あ、い、う、え、お。。。

I've been home from Japan for a year and a half now. I can count on one hand the foreigners I know who still live there. The company I taught for there has gone bankrupt. The guy I lived with there is engaged to somebody else. None of this should make me too fussed, since I'm still in touch with the people I like, the company was shite, and as for the ex... well, more power to him.

Still, it's weird.

For months after I got home, I was convinced things in Japan were just as I had left them. My friends would talk about people coming and going, but in my head every aspect of life there looked just the same. I often toyed with the idea of going back, imagining I would find my opal earrings on the corner of the coffee table, just where I had forgotten them on the day I flew home.

Enough time has gone by now that I am thoroughly over these delusions.

My work here keeps me constantly on my toes in a way that is only a pain in the ass 7% of the time and pretty entertaining the other 93%. The Boyfriend is a superstar who keeps me entertained and out of trouble. And if the almighty Admissions Board wills it, I’ll be starting work on my MFA in the fall. Far from settling down as I may be, I finally feel settled in my own life -- the American version of it.


Boyfriend on our epic PCH adventure

Of course, it is in this moment that Japan has come strolling back into my life in full force.

Just before Christmas I received an email from a colleague at school. Unlike me and all of our coworkers, she actually reads our union's monthly newsletter, and in it she’d seen something she thought might interest me – a tiny ad seeking chaperons for an American/Japanese exchange program. My interest piqued, I checked out the website. In short, it was perfect.

I stayed awake until three o'clock that morning writing my application essay.

Not three days later, my mother called me from a dinner party and insisted I come over. The hostess, who has recently moved here from the Philippines, had invited a couple of friends from her English class. As fortune would have it, they were Japanese and delighted to learn that I had been to the fair Nippon.

What's more, they wanted to do an infamous "language exchange" -- a very popular pastime in Japan, but not something you hear about that often on this side. Still, I decided it was a good idea. My 日本語　is downright rusty, and if I have any intention of going back to Japan, もとべんきょうが　ひつようです (I need more practice). To that end, I've been hanging out with them regularly and getting back to the basics of Japanese. I am astounded by how much I've forgotten so quickly, but piece by piece it's slowly coming back.

Last Saturday I interviewed for the exchange program position, and it went swimmingly. I had the interview committee on the edges of their seats -- laughing at my jokes, nodding in pensive agreement at my profound statements about cultural education, and so on. They were eating out of my hand. As soon as I hear back from them, I'll update you.

I'm not sure where all these new endeavors will take me, but I promise I'll bring you along for the ride.


Hikone Castle, April '06

********

On a side note, if you follow my adventures regularly, here are some upcoming travels to look forward to: I have a shamelessly wealthy aunt and uncle whom I'll be visiting in Florida in early April. Look for photos of their private chateau & yacht and stories about fancy food right here. In July, I'm attending a convention in Seattle. This'll be my first time in the infamous insomniac city, so expect late-night posts and a detailed description of my trip to the original Starbucks. Also, since I already told you how perfect The Boyfriend is, I might as well throw in the fact that he's taking me to Hawaii in August. Jealous? I knew you would be.

The 3rd Degree (Revisited)

It has come to my attention that since I switched the host for my blog, I have gained vast numbers of new readers who have unfortunately missed out on all the charming content buried deep in the vaults of my archives. In order to remedy the situation, I've decided to take some old archived blogs and blow the dust off of them. If you've been with me since the beginning, don't fret -- there's still plenty of new content to come -- but this should help new readers catch up and give me a chance to organize the promised new content so it can be inflicted on *edit* released to the public in a timely fashion.

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The 3rd Degree

originally posted 6/12/07

No matter who you are or where you come from, the Gaijin-in-Japan experience comes standard with a few essential pieces. This is so much the case that at least one semi-famous gaijin blog is written entirely in the second person because the author finds it safe to assume whatever happens to him in Japan might just as easily happen to any other foreigner. Perhaps that's taking it a step too far, but the truth is that some things are just part of the gaijin way of life.

One of these inescapable gaijin experiences is The Third Degree. Regardless of how many days, months, or years you spend in Japan, approximately 93% of the natives you meet will get to know you by asking you the following questions (with varying levels of English mastery): "Where are you from?"; "Do you enjoy Japan?"; "Can you eat Japanese food?"; "Can you eat nato?"; "Do you miss your home?"; and the king of them all, "Why did you come to Japan?"

This question is annoying for two reasons. One -- you have answered it seven thousand times already since your plane landed. Two -- you have no idea what the answer is and have to throw together some new bullshit every single time. After about two months of improvising, I actually sat down and tried to remember why exactly I did come to Japan and figure out how to express it clearly and eloquently. I gave up.

I went to Japan for the same reason most foreigners do: to be there. It doesn't sound like a very good reason, but it's the only real one. Jobs and studying and relationships and expanding cultural horizons are only excuses. I went to Japan because I couldn't stay away. Gravity, tides, and adventures -- there's no avoiding them. When the time is right, it is, and when you have to go, you do.

People very rarely ask why I came home, but the reason is the same. It was time. Time for a new season. Time for a different adventure.

New Photos!

Since New Year's we've gotten dumped with snow and I've got the photos to prove it. I nearly missed my chance one morning when I woke up to find that everything standing still was covered in frost... and I couldn't stop to take pics because I had to drive Gramps & Gram to the airport. I did get a few quick shots before it melted though. Enjoy!

The One with the Crazy Cat Lady

My dad has a cousin who's a crazy cat lady. She's almost sixty years old, but she hasn't left her house in over thirty years. Other than her caretaker, who buys her groceries and checks up on her, she has had very little contact with anybody in all that time. Except the cats. She has approximately thirty-five cats in her tiny, ramshackle house. She spends most of her time watching QVC and ordering things on the telephone. When the packages arrive, she doesn't open them -- she just stacks them in the garage where the cats claw at them, pee on them, and ruin them.

None of this is funny. She's a sad lady, and I wish I knew what made her so unhappy in her own life.



What is funny is that I've been accused of having some cat-lady tendencies as well, and if there's any sort of genetic predisposition, I might be screwed. Let me clarify though, because unlike my kooky cousin, I don't like all (or even most) cats.

I'm really only crazy about one cat.


This is Ben:



I got Ben when I was in college. Like most single, teenage mothers, I had no intention of going down that road, but the temptation overwhelmed my weak moral character. Now I'm all grown and so is he, and in retrospect, I can see that bringing him into my life was one of those glorious mistakes that reaped undreamed-of benefits. Case in point, right now, my toes would be cold if he wasn't sleeping on them.

Reader, I don't usually burden you with unnecessary displays of emotion, but I was rummaging through some old fileage today and happened upon a poem I wrote while I was a college student -- about a year after Ben entered the scene. At the time, he was living with me, my three roommates, and our obnoxious theater major housemates in a rundown place in the stetto (ie, "student ghetto") a few blocks from campus. Don't worry -- this isn't an ode or a sonnet or any other gushy form of poetry. It's a ridiculous parody of Wallace Steven's o-so-serious "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird." Presented here for your enjoyment, with my sincere apologies to Mr. Stevens, who is doubtlessly rolling over in his pine pajamas...



Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Yellow Cat

I. Among seven restless college students
The only sleeping thing
Is the yellow cat.

II. I was of two minds
To sleep or to eat?
The dilemma of the yellow cat.

III. The yellow cat tore through the cluttered room
Upsetting notebooks, papers, empty pop cans.

IV. The couch and the blanket
Are one.
The couch and the blanket and the yellow cat
Are one.

V. I do not know which to prefer
The beauty of sound
Or the beauty of stillness
The yellow cat purring
Or asleep.

VI. An unmindful fly fills the room
With a distracted buzz
The shadow of the yellow cat
Stalks it, silently
Crouched
Half-hidden, twitching
Eager for the kill.

VII. O thin men of campus
Why do you watch the black squirrels?
Do you not see how the yellow cat
Is a lion among them?


VIII. I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms
But I know too
That the yellow cat
Is also lucid, noble
Inescapable.

IX. When the yellow cat drifted to sleep
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles, many dreams.

X. At the sight of the yellow cat
Curled in the sun
Even six shots of espresso
Leave you heavy-eyed.

XI. He scrambled up a tree
With an acorn
Once, a fear pierced him
In that he mistook
The shadow of his tail
For the yellow cat.

XII. The moon is shining
The yellow cat must be prowling.

XIII. It was evening all afternoon
It was snowing
And it was going to snow
I slept
Curled up with the yellow cat.

The Assident

My friend Big'n'Tall likes to play with words. He likes to say "apposa" instead of "supposed to", and he calls pickles "piggles". Anything remotely resembling a bucket or a basket is a "busket". He also calls an accident an "assident". This seems like a pretty accurate interpretation to me.

Today, I got in an assident.


I hate getting into traffic collisions. I'm sure no one particularly enjoys them, but any time it happens, no matter what the circumstances, I get that feeling that I'm being sucked into another dimension via a black hole in the pit of my stomach. It's decidedly unpleasant.

Whenever my students tell me a story in which they are ultimately guilty of something stupid or irresponsible, they always start it with the phrase, "See, what had happened was..."

Between the copper, the insurance agent, and my mother, I've already explained this more times than I care to, so here's a little diagram to illustrate. Essentially, I was trying to get home, turned in front of a bus who was stopped behind a Hummer who was trying to turn behind me, and should have waited two more seconds before so doing. For my male readers, I have put everything in military terminology to help you understand.



(Note: References to the Hummer as the "Enemy" are purely due to the fact that I think everyone who drives a Hummer hates nature and ergo is no friend of mine. This is not at all indicative of the driver's behavior before, during, or after the Incident, which was exemplary.)

I actually T-boned the Bogie. My mother thought I misspoke -- in her head, it seemed like the Bogie T-boned me -- but she underestimated the Bogie's velocity, which was a significant factor. By the time I saw the car at all, I was looking through its back window. The force of the impact pushed the Bogie toward the curb, and the driver then over-corrected and slammed into the passenger's side of the Hummer.

Technically, the assident was my fault, which I suppose makes me the ass who caused the dent. I expect, based purely on past experience, that when I'm in an assident, whether I was the ass or not, the other driver is going to bitch me out. It's kind of how people do things around here. I got out of my car fully expecting to get it from the driver of the Bogie, who turned out to be a little old woman on her way to work at the local home for down-and-out teenage moms. The driver of the other car was a college student who was approximately thirty-seven feet from her home when the Bogie slammed into her. Once we confirmed that nobody was bleeding, neither of them seemed upset at all. A bit shakey, perhaps, but nowhere near slapping me or pulling my hair. In fact, I didn't get so much as a dirty look from either of them.

How is this possible? Well, here's what I figure:

I made a left turn without ensuring that the coast was clear and so was guilty of the moving violation that caused the Incident.

However:

The driver of the Bogie was exceeding the speed limit by approximately 20 mph, which is naughty in any case, but she was also doing it while passing a school bus on the right. That's not exactly a crime, but it's criminally stupid, especially considering how much traffic there was.

Additionally, it turned out that the teenage driver didn't have her license! Another big no-no.

When the cop arrived to write the report, we were all hanging around chatting in pretty good spirits. There was no finger-pointing, just calm explanations of what happened. He was so flabbergasted that instead of writing tickets for all of us, he wrote no tickets at all. He just looked at our cars, filled out the report, and took off.

Ultimately, I came up with a new theory of traffic collisions, which is thus: When guilt is equally distributed among all parties and all parties are of such a moral fiber that they accept responsibility for their own guilt, a altercation may be easily avoided by shrugging and saying "Shit happens".