almost done.

"I guess what I'm sayin' is there ain't no better reason

To rid yourself of vanities and just go with the seasons 

It's what we aim to do, our name is our virtue."

There is a lady that walks down the hallway, maybe every hour, stops at the big sink, and hocks a loogie into it. I want her to die a horrible, fiery death.

In other news, Holy Jeepers Batman, I have only a few days left in this Asian metropolis of gothic lolita girls, constant anime spam, and mayo covered pork cutlet.

I spent today attempting to clean my room (there are 12 full massive plastic bags full of trash lined up against the wall....maybe I should have thought about this more constructively earlier) and went out to buy Engrish t-shirts for everyone. I spent an appalling amount of money, and I'm still sure I left people out. I will cry when I figure out who they are. But picking them out was damned fun, and I spent way too long giggling hysterically in the aisles of shops and open air markets upon reading the oversized text on the front of each shirt. Among my favorites includes the gem I'm wearing now, "SHOUT ACROSS THE ENTIRE AREA TO GET SOMEONE ATTENTION". Not over; across. Be sure to remember that part. 

The cliche of Japanese people wearing Engrish t-shirts is extremely true, and most teens and college students, even older adults, can be seen sporting a t-shirt that says something to the effect of 'Bisexuality&Homosexuality myLOve forU'. There are no real distinctions between words, and there are never distinctions between lower case and capital letters. Capital letters just seem to appear in the middle of words, wherever they feel like showing up. I'll often be standing on the train and glance at the shirt of the person next to me, read something like 'Kindof A outrageous LOVEby HOT poWer', and have to turn the other way to avoid making eye contact as I silently laugh uncontrollably. In all fairness, America is just as bad with 'Asian' style shirts that feature one or two poorly drawn characters and a tiger on the front, but seeing the tables turned is almost unbearably amusing.

On the subject of fashion, everything seems to have changed within the past few days. The traffic of "The Outfit" of the white t-shirt, black vest, and jeans slowly started dissipating, and suddenly people began showing up in the same long-sleeved, long-cut shirts with light scarves. The weather hadn't changed that drastically--really, it hadn't changed at all--and I glanced around the train bewildered as the texture, cut, and color palette changed to be slightly softer and darker than it had been just a day or two previously. The topic came up one night as Masa, John and I sat around the television watching some bouncy, seizure-inducing game show that I couldn't understand. "Ye know what it is, don't ye?" he exclaimed in his thick English accent, rubbing his bald head. "Why they've all gone and changed their clothes? I'll tell you what it is, it's the first of Septembah!" Masa nodded and smiled as he plucked away at his guitar strings. "Ye noticed, all of the fashions in the windah done changed," he continued, "they're like clockwork, all of 'em!" And they are all like clockwork, shopping frantically for the new fall fashions and donning them before anyone can name a specific running trend. It leaves me sort of terrified. Coming from Olympia, land of home-knitted sweaters and unshaved legs, I still can't help but feel a bit out of sorts in a land wherein if you are older than 18 and haven't donned your makeup and high heels before rushing out the door, you should be ashamed of yourself. After purchasing said gaudy makeup and high heels and re-concluding that it isn't really for me, I'll still sit on the train in my jeans, tank top, and Doc Martens, swinging my legs like a 6-year-old, looking around at all of the meticulous work that went into each outfit as I gnaw on a lump of onigiri. 

My favorite fashion accessory, by far, has to be the glasses. I've always wanted glasses ever since I was a little kid because I thought they made people appear simultaneously smart and sexy. I still believe this to be true. If ever I was to encounter a human being that was fairly good-looking with nice hair, I would agree that they weren't half bad. Add their naturally bad eyesight into the mix, and I'll be head over heels. I can't really explain it; I think it has something to do with the public display of vulnerability. Whatever the case, glasses are damn sexy, and I've always been disappointed that I can't wear any.

Every now and again, in a Claire's or something, I'd see a display stand of fake glasses next to the normal sunglasses. I would try some on, look at myself in the mirror and think of how cool it would be to have them, and put them back. Everyone would know they weren't real, and who the hell wants to walk around wearing glasses they don't need. But here, it's a different story. Not only are glasses in fashion all the time, you must carefully coordinate them with your outfit. "It's Thursday, I feel that today I shall wear my pink and yellow tank tops with my periwinkle cardigan. But what about the accompanying glasses? Surely, I can't wear this outfit without an accessory on my face. Square black frames are too much, and this horn-rimmed pair only go with my leather boots. Today I shall go with the rimless, oval lenses!" and thus, our Japanese co-ed is off to conquer another day of texting and shopping. I thought I was just seeing things when I would go to class at Tamagawa and a few of my friends would be wearing glasses one day, and be frameless the next. But I figured that maybe they just simultaneously--and fashionably--didn't want to put their contacts in. Upon seeing that every student showed up at least once a week with a coordinating pair of glasses and noticing a shop in each mall fully devoted to the sales of fake specs, I put two and two together and concluded that this was my ultimate favorite fashion phenomenon. 

I enjoyed seeing Japanese people on the trains and in the city with their fedoras and thick-rimmed glasses as they lived the lies of people who are not visually impaired. Soon I began to lose my fear of trying them on in stores--some outfits even come with matching glasses attached to the tags. As much as I didn't want to succumb and live the lie, I eventually broke down and bought a pair of black, square-rimmed glasses with black and white checkers on the sides. When I put them on, it makes me feel smart. Sometimes I even put them on when I'm home alone reading, just because I want to suck just that much more intelligence out of my book. The whole ploy works perfectly until I'm out in public and rip them off, squinting, to read a far away sign.

The most depressing thing about Tokyo, perhaps even more than the lack of normal deodorant, pretty much goes without saying. Everything costs an arm and a leg. I lucked the fuck out, having gotten a room in the ghetto of some unknown neighborhood for around $530 a month, but most people don't have it so lucky. Plus, I wouldn't really consider myself lucky, what with the commuting I had to do. Like I said before, at the beginning of this program all I heard was that the school was "in Tokyo", so I got this place because it was the cheapest I could find. I had to take 2 lines to get there, and because of the distance, my daily commute to Tamagawa University alone cost about $13. Thus explaining why I didn't really eat on weekdays the first three weeks I was here. Every time the number detracted from my PASMO card would flash up on the little screen, my Jew senses would tingle, reminding me not to eat for another 24 hours or so. 

I can be sort of notorious for being a huge Jew. Back home, I'll let the cash in my wallet slowly run out and resort to paying with my best friend, quarters, much to the chagrin of every Jamba Juice cashier. I'll cringe every time my debit card slides through the little machine. Which explains my history of kleptomania--something I'm far too deathly terrified to try in this country. I tried my best to keep up my penny-pinching habits--I unplugged the air conditioner so I'd never be tempted to pump coins into it, despite the 95 degree weather. I waited until I ran out of clothes, wore those clothes again, and then ran out a second time before paying $2 for the washing machine. I bought the cheapest bread and the cheapest off-brand jelly. Tap water against bottled, walking if I could avoid spending another $1.50 for a train stop. But even if you try your hardest to be a cheap-ass douche, there's something about Tokyo that just sucks every penny out of you. I blame part of it on the physical money system. In America, you got your penny--basically obsolete--your nickel, dime, and quarter. You might even be able to get a $.50 piece, or one of those bullshit Sacagawea dollar coins if you're lucky. Here, there are coins for each of those, too, but there's also a coin that's worth ¥500, the equivalent of $5. Being a Jew, I'm used to getting excited about having change and getting the opportunity to spend it. I don't realize it when it gets turned against me here. "That sandwich looks delightful. And look! I can pay for it with just this coin! Look at how clever and resourceful I'm being!" It's not until later after I've snarfed down the sandwich that I realize that I just spent $5. When the smallest bill of ¥1000 is worth $10, it takes you a minute to realize that you are slowly getting yourself into deep shit.

"Yesterday it hit me that I do all the little things that you do."

One of the late 2am nights that Masa and I were left sitting on the couch staring at the television, comparing the sizes of the tv announcers' tits to their potential fuckability, he asked me about love letters. Eager to do my cultural research, I told him that I had never gotten any, had given away one, and wanted to know how it worked in Japan. He said that love letters were quite common, and that he had given and gotten a good number in his life, one of which he received while he was with an ex-girlfriend--who immediately tore it into shreds. "She was Australian, you see," he commented, "she didn't understand." I recounted my experience with Yohei, slowly getting angrier and angrier as the story progressed until I was malevolently accosting the cushions of the old leather couch. He laughed for a long time, bemused at my hot temper and wistfully commented on how young I am. I'm not that young, goddamnit. He said that he couldn't tell what was up Yohei's ass by just hearing about him, but he probably would have been able to tell had he been around him. I asked how, to which he replied that he had a frightening talent for being able to tell things about people. I had picked this up from the first time I met him--Masa is the kind of person that is immediately lovable, but at the same time you're sort of apprehensive about it because you feel like he knows way more about you than he should. He said that during his experience with being a stage actor, he became obsessed with observing people, their behaviors, and interactions with other people. He would ride the train back and forth some days, standing close to people and behaving a certain way in order to experiment with their reactions. I told him he was nuts. He shook out his long black hair and told me to stand up, which I did. "Which side do you hold your bag on? Pretend you're holding it." I stood there in my pajamas, holding an invisible purse on my shoulder. "Now, walk around." I walked in circles in the living room, the tv set still blaring whatever manic embarrassment was happening on the game show. "Now sit down, and cross your legs." I did. "Now, which side feels weirder for me to be standing on? Your right, or your left?" He stood on my right side.

"You mean, like, you?"

"No, if I was a stranger."

"Oh. Uh....try the left side." He moved. "Mmm, no, the right side." He moved again. "Okay, left again." He stood at my left side. "Yeaahh, I would definitely want you on my left side."

"Why?"

"....I dunno." 

He crossed his arms. "I thought so." 

"....are we going to have invisible tea now, or what? Because I've been holding this invisible bag for a long time and my arm is tired."

"See? Stand up."

"Jesus."

"Look. Your purse is on your right shoulder. You take your first steps with your right foot. You cross your right leg over your left."

"....yes I do."

"And you felt more comfortable with a stranger on your left side. That's because you want to protect your right side." I blinked.

"Oh."

"Do you believe me?"

"Nope."

"Well," we both sat back down on the leather couch, "either way, you're all about your right side. There are many different combinations a person can be--crossing with their left leg, bag on their left, etc--but you're the same as me."

"And what does that mean?"

"It means you're strong, you know yourself very well, you focus on logic, and you are addicted to stimulation."

"Sounds hot."

"I mean like visually, audibly," he said excitedly, "You need that stimulation in your life but, at the same time, you can focus for long enough to write a song, or a play, or a book, and interpret that stimulation into what you do. That's why you make a good musician." I smiled.

"And what about the other types?"

"Well, the type that's the exact opposite of ours is the left-sided type."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that they step with their left food, cross their left leg over their right. They protect their left side. They're much more unbalanced than we are, and they seek stability." I smirked.

"And of course you know this because they're....,"

"....easier to pick up at parties." He finished my sentence and I laughed loudly.

I swayed on the train, yawning, changing tracks on my iPod as the JR Yamanote car opened its doors in Shin-Okubo. I was standing in front of a line of seated passengers, holding onto the strap that hung from the ceiling. The passengers standing to my right and my left both exited the train. Once they left, I shifted where I was standing and continued staring out the window. It wasn't until moments later that I startled myself--I had moved all the way to the right. There was no one on my right side, and the seated passengers dozed silently to my left. I stared at the other end of the seated passengers. There was no one standing on that side, either, but the prospect of moving over there freaked me out for reasons I couldn't explain, even to myself. Unsettled, I stood there for the rest of the ride.