through that as well, and didn't drop his guard even for a moment. K's escape became an impossibility. Again, he tried to talk him out of it, but it was futile. The assassin would say no more.

Returning via the nearly shadowless road through the park, K turned towards his house. With every step, his despair further deepened. Then at last, they arrived in front of his foyer. Putting on his sunglasses, the assassin ordered thus, "Don't ring the doorbell. You have a key, correct? Open the door with that. If you don't comply, then right here..."

Having no other choice, K took out his key and opened the door.

"Now, where's your wife's room?"

K motioned towards his wife's room with the end of his chin. Thinking himself about to be killed, his words wouldn't come. In the end, it was hopeless. His only hope was that, before his death, he would just be able to meet his beloved wife one more time. Although, at the same time, he would have to die.

The assassin, his attention never leaving K, pulled open the door to the room.

When he did so, an unexpected scene, one which K had never considered, unfolded before them. There was a young man in the room who K had never even met. This man, wearing only his underwear, thought to grab the ashtray next to him, aim at the assassin, and let loose a powerful throw. Then, he threw on his clothes in a fluster and jumped out the window.

The assassin, his attention focused solely on K, had no time to sidestep. The ashtray hit him in the face, and his sunglasses shattered. He fell down on the bed, hands covering both eyes.

K, who had been dumbstruck by these unforeseen events, finally returned to his senses. With the nearby power cord, he bound the assassin up. After that, he asked his wife, standing indecorously in the corner of the room, "What was with that man who jumped out the window just now?"

"Uh, that is, he's a salesman."

"Why was there a salesman in here?"

At K's weighty question, she fell to her knees and answered.

"I'm horrible. While you were away, the salesman came into the house, and I was unfaithful. I'm sorry. I'll do anything to make amends! Please try and forgive me!"

Naturally, K forgave this crying, apologizing woman. He bowed down even lower than her.

"Thank you. I don't know what to say. Thanks for cheating on me while I'm away."

Love's Uneven Remainder

I've been here roughly 7 months now.

I feel like I've had a lifetime of experiences and yet, somehow it feels like I've only just arrived.

Around the end of January, my friend Akiko and I had a combined birthday party with all our friends. The first order of business that day was ice skating. You may not know this, but I can't roller skate or roller blade despite my best attempts to succeed. I thought my prospects for ice skating were pretty grim. But hey, I had to at least give it a shot, right? I got out on that ice and sort of barely puttered around for the first hour and a half, but by the end of the afternoon, I had become fairly proficient at drifting around the rink. Look, Ma! No hands!

Then we went to a burger place I'd never been to called Oatman's, a little ways off from the rink. Delicious food, delicious conversation--and in a very surprising move, my friends paid for me! Up to this point in the day, I already felt like I'd met the challenge of skating head on and succeeded with a modicum of success, so having my meal paid for pretty much sent me into a coma of content. Amid the laughs and the tempest of good will, I could really feel something there. The feeling that I knew these people. I'd grown to know them. There was real human connection there. Something that I feel college robbed me of at some point. I'm learning what people are really for again.

After that, we moved the party to karaoke, had a blast, and then all went home. Well, most went home. I stayed out all night in Tokyo, but that's a story for another day.

The next weekend, I went with some of those same friends on a trip to Hokkaido. The results can be seen in the previous post below. I think the images really speak for themselves. There were a few things left out: an unplanned trip to a greenhouse, tons of snow falling, seeing my friend Marc again, making a snow angel, etc.

Then, the following weekend, I went skiing with Akiko in Nasu, Tochigi prefecture. This was a first as well, and a deal more frightening than learning to ice skate. With skiing, you put your planks down on the snow, and you're off. Whoosh! Did I fall a lot? Oh, hell yes. I was quite sore the next day. B-U-T! Once again, I did it. By the end, I was whooshing along with the best of them... on the beginner slope. Still, I felt like a million yen (or 10,000 dollars which is a respectable sum no matter how you look at it).

Akiko's friend Yuki drove us, and on the way back, as we slowly proceeded down the mountain with our chain-covered tires, we slid across the road, stopping just short of hitting a wall and falling into a ravine. I felt strangely calm at the time. I screamed instinctively, sure, but I couldn't really comprehend that I was seconds away from a serious accident. We were all shaken, but unharmed.

The next day was Valentine's Day. A very special day deserving of a very special experience. Plus, my ass hurt like it had never hurt before, so I suggested to my friend James that we go to a hot spring over in his town, Washinomiya. About 7 dollars for 3 hours of sulfur-suffused bliss.

Yesterday, I went with Marisa to see an exhibit at the National Museum on Dogu, mysterious clay figures from the Jomon period (14,000 BC to 400 BC). It's not generally understood what the purpose of dogu were, but there are several theories. Wiki it if you're interested.

After that, I bought new shoes, we had sakura flavored steamers at Starbucks, met Devin for dinner, and and and you get the idea.

Here's the bottom line: I'm having the best time I've ever had. Overall, I'm happier than I've ever been. Life seems vaster, more full of potential, and people just seem more important than ever before for me. To meet, to change, to grow. There's so much to do and life is just about perfect.

Just about.

There's a serious problem, a missing piece of the puzzle that prevents me from being complete here. I think you probably understand, dear reader. It's the puzzle that no one's ever solved.

l-o-n-g-i-n-g

Snow Fest

Yeah, this happened to me. I can't believe it either.