Cutural comparisons and emo sorrow

Two more new entries below this, yowmean.

"I don't know any lullabies, I don't know how to make you mine....but I can learn."

This post is a strand of intercultural observances I have made regarding romantic social interaction in the Japanese culture and also an excuse for me to bitch about my problems.

So, it is more possible than not, that in my last 4 or so years of formal 'dating' I have gotten the wrong idea of the general routine. Please correct me if I'm wrong, but in North America, it generally goes a little something like this:

- Co-ed meets co-ed

- Flirting ensues

(optional step - gossip churns among friends and it is confirmed that both parties share interest in the other)

- One co-ed asks the other out on a lunch or coffee or dinner date

- The other co-ed agrees and a date is had

- Subtle hints are dropped

- MANY hints are dropped 

- At the end of between 1-4 dates, one co-ed kisses the other, confirming their attraction and their desire to be with the other person

- You kind of talk about being in a relationship, but are mostly too giddy to, and start holding hands or something as a mostly unspoken confirmation that, yeah, you're more or less 'together'

From my observation/personal experience, this is the way shit goes down in Japan:

-Co-ed meets co-ed

- Flirting is attempted by both parties but is more or less thwarted by awkwardness

- One co-ed asks the other out on a lunch or coffee or dinner date

- The other co-ed agrees and a date is had

- Subtle hints become swallowed in a sea of awkwardness

- At the end of 1-4 dates, one co-ed walks the other co-ed home, and leaves because no one knows what to do

- The female of the party confesses her attraction to the male party

- The male party considers if he'd like to make a jump on the offer

- If so, he confirms the fact that the two are officially dating

- It's now okay to hold hands and kiss each other

Now, call me ultra-modern, but I'd rather deal with dumb ass American dating routines then with the passive-aggressive, super-awkward, unspoken social boundaries that the Japanese operate within. Whereas in America it's generally easy enough to slide through steps 1-5 within a few days, I am and have been stuck in Japan's step 6 for weeks now because there are no hints to consider and no signs of reciprocated attraction. 

I would call myself crazy, but I have more or less received confirmation that this is so from numerous females who have shared the same experience. I'm not asking anyone to leap out of their skin and get down on one knee, but the simple phrases of either "I like you" or, "I don't like you" would speak volumes in this particular situation and be more appreciated than an insulin shot amidst a rampant diabetes attack. I suppose relaying my own personal experience would be the best way to convey my confusion:

A few weeks ago, I meet a guy. Tall, gorgeous, kind of a snarky jerk, and thus grounds for my immediate attraction. For some reason that I cannot fathom, he seemed to take interest in me. So he asked me on a date. We went on a date, and it was kind of awkward, especially considering the language barrier, but overall I'd say it was a success. He got me a guitar catalogue. A good chunk of time and a few double-dates later, I got him a ridiculous t-shirt that has a bunch of gundam robots on it (long store) and he lol'd extensively. I chat with him on the internet every night, which kind of gives grounds to open up more because it's a lot safer--it also allows more time to look up words the other person is using that you don't know in an electronic dictionary and respond accordingly as to not look like such an idiot. It's always weird when you can talk to someone via text on a level that you probably wouldn't even dare to approach in person. I think it's that way in America, too. Anyway he didn't seem to mind hanging out with me too much yesterday, and gave me a protection charm from the temple he went to the day before.

He hasn't touched me, he hasn't really given me the slightest hint that he's actually interested in me, and I'm ripping my hair out trying to figure out what's going on. I'm down for step 7, but seriously, you can't expect me to confess how I feel about you if there's absolutely no way I can neither confirm nor deny that you are interested in me at all. I don't claim to be a charmer--good lord. When I was 13, I had pigtails and braces and wore my pants too high and never got a second glance from anyone I would even fathom being interested in. I'm still that awkward 13 year old freak, knocking things over every 5 minutes and snorting when I laugh. But I'd like to think that I've maybe dated enough in America to kind of know my way around the arena, whereas here I'm just dead. Lost. 

And I wouldn't be as frustrated if I didn't care way too much, which is a problem that hasn't really presented itself since high school. You kind of figure out that you dig a person way more than you probably should, and when sometimes when they smile it makes you want to die, but also makes you want to live forever because even if you weren't the source of that smile you'd rather they just be happy. 

Akihabara

There's one more blog you probably haven't read below this one. Go read it if you're into being linear.

"It's almost after midnight
I can see the city lights, we're here."

At 10:30am last Tuesday, I was due to meet Diana Garnett, Atsushi Kurogi, and a very intimidating Yohei Kato at the Electric City exit of the Akihabara station. I left my apartment maybe an hour in advance, and still managed to be 10 minutes late. Normally I wouldn't have cared, but seeing as how I am more that slightly attracted to a particular member of the party, I immediately went into severely apologetic Japanese person mode, which probably made things more awkward than they should have been. If I wanted to go on about the mind-numbingly tense attraction and severe social ineptitude, it would make for pages and pages of quasi-entertaining reading which will probably come later, but, not now.

Upon exiting the station, the effect my senses experienced was similar to those that Leeloo underwent when she de-boarded the rocketship to Floston Paradise. Tall buildings stretched for miles, tightly packed together to create only enough space for thousands of Otaku to cram through. The building signs flashed and rotated, stacked up on top of each other to advertise the special products each floor offered. Hundreds of small buildings and street vendors lined the streets, beckoning people in to buy their porn, costumes, giant rotating beef on a stick. Happy hardcore rave music spilled out into the streets from small shops, adorable women in maid costumes waving signs and singing into microphones, their powers of cuteness luring the susceptible passersby into taking their coupons, submitting to their smiles, and buying thousands of yen worth of electronics and sweet strawberry shortcakes. Street vendors yelled at the public to buy their electronic accessories; thousands of meters of cables of every thickness and calibre wrapped around giant spools, LAN cables of every length and color, every converter cable you could ever dream of having. The tart smell of crepes wafted by as girls in costume danced in synchronized hand-waving patterns, advertising their cafe. The latest anime debut played on a wall of stacked screens outside of a DVD shop, accompanied by its hyperactive techno theme song. My head spun. 10:45am, and my mind had gone numb from the sensory overload.

Despite Yohei's strong insistence against the matter, our first stop was Atsushi's favorite maid cafe....the name of which I currently fail to remember. After getting up to the 6th floor, we were told to wait a moment. The four of us stood in the foyer of the entrance. If one has never experienced silence like smooth glass and enough awkwardness to kill a herd of wild caribou, now is the time for one to experience such. We gratefully accepted the first maid's invitation as she waved us inside. We were greeted by a room full of adorable young women in frilly maid costumes, donning bonnets, aprons, and dazzling smiles. "Irrasshaimase!!" they shouted in unison, their high-pitched voices sending a shiver of cuteness down my spine. Our maid led us to our table, her perfect curls bouncing with each giddy step. Upon sitting us down, she handed us some adorable menus, both in English and Japanese, and began to rattle off a string of specials and features in a high, syrupy voice that I could hardly understand at all. I caught words like "tea", "cake", "lunch", and "adorable", but beyond that I was mostly just dazzled by her ridiculous adorable outfit and the fact that I was in a big room full of bubbly maids. I ordered some kind of juice, probably, and she ran off to tend to other customers. Every five minutes, a new party of costumers would arrive, and the cuteness level would raise to an uncomfortably high level as they were greeting in unison by maids and led off to their table. The place filled up fast, and our maid brought us our drinks. She gave a speech to us about how much cuter our orders would taste if we put our hands together in the shape of hearts and said "Moe, moe, kyuu!" together at the same time. We did, and after we all died of embarrassment a little inside, my orange juice tasted just that much cuter. Yohei ordered tea that came in an adorable filigreed pot, and instead of the "say when," instruction usually given by servers, he was to say "Nyan~!" when he wanted her to stop pouring. His eye twitched as the tea came perilously close to the edge the cup. "....Nyan," he breathed expressionlessly, as the maid bounced up and down and stopped pouring. I nearly had a hernia I was laughing so hard. 

Throughout the hour or so we were there, there were various birthday announcements and celebrations and free slices of adorable cake for those who were lucky enough to visit the cafe on their birthday. Birthday participants got their pictures taken with the group of 10 or so maids, and were publicly embarrassed as the maids walked around them and make remarks about their cuteness. We stayed and drank our drinks, making small talk and stupid jokes, watching the women bounce back and forth and get paid to flirt with oversized men with backpacks and thick glasses. We waved goodbye to the maids, who all waved back. As soon as the elevator doors slid closed, Diana and I busted up laughing, doubled over with tears running down our faces, unable to breathe.

We walked around for awhile afterward, debating on what to eat. Eventually we came to a small restaurant with menu item advertisements plastered all over the walls. We akwardly ate Sukiyaki and raw fish as rave music and voices from loudspeakers could be heard softly from outside. Walking around, we stumbled upon various hobby shops that were endless levels high, stocked full of every figurine from every Japanese pop culture movement ever in existence. I ogled at foot-high representations of the Gurren Lagann, and drooled at the molded figures from my favorite game, Guilty Gear. Rows and rows of plush Totoros and Ponyos, massive Ghibli replica castles and weapons. It was a nerd's greatest dream. It was an even greater dream, of course, if you could shell out the hundreds of dollars the figurines cost, and the thousands you would have to give up for the large replicas. It was still fun to stare, even if nobody else but me wanted to go to the hentai floors. Someday, someday..... We found a cosplay shop, in which Diana tried on a ridiculously adorable Alice in Wonderland maid costume. Apparently she's going to buy it when we return to Akiba next month.

Soon after we ventured to Yodobashi Camera, an enormous electronics store that will supply you with anything you could ever want as long as there's a switch that will turn it on. At least 10 floors high, I couldn't help but get vertigo going up and down the sets of escalators, the relentless flourescent lights drilling into my eyes and the sounds of beeping and robotic movement coming from every corner of every floor. We looked at cameras, on thousand dollar tripods with features no one would ever need. Exercise machines that essentially just vibrated you, toy robots that blinked and smiled and ran you errands on wheels. I can't remember what our mission was in Yodobashi Camera, but I couldn't get out fast enough. 

You'd think one maid cafe would be enough for the average Akiba visitor. But oh, no. Atsushi, Akihabara master, led us down some strange streets to an unmarked entrance. Upon entering, we were greeted by another maid. But this time, there was no heavy makeup or glitter or excessive frills. She was makeup-less, tousled hair in a messy braid, carrying a thin silver tray. Wondering wtf was going on, I looked around. The wooden tables and chairs were stressed to look old. Customers' shoes creaked on the wooden floorboards as they walked. An old wooden ladder led up to rows and rows of books lining the cafe. It then donned on me that this cafe wasn't modern--in fact, it was reverse modern. It was made up to look like a cafe from the 1700's. Dumbfounded, I followed my party to our table, which had paint chipping and peeling across the top. The tea was endless, so that was exciting. We also got a pamphlet with our cafe experience that I guess detailed that each employee of the cafe was there representing a different character from an old cafe manga. There were a few female characters, and one male. They were identifiable by their brooches. Looking around, I searched for the male employee, and let out a squee of Zuka happiness as I realized that he was very obviously a she. I bubbled to myself silently about my love for crossdressing as we ordered small cakes and split them. I started making weird jokes about the banana sauce, and finally things got a little less awkward. For, like, 5 minutes. Though the effort to make the cafe look throwback was definitely effective, the attempt to match the books to the theme was not. We leafed through a dinosaur pop-up book perplexedly before leaving the cafe.

Yes, I know the last post is gone. No, I don't care. Yes, it will be back soon.

Big Wave 21 Community Kitchen

"Extra sugar, extra salt
Extra oil and msg

Shut up and eat!
Too bad, no bon appetit!
Shut up and eat!"

A bit ill at ease about my classes at Tamagawa being over, I sat around today strumming my guitar and chatting with Americans on Skype. Not wanting to dwell about the end of something so awesome that was snuffed out so quickly, I went to the grocery store and bought a ton of random shit to cook with--considering I'll be hanging around the apartment a lot more in the future to do my complete lack of any agenda at all, I'm probably going to need to, you know, eat. I wrote a few more verses to a really sappy confession-of-love-song before getting frustrated with my bad Japanese grammar, downing an entire carton of orange juice, and going downstairs to make some damn food. 

My cooking skills are basically limited to the following: spaghetti, miso soup in a packet, noodles in a styrofoam cup, chicken breasts, ground beef, eggs, and toast. Today was an eggs and toast day. I grabbed my eggs, toast, and fake spreadable butter in a plastic tub, as well as my new David Sedaris book "Me Talk Pretty One Day", and schlepped downstairs after making really awkward eye contact with a Chinese girl. I entered the kitchen, an explosion of pink walls with intricately painted trees winding up and down the sides, climbing up to the ceiling. There was a Japanese(?) girl in the kitchen already, cutting up some lemons and maybe putting them into alcohol or something. I don't know--she makes me feel really awkward. I see her every night, she's always here, hanging up laundry or handwashing some article of clothing, and she never says anything to me. She kind of makes me feel the way your mom would when you've done something bad, and she knows it, and you know she knows you know it, and she's giving you the silent treatment to emphasize her intense disappointment in you. In an effort to evade passive-agressive-mom-girl and her weird lemoney sangria, I started whistling, and went to turn on the stove.

The stove is a rather large issue in my day to day life. You don't just turn a knob. You have to like, turn the knob, wait for the flame to puff up with a little click, and you have to push the knob in in a certain way and keep it there in order to get the flame to keep burning. I don't really get it, at all, because I didn't grow up in the goddamn stone age, so cooking dinner is always kind of an exciting challenge. 

me: *puts down eggs, bread, fake butter* *deep breath* Okay. *turns knob* 

stove: *click* *fire puffs up* *goes out*

me: *deep breath* ....okay. *turns knob*

stove: *click* *fire puffs up, stays for a minute* *goes out*

me: *turns around*

mom-girl: *cutting lemons* *glares at me*

me: *turns back around* Ooookay then. *turns knob* 

stove: *click* *puff* *fire goes out*

me: *turns knob* 

stove: *click* *puff* *fire goes out*

mom-girl: *drops knife on table in frustration*

me: Okay--okay, okay. *turns knob*

stove: *click* *puff*

me: ....Okay?

stove: *fire still burning*

me: Hah! *turns around*

mom-girl: *gathers things and leaves*

I proudly melted some butter and cracked some eggs. After a few minutes, the Japanese dude whom I briefly spoke with before entered the kitchen with a basket of food and a stereotypical surgical mask on his face.

"Herro!!" he said, excitedly. Ecstatic to make human contact, I responded and asked how he had been. He said he had been well, and that he didn't mean to pry, but he had seen me playing my guitar in my room when my door was wide open...I purposely leave my door wide open while I'm in there in an attempt to draw people in so I can force them to be friends with me. We talked about music for a minute, and he asked if I knew Paramore. I lol'd, and said I did. "I play bass!" he exclaimed. "Do you know Rehacheepapa?" 

"....what?" I squinted at him. It was hard enough to figure out wtf he was saying, let alone through the surgical mask. "Rehacheepapa. Rehacheepapa? You know? Rehacheepapa." Fuck, I thought. Usually I can get through the Engrish. This was a tough one. 

"You play bass. You like the bass player. Rehacheepapa."

"Yes, Free. Free from Rehacheepapa." It suddenly made sense.

"Flea! Flea from Red Hot Chili Peppers!"

"Yes! Yes!" We jumped for joy as my eggs popped and sizzled. Turns out he's 28, and played bass for about 4 years. I finished my eggs and slapped some bread onto the pan. You can make toast with pretty much any hot appliance. Did you know that? After my 'food' was finished, I sat in the adjoining lounge room as a bubbly Japanese game show sparkled with bobs and whistles and contestants were degraded for not passing some kind of sick challenge or other. The main door opened, and I saw a man with a guitar on his back walk past the kitchen door. I dropped the book in my hand and craned my neck to watch him walk by. I chewed anxiously as I wondered if he would come into the kitchen. Thankfully, he did, a few minutes later. 

Now guitar-less, the Japanese man shoved his long, black hair into a messy bun and started shuffling through the dishes. I pretended to be thoroughly absorbed in my eggs as I half-understood their rapid, mumbly Japanese. I heard my presence mentioned and pretended not to understand. Apparently I'm not the world's greatest actress.

"This is Masa. He plays guitar, too." 

"Oh, hi, I didn't see you there." I say something moronic like this, and get up to shake his hand. I found out that he's in a band called Die For City, (a play on the word 'diversity') a popular local band who plays (or used to play) around Shibuya. The band's name came from the idea that the members of the band are from different countries--apparently the drummer is American, and the singer is British. The other man busied himself making some crazy spaghetti dish as Masa and I talked about music. I pleaded with him to tell me about local clubs and live houses in Shibuya, asking him to hook me up with anyone who might want to jam sometime. He scratched his goatee and asked how old I was. I said I was 20, and they both laughed. I still don't know what that meant. I was reminded that the other man's name is Humi--I've met 497689876 Japanese people in the past three weeks, I can't feel guilty about not remembering names anymore--and Masa and I exchanged myspace urls before he left me to return to my yolky eggs.

Not five minutes later, a bald,  overweight white man in a polo shirt and glasses trots in through the sliding door to ask Humi something. In a heavy British accent, he introduces himself as John. John moved to Japan on a whim 4 years ago after being bored with his life in Liverpool, and currently teaches English on a rotation in different universities around Tokyo. After commenting that he must be fluent in Japanese, he replied, chuckling, that he could hardly understand any. Which was a bit disconcerting. But, then again, he didn't seem particularly motivated to attach himself to a particular place. John was a wandering vagabond. We talked about how lovely, sexist, and safe Japan is, before he wandered off to his room. 

Humi and I sat and watched Japanese game shows I couldn't understand for awhile before we eventually separated. He's probably in his room blogging right now, too.

Probably not.

Read days 1, 2, 3 first...you know the drill.

It Should Be A Crime To Make Me Leave This Place.

"Come with me, come with me. We'll travel to infinity."

The last six days have been among the most amazing of my life. On morning three of my commute to Tamagawa, I mastered the route. It takes about an hour and 15 minutes to get to the school from my place in Tanashi, which I don't mind. Here is my daily commute:

I wake up two and a half hours earlier than I need to be at class, usually at 6:15am. I walk about 10 minutes to Tanashi Station, and use my Pasmo (like a train station debit card) to swipe me through the turnstyle. I wait for the rapid express train to the Seibu-Shinjuku. I cram into a train full of crisp, tired Japanese people, who sway silently with the rhythm of the train, headphones in, cell phones out, dead to the world. I get off 15 minutes later at Seibu-Shinjuku, the end of the line. I actually physically leave the station, and walk about 15 minutes in downtown Shinjuku (which is beautiful) to the Odakyu line, which is at the underground west entrance of Shinjuku's main station. I take the rapid express train to Odawara, and get off about 30 minutes in at Machida station. I get off, and take the local train doubling back one stop in the direction I came, to Tamagawagakuenmae. It's beyond me why the rapid train doesn't stop at Tamagawagakuenmae when it's a major university....anyway, after that, I walk about 10 minutes up the hill to the Cultural Studies building. (By the way, the mind-bogglingly confusing stop turned out to be "Takadanobaba", one stop away from Seibu-Shinjuku.)

So far the routine at Tamagawa has basically been to participate in bilingual chat sessions, take half-assed Japanese lessons, and be stereotypical mascots for America, visiting classrooms and forcing students to ask us questions in broken English about Seattle and what the clam chowder is like there. The first year students are very quiet and feign understanding less English than they actually do. We got to listen to them practice presentations about what music they like in English that they'll have to give later on in the week. I recognized a vast majority of the artists. Among the most popular were Radwimps and Mr. Children. This one 18 year old girl, though, was in love with Tom Waits. That made me so, so happy. There was also a girl, Hikaru, who was a big Marilyn Manson fan. I flipped my shit when I found out, and we exchanged e-mail addresses. She was equally as ecstatic, explaining that she had yet to have found anyone that had even heard of him. 

We are mostly led to classes and lunch by the club kids. They are the nicest, most personable, enthusiastic people I have ever met. They are hardworking, and love to laugh. Among the ones we see most often are Texas, Momoka, Haruka, Yuya, and Ayumi. Texas gets her name from the time she visited Dallas on exchange. Momoka is small, adorable, and listens to a lot of American punk music. Haruka is sort of quiet, and is also sometimes called Maryland because of her exchange experience there. Yuya is an excitable young man with shaggy hair who has an undying love for the Nickelodeon show Drake and Josh....I don't even know how that happened...and Ayumi is very nice and maternal, and goes out of her way to make sure we are comfortable at Tamagawa. She also has an adorable Australian accent because she lived in Australia for about a year. Ayumi, Texas, and Yuya helped me purchase the converter plug and LAN cable that made it possible for me to post these blogs. Hanging out them after school is a really great way to learn about the area and observe their conversational patterns in a very Discovery Channel-like way. When they babble in Japanese, I can understand much more than I can actually communicate back, but I'm picking it up. In a perfect world, I'd be able to communicate with them on their level and not force them to slow down, backtrack, or whip out their electronic dictionaries to search for English vocabulary words. I hope I'll get to that point soon. Days after class at Tamagawa are spent bullshitting at McDonald's--their medium cup size is our large....lord--shopping, and going to karaoke. Occasionally I'll have a hard time with karaoke because I can't read some of the kanji...but usually I can just guess in context, and if I can't, at least everyone gets a good lol out of it. 

The commute is definitely notable because it takes up such a large amount of my time each day. That, plus I do it alone, so it's just me and my mind and my music keeping me busy for 2 and a half hours a day getting to Machida and back. From every corner of Tokyo, to the office of every business in the city, it's all exactly the same. Leave your house, walk briskly to the station, swipe your Pasmo card, get on the train in silence, block everybody out, deboard the train, swipe your Pasmo again, and continue on along the brightly lit streets to your destination. It never fails to be the most perplexing and eerie part of my day and night. Once boarding the train, everyone finds a seat or stands facing the window, hand clutching one of the straps hanging from the ceiling. No one speaks, no one sings, no one says a word. Most of them have their headphones in, and usually whip out their cell phones as soon as they sit down. Sometimes their eyes will wander, but if they make accidental eye contact, they immediately panic and look straight ahead, pretending nothing happened. The first time anyone smiled back at me was last night; a black man riding the Seibu-Shinjuku line made eye contact with me and smiled back, like we had some kind of inside secret. It wasn't until Wednesday that I realized that, when I get on the train and stand, I am the only person facing the inside of the train. Everybody else has their head down, facing the window, away from everybody else. God forbid someone should tap a stranger on the shoulder and start a conversation--I don't think they would respond. It's dark, silent, and at night, disconcerting. Occasionally a group of loud high school boys or drunken businessmen will get on and start yelling about nothing until their stop comes, but generally it's slightly torturous if I don't have my headphones in. I know it's routine for these people--that they've been making the same commute on the same line for many years, and that there's no one new to talk to and nothing new to see out the window. It's just....kind of scary. 

On Tuesday, I brought up the fact that I play in a band in one of the classes we were speaking to, and a first or second year named Tomoya said he was also in a band. His eyes lit up when I said I knew the band Paramore, and he came to our chat session that afternoon. After talking to his band, Diana and I decided it would be fun to drop in on their band and play a few songs with them. Because we're American and they thought it would be best to pick some American "punk" songs, they ended up picking "Sweetness" by Jimmy Eat World and "Sk8ter Boi" by Avril Lavigne. After maximum lulz, I decided that it would have to be fun no matter what. So on Thursday I brought my guitar to the studio they rent out in Machida, and learned the guitar parts. Even though it would have normally been the ultimate lame, it was ridiculously fun and awesome, and it actually sounded great. Plus, I would have played anything--I miss being with my band back home. 

"I want certain words more than a thousand flowers."

One of the classes we visited was an agriculture class that had recently gotten back from a 6 month excursion in Canada. They split us up, with two Japanese students to each American student, so we could converse in English and help them out with it. The boy to the right of me was Shiro, a tennis enthusiast who also enjoys snowboarding. To the left of me was Atsushi, a partial otaku with a penchant for manga with RIDICULOUSLY LONG eyelashes. Seriously, I don't know how he even sees out of those things. So we got to talking, and he noticed my guitar. He said he didn't know much about guitars, but that his best friend, who sat to his left, owned one. His name was Yohei, and we started talking. He was tall, very Japanese looking, and had nice long-ish hair. We talked about guitars for awhile, and I asked if he knew of any guitar shops in the area because I want to buy a temporary amp while I'm here. He said that he could take me to one. After we met, the time spent in the class was agonizingly short, and as we left, I shouted in Japanese that he should find me tomorrow. And, sure enough, at the next day's chat session, I found he and Atsushi standing awkwardly by the door. Laughing, I invited them in. We exchanged Skype/e-mail/phone information, and they left, all of us giggling awkwardly and not really knowing what to do or say.

I've spent the last few nights talking to Yohei on Skype until far too late for someone who gets up at 6:15am. I've only been here a week, and I'm already flashing back to high school--checking my contact list every 20 minutes to see if he's signed online yet. It's like I'm 15 again. Pathetic, but admittedly exciting. He and Atsushi are taking Diana and I to Akihabara next weekend. Yohei also said he'd stop by our chat session this Wednesday for an hour between classes so he can say hi to me. That made me way happier than it probably should have. He's incredibly sincere, which is a giant leap from anyone I've been involved with from the states. I told him that I can live in Tokyo forever if I get a job and a work visa, and he's been sending me loads of links for local vocal auditions. I often find myself encouraging others because I enjoy it very much, but it's startling to see someone who suddenly cares about my dream so much. In a perfect world, I would get signed to a major label subsidiary, get engaged, and live a perfect life touring and coming home to a guy that's actually happy to see me walk in the door. 

Yeah, right.

Shinjuku lights flash and deter my mind from any calm state I could have possibly attempted to be in. The walk between stations is only 15 minutes, but it doesn't hesitate to slam into your mind and barrage you with flashing suggestions for beer, tobacco, pachinko, karaoke, new albums, everything you could possibly ever want to experience or buy. They twinkle like rainbow colored, mutant stars along the crowded streets. I spent last night in Harajuku with my friends, and the never-ending flashing lights accompanied by employees in uniforms screaming advertisements and handing out flyers with catchy music playing in speakers on every corner is unlike anything I've ever seen. I'm thankful to return to sleepy Tanashi each night, which, although it's large, is mostly apartment buildings housing families and their children with one big, main department store. 

Sorry for the gap.

Day Three.

"5:15, I'm changing trains."

I woke up half an hour before my alarm rang at 7am. Completely wired, I couldn't bring myself to eat anything, and got dressed and left my room. It wasn't until after I was walking happily down the narrow streets of Tanashi that I realized I had absolutely no idea how to get to Tamagawa University. In fact, I didn't even know where the train station was. But I continued bouncing along until I saw a group of businessmen crossing the street. Figuring that a group of businessmen probably wouldn't be going anywhere other than the train station, I followed them. They snowballed, picking up more and more businessmen from other streets as they walked. After a few blocks, I could make out the characters for "Tanashi Station" (田無駅) on a sign on one of the buildings. I wandered straight into the station and to the information booth, asking immediately how to get to Machida, where Tamagawa University is. The lady laughed at me, and wrote me a set of directions that I could sort of understand...kind of. Thanking her, I bought a ticket for Shinjuku, passed through the electronic turnstyle, and waited for the train. People routinely lined up along the concrete path, the large electronic sign hanging from the ceiling flashing that the next express train to Shinjuku would pull up in 5 minutes. They stood stoic and silent as I bounced slightly, super excited, examining my ticket, unable to read what it said. Once the train came, I got on it. After a few minutes, I noticed that since this train was a private line, there was no little screen detailing how far the train had come on the line, and there was no English being announced on the loudspeaker. I snorted to myself. I had absolutely no idea where Shinjuku was. So, after about 5 or 6 stops, I decided, "Sure! Why not," and got off the train. In retrospect, I think it might have been in Saginomiya. Anyway, I just trotted off this train and joined the sea of people wandering toward the exit. I passed through the turnstyle, walked to the information booth, and asked where I was. They said Saginomiya (I think), and that I needed to get to the Odakyu line. I thanked them and wandered off before I realized I didn't know how to get to the Odakyu station. So I thought, "...Oh well!", bought another ticket, and got back on the Seibu train. After a few more stops, I got off again with the throngs of clean cut men and women in slick business suits and disgruntled teens in school uniforms, all half asleep. Again, I went to the information booth, asking how to get to the Odakyu line. They said that they weren't exactly sure, but that I would probably have to transfer lines in Tnjkahiufejioajfelefbaba. They said it so fast I had no idea what the fuck they were saying, but I knew it started with a T, and that it had "baba" at the end of it, and my new ticket had the kanji on it, so I got back on the train and listened for my stop. Once Thojkjhnfrhbsifa'baba came over the loudspeaker, I once again got off the train. I wandered past the turnstyles and to another information booth. I asked how to get to the Odakyu line. They said that I had to take the train to Yoyogi-Uehara and and I could take the Odakyu to Machida. "Sweet!" I shouted, and got another ticket to Yoyogi-Uehara. Sort of a long ride, I was there after about 25 minutes. I got off the train, and went to the next information booth. They told me to take the Odakyu line to Machida. Finally, something slightly straightforward! So I got a new ticket for the Odakyu line, and boarded the train to Machida. The train rolled into Machida, and, swollen with confidence, I exited the station. Looking around, I realized that I had no idea where Tamagawa was. All I knew was that I heard it was in Machida. I asked a man outside. 

"Oh, no--you see, Tamagawa University is basically in Machida, but it's not this stop. It's one stop back," he said in Japanese. "BALLS!" I said, in English. So, laughing my ass off, I re-entered the station, and got a new ticket for the Tamagawa station, Tamagawagakuenmae. I didn't know which train to take, so I asked a nice lady waiting for the train. She was having a load of difficulty trying to explain it to me, because I couldn't understand the vocabulary she was using and she obviously didn't speak English. Finally, an overweight lady waddled over to me and frustratedly thrust a piece of paper at me that said "10:25, Local train to Shinjuku, next stop" on it in English. I laughed hysterically as the large woman wandered away, thanked the last lady as she boarded the train, and got on my train as it rolled into the station. 

Relieved and thoroughly amused with myself, I walked into Tamagawagakuenmae Station half an hour late at 11am, to be greeted by a frantic Kathy Riley, a coordinator for the exchange program. Clearly flipping her shit, she said that she was worried I had gotten lost, kidnapped, etc., and that the other students were in the cafe downstairs becoming acquainted with the program directors. I arrived just in time for their departure, and I guiltily joined them as they made their way toward the college entrance. The sun beat down in shards through rain clouds, spilling upon us and groups of late Tamagawa students riding bikes and chewing gum as we all walked up an endless paved hill to the Cultural Studies building. The campus consisted of distinguished numbered buildings, all four stories or more, nestled within clusters of vibrant green trees and fountains. A massive football field could be seen from our path. It was explained to us that Tamagawa was not only a university for college students, but a school for high schoolers, middle schoolers, and elementary schoolers. Which explained the small children in adorable uniforms being led up the hill by mothers with sun hats and long skirts. Rain began to fall as we made it to the building. After meeting the appropriate program directors, we introduced ourselves to some students who ran the Comparative Cultures program at Tamagawa. After that, they gave us a tour of the large, beautiful campus. Which was really more of us, the American students, wandering around blindly after the Japanese students completely boggled and confused--I know that I registered basically nothing. I did spend a lot of time talking to Diana, the last American student, about Japanese music and culture. I tried to make small talk with the Japanese students, who spoke considerably good English. I talked to Mari, a lovely girl with large teeth, about her love for dancing and Beyonce. She said that she had gone to Florida the previous year for a cheerleading competition. I was impressed, and told her I was on the cheerleading team briefly in my life. She asked to see me dance. I laughed, a lot. After that, they led us to a local Italian restaurant so we could talk to the program directors and get to know each other. The language barriers made it slightly awkward, considering my Japanese is broken, at best, but we got along alright. The waitress kept handing us plates and plates of appetizers and pasta and desserts and I just about died. I hadn't had an appetite since I arrived, and the sheer sight of food sort of made me want to blow chunks. But I ate a good deal anyway, and found out that the girl next to me was an X Japan fanatic. I leapt for joy and shoved forkfuls of free pasta into my face.

After that, we were led back to the Cultures building for a welcoming party hosted by the club. Dazed and confused, Diana, Rory, Alec and I snacked on shrimp chips and grape Fanta, and talked to the enthusiastic club members. I spoke in both Japanese and English, but apparently they have all been learning English since they were 13 or so, so we were better off speaking in my native tongue when it came right down to it. A group of bright-eyed Japanese girls stood around me as I talked about my love for Japanese music, and were in awe over my piercings and tattoo. Although I was completely overwhelmed at this point, it was amazing getting to know them, and once I started laughing with them, I realized that....yeah, of course Japanese people are different. But we're all college students, we all love socializing, we have likes, dislikes, and dreams, and we're essentially the same.

Afterward, we talked a bit with Kathy Riley about our schedule--which was a complete surprise. Turns out that even though Setsuko had told us we would be taking a few hours of class maybe 3 days a week, we were scheduled to be at the school from about 9-3 every weekday. Pissed off, but too tired to really give a shit, I left for the station with the Americans. Even though I didn't speak to many people outside of those facilitating the Comparative Culture studies club/program, it was still sort of reassuring to be in a setting with masses of young people walking to and from classes. The girls applied and re-applied lip gloss, laughing loudly as they texted with their sparkly cell phones, and the boys puffed on cigarettes as they adjusted their perfect anime hair. It was slightly obnoxious, but at the same time, it was very obviously a college full of kids, and an appropriate setting.

On my way home, I had a similar experience with the trains. I did, however, make it back in less than 3 hours this time. Completely exhausted, I keyed into my room, tossed my Tamagawa folder onto the floor, took a shower, and crashed.

Desu desu desu.

This is the post for Day Two. If you have not yet read the post for Day One, for God's sake, man, scroll down and read that first. Skuroru daun wo kudasai. Hyuk hyuk hyuk.

Day Two.

"I fought piranahs, and I fought the cold. There was no one with me--I was all alone. Yeah."

I shot up at 5:30am the next morning, rarin' to go. Upon realizing that I wasn't in Kansas anymore, and that the sun was hardly even up yet, I forced myself to go back to sleep, which half-worked. I woke up again for realsies at 8am, pulled on my boots, pulled back my hair--which was disgusting because I had been sweating all night...humidity fail--and walked to the Circle K I had passed on my way in. I bought some shampoo--at least, that's what I think I read on the bottle--and breakfast. I grabbed onigiri, and some thing that looked like an apple fritter in saran wrap. Upon reading the label, I made out, "Wrong bun - Sausage." Thinking that there could not possibly be sausage in this pastry--oh, what I fool I am--I bought it, bit into it, and, sure enough. Tiny sausages. Whatever, it tasted awesome, and I hadn't eaten since God knows when. I also drank orange juice which was sitting out on my floor from the day before, but since when have I ever cared about anything.

At 10am, a strikingly beautiful young lady named Lisa knocked on my flamboyant door to walk me to the front office to check into my real room at Big Wave 21. She lol'd at the fact that I put on my shoes before I got to the special shoe-putting-on-platform...whoopos...and lent me an umbrella for the walk. If eyes could go into cardiac arrest, mine would have done so upon entering the Guest House main office. The guest house itself already looked like a middle school art project, but this was just amazing. Every wall, chair, desk, and table was absolutely slathered in ridiculous bright murals. Paintings of children, men, women, dogs, cats, trees, everything, boldly outlined and filled in with thick flourishes surrounded them along with individual English words like "love" and "bold". I stepped into the office and ten or so people all smiled and waved happily. A grotesquely obese woman at the front counter nodded. I sat down and Lisa and Hana--the proprietor, I guess--went over the guest house rules with me. The rule book was an oversized cardboard book with the solar system painted on the front, the kind of book they read to you aloud in kindergarden. Luckily they had a paper version that I could take with me. Everything seemed standard and, honestly, as long as she spoke fluent English, I couldn't really give a damn what I agreed to. I signed some papers, handed over a shit ton of yen after some calculation difficulty, and the co-manager Tadashi drove me to Big Wave 21 in an oversized van, also swimming in ridiculous primary colored designs. He lol'd hard at me when I tried to get in on the driver's side. 

After walking me through the guest house--the halls of which look like a child's spin art--he explained that I can't wear shoes and I can smoke whenever I want and blah blah showers blah blah toilet paper etc.. 15 minutes after he left, he returned, banging on my door, to deliver the message that "B.B. was coming for me". B.B.? I had only been in Japan one day and I had already made enemies. But after he left, I interpreted it to mean that Viv--"B.B"--was coming from her hostel with Kat to pick up the rail pass I got from her apartment. Figuring she probably wouldn't come by for awhile, I left on a quest for towels. 

Let the record show that I am really bad at wandering. I never know where I'm going, ever, no matter where I am, and I always, without fail, get extremely lost. I didn't wander too far this time. However, I did a good deal of aimless walking with my mouth hung open and my tongue lolled out like a Disney character from the 50's, gawking at the flashing signs and mobs of businessmen and cute boys on bicycles. Tanashi, albeit in the city, is more of a suburb than anything, so I think that no matter how far I strayed from where I was supposed to be, I would have circled around eventually. I just kind of kept wandering and walking blindly into any place that had automatic doors that would open when I walked by. Due to this, I eventually found myself inside a magical department store I later found out is called LIVIN. I have no idea what that means. Anyway, I was ecstatic because first of all, the place was air conditioned, and secondly I could see a display of fluffy towels from the entrance. Keeping in the tradition of old-fashioned animation, my eyes turned into stars and I made a beeline for them. Two white towels, a pair of shoes, and a cheap watch later, I wandered out of the automatic doors again, just as confused as I had been when I walked in. On my way back, I made a point of staring in all of the windows to see if there was anything especially interesting. I did find a tremendously cute boy working at some kind of ramen restaurant. I smiled but I looked gross, and that's bad news bears, so I kept walking. I passed Olympics, this big grocery store directly behind the guest house, and set forth on my Grocery Shopping of Fail. Purchases I'm proud of include Fuji apples (they aren't kidding, hella Fuji) and a carton of orange juice, which I can keep in my little refrigerator. Kawaii, desu ne????? Desudesudesu.

I'd like to say I did something super interesting on my first full day in Japan. But really, I just sat around with my eyes glazed over, half asleep, flipping channels on my television. Each station is a display of bright colors, pop music, and weird humor. Tommy Lee Jones does a commercial for Mr. Boss Coffee over here, and Beyonce does one for, like, lemon water or something. I got totally pulled into this bizarre game show where contestants fill their mouths with milk, and the last person to lol at whatever weird comedic performance is happening wins the game. You raff, you ruse. As stupid as it sounds, it was really hilarious, and I watched that, along with some Coffee Prince-esque drama, for a good chunk of time before taking a shower. 

While I was in the shower, Viv had arrived, and was anxiously waiting at my room door for me to get my damp ass inside so she could get her train pass. She brought me some Mr. Donut (WHEE!!) and we tipped our hats, agreeing that, though we would be far away from each other, we'll still be in Japan, as well as Kat, so we should make some effort to road trip at some point. 

After she left, I wandered back and forth down the quiet halls of the guest house waiting to run into someone. But no one was really there. I guess they were spending their days out getting smashed in Shibuya and fucked in the backseat of Rolls Royces of something. It was sort of eerily quiet--as most of indoor-Japan has proven to be--so I locked myself back up in my room, unpacked my shit, read, amused myself with Japanese game shows some more, and eventually fell asleep. 

I'm not dead.

I'm sorry I've delayed the first real deal blog for so long. The gig is, apparently my brothers from other mothers over here only use two-pronged outlets as opposed to three, and my laptop cable suffers from the Apple curse of electronic abnormalities. But, Yuya and Ayumi helped me through the electronics store in Machida and helped me buy a converter plug and a LAN cable. THANK YOU SO MUCH YOU GUYS I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!!11111111

Day One.

"Reach out and touch faith."

I yawned incessantly as the car taking me to Sea-Tac airport smoothly glided along misshapen I-5 South. It was completely silent in the car other than myself tapping my rings against my studded belt, quietly flipping my shit in the back of the car. Usually, the driver will bring up some kind of stupid small talk. This time, I was on my own. After about 15 minutes of nerve-racking silence, I sputtered out,

"HaveyoueverbeentoJapan?" He looked at me with big, white eyes in the rear-view mirror. (Okay, I'm not racist, but just so you can get a better grasp on the situation, the man was African-American.) 

"That where you're goin'??" 

"YES I'M TERRIFIED AHAHAHHAAHHH!!" I shouted. He immediately went into this super-enthused trip about how he thought I was some rock star because of the guitar and how it's going to be amazing and how I'm going to have the best time of my life. When I told him that there was a very slight possibility that I won't come back, he totally shit. He said that he went to Germany when he was 20 years old, and stayed for 6 years. He said they were the best years of his life. Temporarily revived by his story and encouragement, we pulled up to the airport, probably inappropriately enthusiastically waved goodbye, and I waited in line for the rest of my life for my damn boarding pass. The fun didn't end there--after waiting in the security line, the bastards confiscated my belt. Who cares that it had useless bullet shells hot-glued to it! Suggestive my fucking ass!! Anyway, I went to some random airport store to improvise by wrapping a laughably long scarf around my waist to hold my pants up. Because I apparently have this inability to purchase clothes that fit.

I found Rory and Alec, and boarded the plane. I was wired and kind of tripped out because I hadn't slept the night before in order to sleep on the 11 hour flight, and be ready to start my day in Tokyo upon arrival. So I popped  Melatonin that was in my pocket and prepared myself to go to sleep. For 5 minutes. 10 minutes. 20. An hour. Two hours. Around the third hour in I sort of realized that nothing was going to happen. Melatonin usually puts me straight to sleep, however in this case it did little more than subdue me. Which was still more than welcome. So I plugged my headphones into the plane's armrest and watched Paul Blart: Mall Cop, twice...in both English and Japanese. For the record, both versions blow. I pulled out my notebook and continued writing this dumbass short story I started about a man that gets kidnapped by the circus. The middle-aged Japanese man next to me asked (in English) if I was a writer. To which I overenthusiastically responded, 

"Yes! I mean--no! I mean...no. No, not at all, really." He lol'd at my desperation for human contact. We got to talking, and I found out that he had attended school in Ashland, Oregon (WHEE I love Ashland!) and that he had just moved to Kent for work. As a correspondent for some massive tech company dealing with electronics and overseas negotiations every 5 minutes, this guy was their wingman and had to make trips from Seattle to Tokyo every few months. But his wife apparently lived in Tokyo, so he didn't mind. He asked where I was from, and apparently he knew Brookings very well, having spent so much time near the ass-crack of Oregon. He said he loved the Salmon-Run Golf Course, and that he was also one of those eccentric aristocrats who drives by Coos Bay and actually buys driftwood from that crazy outdoor driftwood store. Had there been a wall, I would have slammed my head against it. However, he was very nice and friendly and had a lot of fatherly things to say about being careful and having an umbrella and not getting raped and so on. I snuck over to one of the apparently unoccupied window seats to get a look at the anticlimactic view as we touched down into Tokyo.

Alec, Rory and I waited until everyone that had connecting flights got off the plane before we left. We were delayed about an hour and a half because we had to fly around some active volcanoes on the way there. Psshh. Islands. We got off the plane and staggered out into the wettest, warmest, thickest air of all time. We giggled incessantly as we slowly plodded through the customs and immigration line. Having been awake for way, way, way too long, plus the confusion surrounding the massive cultural changes, made everything seriously funny. The Japanese men directing the line wearing face masks were funny. The Japanese signs with little mascots were funny. The wack-ass bathrooms were REALLY funny. Giggling like fucking school girls, we went out into the airport lobby to try and figure out the ATMs, vendor kiosks, and payphones. We must have looked just mad--Alec, a pale guy with a dark beard and mustache wearing an oversized Mariner's t-shirt, Rory, an extremely tall, distinguished looking young man with Versache glasses, and myself....I don't even need to begin to go there...running around speaking in broken Japanese trying to find the train to Tokyo station. After we boarded the Narita Express, the weight of the lack of sleep began to sink down onto us. We met a couple from New Zealand who just randomly decided to take a trip to Tokyo on a whim, with absolutely no plans of what to do or where to stay. They had a nice, big map, though. I commend them for that.

We separated around Shinjuku, if I remember correctly, and I blindly bought a ticket for the JR line the lady at the airport had scribbled down for me. I got on the train with my giant-ass suitcase and guitar with my sunglasses on because, in case no one told you, Shinjuku looks like a neon light show threw up on a huge pile of fiber optics. So I get on this train, and I'm freaking out because apparently the farther away you get from the main hub of Tokyo, the less English the train displays use. I asked the woman next to me wtf I was supposed to do, and she magically said she was getting off at the same station, Higashi-Koganei, and that I could follow her. I was so fucking happy I almost died at this point. I probably should have been dead anyway, actually, due to dehydration and lack of sleep. But I got off at the station and followed the crude map that was drawn for me by the owners of the Artistic Gaikokujin Guest House. 

Wandering through the streets of the outskirts of Tokyo at night rolling a giant suitcase, I think now that I probably should have felt endangered. But it was entirely the opposite. As I slowly trekked down the main drag to find my temporary room until the next day, I was passed by businessmen and young people on bikes, and for some reason I have never felt more at home. Maybe because it was so warm, maybe because it was so late, maybe because I'm just fucking bonkers, I exhaled a huge sigh of relief because it felt like after 20 years, I was finally home. I found my key and got into the violently colorful complex, lovingly named "Apple House". I dragged my enormous suitcase up three flights of stairs, and I swear it was like an episode of I Love Lucy. I'm so surprised no one came out of their room to slap me for making such a fucking ruckus in the middle of the night. I got into my room, tried to make a journal entry, failed miserably due to relentless dizziness, and passed out, happy and confused.