Walter and I have recently become completely obsessed with Star Trek: The Next Generation. We are planning on attending the world's largest Star Trek convention in Las Vegas in the summer. I want to learn some Klingon.
What is happening?
Friday, April 29, 2011
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Shortlisted!
The JET application process is a big fat multi-tiered layer cake of bureaucracy and paper pushing, and it all culminates the day results are released. Applicants are placed in one of three categories: (A) Shortlisted aka "Welcome to Japan;" (B) Rejected aka "You fail;" or (C) Alternated aka "We're going to drag out the waiting game indefinitely, welcome to hell." I got a message at a JET-related website (which I may or may not have nearly 26,000 posts on...) a couple days back from someone whose cover letter essay I proofread back in December announcing excitedly that he had been shortlisted. Great job, slugger!
I can't believe it's been three years since I received notice of my applicant status. Like 9/11 or my first clubbing experience in Berlin, that moment is burned into my brain all flashbulb-like. I was at Pizzeria Uno of all places with my best friend and this Chinese dude who was explaining that Shanghai girls uniformly fall all over themselves when he walks into a room (unlikely). Got a phone call from Walter saying JET applicant results were out. He was alternated so I was nearly certain I had either been alternated or rejected, but after having him check my email, it turns out I had been shortlisted! I was beside myself with excitement but naturally had to downplay it so as not to rub salt in his gaping wounds. The minute I hung up the phone I yelled "I'M GOING TO JAPAN, OH MY GOOOODDDDD" in an uncharacteristically girly squeal, and my friends were happy for me.
Walter ended up being upgraded from alternate status a couple weeks before I left the United States. Prior to this great news there had been crying and stressing over the possibility of a future, and it was always lurking there shitting on my parade. Similarly to the "shortlisted!" phone call, I remember it perfectly. I was driving to the bar with a friend and nearly swerved off the road when he broke the news over the phone. Just another excellent notch on my already-charmed life. I celebrated a lot and probably shouldn't have driven home from the bar that night.
It's really fun to think about all this, now that I've got just over three months left in Japan and the next big mystery is imminent. Why is it so much easier to wax nostalgic over the past or to fantasize far into the future than to concentrate on the present?
I can't believe it's been three years since I received notice of my applicant status. Like 9/11 or my first clubbing experience in Berlin, that moment is burned into my brain all flashbulb-like. I was at Pizzeria Uno of all places with my best friend and this Chinese dude who was explaining that Shanghai girls uniformly fall all over themselves when he walks into a room (unlikely). Got a phone call from Walter saying JET applicant results were out. He was alternated so I was nearly certain I had either been alternated or rejected, but after having him check my email, it turns out I had been shortlisted! I was beside myself with excitement but naturally had to downplay it so as not to rub salt in his gaping wounds. The minute I hung up the phone I yelled "I'M GOING TO JAPAN, OH MY GOOOODDDDD" in an uncharacteristically girly squeal, and my friends were happy for me.
Walter ended up being upgraded from alternate status a couple weeks before I left the United States. Prior to this great news there had been crying and stressing over the possibility of a future, and it was always lurking there shitting on my parade. Similarly to the "shortlisted!" phone call, I remember it perfectly. I was driving to the bar with a friend and nearly swerved off the road when he broke the news over the phone. Just another excellent notch on my already-charmed life. I celebrated a lot and probably shouldn't have driven home from the bar that night.
It's really fun to think about all this, now that I've got just over three months left in Japan and the next big mystery is imminent. Why is it so much easier to wax nostalgic over the past or to fantasize far into the future than to concentrate on the present?
Monday, April 11, 2011
Dead dandelions
There's nothing sadder than when you pick flowers and come home at the end of the day and they're all wilted and sad looking. Still, even dead flowers bring life!
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Checking in
As I write this, my mom is cooking a sweet potato at my apartment while I'm at work. On Monday she cleaned the kitchen unexpectedly while I was gone. I like having someone to come home to and hang out with, and I'll be pretty bummed when she leaves tomorrow. We did a lot of traveling and there are a lot of photos to back up this claim, which I will show you soon. I've been better, but I've been a WHOLE lot worse in these past few weeks. Perhaps the onset of spring is making life easier, or perhaps it's that I have decided to quit dieting and start living. Realizing that if something doesn't change I will be both huge and looking at a full-blown binge eating disorder helps, of course. You can only start from where you are, and your friends will still love you even if you weigh a thousand pounds. I suppose this is my public declaration that I am going to be nice to me. It's about time.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Admiring the Japanese spirit
By now you've followed the heck out of Kyodo and BBC and Al-Jazeera. As fits the "charmed life" model perfectly, Fukuoka is almost entirely unaffected by the disaster at large. Unlike Kanto and Tohoku areas, we have electricity 24 hours a day, no earthquakes/aftershocks shaking us several times daily, our grocery stores have food on the shelves, and gas stations are operating normally. It is incredibly surreal, and if I believed in survivor guilt I would be feeling it. I don't, though. Instead, I intend to celebrate my own life doubly in thanks that it has been spared.
Today I gave blood. Tomorrow, payday, I will put forward a sizeable chunk of my paycheck toward the relief donation campaign my school is running. I won't waste electricity and I won't stockpile or hoard bottled water or batteries. Life marches on.
That's what I like about the Japanese. Unlike my countrymen who dwell lingeringly on tragedy in a very masturbatory and selfish way, the Japanese accept what befalls them and work together to move beyond it. Their powerful stoicism and strength has reappeared, easily forgotten in a sea of effeminate man-babies, a frustrating educational system and suicide-inducing workaholic corporate culture. Some people misinterpret the "perseverance" attitude as disrespect, but I understand it more as a refusal to break under pressure. In this perseverance I see unmeasurable bravery and pride. No one is running away.
Except the French of course. What's with that?!
Today I gave blood. Tomorrow, payday, I will put forward a sizeable chunk of my paycheck toward the relief donation campaign my school is running. I won't waste electricity and I won't stockpile or hoard bottled water or batteries. Life marches on.
That's what I like about the Japanese. Unlike my countrymen who dwell lingeringly on tragedy in a very masturbatory and selfish way, the Japanese accept what befalls them and work together to move beyond it. Their powerful stoicism and strength has reappeared, easily forgotten in a sea of effeminate man-babies, a frustrating educational system and suicide-inducing workaholic corporate culture. Some people misinterpret the "perseverance" attitude as disrespect, but I understand it more as a refusal to break under pressure. In this perseverance I see unmeasurable bravery and pride. No one is running away.
Except the French of course. What's with that?!
Monday, March 7, 2011
Tiny Dancing Man
This motherfucker is seriously about eighty years old. He hangs out all day long on clear weekend days in the park behind Solaria Stage in Tenjin, Fukuoka, with a boom box and creepy props like this clown mask and a variety of brightly colored gloves. He owns those shiny pants in more than just hot pink I'm told, and he is actually a really bad dancer with little to no sense of rhythm. I'm so glad you don't need a license to street perform in Fukuoka.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
"Cafe" music and パリ syndrome
In Japan, "café" is its own music genre, and it is 99% either chilled-out bossa nova or some sort of quaint take on a French chanson. Essentially, all that is domestic and adorable is equated to France here. There are not enough fingers and toes on all the polydactyl cats in Asia to count the number of twee trinkets, clothing shops, kitchen accessory shops, notebooks, stickers, etc etc etc ad nauseum that boast meaningless French. I don't know what you would call it...with English it's Engrish. Furansuçais?
Either way, it doesn't take a genius to work out that Japan has a boner for France - ah, excusez-moi, "boner" is rather inaccurate - perhaps a giddy wetting of the vaginal walls in preparation for getting boned on tour packages to the French capital. I have done a little traveling in France - been groped and offered cocaine in alleys by its nationals, sipped wine in spectacular vineyards on a beautiful summer day, smoked Gauloises and downed strong coffee, taken that tedious day trip to Monaco - all those things you do in France should you find yourself there. There is romance everywhere and it is a magical place - the Japanese got that right. But it hits a lot of Feudal Nipponese tourists a bit hard when they actually put themselves on a plane to CDG.
パリ/Pari/Paris is every Japanese woman's fantastic candyland of love, and you can't go anywhere in the city without running into gaggles of J-ladies carrying hazardously wide open shopping bags draped over one arm. With so many beautiful buildings, quaint cafés, and incredible shopping and style, the appeal is a no-brainer. About a million Japanese visit Paris in a given year. Unfortunately, as with any enormous city built on tourism and political unrest, there are obstacles that get in the way of Japan's vision of perfect bossa-nova France - sexual harassment, a sizable crime rate, racial and ethnic tension between immigrant groups, bums upchucking on Le Métro, graffiti (heavens, no), etc.
I know this was all over the news five years ago, but as I see it, no modifications in the Japanese attitude toward "café" lifestyle and tacking French onto everything have been made. So I'll leave you with a link to an article describing "Paris syndrome," which basically amounts to "Japanese people going insane from culture shock because their dream visions of Paris have been shattered." It doesn't take a whole lot to make people go crazy here judging by the country's suicide rate, and Paris syndrome doesn't surprise me at all.
(...This all came up because I'm thinking I'd like to go to France again soon. Japan has infected me. I just downloaded half a GB of Putumayo world music albums.)
Either way, it doesn't take a genius to work out that Japan has a boner for France - ah, excusez-moi, "boner" is rather inaccurate - perhaps a giddy wetting of the vaginal walls in preparation for getting boned on tour packages to the French capital. I have done a little traveling in France - been groped and offered cocaine in alleys by its nationals, sipped wine in spectacular vineyards on a beautiful summer day, smoked Gauloises and downed strong coffee, taken that tedious day trip to Monaco - all those things you do in France should you find yourself there. There is romance everywhere and it is a magical place - the Japanese got that right. But it hits a lot of Feudal Nipponese tourists a bit hard when they actually put themselves on a plane to CDG.
パリ/Pari/Paris is every Japanese woman's fantastic candyland of love, and you can't go anywhere in the city without running into gaggles of J-ladies carrying hazardously wide open shopping bags draped over one arm. With so many beautiful buildings, quaint cafés, and incredible shopping and style, the appeal is a no-brainer. About a million Japanese visit Paris in a given year. Unfortunately, as with any enormous city built on tourism and political unrest, there are obstacles that get in the way of Japan's vision of perfect bossa-nova France - sexual harassment, a sizable crime rate, racial and ethnic tension between immigrant groups, bums upchucking on Le Métro, graffiti (heavens, no), etc.
I know this was all over the news five years ago, but as I see it, no modifications in the Japanese attitude toward "café" lifestyle and tacking French onto everything have been made. So I'll leave you with a link to an article describing "Paris syndrome," which basically amounts to "Japanese people going insane from culture shock because their dream visions of Paris have been shattered." It doesn't take a whole lot to make people go crazy here judging by the country's suicide rate, and Paris syndrome doesn't surprise me at all.
(...This all came up because I'm thinking I'd like to go to France again soon. Japan has infected me. I just downloaded half a GB of Putumayo world music albums.)
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
A slice of home
My usual Japan order:
Six inch turkey on wheat bread, toasted, with egg, lettuce, tomato, green peppers, onions, pickles, jalapeño peppers, and mustard.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Awaken
"Awaken" as a word always reminds me of Metalocalypse, particularly of Mustakrakish the Lake Troll.
But awakening is pretty much exactly how I've been feeling over the past few days, as if I had just been dormant and lackluster for those couple cold winter months. I put on five pounds and now I'm taking them off, I feel motivated to do my hair and put on Outfits with a capital O, and overall life just seems pretty awesome. I've got things to do before I leave Japan, and I've got lots of things to do once I get back to America.
I'm stuck in this really funny place between wanting to savor the rest of my time here and just hurry up and get back and re-start my "new" life. It's unbelievable how easily and rapidly you accumulate plans and obligations; every weekend for the next month and a half has been spoken for in some capacity or another. I have concerts to play/attend lined up for every weekend from this Friday through the end of March; my mom is visiting Japan for two weeks during spring holidays, I have a road race to train for in early April, and there's a big gathering in Nagoya the weekend after the race. With all these things to be planning and thinking about, I am still just sitting around watching videos of people eating fried butter at the Texas State Fair and daydreaming about America.
America really isn't that great, but I've built it up in my mind as some kind of wonderland. Nothing makes you love home like living away from it, I guess. Obesity epidemic, tipping culture, culture of unjustified entitlement and all, I have to admit I feel a bit proud of the big honking eagle on my passport. Now if only I could get a nifty burgundy/purple European Union passport too...
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