I AM DETECTIVE CONAN

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More of that right place/right time bullshit

"Well you're art, you fell into this part."

I yawned silently as the five screens in the studio blipped down from three to two to one, and the sketched stills played chronologically while a group of asians screamed over-dramatically into tall microphones for the voice-over of the finale of the new hit anime, Shangri-La.

I guess I should start from the beginning.

A few weeks ago, I decided to help Diana go pick out a cosplay costume for our trip to Comiket, the world's largest anime convention, to take place the following weekend. Since Atsushi has the hots for her and was taking us to Comiket anyway, it only seemed fair that he should come. And since Yohei is Atsushi's BFF and they are GAYFOREACHOTHERattached at the hip, it seemed only natural that he should come, too. I was under the impression that all my bitterness had since dissolved away, leaving a clean slate and the basis for our previous happy, platonic relationship with each other to develop and grow. Of course I was more than wrong, and upon seeing him at the station gate I immediately began fuming, shoved my headphones into my ears, and didn't say a word for 5 hours. Yohei was more than confused at this response, and confusion turned to frustration, which turned to anger. What was previously a lively friendship had turned to angry, blatant disregard, and the awkwardness radiated throughout the shopping center in Nakano in which we were searching for cosplay costumes...which ended up being a total bust anyway. At one point we both made aggravated noises and walked in opposite directions, during which time I was tapped on the shoulder by a short, stout woman with a messy bun and glasses brandishing a clipboard and an enthusiastic smile.

"Speak English??" she asked. 

"Uh...yeah, totally."

"Can help with survey??" She shoved the clipboard in my face. I looked behind me to see Yohei sauntering off into some action figure store.

"Sure, you bet!" I grabbed the pen and started filling it out. It seemed pretty standard at first; "name", "sex", "age", etc.. I figured it was a foreigner survey to see how many signs they need to translate into English or something. Then I got to questions like "favorite anime" and "favorite characters to cosplay". She tried desperately to speak to me in Japanese, but considering I have the speaking skills and comprehension of a 4 year old, I was having a seriously hard time understanding what she was saying. Diana and Atsushi came over to help me. It turns out that she was from Gonzo animation studios, which is working on putting out an English language guide for foreigners. The survey was to poll overexcited tourists like ourselves about what we would want to know the most--where to find rare action figures, where the manga museums are, what releases we'd like to see in English, etc.. She stayed and talked to the three of us for a long time--at which point I was sort of dying, because my super-sexy high heels which were totally doing their job had also cut off the blood flow in my body--and got so excited about finding foreigners interested in anime that she gave us business cards and we exchanged information.

The rest of the day was melancholy and retarded. Although excited about meeting our portly proprietor, I was still pissed off at Yohei because...well, because. After I raped his ice cream cone with my spoon things mellowed out a little, and by the end of the day--aka when I made Diana leave early with me--things were almost back to normal. As much as I want to fucking hate his guts, I find it hard considering all the help he's given me. The links to auditions, producers' business cards, the fact that he stayed up all night talking to me and translated my entire biography. Also, I hate to admit that I'm one of those people, but that fact that he's an asshole sort of makes him more attractive to me. And by sort of, I mean it does. I'm doomed to a life of misery and spousal abuse.

Anyway, on a lighter note, the next day--or a few days later, I can't remember which--Diana, Atsushi and I met up with this woman (I can't FOR THE LIFE OF ME remember her name, although I have her business card somewhere--I'll just call her Gonzo-san) at some obscure station off of some weird underground metro line. She took us through these weird, winding back roads to an unmarked building, chatting with us in Japanese the entire way. I could only understand 20% of what she was saying at best, so I mostly just worked on trying to pop the blister on my middle finger. Gonzo-san led us into the studio and introduced us to Yamamoto-san--was it Yamamoto-san? Well, it is now--a short, shy-looking dude with hair in his face who didn't seem very enthusiastic about leading foreigners around his workspace. But he did anyway. He had some kind of important job because his desk faced all of the others. He took us around cubicles and cubicles full of towering stacks of disheveled papers, jars of pens and pencils, references, rulers, and half-eaten pizza crusts. A handful of artists sat at their desks, feverishly sipping diet cokes and sketching like mad, tracing and re-tracing lines like you'd see in the "behind the scenes" portion of a Disney cartoon DVD. I couldn't really understand what this guy was saying, either, but apparently he is sort of a project overseer, and double checks all of the animation that goes through production for the DVD release. Which is really hard, and really badass. We were too in shock and he was too quiet and twitchy to really say much after the tour, so he just popped in a DVD of Shangri-La--Gonzo Studios' current production--and we watched the raw version of the show, some in color, some in rough black and blue sketched lines. I had never heard of Gonzo Studios in particular before, but I think anime is wicked, so it definitely blew my mind. 

After that, Gonzo-san led us out of the building and we went back to the train station, taking some obscure train to some other obscure place and waiting in a burger joint in the station until receiving a call from the other person we were supposed to meet up with. All of these descriptions are very vague because I am not fluent in Japanese, and during 98% of this situation, I had absolutely no idea what was going on. Gonzo-san kept trying to communicate with me, asking what my goals and interests were, and Diana definitely helped as a translator, but overall it didn't really work out that well. So we met with Oizaki Fumitoshi, another shortish dude with scraggly facial hair and a nervous smile, and he led us to some underground super-Japanese style restaurant where you take off your shoes and sit on the floor and they shut you in your dining area with sliding doors. I was really tired, the lights were really dim, and when people got to talking in an excited manner, I couldn't understand jack shit. As fascinated as I am with anime, and the Japanese language, you really just get to a point where you are so mentally exhausted from trying to figure out what's going on all the time that you just sort of shut off. So I shut off, everyone continued babbling as cocktails and food arrived, and I entertained myself with jacking a fancy chopstick holder. 

What I gathered from the insanely rapid babbling coming from all directions around me is that this guy also worked for the studio, and he was an overseer from another, more important division. I also think he went to Istanbul at one point. But fuck if I know. I was as interested as one possibly can be while staring at Telemundo on channel 7, squinting into the television trying desperately to figure out what's going on on ¡Sabado Gigante! because it looks like so much fun. It was more or less a lost cause, however, and I was ultimately just satisfied with being in the same room as someone important. 

He paid for our dinner, which must have been exorbitantly expensive, and Diana and I asked for his autograph. He laughed nervously, and sketched a perfect little frog onto the piece of cardboard we gave him. He scribbled stuff down in Japanese, signed and dated it, and I was very happy. Just about dead from all the exercise my mind had had, I stumbled out of the restaurant with everyone. As they were talking, I looked up and noticed, in a daze, that the little frog Oizaki-san had drawn on our board was represented on a huge scale in full color on a massive billboard facing the main street. I blinked, and we all walked back to the station.

I didn't realize the gravity of the situation as it happened, of course. But afterward, it was too late. Not that I would have changed my actions in any way had I known that Gonzo studios produced my two favorite series' of all time, Hellsing and Gurren Lagann. I love anime very much, but I'm not a super hardcore freak about the mechanics of it all. I love my anime, and I want to watch it and get meaning out of it. If I get to go behind the scenes and see how it's all put together--that's cool, too.

Suddenly, Comiket!! The world's largest anime convention. And this is no exaggeration. Upon arriving in Odaiba at around 10:30am, we waited for three hours in a seemingly endless line with a sea of literally 50,000 other people waiting to enter the convention. Which was mostly outside, considering there is really nowhere big enough in Japan to shelter 50,000 overenthusiastic anime nerds. Diana was dressed in red lolita, and I was dressed....well, normally. But I guess on the street you'd consider it goth or EGA. Plus, it gave me a (very warm) excuse to wear my black jacket with tails. Of all the world's events I might expect to be a disappointment, I never would have thought Comiket would be on that list. But it kind of was. Not in the sense of scale--good lord, there were so many amazing cosplayers and I have NEVER in my life seen so many people in one place. But there were no concerts, no raves, no panels, no viewings, no guest speakers, and worst of all, no real dealer's room. Diana and I couldn't figure out why there wasn't a dealer's room until we realized....fucking duh. There isn't a dealer's room because in America their purpose is to sell you things you can only find in Japan. But this is Japan. Same for the lack of Japanese rock artists. The only merchandise there was were goods sold directly from anime distribution companies, who each had their own booth, and doujinshi. Endless, endless doujinshi. For those of you unfamiliar with that term, what it basically is is a comic book drawn by fans of an anime that's sort of a "what if this happened" indulgence that can go anywhere from raging all-character-inclusive-orgies to creating new characters and killing off the old ones. They are essentially fanfiction, and although amusing, I don't take much interest in them. So we spent the majority of the day taking pictures of cosplayers, as well as unexpectedly getting our pictures taken. After we posed once, there was a huge line of people with cameras waiting to take pictures of the wacky gaijin dressed up in silly costumes. 

We met up with Gonzo-san again, who recruited us as her lackeys to go off and solicit English speakers with the very survey we had been reeled in with. The three of us ran around for hours, meeting dedicated cosplayers who had come from America to dress up in Hetalia and Final Fantasy garb, to a group of long-haired Irishmen who just sort of accidentally wandered in. We gathered about 30 or so surveys, and at the end of the day Gonzo-san patted us on the head, told us that we did a good job, and told us to meet her the following Monday.

That Monday--today--I dragged my ass out of bed to meet with Diana and Atushi at Yotsuya Sanchome (what?) at 10:30 so we could get to the studio by 11. I had no idea what to expect--Gonzo-san tells Atsushi where we're going and what we're doing, and Atsushi only tells Diana and I where we're going, and sometimes I only know when we're meeting, so every day is a mystery. 

Yamamoto-san greeted us at the door and led us down into the basement. My eyes lit up as I recognized the environment immediately--a beautiful dim, sleek, recording studio. I was under the impression that we would be watching a screening or getting DVD coupons or something. I held a weird contorted face of silent confusion and joy as they led us to a row of seats in the sound booth in front of the tech equipment, a pane of glass the only thing separating us from the voice actors and their career in motion. I had marathoned as much of Shangri-La as I could (illegally on the internet) the previous night to become more familiar with the characters, and I'm glad I did. They slowly filed into the room before us, sitting down and cracking open water bottles and unwrapping lemon lozenges. It was a trip trying to figure out who voiced who--who voiced the the little girl, who voiced the transvestite, the serpent, the lackey, the evil villainess. Eventually, their work started, and the countdown on five big screens in front of five microphones led into rough sketches of Shangri-La's final episode. The voice actors and actresses followed along on their scripts, cued by a tiny blip on the screen with their character's name and a vague idea of what would be happening by the sketched stills. It was absolutely amazing to hear these people belt out the most wrenching lines with ridiculous effort to a linear series of sketches. The amount of talent in that room was beyond unbelievable. Because it was the last episode and every character was involved, almost every member of the voice acting cast--30 or more people--silently rotated around the microphones as they worked. One character would scream a line into a mic, then move quickly away to turn the page as another character moved in to take their place for their own line. It was like clockwork. Every one of these people went to school for years and years to develop and hone their voice acting talent for something like this, and it was incredible. Among the cast of characters was a tall, extremely good-looking man voicing Medusa, named Tetsuya Kakihara--

the voice actor for the main character, Simon, in my favorite anime,

Gurren Lagann.

I gushed blood from my nose and ears and eyes and watched in tired awe for the short five hours or so it took to record the episode. 

I was very obviously spoilered to hell as far as the ending goes, but it was worth it. Being in the studio on the other side of the glass with the live actors right in front of me was like watching a really bizarre play....where the actors are all over-dramatic, don't move, and you can only see the backs of their heads.

I still can't really believe that I got to watch a piece of history that will be made and taken to heart and cosplayed, something that will go on to affect so many people the way that Gurren Lagann affected me. What a fucking trip, man.

 

bonus mini blog 2

"And I know you want it (I know you want it) 
It's easy to see (it's easy to see) 
And in the back of your mind 
I know you should be home with me."

I went out to Shinjuku to buy lipstick and high heels so I can feel good about myself and know that even if he's trying oh so hard not to, when we meet again on Sunday, he's going to be staring at me.

I got off the train and the weather started out innocently enough. It was kind of cloudy, but no big. I went to the 0101 Annex, which I found on accident the last time I got lost downtown, and bought a pair of $30 high heels after having the poor lady run around in circles trying to find cheap shoes that appealed to my fastidious jew standards. After about 20 minutes, I found these ridiculous heels with silver rhinestones that I would never wear unless I was trying to make a point. Which I am, so I happily bought them. Noticing it was starting to rain like hell outside, I also bought a stupid overpriced designer umbrella that folds up into a little bag which I'll never be able to fit it back into. 

The rain came down with such pressure that could blast the eyebrows right off your face. It rushed down in torrents, quickly flooding the streets out of nowhere, hundreds of Asians dashing for the nearest overhang or 7/11 to buy a plastic umbrella. Even if you had an umbrella, you could not be saved. The wind whipped the rain this way and that way and girls in miniskirts and stilettos, who had a hard time walking anyway, were absolutely miserable trying to wade through the puddles and get to the the closest place they could buy a double caramel machiatto. I was walking out of the department store district past the South exit of Shinjuku station, when I noticed that nobody was really walking around. Heaven's floodgates had opened, and these people would be damned if they would ruin their immaculate hair, Burberry purse, or Gucci heels in the dastardly rain storm. It was the weirdest thing. It's not like it was bone-chilling freezing like it gets in the Pacific Northwest. It was really warm, in fact. I watched the crowds of people gathering nervously beneath the overhang, before I stepped out onto the sidewalk. "It's just rain," I said to no one in particular. They watched me, in silence. "It's only water!" I lowered my umbrella, immediately drenching myself from the shower-like pressure of the pouring rain. A young couple laughed at me. I walked off, kicking a giant puddle, which made absolutely no difference seeing as how I was already soaked through. I took the long way back to my station, ankle-deep in the sidewalk flood that was forming. 

Japanese people need to fucking lighten up.

 

bonus mini-blog

"There's nothing wrong with me
There's something wrong with you

Don't eat the fish."


Masa and Neil and I went to the ASA grocery store below the Livin department store to get cheap food. I handed the old lady behind the counter my chicken skewers, half-off after 8pm, and smiled as she rang up my purchase.
"fhowairuhgbhjlsbfdhjgoajkdesu ka?" she asked. I half-smiled and laughed. She blinked at me through big bubble-glasses and awaited my reply with smile full of crooked teeth.
"Yeah, all three of us." She gave me a bizarre, sort of taken aback look, smiled politely, and handed me my chicken and change.

"Did you hear what she asked you?" Masa asked. I opened the bento and started gnawing on a piece of chicken.
"No idea. 'Nod and smile and make up an answer' is my philosophy."
"She asked you which one of us you were a couple with." I blinked at Masa, then at Neil, who was holding a big, green, sustainable shopping bag. "I think you scared her."
"...Oh." I resumed gnawing on my chicken and turned to wink at the old lady behind the counter before ascending the escalator to the ground floor.

How the fuck do I end up where I end up

"Alright already we'll all float on, ok.
Don't worry we'll all float on.
Even if things get heavy, we'll all float on."

*Japanese dialogue depicted in italics

My confused brain forced me to stay up far later last night than I probably should have, allowing me to awake at a robust 1pm. Thinking the Big Wave picnic was going to happen at 1:30, I panicked a little bit, before realizing that it was raining, and there was obviously no picknicking to be had today. So I got in contact with Ho, who was officially a homeless Ho because the friend he was staying with went to hip-hop dance camp (whut) so we met and went to Harajuku and ate at Johnny's--which is essentially a Denny's, with more rice involved. We ordered a meal of chicken and a hamburger (a tiny sausage and corn on the side) with rice and corn soup. Now that is damn food. I don't know what the hell is up with the average portion size here, but for once it was nice to eat with another American and scarf up an insane amount of food without feeling like a ridiculous fatass. We walked up and down Omotesando and Harajuku street. We also bought my favorite thing ever--crepes!! These crepes aren't like the lame little flabby crepes with blueberry sauce that they give you at Ihop. Mine was huge, and stuffed with mixed berries, whipped cream, and an entire slice of cheesecake. My heart slowed as I gladly welcomed death at the taste of this deadly, delicious monster. Now diabetics, we went off to Tamachi to meet with the people that Ho would be staying with now that Jen was off learning to be a back-up dancer. Knowing how horrible it can be meeting families and being forced to have dinner with them, I accompanied him.

Koki, Jen's friend of a friend, met us at the station and took us back to his parents' house. He spoke English after studying in Seattle and Boston for 3 years, and at 23, he was temporarily staying with his parents for some reason or another. Meeting his parents was more than slightly awkward, and even though Ho speaks no Japanese, they kept making me speak it, telling me my accent was good, etc. Speaking in Japanese in front of strangers really freaks me the fuck out...my friends are all forgiving of course, but the last thing I wanted to do was accidentally insult the family of the friend of a friend of one of my friends. I guess.

The host father gave us tea and some weird rice dish he cooked, and showed us sort of before-and-after photos of the Shinagawa area of Tokyo, before all of the skyscrapers went up and the concrete jungle was born. He also thought it was strange that out of all of America's jazz musicians, I like music as old as Frank Sinatra and Nat King Cole. Hey, Man, don't knock it 'till you've tried it. After awhile, Koki had to go to some business get-together for his job as a bartender, so I said goodbye to Ho and walked to the station. During the slightly long walk, we got to talking about my utter rejection the day before. He laughed and told me that all Japanese men are bastards, and can't be trusted. After talking about his rejection by an American girl, we concluded that American women cannot be trusted either. When I told him I confessed my attraction straight up in Japanese, he punched me in the arm--ow--and said I earned his respect. He asked if I wanted to come to the bar with him in Shinagawa. Having nothing better to do, I agreed. Apparently, he works for a bar chain called 82 in Tamachi, and his boss invited him to a nomikai (drinking social, good PR) in the next neighborhood over to introduce him to some of his other friends who run and own 82s in the area.

Koki and I had immediate friend chemistry (I call it friemistry) and we ended up running around Shinagawa beneath an umbrella in the rain trying to find the 82. Eventually, we found it. At the entrance, I commented on the fact that it was kind of strange that I had only known him for a few hours, and yet I was a guest at this get-together.

"...You're right, that is kinda weird."

"Okay, we've known each other for 3 years, we met at Seattle Pacific, and I call you Koko," I said, stepping into the entrance. 

"What??"

"Hi, my name is Alex." I shook hands with his boss. The first drink Koki ordered was a Gin Rickey. Although he was in training to be a bartender, he doesn't drink. I advised that a Gin Rickey wouldn't impress anybody, and that he should ask around to see what the party recommended. A few moments later, he sat with a miniature snifter of Jameson Irish Whiskey. After a sip or two, he concluded that it was definitely too strong. Handing it to me, the entire table watched me as I stared at it. I laughed. "You're kidding, right?" I said through smiling teeth.

"Please don't make me look bad," he said, through equally gritted teeth.

"What the fuck," I said, and down it went. I'm not a fan of whiskey, but I've got to admit it didn't burn as much as I thought it would. A number of "American Lemonades" later, 

"....and then he said to me, he says, 'but it was nice seeing you', and he shakes my goddamn hand!" The table erupted in laughter as I snorted at my own story and took another swig of lemonade. I grinned at Koki, who was nervously smiling, sipping a Tequila Sunrise. Among the people at the table were a pair of young 20-somethings who sing pop music to a backup track in Shibuya on weekends, a middle-aged female bartender from Roppongi, Koki's boss, who almost kind-of spoke English, and an older Irish man who worked in the flight simulation business and was sad that he couldn't find anybody to go to the Doobie Brothers concert with. After I got over the confusion of the Doobie Brothers playing shows in Tokyo, I sat back for a minute and wondered how the fuck I ended up in a bar talking to this guy.

At around 11:15, I started to panic, remembering that the trains stop early on Sunday, and I had to get to Takadanobaba in less than 45 minutes, which meant I had to go fast. "GOGOGO!!!" I shoved Koki out of the booth and we hastily said goodbye to all of our new friends as we walked briskly to the station. He kept poking me relentlessly whenever he was making a point, so I ended up chasing him the entire way back, whacking him with my $5 umbrella. I said goodbye and ran to the gate, praying as I got on the train that I would make it to Takadanobaba in time to transfer to the Seibu-Shinjuku line to take me back to Tanashi. I made the last train. Unfortunately, it was a local, so instead of the Express which would normally take about 15 minutes, this one took the better part of an hour. I walked home through the deserted streets of Tanashi and got home around 1am, wondering wtf just happened.

whoops.

"When you were here before, 
Couldn't look you in the eye
You're just like an angel, 
Your skin makes me cry

You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You're so fuckin' special

But I'm a creep, 
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doin' here?
I don't belong here

I don't care if it hurts, 
I wanna have control
I want a perfect body 
I want a perfect soul

I want you to notice 
when I'm not around
You're so fuckin' special
I wish I was special

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doin' here?
I don't belong here, ohhhh, ohhhh

She's running out again
She's running out
She run run run run...
run... run...

Whatever makes you happy
Whatever you want
You're so fuckin' special
I wish I was special

But I'm a creep, 
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doin' here?
I don't belong here

I don't belong here..."

Weeks of careful planning and psyching myself up for something I thought could potentially be pretty cool crashed and burned in a wreckage of molten metal and flames and looked a little something like this:

(in Japanese, outside of the JR Akihabara station as the sun sets)

"See you when I get back."

"Hey---wait."

"...what?"

"Can I talk to you alone? For, like, five minutes?"

"Uh..........why?"

"Just like--I just do. is that okay?"

"Sure, I guess."

"Okay."

"So, uhm.....what?"

"Okay. So, I'm sure you already know this but....when I'm with you, I'm really happy, and you make me smile....I haven't met anyone like you before."

"Oh."

"And....I really like you."

"............oh." The wind blew. His shoulders stiffened up and his skin lost a shade. "....wellthankyouyouseethethingisI'mverryflatteredbut.....IhaveagirlfriendbutI'vereallyenjoyedspendingtimewithyoubye." He stuck out his hand, for a handshake.

".....oh." I shook his hand. "I just wanted you to know."

"Okay. See you later."

"Yeah--hey, have a good Summer vacation."

"Yeah." He stood and looked at me for a moment in affable disgust as though I had turned inside out, but he still wanted to keep that polite, Japanese smile on his face. He left, and the sun set. 

Excuse me for believing that taking a foreign girl you just met out to dinner alone multiple times, giving her things, talking to her on Skype into the wee hours of the morning, and never even hinting at the fact that you may have a girlfriend allows one to misconceive you as being single.

I am done with Japanese men, I am done courting anyone, and if some rich, beautiful, 30-something record executive with a few houses and a motorcycle wants to propose to me, then you know what, I'll think about it. No, you don't even get an answer yet. I'm going to sit and mull this over in my head for a good week or so to determine if your kind should have a chance at marriage with me or if you all deserve to fucking die.

It was as though he officially terminated whatever relationship we had with each other. "Oh, I'm sorry, your transaction with Yohei has been denied. Thank you for using our services, goodbye."

A handshake? 

A handshake??

Perplexed and bewildered, I got on the train to Takadanobaba, a 20 minute extension from the train I could have taken to get home. I was heartbroken for about 30 seconds before I realized that if he had, indeed, said something to the effect of "Oh, really? Why, what an ironic happenstance; I too have feelings for thee!" then I would have been ready to abandon everything I really cared about, torn up the business cards I've been collecting, and prepared to be barefoot and pregnant on a goat farm somewhere out in Aomori. If I would have had a semi-stable non-career-related reason to stay attached to Japan, that would have been potentially very dangerous for both my psyche and my wallet....especially if it was to be with a guy that takes strange foreign girls out to dinner and never once mentions my name. In a few, insensitive words, I think that motherfucker just saved my life.

I was positive I had misconstrued every friend signal, come at everything from the wrong angle, and made the world's most foolish ass of myself until I talked on the phone to my mother who, although slightly bonkers, made a few good points as to how I probably couldn't have construed our situation to mean much else. 

But what could I expect?

He's pretty, 

he's Japanese,

and he's only 20.

If those weren't solid indications to keep the fuck moving, then I don't know what are. At least now I know. 

So fuck you, Japanese male population. I hope you feel some semblance of guilt the next time you scratch your head and wonder how some foreigner who hardly speaks your language could have possibly misconceived you to be single.

WHUT. MY LIFE....WHUT.

"Why all the people always seem to be just be on vacation

What do I get from it? I don't get anything at all."

Hot, tired, and really confused from the past few hours, I stumbled downstairs to watch Humi eating my donuts and Masa eating some half-priced pastries in front of the t.v.. I got a spoon for my yogurt and on my way back to my room, this random dude, maybe late 20's, blonde, kind of tall with sort of a belly, with what I may have possibly misconstrued as a slight gay lisp, says, in fluent English,

"Oh, hi there!"

 "Oh....hey?"

"You must be Alex." Whutttt how do you know my name.

"Yeah...totally."

"Neil." Neil shook my hand with the intensity of someone who is probably not gay.

"Nice to meet you."

"How long have you been here?"

"Oh you know....about a month or something. What about you?"

"About two years."

"Oh, jesus. Do you like it?"

"Not really. I'm too lazy to move. See you later." He smiled and slammed the door to his room. I blinked and ate my yogurt.

"Same boy you've always known

Well I guess I haven't grown."

Today, I got up at 9 to go meet Adrian Ho and his friends at the JR station in Ueno.

Usually when you are in a foreign country and are lucky enough to meet up with someone you know, you have most likely been close to them for a long time; at least, long enough to know that they have been traveling abroad, and close enough to the point where they would go out of their way to meet you. I met Adrian Ho 5 years ago in a Tae Kwon Do class in Bellevue, Washington. I knew him for one week. We went to dinner once, he introduced me to the Bawls energy drink--a precious fad of the days of old--and we kicked and punched our way through our severely short physical friendship. I found him on Livejournal soon after we met. I have long-since quit Tae Kwon Do, and most of my days now consist of sitting around on my ass eating yogurt and granola streaming old re-runs of Rosanne off of Youtube. But a year or two ago, Ho found me again on Facebook after we had sort of stopped talking, and due to the expansion of digital social networking and constant status updates, we discovered that we would be in the Tokyo area around the same time this Summer and, like every few years, we agreed to meet up.

I love good friendships, and I love nothing more than good friendships that don't really make sense. We got together and walked with the friends he came over with, other architecture majors from the University of Oregon in Eugene, and laughed about the old Tae Kwon Do dojo and the teriyaki chicken we ate and that one, long-lost picture of Ho in a grocery store holding a bunch of bottles of olive oil that is still somewhere, taken by my outdated camera possessed with the spirit of my dead grandmother. Ho explained that the dojo nearly went under--the IRS apparently got on the owner, Lee's ass about paying employees on the table and, unable to deal with the pressure, he left the dojo to one of the senior students and ran off to Portland. Said student really fucked things up for awhile before it was sold to another student, and apparently now things are as orderly as ever. I never really gave a fuck about that dojo, or Tae Kwon Do in general, but it was nice to hear the news.

I wandered around with Ho and these strangers like I had known them all my life. There was another stranger among them who was slightly out of the loop--a Chinese girl named Jen who knew Ho since she was a baby in Hong Kong. After growing up in China and living stateside for a few years, she decided to do exchange in Tokyo, leaving her fluent in 3 languages. Whawawhoawa. The 5 of us roamed the streets of Ueno, eating street vendor food and looking at cheap sneakers. I ordered yam soft serve ice cream....because I couldn't help myself. It was purple, and delicious, but I still wasn't really able to shake that aftertaste of fresh-baked yams. After a while, we found the entrance to a zoo! YAY!! So we spent $6 and gawked at lions, tigers, bears, monkeys, rhinos, and hippopotami to our hearts' content. I got some doughy panda themed snack and it was delicious. My shoulders slightly sunburned, I wandered around the zoo like a true American tourist--tank top, waterbottle, camera out, glossy eyed, overwhelmed look on my face the entire time. My favorite part was the sugar glider exhibit. I LOVE SUGAR GLIDERS!!! There was also a slow loris--a few in fact!! I lol'd as I was reminded of Llama, but couldn't get any pictures seeing as how they were in the nocturnal animal display hut. Zoos are so exciting, yet so melancholy at the same time. I really get a kick out of seeing exotic animals--especially tigers that are inches away from my face separated by a thick sheet of glass--but watching all of them pace monotonously around in circles in their hand-fed, cement paved environment makes me really, really uncomfortable. I try not to think about it. I just focus on how adorable the red pandas are. I DIDN'T KNOW THESE WAS RED PANDAS. A thousand internets for whoever can tap that reference.

Exhausted and overwhelmed from the excitement of staring at caged animals, we had some okonomiyaki-type food and split up, because I needed to go meet an acquaintance for a favor in Takadanobaba.

Though essentially West-Shinjuku, there's something about Takadanobaba that really weirds me out. Maybe it's the way it smells, or the way the people look. Maybe it's the abundance of rats in the street. Whatever the case, it's somewhere I would generally rather not be. But I made an agreement with a friend of a sort-of-friend that I would buy them lunch in exchange for their help. After getting off the train in Takadanobaba, I had to find Waseda University. Following along with my normal philosophy of "eh, I'll find it," I realized that this procedure often doesn't fly, especially in a portion of the city that is kind of creepy and you aren't fluent in the native language. I ended up getting directions from two policemen, an older, grey-haired woman on a bicycle, and two university students to the co-op. Albeit a supposedly repressed society, Japanese people are SO FUCKING NICE. Each one of these people went out of their way to walk me at least a block to point me in the right direction so I didn't get lost. Fortunately, my Japanese is good enough so that I can keep up with small talk and be a charming foreigner before they realize how bizarre I really am. I arrived at the co-op, and called my contact (who shall remain anonymous for now, because when we actually do meet up, their identity will give some of you some SERIOUS lulz) and he agreed to meet me. Unfortunately, as it turns out, there is more than one co-op on the Waseda University campus, and after waiting an hour, I called again to find out that he had waited for me in the other one forever, wondered why he couldn't find me, and had other business to attend to. I lol'd, because I had nothing better to do than wait outside in the warm Waseda darkness anyhow, and Tanashi is really close to Takadanobaba so I really didn't give a shit. I'll meet up with him later. As all of this waiting was happening, I noticed that there was some dude in glasses with a backpack and a nalgene bottle also waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He was also waiting at the top of the stairs when I came outside, and when I set forth on my path to return to the station, he walked in the direction I was going. Figuring he was probably just waiting for somebody too, because fuck, I can't be the only person waiting for somebody else at a damn university, I turned and exited the other way. It was the long way out of campus to the street, but it was a pretty night, and I need the exercise anyway. 

I'm walking briskly for about 15 minutes or so because, that's just kind of how I walk, when the same dude scares the living shit out of me by coming up behind me and asking where I'm going. As weird as it is, I'm kind of used to this, because I guess I'm sort of a novelty as a pasty American, and occasionally Japanese people will come up to me and ask me where I'm from, in return detailing their brief and irrelevant trip to Chicago or wherever. But I soon realized this was a little weird, because it is not just a hop, skip, and a jump from Waseda to the station....this guy must have followed me at least ten blocks. I felt honored as I recognized my first official stalker.

He followed me the remaining six blocks or so to the station, telling me that he spoke broken English and that I was very beautiful and that we should go to karaoke right now. I yawned and told him I had dinner plans with nonexistent friends. He asked if I was single, and I went on to tell him all about my blonde, Swedish boyfriend Jörgen, captain of the water polo team, who I've made up in my head for occasions such as these. After explaining that I don't have a phone, a computer, electricity, or running water and that there's absolutely no way to contact me in my commune on the farmlands of downtown Tokyo, he gave me his e-mail address, which I stuffed into my pocketbook full of all of the phone numbers and e-mail addresses I have acquired from strange men throughout this trip, none of which are Yohei's. 

Dazed and confused, I walked back to Big Wave 21 with the two donuts in a bag I had had with me the entire time, which were intended for the person I was to meet but now had no one to savor them and chomp them down. I regretted not giving the donuts to the policemen, the grey-haired lady, and the two university students. I walked into the door and saw Humi in the kitchen, cooking up his usual lavish, overly-complicated dinner. 

"Humi, do you like donuts?"

"Herro, Alex! How are you! Yes?"

"Here's some donuts. I don't want them." 

"Rearry???" His stunned reaction to the gift of stale donuts was amusing. "Thank you! Thank you for donuts!"

"Yeah, no problem."