My Life, Censored (But Only Slightly)

NEW BLOG!

2006-08-26T01:44:00.000+09:00

I know I keep doing this... But I have found a cool new place for my blog and I couldn't resist.

http://etta.vox.com/

This will (hopefully) be my last move!

NOW I KNOW MY F, V, Bs

2006-08-15T20:30:00.000+09:00

The reason I haven't been online of late is because I was taking a three-day intensive French pronunciation course.

When I say intensive, I mean intensive. I mean we start at 14.15 and chant "ah"s and "oh"s and "uhn"s until 19.00. For three. Consecutive. Days.

It wasn't quite what I expected. The instructor, who was nice enough, tried to explain the finer points of French pronunciation... in his version of Japanese. He ended up saying things like "This (pointing at the letter A) is an eel", and "An F requires a less healthy lip than a V". He also ended every sentence with an emphatic "desu!", which, while not technically wrong, started to irk me a bit by the 7th hour in.

To make matters worse, it never occurred to me that as an English speaker, it wouldn't be the best idea for me to take a French pronunciation class tailored to Japanese speakers. I have no interest in perpetuating any more stereotypes about the Japanese than is necessary, but here goes.

Here are the sounds that do not exist in Japanese:

F V J R L Si Ti ...and a handful of assorted French vowels that I don't even know how to type on my keyboard.

It's difficult learning a foreign language as it is, but doubly so for a Japanese monoglot. I can now say with absolute certainty that my Fs, Vs, and Bs will rock your world. Hopefully I didn't pick up a Japanese accent.

A BLOG RECOMMENDATION

2006-08-15T20:24:00.000+09:00

One of my favourite blogs of all time is www.dooce.com, written by the inimitable, foul-mouthed, irreverent, self-proclaimed SAHM*, and altogether fabulous recovering Mormon known as Heather B. Armstrong. To get a short and sweet example of what you might expect on her site, check this out...

*"Stay At Home Mom" or "Shit Ass Ho Motherfucker". Hey, she said it, not I.

COULDN'T THEY HAVE COME UP WITH A BETTER TITLE?

2006-08-05T01:30:00.000+09:00

Friend: "Where were you?"

Me: "I went out to get LOST."

Friend: "You went out... to get lost?! Where??"

Me: "In Jiyugaoka."

Friend: "That's your own neighborhood!"

Me: "Hunh? I know."

Friend: "You got lost in your own neighborhood?"

Me: "Yeah. At Tsutaya."

Friend: "You got lost at Tsutaya?"

KOUKI UPDATE

2006-08-03T16:51:00.000+09:00

Poor Kouki.

Not that I saw the fight, but my reliable sources gave me the play-by-play: the punky attitude, the 12 rounds, the dubious win, the bawling, the Kimi ga yo. The full hour that you couldn't get through to TBS because of all the phone calls protesting Kouki's win.

I gotta get a copy of this fight.

I DON'T BELIEVE IT

2006-08-03T00:45:00.000+09:00

Oh. My. God.

After all my gushing the day before yesterday about my favourite boy-boxer, I forgot all about his World Title match and spent the evening sipping iced tea at Ark Hills with a potential employer. I didn't realize my boo-boo until I received a text message from one of my friends, in which she complained about the rubbish rendition of "Kimi ga yo" at the end of the program. (That's the Japanese national anthem, which is notoriously devoid of melody or rhythm. Which I find hauntingly pretty, nevertheless.)

The good news is that after no trifling amount of agony this week (including a 3-hour test-fest at a dodgy recruitment agency in Toranomon) , there are some good work prospects on the horizon. Editorial work, no less. Maybe I will finally get a chance to break from my much-abhorred translation career, which, while being a totally acceptable means of making money, often brings me face-to-face with bitter Japanese women who want desperately to prove that their English is better than mine. It's a bizarre phenomenon and I still can't get my head around it.

Perhaps because I haven't had enough time to myself recently, and because I was properly violated by a sadistic, snub-nosed, and incredibly short recruitment agent, I've been feeling a bit down. And whenever I feel down, my thoughts always wander back to Jonathan, and how much I miss that guy. Death makes sense when it happens to someone you don't know. It's the simplest thing in the world, when it doesn't concern you. It's so hard for me to accept that my buddy is just gone. Poof!... and it's as if he never existed.

Meanwhile, my French adventure continues, with daily Paris apartment searches and fevered attempts to read Anna Gavalda's Je Voudrais Que Quelqu'un M'attende Quelque Part.

FRIENDLY REMINDER

2006-07-31T01:09:00.000+09:00

If you are in Tokyo this coming Wednesday, 2 August, don't forget to catch my latest crush on TBS at 19:30. I realize he's a bit silly and wears really bad outfits and he's nineteen for fuck's sake, but that doesn't change how cool he is.

Kouki Kameda (pronounced "cokey", not "cookie"), the eldest of the famed Kameda boxing brothers, will be going up against 27 year-old Venezuelan Juan Landaeta in the WBC World Light Fly Weight Championship.

Above, flanked by his two younger Kouki-facsimile brothers

You don't get the full hotness of this kid by looking at the photos. It's not about his looks (though you gotta admit, the body is pretty nice); it's the fact that he's the way a guy should be: active, family-oriented, physical, kind, and yes, a bit of a maverick. I can't tell you what a relief it is to turn on the TV and see a Japanese boy who doesn't pluck his eyebrows.

He also scores high as an entertainer, with all his bravado and his boyish presence. His dad, who is also his trainer, devises some pretty ingenious Rocky-style regimens - digging holes, catching chickens, sawing enormous felled trees - in lieu of pedestrian gym workouts.

This is a must-see.

GNWTHI SEAUTON

2006-07-28T23:35:00.000+09:00

So I was talking to a friend today, who is all into Meyers-Briggs testing. It was actually pretty cool; check it out here.

I was an ISFP. Not sure about the quiet bit, but otherwise I found it pretty accurate. Once you get your 4-letter combination, you can Google it and find no shortage of personality profiles and recommended career lists, etc.

ETTA, MEET PARANOIA. PARANOIA, ETTA.

2006-07-25T22:25:00.000+09:00

This is trauma.

I'm an adult attending French class of my own accord and paying out of my own pocket - and yet, when the teacher asks to see me, I get a tight knot in my stomach. And it's not because he's kind of cute; it's because I think he might fail me or chastise me for not applying myself.

Just to get the facts straight: I have learned, in the last 10 years, to get to class on time and to have my homework done. I no longer pass notes in class, nor do I pay any heed to the faculty's dubious fashion sense. I know this is nothing to be proud of a hair's width from my thirtieth birthday, but I thought it pertinent to include my maturity progress report to prove just how illogical my paranoia is.

But alas! 15 horrible years of schooling have rendered me an emotional cripple. Even now, I'm convinced that my classmates don't like me. Never mind that their median age is 46 and that they have bigger fish to fry than the sweaty, terrified 30 year-old in the cowering in the corner.

Christ, etta. Get it together.

Anyway, the teacher called me aside after class to tell me that my oral expression has improved. He said he had noticed that I speak better when I don't make eye contact with anyone (because I'm dark/weird/anti-social/the anti-christ, obviously). And therefore, his bonne idee was that I bring LES LUNETTES to class next week.

Like they don't all think I'm weird enough already. I have to wear shades in class now?

CHINESE TELEPHONE

2006-07-23T00:05:00.000+09:00

At my French class this evening, my cute teacher was explaining that someone told someone else who told someone else who told someone else who told him that one of the students had a baby a few days ago.

He asked if we knew what this was called - "this" being the sort of meandering word-of-mouth that travels like a hard-working virus through a group of people on common ground. "Le telephone...??" he inquired to the room.

Now, while my reading comprehension and grammatical knowledge have shown some improvement, I still have problems making out what the bloody hell people are saying. I also have major problems speaking up in class (which should shock everyone who knows me).

In a sudden flash of brilliance, I had a vision of mini-me playing a game on the schoolbus with some classmates. It was our favourite game, in which A would whisper something to B, B would pass the message on to C, and by the time we got to F, the message would be horribly mangled and we'd all think it was hysterical.

So it would make sense that the third time I open my mouth at French school, it would be for a resounding, "LE TELEPHONE CHINOIS!"

Well, that wasn't it. I got some strange looks and confused pourquoi?s, but my French isn't fluent enough to defend my response. I was too busy feeling like a giant ass to catch the answer.

Can't wait until my French is good enough to convince everyone that I'm not a freak. Pas vraiment.

JAPAN'S CONTRIBUTION TO THE FOOTIE

2006-07-20T12:54:00.000+09:00

Who knew that Japan created such football greats as Zidane, Totti, and Del Piero??

Perhaps a slight exaggeration, but these star athletes credit Japanese comic classic "Captain Tsubasa" as a major influence in their decision to play the beautiful game.

The animation program is shown around the world - Asia to America, Europe and the Middle East (where the title has been localized to something like "Captain Masoud" - while kids are familiar with the program, most people allegedly do not realize it's a Japanese story).

IT WASN'T MEANT TO BE

2006-07-18T23:21:00.000+09:00

Some of you may remember that after much well-meaning nagging and prodding by friends, with some Cinderella stories thrown in for good measure, I set up an online profile at a dating site a few months back.

And still some of you may also remember that things were starting to heat up in cyberspace, with the possibility of a Johnny Depp-lookalike loiterer. (OK, to be fair, loitering is what the Internet was created for.)

Well, I just received an e-mail saying that after 3 years of matchmaking, the site was pulling the plug on their servers. It's a global conspiracy to keep me single. To all y'alls who were telling me I was single because I wasn't trying hard enough, YOU CAN'T SAY THAT ANYMORE. So there. Ner-ner-ner-ner-ner.

The good news is that I have not seen a single roach in my abode since setting up my vermin torture station (thanks to COMBAT), and that I have landed myself a short-term editing position here in Tokyo.

Sadly, I'm more excited about pesticides and moneymaking prospects than meeting someone new. Is this what happens when you've been single and loveless too long?

THERE ARE NO PRISONERS IN ROACH WARS

2006-07-12T17:19:00.000+09:00

Last night, as I was surfing the Net in bed, I caught something zooming into the 2 nanometer space under my mattress.

Oh yes. It was a big motherfu#$er of a cockroach. The shiny, brown herald of summer. *

To make a long story short, I freaked out and slept on the couch in the living room. Due to the fact that I did not even get close to my non-negotiable 8 hours of sleep, as well as the thought that vermin are multiplying in my domain every second that I am not spraying pesticide, I am in quite the funk.

In the morning, red eyes rimmed with blue-black circles, I stomped straight to the pharmacy to get some of the most vicious roach-killers money could buy. I got two cans of spray and 2 boxes of really evil-looking pesticide boxes, designed to adhere to dark corners in problem areas.

I came home and read the usage instructions for the little parcels of death, which delicately described the product's two-fold efficacy:

"When the roach eats the pesticide in the box, it will die. If it doesn't, it will return to its nest and die there, after which the other roaches will eat the contaminated corpse and its refuse. This will kill the others."

I know I asked for vicious, but I started wondering about my karma. Could there be any worse way to die? It's like I'm running my own private Gitmo. Everyone who has used this product in this life will probably pay in their next by coming back as a roach.

Euuuughhh. Oh well. I'm using it anyway.

*According to my friend Jeffy, it's the small ones you need to worry about. The big ones, he says, are "transient". He would know. He's a native New Yorker.

WADA FOLLOWUP

2006-07-11T15:39:00.000+09:00

Following the Wada-Sughi fiasco in June, the Cultural Affairs ministry has revised its criteria for candidate selection of the (totally uncreatively named) Education, Science, and Technology Minister's Art Encouragement Prize.

The panel of judges will be increased from 7 to 11, and a closer examination of the candidates background, including time spent abroad, will be required in the selections process.

Better late than never.

HUNH?!

2006-07-10T18:45:00.000+09:00

Zidane was named MVP of the World Cup?!?

ON SECOND THOUGHT,

2006-07-10T18:29:00.000+09:00

Forget what I said in my previous post about Zidane. Any respect I've ever had for the guy disappeared with his ridiculous head-butt move in the finals.

What happened? I always liked Zidane for his sang-froid. Let's face it - he lacks the energy and hotness of other younger footballers. If not for his mature dignity, why should we like him?

LES BLEUS

2006-07-09T00:23:00.000+09:00

I have renewed my respect for Zinedine Zidane. He's arguably the French squad's best all-round player, despite his age and his nasty little habit.

TOKYO TIPS

2006-07-07T00:23:00.000+09:00

A few days ago, I met up with a friend, whom I shall call Y-N. Our itinerary included lunch at the hyped Beacon (where Royal Host used to be, across from Kodomo No Shiro) in Shibuya, after which we would catch the 14:50 showing of the hyped Warner Bros. offering, Death Note, at Shibuya Cine Palace (on the cobbled hill adjacent to Loft).

The Japan Times did a review on Beacon, in which the Beacon Burger was presented as the freaking apotheosis of all burgers. Of course, the lure of expertly grilled beef in a bun was impossible to ignore. Nothing else could possibly have convinced me to leave the dry comfort of my home for a trek through the torrential downpour. But in my defense, the way they put it, it was like the Holy Fucking Grail.

Okay, so the burger was good, but I didn't think it was the exalted food of the gods. For starters, it bled all over my plate. As a strictly medium-well kinda girl, it was the stuff horror movies are made of. The restaurant was slick, but in a superficial way. The staff were charming but sort of strange. For instance, we ordered a glass of sparkling water each, and yet somehow we ended up with 2 glasses of regular water, 1 glass of sparkling water, and 2 glasses of iced tea. All this and our lunches at a small table for two. But whatever, I was super thirsty.

When we got to the cinema, the place was packed to the hilt. We were told that we would have to watch standing. This is commonplace in Tokyo, although having done it once to see Ghost in junior high, I swore I would never do it again. Death Note has been playing for almost a month by now. I didn't expect it to be so crowded on a weekday.

Instead, Y-N and I went to HMV to take advantage of their sale (funny enough, every time they have a sale, it's their "biggest one ever"). Afterwards, she took me to a gem of a place to buy proper running shoes. And really, this is the point I wanted to make all along.

And since this post is called Tokyo Tips:

*Y-N has been running the Honolulu Marathon now for a couple of years and buys her marathon gear at Art Sports in Shibuya. People, if you need running, triathlon, or tennis gear, go here.

*Best place to run in Tokyo: along Tama River. For easy access, set your start line at the Futako Tamagawa station end. 17:00 ~ 19:00 is the best time to run in the summer; don't go any later as it attracts its fair share of perverts and wackos.

* Beacon was good but I much prefer its sister restaurant, which I hesitate to name as I'd like to keep it a secret. But who am I kidding? I'm probably the last person in Tokyo to have gone there anyway. It's Cicada in Nishi-azabu. Beautiful, inventive food in a relaxed yet luxuriant atmosphere. Beacon doesn't have a website yet, but you can read the review if you register at www.japantimes.co.jp.

* Wanna see Death Note? Sitting? Either catch the 09:30 or 12:10 showing at Shibuya Cine Palace, or wait til it comes out on DVD.

* Not sure when HMV's "Biggest Sale Ever" ends, but at any rate, this is a good season to go shopping in Tokyo. Everything is on sale and the weather's dreadful, anyway.

AS IF I WEREN'T BAD ENOUGH WITH NUMBERS

2006-07-06T23:48:00.000+09:00

Last Saturday marked my third French lesson. I was having some problems figuring out what page I was supposed to be on.

To remedy the situation, I've been reviewing the numbers - or les chiffres, even - in a copiously illustrated French instruction book. In case you were wondering (because, really, you might have been), French numbers are a nightmare.

Here's the proof:

0... zero
1... un
2... deux

So far, so good...

7... sept (Oui, as in septembre, the 9th month of the year, which used to be the 7th. Only slightly confusing.)

8... huit (Some rule about not pronouncing the final "t" if it's followed by some words. Or something or other.)

Ok. This is doable, right?

15... quinze (Holy nasalness.)

16... seize (Not to be confused with "to grasp forcibly".)

17... dix-sept (Uh-huh. Quoi?)

And this is where the madness begins.

60... soixante

70... soixante-dix (60 + 10)

71... soixante et onze (60 + 11)

80... quatre-vingts (4 X 20)

90... quatre-vingt-dix (4 X 20 + 10)

91... quatre-vingt-onze (4 X 20 + 11)

I'm glad we're well into the noughties. Can you imagine figuring out how to say "let's party like it's 1999" after a few glasses of New Year's bubbly?

(1999: mille neuf cents quatre-vingt-dix-neuf)

ARMAGEDDON

2006-07-06T00:34:00.000+09:00

I'm not even over-reacting. North Korea shot seven missiles at us today.

Seven.

Not that it matters so much how many - it's the fact that they shot at us at all - but seven? People are dying because they don't have food or shelter, but their insane leader has sons visiting Tokyo Disneyland, an extensive DVD collection of Hollywood movies, and seven missiles to plunge into the Sea Of Japan because he feels like making a statement? (Don't ask what this statement is. Nobody knows.)

There's nothing scarier than an idiot in a position of power. All the more reason to move back to Europe (with its riots, terrorism, heat waves, and public transport systems that don't work) ASAP.

OH. MY. GOD.

2006-07-03T22:15:00.000+09:00

Nakata is retiring?!? He's only 29 - surely he's got a good two years left in him.
What's he going to do now? Design snack packaging?
What the fuck?

OK, STILL NOT DONE WITH THE WORLD CUP POSTS

2006-07-02T15:31:00.000+09:00

How boring was the England vs. Portugal match? As if it weren't bad enough, they had to go through the extra 15 minutes of extended time during which nothing happened anyway, only to end on a pretty rubbish penalty shootout.

And loony Rooney getting himself kicked off the pitch? In such a crucial game? Silly kid.

I do have a bit more respect for David Beckham now, though. He's very captain-like and appears to be a good sport. It also helps that he seems to have lost the big diamond studs and fussy coiffs for this tournament. Long after the score has been forgotten, people remember how well (or poorly) the players behaved on the field. Speaking of which, my image of Cristiano Ronaldo, Totti, and the whole of Team Argentina has taken a beating.

I don't really know who to root for anymore, especially since Brazil lost to France, thanks to 34 year-old "old-timer" Zidane (yet another shock). Maybe France, in case I move there.

BITE ON MY LINE

2006-06-30T22:51:00.000+09:00

Some of you may remember that I decided to go a-fishin' for men online in January, as one of my annual, mostly ill-fated, "Brand New Me" projects.

Because the whole thing still creeps me out, I only posted a very blurry picture and tagged my account "for friendship". When I first created an account, I labeled it "for romance" and attracted just about the biggest freaks in cyberspace.

Since then, the e-mails have gotten increasingly rare and marginally more normal. But the other day, I got a response from a guy I haven't been able to figure out yet.

The good news is: he looks like Johnny Depp. The bad news is: he says he looks like Johnny Depp. (God his name looks weird in print.) This could be a lucky break or it could be a huge bummer.

Who knows?

M.I.A.

2006-06-30T21:26:00.000+09:00

A couple of reasons I've been MIA:

1. I got hooked on Prison Break. Unfortunately, I've now seen all of Season 1 - and Season 2 won't be coming out until god-knows-when. On the upside, we have finally gotten copies of Lost and Sin City at my local video rental place in this Asian riverside outpost that is my neighborhood. I expect to be away from my computer a lot this week.

2. I've mentioned this before, but I've been churning out food reviews in the hope of getting them published. Fingers crossed.

3. I got the coolest toy. Technically, I found it while I was clearing out the garage. It's a cute little printer that you connect directly to your digital camera. Google it - the Selphy 400. Highly recommended. This thing will keep me entertained for weeks.

4. OK, this is embarrassing... but I've been struggling through Le Petit Prince. Mais oui, I'm talking about the fable charmante loved by French 3 year-olds the world over. I'm realizing now that it really must be read in French to really get a sense of la poesie; unfortunately, this means that I pass out every 2 pages because it's so fucking draining to read in a foreign language. As per La M's suggestion, I was also considering attempting Camus' The Outsider in the original French; good thing I picked up Le PP first, to show me that anything above age 3-level is out of the question at the moment. I am reading it in English and enjoying it much more than I did in highschool.

BUSY...

2006-06-28T00:14:00.000+09:00

Been busy the last 2 weeks. I've decided that I need to get my shit together and get some articles published. (So if you know of anyone who works in the media, please let me know!)

In the meantime, here's an outrageous blog, as recommended by my outrageous mate, Stevie P. Thanks, Steve-O!

MY LAST WORLD CUP 2006 POST - MAYBE

2006-06-24T01:17:00.000+09:00

Good job Zico Japan, for the lone goal against Brazil (I hear that is the first goal scored against the football powerhouse at this World Cup). I can't say much more, as I slept through my 3:30 am alarm and missed the match altogether.

As much as I think Japan could have won against Australia and Croatia, they didn't. So, as a result, I suppose this is just proof that they're just not that good. As in, worse than even I expected.

It seems to me that while there are some good players on the Japanese national team, they lack passion and teamwork (and IMHO, they need a coach who is a first and foremost a strategist, former star or not). The lack of passion is something I find across the board in Japan. I could write a book on this. As for the perceived lack of teamwork, there are some (MUCH better informed) sources of the same opinion. Apparently, the team is suffering a rift between star player Hidetoshi Nakata (Bolton) and, well, everyone else.

It's no secret that I think Nakata is hot. But this World Cup has definitely diminished my respect for him. I don't know him personally, of course, but his body language and facial expressions when speaking with his teammates appeared somewhat bossy. He also made a lot of long cross passes that ended up being freebies for the opposing team, because no mortal could possibly run fast enough to catch up with that shiznit.

It must be difficult when your teammates don't reach your expectations or aren't up to your standard. But Ronaldinho puts up with it, and look how much cooler he comes off in the media.

As my high school volleyball coach used to say, a team is only as good as its worst player. (Which was probably why she thought it would be okay to kick me off senior year.)

THIS EXPLAINS A LOT

2006-06-22T23:37:00.000+09:00

According to an article in the IHT today, supporters of Zico Japan in Germany showed up in droves to observe their training session. Not happy just observing, 1,500 people booed and shouted insults at the players.

While I can understand the irritation of those supporters who have worked hard to save money for the last 3 years to take their week-long football vacation with its 20,000 dollar price tag, the question still remains: What's wrong with these people?

I mean, seriously. Why can't they just be civilized and badmouth their team on their blogs, like me?

WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE THEY THINKING?

2006-06-22T23:22:00.000+09:00

I can't be the only one who finds the Australian tourism commercial weird:

"We saved you a spot on the bye-tch...?"
"...And we chased the roos off the grine...?"
"...Dinnah's about to be served...?"

"SO WHERE THE BLOODY HELL ARE YA?"

I guess the ad is fulfilling its purpose by irritating people to the point of doing Google searches for the asinine tagline. The bloody thing's been bothering me for a few months now but I thought I'd keep it to myself, as I didn't want to come off as anti-Oz. Because, you know, I'm not.

However.

Between Socceroos, mozzies, this bloody ad, and some spyware I can't remove from my computer that insists on showing me the gnarliest, most minging, most desperate half-naked Australian chicks with naff handles like 2cute4u, I think I'm entitled to say that none of these things are doing the country any favours.

FOOTBALL

2006-06-19T20:41:00.000+09:00

That's it. The Australia game was bad enough but after the Croatia match, I'm ready to jump ship. Maybe I'll support Sweden or France. Might as well support Brazil, as that's easiest on my nervous system.

I couldn't believe my eyes when Kawaguchi missed a ball rolling toward him at about 2 meters an hour. Thank god it didn't coast into the goal. All the Japan players would have had to remain in Germany as immigrants indefinitely, if they allowed that to happen.

Can someone please tell me what is going on with Japan? Don't they want to win? They do realize this is the World Cup, right?

At least Japan hasn't resorted to the kind of bad form displayed in the Italy vs. U.S.A. match, when refs were handing out red cards like it was going out of style. Both teams were unsportsmanlike, but Italy had the good sense to at least act sorry about the brouhaha afterwards. The U.S. team and media, on the other hand, can't get over how proud they are that their boys have risked life and limb for their country. It's a SOCCER GAME, people.

And then there was that one U.S. player who made some comment about "being here for war". That's it, buster. Way to win U.S. allies on the world stage.

FREE ONLINE HOROSCOPES

2006-06-19T20:23:00.000+09:00

Tracking back Google searches that led to this blog, I saw that the greatest number of visitors came looking for a wide variety of sick shit, while “2006 horoscopes” was a close second. People hoping to find good news in their corner of the sky this year were met with Adam Sandler’s horoscopes – not something one would want to read when looking desperately for some sign of hope. So, without further ado, here is THE ETTA LIST for BEST FREE ASTROLOGY SITES (IMHO):

5. Carolyn Reynolds
Very irregularly updated but accurate monthly horoscopes. Ms. Reynolds is the author of the stupendous Book Of Lovers, which changed the way I saw astrology forever.

4. Jonathan Cainer
Updated daily and weekly (with a link to Yasmin Boland, who does a very good monthly horoscope - filled with typos and French affectations but good nonetheless) by high-profile Brit astrologer Mr. Cainer. I usually end up disappointed by the wishy-washy predictions but I do continue to check, all the same.

3. Susan Miller
In-depth, voluminous monthlies that are updated within the first week of every month. I find the detailed predictions don’t really apply to me (nor do they apply to my friend, who has been told every month for the last 3 years that she would probably get pregnant) but it’s a good general overview. It’s obvious that this woman puts a lot of time and effort into this site, and that in itself makes me want to like it.

2. Bridgett Walther
Famous around the world for its horoscopes, Elle magazine offers a free online version, consisting of Daily, Weekly, and Monthly. Accurate, concise, and truly fabulous.

And the number one spot goes to:

1. Rob Brezsny
Fantastic weekly horoscopes teeming with beauty, truth, wit, optimism, and poetry. Blessedly free of gratuitous information concerning the location of Uranus, etc.

EBONICS FOR JAPANESE SPEAKERS

2006-06-17T02:55:00.000+09:00

Only in Japan...

http://www.beckysweb.co.uk/beckysblog/2006/03/conversational-ebonics.asp

THE NOTORIOUS B.I.G.

2006-06-17T02:48:00.000+09:00

I love Ready To Die. The fact that someone loves his equipment so much to blather about it for over an hour cracks me up. In standard English, however, One More Chance doesn't exactly work...

DEBUT

2006-06-14T01:21:00.000+09:00

I had a free trial lesson at the French school near my house today.

The Japanese receptionist greeted me from behind a desk in the makeshift office, tucked into the kitchen of a 2-story house. She asked me if I'd ever studied French. I wanted to explain that I'm Anglophone, that I studied Ancient Greek, Latin, and Italian in college, that I (supposedly) studied Spanish in junior high, and that I am now stumbling through Le Petit Prince and Penguin Parallel Text.... But halfway through, when I realized I was being a complete bore, I boiled it down to: "No."

At that point, the teacher came tearing down the stairs. (These Japanese houses were not built with the 6-foot male in mind.) The receptionist presented my essential information to him in rapid-fire French. We exchanged quick enchantes and I followed him to the "classroom", a quondam master bedroom perhaps, as he lumbered back up the stairs. And so it began.

"Je......... mmmmm'appellllllle....... LAU-RENT!! " announced the Parisien instructor. "Jjjjjje... abiiiiiite a Tokyo. Commmment. Vous. Appellez. VOUS?"

Apparently we don't share the same definition of debutante. Somehow, I managed to respond with, "Je m'appelle etta, et j'abite aussi a Tokyo." What a mistake that was. I should have added a few extra consonants and ellipses myself. Laurent laughed sheepishly.

"Ah! Pardonnez-moi. Vous pouvez parler francais! Jepensaisquevousnepouvezpasparlerfrancaisparcequeonm'aditquevousetiez
unedebutante..." At least, this is what I'm guessing he said once he reverted to normal Parisian pace. Suddenly I couldn't hear anything anymore, besides that annoying David Blunt song that I can't seem to get out of my head, because they're using it for a car commercial here. I could also feel my right eyelid begin twitching uncontrollably.

A solitary word appeared in the dim vacuum of my mind: Fuuuuuuuuuuuccccccckkk.

The instructor caught on very quickly that while my past language training has helped my comprehension of syntax and granted me an ability to guess some French vocabulary within reason, my listening skills are sub-par. He was cool about it and I ended up enjoying the lesson, although I was exhausted by the end. It also doesn't hurt that he's a cute French guy (who is married and we don't go there).

Anyway, the good news is that unbelievably, I can go straight into intermediaire, which will save me quite a bit of time and money. I still haven't committed to it but today I saw, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I will need to take proper conversation classes before I so much as think about going to Paris.

I'll call them tomorrow to apply.

AUSTRALIA VS. JAPAN

2006-06-13T00:38:00.001+09:00

Our boys in blue were beaten 3-1 by Australia. I'm not crushed by this defeat because I don't follow Japanese football and I'm not even Japanese. I am, however, slightly more disappointed than I expected I would be.

The entertainment began with Shunsuke Nakamura's possibly unintentional goal early in the first half. Actually, for me, the entertainment began with a close-up of Alessandro Santos, the most un-Japanese Japanese representative on the planet, soulfully belting out “Kimi Ga Yo” as if he were Michael Bolton, while his confreres mumbled through it. But maybe that's just me.

Zico Japan, for the most part, was solid. The first 80 minutes or so saw a handful of seriously gorgeous saves by keeper Kawaguchi, and the percentage of possession appeared to be higher on the Japanese side. All of the "samurais" made up for their lack of height by scooting around like sweaty, busy Energizer Bunnies.

But why oh why do they topple over so easily? The difference in mass may make a minor run-in with a Socceroo (good team, stupid name*) feel like a car accident with an oversized kangaroo, but really. If you fall every time someone brushes by you, people are going to start thinking foot-binding is a Japanese thing. Having said that, there is no doubt that there were some real stinking fouls. I used to have a thing for Aloisi, but not after seeing him resort to playground shoving against Nakazawa of the spectacularly fluffy hair. (Kewell, though - be still my beating heart. Oh I'm a betrayer, get over it.)

Anyway, kudos to the Socceroos, who hammered the Japanese with 2 well-executed goals in the last 9 minutes of the match, despite – let's face it – a demoralizing goalless hour under the relentless German sun.

As aggressive and able as the Australians were, that was a game that Zico Japan could have won. What happened? I have my theories but I'll leave that to the experts.

*I once broke up with an Australian guy because he called mosquitoes "mozzies" - it was the LAST STRAW. The first time I heard someone speak to me in this way, I thought they were starting shit with me by employing "baby talk". I mean, let's be honest here. Does Socceroo sound like a character from Blue's Clues or what?

THE BEST TWEEZER IN THE WORLD?

2006-06-11T19:22:00.000+09:00

Anyone who has been keeping up with Allure magazine knows that the mere mention of Tweezerman launches ardent affirmations of love from celebrity make-up artists. Because I am a sucker, I bought a pair of slant-edged Tweezermans for 16 quid on the ground floor of Selfridges a few years ago. At the time, I was between jobs and subsisting almost solely on boiled eggs and cans of tuna. That 16 quid would have bought me three takeaway hake and chip dinners at my local chippie, the reliable North Sea Fish Restaurant.

So you can imagine my disappointment when I went home and found that these tweezers wouldn't pick up a single hair. It really was dismal. Not that I tried, but I doubt I would have been able to pick up a soggy chip if I skewered it with the damn thing. Thus, my Tweezerman was laid to rest in its pretty plastic case, free to go to that big Selfridges Beauty Lab in the sky, until it was unearthed during a cleaning spree of previous months.

Unsurprisingly, it still didn't work. Fueled by bitter memories of missed fish dinners, I told everyone who would listen about my Tweezerman trials. (You'd be surprised how many of us anti-Tweezerman brigade members there are out there.) Not expecting much, I scribbled a complaint and threw it into a padded mailer, along with the offending product, to the Customer Care Center. (I realize this blog makes it sound as though I'm constantly writing letters of complaint. It's really not as compulsive as it may appear.)

A few weeks later, when I had just about forgotten the whole debacle, Tweezerman came home. And guess what? It still didn't work.

The moral of the story is: BUY REVLON.

MORE SHAME

2006-06-11T18:32:00.000+09:00

Now that the Sughi-Wada debacle has calmed down here, I have found something else to get riled up about. (N.B. There are a lot of bizarre "stress crimes" committed against children in Japan, but I tend not to discuss them. It's just too sad and too gross to bear.)

The latest news is that of the Killer Elevator, which crushed a 16 year-old to death at his apartment building in Tokyo's Minato Ward. Apparently, this elevator, manufactured by the Schindler Group, is not the first to bludgeon a passenger to death; at least 5 people have died in New York and Beijing while riding this murderous contraption. On the "deadly injured" 16 year-old's "tragic accident", the press release states:

Schindler has no design related user fatalities on record. Fatal accidents in the elevator industry are mainly due to inappropriate maintenance or dangerous user behavior in the context of entrapment.

Is it just me, or does this not sound like an apology? Am I supposed to feel okay about Schindler's product because the "tragic accident" was caused by the boy not riding the elevator correctly?

Outrageous.

WADA UPDATE

2006-06-08T01:48:00.000+09:00

The "artist" Yoshihiko Wada (ie. "con artist", rather than "painter") has been stripped of 2 awards, thank god.

This man is nutso. I was watching a news program featuring this story, in which it was revealed that Wada tried to convince people that he taught Signor Sughi how to paint, among other things. He sent a fax to the Cultural Affairs Ministry saying that he was returning the award so as to avoid the humiliation of having his award revoked. How about the humiliation of being a total moron? Blessedly, the Ministry's response was a resounding WHATEVER as they proceeded to eradicate the honor.

As for Signor Sughi, he is no longer planning to sue Wada or the Ministry - but he does believe that he deserves a written apology from the Ministry, as well as a big exhibition in Tokyo. I like this guy. Thanks to Wada, Signor Sughi is now one of the most famous artists in Japan. I hope he comes out here and makes tons of money.

THE DA VINCI CODE

2006-06-08T01:13:00.000+09:00

I caught the 11:00 showing of The Da Vinci Code today at Roppongi Hills, in an effort to help me relax before my dentist appointment (which didn't stop me from eating a whole bucketful of popcorn). I didn't realize the movie was being shown on the Premier Screen, a slightly smaller version of the regular screen with slightly roomier seats. For these things you are charged a rather hefty 3000 yen a head. The justification is that you get a free drink.

While the iced oolong tea was definitely not worth the extra 1000 yen, I have to say I enjoyed the movie. True - not a classic by any stretch of the imagination, but a solid, Hollywood-style offering that was true to the book. I can't figure out what exactly all the critics had against this innocuous summer blockbuster. Call me simplistic but I start thinking that maybe they're just jealous because they didn't write the book and make a gazillion dollars themselves.

My only complaint about the movie would be that some parts were laughably melodramatic. As much as I love Paul Bettany, the sight of Silas performing corporeal punishment on himself and wincing and groaning with each and every blow was kind of ridiculous. And the dramatic overtures swelling with the velvety strains of strings every 4 bloody minutes ran the risk of turning each climactic scene (and there were a lot of them) into parodies.

But all in all, good clean fun. If you don't fancy the queues or sitting in a packed cinema (or paying 3000 yen for a somewhat less-packed cinema), it wouldn't kill you to wait until it comes out on DVD - but do see it and decide for yourself whether or not you like it.

SHAME

2006-06-04T10:48:00.000+09:00

(Above: "Nocturne 1", Alberto Sughi, 1998)

In the Japanese news this week: painter Yoshihiko Wada (66) is being investigated by the Cultural Affairs agency, pertaining to his works which were copied from those of Italian Alberto Sughi (77). OK - technically, they are trying to figure out if they were copied - but if you saw the 20+ paintings, there would be no doubt. If anyone says they weren't copied, it could only be to make the distinction that they were probably even traced.

(Above: "Nightclub", Yoshihiko Wada, 2000)

Unbelievably, Wada vehemently denies the claims. He probably should have reconsidered sending Sughi a letter begging him not to sue him, because he is dying of lung cancer and wants to live the rest of his days in peace. NB: He sure didn't look like he was on his last legs on the news this morning.

Sughi revealed his intention to sue Wada and the Cultural Affairs Agency for the paltry forgeries and subsequent award on a Japanese news program, which conducted an interview at his home in Rome.

Fraudsters and robbers exist in every country, at any given time. The worst part of this whole debacle is the fact that the Cultural Affairs agency awarded Wada the Education, Science, and Technology Minister's Art Encouragement Prize just this past March. My total lack of respect for bureaucrats is nothing new; I can't, however, get over the humiliation of living in a country where their incompetence is such that criminals are awarded and revered. It's like they're too busy spending tax-yen to install 24-carat toilet seats in their 17-bedroom mansions and buying limited-edition Bentleys to actually pay any attention to what is happening in the world. It's just so embarrassing.

It's not the first time this has happened either. In 2001, Shinichi Fujimura (a.k.a. "God's Hands", referring to his uncanny ability to unearth vast numbers of valuable artifacts at an alarming frequency), a celebrated archaeologist, was found burying fake paleolithic remnants at an archaeological site. Following the fiasco, his findings were removed from museums and history books were revised and re-published.

I have no more words for these morons. If I knew how to attach a video of me shaking my head in disgust, you know I would.

*Update here.

WALK THE LINE

2006-05-29T13:29:00.000+09:00

It's hardly late-breaking news that I finally saw a movie that came out in the U.S. 6 months ago but what the hell. I saw Walk The Line last night, which was much better than I had expected. The acting was good, the screenplay was good, and I can't believe the actors were able to learn to sing like that for their roles.

The thing I loved most, though, was that Johnny Cash proposed to June Carter, like, 58 times before she said yes. As much as the idea of marriage is somewhat repulsive to me (especially the wedding bit - EW), I pray this is the way it went down in real life. I need to believe that this kind of romance could potentially happen. Of course, this only works if the guy isn't a scary stalker who makes your bagel sandwich every day at the office canteen, and only if you were in love with him to begin with. In which case you'd likely say yes before forcing him to ask the same question 58 times. So, okay, I guess this kind of romance is not something that would happen in real life. SIGH.

On the subject of Hollywood illusions, I ran across a picture that embodies every reason I've never liked Jude Law, on the laudable celebrity goss site Pink Is The New Blog. My friends can't understand why I find this media-proclaimed superhunk so gross. For starters, here's one reason:

That's right, folks. He wears his boxers and trainers that look like duck feet when he goes jogging - as if he doesn't look strange enough when he's exercising. Besides that, I just get the impression that he's petite, prissy, fashion-y, pompous, and letchy. There's also something sinister about him, which I haven't been able to pin down as of yet. At any rate, click over to the site now and check it out - it really is some of the best, most entertaining, hilarious trash out there in an easily digestible, fast-loading, regularly updated package.

HELLO SUDAN

2006-05-28T20:55:00.000+09:00

Someone read my blog in Khartoum. That is so fucking cool.

Yay Internet!

JE SUIS UNE VRAIE GIROUETTE

2006-05-28T14:09:00.000+09:00

Apparently that means, "I am a true weather vane" - ie. I change my mind easily. Gotta love these French expressions. It's a language with the kind of strangeness that could only come from being so ancient.

Anyway, back to the point. After all this talk about Hawaii and Montreal and Kenya and India and wherever else, I have now decided that there has always been a big Paris-shaped hole in my future plans.

You see, I recently met up with an old school mate, whom I shall call La M, which I rather like because it's got that "international woman of mystery" thing happening (which isn't too far from the truth). La M has blossomed into a tres chic and very fabulous mademoiselle, who works in an organization dedicated to saving the world. Said organization is, of course, based in Paris.

And she reads this blog. Could she be any cooler?

Over a decidedly un-chic but nonetheless satisfying, carnivorous, budget-friendly meal at Toraji in Ebisu (3000 yen a head and I was stuffed), I learned, among other things, that:

It is possible to learn to speak French fluently, even if you are (way) past your formative, single-digit years.
Paris rent is chips-cheap when compared to Tokyo, New York, San Francisco, and London prices.
Contrary to reports by the international media, Paris is not, in fact, on fire. La M saw exactly one (1) burning car at the end of her street during the "Paris riots" of recent months.
There are a handful of renowned institutions that offer short-term intensive courses in French.
If I do go to Paris, I should go for the city, culture, and/or food, but not for the men.

Methinks I must go to Paris. The new plan is as follows: Hawaii for 2 weeks in September; Paris for 3 months for spring session 2007; Montreal (or perhaps Paris if I can get my head around those subjunctives and indefinite articles) by the end of 2007; Kenya next summer; and India whenever my friend Oliver is settled in.

Now all I have to do is find a way to make a few million yen in the coming months to support my travel and relocation habit.

MY FIRST SUNNY BIRTHDAY

2006-05-23T22:52:00.000+09:00

With the sole exception of the day I was born, every single birthday has been rainy. I've had birthdays on at least 3 continents and in several times that number of cities. And I've had it up to here. Thus, I have decided on a fairly foolproof location in which to celebrate my 3rd decade on the planet.

Oahu, Hawaii.

It's not exactly exotic, but what's not to like? (OK, downtown Honolulu is like hell on Earth. Besides that.) There is no shortage of things to do -- and for the severely jet-lagged, the relaxed ambience non pareil permits guilt-free sloth. It's pretty, warm, cheaper than Europe, features modern conveniences like dryers and Internet access, and, dammit, it's sunny. I'm thinking about 10 days beginning the last week of September.

Who's game?

MUSEUM OF COMTEMPORARY OR MODERN OR WHATEVER ART AND STUFF

2006-05-20T21:21:00.000+09:00

Today I tried to check out the Tsuguharu Foujita exhibition at the National Museum Of Modern Art. I say I tried because somehow, I ended up at the Museum Of Contemporary Art instead. For two institutions dedicated to the pursuit of creativity, they didn't get too original on the nomenclature front. Note to tourists: Despite their almost-identical names (especially in Japanese), these museums are in no way related, nor are they situated anywhere near each other.

The temporary exhibit featured the collection of the Fondation Cartier pour l'art contemporain. With the sole exception of the freakishly enormous Gulliver-style woman lounging in bed, I thought the art on show was a bit of a cop-out. Personally, I'm sick of anything that earns the esteemed label of "fine art" through reliance on props considered risque by the conservative intelligentsia, or themes capable of bringing up issues of political correctness.

For instance, wander into a jungle somewhere and take a nude photograph of an aboriginal woman. I guarantee you, most people will wax poetic about the beauty of the work, lest they risk being pegged a (gasp!) xenophobe. Wanna be shocking? Paint a panel that looks like it has innards oozing out of it. Please. Don't underestimate your audience, buddy. If you want to shock me, you'll need to tell me that my mother is actually a man, and that my true biological parent is Paris Hilton, who is really a 50-year old Japanese woman. Or something like that. You'll have better luck impressing me with skill and aesthetic sense than with (yawn) shock tactics.

In summary, I expected more from Cartier. Even having accounted for the subjective nature of art, I still wasn't very impressed. Don't take my word for it, though - the collection is there until 2 July. And by "there", I mean MOT, not MOMAT.

I did try to check out the Tsuguharu Foujita exhibition at the National Museum Of Modern Art again, after the Cartier exhibition. I say I did try because once I got there I found queues that would put Disneyland to shame. I pulled a U-turn and headed home - but not before stopping by Moti for some Tandoori Prawns and Chicken Curry. The lesson here is that everyone in Tokyo is on the same schedule. That means that you do not travel on any of the 12 days that people have off per annum, or go to see The Da Vinci Code, which everyone is suddenly raving about although nobody in the country seems to have read the book. If you see anything on television - things to buy, places to go, restaurants to try out - avoid it like the plague.

Today was one of those days that really made me want to move to Montreal.

JUST WONDERING...

2006-05-19T22:53:00.000+09:00

Is anyone else having Blogger issues out there?

They keep saying that the sites are up and running, that the issues have been resolved, etc.
Meanwhile, I can't get onto my own blog at least once a month, my Profile Views has been stuck at 134 for the last 4 months, and I haven't "been on Blogger since December 2004". I've e-mailed them at least twice in the last couple of months and I've gotten no reply...

I can't complain because Blogger is free and idiot-proof, but the fact remains that sometimes it just doesn't work.

DUM-DUM-DUUUUUUMMMM

2006-05-19T21:42:00.000+09:00

(That's my favourite conversational sound effect - three shaky notes auguring imminent doom - for those I've never spoken to in person.)

The countdown's begun, people. In 4 short months and a few days, I will be entering a brand-new phase of my life. Some people say nothing changes. Others say everything (referring mostly to one's ability to defy gravity) changes.

Yeah y'all. I'm turning 30. The final frontier.

(You'll have to forgive me. I come from a long line of drama queens. And I realize it's hardly the final frontier, as most Japanese women live well into their 80s. But I might as well blow it completely out of proportion and have some fun with this thing. It's the least I should get in exchange for cellulite and droopy boobs. On the upside, I'm finally old enough to have toyboys who are old enough to be dating.)

Here's the thing: I want the big three-oh to be special. And the easiest way to make it special is to skip town for a more exotic, memorable locale. On a recent Amazon spending spree, I got the Lonely Planet Blue List 06-07, which is great for providing information... But it's also a heck of a lot of information to process. There are too many wonderful places in the world and I just can't choose which one to hit first.

Which is why I'm hoping that someone will tell me what to do. The date is late September and as I don't have a death wish, I plan to avoid places like Afghanistan and Columbia (while also avoiding the more insidious extreme, Disney resort packages in Florida).

Any suggestions?

THE CONSTANT GARDENER

2006-05-17T22:02:00.000+09:00

Happy Hump Day, y'alls!

When Wednesday rolls around, I find it impossible to resist the pull of Virgin Cinema Roppongi Hills' 1000 yen Ladies' Day. It's a ridiculous throwback to the 50s - the discount must be based on inferior female earning power (it would be even more ridiculous to think that men were charged more "rent" for the extra room they fill - especially since some guys in Tokyo are pretty petite). Anyway, I am in fact a female with inferior earning power so I'll gladly accept any charity thrown my way.

I ended up seeing The Constant Gardener, mainly because I partially saw The Producers on a recent United flight (take a cue from Virgin Atlantic and get some real screens, please) and because I have zero desire to see V For Vendetta. Besides a few casting doubts (Rachel Weisz does not look 24, and how are we supposed to believe that a demigod like Ralph Fiennes was single when he met her?) and way too much gratuitous pregnant nudity, the film was very well made. Additionally, as I have loose plans to travel to Nairobi at some point, it was nice to soak up some stunning Kenyan landscapes... And it is always nice to see my old home town of London, although the areas I frequented are never featured on film, for some reason. I suppose there's not much value in filming low-budget whorehouses across the street from Euston Station. (P.S. I wasn't frequenting the whorehouse. We just shared an entrance.)

I realized that the last English guy I dated was Ralph Fiennes-looking. Well, kind of - not enough to make me too nervous to date him, obviously. If you were to take Ralph Fiennes' face and superimpose a sheep over it, rejuvenate him by 15 years, and make him pissed drunk most of the time, you'd pretty much have captured his essence. Anyway, I guess my point is that it's dangerous to dive head-first into the dating scene when you move to a foreign country. Everyone seems so exotic and it's not rare to fall for an accent... only to find that everyone in the country has the same one and he wasn't so special after all.

So, 500 words later: See the movie. It was good.

BEST CONFECTION. EVER.

2006-05-17T21:31:00.000+09:00

I often get off the train at Jiyugaoka, a few stops from my local station. It forces me to get some fresh air while I burn a few extra calories. At least that was the idea originally; in practice, it's the most fattening excursion of my day. The culprit? These damn macaroons.

These damn macaroons, sold at Dalloyau boulangeries around town, are pure gorgeousness. (At over 150 yen a pop, they damn well should be. ) They're light and sweet, perfectly crisp on the outside, and sinfully chewy on the inside. They also look beautiful, which makes them a viable alternative for gifts - and you also feel less like a fat cow when you gorge yourself on something spectacularly chic, as opposed to something that costs 158 yen for the entire plastic bag.

(Clockwise, from top left: Cafe, Framboise, Chocolat, Ananas Epice)

COMMON SENSE

2006-05-15T01:10:00.000+09:00

As a freelance translator-interpreter, I often find myself interviewing for various bizarre contract-based positions. Last week, I was again the subject of scrutiny when I "auditioned" for a role interpreting for pan-Pacific royalty on an imminent trip to Japan.

The interview bit was routine. We discussed my professional and personal background and made tense small talk about current affairs. They grilled me on what I foresee for my future (money. lots of it.). Someone please tell me how the fuck I'm supposed to know what I'll be doing in 10 years' time when I don't even know what continent I'll be living on next month.

I was keen to leave after our formal conversation of forced smiles and euphemisms. I'd been walking around all day in my (funeral) suit and heels and I could imagine, with great clarity, the relief I would encounter if I could only slip into my usual uniform of cotton pajamas and thick argyle socks - feet propped up, a bowl of chocolate puff cereal in my lap, green tea-scented L'Occitane candle burning fragrantly in the background.

But then they made me take a fucking Common Sense Test, people. For like a fucking hour.

I literally had four separate sheets and 8 sides of information to fill out. Some of it was just filling in my name and personal stats. Fine, although I already gave them a copy of my CV. The remaining 3 sheets were filled with questions expertly designed to indicate your level of common sense; questions such as:

1. There is a 7 year-old girl, whose father is 41. How many years must pass before he is exactly 3 times her age?

2. If it takes A 12 minutes to get to B's house, and it takes B 8 minutes to get to A's house, how many minutes will elapse before A and B meet?

3. When handing somebody a sharp object, point the sharp end away from you. Good Manners or Bad Manners? Circle the correct answer.

I'm not even kidding. There was even one geometry question, in which you had to find out the value of the angle marked x in an accompanying diagram. Because, obviously, those Pacific Islanders are gonna be asking you to measure all sorts of crazy triangles while they're here for their big conference. As far as #3, I shudder to imagine the past experience that prompted the test-writer to include this question on this exam. Must be in response to that thing about the thin line separating geniuses from madmen.

MY SENTIMENTS EXACTLY

2006-05-14T00:56:00.000+09:00

INTERVIEW

2006-05-11T13:11:00.000+09:00

While a shutter clicked away in the background, I detailed, described, discussed, and divulged how awesome I am for a solid hour. All I could think about was how I hoped to god an earthquake wouldn't hit now. Here's a view out the window of the 49th floor of the chi-chi Roppongi Hills room, which the interviewer rented for my brag-fest.

Okay, I did think about other things too. I questioned the sincerity and authenticity of every single thing that came out of my own mouth; I questioned the sincerity and authenticity of every assiduous flattery that came out of theirs. While the ersatz interview didn't make me feel as tiny as I'd imagined it would, it was a lesson in paranoia.

It didn't help to discover after the interview that my eyeliner had bled all over my face. I should have known; I was sweating like a criminal during an interrogation.

The mere thought of someone out there being in possession of 95 photos of me channeling Courtney Love after a particularly OTT boozer sent me straight to T.G.I. Friday's for their artery-clogging "Three For All" appetizer platter. If you want to drown your sorrows, you might as well drown 'em in lard.

But hey. It's done and I did the best that I could (although I might consider investing in some panicproof eyeliner).

The good news is, they gave me 5000 yen worth of bookstore certificates, and over dinner I met up with a professional hockey player, based in the Czech Republic, who may be able to hook me up with some interesting interpreting work (as well as a place to crash when in Prague).

I keep trying to tell myself it's not all that bad.

I (HEART) HERALD TRIBUNE

2006-05-09T13:09:00.000+09:00

A decades-old family legacy was shattered earlier this month, when the Japan Times subscription was replaced by The International Herald Tribune (published by The New York Times, with cooperation from The Asahi Shimbun).

The International Herald Tribune is, IMHO, fantastic. Firstly, they cover non-Japanese, non-Bush news. I don't know about you but I am getting sick of hearing about supreme court judges fondling girls on the rush hour train. And yes, I already know the President doesn't speak English. They also have this letter-unscrambling word game every day, which is easy enough to make me attempt it, and tricky enough to make me waste another 10 minutes of my morning.

Best of all, they don't give 3 alternative spellings for "Mao Asada" in the same article. To think all those years of irritating mornings finding errors in the paper were unnecessary...

THE BIG QUESTION

2006-05-09T13:00:00.000+09:00

Who are these sick people coming to my blog via Google searches for "wet t-shirt", "14 year olds", "big-titted", "Japanese women", "adolescent", and "Tokyo pickup joints"? And what kind of sick website am I running here that these people are actually ending up at this page?

I just hope they leave sorely disappointed.

Sickos.

HARD-COOKED EGG ON THE GO

2006-05-03T14:17:00.000+09:00

This is seriously the scariest thing I've ever read.

Apparently, you can cook an egg by placing it between two people talking to each other on mobile phones.

I'm way too lazy and way too broke to spend 30 yen/minute trying to nuke a freaking egg with my phone, but if anyone tries it, let me know if you had any luck.

Directions as follows:
http://www.wymsey.co.uk/wymchron/cooking.htm

FRAUD

2006-05-03T13:11:00.000+09:00

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKK!

Some trade mag says they want to do a story on me, based on my illustrious career as an interpreter.

Oh. Holy. Jesus.

Yeah, I've worked with Stevie Wonder. Yeah, I've been put in charge of more than fifty-five 18-to-25 year-old extreme sport punks at a time up in snowy mountains. Yeah, I've entertained a handful of visiting VIPs, CEOs, CFOs, CEEs, and even a few SOBs. But is that impressive enough to warrant all that ink/electricity? I mean, I'm not impressed.

Being ignored is infuriating, but getting this kind of attention makes me feel like a fraud. I feel like a 6 year-old playing dress-up in her mother's business suit.

THE HOOD

2006-05-01T19:33:00.000+09:00

Got a hankering to have a leisurely stroll through my local temple to say hello to nine 5-metre golden Buddhas who live in 3 old Japanese houses. Imagine how tall they are when they stand up.

FAT

2006-05-01T18:35:00.000+09:00

Meandering through the 'hood in the sweltering heat typical of this time of year, I made a startling new discovery about my home town. Brace yourself: there are fat people in Tokyo. Maybe not Super Size Me Fat, but definitely not cut from the same triple-zero Gap Jeans cloth from which 95% of Tokyoites came a decade ago.

It shouldn't be that surprising to me that chubby people live here. I mean, I live here. I can't buy T-shirts in this town because the shoulders don't fit, and when I returned from college packing the freshman fifteen, I found to my dismay that J.Crew in Japan only imported items up to a size 6. It was like a national conspiracy to get me naked.

But it is surprising. It's shocking! I never saw fat people on the street before. Now, they're everywhere.

I guess the diet is changing, with all manner of American grease chains sprouting up on every street corner. (As disparaging as I sound, my favourite dining experience in Tokyo is KFC. Don't be thinking I'm some food snob. No amount of protesting by Pink will get me off the KFC.) But it's too easy to blame all the world's ills on America. I can't say that America doesn't make some hefty contributions to the cause. But the larding up of Japan isn't due solely to the recent emergence of Krispy Kreme, surely.

Besides, Japanese food can be just as deadly as any other. Perhaps more deadly than some, even, because it's just too good to stop. One thing I never understood was how Japanese cuisine ended up with this "healthy, low-calorie, heart-friendly" rep. I remember when sushi was suddenly the craze, and people were like, "No wonder Japanese women are skinny and youthful! And I hear heart disease isn't a big problem there? Rice is soooo good for you."* P.S. Ask the average Japanese person how many times they have sushi in a year and then we can talk about how it is the ancient Oriental secret to beauty and long life. Or not.

*This is just one of the misconceptions about Japan, held specifically by people who have never been here. Another one I get all the time is, "The Japanese are so respectful!", which damn near makes me piss myself every time.

First of all, Japanese women are at a very high risk for osteoporosis, even with all the fish we supposedly eat. They also give Lancome, Chanel, Clinique, Estee Lauder, and a host of other western-owned cosmetics companies some very good business. Heart disease does exist here, although, in all probability, it's brought on more often by overwork rather than over-McDonald's. And as far as rice being good for you, are we comparing its nutritional value to powdered potatoes fried in genetically modified animal fat?

It must be a combination of things, but I'm one of those hippy-dippy, New Age people who believes that all issues are psychosomatic. When something is upsetting, many people seek comfort in food. Then again, maybe I'm reading into this too much and all the skinny people went to Hawaii for Golden Week, while the bikini-phobic contingent stuck around to meander through the 'hood.

At any rate, I'm happy if they start selling clothes based on a normal sizing system.

ELIZABETHTOWN

2006-04-30T13:57:00.000+09:00

I watched Elizabethtown on DVD last night and cried my eyes out. I had no idea what it was going to be about - my local video rental place has such a limited selection that I'll watch anything that I haven't seen, that's there. Imagine my shock in realizing the movie was actually a documentary chronicling the last 3 weeks of my life. Except I was Orlando Bloom, the Kirsten Dunst character was a conglomeration of 4 separate people, I took buses and trains and planes in lieu of driving, geographically I was more North-east than South-central, and I didn't get the pleasure of the happy Hollywood ending. So all things considered, maybe it wasn't about my life after all, although it was a timely choice.

I can't decide if I enjoyed it because it was a good film, or if I saw it at the right time in my life. Or maybe I just like looking at Orlando Bloom.

IN WHICH THE AUTHOR RECORDS UNRELATED AND TRIVIAL FRAGMENTS PERTAINING TO HER RECENT JOURNEY ABROAD

2006-04-26T17:12:00.000+09:00

As much as I wouldn't have missed Jonathan's funeral for anything, and despite adoring every last minute I spent in Montreal, I'm feeling oddly relieved to be back in Tokyo. Don't get me wrong - I'd still be outta here in T minus 2 seconds given the opportunity - but it's time for me to buckle down, finish my projects. Besides, the water pressure on my shower is awesome.

Some random thoughts on my trip:

* If I had to pick one attribute of Jonathan's that I admire most, it would have to be how accepting he was toward everyone. When I start feeling critical, as I very often do, I'm going to try channeling Jonathan – I'll imagine what he would say or do in that same situation. Wish me luck. I'll need it.

* At the risk of getting blacklisted, a New Yorker friend took me out to brunch at Shopsin's and it was fucking great. Apparently the owner doesn't like getting publicity but I'm thinking it's safe to include an honorable mention on a blog with a very limited readership. They have stuff like mac and cheese pancakes and eggs with Nutella and peanut butter. All kidding aside, they have something like 900 odd-sounding but delectable items on the menu. You'll have to find out where it is for yourself, as intense paranoia deters me from including any further information on the topic.

* It's really jarring when you meet up with people you used to party with in your late teens/early 20s and find them spending their lives in and out of rehab. Call me naïve but I never stopped to consider that possibility. That's just another thing to be grateful for, I guess.

* Montrealers walk briskly. New Yorkers, Tokyoites, Londoners, San Franciscans, Romans, and anyone else in between have nothing on these guys. I'm thinking it's due to the sub-zero temperatures 7 months out of the year.

* America has changed, and not for the better. I've always had a ball on holiday in the States, and it's home to some of the best people on the planet, hands down. U.S. foreign policy has always been fucked but never to the extent I currently observe, in which it permeates every level of daily life for the American hoi polloi with a thick fog of fear and hatred. It's truly a sad state of affairs.

* And for that reason, I would love to live in Montreal: Because it's got the beautiful landscapes, cheap prices, and easy living of America – without the unwanted American-ness. I'm doing it, people. If I've learned anything in the last two weeks, it's that you gotta do what you gotta do.... and you'd better do it soon because you don't know what's going to happen.

* But on the other hand, I do feel like Jonathan just knew, though perhaps not consciously. For instance, he had booked a flight to go home for Easter, and he did end up using it – though not exactly the way he'd planned. I find solace in believing that he was able to tie up all his loose ends, as though he were preparing for a trip to a really wonderful place.

* Burlesque is cool. I had the opportunity to check out a show in New York – I omit location details here not consciously but because it was raining sideways at the time and it would have been silly to brave the storm while squinting at the signs outside. The show, which was hosted by a big gay man wearing a sheer blue body condom and bunny ears, featured Miss Saturn and Harvest Moon – two incredibly fetching and sexy young ladies with some serious moves (and multiple hula hoops in the case of Miss Saturn, which explains her moniker). Contrary to my initial misgivings, burlesque is nothing like stripping, which I see as being sad and cheesy. Sad, cheesy men like strippers, but everyone likes burlesque.

BLAST FROM THE PAST

2006-04-22T11:04:00.000+09:00

Quick update on my oh-so-happening Friday night: I'm now going bowling in NDG. What is it with everyone wanting to go bowling these days?

Etta - this is the other Etta, Norwegian Etta of the upper-case E, Etta who was dating Jonathan in Edinburgh - was supposed to go bowling with Jonathan right about the time he died. She was waiting for him at the bowling alley and he never showed up.

The day that I found out about Jonathan, I was supposed to go bowling with my 13 year-old friend, who is a gung-ho fan after her recent discovery of the pastime. I find this strange because "bowling" hasn't even been featured in my vocabulary for over a decade - unless it was used in conjunction with the word "bag" during a retro fashion fad a few years ago.

THE COUNTDOWN

2006-04-22T10:23:00.000+09:00

I'm not looking forward to leaving Montreal. First of all, it seems such a shame because I would have liked to spend some more time with my new Montrealais friends. Second of all, my 4 star accommodation was pretty nice. And thirdly, I'm flying out at 6.30 tomorrow morning. Whose bright idea was it to schedule a flight that leaves that early? Or late, depending on how you look at it.

To show my allegiance to this future home of mine, I padded down the street to the Bell Center and bought a Montreal Canadiens T-shirt at their on-site souvenir kiosk. Never mind I didn't see a single Canadiens game on this trip, since the playoffs are taking place tomorrow. Damn.

On my way back to the hotel, I dropped by Dunn's for my fourth and last meal there. The chicken Caesar salad was fantastic, with its steaming, freshly grilled, juicy chicken morsels sitting appetizingly atop crispy Romaine generously coated in parmesan Caesar dressing. There, I met James - yet another attractive, friendly Quebecois who is also Kyle's roommate. Despite the Tourist Information bureau being situated directly across the street, I've found more useful information chatting to staff at Dunn's by far. Speaking of which, I should have bought one of their T-shirts.

From there, I made another pit stop at the pharmacy. I found the most amazing deodorant and dental floss there a few days ago. Nothing special - just Degree and Johnson & Johnson, but these are things that you'll have a tough time hunting down in Japan. My suitcase is filled with the stuff now. I got some doubtful looks, carrying precarious armfuls of toiletries to the till. Dental floss is now plentiful in Tokyo - but nothing like this stuff, which is.... invigorating. The Degree is the "Little Black Dress Approved" version, which while not completely devoid of "the white stuff", comes pretty damn close while keeping you odor-free for about 3 days. Please no-one write to tell me how bad it is for my thyroid.

Off to finish packing now. Fingers crossed I'm up at 4 to catch my flight to Boston. Here's to hoping the dental floss perks me up enough to survive the Trudeau trek.

PRE-BED POST PARTE DEUX

2006-04-21T17:08:00.000+09:00

Montreal, 4.15. When I left the Omni Hotel earlier to have Greek for dinner, it was 12 degrees. By the time my baklava had been wrapped up, it was 5 degrees. (Did I mention I was melting in my tanktop and flipflops during the day, schlepping up St. Laurent to Schwartz's? Their smoked meat sandwich was out of this world, and no, the service is not nearly as bad as all the guidebooks would have you believe.)

It was the best Greek I've ever had, by the way - though unfortunately, the name of the restaurant has crucially slipped my mind. But for those of you who are interested, it's right across the street from St. Viateur Bagels, where you can find some really great bagels made by really crochety old men. Screw the bagels, though. The Greek food is what you really want to check out. I won't hesitate to recommend top-notch Greek in a friendly setting over bagels baked by bigot bastards, regardless of how good they might be. I can see how baking bagels 24 hours a day, 7 days a week might put a damper on your quality of life, but don't take it out on me.

Juan Pablo dropped me off back at the hotel at about 1. From there, I went to play pool downtown with Kyle. It was my first game in years and it showed. But it was a great night out nonetheless and it reminded me of my glory days spent playing pool at Dugan's in Saratoga Springs most nights of the week. We took a walk around the imposing McGill campus to work off some of the gyros and Tanqueray in my system on the way back to the hotel.

Sufficiently stuffed and somnolent. Tomorrow is my last day in Montreal before I fly out at 6.30AM on Saturday. I miss it already.

PRE-BED POST

2006-04-20T15:35:00.000+09:00

Past 2 in the AM; just got home. Met up with Kyle and walked to Old Montreal, which was beautiful.
We must have walked 4 hours. One thing I'm adamant about doing when I travel is trying out all the local specialties. So we ended up having the quintessentially Quebecois poutine at 1 in the morning. I am afraid to go to sleep because I know I will wake up 5 pounds heavier tomorrow.

I've said this before but a city whose specialty is wet fries is my kind of place.

LOVE. THIS. TOWN.

2006-04-20T08:55:00.000+09:00

Oh, I am so moving to Montreal. It's got everything I would ever look for in a home base: maneuverability, rich gastronomic culture, attractive cityscape, happening arts and entertainment, outdoor activities, safety, beautiful denizens (but not in the L.A. botoxed, bleached, lasered, nipped, tucked, Zone diet, plastered, personal trainer kinda way), affordability, and some of the friendliest people around.

My day started out at the Marche Jean-Talon, allegedly the largest market of its kind in North America. It wasn’t as bustling as I'd hoped it would be but I did have a gorgeous sandwich for breakfast, consisting of fresh torn basil, pesto, ham, local cheese, and lettuce, neatly encased in a loaf of pleasantly chewy artisanal bread. Surprisingly, the surrounding area was...bland, to put it diplomatically. Here’s a photo, for those of you who have never seen a car or a sandwich before.

Sufficiently stuffed, I took the metro to Place des Arts and checked out the awe-inspiring Anselm Kiefer Heaven And Earth exhibit at the Musee des Arts Contemporain. He makes gargantuan pieces exploring spirituality, using materials ranging from plants to lead. I dig it. Not surprisingly, I thought of Jonathan again - where he is, what he's seen. It made me teary but it was the best show I could have seen on this trip.

Afterward, I walked around for a bit and met Jimmy, a native Montrealer who sells his photographs on the sidewalk downtown. We chatted for about an hour about living in this city. The life satisfaction that people exude is amazing. He gave me some numbers and navigational tips and I was again on my way.

A few blocks later, as I was basking in the sun at Dorchester Square trying to figure out where I was going, I made friends with Juan Pablo and Chola. We hung out for another hour or so as I picked his brains pertaining to Montreal life. I can’t believe I was worried about being lonely on this solo journey. Montrealers go out of their way to make you feel welcome. JP, who is a musician, gave me a flyer for a party he is helping organize tomorrow night – I’m still not sure if I am going to go, as it said something about college girls and there was a picture of a busty blonde wearing a wet T-shirt. (I suspect I may be too old and too flat for that sort of thing. Not to mention, too sane. Not that I would have to wear a wet T-shirt to the thing but still.) That makes JP sound like a letch but he really wasn't at all. Just a very friendly, laid-back, multilingual, interesting Chilean Montrealer.

Juan Pablo was meeting somebody at 15.00 so we parted (around 15.10). Next, I hooked up with Kyle. Remember Kyle? The waiter who served me my first smoked meat sandwich ever? Turns out Kyle is a 24 year-old jazz musician and a perfect gentleman. Is it the French influence that teaches men how to treat women here? In all my years, I've had a scant handful of men open my doors and foot the bill. I've been here for 4 days and I've already met 3. Girls, move to Montreal. ASAP. Unless, of course, you're the type who views such acts of good breeding as a fast track to a 50's chauvinism revival.

We sat at an outdoor terrace of a cute restaurant on Prince Arthur in the Plateau, where I promptly developed a pretty impressive watch tan. Can you imagine? An April tan in Montreal? Thanks to my personal guided tour, I now know that this is where I want to live. In one of those charming 1-bedroom flats in the Plateau. Sadly, I'll be missing the Canadiens playoffs this Saturday. I'm already considering coming back in October for the beginning of the season and some more time soaking up this city's amazing vibe.

It's now almost 21.00. The plan is to take a walk to Old Montreal, after which I might be really bad and have some late-night poutine.

More soon...

JONATHAN

2006-04-19T20:14:00.000+09:00

6 AM

2006-04-18T18:45:00.000+09:00

I can't sleep. This has been going on for two weeks now. It sucks. I don't have any dreams, which is weird, and I keep waking up for no reason at all.

I walked 6 hours non-stop yesterday. Left the Omni and walked down a few blocks on Metcalfe to Dunn's for a lunch of smoked meat sandwich. My waiter was cute and reminded me a lot of a Quebecois boy who broke my heart 6 years ago. In fact, there are a whole lot of guys here who look just like him. Maybe he wasn't that special after all.

I wanted to go to Schwartz's for their world-famous smoked meat sandwich but was told that St. Laurent was quite a trek away and I needed to eat NOW. It all worked out in the end, as I had a nice conversation with Kyle and the smoked meat was pretty damn good at Dunn's. I ordered it small and lean, as I can't handle fatty meat (nor fatty me). It arrived piled high - the thin slices of tender pink-brown beef suffocating the suffering rye underneath. I felt like a dork but decided that bare hands would not be sufficient to attack this behemoth and broke out the cutlery.

The smoked meat itself, as its name suggests, is like a juicy warm version of beef jerky. Can't comment much on the bread because the meat overpowers it; it's only there to keep your hands dry when you dig in. I didn't order anything on the side, which was good judgment. I couldn't even finish the 'small' sandwich (nothing on the side besides a diet Coke).

Seeing me sitting there with my tourist map blanketing my booth, battling the beef, the waiter asked me where I was from. I'll call him Kyle because that's what it said on my receipt. I asked him for recommendations of things to see in the area. He suggested (among other things) the Musee des Beaux-Arts and a trek up the Mont Royal.

The Musee was featuring an exhibition of Catherine the Great and other treasures from the Hermitage Museum. I'm so glad I went; it was incredible. The first thing you see as you ascend the stairs into the exhibition area is Catherine I's opulent and gigantic coronation carriage. The wheels stood taller than me. The carriage must have had 8 foot ceilings. There were countless works of art, including a fair few Classical artifacts and portraits of Voltaire. On my way out, I browsed the contemporary art collections and had the pleasure of seeing Stephan Balkenhol's enormous wooden heads again.

From there, I headed up toward the mountain. It's really more like a big hill... until you try to climb it and realize your smoking, insomniac, Ugg-wearing ass just might not reach the apex. There were people, old men, running up it in their Spandex. Mont Royal put me in my place. I did make it to the top, but not without catching my breath a few times. The view was incredible and I love the fact that Montrealais are so outdoorsy.

Heading down Mont Royal, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. I was having a pleasant flashback of hanging out in the woods behind campus with Jonathan - because we went to school just a few hours south of Montreal, there are some big similarities. (Strangely, I've been feeling like he's with me.) Next thing I know, I'm in town - I just don't know what part. A beautiful black man on a bike informed me that I was entering the Plateau area, which was exactly where I wanted to go.

I strolled up and down the streets of the Plateau (read: I got hopelessly lost). I do think having a good leisurely meander around, without an eye on a particular destination, is a great way to get acquainted with a city. But after a couple of hours my legs were starting to hurt. On Saint-Laurent, I again spread my map to see if I was close to a Metro. A kindly old gentleman approached me and asked what I was looking for.

Turns out this guy was in Tokyo for a while back in '67. He walked with me to Sherbrooke Metro, which was only a few blocks away (but I never would have found it without his help). I was feeling like giving gramps a big hug until he turned to me outside the Metro and said, "Why don't we go for un cafe? I pay you."

The Metro was pretty straightforward. Buy a ticket, throw it in the turnstile upon entering, get on your train of choice. It was the bumpiest metro ride I've ever experienced but I really liked it. Despite the bumpiness, the overall experience feels smoother than riding the metro in New York, London, or San Francisco. And much more pleasant from a sensory standpoint than the superfast superclean superpacked supergross metro of Tokyo.

It cracked me up how "McGill" was pronouced, in French, on the Metro PA. Montreal is one incredible mishmash of Francophone and Anglophone (and a handful of other) cultures. It really made me want to study French properly. I jumped off at Peel and surfaced onto Medcalfe. I saw the drugstore that Kyle had told me about earlier, which I must have walked right past after lunch. As I stalked toward the Jean Couteau, eyes on the prize, I heard a familiar voice: "How was the museum?" Kyle had just gotten off work and was heading home.

I really liked bumping into someone I know on this lonely trip. It made me feel like I was from here, which I already know I prefer to Tokyo.

MONTREAL: DAY ONE

2006-04-18T09:02:00.000+09:00

Lovin' it.

What can I say? The people are friendly, the streets are safe, the men are good-looking AND flirtatious (an unlikely combination), the trek up Mont Royal was a fantastic butt workout, I love the Musee des Beaux-Arts, the Plateau vibe is pretty cool, the Metro works, and the smoked meat sandwich at Dunn's was delectable.

For all you poor, wretched folks who weren't on Mont Royal this afternoon - this shot's for you!

BYE-BYE BOSTON, BONJOUR MONTREAL!

2006-04-17T08:16:00.000+09:00

Needless to say, there has never been and there never will be any such thing as a smooth trip in the life of etta. A struggle to find a pre-flight meal preceded a struggle to find the airport, which was followed by a struggle to find parking space and the inevitable struggle to get me and my now 52 pounds of luggage to the check-in counter in time. After which I was told that my Air Canada flight was delayed by an hour.

It ended up being a fortunate turn of events - for me, anyway. I had extra time to be with Brett, who probably got an earful for missing Easter dinner with his family. So, not so lucky for him. (Sorry buddy.) The sky was also ink-black by the time the plane took off, which meant that I could see a gazillion stars twinkling in the sky and Boston by night twinkling below. I like Boston much more a few thousand feet in the air.

When I arrived at Montreal airport, I waited for half an hour at the wrong carousel for my suitcase - which, by the way, had been savagely opened and ransacked by rabid customs officials. I also had a bit of trouble entering the country due to a minor incident back in 1995 that was surprisingly on my record; I had driven up with a few friends for a party and there was some confusion regarding my (valid) passport and (valid) paperwork.

I am happy to report that the unpleasantries ended there. Check out my hotel, the Hotel Omni Mont-Royal:

You could park a small house into this room. I've got high-speed wireless Internet access, Pay-per-view, cable, 24-hour room service, plush terry bathrobe, sofabed (besides my king size), daily newspaper, fancy toiletries, closet, iron, and windows that actually open.

Hurrah for Hotwire.

A DAY AT THE ZOO

2006-04-16T07:24:00.000+09:00

There were many familiar faces at the funeral, including that of Jonathan's old roommate, definitely one of my all-time favourite people and quite possibly the funniest and secretly, the sweetest guy I know. It's not just anyone that can make me laugh right after a funeral. (I'm not only saying this because you asked for a shout-out on my blog, Brett.) After an emotional and brownie-laden gathering at Jonathan's house, we headed down to Brett's (very fabulous) sister's place in Cambridge, MA, where we spent the night. Kelly was a one-time (literally just once) model for Polo and rumour has it that she is a champion Poker player. You don't get much cooler than that.

Anyway. Jonathan used to work at the Franklin Park Zoo. He was amazing with animals, and, as I learned through the eulogies at the funeral, has had a special connection to them since he was a little boy.

So it just made sense that we should take a trip to the zoo before I caught my evening flight to Montreal.

FUNERAL

2006-04-16T00:00:00.000+09:00

Jonathan’s funeral took place at a church in his hometown of Hollis. If it hadn’t been for such a tragic purpose, I would have enjoyed my stop in this idyllic New Hampshire location. Fittingly for a celebration of someone who possessed an invincibly sunny disposition, April 15th was the perfect spring day with new blooms swaying gently in the warm breeze as waves rolled through the vivid green grass.

When I arrived at the church only moments before the service was due to begin, I saw that the quaint, quasi-rural streets surrounding it were completely filled with long queues of cars. I heard later that nobody has ever seen such a populous event at that church. Someone else estimated that there were about 600 people there; after the main room had been occupied, people filed into the adjacent room – and when that had reached capacity, they poured down to two rooms in the basement, and eventually, a few groups formed outside. It didn’t surprise me. That’s just the kind of guy Jonathan was. He had a way of making you feel special, every time you saw him. Mourners arrived in droves, from Seattle to Scotland to Senegal, and everyone was saying the same thing: It wasn’t an option; I had to be here.

I wondered how many people would show up to my funeral. (...20?) It got me thinking about the people I would really hope would come.

It was a nice service. There were a few hilarious stories about Jonathan as told by friends and family. At one point, friends were called on to say a few words if they were so inclined. I loved Jonathan and would have liked to honor him but something told me it would be a catastrophe if I tried. I don’t know how people do it.

I was counting on getting some sort of closure by going to the funeral but I’m seeing now that it doesn’t work that way. This is only the beginning of the rest of my life without a special friend.

THE BRIGHT SIDE

2006-04-15T21:39:00.000+09:00

Yesterday afternoon, I went to my friend's wake at a funeral home in Nashua, NH. It was a closed-casket affair, probably because he died 2 weeks ago. I was simultaneously relieved and disappointed. I was entertaining the notion that maybe if I saw him dead, it would help me to process all this better. Then again, maybe it's better that I remember him as the beautiful guy he was, rather than a silent grey version of him in a box. I don't know.

On the bright side, I am now at the Crowne Plaza Nashua.

All those exposes where they go into hotel rooms with a black light to find traces of various dodgy bodily fluids are such a bummer, because for some reason, I love staying at hotels. I don't know what it is; there's a certain excitement about staying at a hotel. Room service and broadband access don't hurt either. Last night, I opted out of a gathering at one of Jonathan's friends' places. I thought being alone might make me miserable but I couldn't see how I could be social. A solo night at the hotel ended up cheering me up a bit, which was good because there isn't too much else to do in Nashua.

And oh, the deal I got on my room! And I even get bonus mileage! I usually book everything on Hotwire (can't recommend it highly enough) but as Nashua isn't even listed as a destination option there, I booked on the Inter Continental Hotels Group website. I thought $89 was kind of steep for a regular hotel in - let's face it - the middle of nowhere... and then I saw the sign on my door:

Off now to shower with my complimentary herbal shampoo and soap set.

BREADCRUMBS

2006-04-15T02:00:00.000+09:00

After a hellish trip that was exacerbated by the fact that I'm emotionally unstable and by the fact that it is Easter/Passover weekend here in the U.S., I am now in Leominster, MA.

The Tokyo-JFK flight was jam-packed with (enormous) tour groups from China. The cute little Chinese grandpa seated behind me took off his shoes shortly after take-off and the stench was epic. I was practically bleeding from my eyes, it was so bad. Then he put his feet on the back of my arm rest and started wiggling his toes on my elbow. I was half-asleep so I don't remember exactly what I said but let's just say I lost it completely. That took care of that.

Once at JFK, a customs agent with the fitting surname of Lapuzzo (does that mean he comes from a long line of putzes?) further took the wind out of my sails by being a putz extraordinaire. But hey. It's a long uphill battle against one's own DNA.

From there, the plan was to hop a train to Edison, NJ, where my brand-new friend would pick me up and drive me up to her dad's place in Leominster, MA, which is less than 2 hours away from Hollis, NH. Being unfamiliar with NJ Transit, I asked JFK staff for transport options. There were as many opinions as there were staff but I decided to believe one guy who said that the best way would be to take a shuttle into Grand Central and take a train from there to Edison.

Except I'm now thinking it may have been the worst way to go about it. It took me about 2 hours to get from JFK to Grand Central, only to find that the NJ train was only available from Penn Station. Not a big deal, you might say, Penn Station is just a few blocks crosstown. But with my 40 pounds of luggage and grand total of 20 sleep hours in the last week, I was not having it. I decided to take a cab, which was another turn for the worse, as the driver spoke no English and ended up dropping me off at Penn Station after driving around trying to find a fictitious Edison Street in Manhattan for about half an hour. (He still charged me full-fare.) There was also a fat girl in line at the taxi stand who was yelling at me to "get in the cab already" when I took an extra 5 seconds to ask the cabbie through the window if he'd drive me to New Jersey. That was when the tears started and it didn't stop for the next 4 hours.

By the time I got to Edison, it was past 8 and pitch-black. My head was pounding and my nose had tripled in size from all the wiping and blowing (which made my nose almost a normal size). People were looking at me as if I was crazy.

Thank god for my friend, who waited the extra 2 hours for me to show up. We then packed up the car, boarded her beautiful dog Sal, and drove the 5 hours to Massachussetts. We had to stop for 2 hours to nap in a parking lot on the way there. At this point I'd been traveling nonstop for about 20 hours.

But it all worked out in the end, as it always does. I popped a sleep aid upon arrival at my friend's dad's place in Leominster at 3 am and now I'm feeling almost normal again. We're hitting the road in about an hour to go to the wake in NH. Feeling a bit queasy.

So that is what I've been up to for the last 40-odd hours. This post is like the blog-equivalent of Hansel and Gretel's breadcrumbs.

TRIP

2006-04-13T02:01:00.000+09:00

I'm flying out to New York tomorrow afternoon.

From JFK, I'm getting a ride to somewhere in Massachussetts, where I will spend the night. The next day, I'm getting another ride into a tiny town in New Hampshire, to see my friend at the funeral home. After that I'm getting yet another ride to the neighboring town to find a hotel, because apparently they don't make hotels in most small NH towns. (And they don't give you any useful information about towns like Hollis on the Internet. I found out how many inches of rainfall they got in their worst recorded storm, but somehow nobody thought to write about whether or not they have a train station.)

After that, it's yet another ride the next day to the church, where the service will be held. Hitch another ride back to my hotel, where I will most likely be inhaling room service while crying my eyes out. Sunday, back to Boston (guess what - another ride) and I fly out to Montreal for 6 days. I figured Jonathan would want me to at least try to have a good time and I also think I deserve a freaking break. I was so excited to find a killer deal on Hotwire for a 4-star hotel that I booked it without considering a.) I would get pretty damn lonely being alone after my friend's funeral in a foreign city and b.) April in Montreal is not spring.

Then back to Boston and Acela Expressing it back to New York, where I ambitiously plan to see 27 people in 2 days.

But you know what? Fuck it. I'm having an adventure in Jonathan's honor (...though I still don't mind if someone wants to join me).

Updates forthcoming.

SUDDENLY

2006-04-09T23:33:00.000+09:00

4 days ago, I was checking e-mail as always, when I saw I had gotten a Friendster message from someone I didn't know. Thinking it was a friend of a friend who wanted information on where to stay in Tokyo or something like that, I clicked open my Inbox and thought nothing of it.

As it turned out, it was a message letting me know that my good friend from college had died. It was so strange. You don't expect that to happen to someone you know. Someone you really count on as a friend. Someone you just spoke to last week. Someone who was only 29.

Jonathan and I were only in contact off and on since I left the U.S. in '99. I can't remember how it happened but all of a sudden, one day, we were back in touch about a month ago. I was so excited to have him back in my life. I even posted his pictures on this blog (to which he commented that I would be really glad about having written this blog in the future). I've gained a whole new appreciation for records - blogs, journals, photographs.

I was making plans to visit him overseas. And then, a few weeks later, I get a message from someone I've never heard of telling me he died. No further information of when or how.

I've since found out more about what happened. I'm leaving for the East Coast on Thursday, to attend his funeral. I'm afraid to go but I'm even more afraid of not going. I think that maybe if I don't go, I will continue feeling the way I do now for the rest of my life.

Maybe this is how people cope with loss but I really feel like he got back in touch to say goodbye, even though he didn't know he was going to die. Then again I've always believed things like that. I don't need proof or agreement on this. Nobody else needs to believe it for me to know it's true for me. So many strange things have happened in the last few weeks.

This has really made me rethink, revisit, reconsider, and even regret some things. I don't believe in regret but it's amazing how skewed your perception of things can become, only to be clarified by one single event.

I really miss him.

WE'LL MISS YOU BUDDY

2006-04-06T17:33:00.000+09:00

THE LAST PLACE ON EARTH I'D WANT TO BE

2006-04-04T23:16:00.000+09:00

Fine, so that was a bit of an exaggeration. It's pretty high up on my list of places not to go in Tokyo at least - maybe after Akihabara, Shinjuku and Ikebukuro (you need to physically go to these places in order to fully appreciate their grossness). What am I talking about? Why, Omotesando of course - the site of the newly-opened Omotesando Hills shopping complex, the paragon of Tokyo's crapulous love affair (in that Glenn Close kinda way) with expensive shopping.

True to the adage, "what you resist will persist", I had some unputoffable business to take care of in Omotesando today. Oh. My. God. People everywhere. Even more than is normal for central Tokyo. (I found this interior photograph on the Internet. Unfortunately, there were no photos of the exterior queue going around the block.)

The only comparison that comes to mind on the topic of Omotesando Hills is the opening of the first McDonald's in Pushkin Square, Russia, in 1990.

Japan is a first-world country and Tokyo is a pretty big city. Who could have imagined that the opening of a shopping mall would create such a stir? To be fair, it seems that a large percentage of visitors are out-of-town tourists on "Omotesando Hills package tours". That's like going from Cheltenham to London for a Selfridges tour. Travel agencies are actually offering these services.

Next week, I have another appointment in the area. I am not looking forward to it. But I guess I am grateful that I live in a country so safe that the biggest news of the week is the opening of a shopping mall.

DOMINO

2006-04-04T23:01:00.000+09:00

Not much to report on this end but I thought I'd state, for the record, that Domino (starring Keira Knightley, Mickey Rourke, Christopher Walken, and some cute South American-looking dude) was crap.

I'd say more but I still haven't figured out what the movie was about. Something about a gun-toting, midriff-baring, chain-smoking Keira Knightley sashaying around, while a confusing plot is narrated in the form of a Keira voiceover. I admit I missed most of the plot but I did get an earful of how beautiful and bad she is.

If anyone understood what the hell that movie was trying to say, the floor's yours.

SATURDAY NIGHT

2006-04-02T01:25:00.000+09:00

Taking the dogs to an undisclosed Tokyo nature spot to check out the cherry blossoms in full bloom on a moonlit night, strolling in the pitch-black quiet, then having an informal dinner party at home consisting of a tonkatsu mountain (and a cabbage jungle). A perfect Saturday night.

AND SPEAKING OF THE U.S. GOVERNMENT'S PR DEPARTMENT...

2006-03-30T13:47:00.000+09:00

As pointed out repeatedly in previous posts, I am not anti-American per se. (Which, incidentally, doesn't necessarily make me pro-American either.) But I am against U.S. foreign policy, which is seriously screwed.

O.K. With the disclaimer out of the way, a few months ago, I mentioned on this blog that the U.S. Embassy in Tokyo hasn't paid rent for years. I heard how much rent was for the enormous plot of land and laughed my ass off - I know people who pay that much for their 2-bedroom apartment in this town. On top of not paying the measly sum for the prime real estate, they've roped off and forceably claimed a sizeable chunk of sidewalk framing the entire perimeter of the compound. Once, when I was walking by, a security guard started yelling at me, telling me to walk on the other side of the street if I wasn't going into the Embassy. They don't own the streets of Tokyo. And they've been dodging their subsidized rent.

Today's Japan Times reported another poor PR job pulled by the U.S. government. Apparently, the U.S. Embassy in London is refusing to pay the $10-a-day congestion charge. For those who haven't been to London since Ken Livingstone's congestion charge came into effect, people driving into Zone 1 must pay a 5-quid surcharge for every day that they enter the designated area. Everyone has to pay, no exceptions. You can be David Beckham or a kebab shop employee, but in the "eyes" of the traffic cameras placed on the periphery of The Zone, your registered license plate had better be on the "Paid" list.

(By the way, this is a stupid scheme. As if living costs in London weren't inflated enough. Maybe if the buses and trains actually offered a half-decent service, more people would be using public transportation. Still, the stats say that since its implementation, traffic in London has eased considerably. And unofficially, I'm sure someone up there is enjoying a hefty bonus.)

If the U.S. wants to shed its bully image, the antidote isn't complicated. Two words: Common Courtesy.

CRASH AND CURRY

2006-03-30T01:24:00.000+09:00

Tonight's agenda: dinner and a movie. I am so thrilled to have found a fellow Roppongi Hills Virgin Cinemas aficionado in my former UCLA roommate; the cinema employees were starting to give me pitying looks when I'd roll in for my fairly regular solo viewings.

After a mind-bogglingly petite dinner of red and green curry inside Roppongi Hills, we caught the 21.40 late show for Crash. That's 2 cupfuls of rice and same sized curries in the foreground, with our Tokyo-sized glasses of water towering over them in the background. The whole spread would have fit on the palm of my hand. See how the dainty cup of tea dwarfs the main dish? Only in Tokyo. (But especially in Roppongi Hills.)

As for the movie, I found Crash to be true to its name. It was like watching an accident - loud, messy, superficially provocative, gross, and just really horrible. As a movie, it was consummately executed. But 2 hours of watching consummate actors convincingly executing white/yellow/black/brown trash-ness is unnecessarily depressing. Doubly so if you've spent time Stateside and know that it's not far from reality.

(Side note: I do have one gripe about a particular character not being very convincing. Without giving anything away, I don't see how Matt Dillon would do THAT, if he were also the type of character to do THAT. The Sandra Bullock character was hyperreal - yeah, we all know women like that from L.A. - but she was almost too irksome to watch.)

So anyway. Probably not a very good PR piece for the bedraggled U.S. of A. right now, although I can see why the Academy loved it so damn much. I should say, for the record, that despite its gory image, I always have a rip roarin' good time when I go to the States. Yes, even when I go to L.A. You've got Six Flags, Disneyland, and Knott's Berry Farm. Malls are everywhere, food portions are gargantuan, movies are cheap, the weather's warm, everyone and their mother's got a pool. What more could you possibly want?

(Circa 1988. That's me and my Japanese-American friend, an Orange County gal through and through. She was born and raised in California and lived through some pretty nasty Japan-bashing times. But whatever. You deal with it. Hop on Montezuma's Revenge, have some churros, shop Melrose, make the most of it.... And before you know it, they'll all be picking on Arabs or blacks or hippies or someone else. That's always what happens.)

And look at this. Here you have the view from my studio on Manhattan beach, 2001 or thereabouts. One step out my sliding door and you're on a white sandy beach. The waves lull you to sleep at night. What a great place to live, right? This is the payoff for putting up with provincial shitheads once in a while.

At the end of the day, there will be racism wherever you go. It's not a matter of getting used to people who are different from you; it's a matter of minding your own business and letting people be. And no movie is going to make that happen.

PROOF

2006-03-28T20:36:00.000+09:00

Since nobody believes me when I say I worked with Stevie Wonder and because a stack of photographs were evacuated from certain dust asphyxiation recently, I hereby post blurry (and fat and happy) evidence of my claim.

Happy, slightly less chubby, and puerile evidence of my shameless bubble gum blowing before class, leading to my last detention. Circa 1994. Not a day goes by that I'm not grateful about being out of school. What a drag.

Indubitably gleeful evidence of how happy I was on graduation day.

Heart-pounding, demonstrable evidence that Tadanobu Asano is the finest man on the planet. (Well, I've seen better pictures. But he's pretty damn fabulous.)

I CANNOT WAIT FOR THE BEIJING OLYMPICS

2006-03-28T19:38:00.000+09:00

So. Apparently China's Communist Party has kicked off a "morality drive" in Beijing this month, to ready denizens for the 2008 commerce- and politics- fest that is the Summer Olympics.

In the next 2 years, the Chinese government hopes to train its residents such skills as picking up canine droppings, refraining from public spitting, resisting the temptation to lie/steal/shove and the like... through the display of preachy posters.

I don't know about the Chinese, but if someone put a big poster on my wall tomorrow instructing me on the importance of being punctual, I can't say it would necessarily be effective.

Still, you gotta give it to them for trying - even if it's a quasi-Orwellian mind-fuck. I can already imagine the dramas (and comedies) that will unfold in Beijing in 2008.

"ONLY TWO THINGS ARE INFINITE: THE UNIVERSE AND HUMAN STUPIDITY, AND I'M NOT SURE ABOUT THE FORMER." -ALBERT EINSTEIN

2006-03-28T19:23:00.000+09:00

"There are all these conspiracy theories that Dick Cheney runs the country, that Karl Rove runs the country. Why aren't there any conspiracy theories that I run the country? It really ticks me off."

- Because, GEORGE W., the President running the U.S. isn't really much of a conspiracy.

"What is wrong with Islam that he should want to convert? The courts should punish him and he should be put to death."

- ABDUL ZAHID PAYMAN, thank you for your deep and telling thoughts on Christian converts.

FALL BACK SPRING FORWARD

2006-03-28T18:56:00.000+09:00

For non-allergy sufferers like me, spring is one of the best times to be in Tokyo.

Believe it or not, these shots were all taken in the Japanese capital (though somewhat on the suburban fringe). My dog gets to run around here almost every day and when she's extra lucky, she even gets to swim in the river.

Now that it's warmer out, I've started running again this week. Discouragingly, I can literally only manage half the distance I was running last year. I told my running partners that my lungs were totally baked from inhaling obscene amounts of house dust in my week-long cleaning spree (not all that convincing, coming from a smoker). The truth is, I'm totally out of shape. Sigh.

DE-CLUTTERING CONTINUES...

2006-03-24T02:20:00.000+09:00

I can't freaking believe this. I've been cleaning now for 3 whole days and I'm still not done. I'm taking time off from work and play to get this project completed. Armed with a damp rag and a steely heart, I have ventured where no man has set foot before (and let me tell you, it was duuusty).

Anyway, this is why I have absolutely nothing to blog about. Hopefully I will actually do something worth blogging about in the next few days - once I get rid of all the garbage bags that are obstructing the door to the outside world.

In the meantime, here are some photos I found of a lazy day in the woods behind campus with my college mate. I'd forgotten how beautiful upstate New York (and he!) were...

(Apologies for the picture quality; these are photos of photos taken on my mobile.)

TREASURE ISLAND

2006-03-19T01:18:00.000+09:00

You know how I've been really irritated lately? I mean, even more than usual? Well, I'm not sure about this, but I think it may have something to do with being on the Artist's Way.

Somewhere in that book, I vaguely recall reading something about creative un-blocking causing crankiness. The last few weeks have been an endless loop of frustration-elation-productivity-inactivity-wanting to break shit. I'm now 29, which pretty much rules out the possibility of adolescence or menopause.

Get this. Today, I woke up and started cleaning. Anyone who has been to any of my abodes knows that this is not the norm. After a 4-minute breakfast consisting of tea, I embarked on a 7-hour trashing spree, during which I filled six 45-liter garbage bags. I even skipped lunch. That is definitely not normal. (Sadly, I am still about 67 hours from completion.)

And the most alarming part is that I actually enjoyed it. What's happening to me? Half of it was the whole treasure hunt aspect of it; I found cringe-worthy but cute journal entries, beautiful old pictures I don't remember taking, hidden pockets of loose change, old jewelry. The other half of it was therapy - ie. throwing away clothes I wore when I was fat, tossing out reminders of shithead exes, etc.

I always wondered what mental disorder or tragic character flaw prevented me from achieving an acceptable level of housekeeping skill. Today, I think I figured it out. For me, messiness is an emotional issue. I feel bad throwing away something that was given to me. I feel bad throwing away something that I thought I wanted but never used. I feel scared to open my bank statements, so I don't - and they accumulate in some corner until they bring on a major paper avalanche weeks later. I'm uncomfortable getting rid of clothes, because, hey, you never know when I might balloon up or get really skinny. Christ. Do I sound psycho enough yet?

Anywho, I decided to give myself a pat on the back by baking a cake at 11 pm: Lemon Marzipan again, from my prized Linda Carucci book. I found a kilo of marzipan, which is on its last legs, in the pantry. The cake was fabulous, and I ended the day feeling like a bona fide Domestic Goddess, which is something I could get used to. (Maybe I should fish those fat clothes out of the garbage bags after all.)

FULFILL YOUR DAILY CUTENESS QUOTA HERE

2006-03-18T03:32:00.000+09:00

Meet my mate Connie.

Connie is a 2 year-old Jack Russell Terrier who secretly lives in a no-pets apartment. Because of her clandestine residential arrangement, Connie can only enter and exit concealed in her canvas transport bag. When she is ready to get a move on, Connie jumps into the bag and pokes her nose out the hole in the side.

Is she the cutest damn thing you've ever seen, or what?

MOVIE MANIA

2006-03-18T03:06:00.000+09:00

Being of the un-motivated ilk most of the time, I find that announcing plans on the blog acts as a small incentive to get things done.

So. I am going to go and see Mad Hot Ballroom, The Chronicles Of Narnia, Fearless, and Crash at Roppongi Hills this month. Any takers?

THE TOKYO TICO FESTIVAL

2006-03-18T02:18:00.000+09:00

I remember when Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind came out at my local cinema, the Parkway Odeon in Camden. I avoided seeing the movie because I didn't like Kate Winslet or Jim Carrey. I typically don't like movies where senseless things happen - like a cyan-haired Kate Winslet lounging in a bed with Jim Carrey on a snowy beach. Attempting to be weird for the sole purpose of weirdness per se is, well, totally un-weird. In fact, it's boring. Stupid. Pedestrian.

(Obviously I was the big stupidhead movie critic wannabe who needed to learn that one must watch the movie before critiquing it. I've since learned. Don't hate.)

A few months later, when my London Life imploded so spectacularly that you couldn't make it up if you tried, Eternal Sunshine was the in-flight movie on my tail-between-my-legs plane ride home. I rejected it yet again, because it brought back unpalatable memories of a certain movie date that never happened. A fitting reason not to see a movie that is all about erasing memories of painful past relationships.

Lucky for me, it was a Virgin Atlantic flight, which meant that I had roughly 200 other things to watch. I touched down at Narita 14 hours later, after having spent the last 12 hours watching every episode of Friends known to man, among other things. A frangible airport employee in his 80s shuffled to the airplane doors, to meet me with my rent-a-wheelchair. It wasn't a Friends-related collapse but 14 hours of sleep deprivation at high altitude after 2 weeks in an NHS hospital probably didn't help my meningitis recovery much.

So anyway, suffice it to say I have a bit of a history with Eternal Sunshine. That's the thing about movies. They're like emotional markers. Something about them crawling deep into the fabric of your life. Suddenly it's not something that you did when you were bored one Saturday night - it holds personal meaning.

After my fateful meeting with Tico, I couldn't wait to give it a test run. Imagine my dismay upon realizing that the only videos I hadn't seen at Tsutaya Jiyugaoka were a series of Mary-Kate/Ashley adventures and Eternal Sunshine.

So, 800 words later.... The point is, I saw Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind and thought it was really, really good. I feel the hate mail coming already.

WHAT 6000 YEN CAN BUY YOU NOWADAYS

2006-03-18T01:55:00.000+09:00

I am feeling sooo much better now. Just a few days ago, I felt I had lost the plot; now my ass is firmly back in the saddle.

I thought my whole world was falling apart. In reality, all I needed was a little present. A small token of my affection for me. You know, retail therapy. Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce to you the 6000 yen item that turned the frown upside-down. Behold... the Tico FOX 2000.

"OK, so you got yourself a DVD player," you may say. But no. It's so much more than that. First of all, it's like the iPod of DVD players (by which I mean it's small and white, which is a good thing - at least as far as electronics are concerned). It's the size of a Sony Discman, if you're old enough to remember those. That means that one can easily carry this non-portable DVD player around and plug it into any TV you want. That is handy. It also means that it doesn't take over half the room. Of course it comes with all the necessary functions and parts that one would expect of a DVD player: remote control, MP3 and JPG-compatible, cigarette socket adapter, and a bunch of other stuff I haven't figured out yet (and quite possibly never will).

Above all, being Ticoed means I can watch a DVD in the comfort and privacy of my bed, whenever I want. Call it a cheap thrill. It sure beats getting a shrink.

THE TRUTH

2006-03-16T00:22:00.000+09:00

I'm annoyed. Nobody wants to know how pissy someone's feeling, I know. Whenever I come across a blog filled with stupid complaints (as most complaints sound to outsider ears), I move on very quickly, before I catch the irritation bug. This explains why I haven't been blogging for the last few days. But enough is enough.

1. First and foremost, I am suddenly stuck on the screenplay I've been working on for the last couple of weeks. Out of the blue, minor details have started running amok and obstructing the view. This is really annoying.

2. There are so many things I should be doing, but I just can't seem to get it together. A few wonderful friends that I haven't written to in forever because it's been so long and I need the letter to be extra good, and I'm feeling like shit so it would end up being a shit letter. And these people deserve better than a shit letter, especially after waiting for so long. Sorry, guys... I do love and miss you. (I'm talking primarily about you, Chashah, Bea, and Nathan.)

3. I had what I thought would be a meeting regarding a new fashion-related project the other day, and it turned into a psychoanalysis session. It was interesting and hopefully helpful, but it did bring lots of scum to the surface. Grrr. Ignorance is bliss, tis folly to be clued in.

4. I'm sick of all these people with their stupid fucking egos. Like I give a fuck how cool you think you are.

5. Brace yourself, because this is extra stupid. I'm just going to be honest here, though - the Kurt Cobain biopic, Last Days, is being marketed here as the story of rock legend "Kurt Coburn". There is a program where a leggy half-Japanese fashion model with questionable language ability hosts an English-language quiz called "Listen to me?" (that's her standing outside in her underwear, holding a tennis racket, below). Last week, I called the Virgin Cinema Roppongi Hills pre-recorded "English" cinema schedule service and couldn't understand a word they were saying (if you don't believe me, check it out for yourself: 03.5775.6090). I'm not sure why these examples of poor English annoy me so much. They always have. I guess it's partly defensiveness; as a translator and interpreter, it's infuriating when people have no respect for what I do.

6. AOL. Will. Not. Cooperate.

7. It's been way too long since I last left Tokyo.

8. I ate too much tonight.

9. My old crush, who I'm completely over BTW, loves to push my buttons by e-mailing me out of the blue and then promptly going MIA soon thereafter. I'm not going to fall for this anymore. Go ahead. I don't even remember what you look like anymore.

10. I really have been avoiding the news, but it's nearly impossible to ignore the stupid shit that's been going on concerning the environment, Israel-Palestine, Mr. Bush, WBC, and most things Japan-related.

I think I need to start making a list of happy things to balance out this rotten mood.

READING DEPRIVATION

2006-03-10T16:20:00.000+09:00

So I'm now officially in Week IV in The Artist's Way. The one that includes the dreaded Reading Deprivation torture. The idea is to empty your head and your life of superfluous external junk by limiting media input. This means that you will give yourself an opportunity to create original thoughts without being adversely influenced by outside forces. Fair enough.

I haven't been reading any books, which for me is a good indication of almost Herculean effort. I hated having to put down Middlesex, but I know it will still be there for me next week. But I have been watching movies and videos, which I guess I shouldn't be doing.

(For the record, I saw: Dot The i, which I really enjoyed; Modigliani, biopic of one of my favourite painters, played by none other than the very sexy Andy Garcia; Syriana, another good movie that further benefited from a portly but still very sexy George Clooney; I Heart Huckabees, which I'd put off watching for a long time because of creepy, decidedly un-sexy Jude Law... but the movie itself was exactly the sort of quirky piece I like; and CSI, which has been a bit of a let-down, and I can't believe the Ally McBeal-esque opening tune with all the bodies on the screen and shit.)

And crime of all heinous crimes, I actually absent-mindedly picked up The Japan Times over breakfast today and read a whole article about the Bank Of Japan changing their financial policy, before I realized what I had done. I doubt that ruined my AW experience though, as I didn't understand a word it said. No BOJ-inspired themes in my art.

Anyway, the Reading Deprivation instructions don't seem that difficult or complicated until you try putting it into practice. Only then do you realize how much you read without even thinking about it. Obviously, I should have turned down the translation job I had this week too. Pretty difficult to translate something when you can't read it.

But even though I would most definitely get a D on the Reading Deprivation section of my AW Report Card, it does seem to be working. I got a script idea at 3 am a few weeks ago, my first week of AW. It was like a lightning bolt that woke me up and sent me scrambling in the dark for a pen and a sheet of paper. A few days after that, I got another children's book idea. Then, 2 weeks of being totally and utterly stuck and depressed (which explains all the movies and overeating and rubbish professional manicure), and suddenly - 3 days ago, the sky cleared. I succeeded in writing a satisfactory 4-page treatment for my screenplay!

I've got a big stack of blank cards here, to plot out my scenes. I'm finally on my way.

BEST MANICURE IN LONDON

2006-03-10T15:08:00.000+09:00

Nothing cheers me up like a professional manicure and pedicure. I don't care if I sound like an airhead. It's a relatively low-cost, quick, boyfriendless, and no-effort way to feel pretty and girly. And sometimes this is exactly what a girl needs.

Now, for the benefit of those who followed a Google trail here, let me begin by sharing where to get the best manicure (or pedicure, for that matter) in London. It's called the Beauty Lounge and it's right on Percy Street in Fitzrovia. They have a website. Check it, because you must make a reservation. It's quiet, personal, cute, clean, and not hideously overpriced like Bliss in South Ken (which always makes me feel like I'm being herded through a Willy Wonka-meets-Virgin Atlantic factory line of primping).

Frances is the most meticulous beautician I know. I've gotten picture-perfect manicures and pedicures from this woman that lasted until the nails started growing out. If you're the indecisive type, ask her what colour she recommends; you can trust that she will achieve exactly the look you were going for. For instance, I'm not big on French Manicures. The unnaturally fluorescent-white tips bordering the foie gras- beige nail bed never appealed to me. Having said that, however, I do like to get French Manicures when I am first trying out a new nailist, because I find it's a good way to see how good she is.

I explained my French Manicure trepidation to Frances, and looked the other way while I let her do her thing. The results were pure genius. She used a healthy, natural-looking pink for the entire nail, did the stark white tip, and then did one more coat of the pretty, translucent, pink on top of the white line to temper it. I got compliments on my manicure for a full 2 weeks. So if you're looking to get a good manicure at a reasonable (by London standards anyway) cost, go and see Frances. Tell her Henrietta sent you (to which you'll probably just get a blank look).

Anyway, the reason I'm going on and on about nails is that I had an Artist Date at the overrated Nail Bar the other day at Melsa in Jiyugaoka. In Japan, you put "from N.Y." on anything and it sells like crazy. I don't understand what part of Nail Bar, exactly, is "from N.Y.". My experience was punctuated with rude staff, high prices, and low skill. As far as I know, New York isn't characterized by crappy nail salons. But at McNail Bar (somehow it was successful enough to be franchised - there are other branches in Ebisu and Futako Tamagawa, among other locales), crappy is what you get.

The girl who was doing my nails grilled me on my personal life like it was an interrogation/torture scene right out of 24, while sporadically poking me with her own sharp, plastic talons. "Where do you work? poke What do you do? poke Where do you live? poke poke Why are you getting your nails done? Do you always walk around with a bottle of nail polish? poke Do you always wear this colour? etc. etc." JEEEZUS. I had brought my own nail polish, a beautiful plummy wine I picked up at Nars a few weeks ago. She asked me if I was quite sure I wanted that on my nails. Repeatedly. Just because in Japan, you follow the trend. And the trend right now is long, plastic, pointy, pink, airbrushed nails with rhinestones and butterflies and flowers. You know, Mariah Carey nails. Not my thing, not at all.

In the end, the poking, interrogation, and just standard nail-painting cost me 3,500 yen (that's about 32 USD). No massage, no pushing back of cuticles. The nail on my left ring finger looked crooked (she had missed a sizable sliver of nail on one side). When I pointed this out, she said it was because my nail is crooked. (It's not.) My manicure hadn't even dried and it already looked 3 days old.

Anyone know of a good nail place in Tokyo? I don't think I can wait for my 4 annual trips abroad to get a half-decent manicure.

THE SEAMSTRESS: A PARABLE

2006-03-07T23:29:00.000+09:00

Wise words, as transmitted by Charlotte...

"One day, as a seamstress was sewing outside, her thimble fell into the river. When she cried out, the Lord appeared and asked, 'My dear child! Why are you crying?' The Seamstress explained that her thimble had fallen into the river and that she needed it to make a living, to support her husband. The Lord dipped his hand into the water and pulled out a golden thimble inlaid with pearls. 'Is this your thimble?' the Lord asked. The Seamstress replied, 'No.' The Lord again dipped his hand into the river, this time pulling up a silver thimble encrusted with sapphires. The Lord asked, 'Is this your thimble?' Again, the Seamstress replied, 'No.' The Lord reached down again and came up with a leather thimble. 'Is this your thimble?' asked the Lord. The Seamstress replied, 'Yes.' The Lord was pleased by the woman's honesty and gave her all three thimbles to keep. And the Seamstress went home very happy.

Some years later, the Seamstress was walking with her husband along the river bank. Her husband slipped and fell into the river, disappearing under the surface of the water. When she cried out, the Lord again appeared and asked her, 'My dear child! Why are you crying?' She replied, 'Oh Lord! My husband has fallen into the river!' The Lord went down into the water and came up with Mel Gibson. 'Is this your husband?' the Lord asked. 'Yes!' cried the Seamstress. The Lord was furious. 'You lied! That is an untruth!' To which the Seamstress replied, 'Oh, forgive me, Lord. It is a misundertanding. You see, if I had said no to Mel Gibson, you would have come up with Tom Cruise next. Then if I said no to him, you would have come up with my husband. Had I then said yes, you would have given me all three. Lord, I'm not in the best of health and would not be able to take care of all three husbands. That's why I said yes to Mel Gibson.'

The moral of this story is: Whenever a woman lies, it's for a good and honorable reason, and in the best interest of others. That's our story, and we're sticking to it."

FOR OLD TIMES' SAKE

2006-03-07T00:29:00.000+09:00

I'm re-posting my hot mystery skier card because the more I blog, the farther down the page he goes. I'm not ready for a page without him and I can't imagine that anyone would complain about seeing him again.

Dear God, I know we haven't spoken very much. But that must mean that I have lots of ungranted wishes, so please: I want one of these. That would totally make up for all the assholes I've dated.

"CAN HE PEDAL AND CHEW GUM?"

2006-03-06T14:11:00.000+09:00

Today's "Bush Watch", the regular Japan Times slot dedicated to ensuring that the Tokyo Anglophone population is constantly well-informed regarding the neverending antics of the U.S. President, summarized Mr. Bush's frequent accidents - specifically, his July bicycle accident during the G8 summit in Scotland.

Al Kamen, who wrote the (hilarious) article for The Washington Post, explains how the President fell off his bike when he took one hand off the handlebars to wave to some police officers. ("Thanks fer comin', y'all!") Both the President and his bike bounced off the legs of one unlucky policeman, who was forced to hobble around on crutches following the hit by the high-profile projectile.

The President also fell off his mountain bike at his Ranch in 2004. Which, of course, is not nearly as strange as the incident in which he fell off his couch while reading, watching TV, and eating a pretzel (remember that one??). And how about when he fell off his Segway? Can anyone think of a dorkier accident than falling off a Segway?

Al Kamen finishes his article with the following: "...And now the latest accident, in which he tried to ride, wave, and speak, all at the same time. We warned him after the pretzel incident about the dangers of multitasking."

Yeah... I feel reaaally safe thinking about him being in charge. Even in my peaceful (so far) little corner of North Asia.

BIRTHDAY STRESS

2006-03-06T13:06:00.000+09:00

Over the weekend, I was invited to a kid's birthday party. He turned 7, and he is just about the cutest little guy around (so cute that I forgave him completely when he didn't remember who the hell I was).

Because I only found out about it the day before the fact, I didn't have much time to arrange for a proper birthday gift. I wasn't about to attend the soiree empty-handed either, so I thought it was a stroke of incredible luck when I found out that my quasi-local chi-chi upscale supermarket sells all kinds of cool balloons (for all the locals: I'm talking about Den-en here). The cantankerous woman behind the till will fill it for you, grudgingly, with the help of a very Soviet era-looking helium tank.

I found so many adorable balloons that it was impossible to choose between them. After half an hour of browsing, I decided on: a BIG green turtle, a BIG yellow smiley-face, a BIG round thing saying "Happy Birthday" in all kinds of colours and styles, and then the piece de resistance - a HUGE (and I mean Thanksgiving Day parade float HUGE) one that would sing a jazzy, upbeat, Disneyesque rendition of "Happy Birthday" every time any part of the balloon was tapped. This is it, I thought.

I was so happy to have found something better than flowers to bring to a 7 year-old boy's birthday party that I lost the foresight to realize that it is dangerous to drive a car filled with 4 balloons, bigger than the driver, floating around at will. Especially when one of those 4 would boink me on the back of the head every few minutes and sing "Happy Birthday" as loudly and as enthusiastically as possible into my suffering ear. By the time I got home, I was ready to kill someone. (Thankfully, I accomplished the driving part of the mission without any major mishaps.) I very carefully took the balloons out of the car, having decided it more practical and less circus act-ish to walk to the party than drive. I say carefully not only because another round of "Happy Birthday" would have caused me to crack up completely, but also because the balloon will only sing 50 times. That's 40 yen per song, by the way - which, now that I think of it, is quite expensive for roughly 26 seconds of aggravation.

Halfway there, inevitably, the beautiful sunny afternoon had morphed into a beautiful sunny afternoon with gale-force winds. In the breeze, my balloons moshed, breaking into song and getting stuck in trees. At one point, I almost got stuck in an electric wire. I can see my Japan Times debut already: Eccentric Balloon Lady Electrocuted On Way To Birthday Party.

I finally got to the house with everything but my hairstyle and pride intact. The singing balloon probably had another 15 songs left upon my arrival, which I decided wasn't too bad. I rang the doorbell. The very first thing I see as the doors open are balloons anchored to every tree and chair. The same balloons I risked my health and sanity to bring. Sigh.

Did I mention the birthday boy didn't remember me?

The party itself was a decadent affair, catered with lots of food and alcohol for the parents, and lots of presents and throwing/running/screaming/hitting/kicking space for the kids. I won't get too much into detail here, but I will say that I was pretty shocked to see what kids are like these days. Based on my dilettante's observation, I will say the parenting trend these days appears to involve shutting up your kids with a big ole block of refined sugar whenever they complain/scream/cry/talk when you are tired/are bored/are out in public etc., which makes for a lot of kids who are clinically obese and flagrantly feral by age 7. It is also considered out of vogue, evidently, to teach your kids to say "thank you" - eg. when a caterer brings your chubby hellspawn a square of birthday cake. Strange and surreal. (And not a bit nightmarish.)

I had lots of plans for the rest of the day. Not surprisingly, none of them actually happened, as I collapsed on the electric carpet as soon as I got home.

I'm far from perfect, but at least my mother raised me to be a fairly non-obese person who can say thank you. And as for some of those kids out there, I wonder: if you can't get excited about balloons in the first grade, what hope could you possibly have in the future?

WHY I WANT TO GO TO THE OSCARS

2006-03-06T12:46:00.000+09:00

At this year's Oscars, hollywood celebs got swag bags including some or all of the following: a Bora Bora vacation, Tahitian pearls, custom-made lingerie, Botox injections, plastic surgery vouchers, spa packages, Swarovski-encrusted mobile phones, diamond rings, a camera monogrammed in diamonds, custom-tailored Hugo Boss suit, LASIK vouchers, dog biscuits shaped like Oscar statuettes, and a $27,000 weekend at a five-star hotel in Vegas.

With goody bags like that, who cares if you don't win an Oscar? I'd love to sneak in, just for the bag.

DOUBTFUL HOPE

2006-03-02T23:56:00.000+09:00

So I've been on the Artist's Way for the last 3 weeks. Technically, it's probably been more like 4; I haven't exactly been following it to the letter. I have been doing my morning pages religiously, though, and I do get to most of the assignments eventually (in some form, anyway).

My question is... Are the things happening to me right now what's referred to as "synchronicity"? The AW at work? Or am I just kidding myself? What the hell, what's wrong with believing what I want to believe? It's nice to think that things are coming together for me at long last.

Among other things, a script idea fell out of the sky and into my lap the other day. It's nowhere near done, of course - it's only barely coming into being now. Given its current state, it may not be at all impressive to someone who doesn't understand just how stuck I've been for script ideas.

If this truly is a product of being on the AW, I wish I had done the programme properly to begin with. Having said that, I can already imagine how tough the Reading Deprivation is going to be next week...

MUNICH

2006-03-02T23:26:00.000+09:00

Just got home from seeing Spielberg's Munich, which was the saddest thing I've seen in a long time. Its main theme wasn't particularly new - that violence only breeds more violence, and that in hurting others, one ultimately hurts himself - but I thought it did a good job in expressing the terror and desperation of the men on both sides. Recommended, even though it did feel a bit long at times.

By the way, who knew that Eric Bana could be so attractive? Even in his pasty face make-up and 70s garb, he looks quite handsome. When I saw him in Hulk, I couldn't get past the strange shape of his head. (In his defense, he was also nosebleed-hot in Troy, which makes me think that perhaps a bad haircut and a warped lens were to blame for his ugly duckification in Hulk. Even the impossibly beautiful Jennifer Connelly looked strange in that film.)