In Which I Am More Irritable Than Usual

"Is there concrete all around, or is it in my head?"


I dedicated today to essentially doing nothing, save for songwriting. I managed to finish three songs (thank loving god) in a combination of Starbucks and Yoyogi Park. Yoyogi Park is one of my favorite places on the planet--serene and picturesque with fountains and bridges and people playing djembes and walking their dogs and reading books, etc. I also have chronic picture-taking syndrome--like a family that goes hiking in the same place every Summer but proceeds to take pictures of the same exact scenery every time they go. But I can't help it! It's so pretty!

As is comparable to a place like Central Park, you get your fair amount of strange individuals. I was sitting on a bench reading a book about a mutant lizard that the girl down the hall gave me, when I got approached two separate times and was asked if I could have my picture taken. Figuring it was a ploy to get me to walk far enough away from my purse so they could snatch it and run off, I insisted both times that I be clutching everything I brought with me tight to my body as the pictures were taken. It seems like neither of them wanted body shots or anything--just close ups of my eyes. Which is odd. But photography is a hobby, and I am a novelty being all caucasian sitting in the park minding my own business. Whatever, even if they took the pictures just to take something home to creepily hang up on the wall, I still feel like I've done the world a minor service.
I took the long way home, stopping at the Starbucks in the weird, isolated Seibu-Shinjuku Station. It's still attached to a shopping mall, but it's not the main Shinjuku station....as I found out my first week here...so it sort of feels like Shinjuku Station's awkward step brother. I like it anyway, because of the Starbucks. And usually stop in to order a short caramel steamer and gnaw on my pen, scrawling down streams of consciousness that make no sense. In the realm of cup sizes, "Short" is a size unknown to Americans--I believe it's 12oz, one size below Tall. And yet it is still enough liquid to be satisfying...try and wrap your mind around that. Because of my anxiety disorder, I've been living in Japan on Challenge Mode--no caffeine. No coffee, no tea, no chocolate. I really shouldn't be smoking, either, but--that's beside the point. I never really go into American Starbucks anymore because it is the sunlight to my vampirism--every drink packed full of caffeine enough to make even a trophy winning muscle man rocket through the roof. But I did manage to find this one, safe, caramel drink at Japanese Starbucks, completely devoid of caffeine and only 150 calories. It's basically caramel flavoring and hot milk, on the menu list of stuff you get your whining 8 year old when you bring him to Starbucks and he wants something and won't shut up. But I don't care what it is, give it to me in a styrofoam lidded cup, and I am 75% more inspired than I was before.
Once the liquid is drained, thus comes the brain-busting task of disposing of your waste. Japan, being the most OCD country in existence, is super serious about its recycling system. In the Big Wave 21 Community Kitchen, for example, bins line 3 walls. Glass, plastic, P.E.T. bottles, batteries, compost, burnable, unburnable--if you have an item, by god, it can be recycled. At Starbucks, it's pretty much the same. If they gave you a dish or a mug, you have to put it in a special shelf. The lid goes in its own container, as do the straws and napkins if you have any. The extra liquid also goes in a separate bin, and depending on wether you've got a plastic or a styrofoam cup, you sort accordingly. I suppose the employees of all Tokyo Starbucks' are accustomed to Americans reaching the recycle station with this horrified look on their faces, so the minute you get up to dispose of something, a handful of employees rush over to you and politely take it out of your hands, knowing full well that you have no idea how to sort your own garbage.

Annoyed with the tedious nature of the Starbucks recycle system, I eventually got back to Tanashi and decided to go to the bottom of LIVIN to get some groceries. Masa directed me to the basement of the department store one day when we were on a quest for cheap food. It was unknown to me that it even existed down there--but there is a whole mess of overpriced American food, like a miniature box of Special K for $6, so I decided to go hog wild. After scouring the place, I found a display of a few small jars of plainly labeled "Salsa", so I jumped at it. After searching through the aisle of chips, all seaweed and shrimp and fake cheese flavored, I couldn't find any normal corn chips. Which sort of defeats the purpose of salsa. But soon I found a mini bag of black pepper flavored plain chips, which was good enough for me. So here I am, sitting and muching down this horribly generic yet incredible flavor which has been missing from my mouth for so long. There's not enough spice, and way too much pepper involved, but oh god it is so worth it.
Every so often I can go shopping for stuff without a minor fiasco, but of course today wasn't one of those days. Usually, I shop at Olympic, where I'm used to what they say: "Do you have a point card? Do you want one? Okay, never mind then. This is your total. This is your change. Have a nice day, goodbye." But here the lady babbled some weird question, and stared at me, waiting for a response. I laughed nervously and figured, well--she can't have a huge assortment of questions to choose from. Is it "do you have a point card"? "Cash or card"? "Paper or Plastic"? Uh-oh, I thought. "Uhh....no?" I said. She looked at me like I was the town's leper. "Wait...can you ask again?" She said it again, and I still didn't understand. Then she pointed to the plastic bags. "OH! Oh, 'Do I want a bag'? Yeah, I want a bag." Of course I want a bag. How else am I going to get my groceries home? But I forget that here, you bag your own groceries. Once the checker has scanned your groceries, he or she puts your purchases back into your cart, gives you some plastic bags, and sends you away. At the end of each check-out line there are a few stations where you can set your basket and bag your groceries. I guess this is the most efficient way of going about things, and if your eggs break because you put them at the bottom, you have no one to blame but yourself.
In many cases, Japan has eliminated personal contact in exchange for efficiency, in weird little ways. When you go to a restaurant or a grocery store, you don't hand the cashier your money; there is a little plate that is attached to the cash register for you to put your money on. So when the exchange takes place, there is very little to no risk of you having to physically touch the other person at all. Another weird example is express restaurants--mainly for businessmen and people in a rush amidst the fast-paced clockwork of the city, you can go to a restaurant that is essentially just a bar with a kitchen behind it. But you don't go in to order; outside is a vending machine with a menu above it, each button an item pictured above. You decide what you want, pay, press the button that says 'beef curry' or 'chicken tonkatsu' or whatever, and it spits out a ticket. Then you go inside, hand the chef your ticket like you've just won something at the county fair, and 5 minutes later, your food arrives. It's extremely efficient, but more than slightly eerie considering throughout the whole ordeal, no one has to say a word.