Personal Reflections

Equinox at Manazuru

We took ourselves and a bottle of whiskey down the coast to a wee little cape at the end of Kanagawa to celebrate the equinox and note the anniversary of my father's death.

The village of Manazuru is a charming port town. Its marina sits at the bottom of a natural amphitheater with alleys and staircases defining semicircles of houses, shops and ryokans. To the south of town there is a 700 year old kusunoki and kuromatsu forest on a hill above the rocky tip of the cape. It is a pleasant walk to the cape along the ridge road or the shore road and there are two lovely public parks with lots of hooping space.

I foresee future excursions. Maybe even a summer home...

After Party Attitude Shift

This morning I was sulking a little because last night Tod had promised to wash the last batch of party dishes but there he was about to head out to work with the sink still loaded with unwashed china. When he noticed my moping, he asked about it and I told him what was wrong.

But then I saw the light. This wasn't something to be even a tiny bit upset about. Washing a half a dozen wine glasses, a handful of cutlery and some serving plates really isn't a big deal, even if they loom large in the sink. The problem was my expectation that Tod would do it. So I mentally took on the task myself, changed my expectation without any bad feeling, and my negative mood lifted.

It took Tod by surprise and he worries about repercussions, but there will be none. I gave him the gift of a Pi Day Dinner with friends. It was my pleasure to do it. The dishes are done, the rooms are all tidied and vacuumed and the day looks bright.

I wanted to note this because it is another example of how my increased happiness works. A year ago, this "undone dishes issue" would have blown up into an argument or a day of resentful housekeeping. Now, it is just another blip to be noted and passed by. We are fortunate people, Tod & I, with sufficient resources to do pretty much anything we could ever want to do. It is silly to sully that great fortune with trivial madness.

Why did it take me so bloody long to figure this out?

Knitting a Horse

This morning I woke up feeling behind on things. I've been glued to the computer for three days editing but I knew I'd have a break today while clients had a look at the rough cut.

So gee...I should fill the larder, do the laundry, take care of the bills and paperwork, tidy the house. I really must fit in some yoga or hooping to move my body, at least an hour. And there are this week's Artist's Way tasks to do and today would be a good time to get them started. Oh, I need to decorate the partner hoop before Sunday, too. Since I am not reading this week, I ought to catch up with my friends by phone. And wasn't there...Argh.

I had to stop myself. Stressful! I hate all those ought/should/must/need things. They are always way more than can actually be accomplished without exhaustion and the way they hover makes me feel horrible. So what do I do when those sort of things overwhelm me?

I knit a horse.

Not (necessarily) a literal horse, but a project to show off at the end of the day. A project that lights my passion on the spur of the moment. Procrastination, yes, but the knitted horse is always an accomplishment of some magnitude; something elaborate enough to justify the undone laundry or unpaid bills. "Look, honey, I knitted a horse! Life size with a hand plaited mane and embroidered button eyes. Took me all day! I think we'd better order in tonight."

And thus this morning I unexpectedly began knitting a horse. It's taking the form of rearranging the living room, which has follow-on effects in the rest of the house as I shift cabinets around and rehang the kitchen door, clean under cupboards, and consider moving the stereo, too. I will accomplish some nagging tasks in the end, but this was not at all what I'd intended to do with my free hours.

Still, it's a nice horse.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

Birthday party, 1975

Mom turns 70 today. Here she is half a lifetime ago at our dinner table in New Jersey, opening a birthday present with remains of yellow cake and party decor on the table.

Happy birthday, Mom!

Memory Loss

Last week when I posted my hoop performance video, my mother and sister were both reminded of a record we had when I was a kid - classic marches - that I didn't have any recollection of. Even having been reminded of it, I have but the vaguest tickle of recall.

This happens to me a lot. It is worrying.

I've always been this way with books and movies. A few of them stick, but most are forgotten; possibly a part of a scene or a song or something will resonate with me, but the rest is quickly lost. I've read voraciously since childhood and assumed that forgetting so-so plots and narrative was my brain's way of keeping room for the good stuff. But the "good stuff" is pretty random and now real life experiences are getting the same treatment.

I don't always remember places I've visited or restaurants where I've enjoyed a meal. Tod knows them and is patient enough to prompt me with details until I have a ping on my radar. "You know, the basement restaurant with the big blue vases? Where the lobby had a old statue of a man smoking and we talked about how you'd never see that anymore? And you had the rice pilaf with the pretty carrots on it?" It can sometimes take a lot of explaining before I twig. And sometimes I never do.

I usually can remember rooms where I've spent considerable time. My childhood homes, a classroom, various apartments and friends' houses. But perhaps I am inventing details over a basic framework of shape and color. I am very good at believing my own make-believe.

But forgetting books, vacations spots, and old LPs isn't the only memory issue that I struggle with. Recently I started doing The Artist's Way, which is a sort of therapy course for blocked creative people. Some of the exercises terrify me. For example, listing five people I admire. I can't think of who they might be, though I am sure I admire five people and then some. Last week we were to list twenty activities we liked to do. It took me three tries to come up with twenty things, even though I know there are scads of things I love to do.

I wonder if I am on the road to dementia? I have unusual white spots on my brain, according to a neurologist and an MRI. These are the sort of spots that are normally only seen on very old people's brains. So yes, perhaps I am on my way to being the crazy lady who doesn't know who you are.

That's scary.

I am developing some strategies for dealing with this current (and possible future) memory loss: live in the present moment without concern for the past or future; teach my body things like hooping and dance that do not require brainpower to enjoy; cultivate a joyfulness in small observations like watching birds and wind; build a body of creative work that will delight, surprise, and inspire me when I explore it.

I try not to be anxious about this, but I am a little. A great deal of my identity is wrapped up in the smart brain I was given. Dealing with loss of mental faculties is difficult. Who will I be if I can't use my mind as I used to?

I don't know. And I have to wonder - did I already blog about this?

Epic Change

Yesterday morning

Yesterday afternoon

The dull grey mood of winter begs for something new and exciting. Something different. February is high time for a style change. The sort that a salon will never give you but that a friend with scissors and valor will. While giggling.

I popped around to Jojo's for a cup of tea and a bit of snipping and came home looking like a new person. The sort of person who buys vivid pink hair dye and performs circus tricks. Yes, that person. Hi!

Girl with Glasses

This is the week that I concede to wearing glasses when I read.

For several years I've had glasses to prevent computer eyestrain, but in the past few months my eye muscles have aged rapidly. Unfortunately my arms have not grown correspondingly. Now I can tell a difference when I wear my glasses to read printed matter and I don't have to hold the book quite so far away.

Soon enough it will be glasses on my nosebridge all the time.

2010: Connect

I'm not always very good at resolutions, but in the past I've enjoyed having a single over-arching concept to help focus my year. On a difficult day, I recall my theme and see if I can work with it to make the day better. Last year was "no shopping" and it was a specific, measurable goal that was challenging and memorable. This year I am going for something more vague.

Connect.

I intend this to mean "connect more in real life with friends and activities I enjoy" but it also incorporates the spirit of introductions, community-building, intellectual mash-ups, spiritual awakenings. I think "connect" is a good plan for 2010.

Hello, Twenty-ten!

It's the year of the tiger, even though it looks like it might be year of the zebra...

Please do it at home

My interpretation of my own behaviour as part of the long-running series of train manner posters in the Tokyo Metro. Yes, I knit on the subway.

Cookies of Resentment

Thursday afternoon ÷ (1 kg flour + 575 g butter+ 3 1/6 cups assorted sugars + x) = 144 cookies + 1 resentful Kristen.

I enjoy traditions and celebrating the cycle of time so I try hard to embrace the whole year-end holiday season, but for much of it I am resentful and unhappy. I dislike the expectations and pressure I put on myself to produce my one-woman Christmas show every year. I shop; I decorate; I wrap; I cook; I bake. Mostly done alone unless I coerce, plead or break down.

I feel like a bitter old lady telling you this because resentment is not how I approach life in general and I wish I knew how to change myself. Maybe in the writing, a revelation will come. Or not; this is a problem I struggle with every year. I imagine this is completely shocking to you, since you love and embrace the holiday season with all your heart, curling ribbon, and glittery snowflakes.

One aspect of the festive season that often pains me is waiting too long to get things done. I'd love to make a mad and abbreviated dash through three or four days before Christmas, doing it all from shopping to decorating to celebrating and then be done. I've attempted it many times and it used to work, but each year's celebration gets a little bigger and more elaborate. Now this approach exhausts me and leads to mental and physical illness, so I decided to take it easier this year.

I baked cookies yesterday, 2 weeks in advance. But there was no holiday cheer in this task - it was practical and about as exciting as vacuuming the apartment, which I also accomplished yesterday.

Don't get me wrong, baking is fun. I love to concoct things and pop them in the oven. I adore sweets. But holiday baking is expected, though not demanded, and that seems to suck all the fun out of it. Of course there will be cookies and they will have been magically baked when no one is looking. There is no sweet surprise to spring on my darling.

"But you didn't have to do it!" he declared when I whinged about cookie baking last night. That is true, I didn't. Tod isn't all that interested in cookies. I don't think he even asked what I'd made or how many or expressed the slightest curiosity.

What would happen if there were no cookies? Superficially, nothing. Mostly I bake them to follow a tradition of ransoming Tod from his office on Christmas Day afternoon but Tod would still leave the office and his coworkers would barely remember a decade's worth of Christmas cookie deliveries. The problem is that at some point in the festivities, an innocent comment or question from Tod on the topic of cookies would tailspin me into guilt and shame at not providing sufficient holiday cheer.

So "possible guilt" trumps "definite resentment" and the cookies get baked. If they taste a little bitter, I apologise. I'll try to add more cheer next time.

One sentence journal

For the last few months I've been keeping a daily journal on paper where each day is a single sentence on a new page. I will cycle through my demiannual volumes year after year to add another sentence to the pages and build up an "on this day" style history.

It is a challenge to encapsulate the day in a few words. Some days are so full of excitement that the sentence reads like a forgettable laundry list. 22 October: Looked at shoes, suitcases, paper lanterns and fabric, then had a massage, swim, and found a caterpillar cocooning. The dull days are easier to write about because I can focus on a detail or an emotion. 6 October: Swirls and bubbly shapes in the dishwater brought me to tears with their beauty.

These words fix the day in my mind so I must write what I want to remember. Sometimes I hit the bullseye. September 19: A six km cross-town walk followed by boiled peanuts, strip Scrabble, and Soul Mining already makes me smile with the memory of that afternoon.

But I make mistakes. Though 22 October's Thai market, massage and swim were enjoyable, I have done them all before. What I really remember is the caterpillar: how we found it when it fell off a chaise near the pool; mistakenly thought it was trying to come out; got beer from our fridge and settled in to watch it for almost an hour before finally moving it to a safer place in the foliage.

Some days I don't know what to choose to remember. Today I heard that a childhood schoolmate recently died. Should I mention Laurleen and my feelings about her early demise (carpe diem; eat, drink, be merry), or should I write about whatever probably trivial things I do today?

And there is the issue of trying to fit in facts like names of people and places. I am aware that I might need context later on - even a few months down the road, I can't recall exactly who was at Sarah's birthday in September, but there it is in my one long sentence. In ten years' time, will I remember the people that go with the names? Does it matter?

Repetition will hone my skills at sentence-crafting and I am enjoying all its new considerations. But it leaves me wanting to write more, so perhaps I need a second journal without restrictions. Or to post here more often. Or both. We'll see.

At the orthopedic clinic

I went to the doctor today. This is a landmark occasion, as the last time I saw a medical office it was for my Turning Point Exam in 2006 when I turned 40. Today, though, I needed to have someone with gear confirm my foot problem was not a broken bone.

So I hobbled down to the Kodokan Building Clinic where they specialise in orthopedics, rehab, and outpatient dialysis. Dr. Yamamoto, who has been practicing medicine since I was 2, did exactly what I hoped he would. After listening to my history and prodding my foot a bit, he took me in for a roentgen, then showed me photographic evidence that my foot is only sprained rather than fractured. I am relieved.

I love looking at my own invisible insides. X-rays are magic and bones are beautiful. Dr. Yamamoto pointed out a previous injury, too - a sprained toe join from when I fell off a stone piling in Evanston in 1995. It really does look all messed up in there. I guess I can expect more problems with my feet in the future. At least I know where to go now.

As is almost always the case when I seek medical advice, there is no treatment for my problem. I've got 3 weeks' worth of Loxoprofen (in easy to use transdermal tape form) to ease my pain and orders not to dance or jump for a while. I guess I will spend the next few weeks refining my hand hooping and minis.

Today I give a thumbs-up to socialised medicine. I was in and out of the clinic in under an hour without an appointment and the total cost for my initial visit, doctor's consultation, two x-rays and 3 weeks of meds was 1860 yen (about $20). Plus the 115 yen I spent on a chocolate pudding to treat myself for being a good girl at the doctor's office.

Feminine Energy

Saturday was a red letter day for me. For the first time in my memory, I felt the truly powerful energy of being female. It wasn't what I expected at all.

I was reluctantly, sheepishly, and somewhat fearfully attending Sara-Shivani's lifeshop of tantra and tao yoga. Despite my self-doubt, it came at a fortunate time for me as I have recently met all these goddess-women and they fascinate me. I'd like to be a goddess, too, but I felt I needed guidance. Also, through discussions with Tod and hoop-related body awareness I had painfully come to the conclusion that I was completely out of touch with the physical aspects of being female.

You probably know some women who you'd call earth mothers. They exude a definite calm, stable yet fluid strength, don't they? I felt that energy in myself! It was solid but juicy and flexible. It felt like particles vibrating inside me and it filled me from feet to chest. It was sexual energy, but not in the explosive orgasmic sense at all.

Normally the energy I feel and see and experience in various ways is based in light - glows, sparks, brightness. But this female energy was deeper, lower, dimmer. It was not sinister, it was simply not ethereal. It was strong. It contained a lot of power but no aggression. It was a complete surprise.

And thanks to Sara-Shivani's ability to share her knowledge and to melt away useless insecurities, now I know how to tap into my feminine sexual energy and how to strengthen it inside me. And I will be doing that because it felt good and really, truly right.

20 Years Together

We eloped 20 years ago today. Tod & I called in sick to work and visited the court just 2 weeks before our planned wedding day. Our impulse left us without witnesses or friends present, so there are no photos of us together from that day. Didn't matter, we took snaps of each other:

Tod enjoying married life.

Freshly minted Mrs. McQuillin.

Since our reception party was already planned, we held it on schedule. There were lots of photos taken on November 5th. Most of them show Tod looking uncomfortable and impatient to get the photography over with while I encouraged him to stand still and smile. He still dislikes photo sessions, though he's learned not to make faces and I've learned not to nag.

Fortunately, the rest of the day was easier.

Tod didn't mind posing for this photo.

I'd like to reflect on our two decades together but what can I possibly say? If you are married, you know the ups and downs of a relationship. If you are not, you have to find out for yourself. And none of what has come before really matters. We are happy now and that is what counts.

My Tattoo Story

My tattoo, 16 years old, and its inspiration

When I was in my teens and becoming aware of the world, tattoos were beautiful and scary as the only tattooed people I knew were bikers. But I loved the idea of color and design on skin and I secretly wanted one. However, a tattoo was not something my parents were likely to let me do, so I waited.

Several years after marrying, as my life was simultaneously settling and transitioning, I found the tattoo design I wanted in a Dover clip art book - Celtic Stencil Designs. It had beautiful negative space, curves, triskeles, a sort of yin/yang shape and I knew I could live with it. I checked out Mom, to see where I would probably sag and wrinkle as I aged and decided the wrist would be totally safe (not that Mom was old or saggy, but we do have a similar body shape, so it seemed wise to have a peek).

When the 1993 Meeting of the Marked convened at a hotel in Pittsburgh, I went into the convention just to look. This was my first time seeing the process and artists and I was excited. There were tables ringing in a hotel ballroom and every table had a flash book, photos of the artist's work and a very busy artist adding ink to a happy customer. Most of the attendees were dressed to show their skin. It was a heady experience to walk around and take it all in.

Then I found my artist, Chris Henry, by flipping through his sample book. He was a former university engineering student a couple of years younger than me who dropped out to follow his passion as a tattoo artist. He did a lot of blackwork then and it was good. I showed him my design and he agreed to do it. "Come back in an hour," he said.

So I did. I called Tod first to make sure he was OK with it (He wasn't thrilled, but didn't stop me) and used an ATM to get my several hundred dollar payment. Then back into the fray to be tattooed. Wow!

It took about two hours. First Chris made a mimeograph - the purple kind that smells so good - from my design. Then using deodorant as a medium, he transferred the pattern to my wrist a couple of times until he got it lined up the way he wanted it. He outlined the design with a single needle, then filled it in with a three needle gun. The whole while we chatted, and passersby engaged me with encouragement and their own tattoo stories. It was a great experience.

It was painful, yes. But the pain wasn't unbearable. It was strange and a little sad to see features of my skin disappear; bye-bye freckles! And it bled a pattern into the bandage which I thought was nifty but disturbed friends.

I am very glad to have a tattoo. Its design doesn't have meaning for me, but the experience does and its existence has shaped me, especially in Japan where tattoos are for criminals. I am beautiful and scary.

Now, the power of Goddesses

Suddenly in my life there is an unbidden focus on enlightenment. Everywhere I turn, some new clue is waiting for me to discover it. Stars are shining brightly. People who might guide me are falling into my path. Something is sending me a message.

It started a couple of weeks ago, when I found a copy of Eckhart Tolle's The Power of Now next to the bed. I have no idea how it got there, but I picked it up and read it. Normally I avoid self-help books - my judgmental and logical brain thinks they are mostly bunkum that doesn't apply to me. But bloody hell, this one turned my brain inside out. It was still a lot of bunkum, but there's something to it.

[If you haven't read it, I can quickly summarise: There is nothing you can do in the past and nothing to be gained by worrying about the future. All you have is what is right here, right now. You are not your life circumstances: job, relationships, finances, home, health, intellect. Nor are you the labels your brain and ego give you: cynic, clever, childlike, conservative, crafty, curmudgeon. The real you is underneath the labels and the circumstances; you are a deep and primal source of energy and power. There is an analogy in the book that I liked a lot: the real you is a deep ocean beneath the waves and ripples of your life circumstance.]

I found these ideas powerful. Maybe my lightweight belief system resonates somehow. I don't know. Regardless, my head spins with the truth I see in this book.

Within a fortnight of reading the book, a passel of new women stepped into my circle. They seem different than other people I know. Blissful. Doing things they love. Radiating joy. Not really getting stressed out by anything. It's quite remarkable. I am used to chats full of grumble and gossip, not talk of love and peace and practice. They are all very present, these goddesses. Good things come to them. They bring happiness to others.

It makes me highly uncomfortable.

Today I don't know who I am. Who can I be? I like the goddesses a lot. Could I be one, too? My ego screams "What will happen to me?!" in a hundred different ways, throwing up hurdles and demanding answers. Will I still want to do things or will I end up like Eckart Tolle, just sitting blissfully present on a park bench for a couple of years? Can you be enlightened and continue to enjoy cooking, walking, making clothes, cuddling, and hooping? Will I lose my judgment and discrimination so that everything becomes equally good? Will my opinions fade away? Do enlightened people make travel plans? Will being present mean I am always late for meetings?

Tod seems to get it. His eyes shine when I ramble about this confusion I feel. He encourages me to let go and just be. It is the scariest thing I will ever do, if I can do it.

Good til 2012

Time passes and visas extend. Our passports sport fresh new stickers that say "UNTIL -1 OCT 2012"

Secret Super Powers

I think everyone has a quirky talent that nobody else in their group shares - a secret super power. It may be useful but is more likely to be odd like always getting the biggest slice of cake or finding coins on the street or flagging taxis in ten seconds.

This isn't a new idea, of course. Justine Larbalestier calls secret super powers "fairies" in her book, How to Ditch Your Fairy, and her heroine has a parking fairy - she unfailingly finds parking spots even though she doesn't drive.

My secret super power seems to be Seeing Bugs. Not in a tripped out, itchy, Philip K Dick way, but in a "Hey, here's a ladybug! Oooh, look at the green beetle. Ack, a mosquito!" way. I can scan across a room and find the bugs. I see them on sidewalks, in bushes, & on trees. I have no idea what use this is but there you go.

Tod has Four Leaf Clover Detection powers. He can glance at a bed of clover, bend down and pluck a lucky one. It's quite amazing. He says he can smell them. Tod is lucky in lots of situations, so maybe the clovers are a side effect or a manifestation of his general luckiness.

What is your Secret Super Power? A randomly selected commenter will win a (slightly used) copy of How to Ditch Your Fairy. I'll make the random selection on Wednesday, July 8th.

Long Sunday Date

7:30 Persuasion
A migraine had put me through the wringer for over a week and I was sure I wouldn't have enough energy to make it through the day, much less spend it doing things. Tod wheedled and encouraged until I agreed to a full agenda of activities starting with a 90 minute train trip to the beach for breakfast at bills, celebrity chef Bill Granger's popular restaurant.

10:15 Beach
We arrived a Shichirigahama and learned how popular bills is - there would be no table until 11:45. The restaurant is right on the beach and just near a convenience store, so we grabbed some canned coffee and onigiri and sat down on the sea wall to watch surfers. A tobi falcon scared the hell out of me as it flew low and swooped down a few meters away from us.

11:45 Brunch
Despite its reputation, the food at bills was meh: softly scrambled eggs with as much cream as egg; ricotta pancakes made with the same egg-cream mixture, very little flour, and a too sweet syrup; great fruit with boring Japanese yogurt; and an overdressed salad of spinach, feta, peas and mint. The atmosphere was great, though, and the decor just right for an upscale beach restaurant. I was glad I didn't see the check.

1:00 Walk
After our rich meal, Tod suggested we walk along the ocean road to Kamakura. It seems quite a distance since there are 6 stops along the Enoden line between Shichirigahama and Kamakura, but Tod assured me only 4km or so. It was a surprisingly hot and sunny day but the walk was pleasant, with lots of beach activities to watch along the way.

2:30 Ack!
After arriving at Kamakura, we stopped for a rest in the shade before walking to the station. A few blocks after abandoning our bench, Tod turned to me and asked if I'd picked up his phone. Um, no. He trotted back to get it, but it was gone. I suggested we walk toward the station and ask at the police box. Tod was sweating as he opened the door and asked if anyone had turned in a pho...the policeman held it up. "This one?" Yay! The relief that spread over Tod's face was priceless. Five minutes of paperwork to claim the phone and we were done. We celebrated with a coffee and then got on the train where I promptly fell asleep on Tod's shoulder for ride back into Tokyo.

4:30 Brass & Beer
Our day wasn't done. We'd reserved seats for Star Trek at the cinema at Roppongi Hills, but we had a couple of hours to spend before the movie started. Roppongi Hills' plastic commercialism makes my skin crawl, but fortunately the last day of "Beerden Week" was happening, so we got a beer and enjoyed a performance by the Britz and Squash Brass Band.

6:40 Movie
We had excellent seats and the movie was entertaining. I ate a lot of popcorn.

9:00 Dinner
After the movie, we went to Pizzakaya for dinner. We used to eat there weekly, but our habits have changed and it is a rare but enjoyable visit now. We caught up with Derek, saw the new oven in action, and realised that Pizzakaya has been serving pizza for 13 years. We were among the original customers.

10:45 Bed
By the time dinner was over, I was exhausted just the way I imagined in the morning and insisted on a taxi home. Once home, we showered off the sea salt and rolled into bed where I read aloud from a book about reading the OED. Lights out!

Hip Hop Revolution

You can teach an old girl new tricks, but she might strain herself learning them. I'm taking a hip-hop dance workshop with some of my hooping friends. I crack myself up with my middle aged white girl moves but it is even fun when I am flailing, you know what I'm saying?

Hip-hop isn't quite what I anticipated. It's athletic, graceful and spunky all at the same time.

Our instructor, Virg, is good dancer. He is smooth and straight and relaxed all at the same time. He pushes hard without looking like he's working at all. I watch him carefully to see exactly what nuances make his dance so good. I am slowly picking up on them, even though I can't do them yet.

It's hard to describe the moves, exactly. There are a lot of unexpected influences including outright mimicking motions like some we did tonight:

Picking up a basketball and shooting it;
Pushing your shoulders to the side and downward, sort of like Marcel Marceau plays molecule in a very small box;
Lifting yourself up by the shirt;
Being pushed from behind and stumbling forward

And then there were steps that evoked something for me, but it wasn't hip-hop: a backwards hoedown step; a Russian line dance; Steve Martin's "wild and crazy guy" Somehow I think I am not quite getting it.

Anyway, I might not entirely get it, but I've learned two routines in two classes. I tried hooping some of the steps and they sort of work. Amanda figured our a beautiful way of using one of the arm motions continuously. It has applications, you know what I'm saying?

Thredcotts? Northgolds?

Tracey & Ashley were married on Sunday in one of the most joyous weddings ever seen.

It poured down rain in the morning, but by the time we reached the venue, the rain had stopped. The ceremony was lovely and the party afterward was a real treat - scrumptious dinner, toasts and speeches, a live swing band, a hoop performance (of course the bride hooped) and lots of dancing and wine.

I didn't take pictures at the wedding or the hen's night on Thursday nor the cocktail party on Friday, but there are some shots on their wedding website, Ashley and Tracey 2009, and plenty on Facebook. I am excited to see the official photos that Jim took and the video Aya shot; they were both working hard to capture everything.

Since the wedding, I have enjoyed touring around Tokyo with Ashley's family. I've tagged along on quite a few of their outings - Oedo Onsen Monogatari on Monday, Askausa and Ginza on Tuesday, down to seem MJ in Hiratsuka yesterday, and later today Jo & I are hooping in Hibiya park with Deanne. It's been a lot of fun to see everyone again and I hope I'll make it down to Adelaide for Tracey & Ashley's second wedding later this year.

Men vs Women: Party Planning Edition

The difference between planning a bachelor party and a hen's night is enormous, I've discovered.

The boys decided to go classic and will take Ashley to a dodgy strip club and out for drinks. So last week, two of them did a reconnaissance mission (that lasted until 3 am) and then made a couple of phone calls to their mates by way of invitations. Done and dusted!

Girls need more than passive entertainment to have a memorable night. My hen's night party plan is threefold - first a dance lesson, then dinner (both of which are open to the gentlemen), and finally costumed karaoke.

I know I tend towards too much preparation and I honestly tried to keep this to a minimum. Despite that, I have a spreadsheet of attendees because not everyone can make the whole night and I don't want to leave anybody behind. I researched venues, made reservations, organised discounts, sent invitations, pinged people with reminders, answered questions, and prepared a map. On the night there are vendors to be paid, money to be collected, and change given out. This morning I packed a suitcase full of costumes, prizes, and treats. I hope it is enough. Maybe I should work on one more activity; I probably have time and it would make the party more fun.

Yes, it's an epic amount of preparation but it is all done with love and best wishes for the bride. But maybe next time, I'll plan the bachelor party instead.

Wedding Madness

Maureen and Mark were married at home on one of the most gorgeous spring evenings in many years. Their friends and families pulled together to cook the wedding feast and create a party atmosphere with music, flowers and decorations. It was truly beautiful. My favorite memory of the day is looking up at a shower of rose petals glowing in the late afternoon sunlight with Mr & Mrs Bailey smiling together in a brilliant blue sky.

My other memories are of rushing to finish tasks and hoping to enlist help. Most of time of the wedding day and the preceding days, you would have seen me as above - something in my arms, my back to you as I scurried away bent on completion. With the combined love from friends and family, we made the day just right for the happy couple. I know they cherished their day and that our effort paid off.

It was a successful event but I am happy to be home again in Japan. America seems to amplify what I dislike in myself: I am more judgmental; less patient; I can't hold my tongue; my stress level soars; I feel resentful and restless. I am frustrated that I can't control those traits. I feel sad that my relatives only know the awful me. All those bad aspects are with me in Japan, too, but so much less prominent. I am happy here and angry there.

Jo once told me that she could never live in Japan again because she didn't like the person she became when she was here. I guess I feel the same way about myself in the US. I don't want to be that person.

Visiting Dad

With my father's ashes in the ocean, every shore is a memorial. I make a special trip in his honor once a year on the Spring Equinox. This year is the fourth anniversary of his death and although it is still a somber and teary moment when I dip my hand in the water and say hello, the trip to Inubou and Oarai was more joyful than sad. The ocean is a good place.

Autobiography Timeline

Writing an autobiographical timeline was a recent assignment in my Japanese class. I found it exceptionally difficult and for once it wasn't the language that stymied me. I was stuck with four paltry lines: born, graduated, married, expatriated.

The problem is that a good timeline needs a common thread to tell a story, a progression of personal achievements. But my life is a long series of unconnected, one-off events. If I start to list my personal highlights, my timeline grows long and doesn't lead anywhere.

So I decided to pick a theme and try to find things to fit it. I opted for "performance" because that seems to be what I am doing most of these days and I have been active in entertainments of various sorts for a long time. Here is what I ended up with (in English).

1966 Born Kristen Kemptgen Hill in Pennsylvania, USA
1978 Writes & directs school Christmas play
1980 Organises children's circus with neighbors
1981 Joins local community chorus
1983 Acts in first Nuremberg Community Theater production
1985 Learns technical theater crafts with Red Masquers theatre club
1988 Graduates from Duquesne University
1989 Marries Tod Nathan McQuillin
1990 Quits job because it interferes with semi-professional theatre avocation
1993 Quits semi-professional theater because it interferes with everything else
1994 Wins first prize in FiberFest talent show for rendition of drunken sister
1998 Expatriates to Tokyo, Japan with husband
2000 Launches freelance video editing services
2003 Premieres Hello Tokyo short film at Design Festa
2005 Begins reading audiobooks for Librivox
2007 Screens Yanagisawa's Robot Nation animation at Design Festa
2009 Debuts as hoop dance performer

That is is a better story of "me" than a dull four lines. What would you put in your personal timeline?

Goalsetting, 1991 style

In 1991, at age 25 and two years into my marriage, I was soul searching and life planning. I recently unearthed a sheet of paper dated July 1991. Here is what I wanted to be doing in my future. I've noted the ones I ach

1 year from now I want to
1. Have a full-time job that I enjoy ✕
2. Save money for land, house & business ✓
3. Self-educate in herbs, farming & architecture ✕
4. Enjoy my marriage ✓

By July 1992 I still didn't have a job I loved, but I was on my way. Money was tight but getting better; we were saving a little. I was learning lots about herbs but more about the Internet (which would provide the good job and savings I wanted). My marriage was enjoyable.

5 years from now I want to
1. Buy land and build a house ✓
2. Start a business (herbs, DTP, catering) ✓
3. Travel ✓
4. Learn to drive ✓
5. Enjoy my marriage ✓

By July 1996, I had learned to drive, bought a house (though not a farm) then moved to Chicago. I had quit my job to work as a freelance writer, so I had a business (sort of). In July, I was packing my bags to go to Japan for the first time. That last goal was definitely a continuing success.

10 years from now I want to:
1. Continue farming on a small scale ✕
2. Work on building my business ✕
3. Write a book ✕
4. Enjoy my marriage ✓
5. Get more education ✓

By July 2001 I had no farm, no book and my main education was Japan's culture and language, though I had started and abandoned a grad program in 1997. Small business ownership was no longer interesting to me, though I was about to embark on a hodgepodge non-business of tinkering. Loving the marriage.

25 years from now I want to:
1. Have an established farm
2. Succeed in my own small business
3. Be published
4. Enjoy my marriage

These goals are for review in 2016 - 7 years from now. Although I'd still love to have a small farm, I don't know if that is going to happen. I've put business by the wayside in favor of doing whatever comes my way. That suits me well. Published = a lot of work, but it is still a desire and a possibility. Enjoying my marriage another 7 years doesn't seem like a stretch.

Me minus 25 years

Me. West Hazleton High School, 1984.

Yesterday evening, I unearthed my high school yearbook and paged through it. I hadn't looked at it in at least a decade and I was surprised by a flood of memories. I recalled people's laughs, the way they walked, fresh white smiles, how much I desired their ease or athleticism, how lonely I was, and how aloof.

Based on what I felt when I looked at photos of my classmates, I was a rotten person. Self-absorbed and not at all self-aware. Callous, cynical, judgmental, envious, proud...what are the other deadly sins? I probably embodied them, too.

I hope I have changed a little. My sincere apologies to everyone I encountered back then. What a bitch.

The Year in 25 Words

Continuing the tradition of summarising the year in 25 words, exactly

I made dresses, meals, 100 necklaces, friends. Grew food. Witnessed a birth! I am greying, wrinkling and fading, but I started hooping, so who cares?

Past years: 2007, 2006, 2005, 2004, 2003, 2002, 2001. Feel free to share your own 25 word summary in the comments.

Unmotivated to Overwhelmed

I've observed a growing trend in myself that I want to note here and perhaps get your insight into.

I too often and too easily fall into a cycle of being unmotivated to do things, then become overwhelmed with too much on my to-do list. When I have things to do, even when the tasks are pleasant and enjoyable, I sometimes can't bring myself to start them. I drift. I procrastinate. I stagnate and then more tasks build up until I am fully overwhelmed with it all.

I'm sitting at my desk now with a fairly short list: baking cookies, making holiday cards, sewing hats, laundry and light housework, some Japanese homework, a few business tasks, a bit of shopping. It isn't a lot - more than I can do in one day but probably less than two days' worth - and most of it I will enjoy doing.

And yet I am sitting at my desk. Not cooking, cleaning or creating. Just sitting and staring at news and other people's blog posts like I have been for most of the day. At the moment I don't feel overwhelmed, just unmotivated. But I know that if I don't cross off some of those things before I go to bed tonight, tomorrow I will be equally unmotivated and won't make any progress on the list. And then another day or two will pass and I will be overwhelmed with things that have to be done before a holiday deadline but simply can't be finished in time.

Some of the unmotivated side of the problem is that many of my friends are "in the computer" and we communicate via IM and other online tools. If I am lonely, I sit at my desk and wait for them to appear online for a chat. In the meantime, I surf around the web looking things I really don't need to be looking at. My brain fills up with interesting mind candy and drains of motivation to do things.

I am not sure why I do this. But I don't like it and I am going to have to find some strategies for making it stop. I don't have to be extremely efficient, but I do need to break the unmotivated/overwhelmed cycle. Any ideas?

The Wedding

Some wedding highlights

What a clever and wonderful wedding Jenn & Dan planned. Both poets, they chose the reading room at the Osterhout Free Library as their venue and all the materials had a bookish and library theme.

They processed from the fiction stacks to the mystery section located at the front of the room between two leaded glass windows. The guests sat at lamplit tables.

Their friend Jim, who is not only a poet but also a minister, officiated the very brief ceremony. They exchanged rings and read their own vows which were funny (I am marrying you because you like my meatloaf) and touching (I am marrying you because I've been able to make you laugh every single day I've known you. Usually before noon.).

Then we adjourned to a charming restaurant for dinner, dancing and an entire Methuselah of champagne. Our places were set with books instead of namecards. It was a puzzle and an icebreaker to find your seat. I was Michael Pollan's The Botany of Desire; Tod's book was a collection of short stories. Each book had a library card inside with the name of the recipient, so if you weren't sure, you could check.

The evening ended too soon, but not before many laughs, great conversations, a broken glass, spilled drinks and a very drunken Reverend Blackout. There are some photos and videos on my Flickr: Jenn & Dan's Wedding

Kristen's Project Runway 2 - Dress Mess

I decided that I ought to design and build the dress I will wear to Jenn's wedding later this month, considering that I worked out the design of her wedding gown (though I know it has undergone considerable tweaking in the final making). So a couple weeks ago I bought some lovely nubby Indian silk on a whim and decided to work with it.

But I didn't quite have a design in mind, though I did have a neat sleeve idea involving a contrasting lining on a nearly circular off-center ruffle. I thought the constraint of 2.5 meters of fabric in hand would energise me. Mostly it stressed me. Anyway, here is what I am calling the Dress Mess that went on yesterday and today.

10:00. I have a week's worth of rough sketches, a cup of coffee, and I am ready to do some technical drawings.

11:45. I transferred my ideas onto muslin for a fitting model. I love Sharpie marker on muslin. Not sure how this will work out, but I'm keen to be sewing.

12:15. Oops. Maybe I ought to have calculated the armsyce a little more carefully on paper. I have marked the necessary adjustments in pink pen. Everything is better in pink pen. This will be OK.

2:45. I fortified myself with lunch then cut up the muslin to reflect my alterations. Still not certain about the armscye, but it looks like it is moving in the right direction.

3:30. The adjustments weren't sufficient. The armhole is a disaster. I need to rethink this. Miss Shrew and I are having a look at some sewing books. Maybe there is something with a suitable sleeve in one of these?

5:00. I found a generally simple sleeveless dress in one of the Japanese sewing books. I am sure that I can draft sleeves for this without much trouble. I decided to cut directly into the fashion fabric. Isn't it pretty?

8:00. Time to meet Tod for dinner. The dress is basically together, but the sleeve I basted in isn't sitting right. It bunches up at the font of the arm in a strange way. I need to rework the sleeve cap. Tomorrow.

Day 2, noon. I made a muslin for the new sleeve. You can see the old sleeve underneath - it is a major reshaping. The new one has been carefully drafted and will fit much better.

Day 2, 2:00. Well the sleeve part does fit better. But the armscye is not cooperating. WTF? I have a sort of space costume thing going on here. Argh....

Day 2, 3pm -5 pm. I was too frustrated to continue taking pictures. I unpicked the mistakes and decided to abandon sleeves. I sewed in the lining, somehow forgetting that I had already put in the zipper and wouldn't be able to turn the garment right side out no matter how hard I tried to. So I unpicked the arms (for the 3rd time), turned the dress and lining the right way around, pressed them like crazy, and very carefully pinned and top stitched the sleeveless edges.

The finished dress looks OK. It's not what I wanted but it will do. In place of the sleeves, I will knit myself a shrug. Somehow. I will not be detailing that just yet. You might have to wait for the photos on Nov 29th.

Celebrating 19 Years Together

I don't believe I have been married for nineteen years. I should be older, more stable, more staid. Yet here I am, having just reached wedding anniversary #19 and still feeling like a girl in so many ways.

Last night we celebrated with an amazing shojin ryori meal in Kagurazaka. If you are interested in upscale vegetarian cuisine, Japanese style, I heartily recommend Tosangyo (桃仙郷). They follow the Kyoto style of hospitality in a graceful and serene environment, and they offer seafood and meat as well as a vegetarian menu.

Ours was a multicourse feast beginning with a fruit salad of grapes and persimmons followed by appetisers of walnut tofu with a wasabi dipping sauce and then hitting all of the other washoku cooking styles: simmered seasonal vegetables, crispy grilled yuba rolls in broth, deep fried mushroom tempura with green tea salt, steamed and sauced vegetables wrapped in yuba. The meal ended with rice mixed with sticky yam, red miso soup, and delicious citrus-y pickles.

We enjoyed a private room on the second floor, at a table with a comfortable foot well and decorated in minimal traditional style. Our server was fabulous. He had a food story to go along with every course, most including sound effects as he described the dishes. Jyunko Takeda, the house manager, came in to introduce herself and talk with us. She was extremely gracious and interesting to chat with- trained in the geisha art of conversation, I suspect.

I hope we find an excuse to visit again. It was a thoroughly enjoyable evening.

Time Travel Kit

I gave it lots of thought and solicited the suggestions of valued fellow paranoids to come up with a reasonable starting point for a time travel kit. My list is:

• Fire: matches and/or a lighter. Handy in many situations and critical in some.
• Medicine: aspirin and an antibiotic ointment will go a long way.
• Food & water: an emergency supply to get you through the first couple of days. Water purification tablets would be smart, too.
• Time: a mechanical watch will help you observe durations, soothe a baby to sleep, etc.
• Needles: useful for so many things, including sewing and suturing. Bring some thread, too.
• Knife: this is one of the most versatile tools ever and indispensable in any time period.
• Notebook & pencil: you're going to be learning a lot. writing things down will be useful
• Towel: an homage to Douglas Adams, and just as handy as he explained.
• Reference books: Henley's Formulas will help you brew up all sorts of things; a self-sufficiency manual will help you farm and build shelter.
• Metal cup: can be used to eat from, cook in, mix things in, carry water and small objects.
• Rug or mat: useful for sleeping on, claiming your space, use as a makeshift shelter, for warmth in cold weather.
• Tobacco seeds: Earn some money in whatever the current currency is.
• Umbrella: use as a rain shelter, cane, stabbing weapon, to hook branches, or use it for parts.

Imagine oou have no idea if you will be thrust into the future or the past, nor how far. What would you take with you?

Showers

Why is it that after walking home through a warm summer downpour without an umbrella, the instinct is to take a shower? I was certainly wet enough walking through the door last night - what I really needed was a towel.

Too Drunk to...

An Australian standard drink is 10 g alcohol.
An American standard drink is 14 g alcohol.
In Japan it is 19.75 grams (25 ml) alcohol.

Tod suspects that Japan's drinking policies were written at a nomikai (aka a booze-up, kegger, or boy's night out).

So a 750 ml bottle of wine is 5 drinks in the US, 7.5 in Australia, and about 4 in Japan. A 500 ml beer is 2 drinks in Australia. In Japan, 500 ml of beer is 1 drink. 12 oz (350 ml) of beer is 1 drink in the US.

How much alcohol makes you too drunk to do whatever? After 6 American drinks/8.5 Australian drinks/4.3 Japanese drinks (taken in as homemade frozen margaritas) in 3 hours, I am finding it a little more difficult than usual to type, but conversation is flowing nicely and I can still walk straight.

As Jimmy Liggins sang, "I ain't drunk, I'm just drinkin'!" but I'm nowhere near Dead Kennedys levels here.

MORNING AFTER UPDATE: I wronged the math in our frozen margaritas. Tod thinks our jigger is 45 ml, but it is actually only 30ml. So I really had 4.3 American drinks/6 Australian drinks/3 Japanese drinks. Not too drunk after all.

And in case you wonder what our favorite margarita recipe is, it comes from Drink Boy: http://www.drinkboy.com/Cocktails/recipes/Margarita.html To make it frozen, we blend it with ice.

The things you "need"

Some of the things you need aren't really needs, they are entitlements, not in the legal sense, of course, but in a social sense. They are things you believe you have a right to own or consume. An article, 12 new necessities that drain your cash, lists a few that I have heard people swear they need: premium cable TV, a second car, bottled water. The article makes the point that these entitlements are really more burdensome than they are truly necessary.

It made me think about my own entitlements. Do I have any? How did I get them? I came up with a theory.

Luxury --> Habit --> Entitlement

Entitlements start out as treats, like having a coffee at Starbucks once in a while. Then they become habits. You have a coffee at Starbucks every time you go shopping at the mall with your friends. Finally they pass over from habit that you could skip into a daily necessity. A daily Starbucks fix is so entrenched in the way you live that you can't imagine what you did without it. You need your entitlements and you can justify them in many ways: you have enough money to afford them, so why not? You need a way to unwind after a long day at work. You always wanted this. You need the caffeine.

So with this in mind, I looked into my life, consulted Tod about our daily habits and found some entitlements. Most of them were pretty minor:

Nice soap. We buy fancy and exotic bath soaps. All different kinds. We started picking them up as souvenirs when we travelled. Now we get them from boutiques locally. Of course Lux or Muse would do just as well.

Expensive lotion. I have been using the same Clinique skin cream for over 20 years. It costs a stupid amount of money. I am sure there is a more reasonably priced substitute.

Good linens. We both love high thread count sheets and big thirsty towels. They do last longer than inexpensive linens and we only have three sheets and two sets of towels, so maybe this isn't as much an entitlement as good spending.

Imported foods. There are several bottles of fancy olive oil in the pantry. We have Greek olives and French bread from the good bakeries. We seek out imported oddities at the supermarkets.

And there is one really big, wallet-draining, nearly burdensome entitlement in my life. Travel. It absolutely follows the luxury-habit-need pattern. If I do not see some new and different place in the world at least once a year and more like two or thee times annually, I get edgy. I need to travel.

Of course I didn't used to be this way. Travel was a luxury 20 years ago - we had no money. Any far-flung excursions were occasional, though we did take a lot of day trips and weekends to our friends' farm in the nearby countryside.

Then we settled into a pattern of traveling to celebrate our anniversary. The trips started out as gift of a weekend at a B&B not too far away from home. It was such fun, we made it a habit that expanded scope when we moved abroad. Now our annual anniversary trips have gotten us to Italy, Ireland, India, Fiji, France, and all over Japan.

And here I am, on the verge of jetting off to Australia for a few weeks to visit a friend, and it isn't an anniversary trip. This will be my 4th time to Australia. I've been to China twice (four times if you count Hong Kong before the handover), to London several times, all over the US and South Asia.

I believe I need travel to keep my creativity and intellect in balance and I can't imagine life without traveling. Although it is expensive, I have enough money to afford it. I know how fortunate I am to be able to afford this.

But I don't really need it. I could probably get what I need in my own backyard, just like Dorothy Gale. Maybe.

Do you have any entitlements?

Post Office Test

Today I mailed some parcels off to the US. Normally I fill in a customs form with the contents and value, but today there was a new version of the form and a lot more detail required. The postal worker hounded me for answers. How many in in there? Are you sure? What kind of books? How much do they weigh?

I can do the items & their value ok - or pretty close in any case. But the weight? How should I know? Do you know how much a rubber stamp weighs? Me neither. I don't even know how much the package weighs in total. Is a Customs inspector going to pull each item out and weigh it to make sure I was correct? Gosh.

Even value is a little bit tricky. What is the value of a sample wedding dress made of gingham? How about the value of the sewing instructions and pattern for the dress? I said $20 and $0 but I might as well have said $100 and $500. They don't really have value as such and yet they are rather priceless.

The Japan Post has a page of instructions on filling in the new CN22 customs form. They don't tell you how to weigh your articles or warn that the postal employee isn't going to let you write in anything vague or that doesn't add up to the correct total weight.

More security theater to pass on hassle to the people. Grrrrr.

Kristen's Project Runway - the bodice

Just about there...

I did the skirt for Jenn's wedding dress in a wink about a month ago, but the bodice has been dogging me ever since. Seven days ago I bought a Japanese book of French wedding dress patterns and made a partial test bodice, but today I shook off my performance anxiety reworked the pattern more completely.

My new BFFs, the French curve and waxed paper

For the test bodice, I traced the pattern from the book but it needed some serious realignment to fit Jenn's measurements. Today I turned my slashed and taped pieces into neat and reuable patterns that I can send to Phyllis, the dressmaker.

Why use pins when bead jars work so well?

Once I had the pieces organised, I cut a new bodice and lining to make sure that my changes would fit together correctly. Then I actually read the directions in the wedding dress book and made notes.

Reviewing vintage instructions before seaming.

I also used some information I dug up on the Internet. I have to say, vintagesewing.info is extremely helpful with vintage pattern drafting textbooks.

One of two different cuffs I tried.

I unpicked a lot of mistakes. Some twice. Glad I used contrasting thread.

I am really a rotten seamstress, so this project taught me a lot. I made my own bias tape for the first time. I learned that a lining needs to be bigger than the garment it lines (who knew?). I discovered how to use a French curve properly.

Now that I have a nearly finished bodice, there are still things I want to change. The line of the closing needs to be more vertical towards the bottom. The hemline should be more even! I hope that Phyllis will be able to understand my notes and scribbles.

The vague instructionists

I like old books about how to do things - sewing instructions, cookbooks, housekeeping textbooks. They are quite unlike modern how-to books.

A modern book is well-illustrated with photographs or drawings. They definitely believe that a picture is worth a thousand words. Old books are wordier and may not have any illustrations whatsoever. When they do, they usually cover one or two key points per project. Fortunately these sparse illustrations are very good.

Modern books are explicit with their instructions. They walk the reader step-by-step through the entire process. Sometimes this is a bit overbearing. I do not need to be told to open the glue before using it, thanks. (And my coffee, it is hot. I will be careful.) Older books often start out in detail but peter out as if the writer got bored. I love the vague directions they write: "do it in the common fashion" or "proceed as usual to produce the finish."

There are two good reasons for this vagueness, as far as I can see. One is that most people have extant knowledge of "the usual way" that can be drawn on (at least contemporaneously to the book) to save time and words. Also, the writer can cheat a bit when he doesn't actually know the process by telling readers to draw on their own understanding - do it in the common way. If they don't have any understanding either, then they may feel stupid or be perplexed, but he will be far away writing the next book.

Older books use great terminology. It is correct, precise and sounds craftsman-like. Modern books simplify terms to make them easier for the lay person to understand, I suppose. Aglet vs shoelace end. Armscye vs armhole. Tisane vs tea. Those XYZ for Dummies books might not be such a joke after all.

Both modern and vintage instructions can be a bit frustrating with their materials and quantities. I think this is partly temporal and partly geographical. Of course in 1914, every American knew what a box of raisins was. Now Americans have a choice of raisin package sizes. In Japan, raisins come in plastic bags, not in boxes. So how many raisins should you use? Also, modern books tend to name specific brands, rather than giving details about the actual material. And that works now, when the item specified is popular and easily available. But how will anyone in 20 years know what a skein of "eco-andaria" is or what can be substituted?

If I ever write an instructional book, I think I will follow the vintage books and be both highly precise and utterly vague.

Safely Delivered

Elliot Mason Sueyasu was born at 4:29 pm on May 15th. He weighed in at 3458 grams (7 lbs 10 ounces) and was 50 cm (20 in) long. He has all his fingers and toes and Yoshi's nose, for sure. I think his wrinkly fingers look like tiny elephant trunks. MJ is tired but happy. It is so sweet to see her watch Elliot sleep. Her face gets all blissed out.

If you were checking wombquake, you got the news just a few minutes after Elliot appeared, thanks to MJ's clever skill at giving us access to post by mobile phone. I even snapped a photo as he was being washed up for the first time.

I was surprise at how fast it happened at the end. When I got back from my break, MJ was 7 cm dilated (10 cm is the goal). Tracey went to take a shower and Yoshi to get some food. I sat with MJ for 20 minutes or so, then the midwife shoo'ed me out so she could do something involving a basin and a towel. I was in the waiting room for ten minutes when the nurse ran in to find Yoshi. "Where is the husband? The baby is being born now."

Tracey walked in 15 seconds later, but Yoshi wasn't with her. We rang him, but he didn't answer. I dashed back to the apartment to fetch him. We thought we had sufficient time, since the books all said 30 minutes to 2 hours for this phase of the delivery. Urgent messages from Tracey sped us up and we made it to the delivery room in the very nick of time. Elliot was just emerging as Yoshi walked in.

I've never seen a baby delivered, and though I missed most of this one, I saw enough. Wow. When the doctor held him up so Tracey and I could see, we both cried. Just thinking of it now brings tears to my eyes.

But I'm really glad it was MJ and not me. I'm very happy to be an aunt.

I don't know nothing about birthing no babies

MJ is having her baby today. She and Tracey & I trooped over to the clinic for a check-up this morning and they decided to induce her. Apparently she had a torn membrane and was slowly leaking amniotic fluid. She was 4 cm dilated, so the induction just speeds things along.

By 1pm, the drip was definitely doing its job. She was 5 cm dilated, her water had broken, and she well into the painful contractions. But three people in the room (Yoshi had joined us by then) watching her breathe and writhe was really too many, so she told us to take a break. Politely. She didn't yell at us or throw anything. Brave, patient MJ.

I dutifully came back to the apartment, started a load of laundry, made myself some tea and watched an episode of Project Runway. But it is about time to go back and give Tracey or Yoshi a turn at tea and Internet access.

Will post more later on. Gambatte, MJ!

A Slow Start?

"The baby won't budge. Nothing seems to be working to get labour going," MJ chatted with me as she walked to the grocery store this morning. "Not spicy food, not walking. I was even jumping up and down. Nothing"

"That sucks. At least you don't have menstrual cramps," I commiserated.

"Hey, wait...something feels weird down there."

"Weird how? Like water-breaking wet weird?"

"Weird. Wet, yeah. I dunno. Let me pop into this store and use their toilet to check. I'll call you back."

15 very long minutes later (I paced the house with keitai in hand waiting for it to ring), MJ called back. She was damp but not the water-breaking gush she imagined. Since she had no idea what was going on she went home, had a shower and a closer look at things. After a trip to her clinic later in the afternoon, she learned that she has a slow leak but isn't dilated enough to go into labour. She is on antibiotics with instructions to come back on Thursday.

If you want to keep up on the proceedings, check out MJ's special pregnancy blog, Wombquake. She's set it up so she can post from her phone in the clinic after delivery. Tracey and I will be guest posting as needed in the next few days while we are down there in Kanagawa with her.

To Camp

We're off to catch an overnight ferry south to Niijima where we will be camping for a week. We've got a new tent, a well-equipped camp kitchen, a good group of friends, and a forecast of sunny weather. It's going to be great.

If the keitai reception gods smile on me, I will upload pictures to my Flickr photostream to share the action and adventure.

Have a good week; I know I will.

Kristen's Project Runway - the skirt

Last week I bought ten meters of gingham for doing up the prototype of my sister's wedding dress. Yesterday I had a long think about the skirt, reviewed my sketches and notes, made some more sketches, did a bit of measurement math and started cutting. This afternoon, I have a red checked wedding skirt. I also have a tripod-mounted sister torso.

I am enjoying this sewing so far because I don't have to do any finishing or detail work - no zippers, no hems, just pins and magic marker. Phyllis will receive the pieces basted together so that she can undo them and use them as a pattern. For me, this is heaven! Of course that makes it a bit harder for Phyllis, but she has a lot of experience sewing clothing and I am sure she can work it out perfectly.

Earlier in the Project:
Kristen's Project Runway
Duct Tape Jenny

Death & taxes

Honestly, taxes are going to be the death of me. After having prepared by getting all the paperwork together and downloading 18 PDFs from the IRS yesterday, I sat down this morning to make a good push and get it done.

Ha. I was cruising along, feeling OK about it all. Nearly there, almost done. Had filled in Schedule B, D, E, Forms 2555, 1116, 4562, 8582 and I was in the home stretch on the main 1040. Just needed to calculate the tax owed, list out the taxes I have paid already and then do the final arithmetic to see what we owe.

But, wait. What is this tax calculating worksheet, tucked away on the next page of the instructions? It applies to me. I looked it over. It's dependent on this other one, here that I didn't think applied. OK. Well, I complete them both. Suddenly, I don't seem to owe any taxes. Line 44 was a big zero. Wow, cool!

My pleasure lasted only a moment. The next line instructs me to see if I have to pay Alternative Minimum Tax. That's for really rich folks and people with too many tax credits and loopholes. Like me apparently. I filled in the questionnaire and sure enough...I was now in a new mire of AMT tax rules and paperwork. Effectively I had to redo all the forms and schedules at a higher rate, with lots of special new bonus points of income.

For example, depreciation on the house we own and are trying to sell had to be reduced, so there is another $700 in "income". The foreign earned income had to be remathed into something else, only the instructions aren't clear and the "higher rate" wasn't given in the instructions. Or in any of the half dozen publications I grabbed from irs.gov.

So I spent a good two hours digging around trying to figure out how to do the AMT. By 6:30, though, I gave up. I will try again tomorrow morning. Maybe it will make sense then.

I made a death and taxes necklace the other day. I guess I knew this was coming.

Oh my god (bwahahahaha)

During a serious conversation:

"It's like Gouda...I mean, Buddha..." said Tod.

Personality Over Time

Yesterday in an e-mail conversation with Jean, my mother-in-law, she asked "What do you think is the best age to be?" I am happy to be whatever age I am, as each age offers different positives and negatives aspects.

Now this made me think. I know I have changed over time. I am more easy-going than I was when I was 20, for example. Wouldn't a radar or spiderweb graph plotting personality traits over time be interesting?

It is interesting. For the foundation of my chart, I used the Big Five personality traits:

• Openness - appreciation for art, emotion, adventure, unusual ideas, imagination, curiosity, and variety of experience.
• Conscientiousness - a tendency to show self-discipline, act dutifully, and aim for achievement; planned rather than spontaneous behaviour.
• Extraversion - energy, positive emotions, surgency, and the tendency to seek stimulation and the company of others.
• Agreeableness - a tendency to be compassionate and cooperative rather than suspicious and antagonistic towards others.
• Neuroticism - a tendency to experience unpleasant emotions easily, such as anger, anxiety, depression, or vulnerability; sometimes called emotional instability.

This definitely has faults: the Big Five is not comprehensive; the rating scale is not entirely clear - should 0 be neutral or an extreme opposite? No doubt I am overlooking a lot of other problems but is is interesting.

In addition to plotting the chart, I summed totals by age and category. I think the category totals sort of tell what your overall strengths are.

I want the totals by age to indicate the size of your personality - how much you have bloomed or withered over time - but I think that the Big Five are not the best traits to show this. I need to dig deeper to find better ones.

If you'd like to play with this, here is the Excel spreadsheet to download. If you try it, may I see your results? I won't publish them here, but they would help me validate my ideas. I would be happy to have your comments on how this might be reworked to make it more accurate or revealing, too.

Duct Tape Jenny

My sister's torso

"Duct Tape Jenny" arrived today, so now I can get down to business designing the pattern for my sister's wedding dress. It will be very interesting to drape on this dress form. My plan is to make the dress in black and white gingham so that the seamstress, Phyllis, can unbaste the muslin and sew the fashion fabric from my original. I hope I don't make it too difficult do.

Having a half a body shaped just like my sister (who is apparently slightly lopsided), sitting on the counter behind me is slightly disconcerting. I'm glad Jenn didn't send along a life mask with the dummy.

The Maid Dilemma

Yet again, the opportunity arises for me to hire a maid. An acquaintance is leaving town and is trying to help his maid find a replacement customer. Will it be me?

I am on the fence when it comes to having someone clean for me. I actually enjoy cleaning and I like a sparkling house. However, looking around, I can see that doing the cleaning and achieving a sparkling house is not high on my To Do list. Vacuuming, dusting...there is always tomorrow, right?

So in that regard, having a maid would be good for me and the house. But paying for something I can do myself and have time to do...difficult to justify. Worrying about legalities of visa and tax issues (possibly in two countries)...a bit scary.

Pros
The house would be clean at least once a week
I would be motivated to tidy the untidy parts before the maid came in
I would be directly helping someone earn a living
I could stop feeling guilty about not cleaning frequently enough
The apartment would be more pleasant to live in

Cons
It is expensive to hire someone to perform a service I could do myself
I don't understand the possible visa and tax issues in Japan
I don't know if hiring help here has any impact on my US taxes
Lots of "I think my cleaner steals from me" stories told among my acquaintances
I'm uncertain about how to interact with domestic help...

Neither list seems obviously stronger to me. What would/do you do?

Birthday pleasures

Now that my age is the same as "the answer to life, the universe and everything", I should be at the peak of my know-it-all years, right? Why do I feel like I don't know anything at all?

I had a very good birthday today.

It actually began yesterday, when Seth & Tara treated me to Cirque du Soleil. It was an amazing show. I love acrobats and jugglers and I was in heaven. Between staring agape at the daring of the performers, and weeping for the beauty of their skill, I laughed like a little girl at the clowns. Really, it was great. Thanks, Seth & Tara!

Today, I began the day with a donut breakfast and gifts from my mother and Tod's mother. Then I had a good long walk across town, seeing some white dandelions en route, to Nishi Azabu where I picked up expense reimbursements and enjoyed lunch under the cherry trees and a sunny sky with Rob, who gave me tofu yogurt with a candle in it! After that, I spent my expense money on reflexology and hand massage. Then I came home, read a book and ate the last few pieces of my Valentine's chocolate. Well-wishes from friends poured in all day, including a blog entry from MJ, chats and and many e-mails.

The one down spot in the day was that the washing machine lies. It said my clothes would be ready in 90 minutes, but when I checked it after 80 minutes, it told me 56 more minutes. That ruined my dinner outfit plan. But Morsbags to the rescue! In the piles of donated fabrics was an old Marks & Spenser suit. I'm not sure who it once belonged to, but it was just my size. I don't think it would have made a great bag, so I appropriated it. When I am tired of it, I will put it back into the bagging mix.

I met Tod at his office and he took me out to dinner. He wouldn't tell me where we were going, but I guessed. It was a gorgeous yu-dofu place in Hakusan called Goemon. We've talked about going there for years and finally we have. It was very good and private room and garden setting was stunning.

Thank you to everyone who remembered my birthday and made it special for me.

Decoded

Last night over a post-hanami pizza dinner, a friend of a friend decoded one of my binary necklaces. Tracey was wearing one that she bought from Etsy (thank you!) and when Joe found out it was encoded, he wanted to figure it out.

He made a few false starts as he guessed which bead represented one and which zero but got them backward. He spotted the space right away and that was neat. But then he asked me about the LSB and I had no idea what he was talking about. Once it was explained, (LSB, least significant bit, is the first digit in the sequence) I couldn't tell him whether it was the top or bottom of the dangle - I have done necklaces both ways. I will have to be more consistent.

Despite these challenges, he did eventually decode it correctly to read "smart girl" and we declared him a very smart guy indeed.

365 Necklaces

Following on the heels of the 40x365 project (though not too hot on the heels since that one ended nearly a year ago) where I wrote about someone every day for a year, I have begun a new year-long challenge. Since March 18th I have been creating a new necklace daily and will either give them as gifts or post them for sale on Etsy.

These aren't just necklaces, though. They are diary entries, too. Each one is a word or phrase encoded in binary and explained in the item description. Maybe it sums up my day, or reports the weather, reflects my mood, or expresses something on my mind. I also have a few old friends, mathematical constants, in the mix because they are just so beautiful and some random things because sometimes there is nothing to really say in a necklace diary entry.

sunshine (27 March 2008). It was a lovely sunny day today.

I have tried to make the prices reasonable and any profits will go to environmental and social charities in Japan. I take special requests so if you have a message you want to wear around your neck, contact me through Etsy, please.

You can keep tabs on the project by looking at the "Mini Etsy" in the sidebar of my mediatinker.com or visit mediatinker.etsy.com

Occupation and IQ

Tod shared a link with me yesterday that got me thinking. It is a chart listing the IQs of people in various professions. I looked at it a good long time and it made me ask myself a lot of questions.

Why are the highest IQs in professions like doctor, lawyer, professor, scientist?
Why aren't there more high-IQ people being janitors and metalworkers?
Which occupations are appealing to a broad range of IQs? Why them and not the others?

It was food for thought while I cut out Morsbags.

March 20

Paying my respects to my father on the anniversary of his death.

Poor Old Clothilde

A sad note from my mother tonight:

"I came home from the Playhouse last evening to find Clothilde on the floor, very still. She wasn't dead but not able to meow, although she tried. At the moment, I am holding her and talking to her about chasing string. She doesn't seem to be in any pain so I'm hoping she'll die in comfort. When she dies, Henry will bury her in his 'back forty'."

Tod & I brought Clothilde home from the farm in 1993. Clot was tiny but she was fearsome. She got her name when she bit me through the cat carrier on the drive from Claysville to Pittsburgh. Fortunately, her temper only surfaced in transit.

She loved playing with string, getting crazy on catnip. Every morning she would sleep curled up on my chest until it was time to wake me up by headbutting me in the face. I can still feel the hair from her tufty ears poking up my nose.

She and our other cat, Eliot, were fast friends; she was the only other cat Eliot ever liked. They raced each other around the house and delighted in sleeping curled up together on sunny spots.

Clot-head was sweet, but not a beautiful cat. Her long grey fur was constantly in a state of felted lumps that peeled off seasonally leaving her with weird blank patches. Her stunted back legs prevented her from leaping gracefully and she was never fond of being held but somehow my mother, who took her and Eliot in when we left the US, was able to hold Clothilde and brush her at the same time. Mom's got a way with the cats.

For the last year Clot has been blind and living in my mother's kitchen - contentedly sleeping in a cat carrier and meowing for treats every afternoon. She's had a good long life, most of it spent far away from me, but I will miss her.

A hospital visit

A friend of ours is in the hospital recovering from an operation on his back. After ten days of rest Akira looks fit and needed only a little more than the usual effort to sit up and enjoy the conversation with all the friends that descended on his room on Sunday.

Hanako called me to let me know she was going to see Akira, but I didn't think I could go. I was scheduled to be working on Sunday. I gave my excuses and hoped to fit in a visit sometime later in the week. But when Akira's wife, Kimie, called me my plans changed. How do you say no to a woman who remembers all the things you have done together and who writes you letters in a language you struggle to understand? You can not say no.

So I blew off work and went to the hospital in Gotanda with Tod on Sunday. Hanako was there, along with three of her friends, a video camera, a digital still camera and two tripods. Akira and Kimie's daughter and granddaughter turned up at the same time. All together we filled Akira's room.

So that Akira could rest a bit after everyone had wished him well, Kimie led us all outside to the garden for a photo facing his hospital window and then fed us a snack. We laughed as she pulled out treat after treat and handed them around. First there were some sake cakes and sasa dango from Matsudai, then an assortment of manju, then oranges. You cannot escape eating too much with Kimie around; she is the classic grandmother.

I am glad that I visited Akira and Kimie rather than going to work. Sometimes I forget that people and relationship take priority but I never regret making them so.

Kristen's Project Runway

My sister is marrying later this year and she has asked me to pattern her dress. Even though I am more likely to be making patterns for furry lobsters and dead wolves, I agreed to pull out my dormant costuming skills and do my best.

Jenn is very elegant and wants a dress that is simple, smooth and sexy. She sent me a design sketch
along with some photos of dresses whose details she liked. This is very Jenn and it will look great on her. She is hoping to have it in red silk dupioni.

So having a few moments today, I started really thinking about the dress she drew and how it could be constructed. I spent hours poring over fashion photos, patterns and sewing techniques. Nothing out there is quite like this dress so I can't cheat and buy two commercial patterns and combine them. This is going to be a challenge!

On first view of the sketch, I suggested a two-piece construction to Jenn. The line isn't as smooth when you have a separate bodice and skirt but it is easier to mix the skirt and top styles and also allows more versatility in wearing the pieces again. She's agreed and I will follow that course, since it will make the pattern and construction possible for a novice like me. I do not have to work in the fashion fabric. My mother's seamstress friend, Phyllis, will make up the final dress, but I will need to sew a muslin to make sure the design works.

The skirt will be simple enough. I have some choices to make about how to piece the fabric to form the train, but overall, this is pretty basic. I am not sure it is going to drape in the silk dupioni that way Jenn's sketch shows. Dupioni is a bit crunchy and it doesn't stretch at all. I will definitely have to piece the skirt carefully to give Jenn a smooth fit over her hips and also enough ease to sit and walk. I need to find out more about her desired train length, too.

The bodice is going to be more difficult than the skirt.

There is no fastening shown in Jenn's drawing. The natural thought is to wrap the whole bodice in line with the collar, so the bodice is double thickness in the front, and close it using hooks or buttons on the inside side and on the outside a button that matches the ones on the cuffs. Or perhaps a side zipper can work; I need to think about how to insert a zipper into a wrapped, long sleeved garment.

Regardless of which way I close it, I think I have to make Jenn wear it wrapped left over right. Right over left is how Japanese kimono are worn in death and I really don't want to inflict any possible bad karma on my sister's new marriage.

The off-the-shoulder neckline is very wide in Jenn's sketch. In fact, it is wider in the back than the front. In the front version of the drawing, the bottom of the collar hits the top of the shoulder. In the back view, the top of the collar hits the top of the shoulder. That is going to need some adjustment to prevent wardrobe malfunction. I think the front view is how I will proceed. It will still be open and elegant, but not likely to fall off. The backline will come up a bit but the wedding is in the autumn, so that extra inch of coverage could prevent frostbite.

The back of the bodice will have to be darted to fit properly and I need to think about where it should break - just below the waist? A little lower? If I take it as far down as the hip, it will look too much like a jacket (although a strapless or sleeveless dress with a very short wrapped jacket is not a bad idea). I will try to keep the seam lines in accord with the skirt piecing, so the look is - I was going to say seamless, but that is so wrong - flowing smoothly down her back.

Cuffs are fun and Jenn hasn't given me quite enough direction here. I need to find out more about the size and shape she is hoping for. Otherwise I am giving her pirate cuffs, matey.

So with all that to think about, here is the sketch I have done up, based on Jenn's original one. Please ignore the irregularities - the sleeves are different lengths and I don't have Jenn's measurements, so I think I have given her extra stubby legs (or maybe a hyper extended torso). I hope you get the idea despite my poor ability at realistic drawing.

No doubt there will be further reports on the progress of the dress design and patterning. Stay tuned.

Mom's Shady Activities

"My goodness, she always seemed like such a nice woman," is what her neighbors will say after the nosy Internet police come for my mother.

This week Mom has Googled torture devices and ordered gun holsters online. In real life she's backed up her suspicious online movements by borrowing a car battery from the local auto shop. Goodness knows what she got up to in the thrift shops.

Mom does props for Ephrata Performing Arts Center and in March they will put on The Pillowman, a rather dark comedy.

When the spooks arrive at my mother's door to investigate, they will find her kitchen full of baby toes made from marzipan & glue-on pedicure toenails (who knew there was such a thing?). She sculpted an experimental batch and is testing them for resilience over time. They get thrown on stage and if they are too dry they will bounce unrealistically.

Do you think "But, officer, I'm a prop mistress!" will hold water with the authorities, or should I get the bail money ready now? She just turned "three years older than dirt" yesterday - I wonder if the bail bondsmen offer a senior discount?

Happy birthday, Mom!

All dressed up

Tod & I showing off our pretty clothes.

Yutaka and Misa, me and Tod, Chris and Lauren, Rachel, Tracey & Ashley

Anna, me and Judy enjoying a toast to hard work.

These are some of Martine's photos from the Australia Day Gala Ball. You can see them all on her site, http://www.martinecotton.com/

Had a ball

The Ball went off very well on Friday. In a ballroom transformed with gum and wattle into a starry outback night, 422 people dined and drank while three musical acts performed not including the Australian ambassador who led the anthem. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, though I was running around doing errands for a good portion of the evening. It was still a good time because although our accounting isn't finalised, my back-of-the-envelope calculations indicate we raised a record amount for our charities.

Martine took photos of the evening and I will give you a pointer as soon as I have one. She even made sure to get a head-to-toe picture of me so I could show Mom my gown in full. My frock turned heads, got compliments from three strangers, and I was never without someone handsome at my side. It was a good choice.

The morning after the Ball, I came directly to work and have been here ever since. The floor is as surprisingly comfy as ever but as usual I wish we had some pots and pans in our kitchen. I think we'll see a break in the mad rush after Feb 15th, but until then I will be blogging from the editing suite during renders. Like now.

Time Dilation

After a delicious 3 1/2 hour sleep, I rousted myself from the office floor to get back to the grind. Before I had blinked (but after I'd put on yesterday's clothes again and had a coffee), it was 11:45. I am not sure where the time went. We scarfed lunch from 2 - 2:15, then suddenly the 5:00 bells were ringing. The next 90 minutes were frantic as we hustled to get the edit finalised for the narration recording. Now it's 7:30 and I'm home but confused about whether it is morning or night.

Seep deprivation, coupled with focus on work, plays funny tricks with time. And maybe if it didn't, video editors wouldn't notice all the little details we see in the film we make. After a few days of intense work, Rob & I review our edits and see misaligned transitions, transparency problems, and all sorts of things that normal people really don't notice. I think if we had adequate sleep, we wouldn't see those nits.

I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not, but it is a little bit interesting.

25 words

2007 in 25 words, exactly.

Food ruled 2007: went almost vegan, developed recipes, and lost 10 kilos. Also sewed Morsbags, made political statements with robots, and explored Tokyo real estate.

Past years: 2006, 2005, 2004, 2003, 2002, 2001. Feel free to share your own 25 word summary in the comments.

Bits & Pieces

I didn't know a spider would follow a computer cursor...

• Cyrillic spam? Since this morning, I've been inundated with Russian spam mail. I'm used to the English and Japanese ones but what Russian spammer got my e-mail address?
• My aura was seen this weekend - it's dark blue.
• Modern fashions seem to be quite maternity minded - empire waists, soft flowing tunics and stretchy leggings. Will this subtly encourage Japanese population growth?
• I stopped eating meat and dairy 20 weeks ago. I don't miss it.
• After a couple of "Indian Summer" weeks, it looks like the weather's turned cool again, if 28/82 can be considered cool.
• I discovered that I fit into size 71 jeans at Uniqlo. Never thought that would happen.
• I keep forgetting interesting things I see and hear. I should take notes.

Silver Clay Bell

Silver clay doesn't look like much to begin with

but after it's shaped, fired and polished, it looks ok.

Self-perceptions on Sado

Got back last night from a five-day camping vacation - our (nearly) annual journey to Sado, Niigata for the Kodo Earth Celebration. I brought my sketching things and while we were there, I worked on a little art swap with the theme of self-perception. The three sketches I completed are also camping-related.

Self-perception: easily burned

We drove overnight to Sado and arrived in the early morning. I forgot to slather on sunscreen before we made camp at 10 am, and ended up with an annoying sunburn. I especially despise the little white ring where my hair band was wrapped around my wrist.

Self-perception: provider of tasty food

Our camp kitchen was excellent again this year. We cooked breakfast and lunch for as many as 11 people over the weekend. Luke brought curry for the first day and later in the trip we had lentil soup, banana pancakes, and a full English breakfast. My favorite meal was the grilled saba with vegetables that Tod & I made for lunch on Sunday. A number of us are vegetarian/veg-aquarian, so our meals were quite vegetable-laden and healthy.

Self-perception: lopsided

I hadn't drawn a self-portrait in a while, so as I waited for the coffee water to boil one morning before anyone else got up, I grabbed my little mirror and did a quick sketch. Maybe I'm not quite a lopsided as this drawing indicates, but I am not entirely symmetrical in real life. I also look tired, which I was.

Camp was fun; the music festival was great, and we are all looking forward to next year's camping extravaganza.

8 Random Facts/Habits About Me

Ginny over at Blogula Rasa tagged me for this meme. Good timing, since I'm a little thin on blog subjects at the moment.

• We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
• Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
• People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
• At the end of your blog post, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
• Don’t forget to leave them each a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

And here are my facts and habits.

1. Fact: I dislike having things touch the sides of my neck and I get antsy and uncomfortable if I'm wearing something that constricts in the wrong place. As a result, I wear v-neck shirts and my crewnecks get surgery. Strangely enough, turtlenecks don't usually bother me.
2. Fact: My wedding ring cost $59.95 at David Weiss Jewelers in Pittsburgh in 1989. If my fingers were more feminine, I could have saved $10. I probably would have bought a pizza with the savings.
3. Habit: Nearly every morning at 8 am, I take a mug of coffee into the bedroom to wake Tod. He needs the caffeine and the prompting to get moving. We sit together and talk for a few minutes before the day proceeds . It's an enjoyable ritual.
4. Habit: I bite my fingernails. Not down to the quick, but I use my teeth to keep them at a manageable length. I've determined that it's absolutely impossible to stop and no longer have any desire to try. I'll take this habit to the grave, thank you very much.
5. Fact: Now that I've stopped eating cheese and dairy products, I fart less. I know you were interested in that. I had no idea that dairy could do that to a person; I'm glad I stopped eating it. My skin's nicer, too, but that could be an increased consumption of antioxidant fruits & vegetables.
6. Fact: The doctors told my mother I'd be an Aquarius, but I came out an Aries. With my April 1 birthday, I'm still trying to decide if that fact is a joke my parents played on me for all these years.
7. Fact: I make some of my own clothes but only the easy ones like skirts, drawstring pants and simple tops. I love designing my own patterns, but find the actual sewing frustrating if it is too fussy.
8. Habit: I can't pass a realty office without stopping to look at the floor plans in the windows. I'm fascinated with spaces and rooms. From my observations, I'm getting a good education in what makes Tokyo real estate pricey (aside from market fluctuations) and how you can save money.

Now who is going to get tagged? Nobody, because I hate doing that to people. However, feel free to snag the idea for your own blog if you wish. It's rather fun to think of 8 random facts you will share with your readers. I thought of a lot of facts that I wouldn't share, too.

2007: Year of the Tailbone

This weekend I fell down a flight of stairs and broke my tailbone. As Tod rushed to my rescue and helped me up from my undignified heap while assessing my injuries, Jim was counting the number of thumps he heard - seven steps' worth.

The venue was Tofuya, the "shedding house" at Echigo-Tsumari. It's beautifully hand carved in scratches and shreds on all of its wooden beams, pillars and surfaces. Even the steep, ladder-like Japanese staircases are shredded and it was on one of these that I lost my footing. I was even being careful not to do so, so I am doubly annoyed at myself.

Tailbone fractures are effectively untreatable. The injury will heal on its own eventually and until then, I just have to be careful with the way I sit and move. Getting in and out of the car yesterday as we were touring around Niigata was painful. I'm a little bit worried about spending too much time at the computer.

This is the second time this year I've injured my coccyx. The first time was in January while attempting to snowboard. It was about three months before it healed. I hope this break heals quickly but it feels worse than the first one. Time will tell.

P.S. Thanks for the well-wishes. I wasn't expecting the kind sympathy; I really only wanted to note this for future reference, so when I'm an old(er) lady I can remember when I fell down the stairs the first time.

Father's Day

To celebrate the day, I enshrined the memory of my father in a little cedar Shinto altar I bought in Kawagoe.

It's not the ornate Buddhist butsudan that Japanese families use and I realise I'm not using it the "right way" but it looks like something Dad would have built himself; he enjoyed working with wood and miniatures. I like it and I think he would chuckle and shake his head at me if he knew what I was up to, enshrining him as Shinto kami.

Enjoy, Dad.

Slow Life

It seems like there's a backlash against the speed of modern culture. More and more in Japan I'm seeing the media supporting slow food, simple pleasures, handmade things. I'm sure Japan is just following the trend the world has started.

The slow food movement started it all in Italy, but now we have SOLE food (sustainable, organic, local and ethical), LOHAS (lifestyles of health and sustainability), crafting hobbies evidenced by MAKE: and CRAFT: magazines, and more people doing it for themselves.

I am very interested in locavorean foods, particularly when I can find organic and local combined. I'm trying to cut out the middleman (and all the additives and preservatives) and make my own food from scratch more often. Not only is it tastier, but it's so much healthier. Fresh bread, fresh pasta, more vegetables from within a 150 km radius - yum!

And here I am at the end of a busy day of my slow life. I made some earrings to wear to the Australia Society ball on Friday, finished grinding bones and spreading them on a board for Cennino's Apprentice, and we've just enjoyed a meal of homemade soup and freshly baked bread.

Of course I am also participating in a four-way IM with my friends - one of whom is making polenta for the first time and getting advice as she goes. Even in our slow life, we use the Internet to communicate across town and around the world.

Empty Handed (Headed)

Plenty of tools and materials, but a dearth of ideas

On the Pony

Riding the bronze pony

I will never grow up. I waited only a little impatiently as a father snapped photos of his toddler astride the bronze pony at Zoorasia. As soon as he lifted him down, I moved in, only to be beaten by a gaggle of girls who raced up faster. They moved away when they realised I wasn't just an adult, but an adult who intended to get up on the pony.

I flung a leg over, but I couldn't leap up in an agile Lone Ranger sort of way. With my knee over the pony at shoulder height I called for Tod's hand to pull me across the rest of the way. At which point I was laughing hysterically and MJ & Tod were snapping photos.

Getting down was easy and the girls who were waiting were very happy I was done.

25 words

2006 summed up in exactly 25 words.

Forty was a pleasure/pain year - a roiling emotional sea. Heartbreaking anguish half drowned me but also un-dammed a flood of patterns, photography and creativity.

Past years: 2005, 2004, 2003, 2002, 2001. Feel free to share your own 25 word summary in the comments.

Too Tired, a Christmas Skit

Merry Christmas! I wrote and directed this skit for my elementary school Christmas program in 1977. I was in the sixth grade. Ah, juvenalia!

"Too Tired" by Kristen Hill

Act 1
Time: night before Christmas
Opening: Santa is sitting near table. Mrs. Claus is cooking.

Santa: (yawning) A-h-h- I think I'll take a nap.

Mrs. Claus: For goodness sake, you know you ought to be getting ready for your trip.

Santa: I'm not going.

Mrs. Claus: (gasping) And disappoint all the little children?

Santa: I'm just so, so fed up with all this going down 30 million chimneys and getting my beautiful red suit all dirty. Lugging that dumb sack is getting to my arthritis. Nowadays, nobody believes in me anyway. Those that do give me a rotten glass of warm milk and a couple of soggy cookies. Anyway, I'm too tired.

Mrs. Claus: No, a bicycle is two tired.

Santa: Very funnny.

Mrs. Claus: Please, go or the children will be very unhappy.

Santa: I'm very sorry, but it's ruining my image. Every time you see a picture of me, I'm all sooty. I'm not really like that. I'll show them. I'm not going.

Mrs. Claus: Please!

Santa: No! That's final!

Mrs. Claus: Well, if you're not going, at least go out and get some fresh air.

Santa: Oh, all right.

Act 2
Time: 15 minutes later
Opening: elves bustling around, putting gifts in sleigh, etc.

Elf 1: Santa? Aren't you a little late? You should have been here three hours ago.

Santa: Yes, I know. I'm not going.

Elf 2: Hey everybody. Santa's not going on his trip this year.

All: Hey, oh no (ad lib) !!!

Elf 3: Why aren't you going, Santa?

Santa: Oh, I'm fed up with warm milk and all that other junk.

Elf 4: Santa, why dont' you go talk to Rudolph?

Santa: Oh, no!

Elves: Please?

Santa: Oh, O.K. (walks over to Rudolph) O.K. kid, shoot.

Rudolph: Santa, do you remember what happened the year you were late?

Santa: Vaguely.

Rudolph: Big S, I know you remember. You just don't want to. Anyway, I'll help you. Now think back.

(Children come on stage in pajamas, being comforted by parents.)

Child 1: But, Mommy, we were good.

Mother: Yes, dear. You and your brothers were very good.

Child 2: Then why didn't we get any toys?

Child 3: Do you think Santa forgot us?

Father: Now, now children. You know Santa is a good man. Maybe he's just a little late.

Children: (sob) (Exit)

Rudolph: Remember now, Santa?

Santa: (looking sheepish): Yes, and I remember you cried so hard it burst the bulb in your nose.

Rudolph: Oh, don't even talk about that. It hurts just thinking about it.

Santa: O.K. I won't.

Rudolph: You still don't remember the worst part.

Santa: What was the worst?

Rudolph: When they started to take down the Christmas trees and other decorations (take down some decorations in auditorium) They started to forget about Christmas.

(Santa faints. Elves try to revive him)

Santa : That was awful.

Rudolph: Do you want that to happen again?

Santa: No! No!

Elf 5: Does that mean you're going?

Santa: Yep. Sure does. OK, elves, get my sleigh ready.

All: It already is. Everything's ready.

Santa: Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go!

(All gather round sleigh and sing "Here Comes Santa Claus")

The end

Bird on Nest

Hand sewn felt cell phone cover - day and night.

17 Years

Grinning over the special anniversary fruit platter from the staff at Miyuki

Blackballed

...or maybe pink

"The boys" have gone to Izu for the long weekend. I feel abandoned and annoyed.

While I understand and support their need and desire to be independent from me and their various partners, I don't like being excluded because I lack a penis. Couldn't they come up with a better excuse to leave me behind - a real reason - or do something I'm uninterested in so I don't want to go?

"It's a different dynamic when you're not there," Tod lamely explained, as if that was supposed to make me feel better.

"I can't consider you one of the boys; you're very much female to me," Jonathan once tried to placate me. It wasn't the compliment he intended.

Until this group of friends, I've always been "one of the boys" and I am most displeased to be relegated to femininity. It's not my fault I'm a girl. It's not my fault, I say. This gender division is unkind, unfair and completely out of step with how I think about myself.

(Plus, I have an abandonment issue and these weekends away sting a bit.)

Returned from the Simple Life

OK, I'm back. I'm sure you've been asking yourself all week, "Does she like being offline?"

I hated it. But I got used to it.

Every spare moment I had, my impulse was to sit down and check my mail; to see which friends were online and chat with them; to look up some fact I was curious about. To check the weather! It took all week to lose the habit of walking into the office and bringing the computer out of sleep mode with a jiggle of the mouse.

Being offline forced me to recognise how much time I have in my life. I see now that I use the computer to procrastinate, while still being able to say I've moved forward on something by researching it. I don't do the scary, likely-to-fail parts of my projects.

So when I approached the animations for my latest film project, I balked. I simply could not do them. I wanted to find out what other animators had done; check possible color schemes; play with ideas in digital form. But I couldn't. I had some analog ideas but I didn't implement them because I'm uncertain of my analog skills. So I didn't do the animations and I hate myself for that.

The rest of the week was spent avoiding the animations. I designed a butsudan and some storage benches. I took a watch to be repaired. I walked into Otemachi to have lunch with Tod. I took other long walks to Jimbocho, Ikebukuro and Ueno. I went swimming. I ate lunch outdoors. I jotted thoughts in longhand in a notebook. I reverse engineered one of my favorite daypacks and remade it in new fabric that took me hours to find. I took everything off the rack in the office and reorganised the wires and layout of my gear. I arranged a three week trip to India (I admit that required a bit of e-mailing, but I kept it to a minimum). I cooked and cleaned and did all the usual things, too.

In the coming week I will try to remain more in the world and less online as I think it is good for me, even though I don't like ti much. But I'll keep up the weblog and the 40x365 posts. And maybe I'll poke my head into the chat world. Just for a little while.

Luddite Week

Last Thursday, I refinished all the outdoor furniture - scraped, sanded and repainted the table, chairs and side table. Now I itch to build and sand and scrape more things: a storage bench for the verandah, a sort of butsudan altar, a new kitchen counter.

I want to enjoy the great outdoors because it is particularly great right now. The humidity has disappeared, the skies are clear and the days are warm enough but the nights cool. Walking weather. Picnicing weather! This is weather that makes me want to be outside and pound my head on the rug when it's time to come in.

It's been too long since I've sketched anything. It sure would be nice to go sit in a park or even in my living room and make some drawings. And I have things I want to write, a script to refine, storyboards to draw, some footage to shoot for a film project.

But to do all that, I need to get away from the computer. Too easily, a "quick Google" for research devloves into watching popular culture via YouTube and suddenly the day, my plans, and all my time are gone.

So this week, no computer. Honestly, I'm not touching the thing after I make this post. If you want to reach me, write me a letter or call me. Maybe I'll write or call you.

Beware of Dog

I was attacked by a dog last night. No major injury resulted, just a coin-sized blood bruise, an achy muscle, and a tooth scrape on my leg, but what a shock.

Tod & I were almost home from a late evening walk when we passed a neighbor walking his knee-high, white Japanese Spitz. It was a typical dog on a leash so I wasn't paying much attention to the dog or its owner as Tod & I were conversing, but without warning the dog lunged at me.

I paid attention then!

Needless to say we all stopped; the owner curbing the dog; Tod checking on my well-being. I hitched up my skirt to reveal an already angry blue bruised leg and a bit of blood. The owner couldn't believe it and apologised with a deep bow. I think he might have been more stunned than I was.

I was wearing a skirt and glad of it because it had hidden the exact position of my limbs. As it was, the dog bit hard with the part of his mouth that connected- if he'd know exactly where to crunch down, I am sure my injury would have been much worse.

After I realised that my injury was only slight and mainly I was surprised and scared, I assured our neighbor that it was OK, admonished "Bad dog!" at the canine offender, and limped the few remaining steps home.

Maybe this unprovoked attack explains why so many Japanese seem afraid of dogs.

40th Birthday Ring

18k white and yellow gold, black opal, and diamond

I have been trying to get a decent photograph of this ring for a months but I give up for now. It doesn't want to be photographed in focus, so you'll have to look at it slightly burred.

This was presented to me by Tod as a gift on my 40th birthday. We worked with my jewelry designer friend Mami Katsuki and discussed the possibilites during a long rambling conversation over lunch. She took the napkin we'd all sketched on, along with the stones I bought at a jewelry fair, and created this from my ideas of orbits and connections.

I'm so pleased with it that I'm a little bit afraid to wear my precious bauble. But in the spirit of not "saving" good things, I will try to wear it frequently until it is just a comfortable part of my wardrobe.

Writing on new leaves

Leaving a place gives you a chance to turn a new leaf, but you have to work hard to write something new on it.

This was a comment I made in chat to MJ last night, while talking over how moving away or changing your job doesn't change anything inside you. She suggested I copy and paste it into a blog entry, but I didn't think I would. It opens me to exposing my own inability to write cleanly on new leaves no matter where I go or how much I want to.

But there you go. I am full of apparently unbreakable bad habits and personal flaws. And there are ugly gaping wounds, too. Some I don't see - those are the ones that friends either kindly overlook or end friendships over. Sometimes I recognise my faults and can overcome them. Sometimes I recognise them, but they overcome me.

One overcame me yesterday. I received an e-mail from a friend - not a dramatic missive, just a pedestrian hello - but after I replied, I sat at my desk and cried tears of frustration that our friendship has shifted into something I can't abide. It's a struggle each time we meet or communicate. I think about the way I wish things to be and I cling to hope that our friendship might change even though that is not remotely realistic.

The ugly, gaping wound in this case is my childish desire to have things my own way. The personal flaw is my conviction that sad emotions are a form of weakness. The bad habit is instinctually cloistering myself when I am sad or upset. I ride out the storm of my emotions alone; even when I crave a hand to hold or a body to hug. I punish myself for feeling bad by pushing everyone away.

Last night, I declined a dinner invitation because after crying and being pointlessly sad over that e-mail, I couldn't summon the will to leave the house and socialise. But being around people - leaving this place - would probably have improved my outlook, turned the leaf so that I could start writing something new.

Improvements

From the time I was ten until I graduated from high school, I was a member of the local Girl Scout troop. One of the most important things I learned as a scout was to leave a place better than you found it.

I put that to practice this weekend when I stayed in the Matsudai dormitory. The place suffers from the "tragedy of the commons" as it's inhabited mainly by people staying only a night or three and then moving on. Everyone is generally neat and careful in a daily way, but longer term tasks get overlooked.

On Monday morning after breakfast but before we started our workday, I scrubbed the kitchen clean. Well, I scrubbed it cleaner. I focused on the forgotten tasks and the built-up mess: I used a knife to scrape off the grotty bits between the stove and the counter; degreased several years of crud from the backsplash; washed all the dribbles off the cabinet doors. The overall effect was still a dirty kitchen - it would take the better part of a weekend to get it truly shipshape - but not as dirty.

Next time I go up, I'm bringing what I need to fix the shower - apparently it doesn't drain. I suspect a clog of hair and grossness. I will arm myself with drain cleaner and a snake and we shall all bathe joyfully afterwards.

Week of Sundays

Yes, yes. I realise it's Wednesday today. But it feels like Sunday. It's been Sunday all week.

John & Kris were scheduled to arrive last Sunday - so we thought. Unfortunately John forgot to take the international date line into account, so they really appeared on Monday. And so Monday started a trend of Sunday-like weekdays.

We're on vacation now. The pace here is relaxed and laid-back. We're reading books, sipping libations of many sorts and enjoying home cooked food from the new grill. And I'm working on projects between times, but I do that on Sundays too.

Grey

Sky.

Me.

Lucid Dreaming

I took a nap this afternoon and had an odd dream.

I dreamt that I was having a nap. My body in the dream was arranged similarly to the way I was arranged on the bed in real life - lying on my right side with my arms loosely folded under my head. In the dream I was wearing a floaty chiffon sundress.

In the dream nap, I dreamt I was dreaming. In the dream's dream I moved my hand along my arm to reposition it better under my head. I felt the fingers on my skin. The dreaming me was aware that she was dreaming and became quite alarmed when she woke a little and tried to move her hand but couldn't. It felt like her arm was numb or held in place with a heavy weight.

I was aware that I was dreaming this dream-within-a-dream and after a moment of panic and confusion, I woke up into the real world to test my hand. It moved (whew) and I fell back asleep to dream of discovering a dining room and bookshelves hidden behind a fireplace in our apartment.

Swap

I'm enjoying the idea of trading and swapping things with strangers. In addition to getting a steady stream of excellent CDs from the Creative Perspectives Mix trade, I received a package yesterday as part of the Use What You Have craft swap.

It was such a delight to open the box, which came from Zambia by way of the UK, to enjoy all the little treats my swap partner, LuckyBeans had included.

A handmade bag just the right size for carrying my sketchbooks and art supplies came filled with Indian recipes and spices (plus the most delicious Madagascar vanilla pods!), and a box of lucky beans to tuck under my pillow.

A length of beautiful fabric tied with a wooden button and glass beads.

Miss Shrew, who quickly made friends with the Zous.

I am ashamed to say that I got better than I gave in this case. A more-deserving woman in Germany received a too-hurried package thin on content and without any clever details. But I will do much better next time I play, which I will do again because a box full of mystery presents is the best thing ever.

Small delights

The Creative Perspectives mix trade is starting to bring returns. I mailed mine out (finally) before I went to London. Now I've received two in return.

Yesterday Jenn's CD came and today I found Schmeebot's in my mailbox. And they both sent bonuses - the "knitangle", jewelry parts, photos, t-shirts and more. Way cool and so unexpected.

The music is almost all stuff I don't have in my collection, and not what I normally listen to. It's good and the mixes are brilliant. Some highlights: bug powder dust by bomb the bass; only happy when it rains, garbage; lost at sea, the egg; noche divina, natalia lafourcade. Great songs, all of them. I feel inspired to paint and create.

And that was the point. So thanks!

Roujin results

My health check results came back. I seem to be healthy, in fact my "good cholesterol" level is really high, so that's good.

But because I know I'll have misplaced the results sheet when I want to review in a year ot two, but it's less likely that I will lose the blog, I've transcribed the results below the fold. Boring, boring, boring.

Exam results
Height: 170.8 cm
Weight: 67 kg
BMI: 23
BP: 130/70
K-W: ok
Scheie H: ok
Scheie S: ok
Barium stomach cancer screening: negative
Hepatitis B: negative
Hepatits C: negative
Chest x-ray: clear
EKG: ok

Bloodwork
white cell count: 8100
re cell count: 430
hemoglobin: 14.2
hematocrit: 42.3
platelet (?): 27.2
MCV: 98
MCH: 33.0
MCHC: 33.6
AST (GOT): 13
ALT (GPT): 9
ALP: 100
gamma-GTP: 20
クレアチニン: 0.75
uric acid: 5.1
urea nitrogen: 15
glucose: 83
TG: 42
cholesterol: 231
HDL: 92
LDL: 130.6

To B2 or not to B2?

Twenty eight 14mg B2 tablets

A study recently published showed that a daily dose of 400mg of B2 reduced the frequency (but not symptoms) of migraines after two months.

This morning I counted out the necessary number of little tablets and sat them on my desk. It's a lot of pills. I don't think I can keep this up for 2 months. In fact today I only managed 4 or 5. My head promptly revolted with an unpleasant and uncomfortable headache that's persisted all day.

Checked out

My Turning Point exam wasn't nearly as dreadful as I feared.

When I arrived at 9, there were already 22 people before me, mainly women from their mid-forties to mid-fifties I'd guess, judging from wrinkles and greyness. I saw one much older lady, but I think she was a doctor. Shortly after I arrived, a tall and swarthy man came in, so I wasn't the only foreigner there.

I didn't wait long before the first test - the barium x-ray. I'm glad it was first because I was nervous. MJ projectile vomited when she had to do it. Tod had one last year and said it was difficult and nasty. But I didn't have any trouble with the fizzy stuff or the thick barium shake they made me drink. It went right down and stayed where it belonged. I didn't even feel like burping.

The man running the machine had a patter that never stopped and alternated, rapid fire, between descriptions of what he was doing, "I'm turning the table a little to the side now", and orders for me, "I want you to turn a little to the side now." Unfortunately the distinction was sometimes lost on me and I moved when I shouldn't or turned the wrong way. He was frustrated but we flew through it only a little more slowly than other subjects.

The rest of the examination was a breeze: height & weight, urine sample, medical history, consultation with the doctor - who did nothing but wield a stethoscope - then off for an electrogardiogram, blood draw, retinal photography and a chest xray.

I was out of there in 70 minutes.

Now for the important part...what did I wear and who did I meet during my roujin debut? I chose an ensemble that expressed my casual attitude about the whole affair (yes, yes, roll your eyes): a faded rusty plaid home-made skirt, an embroidered purple t-shirt, a brown hooded sweatshirt, and brown clogs. Despite my sartorial elegance, I didn't really meet anyone. The staff were friendly and pleasant but busy. Okada-san was always before me in line. We exchanged some small smiles of encouragement, but didn't speak a word. Neither did anyone else.

I guess I'll have to find my old-lady social circle elsewhere.

Red & Gold Period?

Tod was off "camping with the boys" this weekend, so I had the apartment to myself and after I had cleaned and tidied to my satisfaction, I had time on my hands.

So I made some stuff.

A pillow cover (and two pillow forms). This ties together the reddish zabuton floor cushions with the lovely Thai elephant Sachiko gave us. It also fulfills part of my pledge to "Use What You Have" for April. You can see some closeups of this pillow on Flickr.

A lamp. The socket was formerly duct taped to my workspace. I wired on a switch, bought an extension arm and a bulb protector. Then I wired some brass mesh and beads to the frame. Not sure I like this, but it's a little more interesting than "bare bulb in cage." There are snaps of the lamp turned on (so bright!) at Flickr.

After these creations, it looks like my environment is developing a bit of a red & gold glow.

I can't decide which of these qualifies for WhipUp's Whiplash - they both sort of fit.

Celebration

1 sunny day
3 cinnamon camphor trees
15 people at the park
2 homemade birthday cakes
18 apple-peach explosions
1 bag of peanut butter chocolate pretzels
1 box of "bochi chocolate"
8 pita breads
5 middle eastern dips
4 loaves of bread
5 cheeses
2 freshly cooked pizzas
3 varieties of strawberries
8 herbed egg sandwiches
11 bottles of wine
1/2 bottle of tea
8 beers
12 people for dinner
1 lamb roast
2 giant salads
40 sheets of acid-free paper
2 batteries (and a battery tester)
3 handwritten letters
1 pottery bowl (and two plates)
1 board game
1 framed photograph
1 soybean-cashmere sweater
1 sexy bustier
1 opal and diamond ring
1 floral arrangement
1 phone call

EQUALS

my 40th birthday.

Thank you Tracey, Ashley, MJ, Jonathan, Sachiko, Jim, Yuka, Jeremy, Andy, Tod, Seth, Tara, Sean, Uchida-san and Josh, who made my birthday so festive with good wishes and laughter. There are a few photos from the park if you want to see what we got up to but they don't do the day justice.

Un-surprise party

"We know you don't want a surprise, so I'm letting you know some of your friends are planning something for your birthday. Don't look daggy," MJ prepared me two weeks ago.

"Just something casual in a park," Tracey added a few days later. "It will be fun. Jeremy says he'll drag you there kicking and screaming if he has to."

(Not to worry, MJ had already sat me down in front of this episode of Absolutely Fabulous, so I will be well-behaved.)

"Yes, it is on your actual birthday," Tod admitted a couple days on. "I think you should wear a hat and a sundress."

"No, jeans and a turtleneck won't work. Wear a floaty dress," Tracey told me last night. "Think 'high tea.' Do you have any lawn games, like boules or croquet?"

I am getting a picture of what my 40th birthday party will be like. Elegant. Casual. Outdoors. Sounds like something I'd plan for myself, actually. Yay, friends!

Saturday's weather is forecast to be partly sunny and warmer than it's been the last couple of days, but still too cool for any of my floaty dresses. I want something with sleeves! Guess I'll be doing a bit of pre-birthday sewing or shopping. At least I won't be embarrassingly daggy.

Commemorations

Today marks the annversaray of my father's death. My mother, sister and I all marked the day in different ways, but we each took time and action to think of him today.

Jenn wrote a poem, got tree seedlings, and wrote about him on her 37x365

Dad taught me to hug the inside curve, to do one thing at a time to reach a goal, and that trees are worth planting even when someone steals them. His light still arcs in my mother's house.

Mom plucked a daffodil from the garden ("The most open one I could find," she said) to the cemetery and had a chat with him.

I took a trip to the southern tip of the Izu Penninsula, went out on the water in a boat and talked to the waves. I walked up to the lighthouse on the cliff, visited two temples, and stood at the lookout where Commodore Perry's black ships were spotted.

We all miss you, Dad.

Roujin?!?

Today in the mail, I received a set of form letters from the ward office. As if shortly turning 40 weren't bad enough, now my government classes me as old.

Turning Point Physical Examination Details

The Kowishikawa Insurance Service Center would like to inform you that as a roujin (old person), you're entitled to a free physical examination every five years as part of your old age social insurance plan. This includes a general exam with x-ray and bloodwork, hepatitis test, and cancer screening with barium x-ray. The next scheduled date for exams is 4/19. Our records show your qualifying birthday is within the next two months. Please schedule early.

About Hepatits Virus Screening

Bunkyo-ku offers free hepatitis virus screenings every five years for its citizens starting at age 40.

Roujin Dental Exam Information

All of Bunkyo-ku "aged persons" 40 years old and over are invited to a free yearly dental examination.

At least I know where my tax yen are going. I think I'd rather have had that 988,000 yen refund, though.

Pulling Pigtails

Why am I mean to the people I like the best? I am polite to strangers and acquaintances, but I take the most terrible liberties with my companions.

My sometimes cruel words are delivered playfully or with a smile, but the snarky comments I make to friends about themsleves, myself, and our relationships are harrassing and rude and I realise it.

I have thought about this bad trait and I think I know why I do it. Though it isn't at all conscious at the time, I want more control or dominance in the friendship; I want a different friendship than what I have (either more or less intimate); or I need to show off to third parties my level of knowledge of my friend's inner life or our relationship.

I don't like it and I don't want to do it, but I'm not sure how to stop myself. Why can't I just be nice to the people I love?

Lost Voice

Today I sound like a heavy-smoking silver screen siren crossed with a pubescent boy. Gravel and throaty seduction gives way to unexpected sqeaks.

It makes me laugh, but then I fall into coughing spasms.

Vitamin Bee

This one doesn't sting

Mom on the Web

On her 66th birthday, inspired by Dan's 40x365 project, my mother launches her own 66x365.

Mom explained how she made her list chronologically from her childhood forward, then confessed that when she got to about 200 people, she realised she'd forgotten Dad, Jenn & me. Oops. We're there now, tucked in among the more contemporary friends.

Happy birthday, Mom.

Memoir: Engaged

Now here we are, living together (in sin, oooooo!) in Tod's ratty old apartment. How did we go from that to married?

Engaged
We never really proposed to each other. We had lived together from the time I finished up my degree, and simply slipped into the idea that we'd be getting married. No questions asked. We broke it to our parents in the summer, eight or nine months after we'd met.

We visited my parents across state for the weekend and on Sunday morning after breakfast, I stopped my mother from clearing away the dishes. "Hold on a minute, I want to tell you all something." My parents and sister looked at me with curiosity. "Tod & I are going to get married." There was not a lot of fuss or surprise. Some quiet congratulations, a few questions as the dishes were carried out to the kitchen. It was oddly low key.

Then we told Tod's parents. Low key it was not. After dinner with the family, Tod worked up the courage to blurt it out. 'My BAAAABY!" was Jean's response, rushing towards him protectively. She cried. I blushed. Oh, my. Thereafter it was referred to as "dropping the bomb on the family."

Looking back, I get the feeling that nobody was particularly thrilled about this decision. But it didn't really matter. Tod & I were happy together. If the families were taking secret bets on how long we'd last, I wish I'd gotten in on it...

Memoir: Moving In

From reluctant love interest to inseparable partner, I was soon ready to save time and money by living together. But not without some drama.

Moving In
Before long it was the end of my last semester at university, and Christmas to boot. I graduated without ceremony, quit my job at World's Treasures and went home to spend the holidays with Mom & Dad. It was the first time in six weeks that Tod & I had been apart but we had a plan for when I got back.

I told my parents that when they returned me to Pittsburgh in January so I could start job hunting, I'd be taking my things to Tod's apartment and winding up my lease on the Carrick place. Mt. Washington was more central to the city and the rent was very low. We could share the costs and have enough to live on even while I looked for work.

Mom offered to pay my rent in Carrick.

She thought I was making a mistake. My previous boyfriend, Sam, had broken my heart. Wouldn't Tod do the same? She didn't want to see me get hurt again. The intention was kind, but I refused her offer.

The weeks passed with a couple of phone calls to and from Tod, and then we were off to Pittsburgh. I knew that Tod & Rob had promised to clean up the Dilworth apartment before we got there. Turns out they stayed up all night taking care of things.

We dropped off my bags and I gave a quick tour. It wasn't as much of a disaster as it had been, though I'm sure its unmaintained bedraggledness didn't impress anyone.

I was excited to show off the quaint rose papered attic space, but when I turned the corner to the door, I saw I warning sign: "Do Not Open!" But I was compelled to peek in. Fortunately, I managed to slam the door shut before anyone else could see, and before anything escaped.

Tod & Rob had filled the stairwell with everything they'd tidied up--including a meter-high ball of "trip shit," wide ribbons of negative image refuse from Bannertalk's four color thermal printer. It had formerly decorated the ceiling and walls of the living room.

We safely escaped Dilworth, and had arranged to have dinner at Station Square, so Tod could join us after work to meet my family. Rob, who worked at the CD shop down the hall, came by first and completely charmed my parents. Rob was a handsome young man from a good family--well-mannered, a beautiful voice, sparkly brown eyes, and good sense of humor. Any parent would love him. I don't think he stayed with us too long, but a few minutes was all it ever took to connect with Rob.

Later, quite a bit later than we'd figured, Tod arrived at our table. He was gangly, goofy and a little nervous. Did he make a good impression? Whether or not he did, it didn't matter because we were together and I was delighted to see him. But I wonder what my parents said in the privacy of their hotel room that night.

Memoir: Our Second Date

The story so far: Tod saw me and decided he liked me. He persisted in asking me out until I agreed. Our first date kept us up all night. Now here's the second date--a continuation of the same day.

Our Second Date

During school hours, probably in the midst of third grade science, I got a phone call. I'm not sure exactly how that happened, but I know that Tod called and told me that he'd had the day off and had borrowed his friend Rob's car. Would I like to go to dinner with him at his parents' out in the suburbs that night? It was his mom's birthday.

Sleep deprivation may have had a part to play in my answer. I said yes. At 5 pm he picked me up from my apartment in Carrick--a neat and tidy place, sparsely furnished--in Rob's hand-me-down luxury car and drove us to a posh suburb south of Pittsburgh.

Tod's parents were charming and fun-loving. They welcomed me warmly, but thought he'd been keeping me a secret. They had no idea we'd only just met. I probably wasn't very good company that night, and I nearly fell asleep during dinner as puns volleyed across the table. After the cake and presents had been dispatched, I sat on the floor at Tod's feet and smiled as he relaxed in his dad's blue recliner. I listened and laughed but started a precedent for not taking part.

I don't remember much of that night, but Tod & I were inseparable after it. We saw each other every day. We took our breaks together at Coffee Express. I added my Jennifers to his numbered list (Jen Zbozny (#13) and my sister(#14)) and got to know his friends and many of the Jens. He wrote me poetry. I wrote him doggerel. We were sweet on each other.

Memoir: Our First Date

In the previous installment, you learned how Tod struggled against my brusque manner and disinterest. Now find out what happened when he got me alone.

Our First Date

Tod didn't give up. Within a week or two, he hit on a plan I couldn't refuse. After work on Sunday, when the mall closed at 5, we'd go take photos on the South Side. Great idea, only it was early November and the sun set at 5:11 and by the time we'd closed up our shops, it was too dark to take pictures.

So we walked across the Smithfield Street Bridge and went to an artsy movie theatre downtown. I still believe that what we saw that night was the world's most boring and pretentious film. Some avant garde famous guy invites all his friends to make a movie about nothing. That's what it was. It was so bad that we left before it was over and to this day I cannot remember what it was called.

It was still early, so we cast around for something to do, but downtown Pittsburgh is not known as a spot of delight after five on a Sunday. No comment about when it might be a spot of delight--it did have its moments, but not on Sunday night.

Tod suggested that we go up to Mt Washington where he lived. I agreed, to his surprise, and we walked back through town and across the bridge to the incline. As we were threading our way through the unfamiliar streets of Mt. Washington, I mentioned that I'd never find my way back to catch my bus home. Tod paused a moment, cocked his head and said,

"I'm surprised you're coming with me. You really don't know anything about me. I could be insane. I could have a machete in my wall."

"I don't think so," I said, assessing his wraith-like face and innocent smile. "I doubt you have a machete in your wall. I'm pretty safe."

"I *do* have a machete in my wall, though!" he protested and we continued in this vein for the rest of the walk to Dilworth Street.

The second floor of #25 was definitely a bachelor apartment. It was a mess. Piles of pizza boxes sat in various corners. The rooms were dingy and smelled of unwashed laundry. There was a sofa in the kitchen. The refrigerator was taped shut and a warning in indelible marker threatened bad thing if it were opened. Tod explained that something had exploded in there and the mold had gone wild. The fridge hadn't been opened in months.

And there was a machete in the wall.

Tod spent the next hour or two playing me all the songs he liked--mostly things I've never heard of but I still have a great fondness for Allison Moyet's Ode to Boy.

Then the phone rang. It was Dave, the roommate who had planted the machete into the wall. He and Tod were old friends and Dave had mysteriously disappeared from the house a week before (after the machete incident). So there was much catching up to do. I listened with half an ear and kept an eye on my watch. Despite that, I missed my last bus.

So Tod & I stayed up all night, talking and laughing and listening to more music. I caught the first bus in the morning, took a quick bath at home and went to spend a day doing student teaching. Thankfully I had the night off from work.

But I had no respite.

Memoir: How Tod & I Met

My sister is leading a series of memoir-writing workshops in Wilkes-Barre and posted some hints about how to write memoirs on her weblog. I thought maybe I'd try some of her ideas and see how it goes. So here is the story of me and Tod in the early days. It's rather long, so I'll serialise it.

How Tod & I Met
It's kind of embarrassing to admit that you met your future husband in a shopping mall, but I did. We worked across the hall from one another in Station Square on the South Side of Pittsburgh.

I spent my evenings and weekends dusting the crystal ornaments and glass shelves at World's Treasures and enticing blue-haired bus tour ladies to buy cloisonné accessories for their granddaughters. Tod worked at Bannertalk, where he sold mugs and buttons and in between wrangling customers into the path of the shop's camera, he wrote the printer drivers to print video stills on the merchandise.

We worked across the hall from each other for quite a few months--at least a whole summer. I heard "She Blinded me with Science" playing over there regularly but that was about all the awareness I had of Bannertalk or Tod.

On the other hand, he had his eye on me. One evening, as I was hauling the trash across the mall to the dumpster past the Bannertalk counter, he called out to me, "You look like you're having a bad day..."

I glared at him and replied "I am" then continued on my way to the service entrance. I don't remember exactly what sort of bad day I was having, probably something related to not having enough food and a class full of naughty children to deal with all day. Whatever it was, it was not enhanced by some strange boy talking to me.

And he did look like a boy in the white lab coat that was the shop's uniform and his goofy red framed glasses. He also didn't eat enough and was extraordinarily thin. Daneen, the manager at World's Treasures, laughed about how nobody knew how old he was and how he hit on all the girls that came by.

Nobody might have known his age, but everyone in the mall knew Tod (except me, apparently). He was gregarious and fun. As we began to date, I learned that we could not walk through Station Square without several people stopping to say hello or waving from their registers. Tod said that he had a gift for talking to people at whatever level they liked.

I guess he struggled to find my level, because he wasn't reaching me. But it wasn't long after his first attempt to strike up a conversation that Tod had another chance. I was having my 15 minute dinner break at the Coffee Express just next to Bannertalk. I bought a small cup of the hazelnut flavored coffee that they always had on the burner, and ate some leftover rice I'd carried with me from home.

"Do you always eat yogurt with chopsticks?" he asked.

"No. It's rice." I don't recall the conversation going a lot farther than that. I was not much of a conversationalist at age 22. I wanted to eat my rice and get back to the feather dusting.

But Tod was undaunted and a few days further on, he asked me if I wanted to go to a Skinny Puppy concert. "No, thanks. But it's a shame my sister isn't around. She likes Skinny Puppy."

Oooooh, smackdown.

Crow flight

As I walked out of our apartment building nursing the remains of a migraine, a crow perched on the power line. It took off as I approached.

My street was rather quiet, and I heard not the usual beat of the crow's wings, but the sound of every vortex as air rushed over and under the flight feathers. Struggle, flutter and flight all in one 3 second burst.

It was the most amazing sound. Complex. Delicate. Ear-filling.

Then I passed an idling car and everything went back to normal.

First Dream

The Japanese believe that the first dream of the year, hatsuyume, fortells the dreamer's coming year. I think I'm going to have an interesting 2006.

I've never flown in a dream before. Tod tells me he can--for him it is like sitting on a magic carpet without a carpet. Other friends say it's like being Superman or a bird. Someone claimed to have taught me how to fly in his dreams, but I've never managed to get off the ground in my own.

Until last night.

It was hard work! My first attempts were simple downward glides but I wasn't exactly falling. Then I learned to control them and change direction. At last, with a lot of flailing and kicking, I figured out how to rise under my own power.

And now I know what it is like. I can still feel the sensation and my center of gravity and balance. Seems like I should be able to do it in waking life, too.

Happy Spew Year

Tod & I have taken turns vomiting since a dodgy dinner in King's Canyon on the 30th. He had his bad day on new year's eve, I began chucking this evening.

Can food poisoning have a higher meaning? To try to get some benefit out of my first vomiting since 1998, I have decided that it must be an augur or an oracle. Tod's 2005 was one of expelling bad feelings, venting and forgiving. The coming year for me will be one of purging, cleansing and disposal.

I just hope I feel better soon, there is fun afoot in Brisbane and I don't want to miss out on too much.

25 words to ring out the year

Another year summed up in 25 words, exactly.

This year, a lesson in
How to bear pain and loss.
Travel doesn't cure heartache;
Friends ease the agony.
Healing and peace flow like water.

Past years: 2004, 2003, 2002, 2001. Feel free to share your 25 words in the comments.

Dad's in the ocean

Waterloo Bay, Elliston

Today I consigned some of my father's ashes to the Indian Ocean in the Great Bight of Australia. He wished to be buried at sea. I hope he doesn't mind that we settled on cremation and scattering a bit of him in the world's waters.

I didn't know until we were planning this trip that Dad had been in Australia as a sailor in the US Navy. Mom sent me this excerpt from a letter he wrote on 6 September 1964 (his 27th birthday) when his ship, the USS Enterprise, was visiting Australia:

Friday evening I went over and looked around Sydney. It is quite a place and has a certain air about it. You would really like it. It's a very young city. The 'old' buildings are less than ten years old and almost everything else is new. It's awfully clean for a large city - 2 1/2 million population - and it has the only decent waterfront I've ever seen. It is a combination of America, England and Europe, all in one spot. There are big supermarkets and small groceries - like in France. There is some night life but not too much. The people are friendly to an extreme. Total strangers can't seem to do enough for someone they've just met and it's not 'put on' either. They really mean it. The Australians take life easy during leisure time and are hard workers all the other time. It's really nice.

I'm happy to know I've brought him back to a place he liked.

Desk with Flowers

A surprise from a friend this morning.

Orrery

I want to build an orrery.

You might not know that word, but I'll bet you've seen one. It's a mechanical model of the solar system with planets turning around the sun. It was named after the Earl of Orrery who commisioned a watchmaker to construct a model of Newton's planetary motions in 1700.

Orrery designed by James Ferguson. Adler Planeterium, Chicago.

Nowadays it's easy to find digital ones (Science U, Orrery with NASA images, and Schools Observatory). Most of the beautiful mechanical ones are in museums but there are some contemporary orrery makers (John Gleave and Brian Grieg) and plans available for build-it-yourself orreries made of Legos and others from meccano/erector sets.

Of course I want to make one that isn't of our solar system, but a system of my own invention. And in fact, my ultimate goal is to make one with complex motion--some of the planets have eliptical orbits and they won't all be in the same plane. I know how it will look and how it moves. Now I have to figure out how to do it.

I wish Dad were still here. He'd be good at this.

Magic Scissors

Satin, burnout velvet, chiffon, and cotton velvet for a party dress

I wish I had magic scissors and a team of elvish tailors. But I don't so I'd better get to drafting the pattern for this dress.

Digging for details

Xanga profiles of the teens in question

In rural Pennsylvania this weekend, a young man shot and killed his younger girlfriend's parents after an argument over her curfew, then left with the girl. They've been found in Indiana and police are investigating.

And so are the reporters. The Philadelphia Inquirer has discovered the Xanga weblogs of both the young man and the daughter and extracted from them their interests and grammatical errors. Of course, the paper focused on the things that made him look disreputable and her look sweet.

I looked at their sites. They seem to be typical American teenagers. Entirely human.

They both like candy. He hunts deer with his friends. They both like Christian rock music. She plays soccer. He is precious about his hair. She belongs to her church youth group. She doesn't use capitals. He writes in full sentences. They both invoke God in praise.

There's nothing there to foreshadow what happened this weekend.

If I should ever become a criminal or the vicitim of a crime, what might reporters deduce about me from my weblog? Probably all the wrong things. Bad tendencies and good deed are feely intermingled on mediatinker, as well as terrible typing and an inherited tendency toward too many commas.

On the platform

I can't think, can't act. I'm waiting for an arrival, but nothing's posted on the board to say when it's due.

All the projects that were going forward have gotten tired of waiting and turned around, impatient to be moving again in any direction, and are heading away.

When the train pulls into the station and my ideas get out, lugging their valises and looking for the redcap, I'll be there with the car at the curb, ready to tumble the suitcases into the boot and drive off to catch the scattered projects and get them back to work.

Sayonara

One last tickle fight among the Australian Romping Girls

Jo's off to graduate school in Oz after 8 years in Tokyo. We'll miss her tons, but we'll see her at Christmas in Australia and after that, well, she gives us another excuse to visit Adelaide.

Bon voyage!

Fat + Gravity = *sigh*

Here's where the French cheese and pastries ended up.

Unidentifiable

My passport has reached the end of its useful life after 9 years and 8 months. I've sent it in to be renewed.

So for the next indefinite amount of time I am without proof of existence. Although I do have my "gaijin card" to prove my residence in Tokyo, it doesn't do me much good beyond the borders of Japan. So no bad behaviour and no travel until my new passport appears.

Before I mailed my passport to the Embassy (who in turn sends it on to the Passport Agency in the US who processes it in approximately 4 weeks then returns it to the Embassy who mails it back to me), I counted the number of times I've entered Japan.

I guessed a dozen. I was wrong. I've been allowed into Japan 24 times.

Can hardly wait to get my new passport and increment by one.

The Maternal Side

Jean presides over the family at the OBC.(Click for larger version.)

This is Tod's mom, Jean, along with Mark (Maureen's partner) and his son, Owen, Seth, Maureen, Tod & me. Thanks to Louise for snapping a picture in which everyone was smiling.

Kekkon Omedetou

Nancy and Pete dance together at their wedding reception

Tod's father remarried today in a huge wedding extravaganza. His bride, Nancy, made the most of her first-ever wedding ceremony. At the reception, she explained that her "inner bride" really caught her by surprise. I'd agree--their home doorbell was programmed with the Wedding March.

I wasn't positioned to get a good photo of the 14 attendants, two flower girls and two ring bearers at the ceremony, but I did capture this great picture of Tod & his sister, Maureen, recessing after the grand ceremony.

Maureen and Tod as matron of honor and best man at their father's wedding.

Grown-up Fashion

Black heels and a black suit

Today I visit a client's office and must blend in with the corporate surroundings, so I've slipped into pantyhose, donned my favorite suit (yes, I have more than one) and stepped into my high heels. I am ready to play the creative professional, emphasis on professional.

Fall Fashion Statement

Oxblood Doc Martens and a black skirt

Not sure when (if) this was actually fashionable, but clunky boots and long skirts are my favorite things to wear. I may need to update my idea of "fashionable" or end up as the 80s equivalent of an aging hippy---an old punk?

Birthday

Dad laughs over a birthday book in the early 1980s.

Today is my father's birthday. He would have been 68.

I'm not sure how to mark the day--celebrate his life, mourn his passing? I certainly am thinking of him lots but it hurts. Not as much as it did before, but it is still a painful loss.

I'm remembering birthdays past--badly decorated cakes (our imaginations were always more vivid than our frosting execution), Clark bars, joke gifts, golf miscellany and whatever Jenn & I had scrounged up or made. Dad had a whole shelf in his closet of gifts he cherished (I assume) but never used. I suspect a lot of fathers do.

Me, me, me

Squinting into the sun after swimming

I'm sure I'm not the most photographed spouse ever, but sometimes it seems like it. Every time Tod has his camera in hand, it seems to be pointing at me. Looking through his photos from Aichi, I found about 20 portraits.

OK, fine, Tod. If I am so compelling to look at, let the world see me as you do. I present some of the better ones: Portraits of Kristen

Tripping

Riding home on the subway the other night, there was a really obnixious little boy waiting on the platform with his family. Maybe 11 or 12, he was well beyond husky, with a buzz haircut, a dark tan and a bullying attitude. I watched him manipulate his parents and harrass his sister. Not a good kid.

As the train pulled into the station, he crowded up to the platform gate taking a position front and center that would prevent people from getting off the train. I find that to be truly annoying behaviour in anyone, and this kid was already topping my annoyance tolerance levels.

I turned to Tod from my position near the side of the gate and whispered, "Can I trip the fat kid?" I don't think he heard me. But apparently my feet did.

As I entered the train about a half a step after the fat kid (who'd been forced to to move to the side a little as people pushed past him getting out of the train), my ballet slipper-clad foot twisted just a little and slipped in front of his chunky athletic shoe. He tripped and stumbled into the train, recovering his composure in just an off-balance step or two.

I can't believe I did that. I swear my foot seemed to be acting on its own...

Carded

Arriving in Chicago, we met John at the airport hotel bar. It was just noon local time, so I ordered a bloody mary.

"Can I see some ID?" the waitress asked.

Hehehe. You bet. And I'll smile for the rest of the day.

Art of Conversing

Not many people will guess that I'm a shy person. I've learned how to hide my insecurity when I converse and many people believe I am an extravert. Let me tell you how I do it, because these three pointers can help anyone go from wallflower to halfway-decent-conversationalist.

Return the Question
People often ask start a conversation by asking about a topic they want to talk about. Save yourself from having to talk too much and give them a chance to take the lead. When someone asks you a question, you should answer, then ask them back the same question. You can rephrase it or not, as you desire.

"Have you read any good books lately?"
"No, I haven't had the time. What have you been reading?"

"Did you like the movie?"
"I liked the special effects a lot. What did you think?"

"What did you do at work today?"
"I finished a report and took a long lunch. What did you do at work today?"

Use a Detail
When you're asked a general question such as "How are you?" or "What did you do today?" you'll find that an answer like "Fine" doesn't get you very far. In fact, it usually kills the conversation. Try describing a detail that answers the question, instead. The other people in the conversation can use your answer to add their own story or ask another question.

"How was your day at school?"
"Not bad, but lunch was really strange. They served us this pink foamy stuff that tasted like ham. Nobody knew what it was supposed to be. It stuck to the ceiling well, though!"
"Pink ham-foam? Maybe it was aspic or ham mousse. We had chicken soup with vegetables for lunch. I counted only three vegetables, though: carrots, potatoes and more carrots."

"Haven't see you in a while, how are you?"
"I'm fine. Last week I went to see Kabuki for the first time when my mother came to visit. How are you?"

"What did you do at work today?"
"Ugh. Mr. Smithers sent an e-mail to everyone telling them to limit their bathroom breaks to 2 minutes, 30 seconds and to mark them on a sheet outside the toilet. What a fool."
"At my last job, the boss had us call him before we went the the toilet. It felt like getting a hall pass in school. What is it with bosses and bathrooms?"

Smile
It isn't really conversation, but a smile helps people feel good about talking to you. That goes a long way toward being a good conversationalist.

Agony

Waiting for ecstasy

Value: $20

My lower lip trembled as I peeled back the tape on the packaging. The customs declaration said "painted glass coaster. Value: $20"

By the time I had revealed the contents, a bee-painted tile that I admired in Dad's studio in March, my eyes were full of tears. I picked it carefully from its cushioning, held it in both hands, and sobbed.

Twenty dollars...plus a childhood's worth of memories, a lifetime of admiration, and a few moments of grown-up regrets. How infrequently we sum the true worth of the people we love. And we let them know even more seldom.

Mom, Tod, Jenn, Helen, Dan, Jean, John, Kris, Jeremy, MJ, Tracey, Jo, Jonathan, Sachiko, Jim, Yuka, Bob, Dave, and my myriad friends and relations: you're worth so much more than your declared value. I cherish you.

India ink

Manadala, vines and spirals in indelible ink.

I'm surprised at how well my left hand managed the manadala drawing on my right palm. I'm not ambidextrous, or at least I thought I wasn't.

When I completed my hands, I drew on the tops of my feet. Who needs polished nails when you have flowers, dots and lines on your toes?

It's a bit disconcerting to see the ink on my fingers; I keep thinking it will rub off. But it doesn't. At least not right away. I don't know why I haven't done big drawings on myself before. It's a lot of fun.

If I had more hands, I could be the Indian goddess Durga.

Peko and Zous

Waiting in Ueno for the Zou's playmates

This morning, we trundled the Zous off to Ueno to play with some friends. The 9 of them (3 people and 6 animals) were a bit late coming from the far side of town, so Tod took my picture while I stood there holding three stuffed friends. You can try to imagine the odd looks you get when you are standing outside a busy train station cuddling a giant elephant. Not a single person stopped, but there were a lot of sly smiles and little bows.

It might have helped that my hair's finally long enough to pull off my neck and out of my eyes. Sachiko says I look like Peko-chan, the cartoon spokesgirl for Fujiya's candy classic, Milky. Tracey agrees with great glee and laughter.

Zousama wrote all about today's adventure at zousan.com

Chicken on the Grill

Tod and dinner. June 2004.

*cue fashion show announcer*
"Tod is wearing a button-front cotton camp shirt, no tie, and a pair of demin shorts as he tests this herbed chicken for doneness. Looks like there's still a ways to go, Tod!"

Marshmallow roasting

Jenn at the grill, circa 1974

My sister, Jenn, never wore ties while grilling. She seems to be entirely delighted by her marshmallow roasting.

I loved to toast marshmallows (and then turn them into s'mores) until some idiot adult at a community barbecue set his alight and blew it out all over me. Flaming marshmallow makes nasty burns. I screamed and I still haven't forgiven him for not apologising.

Dad wore ties

Dad in the backyard, Ephrata, circa 1988

This was certainly not the only time he barbecued in a tie and dress slacks. Even in casual settings, Dad often wore a tie.

Some were gifts from family and friends, but most he purchased himself.

He would go shopping for work clothes every two years. He went alone and returned with a wardrobe to last until the next shopping excursion.

When I was in high school, and Jenn & I were wont to model every new outfit we acquired, he came home from shopping, ran upstairs with bags full of booty, spread his purchases out on the bed in neat arrangements of outfits, then invited Mom, Jenn & I upstairs for a special showing.

Among the shirts, suits and socks were three new ties.

Waiting

On the train platform. Photo by Tod.

1950 camp girl

Mom circa 1950

It is one of the photos that I look at and think "Is that me, or Mom?" Except that I never owned a checked cap embroidered with Fran on the peak or those funky mid-century fashions, it really could have been me--same hair, same face, same soft arms.

It must have been taken at summer camp or on holiday. Doesn't Mom look like she's trying to be serious but wants to laugh? I wonder who snapped the picture?

Back Arrow

Me and my arrow

Tod has been telling me for years that my body is freckled with constellations. He is especially fond of one on my shoulder, but until today, I had never seen it.

While I was brushing my teeth this morning, he came in with a china marker and the camera. A few ticklish strokes later and I was ready for my close-up. Sure enough, there's The Arrow.

Tired poodle

Saturday evening, 6:45 pm

Tod says I look like a poodle. I think I exhibit signs of exhaustion.

A trinity plus 1

Yesterday I was feeling moody, so beware the mawkish post today; it's the best I can do before I dig into today's work. But it does have a happy ending.

I count four men in my life who are...I don't even know how to say it. Important to my contentment. They are role models, confidants, friends and I am fortunate--I am married to one, was fathered by another, and the other two are especially dear friends. They are not interchangeable as people, but I'm not entirely sure sometimes who fills which role: mind, body, heart, & soul.

Yesterday I desired a quiet hour with any of them. We'd sit together reading, listening to pages turn and the soft tink of ice in the glass, smelling the freshness of new leaves and the tangy dust of the city. We'd break the companionable stillness to offer refreshments and to read passages aloud.

Sadly, everyone was unavailable. Tod was at work, my two friends are half a world away, and Dad is dead. So I sat by myself and thought about them. I sketched and wrote and contemplated under the summer green of a sakura tree.

Did my hour of reflection set something in motion? This morning, I discovered that they all had reached out to me. I woke from a dream of Dad; Tod had wrapped himself tightly around me as we slept. An e-mail from one friend and a phone call from the other closed up all the gaps.

I feel much less alone now. Thank you, gentlemen.

Macrame

Spring, circa 1980

4 hours

Camping renewed my interest in things I can do in the physical world. I sketched, carved a pen and made ink from charcoal, attempted to make a bamboo flute. It was so satisfying to work with my hands

Now that I'm home, I'm going to try to limit my compuer time to four hours a day (unless I'm working on a job, of course). I have a kitchen timer at my side. This morning, I'm already at 3:38 remaining.

My offline plans today--clean out the clothes closets and organize my summer wardrobe.

Jim with watch

Jim examines the movement of my 1930s watch.

Thank you, Jim, for disassembling my watch.

I was horrified when he opened the case of this precious family heirloom, but it's keeping steady time now and I am wearing it frequently to keep it warm and alive, as he suggested.

I don't know much about the watch, which was passed down to me recently. It belonged to my great-aunt Lucy who lived in Chicago. The case is an Art Deco design with gems and pink gold. Jim's eagle eyes read the name on the discolored face: Helena, and found letters scratched into the inside of the case.

I don't know if I can get the face cleaned up without losing the enameled numerals. But if it's keeping good time, I might not bother. The dark patina is proof of its age. And don't we all show some of that ourselves?

(P.S. Happy birthday, Jim.)

Tod & me

from a photo shoot with Jim O'Connell. November 2004

7th grade report card

Merchantville Public School, 1952. Click for larger version.

Mom's grades were good, but she was often absent. Click for larger version.

I like the official statements from the supervising principle. He carefully but firmly encourages parental attention. I don't recall this sort of wording on my report cards in the 70s, and wonder if there's anything similar on contemporary school report cards.

Success in school life is, in a large measure, determined by the amount and quality of a student's achievement. Satisfactory achievement, whether measured in quantity or quality, is dependent upon many factors such as ability, ambition, health of the student, home conditions, interest, and most important of all, the amount of time and effort spent in study.

Most of our school failures are traced to excessive outside social activities, indifference, lack of home preparations and poor health.

Regular attendance is absolutely necessary for the satisfactory progress of the pupil. Nothing hinders success in school more than irregular attendance. Pupils should learn to be regular and prompt. The Home can help much in the formation of such habits by discouraging unnecessary absence and tardiness.

It's all about showing up.

Restrained

Naughty Kristen circa 1974.

I hated having my picture taken. Our neighbor is holding me as I try to wiggle free and my mother captures the essence of my mood. Though I appear to be laughing, I remember how furious I was at that moment.

Nothing's changed. I'm still angry and struggling like a spitting cat.

Leaving Home

Mom leaving home with a suitcase she still owns. May 1959

Hug

Tod & me in the backyard at my parents' house, circa 1994.

Kemptgen Girls

The Kemptgen girls: Lucy, Margot, mystery girl, & Helen

Helen was my grandmother. Lucy and Margot were her older sisters. I have no idea who the other girl is, but since she appears in many of the photos from this era (around 1918) and bears a family resemblance, perhaps she is a cousin.

Based on the other photos in the album, they were dressed up for a tea party and a visit from the Watels, my great-great grandparents, who emigrated to America from Poland where they were called Watelevich (or some alternate spelling lost to history).

80s fashion

Jenn, Dad & me circa 1982.

A trio of grey tweed blazers on the way to a holiday party. That's one of Dad's ties that I'm wearing. Jenn & I were also fond of his socks and sweaters--the origins of my love for well-made men's clothing.

Birthday treat

Dad opens my new Playdoh; it matches my groovy pantsuit. April 1, 1968.

Dad's racing days

Click for larger version of article

Dad loved to drive and to race cars. His father was a stock car driver from the time Dad was little and he went to the races with his mother to watch. (I only enjoy driving when I can go fast, so I think racing must be in the Hill blood.)

Despite what the article (circa 1954) says, Dad and his dad went on to race the figure eight track, much to the horror of my grandmother who watched from the stands. Once, when she'd brought all her friends along, Dad crashed and she turned around to find that everyone had wandered off to concession area.

Dad's racing skills held him in good stead when he had a spectacular end-over-end crash of his RX-7 in 1982. The car ended up impaled upside-down on a boulder and utterly totaled, but he walked away with hardly a scratch. He told me his trick: brace one hand on the car's ceiling and one hand on the dash to limit your movement; you might break your arms, but your noggin is usually safe.

Birthday Brilliance

This birthday card from my sister to her daughter had us in hysterics at last night's party. Click for larger version.

Resemblance?

Clothilde

Do people really resemble their pets? This is my only remaining cat, Clothilde. Observe her fur askew, bleary eyes and long ear hairs as she stands on crooked feet with teeth bared.

Yep, that could be me.

Philip R. Hill

Philip Hill, resident of Ephrata, passed away on Monday, March 21, 2005, at age 67. Beloved husband of Frances (Burroughs); loving father to Kristen McQuillin of Tokyo, Japan, and Jennifer Hill-Kaucher of Edwardsville; grandfather of Helen; and brother of Richard Hill of Indianapolis.

Phil created glass art that hangs at the Ephrata Public Library, Anam Cara in Ireland, and private homes around the country. His art won the WITF Gallery Judge�s Citation Award in 2003. A gallery of Philip�s work is online at grandfatherphilip.com. He volunteered with EPAC as a prop builder and appeared on stage in numerous productions throughout his lifetime.

Born to Helen and Elvis Hill in 1937 in Detroit, Michigan, Phil raced stock cars before he had a driver�s license and joined the Navy at an early age. He served as a nuclear engineer aboard the USS Enterprise (CVN-65). After leaving the Navy, he worked as an engineer and later in research and development in the textile and adhesives industries where several of his processes were patented. He enjoyed an early retirement from ParaChem, Inc.

Water played an important role in his life, as he wrote on his website, �At an early stage in my life I became fascinated with water. We lived by Lake St. Claire outside of Detroit, Michigan, and I loved to go look at the lake and boats. When visiting relatives in Chicago, Illinois, going to Lake Michigan, the Chicago Yacht Club and the Chicago Fountain was a must!� Much of his glass art incorporated the colors and textures of watery surfaces and he drew inspiration from ancient legend and literature.

Private interment. Friends received at Eicher Arts Center from 5 � 8 pm on April 1st. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to Heifer International, 1202 Main Street, P.O. Box 727, Little Rock, AR 72203. (888) 422-1161 foundation@heifer.org orheiferfoundation.org

Old style

One of the drips Dad receives is a milky liquid full of lipids for his nutrition. Unlike the other IVs that come in plastic bags, this one is in an old-fashioned glass bottle with a metal fitting at the bottom. It could be out of any hospital circa 1930.

The anachronism ends at the bottle, though. Plastic tubing leads into a high-tech machine that regulates the amount of liquid flowing, calculates time until the bag or bottle is empty, and rings bells to alert the nursing staff when it's time to change.

I figured out how to operate it, though I absolutely will not touch it. Like all gear it looks mysterious at first, but quickly yields its secrets if you watch a skilled operator at the controls.

Interpretations

Dad was lucid and talking for a while today. I leaned in close, reading his lips and listening to him repeat phrases over and over until either I said them back correctly or he got tired and gave up. Almost everything comes out as vowels and glottal stops.

"Ai ee ee...ee ai ah pohkupine"
"Porcupine? Huh?"
"Ai fee aik ah pokupine"
"Ah, you feel like a porcupine. Well, you kinda look like one, too, Dad."

It's not easy to talk with an oxygen mask, a cough, and deep fatigue. Good thing Dad's got a strong and persistent sense of humor.

Chatty

Today I tagged along with Mom's friend, Bob, to the local rec center for a swim. I thoroughly enjoyed being in the water and getting some exercise, though the swim was unremarkable, as was the pool. What was most interesting was conversing with the other swimmers.

One man, Larry, is training for a mini-triathalon. He owns a gymnasitcs studio in the area. We talked technique and breathing for ten minutes between rounds of swimming.

Americans are chatty. A shop clerk in Pittsburgh gave me the rundown on her upcoming birthday, her three children, ex-husband and new dreamy boyfriend.

And alarmingly, I can add to these conversations with tidbits of my own. That store clerk now knows that my birthday is also coming up, that my dear husband brings me a hot water bottle on cold nights and that I would like diamonds for my 40th birthday.

Wonder who I'll meet next time and in what circumstances? What will we talk about and why will we bother?

Little joys

Ah, the joys of the Internet. This morning I turned on the laptop and as soon as it located the wireless network here, I video chatted with friends back home--an oasis of pleasant moments before heading to the hospital.

It was hard to see Dad hooked up to the monitors and tubes. He's not in control of himself or the situation and that's not Dad. He's in pain. He's restless and disoriented. But this afternoon he picked up his arms and danced along to Buena Vista Social Club.

Ah, the joys of music.

Home Hairdressing

MJ applies the streaky bits

It's a 20 year tradition that my mother does not recognise me when she meets me at the station or airport. I travel incognito with a new hairstyle or color every time.

Thanks to MJ's expert help, today I am a redhead with dramatic blonde highlights. Next visit home perhaps I will dye my hair jet black.

The C-word

There was a comedy sketch decades ago, in which the comedian talked about her brash relatives and how they conversed in shouts across the dinner table, constantly battling for attention. But there was one word that they never spoke in more than a raspy whisper:

"DID YOU HEAR ABOUT MARY? SHE HAS cancer..."

I'm not sure why that has stuck with me for so many years. I don't even remember the comedian. But it's on an endless loop in my head right now.

My father was diagnosed with aggressive small-cell cancer yesterday. He has a tumor the size of a mikan between his lungs and esophagus. It is inoperable and he started chemo today with radiation to follow.

I'm on my way to visit as soon as I can get a flight.

No bad news

After hanging up this sign on Sunday cautioning the neighbors to be careful, the lobby staff called me to complain that they were mazuii (yukky) and I was giving people bad feelings. They took the sign down; apparently it's not acceptable to let the neighbors know about the robberies.

That makes no sense to me; if my neighbor had been burgled I would want to know so I could take extra care to lock my doors and watch for strangers. I wonder what else has happened in the building that the management has swept under the rug.

Fool me twice

I no longer believe I dropped my wallet on Wednesday. I think there was a thief in my building.

Why? I am embarrassed to admit this but once again my wallet has been emptied of its cash. It happened between 2:00 am and 6:50 am today. This time the robber left my wallet on the table in the genkan, but I don't sit my wallet on my hat so I noticed right away.

Now what? Aside from being more diligent about locking the door and keeping my wallet far away from the genkan, I will go to the police and report the thefts, alert the building security, and post a notice to warn the neighbors.

So much for my complacent feelings of security.

Dorobou

Well, hmph. Someone snatched 46,000 yen from my wallet.

Either I dropped my wallet as I was coming into the building yesterday evening (I keep my key in my wallet, so I know I had it when I reached the lobby's security panel) or someone in the building opened the door to my apartment and grabbed it from the hall table.

Our maintenance man found it this morning on the street outside the building. When I reclaimed it, it no longer contained the money I had recently withdrawn from the bank. Fortunately my identification, bank card, train cards, and other non-cash items were not stolen.

(For those of you in credit-friendly countries, it may be a shock to calculate I had about $450 in my wallet, but it's not so uncommon here. Banks are not open 24 hours and everyone uses cash. Japanese bank machines dispense 10,000 yen notes like American ones spit out 20s.)

The amount taken is substantial but it won't prevent my bills from being paid. Perhaps the person who took my money needed it more. I hope the thief uses it wisely.

Expatriate vs Immigrant

Researching the foreign graves at Aoyama Cemetery, I notice that I refer to the people buried there as "expatriates" but not as "Japan immigrants." Yet many of them lived here for decades before expiring; some had honors heaped upon them by the Japanese government; some married into Japanese families. They were settled permanently; they were iimmigrants.

The dictionary defines immigrant as "a person who leaves one country to settle permanently in another." It's too clinical a definition; I feel that there is something more to immigration.

Take me as a case in point. I'm an American expatriate and although I have no intention of returning to the US or of leaving Japan, I don't consider myself a Japanese immigrant. I don't know that I'll ever be a Japanese immigrant, no matter how long I'm here.

I have a friend in Pennsylvania who is British but has lived in the US for about 25 years. She is permanently settled, married to an American, owns property, has a green card but is not naturalised into US citizenship. I don't think of her as an American immigrant; she's a British expatriate.

What is it that turns an expatriate into an immigrant? Perhaps it is letting loose the final tie to your homeland. Making an irrevokable and official renunciation of the old stomping ground. Adopting the culture, language and lifestyle of your adopted nation. Or perhaps all it takes is an authorised acceptance or permanent recognition from the government.

Truly, I do not know. What do you think?

Odaijini Flowers

Bright flowers in a chalkboard vase

Imagine my utter surprise when flowers appeared at my door yesterday from "The Girls." I think flowers are a better palliative than the garlic tonic; my fever broke last night.

Benefits of Garlic Tonic

I put the garlic tonic I made last spring to the test today. I'm laid low with a febrile cold and was prompted to eat plenty of garlic to get healthy. I had forgotten about the tonic I had stashed away in the pantry, but Tod hadn't.

I poured myself a shot and drank it at lunchtime. It tasted just like medicine; I'm sure it will do me some good.

Tod says that I will be "too stinky to be fit for cohabitation" so it's a good thing he's soon out the door to work. Perhaps I will be less garlic-scented when he comes home, but I suspect not. I plan to have some more tonic after my nap.

1938 Canoe Fun

Sunset Beach, New Jersey.

These are my grandparents, George and Romayne Burroughs, and Romayne's brother, Marvin Jenkins, on a summer outing at Sunset Beach (probably in Cape May near where they lived).

Pampal sizzled in his sunglasses. Romayne's wearing a skin-baring top; she was always a fashion plate. Young Marvin, aged fifteen and on vacation from school in Williamstown, PA, thankfully went on to become a barber.

Jala Neti

"Has Tod been making drug paraphenalia in the middle of the night?" I wondered when I spied a length of rubber tubing glued onto a 500 ml plastic bottle sitting on the kitchen counter. On further inspection, it became clear that this was not a bong, but I had no idea what it could be.

It is a neti pot.

Jala neti is a yoga practice meant to improve breathing. You use warm, isotonic salt water to wash out your nose and sinuses by pouring water in one nostril and letting it flow out the other.

Sounds gross, but it's quite effective.

Not only does it loosen mucus, but it can also help to unblock your ears and every time I do it (perhaps through a fault in my procedure) I get a refreshing wash of saline across my eyes. It's said to be effective against allergies, hay fever and other sinus-related illnesses. It's too soon to tell if that's true; I just think it feels good.

If you want to try it, this instruction manual (PDF) is helpful, or you can Google for nasal lavage, sinus irirgation or my favorite--nose douche. Although the manual advocates having someone teach you in person, I found it wasn't at all difficult after I stopped laughing and snorting water everywhere (Tod was watching me). Every swimmer will recognise the feeling.

The plastic contraption Tod created will be replaced by a proper metal neti pot in the very near future.

The perfect bouquet

On a day when I'm not much good for thinking or typing (migraine's got me all uncoordinated and confused), I can still pull it together enough to draw a bit.

This is a bouquet of eucalyptus, freesia, spray roses and chrysanthemum. It might be the perfect arrangement for me--it smells good, the colors are interesting and each element has a happy connection to people, places or events.

One pixel

I�m feeling some existential angst. As my eyes opened this morning, my mind wondered, �How am I going to waste my dissipated life today?� Ugh. I crawled back into bed and slept until two so I wouldn�t have to think about it.

After I rolled out of bed and had some coffee, I tried to make a graphic of me as a pixel in a square that represents the world�s population. 6.5 billion pixels is a lot. One pixel is invisible. Even a thousand pixels---me and all the people I�ve ever known�are barely visible.

Although I accept that I�m just a mote, I would still like to make a positive difference or create something that�s remembered or used beyond my demise. But as time passes, that seems less and less likely.

Mainly that�s because I�m not creative enough to conceive anything truly novel and the older I get, the less I seem to invent. Or I imagine things I can't execute. Mostly I riff and spin on other people�s ideas. That�s OK--certainly better than watching TV or blindly consuming (or staying in bed all day)--but it�s not going to win me a lifetime achievement award.

I never thought I�d say this, but I�m beginning to envy parents. On their bleak days, they can fall back on the hope that their offspring will achieve something. �I�m doing diddly-squat, but my little Suzie might grow up to make a difference. My contribution to humanity is to be a good parent to her.�

I have no comforting fallback. My contribution to humanity is probably nothing more than not fucking up the planet any worse than anyone else. Maybe I should go back to bed.

Gala frockery

Tod made me take my high heels off for this photo that MJ snapped.

(l) Yes, I look like the bassist in Duran Duran. Damn this growing-in stage hair!
(r) Jo puts her coat on as we leave for the gala. What fab hair she has!

(l)Tod sports the bowtie he biked all over town to find.
(r) MJ looked retro glam in her black velvet and feathers

Nude arms

In anticipation of wearing a sleeveless gown on Friday, I went to Boudoir last week to have my arms waxed.

"It's going to hurt, isn't it?" I whinged to T.

"Not at all," she replied. "Of course my pain tolerance is high..."

"Well, my arms are nervous."

But it hardly hurt a bit, just as T said. Marilyn chattered away to me while she smoothed on the warm and sticky wax, smoothed a gauze strip over it and ripped the hairs from their sockets.

My arms were a mass of tiny red prickles for a couple of hours, then subsided into normal looking--but completely denuded--skin. Now, a few days later, I can see new hairs just beginning to peek into the air.

Why wax? Japanese women often shave their arms; there are special-purpose safety straight razors sold at every drugstore in the country. As I've aged, my body hair has darkened and gotten denser, so my usually furry arms seemed too bushy for polite company. The gala is a good excuse for a personal hygiene experiment.

Will I do it again? Maybe in the summer...

Diet, Phase Two

We successfully reached the end of the "strict" part of our diet. I didn't lose as much as I'd hoped--only 1.6 kg, but I slimmed 3 cm off my hips and my clothes fit better, so I suppose that's just fine.

Now begins a more lenient phase until we reach our goal weight. This goal is a bit amorphous as I'm not sure what I want to weigh, exactly. Should I diet down to the weight I was when I married (that would be 137 lbs / 62.2 kg) or should I allow myself a little softness and go for 141 lb / 64 kg? I'm at 145/66 now, so there's not all that much to lose, regardless. I'll see where I am in a couple of weeks, I guess, and call it quits.

To celebrate the start of the next phase, I've created another fridge-friendly printout of the allowed foods and when you can consume them.

South Beach Phase Two List 80 K PDF (2 pages, A4).

In this phase, you can eat fruits (but not bananas, pineapple, raisins or fruit juice) and whole-grain starches (still no potatoes). Also more milk products and...red wine! I'm really happy about the wine.

This is such an easy diet to follow and it makes so much sense. Tod & I have conversations about nutrition now. We spent 20 minutes in the supermarket this evening looking at the high-fiber cereals. In the end, we decided they all had too much sugar. I'm going to make my own museli.

Prong modifications

I found a necklace the other day that was close to what I want for the gala ball--sparkly rhinestones with pearls set in silver colored metal. The design was perfect, but a handful of the rhinestones were baby blue. Wrong color.

It was not a very cheap piece of costume jewelry (but neither was it too expensive compared to some I saw) so debated a bit, but in the end I bought it. I also picked up nine clear crystal rhinstones.

This afernoon I customised the necklace. It took about an hour and a half to carefully pry up the prongs, slip out the blue stones, set the clear ones in and attach them. I chipped most of the blue stone taking them out, but none of the prongs broke. And now I have exactly the necklace that I wanted.

Dieting

I haven't been on a diet in 18 years, but after the excesses of the festive season my pants felt tight, my thighs rubbed together and something needed to be done before I have to wiggle into the bias-cut dress I bought for the gala at the end of the month. I was still well within the acceptable BMI range, but I felt fat.

So a diet. MJ recommended South Beach and loaned me the book. In the first two weeks you break your dependency on carbohydrates and level out your blood sugar. So no bread, pastas or fruits. But as much low-fat meat, cheese and soy as you wish and all the vegetables you can eat (except for potatoes and carrots). No alcohol, no sweets. It's a restrictive but livable list of allowed foods.

And sorting out your blood sugar is wise for people like me who have Type 2 diabetes in their family history. I've learned all about the glycemic index, which is a measurement of how quickly your body converts foods to sugar. Unless you've been exerting yourself, you want to stick to low GI foods. These two resources to help me determine the GI of the foods I'm eating:

FormulaZone Search
Glycemic Index Database

Here's a printable list of the allowed foods, along with a 14-day check off chart. I posted one on my fridge. South Beach Phase One List 80K PDF (2 pages, A4)

After the first two weeks of the diet, you can start to phase in "good for you" carbohydrates like full-grain breads and fruits. You still should avoid processed flours and sweets, but that's true all the time, isn't it?

I've never thought dieting was a good way of losing weight. I prefer a sensible approach of "eating a little less and exercising a little more." The problem for me is that I get lazy and stop paying attention to what I'm eating. South Beach has increased my awareness of my meal planning and as a benefit I am losing weight--it's nutritional education with a two-week boot camp to improve eating habits.

It's working pretty well. In the first three days, I dropped 0.8 kg (about a pound and 3/4)--I'll weigh in again on Saturday, the last day of the two weeks. I measured myself this morning and have lost 3 cm from my hips and one from my waist. My pants fit better already.

No Recording

In the still of this blustery, wet morning, I thought I'd do a bit of storytelling--an audio recording of one of Grimm's fairytales. I've been reading them again with delight over the last week and have found a few I'd like to perform.

I plugged in my headphone mic and fired up Audacity to record. No luck. The microphone does not work. Tried it with the iMic and directly into the computer. Nope, not happening.

Of course, I have a backup plan: record onto video and toss the picture. It's a tried and true fail-safe method. I set up the camera and read the story. But when I capture...flat line audio. The capture settings check out OK, so I play back the tape on the camera. No audio was recorded. Well, maybe my gun/zoom mic is faulty.

I remove it and shoot a couple of tests with the internal. No audio on those either. OK, fine, my DV camera is busted. I guess this is my excuse to buy a new camera. But I still want to record the fairytale.

So I dig around in my draw of lumps and wires to find the little stand microphone that's served me well all these years. It's out of juice.

At this point I'm taking the hint. I will record on a more auspicious day.

Titan

Back when I was an irascible teenager, a ticked off classmate asked me "Where did you come from?" in response to one of my snarky remarks.

"Titan," I shot back.

I proceeded to detail my home planet. Orange skies, austere landscapes. Our cities are contained in bubbles just like you see on the covers of pulp SF novels. It is a beautiful place. Remote. Not many people turn up there and that's fine. It's not a moon that can support a whole lot of life.

Fortunately, Huygens landed in one of the remote parts of the moon. Unlikely that it will notice our cities and infrastructure. If it did, I bet Virgin would offer annual round-trip service for holidaymakers.

Walking softly

Following diplomatic advice with a branch of cinnamon camphor. Koishikawa Botanical Garden, January 10.

What Theodore Roosevelt said was not "walk softly but carry a big stick" as is often mis-quoted. He gave his famous quote during a speech in 1903:

There is a homely old adage which runs: "Speak softly and carry a big stick; you will go far." If the American nation will speak softly, and yet build and keep at a pitch of the highest training a thoroughly efficient navy, the Monroe Doctrine will go far.

Where are the mice?

I thought it would be fun to go to a gala ball. It probably will be, but shopping for a dress is not.

I spent part of the morning running around the city looking for dresses. First of all, my hips are too small for my waist compared to Japanese women, so anything I even think of trying on has to come in a huge size to accomodate my curves. And secondly the dresses are dreadful--expensive and ugly.

So I spent the rest of the day looking online with slightly more success. The dress I really want is 70 years old, silk chiffon, and $1800 dollars (and not my size), so I think I will settle for a more modern, modest dress from some random retailer called sweatshoppromdresses or firesaleweddinggowns or fancyclothes4u. I just hope whatever I choose fits and arrives in time.

Otherwise I'm going to be wearing a sheet in the toga style. I wonder if I can drape it to look like classic 1970s Halston?

Value of Friends

MJ & I spent a lot of time last week talking about our extended family of friends in Japan. I think few flesh-and-blood families are as close as we are. Blood relations are irreplacable, important, and wonderful, but the family you build yourself is better in many ways.

I have friends I can count on in any predicament--different people for different situations--which I certainly did not have ten years ago in the US. I have one real sister, but enjoy sisterhood with half dozen terrific women in Tokyo. When I need jars opened, servers rejigged, or a shoulder to cry on, I turn to a handful of strong, insightful, and sympathetic men.

And my circle knows (I hope) that they can come to me for support whenever they like.

Is it the circumstance of living apart from our homeland that binds us together, or do people in their middle thirties all develop stronger networks of friends?

Hardest Writing Ever

I think I just wrote the most difficult hundred words ever.

MJ's mother passed away from a sudden and mysterious illness this afternoon. MJ telephoned from Adelaide to tell me.

At her request, I updated Cerebral Soup with a notice to her constant readers. How do you relate such tragic news to an unknown and invisible audience of near-strangers? Though I did my best, it didn't even approach adequate.

Annual Xmas Rant

I cannot easily express how much Christmas irritates me.

I enjoy giving. I like fruitcake. The scent of evergreen boughs and bayberry candles is delightful. Choirs singing traditional and religious carols please me.

But I despise shopping. I don't like the expectations, the pressure, the greed. It turns me cold. However, like rubbernecking at a traffic accident, I'm compelled to examine the depths to which consumers are sinking this year. Here's what I've found:

Target.com has gift ideas for your Hairdresser. Marcasite earrings; that's what every hairdresser wants. Or for Teacher, some "dessert excuse" plates with cute drawings of cakes and phrases like "just a sliver, please."

Wrong, wrong, wrong. If you feel generous this season, give your hairdresser an extra-big tip and your teacher a gift certificate for books or school supplies.

Maybe I'm just utterly unsentimental, but don't you think you could do better for your mother than a personalised "#1 Mom" picture frame from Wal-Mart? Surely mom has some personal interests beyond the circumstance of motherhood.

What about Dad? Pretty much every web-based shopping guide thinks dad wants an MP3 player this year. Tod suggests a bottle of booze instead.

The "Teens and Tweens" on your shopping list may be a bit of a challenge, but I was shocked (and you know that's not easy to do) by Christmas-Guide.com's suggestion of ammo as an "outdoorsy" gift for teens. Nothing says Christmas like a stocking full of hollow point cartridges.

Enough. I will turn away from this accident that is "the holiday season" and focus on the way ahead: a new year, a new leaf and all that malarky.

3rd stage Purplitis

Medical researchers discover terrifying purple scourge!

This is my head. Doesn't it look like something out of a medical textbook? I tried to dye my hair purple. Salon De Pro "Hair Manicure" didn't do much for the hair color, but look at the lovely tint of my scalp.

I will never dye my hair purple again
I will never dye my hair purple again
I will never dye my hair purple again
I will never dye my hair purple again
I will never dye my hair purple again

But I might try blonde...

Voice Acting

This week, I'm taking a voice acting workshop to improve my reading aloud. We've learned many techniques for breath control, projecting our voices from different parts of our body, dramatic uses of pitch, and building characters in various ways. These are all helpful and will certainly make a difference in my ability to interpret stories.

But something dangerous is happening. I'm rediscovering the tantalizing joys of acting.

Although I did theatre from high school (Nuremberg Community Players and the high school drama club), through university (Duquesne University Red Masquers) and my early married years (Upstairs Theatre), I was never so keen on acting--I enjoyed it immensely, but other actors were way better than me and I hated auditions. So I applied my meagre talents to technical theatre: costuming, lighting, props, set decoration and construction, stage management. I know my way around backstage in the dark.

This voice workshop is rekindling the excitement of stage work. I will have to be careful not to fall back into the theatrical world--too much theatre makes Kristen crazy.

I failed every course in my sophomore year of university because I spent too much time being a thespian. I quit a job once because they complained I took too much time off during productions.

Friends: do not let me audition or volunteer.

Art Therapy

A couple years back, I took an art class that focused on creative problem solving. It turned out to be a rather scary deep look into each students psyche.

From the exercises we did--mainly drawing representations of problems, then redrawing them or adding solutions--it was possible to see inside the minds of the artists a little bit. I came away with some startling insights.

So today when I was feeling sort of stuck and unfocussed, I decided to draw out one of my problems and see what I came up with. Although I didn't really find a solution, I did make a pretty picture:

The embarrassing stories continue

Mom & Jean delight in posting stories about me and Tod on Dynamic Duo. Thanks, UltraBob for giving them such a memorable vacation activity. If you want to discover how utterly clever and cute Tod & I were as children, here are links to each of the stories thus far:

UltraFran:
The Red Rug
Resourceful
The Food Critic, chapter 1

UltraJean:
Tod's Early Computer Education
Sleepwalking and Elimination
Tod's Sister Checking In
The Construction Project
Native American Improv

The Moms return home today, but I have a feeling that they will continue the storytelling.

Childhood stories

A few months ago UltraBob's mother, UltraMom, shared some hilarious Bob stories with her readers. Ever since, Bob has been pestering other mothers to embarrass their children with childhood tales on his website.

My mother is the first guest mom. Her story of The Red Rug is over on Dynamic Duo.

Really getting into the spirit of this, Tod's mom had Maureen fax evidence from America, so check Dynamic Duo for more soon.

Tattoo

I hardly ever notice it anymore, but someone named kev left a comment about my tattoo in the photo of Jeremy's new computer over on Antipixel. So here's a close-up view to satisfy his curiosity.

I'm only slightly embarrassed to admit that the pattern is from a Dover clip art book called Celtic Stencil Designs. I liked the negative space in the original--it looked like leaves and vines curling among the black triskele and circle motifs. Unfortunately, it didn't translate well to the elastic medium of skin and I lost the leaves and vines. Fortunately, the positive is an attractive design on its own.

And for those who are wondering, yes, it hurt.

Reflection selections

Tod & sugar bowl.

Mailbox.

Reflective

I'm a mirror of others rather than my own person.

Those who see beauty in me are beautiful themselves; those who find me witty are intelligent comics on their own; should someone think that I am [fill in the attribute] it's really because they are [attribute].

New companions, new Kristen. I easily pick up friends' vocabulary, habits, hobbies, and preferences.

This is irksome. I would like to be beautiful, witty and [attribute] for real. I would like to have my own strong preferences. Do things with an internal passion of my own. By my own steam. But I don't seem to. Not lately.

So after some reflection about all this, I took a personal inventory and came up with one important item that is mine alone: my creative expression. I don't draw, paint, print or whatever like anyone else.

I spent the afternoon and evening balming my soul and regaining a sense of my self by creating three abstract self-portraits. Linoleum prints, my favorite medium. This is how I see myself at the moment. (Click the image for a larger view.)

Inspired

Yesterday afternoon, Tod & I trekked out to Setagaya to watch a swim meet. Tod seemed a little bored, since photography was prohibited, but I had a fabulous time.

There were some excellent swimmers, as you would expect. From the youthful university athletes to the accomplished silver seniors, I observed grace, beauty and power in human packages.

A small handful simply blew away their competition: the long thin man who swam the 50m breaststoke in the blink of an eye; Arai-sensei who anchored a freestyle relay and brought his team from fourth to first. They were astonishingly good.

But the people who inspired me most were the ones who weren't so good. The dumpy housewives and sumo-sized men who did their best but came in last. They were inspiring because if they can compete, so can I.

So during my swim this morning, I paid attention to my times. I even counted my lengths--I swam 1000 meters (not at one go). I pushed a little harder than usual.

And it was a horrible swim. I breathed in water, almost ran into Slow Backstroke Guy, felt my energy flag for lack of breakfast. I didn't break 17 strokes per length; I barely broke 30 seconds for 25m.

I laughed aloud at my terrible time, and the Old Fat Man Who Rarely Moves ranted at me about the differences between Japanese and Americans (in Japanese and I didn't understand a word he said).

Ah, well, there's always tomorrow. Or if I get enough work done, I'll have a swim this evening.

Swimming mania

You may recall that I found a place to swim back in June. I started out with a few tenuous laps, worked up to slightly longer stretches in the water, then had the good fortune to swim with Jeremy, who knows what he's doing and loves the water more than anyone I've ever met.

To my utter embarrassment, he watched me carefully and gently corrected my stroke. I owe him a debt of gratitude. Although at the time I wanted to sink to the bottom of the pool and hide, I did listen to what he explained and after breaking some of my bad habits, I swim heaps better.

My arms describe a sinuous path through the water. My shoulder extends and my hand enters the water far ahead of my head, then pulls back though the water nearly skimming my body, brushes past my hip, and breaks the surface elbow first. My kick is a slow hip driven 1-2 beat opposing my arms. It's nearly as easy as walking.

The coaching session with Jeremy was about six weeks ago. I bought a monthly pool pass shortly after that and now get in the water every morning or pay the consequence of being antsy all day. I swim for 45 minutes or so then come home and bore Tod by talking about swimming while we have lunch together. Tod doesn't swim.

But my sister swims, as it turns out. So we compare our lap times and laugh about how slow we are. I do 50 meters (two lengths of my 25m pool) in a mere 58 seconds--about the same speed as competitive 80 year olds. Next time Jenn & I are in the water together, we're going to race. She'll win; she swims 50m in 54 seconds.

Today I increased my distance per stroke, taking it down to 16 strokes across 25 meters. Usually I do 18 strokes per length, so shaving off two is a big change. I don't know if it made me any faster, but it felt good. I'm not consistent, though. I need more strokes as I tire. I definitely must work on my stamina.

I'm by no means a good swimmer, but I'm learning and improving every time I get into the water. And that's all that matters. That and beating Jenn when we race.

About Kristen, mediatinker

Q & A
Who are you?
I'm a kindergartner who was excited to learn that she'd be a grown up in the new millennium.

Why do you live in Japan?
It was a six-month job assignment back in 1998. Japan suits me so well that I haven't left yet and don't intend to.

Why do you have a weblog?
I use my weblog to entertain (and sometimes enlighten) friends and strangers. It also anchors me to my computer. I started out with a regular website (1994) and a mailing list (1998). When weblog software reached my radar in 2000, I converted.

You come across as such a know-it-all sometimes...
I used to be a know-it-all but now Google knows more than I do. Fortunately, I'm only one search away from knowing it all again. Don't ask me for facts when I'm not at my computer.

What do you do?
I make videos. I write stuff. I do web things from time to time. I'm for hire, so please take a look at my resume and portfolio, then contact me if you're interested.

What else do you do?
When I drag myself away from the virtual world, I am usually swimming, cooking, taking long walks, scratching in notebooks, or reading. I also run around doing stupid things with my very smart friends.

What do you like?
Vanilla. Strong coffee. Black. Good words. Water. The sound of wind through pines. The night sky. And Tod--I like him very much.

Can you recommend what to see in Tokyo?
Yes, I can. Check out the Hello Tokyo page. Buy a copy of my DVD. Please.

Can I send you an e-mail?
Of course, but no guarantee of a reply. kristen@mediatinker.com

About Mediatinker
It's been more than ten years since I helped to found Telerama, one of the first public ISPs in the US. I answered phones, offered tech support, wrote documentation, taught online classes (using IRC and Screen!) and was general dogsbody to the tech boys. Good times with lots to learn--in those days, the Net was new to almost everyone. But being excluded from the hard-core tech back then, I've never considered myself much of a geek.

In the mid-nineties, I was working for a university, teaching faculty and administrators how to use e-mail, ftp and telnet with lots of time devoted to writing how-to manuals and tip sheets. Eventually, I became university webmaster and launched into developing online instructional materials, video, audio and interactive tutorials.

A three month trip to Japan in 1996 ushered in a new era of international living. In 1998 we moved to Singapore for six months, followed by a move to Tokyo and a short term assignment as Year 2000 Test Center Manager for Perot Systems Japan/UBS Warburg. Going on seven years later, we're still here.

These days, I sit at my desk in Tokyo in front of a Mac G5, a PowerBook G4, and several Unix boxes. My work is more diverse, with several corporate videos under my belt, a year of leading an IT non-profit (DigitalEve Japan), assorted classes and workshops taught, and lots and lots of writing. In addition to the paid work, I've drafted a book which will probably never see the light of day and written a play that I hope to produce someday.

I chose the name 'media tinker' because I can't decide what I am--writer, filmmaker, photographer, web guru, general know-it-all, or empress of everything. I work with media of all types, and maybe not always successfully, so media tinker seemed most fitting. And a bit of self-deprecation is always good to keep the ego in check. (If you know me, you are laughing right now.)

Diary of a migraine

Sorry this is not terribly interesting and sounds sort of whinging. Today is Day 4 of a fairly bad migraine. I'm not looking for sympathy or help, just noting the progress of the symptoms for my own future reference.

Day 1: Notice some blinking white spots in front of my eyes but they are not my usual visual disturbances. Feeling a little tired, assume it's the hot weather. Don't really twig that this could be a migraine.

Day 2: Nauseated. Pupils are unevenly dilated. Flat surfaces seem to buckle and melt. The left side of my head feels bigger than the right side and I can't speak straight--the words come out in the wrong order. No bad pain, so I get on with the day, go to the beach, have a bbq with friends. No alcohol since I know that will make it worse.

Day 3: Sharp pains begin stabbing my head in the morning. Try to nap, but they keep waking me up. Spend the entire day in bed, reading. In the late afternoon, I discover I am slightly feverish. Fall asleep by 10:15.

Day 4: Wake to occasional stabs and cold explosions in my head. Some nausea, but tolerable. My entire left side feels dulled and swollen (of course it's not any bigger than normal) Everything is too loud and bright. Still feverish. Pupils uneven again. Eyes hurt. Shiatsu took away some of the dullness, but none of the pain.

I am annoyed with how long this is going on. I have things to do but no energy to do them. C'mon body, behave.

Summer sausage

When I put on my bathing suit, I look like a lumpy breakfast link.

Common wisdom has it that you lose weight during the summer. Maybe because you get outside and exercise more, eat lots of fresh veggies, sweat it all away, or something. Whatever it is, shedding pounds is a summertime occupation according to every women's magazine and most of my friends.

But it's a lie! I gain weight in the summer. Maybe that's because I try to stay cool with increased intake of alcohol and frozen sugary things (in combination whenever possible). I eat out because it's too hot to cook.

Worst of all, I don't go out for long walks or exert myself too much.

I turn an alarming, vivid pink if I do much more than breathe on a hot day. Childhood neighbors used to drag me out of the playgroup and feed me lemonade and cookies in their air-conditioned kitchens because they thought I'd have heatstroke. It's a peaches-and-cream complexion, blotchy British-heritage thing. Ugly but unavoidable.

So from long-standing habit and to prevent alarm, my athleticism is limited to swimming a couple of times a week. I'm not going for any extended rambles through the city until the weather cools off some.

Maybe I should brave the heat, sweat off the weight, ignore my beetroot face, and stay away from rum-infused frozen drinks, but then what would I blog about when it's too hot to think?

Extended life

Why do people (I mean citizens of industrialised nations) insist on prolonged life? So many people seek medical intervention when they get old, or their unhealthy lives catch up with them, or a genetic predisposition to ailments becomes clear. But why?

This excerpt from a Reuters article today is what set my blood boiling:

New U.S. cholesterol guidelines issued on Monday set the lowest level yet for high-risk patients, with recommendations for aggressive use of drugs to get levels down.

The new recommendations also stress no patient should rely on drugs alone to lower cholesterol, but should also take responsibility for the right diet and exercise to keep the heart and arteries healthy.

Living things get old, fall ill, and die: that's Nature's cycle. It makes me furious that people like us try to cheat death with "aggressive use of drugs" and medical procedures. Doesn't "should also take responsibility" sound as if being responsible for your actions is secondary to getting the right medication?

Cripes! Make your choices and live (or die) with them.

I grant that some folks are late bloomers and that numerous key figures in history were bolstered by medical arts. But if they hadn't survived, we'd be familiar with some other character's paintings or polemics.

Reasons to accept medical intervention strike closer to home, too. My own father has recently undergone multiple heart surgeries to clear blocked arteries. Both my parents take medication daily to maintain their health.

But neither history nor family changes my mind. I think it's wrong to meddle with the decay of the body.

I advocate an aggressive sense of mortality.

Molly goes mad

Summer heat and humidity was making my mop too frizzy to handle, so I cut my hair. I did it myself at home, see:

(Anyone want a lock of mediatinker hair?)

The initial cut was a bit nerve-wracking, just like making the first sketch in a new notebook or writing the first page of a story. But after I sliced off a 10 cm chunk, I was committed and could relax and have fun with it. Twist, snip, twist, snip, twist snip. I hardly even looked at what I was doing. Tod calls it the "Molly goes mad with scissors" cut. It does look a bit like a three year old had at me while I was napping.

Can't decide about the single long strand. I like the asymmetry, but it sort of gets in my way. Should fashion (such as it is) come first or should function reign? What do you think? Your opinions are welcome...but please be gentle.

Flowergirl

From my mother:

"Do you remember the dress you wore in your uncle's wedding?�Well, I kept that thing for 32 years for reasons unknown and about 6 months ago during a purge of things material sent it off to the thrift store.� Yesterday as�I walked by the window of that thrift store, this is what�greeted me."

Oh, lovely. The little flowers on the polyester gauze overdress are flocked like wallpaper. I wonder what the bridesmaids wore?

Ex-pat wife

Cutting through a park in the high-tone gaijin ghetto a few weeks back, I saw a lot of slim, blonde, tanned ladies pushing strollers. I shuddered and quietly exclaimed to my friend, "Ugh, the ex-pat wives!"

For my cattiness, I received a significant look and I realised that I'm an ex-pat wife, too. I don't think of myself as one, but my husband's job brought us here. I don't work (not so much that I could pay any significant bills, anyway). We have an apartment with an oven. I take art classes during the day. I often meet friends for lunch.

Cripes, I'm a lady who lunches!

THE LADIES WHO LUNCH
--Stephen Sondheim

(spoken) I'd like to propose a toast.

Here's to the ladies who lunch--
Everybody laugh.
Lounging in their caftans
And planning a brunch
On their own behalf.
Off to the gym,
Then to a fitting,
Claiming they're fat.
And looking grim,
'Cause they've been sitting
Choosing a hat.
Does anyone still wear a hat?
I'll drink to that.
And here's to the girls who play smart--
Aren't they a gas?
Rushing to their classes
In optical art,
Wishing it would pass.
Another long exhausting day,
Another thousand dollars,
A matinee, a Pinter play,
Perhaps a piece of Mahler's.
I'll drink to that.
And one for Mahler!
And here's to the girls who play wife--
Aren't they too much?
Keeping house but clutching
A copy of "Life"
Just to keep in touch.
The ones who follow the rules,
And meet themselves at the schools,
Too busy to know that they're fools.
Aren't they a gem?
I'll drink to them!
Let us all drink to them!
And here's to the girls who just watch--
Aren't they the best?
When they get depressed,
It's a bottle of Scotch,
Plus a little jest.
Another chance to disapprove,
Another brilliant zinger,
Another reason not to move,
Another vodka stinger.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!
I'll drink to that.
So here's to the girls on the go--
Everybody tries.
Look into their eyes,
And you'll see what they know:
Everybody dies.
A toast to that invincible bunch,
The dinosaurs surviving the crunch.
Let's hear it for the ladies who lunch--
Everybody rise!
Rise!
Rise! Rise! Rise! Rise! Rise! Rise! Rise!
Rise!

Lucky me.

Self Portrait in dress

My favorite photos of myself are the blurry ones. I made this dress I wore last night and was trying to document it. I didn't manage a good image of the dress, but this shot captured the colors.

Once around the palace

I had a hankering for a very long walk today. It's been a while since I've gone out walking and my legs itched for a stretch. The day is grey and chilly--a nice contrast to yesterday's sticky humidity.

So after a bit of sushi in Kanda, I walked around the palace and then to home. It was a good two hour hike including a detour through Hibiya Park--about 8 km. I walked my 10,000 steps and then some today.

In a few minutes I'll be packing up my laptop, grabbing an umbrella (the grey sky has opened up to rain) and walking for another 2.5 km/45 minutes to Ochanomizu to sit in my favorite cafe and write for a while. Then dinner and a walk home.

I'll be very tired tomorrow.

Self-portrait in cocktail shaker

Sleeping fast

May 1955: my grandfather, Uncle Ed, Aunt Faye and my grandmother pose together during Ed & Faye's wedding at my grandparent's home in New Jersey.

I hardly knew my Aunt Faye; I'm not even sure how she was related to me. My mother's mother's sister-in-law? A daughter of my grandmother's bevy of older sisters? I really cannot say. My sister keeps track; she knows all of the distant cousins. I'm hopeless when it comes to family connections.

Anyway, Aunt Faye was a character. She was a zaftig woman, funny, loud, and brash. I never saw her without her "face" on--cakey foundation, high arches of pencilled eyebrow, a sky's worth of blue shadow. Her hair was platinum cotton candy. And she loved butterfly designs in jewelry and clothing. To put it a bit unkindly, the campiest drag queen would have admired of her style.

Yesterday I was thinking of her, remembering how she used to say she could "sleep fast." Meaning she would stay up late (carousing, I presume) and get up early, ready for a new day. I don't know how she did it, but I think I may have the same skill.

Really, I seem to do everything fast. Sleep, work, walk, talk, think. I'm living my life at 78 rpm. I wonder if that means I'll get everything done early and die young. Or maybe I'll just end up doing more than everyone else. Or perhaps I will slow down.

My experiences with Aunt Faye were confined to my childhood--intersections of our visits to my grandparents' house. I don't remember seeing her beyond the time I was ten, though she lived another 20 years or more past that so I'm sure I must have.

I wonder what Aunt Faye did with all of her extra time?

Downpour

It's raining today. I like rain.

The outdoor community pool where I reined as Lifeguard Goddess during high school summer holidays would close if the weatherman forecast an all-day soak. That meant that I could go to the mall and spend some of the cash I'd accumulated on whatever caught my 16-year-old fancy. Beribboned barrettes? Slap bracelets? Oxford shirts and leggings? I don't remember exactly what I bought but no doubt if I were handed a box of my old stuff, it would contain a rich assortment of embarrassments.

These days rain does not give me a break in my schedule but I still feel unfettered when it's pouring. Maybe I'll sneak a little shopping onto my To Do list this afternoon, just for old time's sake.

Nicknames

Growing up, I never entirely warmed to my name. My friends had strong and interesting names: Patty, Gwen, Heidi, Gail. Mine was so easily confused with Christine, Kristy or Christian, that I hardly ever used Kristen.

I was called Kris as a kid and my family still call me that. Paired with my maiden name, Hill, I had the briefest of monikers. But as a challenge, Mom & Dad gave me a family surname as a middle name--8 letters with a 4 consonant cluster--that I could not spell reliably until I was nine years old.

My mother once admitted to a friend (she thought I was out of earshot) that she'd hoped her daughters would use their full names, Kristen and Jennifer, wear dresses and quietly read books.

Well, I did read books, but I didn't become Kristen until I was in the workplace. Over the phone, "Kris Hill" sounded too much like Crystal and it confused people. And there were two other K/Chrises in my department, one of whom sat next to me. It wasn't long before I was Kristen Hill, and shortly after that I married and dropped Hill for McQuillin (keeping the consonant clustered middle name).

But between Kris and Kristen, there were a number of nicknames. My favorites were Cricket and Kip.

When I was four, the older kids in the neighborhood, no doubt exasperated by my talkativeness, dubbed me Cricket. At the time, I recognised it for the put-down that it was, but later on, I adopted it as my own and was known to some as Cricket all the way through high school.

Kip I chose for myself in a fit of fashion. It was the preppy early 80s. I liked the plosive ending, and the fact that it incorporated a single letter of my middle name. Plus it was a boy's name at a time when I was struggling to balance my tomboy nature with the torture of puberty and never having a date. I was not too happy being a girl that year.

These days, I'm most often called Kristen, but I answer to Kuri (Japanese for chestnut and an abbreviated form of my name in kana), and "media tinker." If you should call me Cricket, I'll probably respond.

What nicknames have you collected?

Forgotten significance

Do you ever get the feeling that a certain date is important, but you can't figure out why? You are sure you're supposed to remember something about it...

4/20 rings a bell. Is it a colleague's birthday? A friend's wedding anniversary? Maybe it's a personal commemoration--my first kiss (but that was at a cast party at university, so it must have been in the winter...) or the start of a new job. It's not recent; nothing special is noted in the past three years of my weblog.

I just can't put my finger on it and it's making me a little crazy this morning.

Makeover before & after

Today I went to a makeup workshop at MAC in Aoyama. I don't usually wear makeup, but I thought it would be fun to try. The senior artist used me has his model, so my makeup turned out really nicely. I wiped off what he did and did it myself, though, for practice. The best part was using a brush to paint the foundation on my face--I'm a human canvas.

Don't think I'll be doing this on a daily basis, but I have confidence that when I need to wear cosmetics for the camera, I'll be able to put them on naturally.

Fever and Cold Feet

I didn't know it was possible to have both at once, but I do. Shouldn't they cancel each other out?

I will put on some socks and have a cup of tea.

Manpoke

Since learning about the 10,000 steps idea, I've been curious about how many steps I take in a day. So I bought a pedometer. They're called manpokei in Japanese (that's mahn-poe-kay, not man-poke) which literally means "10,000 step measure."

According to what I've read, most Americans take between 900 and 3000 steps per day. That seems so low.

I made an effort today, and managed to walk 14,235 steps. I went to the grocery store (1500 steps) and then walked to work (8,000 steps), to class (1000 steps), and home from the train station (1200 steps). The rest just sort of filled themselves in somehow. 7469 steps (63 minutes) of today's walking was shikkari or steady walking--good aerobic exercise.

Today was an exception, but even on my relaxed days, I'm taking over 3,000 steps. How could anyone possibly walk only 900 steps in a day??

A girl's tides

OK, boys, stop reading now before you get squeamish. This is more than you really want to know about me. Keep on at your own risk. You have been warned.

WTF is up with my body? I do not enjoy being a girl.

My periods, never regular because of ovarian cysts, are completely off the scale. Every 7 to 14 days, I bleed for a day or two. Sometimes it's just a little, sometimes it's quite a bit. Every six-to-eight weeks I bleed heavily for four or five days before it stops.

In between the bleeding, I'm either suffering migraines or experiencing surges of euphoria. I overflow with love and feel superhuman. I'm not sure it's reasonable to complain about being so happy, but it isn't "right" and I don't like it.

My thought is that I'm not ovulating at all, which could lead to twice-monthly bleeding. But weekly? I don't get it. No doubt hormone pills would sort me out, but I have no desire for them. I don't need the birth control (see cystic ovaries, above) and prefer not to take daily medications of any sort.

I saw a gynecologist last year when I was bleeding every two weeks. Since I don't intend to have children, she wasn't concerned and offered me some Chinese herbal medicine. I declined. Maybe I should rethink that...

All that said, I'm not worried. But I do like to understand what's going on with my body and so I'm curious. I'm not quite 38 yet. That's too young to be experiencing pre-menopausal weirdness. Right? I just don't know.

Simple delights

The whole dream was homespun happiness. My entire village celebrated some obscure holiday. It was a county fair, a big reunion, a birthday party, a veteran's memorial day.

There was not a single whiff of sophistication--we wove delphiniums in our hair, decorated the square with candles and lamps, played with all the kids, set up chairs and buffet tables in the town hall/church, hugged and kissed friends. And this was just the preparations. I woke up before the actual festivities began.

But I woke up grinning.

Therapy

Boil, steam, vent, growl
Unintelligable rant.
Listen, nod, nod, nod.

Love = effort?

A late-day blog entry. I'm sitting at my desk, dressed in the cloth of gold dress, waiting to leave for a dinner 10 pm reservation at Cicada.

Cynical as I am, I'm not one for enjoying a consumer based Valentine's Day, but I do like a quiet celebration. So I made an effort to make today a little special. Tod & I enjoyed brunch at home, complete with a magnum of champers which we finished off over the course of the afternoon as we listened to jazz and classical music, following along with the sheet music of some of the Bach fugues. It was relaxing.

After we finished eating, but before the wine had gone to our heads, Tod decided to return my favor. He made a reservation at Cicada, a Mediterranean restaurant I've been wanting to try for a while, hence the dressing up aspect of our day. (Tod's even donned his one-and-only suit for the occasion.)

But we had a philosophical disagreement. I say love requires effort. Tod says effort comes naturally with love. "The things you do to show your love are effortless," he insists.

I think it boils down to a definition of effort. In my world, effort is healthy, good and often quite enjoyable. Apparently in Tod's world, effort is a struggle. How about your world?

What's become of me?

Wondering where I am? I'm working. From Monday morning at 9:30 until tonight at 9:30 I've been awake and working solid on editing videos. Tonight will be the thrid and final all-nighter in a row.

I've been in this strange groove of focussed work and caffeine. Time's stopped. I feel simultaneously exhausted and energetic. 60 hours of this and I have the classic jet-lag symptoms. Except that I've been in the basement of an office building non-stop.

I feel surprisingly OK, but look forward to a really long sleep tomorrow! Time to get back to it--I've got to get to work on an energetic short about trash cleanup in Antarctica.

Stupid speaking

I've spent most of this afternoon dazed and confused. Sometimes my migraines manifest themselves as an inability to speak coherently. It's as if my brain forgets how to put the words in order. I sound like I'm speaking in patois:

Eating where?
Friends invite to dinner out?
Maybe have home foods.

Often when my scrambled verbal state arises, I have to puzzle out the steps to do things, too. As I sat down to write this, I asked myself out loud "How do I blog?" Then answered aloud, "Press the button, then click the word, and then fill in the writing." OK. Got it.

Oddly, though, I can write just as well as usual. I have no trouble remembering the words when they are coming out of my fingers. Editing is a little bit more difficult, though. Must be different parts of my brain that control writing and speaking. Weird, huh?

A Half Diet

Holiday feasting has taken its toll on my figure. It's time to reduce a bit before I snowball into a citizen of Houston, Texas (American's fattest city).

My diet's already pretty well-balanced if you ignore the desserts I scarf. Mainly I just eat too much. So if I continue to eat what I like and cut back the portions, I will lose weight.

Here's my diet plan:

1. Serve myself half of what I'd usually dish up; if I'm still hungry 20 minutes after half a meal, then I will eat a little more.
2. Order whatever I like on the menu, but in smallest size and eat only half.
3. Pay attention to portion sizes on packaging; eat half of what's noted.
4. No more beer, and limited wine or spirits.
5. Lots more water--did you know dehydration can be confused with hunger?

I should see a leaner Kristen in about a month or sooner if I get off my butt and exercise some.

Another 25 words

A mediatinker tradition, one final writing exercise before midnight: recap your year in exactly 25 words.

2003 Doggerel

Hello Tokyo finally done
Neon Chopstix now begun.
'Twas mostly work but also fun.
Hosted friends from far away.
Another visa for three years' stay.

And previous entries:2002 and 2001

Bathroom Book

Ladies room with orchids. Tung Fat, Yokohama
Cleanliness: 8 - apparently frequently tidied
Scent: 6 - Completely neutral
Decor: 9 - fresh flowers and elegant marble
Fixtures: 6 - nothing extraordinary
Consumables: 5 - average paper; lotion(?) in an unlabeled plastic bottle
OVERALL: 6.8 - clean and nicely decorated, but not a place you'll linger.

My sister and I became restaurant bathroom connoisseurs during the interminable duration between our last bite of dessert and our parents' last cigarette.

During fortnightly dinners out, Jenn and I would escape Mom & Dad's chitchat and examine the fixtures, cleanliness, industrial-grade toilet paper and bottled scents of the ladies' room. Each bathroom received a rating. Sometimes we took notes, sometimes we merely reported back to the dinner table. We vowed that one day, we'd write a book.

Exactly when this began, I'm not sure. I suspect my mother innocently asked "How was the bathroom?". For an 8 and 11 year old, that would have been enough. All I can say is thank goodness we didn't have a camera or the book would be a reality full of entries like the one above.

Season's greetings

Printing and design companies use their to holiday greeting cards say "thanks for your business this year" while also shouting "Hey, look! We can do foil and die cuts, too!"

I've always looked forward to them. So I was pleased as punch when I received one from Paradigm, the company that does FCCJ's monthly magazine. It's sweet--a lovely range of non-traditional holiday colors and a die cut that works into each picture and culminates in Paradigm's signature dots.

And it reminds me that I'd better get some mediatinker nengajo done this week!

Mail management

I used to be completely on top of my e-mail. I would read a message and reply without delay--usually before reading the next message. It is a very efficient system.

But for some reason, I'm no longer doing that. I've been slacking by reading mail and waiting to reply until...I'm not sure when. Now I have an Inbox full of mail that needs a response.

All these unanswered mails are weighing me down. So tonight I'm on a mission to answer 50 mails....here I go...

Update: midnight. I've replied to 21 messages and slightly rearranged my mailboxes and filtering rules. I'm going call it a night and be happy that I got nearly halfway to my goal in one session. I'll keep at it tomorrow. :-)

Joking Uncle Marvin

My great-uncle Marvin, my mother's uncle, has embraced e-mail like no other 80-something. He loves to send me jokes (usually off-color). This morning's mail included this PG-rated one that made me laugh:

An old man lived alone in the country. He wanted to dig his potato garden but it was very difficult work as the ground was hard. His only son Fred, who used to help him, was in prison. The old man wrote a letter to his son and described his predicament.

Dear Fred,
I am feeling pretty bad because it looks like I won't be able to plant my potato garden this year. I'm just getting too old to be digging up a garden plot. If you were here, all my troubles would be over. I know you would dig the plot for me.
Love, Dad

A few days later the old man received a letter from his son.

Dear Dad,
For heaven's sake Dad, don't dig up that garden, that's where I buried the bodies.
Love, Fred

At 4 am the next morning, FBI agents and local police arrived and dug up the entire area without finding any bodies. They apologized to the old man and left. That same day the old man received another letter from his son.

Dear Dad,
Go ahead and plant the potatoes now. That's the best I could do under the circumstances.
Love, Fred

Oh, nigari

About a month ago, MJ visited her in-laws and got caught up in a new diet fad. Now she puts a few drops of nigari, liquid magnesium salts, into her Diet Coke. She claims that it has helped her drop several kilos.

Perhaps I should have been insulted by the implication, but I was surprised and pleased when Tod brought home a bottle of nigari yesterday. You can buy it in any grocery store--it's used to coagulate soymilk into tofu. He remembered our conversation about nigari from a few days ago, I guess.

Well, I did some poking around. Magnesium is a good mineral. It helps bind calcium to bones, it makes you regular (think "milk of magnesia"), helps your heart, and studies indicate that migraines might be caused by a magnesium deficiency.

So for the next few weeks, I'll try nigari in my coffee. The first sip confirms that it does change the taste, but it's not unpleasant. More like brewing a different kind of bean than taking medicine.

I am a little concerned that this is going to start some horrible chain of fad dieting--I shudder as I recall the difficulties I've had cooking for guests who were on no fat, no carbs, mostly rice crackers, only oat bran, no sauces, and exclusively protein diets over the years.

But perhaps a few drops of nigari is more like taking vitamins than eating an unusual diet. If I lose weight, find myself headache free and feel healthier, I'll report back.

Love poem

Holding husband's hand
With my umbrella bobbing
Homewards through typhoon.

Quiet splashing steps,
Damp chilly feet; my heart grows
Warm from his fingers.

Elation

There are a small handful of people in my life right now who make me stupidly happy. Every time we meet, I grin ear-to-ear and can't help rushing up to hug them. I babble incoherently in my excitement. If I were a puppy, I'd probably wet myself.

They aren't necessarily people I know very well and none of them has frequent contact with me. In some cases we've been close or worked together, now time and space have separated us. As it stands, I know only the surface of their experience.

The burst of joy comes precisely because our interaction is intermittent. With daily intercourse, I'd be drawn into the ups and downs of their lives and the jubilant magic would wear off. Keeping distance is what makes these people special but it would be awfully satisfying to shift to a solid friendship with any of them.

Is my elation requited? Probably not. I'm not bothered by it. I'm still grinning 18 hours after seeing Jon unexpectedly.

Forcing creativity

Are you creative?

If I look around my spaces online and in real life, there's evidence that I am, and once in a while someone affirms it. But I don't usually feel creative. So to be more creative, I sometimes force myself to make more things, do things outside my usual realm, and build up my body of work.

And sometimes I set myself up for a public spectacle. On November 15th and 16th, I'll have a booth at Design Festa. What am I going to exhibit? No idea...yet. I'll choose a theme and work from there.

I'd really prefer to do this with others rather than solo, so here's an invitation:

COME BE CREATIVE WITH ME! Help me brainstorm theme ideas, and share my Design Festa booth. Add your music, video, art, photography or multimedia projects to my mix...

Drypoint

Note to self: stick to pens, printing and computers when if comes to art. Pencil, charcoal, pastels--all those soft, blendy media--just don't do it for me. But put a pen in my hand or, better yet, let me make prints and I am a happy camper.

I attended a drypoint engraving workshop today (and will go again tomorrow) at Right Brain Research in Azabu-Juban. Ryu Kadosaka is an amazing illustrator and a fantastic teacher. I learned so much today that my head is completely full. As I was packing up to leave class, I tried to put my glasses in my wallet.

I'd never done drypoint before and it's fun. You use a needle-tipped instrument to draw on a copper plate, then ink the plate, rub off the excess ink and run the plate and paper through a press. It's quite simple, but there are so many variables: what sort of lines you scratch; whether or not (and to what extent) you scrape or burnish the lines; how you control the ink on the plate. You never know exactly what you'll end up with...

I did a print that I turned out much better than I thought it would. In fact, I like it a great deal and will give it to my father who is celebrating his 66th birthday today. The print needs to dry for a week so that it stays flat, (sorry, Dad!) but when It's done, I'll put a photo up.

No passing zone

Boys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses.

If I thought it was likely that any boys would make passes at me at my age, well, I just ended an era for myself. Today I went to get glasses.

Although they are "just for reading" I know this is a slippery slope. Once Mom was fitted for reading glasses, she never went without again.

To anyone shopping for megane in Tokyo, I can recommend Zoff. They are quick, professional and inexpensive. My new glasses were only 5,000 yen.

And best of all, the cute, 20-something optometrist spoke English. I was slightly worried about the examination in Japanese, so I was very happy when Hikage-san just jumped right in and spoke perfectly fluent English to me. He made the whole experience much easier.

But he didn't make a pass...

Ruining your eyes

"Don't sit too close to the TV or you'll ruin your eyes." I don't know if mothers still say this, but it was a familiar comment when I was growing up, even in a household that didn't watch too much TV.

So why didn't I apply this good advice to working at the computer? Staring at a monitor for hours on end has the same effect and recently my eyes have been feeling the strain.

Now I'm on a campaign to rest my eyes. That means staying away from the computer, books and other activities that fix my focal length for a long duration. In essence, no reading input and no writing/coding/drawing output.

I'm sure this is going to be very good for me, but it's left me with long stretches of time I don't know what to do with.

So far, the house is clean, laundry done, and meals are sorted for the next two days. I'm planning to add more greenery to my summer-wilted garden; I'll go to two exhibits I've been meaning to see. I think I'll finally make up the shirt Tod thought he'd sew himself. Maybe I'll sew something for myself as well. I might have a nice big purge of kipple.

I might even consider going for an eye exam--maybe I finally need glasses.

But whatever I do, I'll have to keep work to a minimum this week. I feel like I'm suddenly retired and at loose ends. What do I do with all this time looming before me?

Day off

It's unusual for me to take a day off from blogging but as regular readers may have noticed, I didn't post yesterday and today's entry is quite late.

I had planned to have a Video Saturday entry prepared, but didn't get it done. I'm making quiet progress in the background on the Hello Tokyo project but there's nothing to show yet. Keep your eyes peeled next Saturday when I do hope to have something spectacular for you.

Yesterday I was also in a black temper. I'm not sure why but everything seemed bleak and impossible. It was the sort of self-pitying, self-indulgent mood where I see all humans as the gross organisms that we are--giants bags of water spending their time ingesting, digesting, reproducing--and question the point of my existence. Definitely not a good emotional space to be writing from.

So instead of inflicting any of that bile on you, I broke down to my dearest darling and then went to visit friends in Zushi where my mood lightened and I was (I hope) better company.

And tomorrow I will return to being a better entertainer. But for now, to bed!

A love story

Today marks our arrival in Japan five years ago. We were coming for a three month assignment and here we still are. Happy as clams. Japan, and Tokyo in particular, is a great place to live.

There is a certain element of fantasy living in Tokyo.

Here I am, part of a tradition of expatriate artists. Granted that this isn't Paris in the 1930s and getting here doesn't involve steamer trunks and a month-long journey over water, but Tokyo in 2003 is kin to that history. There is a thriving community of expatriate artists here: writers, web folk, filmmakers, fine artists, musicians. I'm fortunate to know some of them and to collaborate with a few. Perhaps someday our connections and contributions to society will be noted as an artistic force in this era.

Reality is great, too.

I can live without a car and never feel the need to have one. The weather is mild and pleasant for 10 months of the year. The city bustles with activity and the mountains and seaside are only an hour's train ride away. Seafood is fresh; fruits are delicious; there are a zillion restaurants. Strangers are polite and the streets are safe.

Naturally, not everything is rosy. I've struggled.

Learning a new language is challenging and I progress very slowly. Tokyo is an expensive place to live. Expatriate friends come and go. I will never be welcomed into any part of Japanese society. Despite all these annoyances and more, I've learned to accept them and the benefits of living here outweigh the traumas.

Will we ever leave Japan? Probably so, but who knows when or for where? I hope not to go back to the US. I'd love to try Rome or Beijing. But for the foreseeable future I am perfectly content with Tokyo.

Come as you are

The "come as you are" party is a surprise party for the guests. The idea is to catch people unaware and persuade them to come enjoy a casual party on the spur of the moment. No dressing up or preparing, just drop everything and join in the fun.

Washing hair? Wrap your head in a towel and come along. Napping? Rub the sleep from your eyes and put on some slippers. It was great hoots forty years ago when life had more rigid social conventions.

When I tried this for a birthday party in the 1970s, it failed. There wasn't much difference between school clothes, play clothes, and dress-up. Nobody turned up in their bathrobe or pajamas. No embarrassing outfits. Well, it was the 70s. Everyone wore an embarrassing outfit.

The 2003 Tokyo lifestyle is a little bit more formal. People dress to go out and rarely drop in on one another unannounced. Maybe a "come as you are" party would be successful now.

Let's imagine what would happen if I rang people for brunch on a Sunday morning:

Tod - stumbles from the bedroom bleary eyed and wearing his yukata.
MJ - has been up all night but can't tear herself away from work.
UltraBob - attempts to change the venue to Zushi because he has a deadline.
Mike G - arrives neatly dressed with an interesting CD to share.
Mike R - sets up a webcam from Erie.
Terri - needs a break, but has too much work to get done.
Peter - comes in his car with the whole family "as they are". Yes!
Kristen - arrives fashionably late in a gorgeous peignoir and lipstick.
Kristin - is teaching a painting class and can't make it
Sayaka - hops a train from Oita, arrives in time for leftovers.
Tracey - is sleepy but not in pajamas as she dressed right after waking up.
John - turns up for brunch on Tuesday--it's a long flight.
Kris - arrives with John and looks absolutely fabulous.
Dave - comes with John and Kris; brings a suitcase full of toys.
Jenn - wears nice travel clothes; spends her flight writing Ode to a Brunch
Helen - sports pale blue with glittery accents; thinks my food is weird.
Dan - dons green sweatpants with holes. Joins me in the kitchen on Tuesday.

The guest list goes on, but you get the idea. Lots of my friends are busy or not in Tokyo. And I wonder why I don't have many parties...

Reference kitten

When I was a teenager with her first job, I developed a financial coping skill that I will share with you, though I'm sure I'm not the only one who does this. I think of buying, selling, earning, and saving in terms of an object I care about whose price I know.

At age sixteen, I used a $40 wool sweater as a reference. I earned about a sweater a day as a lifeguard during the summer.

As a college student, my reference was pizza. The $4.99 Corleone's large cheese special (with two 32 ounce Cokes) was usually out of my budget, but it made a fine comparison tool.

After we bought a house, my reference became our mortgage payment. The apartment the company rented for us when we first arrived in Japan was eight mortgage payments. Yikes!

My latest reference is a lovely Abssynian kitten for sale at "Dog and Cat Nana." He is priced at 120,000 yen--about a thousand dollars. So now I think of things in terms of kittens. "That job just earned me 1.5 kittens."

Economics via Kittens

1 kitten = 1000 vending machine drinks
1 kitten = 136 Zoupi
1 kitten = 120 rides on the LaQua rollercoaster
1 kitten = 50 CDs
1 kitten = 42 Zousan
1 kitten = 30 dinners at Ampresso
1 kitten = 10 pairs of jeans
1 kitten = 10 kg of Japanese beef
2.5 kittens = 1 month's rent
5.2 kittens = 1 G5 + cinema display
7.3 kittens = 1 1996 VW Beetle 1600i
350 kittens = 2LDK apartment at Lions Square
6,662,369,081 kittens = 1 US national debt

Money seems so much cuter and accessible now.

Company Night Out

Last night was a "knees-up" with the office clan. My knees stayed down, pretty much, and I headed home before last train while Tod and the boys went off for nijiikai and probably sanjikai at various bars and hostess clubs in Roppongi (he's still sleeping so I can't ask him).

The party was an increasingly rare occasion of corporate-fielded drunkenness. Back in the giddy Y2K days when I was working for Perot, there were drinking nights all the time--mostly informal but plenty of sponsored ones--as the myriad short-term expats drowned their sorrows. Now those folk are gone and the remaining gaijin are happily here for the long haul. Quite a contrast to the situation three or four years ago.

Last night's event was in honor of two high-ranking visitors, Robin and Brian, and seemed to be going on in the traditional style. Lots of beer, snacks, and loud conversation at an izakaya near the office until they kicked us out.

Next, a tipsy conference ensued outside the izakaya, as usual. The clever few faded away without saying goodbye while the rest debated about where to go next. Kylie and I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye to our partners and so were subject to much sweet persuasion to come along which we ignored.

Our refusal was a great relief to Tod and Andy, I'm sure, who were not constrained by our presence. Having your wife tag along to the hostess club is such a wet blanket, even if she is enjoying herself and chatting up your coworkers. Wherever they went off to, they came home before three this morning, but I am sure that Brian was out all night--he will be getting on a plane to London about now, assuming he made it back to his hotel in time to get the shuttle to the airport.

So even though it's not as common as it once was, the office social scene still follow the same plan. Lots of drinking, escapes and escapades, and one person needing to catch a plane home.

Double split complementary

I paint (badly) quickly.Yesterday, I finished all the exercises for the color class--one day ahead of schedule. It's sort of embarrassing.

If I could slow down, maybe I'd be able to observe more finely and paint better. Usually by the end of the day, when I'm tired and make more focussed, my technique is a little more refined than in the morning, but I'm never going to be a pro with paints.

The painting I did is a double split complementary, If you recall the color wheel, red and green are complementary colors. The "split" part means that you take the colors on either side of the complement--so instead of green, you use blue-green and yellow-green. And for red, it's red-orange and red-violet. Which does make for a vivid painting, but I'd never consciously worked with that color scheme before and wanted to try it out.

With that painting completed, I'm not sure what I'll be doing today, but I'll try to make it interesting. I could paint another still life, I suppose. I'm not a good realistic painter, so maybe I'll paint an abstract of yesterday's still life. That way I can focus on color without having to stress about making it look right. Because you can see how well I managed that yesterday. Pffft.

Reflections

This is the photo I didn't submit to the Mirror Project. The one I sent in was added yesterday as number 16,449.

According to their website, "The Mirror Project is a growing community of like-minded individuals who have photographed themselves in all manner of reflective surfaces."

In blunt words, a bunch of narcissists and exhibitionists. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

I've been reflecting lately about the nature of people with personal websites. Why do they have them? Why do they choose to reveal themselves (or not)? Why do they keep up the effort?

All I can do is answer for myself.

Why do I have a website? My first website was an experiment in 1994, when the web was new and we were still inventing Telerama. My site incorporated my resume, some recipes, and a reading list. It's morphed into this site over the years, but I've always aimed to use my site to educate. For now, that includes Hello Tokyo, course materials I've developed (like the DW4 workshop), and recipes.

Why do I reveal myself? My goal in life is to express an experience so that the audience understands it and relates to it. Perhaps this site remains an experiment because I find it interesting to see which posts resonate with comments--usually the ones where I reveal something about myself or ask questions. I have a thick skin, so people saying my site sucks or they think I'm useless really doesn't hurt (anymore).

Why keep up the effort? Because you can't build a body of work without expending effort and you don't earn a good reputation in your field without a body of work. I spend from 10 minutes to an hour every day writing, photographing and preparing entries. Maybe it's a compulsion or perhaps just a habit. Judging from my site stats, it's an effort my audience approves and from time to time an e-mail saying thanks buoys my spirit.

Color match

I spent last weekend painting color wheels and mixing colors to match fabric. Here's the result of 8 hours of work last Sunday. Not perfect but I learned a lot and used up all my yellow paint in the process.

Don't see much yellow, do you? But it's there. The browns and beiges are based on yellow and violet mixed together with varying amounts of white and red. The green leaf has yellow and red in it. Even the red-violet colors have yellow in them. But nowhere in this painting is there any blue--mainly because I had violet and alizarin crimson paint so I dind't have to mix those colors myself.

Today we're painting a monotone. I guess mine will be red, but not orange, chartreuse or dull purple, all of which contain my missing color. I think I'm going to run into trouble when we paint a still life tomorrow and Sunday.

Sushi as drug

On the advice of two women I painted with last weekend, I am trying sushi as a medicine for migraine.

Sushi is not my favorite food, but if it makes me feel better I will chow down.

Today's breakfast is negi-toro maki (tuna and green onion rolls). I'll let you know if it works.

Summer Solstice

I am celebrating the summer solstice by taking a class on color theory. For five days of the next 10, I will be thinking about colors, making comparison charts and painting. It will be a nice break from all the left-brained programming I've been doing for the past couple of weeks.

Every year my summer solstice celebrations take a different form but they often seem to involve travel and/or being apart from Tod. Five years ago it was a business trip to Sydney. Last year Tod was in Korea at the World Cup and I had dinner alone. In 2001, we were stranded at O'Hare on our way back to Japan. I'll have to hope for the best on my way to class this morning...

Elusive Balance

What's life, if not a huge pile of things on the To Do list?

I love to accomplish things and be productive but after sleeping most of yesterday to recover from meeting the deadline on my big PHP-Nuke project, I took a look at today's To Do list and wondered "Why? Why am I doing all this crap that stresses me out? I don't need to work. Tod pays the rent and feeds us."

On a typical day, I am at the computer by 7 am and keep going until I fall alseep at night. I juggle eating, errands and housework in with that, of course, but a 10-12 hour workday is pretty typical. If I'm not doing that, I feel like I'm slacking.

On top of that, the fact that a large amount of my "work" is non-paid projects I've initiated (like Hello Tokyo and the silliness at zousan.com) really blurs the boundaries between work and play so I just call it all work. The Zous are demanding bosses.

My trouble seems to be that I don't see a happy middle ground between working too much and not working at all. Black/white. All/nothing. Either I work so hard I exhaust myself and have to spend a full day sleeping or else I'd better get a membership at the local ladies-who-lunch club.

Help me with some suggestions. What do you do to balance your work and the rest of your life?

Kiln Kristen

There are simply not enough hours in the day to do everything I want to do right now. Or maybe there aren't enough of me.

But in fiction at least, the lack of me can be solved. David Brin hit on a good idea in Kiln People, about a society that is able to make duplicates of themselves that last for only a day. Your memories and skills are imprinted on the double and at the end of the day, after it's gone out to do your work or attend events you don't have time for, you download its memories into your own brain. Bam, two days of productivity for the price of one.

I think I need a half dozen kiln people.

What you hang on to

I am a keen believer in tossing out kipple so I don't have a lot of keepsakes hanging around in drawers, boxes and closets or collecting dust on shelves. I think that makes looking back at my historical record a revealing exercise. The things I own, I've made an effort to keep.

In a box in my parents' attic, there is a tiny silver bird figurine that was a gift from a college comrade. Some photos & the complete series of The Wizard of Oz. That single box contains other things from my childhood but except for the above listed, the rest is forgotten, its meaning lost, and could be thrown away now. So of my first twenty years, I had one significant friend and some reading material.

Having recently pared down my stuff in storage, I pitched out the old love letters, the awards and commendations from jobs long past, and souvenirs of forgotten events. Now I have little more than family photos and my drawings, paintings and prints. I nearly tossed the art, but Tod stopped me and I'm glad he did. That art's not just a relic, it's the true record of me.

The past six years have produced four significant items. Ganesha, overcomer of obstacles, found me in Bangkok. I have a rock from Ireland with a hole worn through it--perfect for focussing on things. A bit of lava I picked up while climbing Mt. Fuji reminds me of what I can do if I try. And a shell Tod found in Hawaii reminds me of beauty, warmth, and love.

Not everything I keep is good or uplifting. I have a disturbing ability to hang on to horrible e-mails: an exchange with someone I apologised to who then demanded an accounting of my actions; a correspondence that was a huge misunderstanding with a formerly close and now regretably distant friend; a draft (unsent) of a frustrated and angry message to a colleague. Why do I keep that stuff? Maybe to remind me of my failings...

What do you hang onto?

Dawn

Tod's just gone to bed after a late night of work and I've just gotten up. Even though I haven't had quite enough sleep, the mosquito buzzing loudly in my ear between attacks kept me from getting any more.

So here I am at 4:23 am, watching the sky lighten and wondering if there's any coffee in the thermos pot left over from yesterday. May as well make use of the morning. I'll do my work now and take a nap in the afternoon.

Darkroom fun

After seeing Tod grinning at the pinhole workshop last week, what better present could I get him for his birthday than the makings of a home darkroom?

We're now able to develop black and white paper negatives in our bathroom. It is a surprisingly simple set up. At least the basics are: a trio of trays, some tongs and a lot of chemicals. Plus a special red lightbulb that cost more than the developing chemicals combined. It's a good start, but I have a feeling that we're going to be accumulating photographic tools for a while.

We took eight exposures with our pinhole cameras and developed them. But instead of trying to make contact prints we scanned the images and inverted them in Photoshop. Worked like a charm, see below.

We will make physical prints, too, but since we don't have an enlarger (must add to list of tools to acquire, along with 'light meter'), we'll have to use my desk lamp and guess about the timing a bit. Chance makes for fun art, though, so I think we'll enjoy experimenting.

I like the darkroom because of the instant gratification. It's like magic to see the blank paper turn into an image. The stop bath and fixer are boring but necessary. I get really impatient during the washing and drying. I want to examine the images closely in the daylight. More importantly, I want to see them in positive. I can't tell from the negative if it's turned out well or not. It's a learned skill, I hope.

Two images from this afternoon:

From Tod's "deck railings" series. 30 second exposure on Fujibro KM2 photo paper. Inversed in Photoshop.

My own "not too badly ruined" series (one image). 2 minute exposure on Fujibro KM2 photo paper. Inversed in Photoshop.

Fabrication

Shopping for fabric makes my head spin.

There are some excellent shops in Tokyo and my favorite is Kinkado in Ikebukuro.

Traditional Japanese textures and colors are lovely and Kinkado stocks scads of Western colors, too, but it is so hard to choose. I'm lucky to have a wealth of gorgeous fabrics to work with but it takes hours to look at everything and come to a decision.

I used to have a big trunk full of fabric from projects I wanted to do but never started, or started but didn't finish. I am not letting that happen again. I've decided that I am not going to buy more than what I need for one project at a time, so I can't allow myself to be indecisive. One fabric, the notions to complete the project and that's all. Even if there's beautiful wool on sale or flannel that would be perfect for pajamas next winter.

After two hours of shopping today, I ended up with biege cotton printed with brush-style Japanese writing that I'll make into casual pants for summer. It's in the wash now and I'll cut it tomorrow.

Party hat

All the fun begins when you put on the party hat.

(Putting your hand in the bucket helps, too.)

Double entry blogkeeping

Spurred on by a toilet paper remix sent in by a stranger (Josh, I love it; may I post it?), I visited his site and went surfing from there. Random surfing is a rarely indulged luxury/guilty pleasure (but my blog was in Josh's list along side Neil Gaiman's, so I automatically validate his list and love Josh!) and here are two gems I found:

Girls Are Pretty. Every day is a celebration. This is some of the wittiest writing I've read in ages (but see P.P.S. below).
Leslie Harpold and her weblog. Gotta love anyone who's got "all wrongs reserved" on her site. Click around to find the hidden treasures.

And the amazing Pepys' Diary. I've read this one before (online and in print). I wonder what his aim was? He was an audience of one but did he have ideas of grandeur? Can't really say "delusions of grandeur" since his diary has been published for many generations. How many of us bloggers hope for the same? Old Samuel didn't really have a more remarkable life than we do, but he was one of the few diarists whose records survived.

P.S. Tod just refered to me as his "long suffering wife" on #perl and someone one there asked "chronic?". Yes. Brilliant. Chronic wife.

P.P.S. Have been feeling ill all day and now Tod is plying me with whiskey tea and gin tonic. Making no sense, but amusing self wildly. Sorry...

Dad's walk

On Sunday mornings when I was a kid, my father would go out for doughnuts, juice, and a big, thick Sunday newspaper. When he came back, Jenn and I would feast while lying on the floor reading the comics.

That seemed like a good way to spend this lazy Sunday morning so I ran out to recreate my childhood. But on the walk down to the doughnut shop, I had a change of perspective.

I'd stuffed some money in my pocket and grabbed Tod's keys but went without my cell phone, breaking my usual complement of "keitai, cash and keys." Maybe that should be "wireless, wallet and wards" for non-Japanese speakers.

Anyway, I was free of communication devices for the first time in quite a while. I hadn't realised the subtle, unconscious foreboding that I have when my keitai is near. "Is my phone going to ring?" "Will I hear it?" "Has anyone called me?"

As I walked along, enjoying the outrageously blue skies and crisp wind, I wondered if Dad's Sunday morning walks were similarly unencumbered. He knew that the family was back home waiting for treats, just as I knew Tod was looking forward to doughnuts, but was otherwise at liberty to be alone for a while.

That's the kind of liberty I like.

Two Aussies

Today, two "business" meetings. The first with an Australian woman; the second with an Aussie man. Two people from the same country but how different can you get?

Tracey and I are both members of the same DigitalEve SIG. In fact, we are the only members. We had hoped some others would join us but not today. So we sat, enjoyed cake and coffee and talked about our businesses. How can we improve what we're doing and how can we help one another? In this meeting, support was the name of the game.

Meeting number two was ostensibly a social dinner. But talk turned to work and from there, it was a game of Let's Guess the Motives Behind this Conversation. Why was I being buttered up? Why did certain topics come up? What was I giving away? "You can only go so far with questioning everything the guy says," Tod commented later. So true. It was a stimulating conversation with a million different (possible) interpretations. Which one is correct remains to be seen.

So the moral of the story. Don't judge a book by its passport.

Sleeplessness

OK, this is getting ridiculous. It's 5:00 in the morning. But I haven't just awakened. I've been up all night. A short nap in the afternoon turned into a 7 hour rest and I woke at 23:00 ready to go for another day.

So I've spent my night-for-day doing taxes, catching up with some reading, and drawing. The drawing has been fun; it's been a while since I've spent time with paper and ink. I often forget how much I enjoy drawing.

But I know that tomorrow I have things planned and I need to be at least vaguely rested. Can I sleep again soon? Maybe before the sun rises...hurry up, tired feelings.

My list

I learned at my mother's knee that a list is a great way to focus on what needs to be done. Since my brain is not too happy about focussing at the moment, the list I made this morning at 4:30 is guiding me gently through the day.

I'm surprised at what I've managed to accomplish despite the continuing jetlag.

So far this morning I've ticked off: clean kitchen, change lightbulb in shower, rewrite FCCJ password instructions, put away laundry, and hand wash sweaters. Later on today I will get to "do Japanese taxes" or else I'll take a nap.

I've also given the Zous a hand with their website by uploading some new postcards and launching their latest venture--Zousan t-shirts

Next on the list: sort through closet and dresser. I brought home new clothes, so I need to make room. It's a one-for-one deal in this house. New in, old out. Please excuse me while I go get a garbage bag.

Me, American?

A friend once said that travelling abroad is the way to learn to love America. He said he felt more in tune with the US when he was away, and more able to see what makes him American and what makes America great.

I suspect that he just didn't like the toilets in France amd was feeling homesick for Charmin.

Living abroad has helped me recognise what makes me American, that is true. But I find that they are not traits that I think are particularly good. Here's what I see in myself.

• Violence. I'm not running around beating people up, but violence creeps into my speech (kick ass) and my actions (smacking someone playfully) in nearly unconcious ways. Japanese and Europeans don't seem to do these things.
• Volume. There's no doubt that I (and maybe the average American, too) would be a great soliloquist. Not only could my normal speaking voice carry to the stalls, but I have a large quantity of things to say. Usually mundane, uninformed and purposeless. I've learned to be quieter, but it's still hard to stop talking.
• Frankness. My life is an open book (or an open weblog as the case may be). There is no reticence about discussing my personal life with near-strangers. Not all Americans are this way, but a vast majority of them that I've met talk about themselves without hesitation. And usually, as in my case, without any reason.
• Ignorance. Americans are not very well educated (but not stupid). Although I try to seek multiple sources, many times I don't seek more information than what's handed to me. Maybe this is not an American problem alone, but it's a hallmark of the "ugly American" and I know I've found it in myself. I am working to change this.
• Laziness. Probably not too many people who know me would think I'm lazy, but I will insist that I am a slacker. If I did everything I could do, instead of just what I bother to do, I'd be a whirlwind of productivity. In the general case of Americans, I think that most people prefer to take the easy path than to work hard for something. This does not seem to be true in other cultures.

I can think of other traits that i think stem from my American upbringing, but I'm too lazy to write them out now. No matter what I write, it doesn't negate the American-ness of my existence. But I unlike my friend, I can't see that these traits make me or my homeland great.

Shopping

MJ told me to come home with a new wardrobe. I haven't succeeded but I did have fun trying things on at Norstrom today.

Kris and I always get carried away when we shop together. Today we tried on matching velvet dresses that went beautifully with our red hair and pale skin. They were exquisite, but after putting them on, we decided that a photo souvenir was enough.

But I did get two pair of shoes, several funky tops, and a pair of pants. So even though it's not a full wardrobe, it is a much-needed renewal. And I might even share with a certain Aussie redhead I know. Now that I think about it, there were three of those dresses...

Abstruse!

I'm no longer ignorant. I'm not even obtuse. I'm abstruse.

Plus, I'm...ah...cute.

Divided

I live three lives.

In Tokyo, I've got an efficient, logical life with lots of work, friendly mates, and productivity. I love the city. I relish being outside my culture. And the challenges of living here keep things interesting. I am very comfortable and happy here.

In Chicago, my "life" is deep relationships. I have friends who are so close to me that I can walk around naked in front of them and they don't point and laugh. When I cry, they know just what to do to make me feel better. We love one another.

Online, I have some integration between the two. Weblog, chat, e-mail, and lots of communication tools that I use to try to link the other two lives. My virtual world is almost as real, and certainly as important to me, as the other two physical places.

But being here in Chicago, I realise that I actually miss my friends more than I usually let myself admit because it makes me sad and I hate to be sad. I wish there were a way to have my friends all move to Japan (or move Japan to my friends). Age old dilemma, isn't it?

Wishes are pointless. Actions are better. Must find a good action to take. Any ideas?

Dinner with old friends

It seems like a long time ago that I worked with Cynthia (she was my boss's boss when I left Duquesne University in January 1998) but she's the person I most want to catch up with when I'm in town. There's a long list of others, but Cynthia is one of the few who manages to get on the agenda while I'm here. No matter how long we've been apart, it's like we've only been away a week or two. I don't have too many friends like that anymore.

Tonight we had dinner with her family and Jason (another old DU coworker) and his family. What a treat. Not only did we get a wonderful meal and more than enough wine, but we had great conversation and as we lurched drunkenly into our taxi Cynthia's husband, Jeremy, handed us the CD we'd been listening to over our last glass of cognac.

And note this, Tokyoites: a 12 mile (20 km) taxi ride to the suburbs cost under $25 (3000 yen). What a bargain. :-)

Photo shoot

On Tuesday night, we had a photo shoot with a photographer friend of Jean's. Now we have lots of family portraits in various groupings. I like this one of us and the Zous.

Death's manicure

My grandmother is dying. At 88, she lived independently until a fall in early November sent her in and out of hospital and nursing home in a downward spiral. She's getting near the end now and each day bring some new twist in the spiral. Jenn said I wouldn't recognise her when I went to visit.

Of course, I did know her. She still has her own light in her eyes, though it's dimmer than I recall. I'd like to think she recognised me, too. Maybe. Perhaps not. She wasn't talking, just moaning in a frustrated, painful way until she fell asleep.

Her hands are restrained because she plucks at her tubes and wires. Her left hand is swollen and purple; the skin of her right palm is red and cracked. But her nail are, as always, beautifully done.

When I was about 11, she gave me a manicure kit covered in magenta suede that snapped closed with a gold fixture like a change purse. Inside were slots filled with files, tweezers and inscrutable implements with plastic mother-of-pearl handles. "A lady always keeps her nails neat," she told me, looking pointedly at my ragged chewed fingers. I figured out how to use all of those tools, but looking down at my hands now (a tiny hint of green paint under my right index finger, dry cuticles glaring white in every corner, cracked and ugly edges from nibbling) I wish I had inherited her strong, gorgeous nails.

They say the the nails continue to grow after death. But it's not true, just an old wive's tale.

Kitchen redeco

Friday, 3 pm. Nice kitchen.

Sunday, 6 pm. Wow kitchen!

It's amazing what some paint and energy will do for a room.

On thin ice

Today we went ice skating.

I haven't been on skates in ten years but after two slow and clumsy laps around the rink, I was doing pretty well. I skated for about an hour without falling down once. Even after the zamboni machine smoothed off the ice.

A blister sidelined me, but I was consoled with hot chocolate. Now that's a good winter afternoon!

Not suitable for cars

Riding in a car makes me [select some: nervous, tense, panicky, morbid, frantic]. Today's 20 minute trip from Jenn's house to a cafe in the next town over had me doing deep breathing to stay calm. Nothing to do with my sister's perfectly safe driving style, this is all me.

The signs along the highway didn't really do much to relax me:

AGGRESSIVE DRIVERS
HIGH CRASH AREA

SLOW DOWN
SAVE A LIFE

I miss Tokyo. Where are the trains here? Funny thing is, I know where they are--in a Scranton museum called Steamtown. :-(

Shopping shock

Made a quick trip to the Price Chopper to get some salad makings for dinner. Boy, are American grocery stores intense.

In this giant warehouse of a shop there are 21 different kinds of Dole pre-packaged lettuce. Pickles have 7 six foot shelves. Mustard and ketchup each have 4 feet of shelf space times 7 shelves!

And ther were so many kinds of salad dressings--at least 15 feet plus an endcap display--that I gave up trying to choose one. I got olive oil and basalmic vineagr instead.

Burning out brings benefits

DigitalEve Japan is approaching its second anniversary. The core of women who started the group have expended a lot of energy--sometimes productively planning and executing events, sometimes envisioning a better world and trying to make it happen, sometimes agonising over one particluarly challenging member.

Like most volunteer organizations, DE-J suffers from member apathy and leader burnout. And those of use who've been on board the whole time are getting pretty tired. But at this evening's SC meeting, we renewed our energy with some new ideas that, if we get them off the ground, should make progamming and accomplishing our mission much easier.

We've always wanted our members to take on responsibility for their own learning and increase their participation of their own accord, instead of having the SC manage every aspect of every program. Now we are going to advocate small, special interest groups. We've put forward the idea a few times before with limited success but this time we're hoping it will take off because we are cutting back on our SC-initiated programming.

So burnout might bring benefits to the group by encouraging members to participate more and form a stronger community. Which is the best part of DigitalEve Japan, except for that one annoying member.

Sensei

Next Tuesday, I'll be spending the day with my niece's 5th grade class. I'll be teaching them about all sorts of Japanese things. Today I drew up really brief lesson plans for each of the classes so her teachers know what to expect.

In Science we'll talk about how digital cameras work (after discussing Japan's famous technology companies); Math is an abacus lesson; Reading is Japanese folktales; Spelling is writing names in katakana. In Social Studies, we'll try rice crackers and green tea and in English we'll decode some Japanese English words (Do you think anyone will get pasocon? I threw it in for a challenge!)

It will be a fun, but very tiring day.

Excuse me, I have to go prepare some katakana handouts

Follow-ups

I've been busy working on the FCCJ project, so I haven't had much time to do anything else. However, here's a batch of updates on previous posts.

- Jenn found the mixer and we met this morning at the Maru Biru for a brownie drop. Mmmmm. They are really good!

- Nobody else has seen the anaguma. After a big rainstorm, I took down the soggy poster.

- My IMAP & Entourage problems continue and seem to be getting worse as I make futile attempts to fix things. If I don't reply to your mail, it's probably because some broken process ate it.

- I won 200 yen in the Hatsu Yume (First Dream of the Year) lottery. That's enough to buy another lottery ticket, but I promised half to the Zous for their travels.

- The "Nipponjin with scissors" entry has been spammed twice more by companies.

- I've been going to the gym regularly and amd getting (slowly but perceptibly) more fit. Today I swam laps for the first time in five years.

Watching my language

My language is a champon [mixture] of English and Japanese. When I'm speaking English, I throw in maybe 10% Japanese words or use Japanese constructions. If I speak Japanese, there are always English words in the mix.

It must be very confusing to anyone who doesn't speak both languages. I'll have to be careful when I leave Japan. Fortunately, everyone around me here does the same thing--mixes up languages at will.

Our vague utterances are always Japanese:

un - Yep
daijoubu? - OK? Are you OK? It that OK?
tadaima - Honey, I'm home.
iyada - No way, I won't!
ie ie - No, no, no, no
hai - Yes

Sometimes what comes out of my mouth sounds like English, but it really isn't. Most of the time, I'm not even aware that I'm not really speaking shizen na Eigo [natural English]. Here are some samples:

Must toilet! - I urgently need to use the restroom.
Let's do sports - Let's go to the gym.
She really levelled up - She improved dramatically.
I'm losing my English - I am losing my ability to speak and write fluently in English.

I would really like to keep my English, so I'd better level up on my use of shizen na Eigo.

Blind date

Today I met a "longtime reader" of this weblog named Jenn--not my sister but another 2-nn Jenn. She's in town briefly and thought it would be nifty to meet up.

The act of meeting an acquaintance from the virtual world reminded me a little bit of the "old days" back in the early 90s when Chat Thing (the ddial system that got me hooked on computer-mediated communication) and Telerama (the ISP that grew out of Chat Thing) would hold get-togethers for our users. They were sort of like group blind dates. You never knew who you'd be meeting. That erudite writer you enjoyed debating with could be a 14 year old schoolgirl or a 50 year old geek.

Jenn was neither 14 nor 50, though she is a girl and a geek who started programming in 1979. I enjoyed discussing shared interests with her and her friend Denise at the top of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building. Afterwards, they went off in search of a moderately powerful hand mixer. If they find one, I'm in line for some of Jenn's family-recipe brownies. Mmmmmm!

25 words exactly

For the last day of 2002, a repeat from last year--a writing assignment. Describe your year in exactly 25 words. Can you do it? Here's mine:

Celebrating four years in Japan, I exercised my right brain and my poetic voice. I filmed then procrastinated. I waited for the axe to fall.

Furry bits

Here's me with my favorite Christmas present--a psychedelic fur collar.

Fur's really popular in Japan right now. Every women's clothing shop carries fur trimmed scarves, gloves, shoes, and even fur handbags. I saw fur-covered high-heeled boots on a woman on the train the other day, and a mink vest in a shop window. Coats mainly have fur trim (rather than being fully fur), but sheepskin coats (suede on the outside, fur in the inside) are very popular.

Although the trendy excess is a bit ridiculous, I'm happy that fur has lost its moral taint. It's warm and cozy to wear. There's nothing like petting your clothes to make you feel calm. Would I like to have a fur coat? Yep, absolutely! Persian lamb, maybe...

I think its strange that many people feel guilty when they wear fur but they don't feel guilty about eating meat and wearing leather. Although I can understand not wanting to wear endangered species, I don't think that's so much of a problem in the fur trade any more. Most animals are ranched for fur, the same way they are for meat. So I wonder why people who eat meat feel bad about wearing fur?

Another present

This one is a headcold. Compliments (I suspect) of an anonymous conbini patron by way of Yoshi and MJ.

My nose and eyes started to itch about about the same time I tried on my fur collar. I worried that maybe I was allergic or maybe it was the highly-scented soap we had just unwrapped. But no, MJ and Yoshi are both sick with the same symptoms.

On an unrelated note, here are some photo from last week's bonenkai. First, here's MJ, me & Misa looking pretty together.

And later on, after much consuption of sake, we were all ordered to do something silly for the camera. This is how Tod, MJ & I posed. We did not consult about licking MJ--but what else would you do to a woman doing a back bend into your lap? Nooooo, don't answer that!

Party games

At kids' parties, games make the event fun. So why don't more adult parties have games? Maybe we're too worried about cracking our facade of cool? But laughing and being goofy is better than any facade.

I decided that at our bonenkai, we'd have games. So last night, 16 normally serious grownups played Wink and Exchange.

Brad, our winker, killed me first and I did a dramatic scream-and-fall-to-floor death. It's been a while since I've done that and I'm out of practice--I bounced my head off the marble floor. Ouch! Poor Brad had a hard time killing people; the reflections on his glasses obscured some of his winks. Eventually, he was found out by Zahid, who won a box of chocolates for his persipacity.

After dinner we played Exchange. I had purchased a lot of the gifts at the 100 yen shop--soap, pencils, a box of crackers--plus a few nicer things like gift certificates from Tower Records and a train pass. I had fun wrapping them. I must say that taken as a whole, they looked great!

The hot gift was a box wrapped in a pink foil bag tied at the top with a wide silver ribbon. It changed hands seven times. Inside? A box of Kleenex. There was a lot of laughter when everyone opened their gifts and saw what they had and figured out what they had traded away.

So since everyone seemed to have fun and to enjoy the games, I say more games at parties. When else do you get to play like that?

Nightmare

I must be feeling pretty stressed. Last night was a night of mares. I don�t remember the 1st one at all, but woke up shaking and drenched in sweat. Then I fell back to sleep and dreamed:

Nightmare 2

Time: present
Place: Erie, PA

After corresponding with my friend, Mike, I go to visit him in Erie. He takes me to see his Aunt Karen who is dying. Mike has described in e-mail and over the phone that she�s opted for this really weird procedure/manner of death. He�s disturbed by it, but she and the family agree that it�s the right thing.

She is kept in a gas station on a low scooterboard and she�s draped with a sheet. Bits of her body are removed, put into customers� cars and driven around until they have incinerated. Then they are returned to the station.

Karen is still very much alive, though missing her legs. Some of her torso has been taken. She is weak and very thin, but she is able to recognize Mike through her sheet drape and reaches out to him. She doesn�t notice me at all and I can�t see her except for a hand which comes out from under the sheet.

We leave but later return to find three men squatting on the garage floor, sorting through some of Karen�s incinerated bits that have been returned. The remains seem to be mainly bolts, screws, nuts and bits of forged and cast metal. The men arrange them in piles, then put them into grungy old cardboard boxes. They don�t say what happens to them.

I�m fascinated and stay to help them while Mike goes to look for Karen. She�s been moved to a small room off to one side of the garage. I can�t see what she and Mike are doing, but I can hear her talking.

She is telling Mike that she and the rest of the family know all about Mike�s college days and his indiscretions. She lists off a handful of incidents that make him sound perhaps gay (dying his hair, staying the night in a friend�s room and giggling the next day) and then a bunch of things he�d done with girlfriends. He is unbelieving that she and his parents could possibly know all this, but she�s giving him the details, so obviously she does. The conversation gets darker and weirder and she is starting to accuse Mike of being a force of evil for doing things like being a DJ and acting in plays. She ends by singing a section of a song with an 80s feel (which was familiar in the dream, but I cannot recall it now). The person in the lyrics sounds like it could be Mike, and the song somehow emphasizes Karen�s point about evil.

At that point, I run in to rescue Mike from this awful situation. Karen is lying on a cot and is no longer draped with a sheet. Her hair is long and graying blonde, but thin and falling out as if she�s malnourished. She skin is loose and translucent, hanging off her body in folds. Her face is sunken, her body is frail but she has a dull gleam in her eyes.

When I come into the room, she shrieks and reaches out forcefully with her one remaining arm to grab me. I pull back before she can touch me. She accuses me of being an evil influence who�s ruined Mike and scourged the planet. Her arm is flailing and she continues to reach for me. Somehow I move nearer without her grabbing me and I take hold of her head�palming the top of it like a basketball.

How I know to do this is unclear (it is a dream, after all) but while holding her head, I start to pull my hand away. My hand leaves her head slowly, with a force resisting it. I wrench a white, maggoty homunculus from her head. It looks vaguely like a stubby sock money, actually, but it�s really pissed.

Mike recognizes it and calls it The Decomposer. Without the homunculus, Aunt Karen is now dead. I drop the horrible thing.

We run out to the parking area toward Mike�s family�s dark green SUV. It�s not quite like any SUV I�ve ever seen�the bottom is dripping with black rubber loops and trailers, like the truck had been dipped in a swamp and congealed.

The remote beeps but it won�t unlock the car to let us in. This vehicle is on the side of good; I have been deemed evil and it won�t behave if I�m around. All the while we struggle to get into the truck and leave, The Decomposer is chasing us.

Somehow we trick the car into opening and we get in. There�s a third person with us--maybe Mike�s sister or his wife. It's a woman, but I�m not sure who; perhaps she was waiting in the truck for us. The truck won�t start�it bucks and stutters trying to shake me out. Again, it is somehow fooled and it starts. We drive off with The Decomposer following us and howling.

-end of dream-

Tuning into something

Yesterday, MJ & I were discussing earthquake preparedness and our lack thereof; neither of us has quite the recommended supplies on hand. Today Jon Watts, who I know from the FCCJ, has an article in the Guardian about that exact topic.

Two days ago, Tod & I were discussing the medication that seems to pile on as you age. I, for one, would like to avoid that. One thing I absolutely won't take are post-menopausal hormones. What turns up today? An article on CNN citing a new study about hormone replacement therapy.

This evening, when asked what I'd like for dessert, I answered cheesecake sadly certain that there isn't much cheesecake in our neghborhood. But a trip to the conbini turned up slices of "New York Cheesecake" in the fridge case, and also cheesecake flavored Collon!

So I must be tuned into the cosmic something or other. My mind is catching the waves of the newswriters and marketing copywriters around me.; somehow I sense what's about to be published or become a trand. If that's the case, I'm looking forward to root beer and to pierogies real soon.

Three discouraging comments

"At least you know you're cranky," my mother-in-law said to me this morning. This came up because I'd said that my family was full of long-lived and cranky women as I related the news of my grandmother, 88, who is just now having to abandon independent living for a more assisted situation. She fell down last week in her apartment and couldn't get back up. She was mostly uninjured, but spent an uncomfortable and frightening night on the floor.

Why is being cranky discouraging? Because my mother-in-law only seems to remember my state of mind 10 or 12 years ago when I was constantly cranky. She doesn't know me now that I'm usually pretty happy, if a bit curmudgeonly. I suspect that as far as she's concerned, I'll never shake that 20-something angst.

"It's a universal law that wives are sickly," was Tod's first discouraging comment of the day. That was in regard to my migraines, which made me succumb to a nap yesterday and to sleep until noon today. Blech. A colleague of his had to leave work early to drive his wife home from the hospital yesterday, so I guess all us wives are a poorly bunch.

That's discouraging because I do my best to not let it get in the way, but it does and I'm classified as 'sickly.' I try not to complain too much. Probably nobody but me knows that I've had a migraine of varying intensity for the past ten days.

Tod weighed in with the third discouraging comment of the day, "Don't take this personally, but journalists never get things right." That was in regard to an article I had drafted for the Perot newsletter about a project he's working on. I'd interviewed him over dinner last night and instead of taking notes, I was eating a salad as we talked. I didn't get the name of one component quite right and I failed to grasp exactly how his XML DTDs fit into the project.

It calls into question all the other articles I've written lately and that's discouraging. What did I get wrong that I couldn't fact check? Ah, well, it's OK; I got even with him by including his photo in the newsletter.

Bad things come in threes, right? Maybe today's three discouraging comments mean that tomorrow will be discouragement free. I can only hope.

Ho Ho Ho

A wallet

When the season changes, I fall into confusion about where to put my coins and bills. In the summer, they go into the zippered inner pocket of my purse. In the winter, I shove them into my coat pocket. But when the weather is variable, I don't have a consistent place to put things. So I cram my money in wherever and I end up losing it or fumbling around at cash registers.

So today I bought a wallet. I haven't owned a wallet in years and years. This one is a lovely dark red, vegetable tanned Italian leather with a nifty metal snap. It has space for bills, a zippered coin bit and lots of slots for the myriad point cards, train passes and ID I carry around with me. Pretty much everything you need in a wallet.

When I dug my money out of the three pockets it was in, I ended up with a huge handful of coins--2105 yen in 30 coins--plus the 8,000 yen I discoverd this morning in the pocket of my winter coat. I also unearthed from the same coat pocket the 20 pound note I *knew* I had but couldn't find before we went to Ireland via London last month. Well, now I have it for next time.

A cosy blanket

This afternoon Mizuno-sensei noticed I was chilly while he was shiatsu-ing me so he pulled out a spare blanket and covered me up. What a gentle, cosy feeling I get when someone covers me with a blanket. Maybe Mom used to do that when I was a kid...

Do Sports!

I've never been one for machine-mediated fitness, but I joined a gym today and I'm actually excited about it. Do Sports Plaza is an impressive sports center--110 machines in the training gym, a swimming pool, three squash courts, plenty of fitness classes (hula and hip hop dance, tai chi, aerobics, etc) plus lots of free amenities like towels and shampoo. All for under 6,000 yen a month.

Best of all, my partner in crime (MJ, not Tod) is in this with me. We've vowed to go three times a week and because our training coach is so cute, I'm sure we will. After today's first workout, I already feel better. My body *wants* to be fit if I'll give it a chance.

So watch out. We'll be looking good in hot little skirts and tall boots before winter's over. And we'll be fleet of foot and harder to catch. ;-)

Crappy shalloweener

There's not much doing in Japan for Halloween, which suits me just fine. When I was a kid, I trick-or-treated mainly at houses where I knew the families; I loved creating my costume and the sugar buzz was nice, but the actual trick or treating wasn't all that thrilling.

Tod & I used to deliberately go out to dinner on Halloween to avoid the begging children back when we were in the States. All sorts of strange monsters appeared at our door--and I know there weren't that many kids in our neighborhood.

So tonight, in a similar spirit but uninterrupted by greedy rugrats, we had a nice dinner and I made Tod hunt for his trick-or-treat surprise. It was a pot of ornamental cabbages on the veranda. He's comments on ornamental cabbages (and dogwood trees) every time he sees them, so I figured he might like to have some of his own.

For our treat, we'll be sipping on hot cocoa in a few minutes.

(Thanks to Eric Bishop of Weston, PA, for amending my blackboard to read "Crappy Shalloweener" at a Halloween party circa 1982. That phrase is in my annual holiday vocabulary right alongside "bah, humbug." Love you, Eric!)

Not so bad...

OK, I might have bitched about it yesterday morning, but the results were good. Our web retreat brought 9 women together to learn about web site creation. It was an interesting group with lots of different experiences (though many seemed to involve men wanking in public).

MJ & I had fun team teaching and our students all seemed to gain confidence. I expect to see some great sites soon. :-)

But I'm still not going to teach another workshop.

Not again...

I'm off to yet another DigitalEve event. This time it's a web retreat in Saitama. I'm assisting MJ with ten students hoping to learn Dreamweaver.

I swore that I wouldn't teach any more DE-J workshops. They take so much time to prepare. I figured that assisting with this one would be a breeze--just show up and help--but I've revised documentation, made photocopies, organized the travel details, provided the instructor's computer, and consulted on scheduling.

This time I double-swear: NO MORE WORKSHOPS.

Headcold

I caught a cold while I was in Ireland--maybe I carried it with me from Japan, I don't know. I wrote it a poem to appease it, which didn't work very well and since it's still raging on, I thought I'd share the poem with you all.

Headcold

Crunchy lichen rimmed caves
Conceal a monster or machine
Blasting butter jonquils.
A trumpet in the distance--
Elephants? A flute's whine?
Dogs bark to be released
Into the wooly grey atmosphere
Of the rosy windowed world.

--KMcQ

5 senses minus 2

Today's work session got us to use senses and dreams to help give our poetry fresh images. But my headcold has bolluxed smell and taste, so my poems are missing something today.

This afternoon we went out to The Arches, a series of natural stone bridges at the coast. Very pretty and scary to walk across them!

We were to use the environment as a inspiration for a poem. I turned my back on the arches and the ocean and wrote about something inland. This isn't finished, in fact, I'm not at all happy with it, but here's what I wrote:

Hills of Beara

Hounds gnaw on bones, waiting so still, so long
Abandoned by masters, transformed by time
They've greened a half-barren velvet.
Stone dogs ignore the progress of ways
Tangled through their grey paws
And gaze at the vast, lapping water dish.

--KMcQ

Descriptive words

This morning we began our day by making lists of words that we think are beatuiful, annoying, and terrifying/dangerous. Could be the word itself, or the thing the word stands for.

We read our lists aloud and were encouraged to jot down any words that we heard that struck us. Theft of words is allowed in poetry. For the rest of the week, we discovered words from our lists in one another's poems. It was neat.

Our assignment for today was to think of an old object that was worthless but dear to us and to describe it in detail, and to use metaphor at the end to show that it was important.

Mohair Sweater

Golden hair matted over crimson knitting
Unstitched rows repaired with clumsy knots
See-through elbows let in breezes
Buttons waggle in frayed holes.
It warms only my imagination
But I still buy clothes to match it.

--KMcQ

Meta 4

This morning we focused on metaphor. Here's an easy way to create interesting metaphors. Make columns for object, abstract and adjective. Put five words in each category. Mix as desired.

concrete	abstract	adjective
heart head finger book page	dream luck worry joy intelligence	cold brilliant dangling babbling gritty

So we could have a brilliant finger of dream or luck's dangling book. Interesting.

Our poetic assignments for the day were to use metaphor to describe a person and to write an ode to an object. Here's my ode.

Ode to my earrings

Treasures of Tanzania with a ten dollar price tag
Now threaded through my ears, you were born
Frozen soil of an exotic homeland,
Streaky plums rimmed with ice.
You are a cloudy sky pierced by lightning.

Pinging against my neck, you've become
Ghostly leaves of a petrified tree,
Fluttering kites of stone and silver.
You are shiny black scales of an ancient fish.

In muffled chimes, you confide your secrets
The cargo route of cardamom,
A tarot card signifying temptation.
You are antenna tuned to world history.

--
KMcQ

Memories

After introductions, (brief since 2/3 of the people in this workshop are my immediate family) we jump write into reading and writing poetry. Today's lesson is memories.

After writing out 25 sentences beginning with "I remember" we choose one to expand into free written prose recalling as much detail as possible. And from there we craft a poem. My sentence is "I remember carving a reduction print in my chilly studio with tea to warm my hands." And here's my poem:

Errors in Alignment

Blank sheets glow on the drawing table
Dare me to begin; I print in reduction.
Alone in my studio, time is a canvas.

Cream of wheat smells like wallpaper paste
The steam warms my hands as I work.
Heat's off again, ice forms on the glass.

Knife squeaks and rattles as it scratches down the surface,
Curves and lines pushed deeper by cold fingers.
Mirroring what I've patterned, how many mistakes?

Curves of linoleum yield to a soft breath
Grey inside and out, canvas's remainders.
Time passes, I tilt and balance on wobbly legs.

Pepper's prickle cracks the chill.
I break in my bruise-colored kitchen
Push back winter at the stove as the water boils.

-- KMcQ

1010

At university (which I say instead of 'in college' in deference to my non-American friends for whom 'college' is a two-year technical skills course), my crazy thespic friends, Karen Klick in particular, were fascinated by a science fiction puppet animation called Thunderbirds.

By the time we were watching, Thunderbirds was 20 years old and the puppetry and effects looked extremely cheesy. But it was fun and every October 10th (and sometimes twice a day) I remember the code for "acknowledged" that the International Rescue team used: tenten.

Now that I think about it, I suspect Karen liked the show so much becasue she bears a distinct resemblance to the sexy blond secret agent, Lady Penelope.

The right shade

Cosmetics companies have it tough. They all have to create subtly different shades of the same few colors: pink, red, orange.

Of course, its worse when you have to decide which one looks best on you. I've had some successes since I cut my hair and decided to "level up" on my look (I sure do feel less dowdy and middle aged than I did a week ago!).

Yesterday I found dark, dark burgundy shade from France that smells like berries and make me look like a 1920s film star. And from Japan, a more moderate rosy pink that's more in line with my natural lip color.

Unfortunately I have to make a decision to either look great or get kissed. Tod does not appreciate lip prints on his cheeks. Hmmmm.

Looking in my closet

I'm a minimalist when it comes to clothing. I don't have a huge closet full of things I don't wear and I'm ruthless about culling things I don't like or items that I've worn out.

Because I do actually wear my clothes out. And looking through my closet the last few days, when the changing weather has had me digging out fall things, makes me realise I pretty much need to chuck all my stuff and start over. My pants are stained and fraying; my skirts have holes in them. My tops are faded, and fraying at the cuffs. Excepting a few things I bought this year, I dress like a ragamuffin.

So I think today I will go shopping. I'll head to Marui Model--the shop for large sized ladies. The sometimes have attractive things and sometimes just dowdy old tents.

Romayne, aged 10?

I'm not sure how old she is in this photo, but this is my grandmother. She was born in 1916 and grew up outside Philadephia and in New Jersey.

Sometimes I wish I had my costume reference books with me. I can't date the picture from the clothing, because although the big collar with plaid trim is from the 20s, its quite possibly a hand-me-down. Romayne was second youngest in a family of 14!

Thanks, Mom, for finding this photo and scanning it.

Reflections of previous generations

My last big style change reminded me of my mother circa 1976. The latest one is my grandmother, Romayne, at age 6.

In one of our family albums, there is a black and white photo of Romayne with a hairstyle very similar to my new one. She's standing outside wearing a patterned dress and chunky lace up shoes. Maybe it was the first day of school or a birthday. I suspect her sister cut her hair with the aid of a bowl. Mine didn't involve any bowls.

I wonder if after my next style I will look like my great-grandmother?

Six month reprieve

Why is this girl smiling? Because she didn't have to be stabbed in the neck this morning.

The thyroid echogram pictured shows her lovely benign tumor. It hasn't changed in 6 months and that stability means no needle aspirations. Next check: March 19th 2003.

Subliterate goofiness

Today has been one of those days where my head has gone all funny. I woke up with a migraine; I forgot to put water in the coffee maker; referred to a woman as a man on a mailing list; at an afternoon meeting I don't think I managed more than one coherent sentence. Now I'm off to Japnese class where I am sure that I will babble like a subliterate goof. Never mind that last one, that's normal.

Ah, well. I'll come home after and go to bed early. Perhaps tomorrow my head will be working right again.

Shiny blue talons

Yesterday MJ & I prepared for today's start of shooting by touching up my hair and playing with girlie accessories

To the left is how I imagined long, fake nails would look and feel--smooth, polished, elegant. To the right is how they actually make me feel.

In the first photo I am trying not to burst out laughing because I have just reglued the 7 nails that fell off as I ate dinner and used the toilet. It is not easy to unzip pants with long nails... I have a new found respect for women who survive with talons attached to their hands.

Today I will put on makeup for the camera and brave the late summer heat to film in Ginza. I have to go prepare my bag of tricks & all the equipment. More tomorrow...

Confirmations

I should have made this phone call weeks ago. Maybe even months ago. But I'm loathe to make it at all.

I'm scheduled for my annual thyroid biopsy in mid-September. Yuck. Last year a few weeks before the biopsy, I had a ultrasound scan and bloodwork done. But this time, I don't have appointments for a scan or bloodwork, just the biopsy. Did the doctor decide I don't need those? Did he just forget to schedule them? Should I have made those appointments on my own?

I don't know so I have to call the hospital and find out. In Japanese. I'm not sure what's worse, having a big needle jabbed into my throat or having to figure out how to ask if I need extra appointments.

Fame and infamy

Does wanting to be famous preclude you from ever being famous?

I'm not sure. There are lots of people who hunger for fame and many of them try extremely hard, only to fail. Maybe only those who don't seek fame become famous? How do famous people get that way? Skill and talent don't take you all that far, though you need them to get noticed. After that, I suspect it's who you know and the choices you make. That's true for just about everything, though...

I'm among a small group of women friends who would like to be well-known in our various fields. Some of us want to be renowned for being talented, some hope for fame as a way to bring them a flow of interesting things to do. Maybe a few of us wouldn't mind fortune, either. I have no doubt whatsoever that at least one of us is going to make it big.

I guess I'll just do what I do, know who I know, be who I am, and see what happens. It could be me that you read about in the news and see on TV in the future. Keep your fingers crossed...

Albrecht Durer's eyes

Albrecht Durer had nice eyes. But look closely. In this self-portrait (age 28) painted in 1500, his pupils are quite uneven. This fascinates me because I also have uneven pupils.

Anisocoria (the medical term for uneven pupil size) appears in about 20% of the US population. In my case, it appeared suddenly about a year ago and I think it's migraine-related. I wonder if Durer had a headache?

For more pictures of and by Durer, visit the Artchive. Take a look at his earlier self-portraits and check the eyes on the portrait of his father. Interesting.

Aircon fan

I am not a big fan of air conditioning. I feel trapped when I have it on. I don't want to leave my cool, dry room so I stay inside. Going outside--even to the veranda--is an expedition to the tropics. I've stopped running errands because it's too hot. Yesterday I felt a big sense of accomplishment when I walked for 6 minutes to the post office. That's pathetic!

Until the past few years, I'd never relied on air conditioning. I used fans in the summer. Or escaped into a cool oasis at work or shopping. That was encouragement to leave the house and I never minded returning home afterwards because home is always great, even when it's too warm.

Today, I am experimenting with the veranda door open and no aircon. I lack a fan, which makes a difference, but I'll try to keep the experiment going as long as I can today. And maybe later I'll go to the bank...

Focus

Do you ever get so intensely focussed on something that you forget everything else? I can do that if I'm creating just about anything--writing, filming, drawing, photographing. Today I managed to lose the entire day while rebranding a client's website. I'm about halfway there now...I'll try to surface here with some interesting Japan tidbits tomorrow.

Mistakes and lessons

"You have the capacity to learn from mistakes. You'll learn a lot today."

Thanks, Slashdot, for posting those words of wisdom and encouragement at the bottom of your page. I've been working on some video projects that are simple in concept, but tedious and frustrating in execution. My equipment is just not behaving.

Like I told MJ yesterday, for any big project involving tech you have to book in an extra two weeks for twiddling and tweaking software and going out to buy new hardware to make it all work. During this project I've lost a scan converter to the cruel, laughing gods of hardware and am stunned by the inadequacies of the DV editing software I've been using for the past 8 years. It's time to make some changes...I'm ready to learn a lot today.

Another all-night billiards session

Another all-night billiards session.

This one is indelibly etched in my mind because I managed to sink all my balls and the eight ball before Tod dropped a single one of his. I won and Tod was subject to MJ's Aussie pub rules. He had to "drop trou" and run a lap around the pool table!

Fortunately, by 3 am the crowd in the pool hall had thinned but I think Tod made quite an impression. Maybe not as much as MJ did--they asked her name as we left at 4:30...

Half-year

Today marks the nominal half-way point of the year. It's even observed as a holiday in China and Thailand. In reality, the halfway point is July 2nd (the 183rd day of the year) but let's stick with the easy-to-remember start of July.

It seems like a fine reason to celebrate. What should I do to mark the occasion? Bake half a cake, maybe.

Taxi phobia

I have a phobia about taxis. Not being terribly fond of cars in general, I don't like trusting a stranger to drive me around town.

Maybe you can imagine how I was feeling when I was deposited at Ikebukuro at 1:15 am on the last train around the Yamanote line. I had a difficult decision: walk for an hour to get home along a route that's not too familiar to me, or hop into a taxi and be home in 10 minutes. I chose quick petrification over lengthy hiking.

Lots of other people wanted taxis, too, so it was about 20 minutes before I managed to flag one down. Thankfully, my driver was skilled and we even conversed in Japanese about the crowds after the last train, the weather, and my occupation.

I felt triumphant when I arrived home. I still hate taxis, but every positive experience makes the phobia a little less difficult.

Un-procrastinating

I've been on a personal crusade to take care of things that I've been putting off. I'll bet you have some of these pesky tasks on your mental "To Do" list.

So far, I've managed to accomplish several things: visiting the gynecologist and mailing Seth's VCR to Vancouver count among the prominent items crossed off the list. Yesterday I came a big step closer to "get more exercise."

There is a jazz dance studio about a block from my house. I noticed their sign the other day, but didn't have time to read it to see if they teach adults. When I went back with more time, the studio was closed and the sign wasn't out. But last night it was out and it said they do teach adults. In fact, they welcomed visitors into the studio. Of course, I almost didn't go in. "Oh, I'm kinda tired. I should get home. I'll check it out another day," ran through my mind. But I screwed up my courage and resolve and went up.

I stuck my head in the door to see five women in red t-shirts and black leggings taking a break. When I appeared, they looked a bit shocked. There was a flurry of "please come in" with noises in the background about "Where's sensei?" and " Does anyone speak English?"

They offered me a chair in the corner, handed me some info on the school, and went back to practicing. I had butted into the advanced class rehearsing for their happyokai (recital). I watched in delight for about a half an hour, chatted with the teacher about beginner classes and my dance background. I'm all set to start in ten days.

The school seems very relaxed and Misae-sensei was kind and patient with my stumbling Japanese. The dancers laughed with me when I explained that I was getting fat. I love dancing, though I'm not skilled, and these classes are just what I need to get into better shape.

So here's a challenge for you. Pick something on your "I'll get around to that soon" list and do it. I can promise you that you'll feel a weight lift.

Early summer fashion report.

Early summer fashion report. Gleaned from the streets of Omotesando

• The ethnic look: peasant blouses and long pairie/gypsy skirts. Next year, I expect to see a revival of "bistro print" skirts (the sort with French-looking bottles of wine and luggage labels). Why? Because that's how it went in the 80s.
• Stripes: clean, crisp cotton (or seersucker), with evenly spaced white and blue stripes made into camp shirts and skirts.
• White lace: white eyelet skirts, white lacy overshirts. It's everywhere. Bright and fresh now, it will be dingy in a few weeks and sadly bedragled by August.
• Hawaiian shirts: for men only. And maybe only for large and/or middle aged men.
• Uniforms: police, fire, and other non-military workers' uniforms (minus insignia) imported from the US and elsewhere. I've seen them on the racks, but not on people yet.
• Skirts over pants: brightly printed cotton skirts, knee length, with slightly flared cotton trousers underneath. Retailers must love selling twice as many bottoms as tops. Girl-watchers must hate the demise of the very short skirt.
• Accessories: wide, open-weave belts slung low over the hips. I'm not sure how the slim-hipped Japanese women keep them up, but they do look nice skimming over their ultra-flat stomachs. Not a good look on the middle aged woman I saw with hers cinched tightly around her waist.
• Sandals this season are high-heeled & strappy, or flat with one broad strap. Fishnet stockings seem to be falling out of favor.

DE-J meeting

I'm not sure what we were thinking, but it is not a good plan to have a meeting in a British restaurant on the opening night of the World Cup.

The DigitalEve Japan steering commitee got together last night at Pizza Express, a British pizza chain, in Harajuku. We arrived at seven and had the restaurant to ourselves for about half an hour. The staff turned on the huge TV and we watched the opening ceremonies in Korea. We all cooed over "Kimutaku," one of the aging SMAP boys who was commenting on the ceremonies and Misa taught us a new word--menkui--a woman who likes attractive men.

As we ate and chatted, the other customers poured in and soon we were surrounded by 30-something foreign men, all dressed in football jerseys. As the volume of their conversations increased, we finished up our meal and scooted out just before the France-Senegal match began.

Slogging blogging

What's happened to my schedule? It's a quarter to 4 in the afternoon and I'm just now realising I didn't blog this morning. Maybe all the computer troubles around me are throwing me off kilter.

Yesterday's chicken-waving session with MJ didn't yield any useful results and today I'm in my office fighting with Premiere 6. It doesn't work with OS X at all, so I have to boot into OS 9 and run it there. It works, but what a pain.

I can't wait til all my apps are OS X native. Maybe then I'll blog on time again.

My head hurts

Today I'm going to complain about the symptoms of migraine, since that's pretty much all I can focus on this morning. I am nauseated, everything sounds too loud, and light is much brighter than it ought to be. On top of that, I feel stupid and slow.

Don't ask me to remember anything important, to speak fluently in any language, to move gracefully, or to concentrate on a task for more than 45 seconds.

Fortunately, I have shiatsu scheduled for this morning and no deadlines today. I think I'll go lie down now.

Stepped Down

Today I breathe a sigh of relief. Last night, I stepped down co-leader of DigitalEve Japan.

I'm so proud of what the group has apccomplished during the last fifteen months. We've grown hugely from 90 members to almost 450. We hold events at least twice a month, publish a newsletter, manage a library of technical books, and have a fledgling mentoring program. It's really heartening to see women in IT coming together to share their experience and knowledge.

I was touched by all the compliments and thanks I got last night from members old and new. The steering commitee presented me a huge bouquet of flowers and I was applauded. It was a nice send-off.

But stepping down doesn't mean I'm abandoning DE-J. In fact, I'm not even leaving the "inner circle" of team leaders. I'll be leading the technology team. From now, I can focus my effort on the techn side of DE-J, instead of the general management of the group. MJ, our web content coordinator, is anxious to start hounding me to upgrade web stuff. And I'm ready and raring to go. The tech team looks like it will expand by a few members and we'll really get a lot of work done in the next few months, I hope!

Yoshi meets Shinzou

This is Yoshi. He's a 22 year old musician who recently married my wild friend, MJ. He also spent yesterday afternoon building me a bookcase while she and I chatted and made dinner. What a great guy.

Yoshi is balancing his wedding gift on his head. Aren't they cute?

Good god, time flies.

Good god, time flies. Is it really the first of May already? Seems like yesterday was oshogatsu.

Lately start of every month has been creating a bit of a panic in me. What have I done with my time? Did I accomplish anything last month? What am I going to do this month? What are my goals? Where am I going?

Choose "(d) don't know" for all of the above.

Ah well, I may be directionless and floundering, but I have a clean house, numerous interesting, wild, and silly friends, and I eat well.

All around the Yamanote

All around the Yamanote line, alert riders will notice old-fashioned metal signs advertising Nozaki's Corned Beef. The ads look like they've been there a long, long time.

Despite the ads, I'd never seen the product anywhere. I expected to find it near the packaged sliced hams and sausages in the grocery cooler, but it wasn't there. That's because it was on the shelves with the SPAM and Vienna sausages.

It's surprisingly good for canned meat. It has the texture of shredded corned beef and tastes just like corned beef from the deli. It made a filling breakfast, fried up, topped with some melted cheese and egg, and served between slices of toast.

Karaoke

I have a shameful admission. I've just lost my karaoke cherry.

I've lived in Japan for nearly four years and escaped the painful embarrassment of singing in a karaoke room until tonight. MJ & Yoshi, who are completely undeniable, suggested it at the end of dinner and we said yes.

It turned out to be a lot more fun that I expected. My voice sucks after years of disuse and I couldn't remember the tune to Army of Me for the life of me, but so what? Enough beer and I made my way through MJ's karaoke classic pick--Killing Me Softly (Roberta Flack? Yikes! Worse yet, I remembered all the words...). Tod rapped Puff the Magic Dragon with lyrics so hysterical that our laughter drowned out his words. Yoshi sang Japanese pop and Seattle grunge with his usal elan. MJ is so cool she could sing anything and make it sound right.

So I'll be back to the karaoke room. Soon, I hope, and with plenty of beer.

Feather duster

While standing on the street in Minami Azabu, waiting for my DigitalEve mentoring group to arrive for a meeting last night, I fulfilled a small desire. I popped into a nearby household goods shop and scanned the aisles for cleaning supplies to find, in a box next to a bunch of mop heads and cotton wiping rags, what I was looking for. A proper feather duster. It's beautiful--a long thin bamboo handle with a bouquet of shiny black and green feathers blooming from the end.

I took it to the register and the shop owner shook her head. Then she said she'd find me a brand new one in the stockroom. She dashed off and returned with a shiny new duster. I carried it to my meeting where it drew some curious looks and had to be unveiled.

Not only does it look lovely and start conversations, it works great, too. When I got home at midnight, I feather dusted the entire house in about five minutes.

Bono, I

I was tipped off yesterday by my friend that her husband's nickname for me (to differentiate me from her other foreign friends) is Bono.

My likeness to the rock star has been discussed before and I'm not entirely convinced. What do you think? I like Bono's style so I'm not complaining. It could be much worse. With my shaggy hair, Yoshi might have nicknamed me "buffalo."

There's no Japanese word for American bison type buffalo, but there is suigyu, which translates literally to water cow and means water buffalo. I prefer Bono to suigyu anyday.

Shortly before I was

Shortly before I was assigned to review it as part of the Peer to Peer Review Project, Kaye Ellis ended For Always. What a pity; Kaye is a promising writer. Her prose is clear and expressive with a strong voice that carries emotion. She has a natural gift that many 'blog writers lack.

In the mere seven posts available (apparently there are no archives), Kaye conveys a lot of information. A tribute to her grandmother, descriptions of her friends' searching for solace, and her own desire for job and art are balanced with frivolous musings about shopping and painting toenails. It leaves me wishing I had more to study. Kaye addresses her friends directly from time to time, noting tardy replies to e-mails or sending congratulations on new cars so I imagine she never planned for a wider audience to read this.

The design of the site is simple, but striking. The color palette echoes the dramatic cloud-spotted sky and Caribbean sea photograph she selected for the background image. A line of script along the horizon reads "and we'll dance on gilded wings where the sky meets the sea." White vertical boxes separate the periodic entries from a rash of buttons pointing mainly to friends' blogs and Orlando Bloom fan sites.

Perhaps Kaye will return someday when she feels the time is ripe and she is ready to reveal herself again.

pi-pi-pi-pi

>>pi-pi-pi-pi-pi-pi-pi-pi-pi-pi-pi-pi-pi-pi<<

"What's that noise?" I groggily asked Tod as he groped for its source in the dark.

"Uh...." he fumbled then found it. "It's my keitai alarm. Happy Birthday! Hahaha, I set that months ago."

We celebrated with a midnight snack of ice cream then fell back asleep.

Rich man, poor man

Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief. Doctor, lawyer, Indian chief.

What do I want to be when I grow up? I must be going through a career crisis at the moment. Yesterday I spent 7 hours programming and documenting 21 lines of PHP code. It was fun, but difficult. Last week, I had a feature article published in Metropolis to supplement the twice monthly technology columns I write for them. I have leanings toward doing more digital film and submitting something to AtomFilms. And I might get to teach kids' art classes this spring for RBR.

Does any of this fit together? Where are my skills and preferences taking me? Could I earn a real living from any of this?

The Magic 8-ball says "Reply Hazy, Try Again."

Family birthday clusters

Why do family birthdays seem to cluster together? Are there genetic cycles of fertility? My niece, Helen, turned ten on Wednesday; today is my sister's birthday; mine is in three days. My in-laws have birthdays mainly in late autumn except for my husband and our nephew who share a birthday in early May. It's odd.

It works out nicely, though. Aside from being convenient for gifts and cards (I never forget these birthdays!), it can be fun, too. When I was 9 and Jenn was 6 we shared a birthday party. My friends sat on the side of the cake that showed 9; hers were seated so they could see 6. I don't think we can do that number trick again, but maybe someday we'll share another party.

Before/after drawings

My pre-instruction self-portrait. I did this in about 30 minutes; it was gruelling.

My self-portrait drawn five days later. This one took around six hours but I hardly noticed the time passing.

Drawing jetlag

Last Thursday, Kristin told the drawing class, "The day after the workshop ends, you'll feel really jet lagged. Like you've been on a long trip."

I thought that was an exaggeration but she might be right. I feel like I've just stepped off a 12 hour flight. I'm tired after all this right brain drawing. Tomorrow I'll show you what I've done. For now...sleeeeep!

I just finished day

I just finished day 2 of a five day drawing class at Right Brain Research and my brain is switched over into R-mode; the logical left side is almost shut down. I see the shapes of everything--it makes it difficult to type because I notice the spaces between the keys and the pattern of letters on the screen.

We broke the toilet

We broke the toilet seat. Maybe it was already broken and we just noticed it. Or perhaps (most likely) it was about to break and our big, gaijin butts were the straw that broke the camel's back and cracked the plastic seat.

Having just moved into this new building, I figured I'd better ask the managers what to do. So I went downstairs to the front desk and learned a new word, benza, which means toilet seat. Takada-san came up, took a look and said they'd fix it. Just please wait a while.

So now I'm waiting. And trying to figure out how I can work benza into a conversation so that I remember it forever.

Just around the corner

Just around the corner and down the street from us is the Japan Shiatsu College. The founder of the school, Tokujiro Namikoshi, is also the the father of the shiatsu. Namikoshi is depicted in a larger than life bust in the front. He looks so happy. There's an interesting article about him written by Shirley Jackson.

He lived to 94 years old and was full of aphorisms: Laughter is the gate to happiness; a laugh rejuvenates, a frown ages; pressing the human body stimulates the fountains of love. What a great guy.

A million yen sounds

A million yen sounds like a lot, but doesn't go far when you're doing taxes.

My gross income was just over a million yen which makes my taxable income about 450,000. Subtracting out the deduction of 380,000, I should be taxed on only 70,000 yen of my income. (That's about $500).

I've already paid about 100,000 yen in taxes, so if I understand these forms and calculations correctly I think I'll be getting a refund from the national government.

Note to self: don't plan to get rich as a writer.

It's tax time here

It's tax time here in Japan. National, city, and metropolitan taxes are due on Friday. Do I have any of mine done? No.

Last Friday, I went to our ward office to pick up forms but got so confused that I left with one form but no instructions. Trust me, you can't do this two page tax filing without instructions. So this morning, I will return for instructions and head over to the national tax office (just down the street) for the other set of paperwork I need.

I don't earn a lot of money, so my taxes should be fairly straightforward. But figuring out the instructions, which are in Japanese, will be a bit of a trial. Today I get the paperwork. Tomorrow I read the instructions. Wednesday I fill in the forms, and Thursday I will file. And if my plan goes awry, I have until Friday to get it back on track.

When I'm not in

When I'm not in my office, I'm often at DigitalEve Japan events. Here I am with Satsuki at the registration desk of yesterday's Photoshop workshop. The workshop was a great success from my point of view. I ran around and played classroom assistant while Cara Dailey did the teaching. She covered clipping paths, layers and masks; I learned a few new tricks and that always makes me happy.

Today we're teaming up with Tokyo PC User's Group for a computer troubleshooting session. We've invited members of both groups to come ask questions about hardware and to get assistance with memory upgrades. I'm not sure what to expect, but I know it will be fun to mingle and be geeky.

This is the most

This is the most loved room in our house--the office. There's no denying that it is the hub of our home. I spend most of my waking hours here. Tod is normally found at his desk (pictured to the left) or tinkering with his computers in the rack. At parties, guests usually migrate to the office.

This room is long and narrow. Tod's portion includes the closets and the area near the door. I've got the other section, somewhat larger, over by the patio door. There are wires and cables everywhere--a small problem that we must fix. I hate cables.

We located the hot water pot on our computer rack between the scanner and fax. Clever? Maybe, but there is no room for it in the kitchen, so it had to go here. It's very convenient for a quick cup of tea, but I worry a bit about spills. Our server and my tape drive sit directly below the hot water.

If you've ever wondered what my workspace looks like, here's a peek. Files, phone, monitor on a cardboard box, cardfile, well-thumbed dictionaries, coaster, lamp & lots of writing implements. And a chair with a blanket. I love my office.

This is Brendan, the

This is Brendan, the crazy proprietor of Pizzakaya (he hates it when I call him that). Behind him are Zahid and Juri, two of my favorite Pizzakaya staff.

Brendan's trying to look less crazy than usual. He was featured in this February's Journal, a publication of the American Chamber of Commerce in Japan. The article was good, but the accompanying photo makes him look like a certified madman. I'm happy to prove with this snapshot that he isn't a madman, just a nut.

Gaia is a wonderful

Gaia is a wonderful natural foods store. Ironically, we found it on our way to Kua Ai'na, a hamburger restaurant near Shin-Ochanomizu.

Tod calls it the "deadhead yaoya" because of the music they play, but I think of it as another one of the "crazy food stores" we've enjoyed since our friends introduced us to not-cheese, not-milk, and not-meat a dozen years ago.

In addition to the requisite not-products, they carry excellent bread, all sorts of grains, legumes and cereals, and plenty of vegetables and fruits. I found mikan blossom honey, carob cookies and herb teas. Tod says there's wonderful soap in the basement.

I bought millet, bread and mikan and already anticipate going for hamburgers again soon. Which place is an excuse to visit the other, I'm not sure.

There's not too much

There's not too much to say about our new kitchen. There's not too much of it! It's a small galley with the fridge and a washer/dryer against the opposite wall. There's not much room for excess, so our counters are bare and the extra appliances are in the pantry closet across the hall.

I like the glass-fronted dish cabinet above the sink. It's nice to see the colors of the dishes together.

Japanese kitchens have been, in my experience, universally unattractive. This one is a mix of unmatched beiges with decorative tiles featuring some sort of brown wildflower. The previous kitchen had dark wood cabinets, white formica flecked with gold, and red vinyl bricks. Before that we cooked in a Brady Bunch green kitchen.

Yesterday we addressed some

Yesterday we addressed some lighting issues.

The day we moved in, I tripped a breaker when I plugged in and turned on a lamp in the living room. When Tod moved the lamp to another outlet to test it, the lamp shorted out and exploded, severing the electric cable and singeing the brand new carpet. Yikes!

Tokyu Hands had just what we needed--a new cord and switch. Tod soldered the new cord into place and the lamp is as good a new.

In our bedroom, we have no room for nightstands. One side of the bed is against the wall, the other nearly touches the radiator. So our old bedside lamps were given away and we bought new ones yesterday. A stand lamp and matching table lamp, in curvy metal and halogen grace our bedroom. These are the ideal reading lamps and they have dimmers so Tod can read without keeping me awake.

Do you notice in the photo those curtains at the end of the bed? That is where the closet doors used to be. Now the closet doors are stored in the pantry closet and we use these canvas covers to hide the clothes!

Today is Hina Matsuri,

Today is Hina Matsuri, the Doll's Festival.

These beautiful dolls are the Imperial court of the Heian period (794-1192) and the day is celebrated to bless daughters. Displaying the dolls began in the Edo period (1603 - 1898) when courtly customs seeped out to the commoners.

The elaborate displays I photographed were in a bank in Marunouchi. The include the full arrangements or five tiers with the Emperor and Empress sitting before a gold screen at the top. Below them are three ladies-in-waiting, five court musicians, three ministers with food bearers, and on the bottom row a cherry tree and an orange tree flank the guards

The artistry in these dolls is impressive. They are dressed in silks, with coiffed hair and beautifully painted faces.

Home displays might only include a pair of dolls--the emperor and empress--and they may not be so traditional. I've seen Hello Kitty and her boyfriend, Daniel, dressed up in imperial kimono for Hina Matsuri.

Of course, you really have to take the whole thing with a grain of salt. A superstition says that if you don't put away your Hina dolls on 3/3, your daughters will be difficult to marry off!

Welcome to my living

Welcome to my living room. I think this might be one of my favorite rooms, ever. The photo doesn't do it justice because I lack a wide angle lens for my digital camera.

The room has southern exposure and a wall of glass curtained with horizontally striped cotton sheers (just out of sight on the left of the photo). A green area rug ties together the indoors and the plants on the two verandas outside. It also bridges the tones between the dark furniture and the cream walls.

We have two stacks of zabuton floor cushions to pull up around the low dining table, but the carpeted floor is so soft, we hardly need the extra pillows. The dining table doubles as our coffee table and fruit stand.

I already find myself gravitating to this room for breaks. In the mornings, I stretch and gently exercise here. At dinnertime, we play quiet music while we eat. It's a very civilised place.

On the way back

On the way back from the house inspection (whch the realtor declared "good"), I stopped at the local plant shop on Hakusan Dori to buy some trees for the veranda. What a delightful experience.

The Shimamuras have friends in Chicago so they visit the US from time to time and speak some English. Our conversation was a crazy mix of English and Japanese as they helped me select three trees, arranged same-day delivery, and promised to call when their spring shipment of herbs arrives next month. When the trees were delivered, I discovered that Mrs. Shimamura had handwritten watering instructions for the Phoenix Royal Fan palm in English and they had repotted them all into terracotta colored pots. With service like that, they will definitely see me at their shop again.

The plants make a huge improvement to the patio. I can already picture myself sipping morning coffee at the table when the weather warms a bit.

Whew. I found the

Whew. I found the garage key.

The garage key was in a desk drawer. Without a car, we never needed the key and it was put away for safekeeping. Of course, it was also half forgotten. Vague memories of "drawer" dredged up the right location after a few tries.

This morning, I return to the old house one last time to hand back all the keys and participate in a house inspection. I'm a bit nervous about this. Can I explain (in Japanese) that the living room air conditioner never worked but we didn't bother to complain? That the fancy toilet seat's bidet function was broken when we moved in? How do I ask them to please dispose of the three things we left behind (a broken monitor, a mildewed suitcase and an old tatami carpet)? Time to do some quick vocabulary acquisition!

I love the sound

I love the sound of trains. The Marunouchi line, an electric subway, makes a brief above ground appearance near our new apartment. Every few minutes, I hear the muted roar of trains going by. I haven't yet learned to distinguish their direction, but I will. And I suspect that I'll be able to tell what time of day it is by their frequency.

They're passing every two minutes right now--I'd have to say this is rush hour.

Hikkoshimashita. We've moved. The

Hikkoshimashita. We've moved.

The past few days, I've been running around wearing a kitchen timer around my neck. It helps me to stay focussed by allowing me to work in 15 minute chunks. It's pretty astonishing what you can do in 15 minutes. This advice came from FlyLady, woman and a website that's difficult to describe but worthwhile reading.

I'm taking my timer off now and going to bed. Moving stories tomorrow.

The final items to

The final items to dispose of before moving were some small tables and lamps. The stone-topped coffee tables we acquired when we first landed in Japan were a favorite of Tod's. He really didn't want to part with them, but the interior plan of the new apartment proved that there's no room for them.

I hoped to put them outside for anyone to take, like we did with our give-away boxes. But Tod really wanted to make sure they went to a good home. So we compromised. We put them outside with a sign that said "Tables, 1000 yen each. Please ring bell."

The new owner of the tables, Daigo-san, is a man in his forties. He was dressed in an outfit that woud have looked at home on a country estate--sweater vest, navy plaid shirt, camel coloured trousers. He was smoking a pipe and walking his beautiful standard poodle when he rang the bell. What a character! I hope he enjoys the tables.

Today's pre-moving activities did

Today's pre-moving activities did not go as smoothly as planned.

After delivering our freshly washed curtains to the new apartment and discovering that they weren't actually very clean after all, we decided to hang them up anyway. The new windows are considerably shorter than the old ones. The curtains trail the ground like a bridal veil. But they will look nice once I've rewashed and trimmed them to size.

We determined from our measurements that the bedroom closet doors must be removed if our bed is going to fit. Unfortunately, we can't seem to get the doors out of their tracks. Tomorrow we'll return with a wrench and greater determination.

Our packing activities haven't even begun for the day. Looks like we have a late night ahead of us.

I shouldn't read the

I shouldn't read the articles about blogging in the popular press. They make me question whether my blog is worthwhile. Self doubt creeps in when I encounter things like this:

"When people begin to think that they are nothing more than a cog in the wheel of society, they look for any way to differentiate themselves. The Web log proves they are different. Just read it. You'll see," writes John Dvorak in an article for PC Magazine.

A blogger with an attitude, Dennis Mahoney, write of things that should be banned from blogs: the use of "I think" as a prefix; digital camera photos of everday objects; discussions of content.

Hmmm.

Today is wall washing

Today is wall washing and curtain laundering day. I'm making slow progress but progress nonetheless. Bookshelves and nightstands are on their way out the door this afternoon to a women who is furnishing a new apartment. This reveals a shocking number of dustbunnies

I'm tired.

We've been measuring the

We've been measuring the new apartment. Now we have scale diagrams of all the rooms and of all our furniture. I'm not a very good interior planner but I have great tools.

Where are we going to put the piano? Is it better to have the sofa facing the window or the wall? What about the pesky file cabinet? Do we really have to take the doors off the bedroom closets to make room for the bed?

With my diagrams, I can move all the furniture around and even make things disappear without having to resort to real-life hauling and shoving. On second thought, the exercise might do me good.

True Mongolian food is

True Mongolian food is mainly meat, milik and flour. These ingredients are most accessible to the nomadic tribes of Mongolia.

Our dinner at Shilingol, a small restaurant in Sengoku, was mainly lamb and milk products. We started with a salty milk tea and fried bread, then dug into the only vegetable for the meal--shredded potatoes with garlic. Mainly we ate meat: spicy lamb shish kebab; steamed buns filled with seasoned mutton; lamb on the bone; lamb and seasonings wrapped in flatbread; slices of salty dried lamb.

At 8:00 one of the cooks came out and played traditional Mongolian tunes on a long-necked, square bodied string instrument called a morin khuur. The music was multiharmonic and dissonent but quite beautiful and complex.

We rounded out our dinner with deep fried dough served with a milk glaze for dipping--Mongolian doughnuts.

I woke this morning

I woke this morning to the sound of helicopters. President Bush is in town. I imagine he's staying at the Imperial guest house and coptering from place to place in the city.

This morning, he visited Meiji Shrine and later today he meets with the Prime Minister. Later tonight, they are all going out to eat at a yakitori restaurant. The PM, President, Mrs. Bush, the US Ambassador to Japan and the Japanese Cabinet Secretary and his wife are all expected to attend.

I can only imagine what that will be like. Will they get roaring drunk like everyone else who dines on yakitori? I suspect they won't be eating at one of the yatai (outdoor food stalls) that dot the city. Maybe they'll go to Nanbantei in Ginza--one of our favorite fancy yakitori places. Can't wait to see the photos in the papers tomorrow.

The Duck! man came

The Duck! man came yesterday to estimate the cost of our move. I had requested an English-speaker since my Japanese is just not up to the challenge of contract details. Hanaki-san was very nice and he and I spoke in a mix of English and Japanese until Tod arrived.

Tod's Japanese is good enough that he was able to conduct the entire meeting in Japanese, much to the dismay of Hanaki-san who had been sent especially to speak English with us and wanted to practice. He gave his home phone number to Tod so they can get together to talk again in English.

P.S. Remaining in the box last night: two cotton skirts, a plastic grater, six bilingual food magazines, and a small chalkboard. That means about 60 items were picked up during the day. Not a shred of guilt remains.

One man's junk is

One man's junk is another man's treasure.

This morning, I decided that there were tidbits in the house that I wasn't willing to throw away or sell, yet I didn't want to keep them. So I put them in a box, made a sign in Japanese that reads "Used things FREE. Please take whatever you like" and sat it on the sidewalk outside the house.

It's been quite a popular stop for passersby. Almost all of the art supplies are gone, the sweater that was a tiny bit too small, the kitchen odds and ends. We got rid of some old hard drives, games, and toys. I've been out to refill the box several times.

I feel good to knowing that these things are going to be reused. Of course, anything that's left at the end of the day gets pitched. But I won't feel guilty.

Yesterday in the Drawing

Yesterday in the Drawing on the Artist Within class, we drew analogs of emotions, states of being, and personal characteristics. Without using symbols or drawing real objects, how do you draw anger? Soft? Mean? Naive?

Our purpose was to illustrate that there is a common "language of line." For example, Peacefulness is often portrayed by a horizontal form and/or waves. Femininity come out as crossed forms about 20% of the time. Anger seems to take two forms--either balled up or slashing.

Not only did we see the "language of line" but we all got to see a bit more of ourselves than we expected. My femininity was very bold and strong; my joy not so well developed. Maybe I need to work on that...

I can go for

I can go for days with nothing really interesting going on, then find myself in up to my ears in activity. This time it's not my procrastination doing me in--it's deadlines, work coming in from clients and a class on "Drawing on the Artist Within." Tomorrow, it's more of the same. Fun!

Rattle. Rattttttttttllle. RRRaTTTTTtTTTtTTTTTtTtTle. Rattle.

Rattle. Rattttttttttllle. RRRaTTTTTtTTTtTTTTTtTtTle. Rattle.

That was last night's earthquake. It wasn't centered here in Tokyo, but it was strong enough that all of our windows rattled loudly.

Earthquakes are quite awe-inspiring. And they make me nervous.

More online food options:

More online food options: Demae Kan shows only the restaurants that deliver to your address. Where we live now, we've access to Chinese, sushi, box lunches, Italian and pizza. In our new place, we lose the Italian, but pick up wine and "New York."

We tested out Demae Kan and had Chinese delivered last night. Our only delivery up 'til now has been pizza because Chinese food names are all written in kanji, so pronouncing the dishes over the phone is too challenging. But ordering it from a web page is no problem. I'd forgotten what a joy it is to have Chinese food brought to the door.

Tod gave an interview

Tod gave an interview in Japanese.

The reporter, Kumi Yamada from Mainichi's MyCom web magazine, attended DigitalEve Japan's awards event to gather information for an article she is writing about us. Tod was the only man in the room and he won a prize for his participation on the Technology Team, so he was a obvious candidate for an interview.

Miki and Chiharu helped interpret when he and the reporter had difficulty communicating but he listened to the Japanese questions and responded in Japanese quite a bit.

I've just discovered that

I've just discovered that Queen's Isetan, the big supermarket in our neighborhood, has online ordering and delivery.

This is good news. I've grown fond of some of QI's high quality items and our new apartment is about a 25 minute walk away. The nearest food shopping in our new neighborhood is Yunesuko; it's a small corner store with limited produce and fresh food selections.

But if QI delivers, I can have them bring me all of the specialty things I like. Pineapple!

This morning, I put

This morning, I put pencil to sketchbook for the first time in months. It's been almost a year since the last time I actively sat down to draw something. Too much time away from art ruins my eye-hand coordination!

Of course, I didn't stray far from my beloved computer. Is it ironic or prophetic that my first sketch in a year is of the Escape key?

Valentine's Day store window

Valentine's Day store window display at Mono Comme Ca, Harajuku.

Dogs with oversized noses, based on in a series of popular photographs, sniff at a huge pile of chocolates. The dogs are wearing Mono Comme Ca T-shirts and the pile contains plenty of Mono Comme Ca's own Valentine's Day creation, the thin striped packages at center front.

I hope my Valentine doesn't take to heart "sniffed by dogs" as the key to gift purchases.

Note to self: being

Note to self: being organized is worth the pain of getting there.

I've enjoyed reliving many experiences by organizing my slides and photos. It is taking lots longer than I'd expected, but the results are fantastic. I can find all the images from my trips and photo expeditions quickly now. I hope I can keep them tidy...

Before we move, I

Before we move, I need to reduce the volume of stuff we own. Of course, we're having a sale of miscellaneous household furnishings but I'm also trying to pare down my professional life by organising my slides and clippings.

At the moment, my clippings are a huge stack of magazines where my work was published. I need to slice out the articles along with the cover and contents page of each. I'm sure I can get the 30 cm stack down to a small pile in the course of a day or so. This is a task I've been avoiding for almost three years.

My slides are going into sleeves after I mark each one with a subject and date. I've already finished 100 of them--only 200 more to go! Then I must tackle the unfiled photos and negatives.

Ah, Spring! We've just

Ah, Spring! We've just entered the new season and even though the weather hasn't budged a bit from "chilly and grey" I know it will soon. The annual parade of flowering trees has begun. It culminates in the cherries blossoming in early April.

The plum trees bloom first. For me, that is the true mark of spring. Nothing is finer than catching their sweet, delicate perfume on a breeze and turning to see a profusion of bright pink petals at the ends of bare, dark branches. I spotted my first plum blossom of the year while househunting. I took that to be a good sign for a new beginning.

The meat department in

The meat department in Japanese supermarkets offers a dazzling array of cuts because standard butchering techniques are unlike American ones. Chicken thighs are deboned. Beef is cut into extremely thin slices rather than roasts. Food is bite sized when it's served.

But this begs a question. Which came first, the cuts of meat or Japanese cooking techniques?

Absinthe is a green

Absinthe is a green liquor made of wormwood and anise. It was originally a medicinal tonic, but gained popularlity in the Belle Epoque first among French soldiers, then artists and writers, and finally among the general populace across Europe. It was so popular that it was eventually banned because its active ingredient, thujone (from the wormwood), was said to cause hallucinations, illness, and even death.

I used to grow wormwood and thought about brewing some absinthe of my own from recipes I found on the Internet, but I never did. So until last night, I'd never had a chance to try it. It's impossible to purchase absinthe made from old recipes--their thujone levels are too high for today's regulations. But you can find it in a less potent form (in terms of thujone content) in the UK and EU. But not in the US, where it remains banned.

At Le Cafe in Harajuku, I tasted two different kinds. The better (by far) was Absinthe Hapsburg. At 72.5% alcohol it was definitely not for drinking straight. Traditionally, drinkers mixed the strong, bitter tonic with water and sugar. Modern recipes are already sweet, so mine was served with water and ice. It was delicious--anise with an herbal undertone.

I felt very worldly sitting in a Tokyo bar, with absinthe in my hand and playing the part of a writer all dressed in black. What a kick!

Today is 2-2-2. I'm

Today is 2-2-2. I'm delighted to be living at the turn of a century because I'll be able to revel on dates like this for the next 10 years.

And it's even better in Japan. In the Japanese tradition, the year is noted by the length of the emperor's reign. 2002 is is Heisei 14. We've been in Tokyo to celebrate 8-8-8, 10-10-10, 11-11-11 and 12-12-12. We were back in the States on 9-9-9.

There's a song by Morphine, French Fries with Pepper, that commemorates a series of 20th century dates. "On 9-9-99, I'll be sitting on the back porch, drinking red, singing 'Oh, French Fries with Pepper'." We did.

Time is wonderful. So is the way we note it.

After living here for

After living here for four years, I think I know Tokyo pretty well. It's vast, but I try to get around to see it.

Yet when I met my friend MJ for lunch yesterday, it was in a completely new part of town for me. Bakuro-yokoyama is a quiet area with a mix of high-rise office buildings and tiny shops specialising in kimono and traditional Japanese fabrics. It's not a special or extraordinary neighborhood, which may be why I'd never been there.

The funny thing is, it's less than fifteen minutes away from my house. So much for knowing Tokyo...

Last night in Japanese

Last night in Japanese class, we encountered an example sentence that Tod & I agreed made us uncomfortable.

We were practicing with "teki," a suffix that's equivalent to -ish or -like. For each sentence using Nihonteki (Japan-ish or Japanese), we had to describe the qualities of the thing. For example, "This is a Japanese house." Then we described a Japanese style house. It has tatami floors, it is cold in winter, it has ranma and a pond with koi.

"He has a Japanese face" is the sentence that threw us for a loop. As "politically correct" Americans we're trained to not look at racial characteristics too closely! What makes a Japanese face Japanese? Sensei said that Japanese faces are more flat that Western ones--not "dekoboko" which means uneven or bumpy.

This morning I'm making

This morning I'm making a list of all the things we need to sell or give away before we move. There's quite a bit of stuff to shed before we'll fit into the new, compact apartment.

Some of it we'll give away to friends. But I don't think I know anyone who wants a coffee table. Or a big bookcase. So I think those items are going to be auctioned on Yahoo! Japan Auctions . My challenge today is to figure out how to make it work. That means lots of reading and writing in Japanese.

My sensei will be so proud. I wonder if she'd like to buy a washing machine?

Househunting is done. Here's

Househunting is done. Here's where we're going to live, if the contract is successfully completed. It's on the 2nd floor of a 5 story building near the Marunouchi subway line at Korakuen station--about a fifteen minute walk southeast of where we live now.

The terrace looks out over the Japanese gardens of the downstairs neighbors. It's really beautiful and southern exposure means sunlight all day. The kitchen is small but efficient; the narrow room marked 9 will be our office, the bedroom (marked 5) is just big enough for our bed--I had to come home and measure before we could decide!

Foreigners who live in

Foreigners who live in Tokyo are rarely lukewarm about it. They either love it or hate it. It's a beautiful place or an ugly place. It's wonderful or terrible.

This is the view from my balcony. I overlook the entrance to another building's garage (on the left) and collection of low rooves and wires. In the middle distance is the tall new apartment building that has restaurants and our fancy supermarket. Off in the background, as far as you can see, are more tall buildings.

Some say this is ugly. I'm not so sure. Look at the subtle range of colors and the strong geometric shapes cutting the phot into sections. The way the distant buildings are hazy like mountains in classic Chinese paintings. The strong light angling down on a wall in the foreground. Granted, it's not an idyllic forest, but it has beauty.

Well, we're officially househunting

Well, we're officially househunting again.

The current house is just too big, too cold and most importantly, too expensive. The rent here is equal to about 7 months of mortgage payments on our house in Pittsburgh. In our Bunkyo neightborhood, one Pittsburgh mortgage payment rents a 9x12 foot room with a galley kitchen and a bathroom. We're looking for a place to live in the range of "4 months of mortgage payments."

We're racking up our 5th home in 4 years here in Japan. I hope that the new one is perfect and we stay there for a while! I think our realtor, Inoue-san, is going to become rich on our commissions.

What's up with Japan's

What's up with Japan's soft punishments for crimes against young women? This week there have been two remarkable examples.

In the first case, a man abducted a 9 year old girl and held her prisoner in a room of his home for more than nine years. It was reported in the courtroom that girl was fed only once a day, threatened with weapons, and beaten if she stepped outside the taped-down boundary her captor created. The presiding judge said, "The suffering of her family was very grave, and it is natural to impose a severe punishment," before he sentenced the man to 14 years in jail.

In the second, a man struck out and kicked his 3 year old daughter in the stomach when he discovered she'd eaten some dog food. She died the next day. The father was sentenced to 4 years in prison.

Does this point out that the Japanese justice system is too lenient overall? Or that women and girls are not valued? Or maybe it's a statement on something else entirely. I'm not sure but these two criminals got away with nothing more than a slap on the hand for some pretty dire crimes.

Oops, they did it

Oops, they did it again. Snow Brand's in the news for some rather unethical actions.

About 18 months ago, their milk products company failed to follow safety procedures (or even basic common sense) and recycled old milk into the new milk supply. Yuck! 10,000 people contracted food poisoning.

This time, their meat group tried to defraud the government by sending 13.8 tons of Australian beef to be destroyed in a federal buyback related to BSE containment. Only Japanese beef was eligible for the program--apparently the meat company intentionally mislabelled their Australian product in order to get the government funding. What were they thinking?

It's that time again

It's that time again and a feeling of dread is building. Our Japanese teacher announced the school's upcoming (mandatory) speech contest.

This year's contest theme is "Nihongo ga jouzu ni natara..." which means "When I become skilled in Japanese..." I think my opening sentence is going to have to be "When I become skilled in Japanese, I will be an old lady." From there, I'm not sure where to go but I have about a month to decide.

Kani Ryouri is Japanese

Kani Ryouri is Japanese for "crab cuisine." There's a fantastic kani ryouri restaurant in Azabu Juban, about 20 minutes away. I'm sure it has a real name, but we call it the crab restaurant.

Their crab set lunch (1,200 yen) is a delight. It's hard to decide what's most delicious: crab sashimi served with tiny shreds of steamed sea vegetable; silken tofu topped with crab and a seasoned soy sauce; rice sprinkled with dried crab crumbles; creamy potato salad laced with crab; a deep-fried crab croquette. Of course there's miso soup, pickles, and tea, too. It's quite a treat for lunch.

If you're headed there, leave Azabu Juban station via Exit 4; walk about two blocks down the small shopping street on the left hand side of Wendy's. It has a rustic exterior and a small genkan to take of your shoes before stepping into the tatami-carpeted seating area. Sorry that I have no idea what the name is...

I woke up extra

I woke up extra early this morning. I wasn't sure why.

But as it turns out, I stirred at about the same time that our ADSL provider was cutting off our connection. They do this every few months to all their normal customers. Now we have a new IP address for the next couple of months.

For us, it's not a big deal--we have to restart the connection and update a few settings and then we can get on with what we usually do. For a business, changing an IP address suddenly and out of the blue is a disaster and by cutting the connection, the ADSL provider ensures that businesses pony up the exorbitant fees for continuous, static IP addresses. A clever strategy.

Anyway, waking up at the same time the connection was cut makes me wonder if I'm supernaturally in tune with my Internet connectivity.

602,089 students took their

602,089 students took their university entrance examinations yesterday. This is the moment they've been working towards throughout their school years. They've studied, memorized and crammed their minds full of facts for these examinations.

Some of the hopefuls will make it into their college of choice and face a pretty easy road through university. It's generally recognised that university years are carefree and fun.Those who fail will spend coming year studying harder so they can to try again next year.

No doubt in the upcoming months while exams are being scored, there will be 6,020,890 nervously bitten fingernails.

Paying utility bills in

Paying utility bills in Japan is interesting. You take your bill, and the necessary cash, to the post office or to the convenience store and pay there. You can't mail a check since there are no checks in the Japanese banking system.

At the convenience store, the clerk scans the bar code on the bill and it's rung up as a sale on the register. You hand over the money, she hands you change and stamps your bill to show you've paid. It's as easy as buying a newspaper if considerably more expensive.

Traditional workman's clothing is

Traditional workman's clothing is distinctive and very functional. Pants balloon at the knees then fall tight and straight to meet leather-bottomed split-toed socks called tabi A vest with pockets tops the outfit. What's really nifty is that these traditional uniforms are still in widespread use.

You can buy them online at Tokyo Uniform along with Office Lady outfits, Japanese restaurant uniforms, and security guard armbands. If you want to look like a Tokyo worker, this is the perfect place to shop.

I love it when

I love it when DigitalEve Japan gets good press. We all work so hard at creating an engaging, useful organization that articles like today's in the Japan Times' Techno Times section make me grin.

Spring might be creeping

Spring might be creeping up on us already. The weather in the past few days has certainly made a turn in that direction. I can tell because it is colder inside the house than outside. It seems crazy that I shiver as I'm putting on my coat and shoes in the hall, then feel toasty when I step outside.

If this really is spring, the heating disparity will continue until late April. Then we'll experience a few wonderful week before the rainy season begins and the humid heat of summer settles in. I'm already looking forward to May!

I've always been a

I've always been a bit behind the times when it comes to adopting new technology. But today I joined the ranks of normal people when I purchased a cell phone.

It's a sweet little thing--a D211i. In addition to letting me make phone calls, I can surf the web, send e-mail (if I'm willing to enter text using the numeric keypad) and set alarms. I can even download songs for my ring tones, though I'm not sure why I'd want to, since my phone has ABBA's "Dancing Queen" built-in. Who needs more than that?

Although I've never really

Although I've never really wanted one before, I picked up a DoCoMo catalog today to look at the cell phones. There are 28 different handsets ranging from ones that can run Java applets to more basic models with greyscale displays. It costs between 3,000 and 45,000 yen to purchase the hardware.

Then come the calling plans. Plan A is 4,500 yen a month and calls are 20-40 yen/minute depending on the time of day. You get 600 yen's worth of calls for free each month. Or maybe you want to talk lots? You want the Hanashi Plan Big. 9,100 yen per month with 6,600 yen in free calls. Per minute you'll pay between 22-44 yen. On top of the half dozen different plans are a handful of discount schemes--family discount, business discount, volume plan, even a "thanks for being a customer for a long time discount" that you get automatically.

Needless to say, this makes choosing a cell phone quite a chore. And this is just one of four major cell phone services. I' haven't even looked at TuKa, Au or J-phone yet.

Sunday afternoon at the

Sunday afternoon at the free market (aka flea market) in Shinjuku was fun. Sarah, Tod & I gawked at all sorts of old dishes, kimono, and pretty Tibetan style things, but spent most of our time poring over old maps.

Sara ended up with a 1930s hand-tinted map of Tokyo and two vivid reproductions of maps with Latin inscriptions. She bargained with the vendor and got the lot for about 8,000 yen. I found a unique map/postal rate chart from Meiji 44 (about 1912), It's difficult to describe but I love it. Sarah asked the man for a discount on my behalf since she'd just bought three maps and he gave me mine for only 1,500 yen. The frame will cost more than the map!

Japan's businesses are in

Japan's businesses are in deep trouble despite the weakening of the yen which makes the import/export figures look better.

Yesterday MyCal, a national grocery and retail chain, closed its doors after a two-day 80% off sale. eBay Japan is considering how to manage compeition in the online auction market here. One idea is to sell itself to Yahoo Japan. Daiei, is considering selling off its baseball park/hotel complex in Fukuoka and maybe even its baseball team, the Hawks.

I've often been surprised that small mom-and-pop boutiques stay in business, but the little shopping streets in our neighborhood are going strong as ever. At least the ones that haven't been torn down to build megalith apartment complexes. I hope they can hang on through this bad patch.

Today's the day to

Today's the day to break the kagami mochi and to burn all the holiday decorations.

Kagami mochi is the double-decker offering of sticky rice made at the new year. By now, it's gone hard and cripy and after scraping off the mold which has no doubt accumulated, you must crack it with a hammer into small pieces. It's unlucky to use a knife. You can use the shattered fragments in soup, mix them in with rice or any number of dishes.

All of the holiday decorations--bamboo festoons, pine branches warding off evil--all get tossed onto a communal fire at a temple. Any bad luck caught in them is immolated , keeping your home and hearth safe and happy for the remainder of the year.

"I was surrounded by

"I was surrounded by monsters and they were scary," Mike was telling Katie. "But I took out my Henway and they all ran away."

Katie, who's in the second grade, was incredulous. "What's a Henway?" she asked.

"About six pounds," Mike answered.

Katie just looked confused. She doesn't always get the jokes she might if she had English-speaking schoolmates.

So Mike tried to explain that 'what's' can also mean 'how much does.' Then Tod told the joke, only he had a Penfor to scare away the monsters. The joke fell flat again. Humour is a subtle business, even when the jokes are bad.

Nanakusa-gayu is a rice

Nanakusa-gayu is a rice porridge with seven spring herbs. If you live in the country, you can pick the herbs (which are really just weeds) along the edges of fields and roads. Here in the city, we buy them in plastic containters at the supermarket.

The combination of herbs and rice is thought to cleanse the system after too much rich holiday food. And eating nanakusa-gayu on January 7th ensures health throughout the year. Or so they say. It was part of last night's dinner, so we will see how the year pans out.

Yakudoshi is an unlucky

Yakudoshi is an unlucky year for people of certain ages. Everyone has three yakudoshi during their lives. Women's come at 19, 33, and 37. Men are 25, 42 and 61. But the Shinto way of counting birthdays adds a year to your age, so the Western ages are 18, 32, 36, 24, 41, & 60.

That means this will be an inauspicious year for me. I should make regular trips to the shine and buy lots of amulets for protection. The year before and the year following your yakudoshi are also unlucky--the prelude and poscript to rotten, I guess.

I'm not so sure about the power of amulets, but I'll keep my fingers crossed this year. Just in case.

It's nice to know

It's nice to know that foreigners aren't the only ones with bad handwriting.

A friend called Aizawa filled in her commuter train pass form. A machine scanned the handwriting and printed the name on the pass. Her new name is Fizaku (the bottom line in the example). Close. Very close.

Fortunately, Fizaku is just a nonsense word in Japanese. Aizawa-san thinks it sounds sort of German.

I'm so caught up

I'm so caught up in my work now it seems like there was never a holiday at all. I spent all day yesterday writing, producing web sites and catching up on my DigitalEve work. And I'm at it again today, see?

Oshogatsu is over. We

Oshogatsu is over. We now return to our regularly scheduled life.

I skipped the traditional festivities and just rested. It was six tranquil days for me. I made no temple visit, no trip shout "banzai!" to the Emperor. I didn't even buy a fukubukuro--a lucky grab bag.

New Years can be dangerous. Six people were injured in the stampede for fukubukuro at Tama Plaza Tokyu Shopping Center in Yokohama. Two people choked to death on mochi, a sticky rice cake said to ensure long life. Ironic, but it happens every year. TV shows demonstrate how to dislodge mochi--a vacuum cleaner is said to do the trick.

So I'm back to a normal schedule today. Except that I'm already running late; I'm overdue to take coffee to Tod...

Kakizome is the first

Kakizome is the first calligraphy of the new year. It's traditionally done on January 2nd and the department stores and shops around Tokyo prepare for this day with enormous displays of writing tools for sale--brushes of many sizes, inkstones with different shades of black ink, traditional papers, scrolls, and decorative plaques.

Shodo (the art of calligraphy) artisans practice every day. The master calligrapher clears his mid, visualises the finished work, takes a deep breath, then begins drawing what he sees in his mind's eye. In China this summer, I watched men practicing with large brushes and water on the sidewalks at the Temple of Heaven. They moved slowly and gracefully like dancers.

Calligraphy isn't just for masters--over the winter holiday, many schoolchildren are assigned calligraphy homework. I wonder if they do it on January 2nd?

Bunkyo-ku is famous for

Bunkyo-ku is famous for its universities and literary sons. Natsume Soseki, a 19th century novelist is pictured on the 1000 yen note and the site of the house where he wrote I Am A Cat is not too far from our own.

When we first visited it, there was an old stone monolith carved with some of Soseki's vital statistics. It was the stone equivalent to the historical markers that dot roadsides in the US. Informative. Not terribly imaginative. A record of something worth recalling.

Recently, the nearby university made the property, "Natsume Soseki's Cat's House" is how it's listed on a map, part of its campus. They tore down the old building and monument and erected a lovely, modern structure for classrooms. And the rebuilt the monument.

There's a new stone monolith with Soseki's biography. A delightful addition awaits the observant visitor. A grey slate wall runs along the side of the building. Perched on top of the wall, looking out over the neighborhood is a bronze cat sculpted in a lively pose. The perfect touch.

Akemashite omedetou gozaimasu!

Akemashite omedetou gozaimasu!

Tradition, faith, and superstition

Tradition, faith, and superstition send everyone to the temples and shrines at midnight tonight to make the first homage of the year. Clapping hands or ringing bells, you capture the attention of the enshrined spirit, then toss some change in the offerings box and bow. On the way out, you might make a purchase of a lucky arrow or a charm.

It's an enchanting time. The temple grounds bustle and everyone is happy. Some places have festival stalls lining the street so you can get a nibble of fried noodles or a baby custard doughnut on the way home.

But I am worried that I might be cursed.

The year before last, I visited a shrine famous for keeping households safe; during the year we moved twice. Last year, I visited a shrine popular for its curative properties then spent the year chasing headaches and thyroid tumors. Maybe both situations would have been worse if I hadn't gotten the lucky arrows, but they were so extraordinary to begin with...

I'm not taking any chances this year. No temples. No shrines.

Here's a year-end writing

Here's a year-end writing exercise for you. In 25 words exactly, describe your year. It's harder than you might think.

I've managed this:

Spent seven weeks on holiday in Maui, China, mainland US. Wrote lots, taught many, earned little. Saw the inside of my head. Didn't do enough.

Now through January 3rd

Now through January 3rd is holiday time. We'll clean house and prepare auspicious foods for toshigama, the year gods, between now and Monday. Then we can kick back and enjoy the luxury of idleness for the first three days of the new year.

Except I think it won't work out quite like that in our house.

I'll sleep in all weekend, and fail to do the laundry. The carpets will remain unvacuumed while I go to the store on Monday to stock up on tinned soup and crackers to tide us over the days when all the stores are closed. On Tuesday we will run out of toilet paper. By Wednesday, Tod & I will be bickering over who has to go down into the unheated kitchen to brew more coffee.

Ah, holidays!

Good grief, we have

Good grief, we have four coffee making devices.

In addition to the standard electric drip maker I use to make our morning brew, we have a stovetop moka pot, an espresso maker, and a siphon pot. We also have a french press packed away in storage in the States. We like coffee.

And lately we've begun roasting our own beans. It's actually very easy to roast green coffee. Put it in a very hot oven and wait about ten minutes. The beans turn yellow, then brown. They make popping sounds, "first crack," the indication that you could take them out at any point from then. They get darker, eventually releasing oils, hitting second crack and getting shiny. Or burnt. Tod likes his coffee ultra dark. I like mine medium dark. We argue at the oven.

Roasting coffee throws off lots of smoke. But it's fun and really easy and I recommend it to anyone who likes a good cup of truly fresh coffee. What pot you brew it in is up to you. If you need supplies, Sweet Maria's carries everything for the home roaster.

The end of year

The end of year cleaning frenzy has begun. Everyone in Tokyo is tidying house before the new year begins. A friend once commented that the only time his kitchen was grease free was on the last day of the year when his wife finished the annual house cleaning.

The shops have every variety cleaning and tidying convenience--brooms, shelf paper, bleach. And plenty of new appliances including stoves, perhaps for those unfortunates who find the grease just won't come off.

As for my own cleaning, I'm focusing on getting rid of grease in the kitchen cabinets. Starting with a half-eaten bag of potato chips....yum.

Despite my aversion to

Despite my aversion to Christmas, I really love the day after. Growing up in my family, we vied for the coveted spot on the sofa to read all of the new books we'd just acquired from our literary friend, Santa. We called it Couch Day.

This year, it's Bed Day for me. I've tucked up with a copy of Fresh Styles for Web Designers, Javascript Design, a story written by my mother, and a book about Ireland. I will have to get out of bed to go to Japanese class in a few hours, but until then I'm going to read.

Berate me as Scrooge

Berate me as Scrooge or the Grinch, but holidays make me cringe. Even at a remove of 10,000 kilometers, there is pressure to follow traditions that don't apply here in Japan. I recall even more pressure to conform in the States, but maybe it was mitigated through commiseration --sharing the stories of cookie-baking marathons, rounds of holiday parties, and the panic of not finding the exact right gift.

I follow along with the year-end holidays because to skip them is to cause great offense to everyone who thinks that a cookie and some gift-wrapping mean that you care. I wish that caring didn't involve meeting everyone's expectations of what I should do. Regretfully, it does, so I send greeting cards and gifts. I'm cooking a holiday meal today.

Of course, I won't hate it and in a way I enjoy the bother and fuss (if only because it connects me to the trials of the rest of my family and friends back home), but I don't fundamentally like feeling forced to participate. Putting so much energy into holidays I don't care about celebrating takes energy away from those I prefer--the first snow of the year, the progress of the earth around the sun, spring flowers blooming. I get more satisfaction from seeing February's first peach blossoms than from an entire pile of Christmas presents.

We walked from the

We walked from the Sun to Pluto this afternoon with Katie. Most people would have thought we were just walking down a street, but anyone who observed closely would have seen we were pacing off the astronomical units between planets and laying down planets to scale. Earth is a peppercorn; Jupiter is a chestnut; the Sun is a balloon.

It's an amazing way to get a real feel for the sizes and distances in our solar system. Mercury, Venus, and Earth are approximately one Japanese storefront apart. Mars is two away. Jupiter is almost to twenty shops down the street from Mars. I'll bet you didn't know that Uranus is halfway between the Sun and Pluto. Take the walk and find out for yourself.

The turkey is thawing

The turkey is thawing in the living room. This is not, as you might imagine, a health hazard because the living room is only slightly above freezing.

Freezing cold rooms in wintertime are a normal feature of Japanese homes. Rooms are heated individually, not centrally and every room has a door so that you can shut it off from its chilly companions. Each room also has a nice draft so that the fumes from the gas heater (which gets its fuel from a gas outlet plumbed into the wall) don't asphixate you. It's a practical arrangement (though less frugal than you might think for a variety of reasons concerning lack of home insulation and the price of heaters) which makes me pine for the luxury of central heating.

Luckly, the turkey doesn't care.

I found a turkey.

I found a turkey. Frozen. Priced at 3800 yen; the store didn't even an attempt to pricing it by weight, but it works out to about $3 per pound, I think. Soon it will be thawing in my refrigerator waiting for Christmas dinner.

This will be the first traditional holiday meal I've cooked in many years. It is my second turkey ever. Stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy. Mmmmm. I have to buy a roasting pan.

Yuki, yuki, yuki. (That's

Yuki, yuki, yuki. (That's 'you-key,' the word for snow, not 'yucky.')

The weather report says 70% chance of snow today and a high of 5 degrees (that's 41 F). This is unusual for December--the weather is usually clear and mildly chilly until mid-January. Then we get some rain but rarely snow.

I'll bundle up in my chilly office today and drink lots of hot chocolate while I wait for the snow. How festive!

At 2 am, there's

At 2 am, there's nothing but taxis on the streets. The trains stop running at midnight and late-night revellers catch cabs to get home. The taxi drivers must make a fortune with their 50% late-night surcharge.

Last night the streets around the Imperial Palace, hub of central Tokyo traffic, were jammed with taxis and their slightly intoxicated passengers riding home from a nijikai (second party) after their company bonenkai (forget-the-year party). I was in a taxi on the way from a friend's house where I watched Memento.

Two towers of brightly

Two towers of brightly colored Christmas toys flank the entrance at Olympic, a local discount store.

On the left are the hot pink selections for girls: Hello Kitty kitchen set with a plastic stove and food; a Pengin pudding maker that steams real food; manicure kits with glitter stickers and fake nails.

On the right are the more subtle blues and greys of boys' toys: Shinkansen model trains; tanks that shoot fire; plastic sports equipment.

Strangely, I've seen more adults than children around these astonishing piles of fun. I stopped to play with an electronic doctor game ("Poor Mai has a stomach ache; what should she do?") and although I pushed the buttons for a good five minutes to get Mai to lie down and sleep it off, not a single child came around to look at the toys.

Yesterday morning, the Mita

Yesterday morning, the Mita line was running late. Tod arrived at Kasuga station to board a train for work, but had to wait on the platform for 30 minutes. When he finally made it to Otemachi station, a train employee gave him a note to hand to his employer to explain why he was late.

Delay Certificate
Regarding the train you were riding, the punch-cut to the right proves the delay.
Otemachi Stationmaster.

This was the first time that we've ever experienced this. Some train lines are notorious for delays due to suicides, but we've managed to miss all of them. Once in a while a mouse or frog gets into a switch or an engine and the trains stop for repair. Heavy rains and snow also throw off the clockwork precision. No word on what caused yesterday's delay.

It's always a little

It's always a little bit sad when guests leave. We've packed these two weeks with a thousand activities (though you wouldn't guess it from what I've written here lately) and from today, life goes back to its normal routines.

But the break from the usual grind was really nice. We did creative things like candlemaking and shibori dying. Travelled to Hakone and saw Mt. Fuji in all her glory. We ate some really fantastic meals at home and in restaurants around the city.

So there's plenty to tell about, right after I dig out from the pile of neglected work on my desk and in my e-mail box.

My digital camera is

My digital camera is full of images that I promise I will share soon. Until then, you might want to take a look at some other people's photos of Japan: Reflections of Japan Mine will pale by comparison.

I might be the

I might be the cleanest woman in the world.

We went to Hakone and spent the night at Yamadaya at Souzan. They have the most beautiful baths--three different rotenburo (outdoor hot springs) plus two mineral baths inside. In addition our room (#501, named Kintoki after the mountain it faced) had its own cedar tub with a view overlooking the foothills of Mt. Fuji.

From the time we checked at 3:30 until we left this morning at 10, I bathed 4 times. So I might be the cleanest woman in teh world, but I'm not because Kris bathed just as many times as I did.

Kappabashi is Tokyo's wholesale

Kappabashi is Tokyo's wholesale restaurant supply district. A kilometer of shops line boths sides of a four lane street. Side streets shoot off with even more shops. All of them offer up specialty goods--pots and pans in this one, signs and menus in that one. Over here we have cast iron; across the street are the coffee-making supplies. Down the little side street is the best of the knife shops. This store sells bakery bags and twist ties. That one has plastic bento boxes.

When I first visited Kappabashi a few years ago, nothing was familiar except the Western pots & pans. Now I can identify most of the goods--this squat glass jar with a tiny spoon is for Chinese mustard; the taller one is for sugar. This short cylinder is a toothpick holder but that one holds a tabasco bottle.

Everything has its specific and precise use. No restaurant would ever dream of using a Chinese mustard jar for sugar, or putting tothpicks in the tabasco jar holder!

Walk signal blinks green.

Walk signal blinks green.

Policeman calls "Abunai!"

But I sprint across.

Japan's traffic fatalities reached

Japan's traffic fatalities reached 8,000 on Wednesday. That's 11 days later than last year.

Last month, prefectural police taught a special makeover course to elderly women. The idea that women would be more aware of traffic when crossing the streets if they looked nice and felt confident about themselves seems a little wonky, but maybe it made a difference.

Tokyo is so full

Tokyo is so full of things to do that it's difficult to decide on a plan with visitors. Pottery exhibits, shopping, food, historical places? It makes my head swim. Maybe I could just retreat into my computerised world of work...but then I'd miss all the fun.

But what will we do today? I'm not sure.

I'm off to buy

I'm off to buy a color printer today.

I've been putting off this purchase for a long time. Black and white is fine for me, really. But I designed a holiday card that looks better in color and I have no time to get them professionally printed. So I have to do it myself.and that means a color printer.

Deciding which one will be a challenge. They all seem so similar--it's difficult to know which will be best. I'll pick one and learn to live with its quirks, I guess.

The Crown Princess of

The Crown Princess of Japan delivered a baby girl on Saturday.

The economists predict an upswing in the economy due to this happy news. Baby goods manufacuturers are all excited for their prospects now that there is a new princess.

Maybe they expect a surge in the purchase of rattles as gifts for the new princess. The companies claim that the birth will help people appreciate their children more. Perhaps a mother will say to her toddler "Junko-chan, you're not a princess but I love you anyway. Here, have this nice toy as a consolation prize"

The scope of hairdressing

The scope of hairdressing products on the market is remarkable. Foam, wax, gel, spray, mousse...water.

Not just any water, this is Morning Water. The pictures on the spray bottle tell the story. A man in striped pajamas is in for a really bad hair day. His mop is sticking up all over and he's grimacing at the mirror. But Morning Water comes to the rescue! In the next frame he's got a suit and tie on and his hair is neatly combed. He looks ready for another day at the office.

Japanese habit is to bathe before bed. Bedhead would be a menace if it weren't for Morning Water.

A Japanese ice cream

A Japanese ice cream parfait is a confectionery Frankenstein.

I remember parfaits from my childhood: a tall glass filled with layers of sweet sauce and ice cream, topped with whiped cream and a maraschino cherry. The waitress at Genetti's sometimes gave me an extra cherry which made me feel very special.

The Japanese go a bit further with their parfait artistry. Here's how to make an "Apple and Satsuma Imo Parfait"

In the bottom, place a few slices of banana in an apple flavoured syrup. Add vanilla ice cream, more syrup then another scoop of ice cream. Top that with a thick sprinkling of cornflakes, a dollop of marshmallow sauce, and another scoop of ice cream. Finally, pipe on some mashed sweet potatoes, dust with cinnamon, and add two rolled cookies.

But no maraschino cherry. I was disappointed.

Yesterday I bought a

Yesterday I bought a copy of a book written by my shiatsu doctor. It's a thin volume, illustrated with cute drawings and it gives instructions on how to do your own shiatsu (which is called accupressure in the US).

Some of the suggestions are a little strange. Warm your ankles with a blowdryer before sleeping. Pound gently on the top of you head while eating breakfast.

On second throught, maybe warm ankles would be nice.

"Ohisashiburi, okaasan*!" I said

"Ohisashiburi, okaasan*!" I said to my mirror. My mother, circa 1976, was looking back at me after my haircut. Wow.

I had no idea that the style I'd pointed to in a magazine was going to look like this on me. It looked swoopier on the model. My hair embraces gravity. But I hope that with some "hard wax" styling products I can bring out the curvy lines of the magazine hair. My old blowdryer is going to be my new friend.

*Long time, no see, Mom!

Loose change adds up

Loose change adds up fast around here. With coins worth up to 500 yen (about $4), the total in a change purse or a pocket can easily buy lunch or more.

Our stuffed elephants, the Zous, have been saving for a trip to America. They've found over 12,000 yen in spare change just lying around, though I think they rifle my pockets from time to time. (Why are our stuffed elephants saving for a vacation? The largest Zou refuses to go in the overhead bin and demands a seat. We told him he'd have to pay his own way. We lead a very rich fantasy life!)

Tod tries to remain "compliant" with his change-- he rarely has change that adds up to the next largest coin and he always spends all of his change. On the other end of the scale, I opened my wallet the other day to discover 2500 yen in coins mixed in with the grocery receipts.

The news is full

The news is full of national leaders' children.

The Imperial Crown Prince & Princess are due to give birth to their first child any day now. If it is a boy, he will be in line for the throne. If the baby is a girl, probably not. The Japanese constitution (written with help from the US after WWII) specifies a man on the Imperial throne.

On the opposite end of the spectrum PM Koizumi's son, Kotaro, made his "talent debut" this week when he appeared in an advertisement for light beer.

Thank goodness for Jim

Thank goodness for Jim Breen's online Japanese dictionary system WWWJDIC. It's got an ugly interface and a strange name, but it is the handiest thing out there for translating e-mail, web pages and even i-mode screens if you know some Japanese but aren't strong on kanji.

Perhaps, if you've tried

Perhaps, if you've tried to pick up a phrase or two of Japanese for a trip, someone has told you a trick for remembering douitashimashite (you're welcome) as "Don't touch my moustache." Of course it doesn't sound like that but it's easy to remember. Japanese learners of English memorize similar nonsense to try to pronounce English.

Hotta imo ijiruna (Don't touch the dug potatoes) sounds a tiny bit like "What time is it now?"

San kyu beri matchi (3 9 berry town) is "Thank you very much."

Mai buraza hazureta (Every bra came undone) is the delight of schoolchildren who need to say "My brother has a letter."

Every other month, the

Every other month, the Daily Yomiuri hands out a little premium to its subscribers--this month we received a small cookbook titled "Dinner meets French Dishes: asian ingredients and herbs bring out the taste"

It's full of unique recipes. Would you like to try Miso Ratatouille, Green Onion Saute with Red Wine Sauce, or Squid & Potato Sandwiches (Fried)? I am not making these up; I can send you the recipes that chef Kazuhisa Tashiro has included in this illustrated booklet.

I swear I made this one when I was 7 years old.

Potato and Blueberry Jam Gratin
1 boiled potato, cut into 1 cm thick slices
2 teaspoons of blueberry jam
3-4 pats of butter
black pepper to taste

Arrange half of the potatoes in a small gratin dish, spread with a teaspoon of jam. Top with the remaining potato slices, another spoonful of jam, and several pats of butter. Microwave for 1 minute or until the butter is melted. Sprinkle with black pepper.

Today is "Labour Thanksgiving

Today is "Labour Thanksgiving Day" in Japan, a national holiday. What are we celebrating? Are we supposed to be thankful for having jobs? Perhaps so.

I'm (unthankfully) working today trying to juggle half a dozen deadlines with cleaning. So far, working has won. Nothing's been cleaned. Maybe tomorrow.

Shichimencho is the word

Shichimencho is the word for turkey in Japanese. Literally translated, it means 7-faced bird. Shichimencho is not a popular food in Japan; the meat is too dry for Japanese tastes. I think back to some of my own Thanksgiving meals and I have to agree.

Fifty 16 year old

Fifty 16 year old girls are an intimidating audience. Until you get them to laugh.

Yesterday, I went to a girls' school in Kamakura to present "IT Careers for Women" on behalf of DigitalEve. Three classes combined to form a sea of sailor-suited uniforms. Although I heard horror stories from friends who teach about the total non-responsiveness of some classes, these girls turned out to be a great audience.

Heera and I spent almost two hours with them, brainstorming "who helps to make a cell phone" and helping them to discover their Myers-Briggs type. There were a lot of extraverts in the class--thank goodness!

I hung my head

I hung my head out the window for 90 minutes last night and was rewarded with about 80 sightings of Leonid meteors.

The best ones were jaw-dropping, luminous pink fireballs that streaked across the sky, leaving lime green smoke trails. I watched the smoke from one trail dissipate and I swore I could smell it. Tod's convinced it was the smokestack of the local bathouse, but why would the bathhouse be operating at 2 am?

Even the less spectacular meteors were noteworthy. Several of the shorter ones were turquoise like reflection of light in a cat's eye in the dark--and shaped like eye slits. Who was looking at us through them?

I even saw a non-Leonid meteor, a pale orange dotted line speeding south to north. Despite being delicately beautiful, it was dull in comparison with the Leonids.

Takarazuka 1000 Days Theater

Takarazuka 1000 Days Theater was the temporary home of the all-female musical theatre troupe, Takarazuka, while their permanent venue was being rebuilt. Their 1000 days are over, they've moved back to their original home, and the temporary building has a new use.

It's a superstore. Huge stores devoted to a single retail brand are not at all common in Japan, and to have one in downtown Tokyo is mind-boggling. The store is airy and open: a wide, white atrium lets you look up through glass walls to silver ductwork on the third floor. Riding the escalators through the space gives an overview of two floors of Muji's popular "no brand" clothing and household goods, plus a full floor of software.

I felt like I was in a suburban American store, the sort that fring the shopping malls. The new store is just as theatrical as the Takarazuka shows.

I've been noticing the

I've been noticing the crazy personalization that women make to their stuff: keychains by the score hanging off knapsacks; shiny bells and doodads on bookbags; a Loius Vitton handbag with a Pooh hanging from the strap.

But taking the cake today was the pink cell phone with an aftermarket antenna that blinks red when the phone rings, accessorised even further with a puff of white maribou and shiny, pink and red, heart-shaped gel stickers edging the full-color display. On the display--Lady and the Tramp. Nobody will mistake this one for their phone!

Shrimp can leap. The

Shrimp can leap.

The local fishmonger always displays his freshest wares outside on the sidewalk and extorts passersby to look at the crabs waving their arms or moving their googly eyes. It's a bit disconcerting and I usually avert my gaze as I wait at the intersection there.

But when an 8 inch long shrimp made a tall, graceful arc from one side of an ice-and-sawdust bin to the other, I had to go look. Wow, those things are really lively. They have a lot of legs (you know because you peel them off before dipping into the cocktail sauce) and those legs are quite powerful. The fishmonger was delighted that I came over to peer into the containers.

"Very fresh!" he said as he reached in and pulled out a very squirmy shirmp. Understatement of the day.

At lunchtime in Otemachi

At lunchtime in Otemachi yesterday, a war protest parade wound its way through the streets.

About a hundred people, lead by a van equipped with loudspeakers, carried banners announcing their affiliations (local organizations and businesses, I think) and signs with slogans. The only reasons I knew it was a war protest was that one of the signs read WAR IS NOT THE ANSWER in English. The slogans they chanted were too difficult to understand.

The parade was given one lane of traffic. The crossed the street when the signal changed. A police van followed along behind them to make sure they were safe from traffic behind them. It was an extremely orderly protest.

Sayaka found my website

Sayaka found my website about a year ago. A few months back, she invited me to help with a monthly magazine, Yanesen, that she's part of. Yesterday we met for the first time.

We were supposed to be working on articles for the magazine, but we finished in about 20 minutes then spend the better part of two hours enjoying cake and coffee while we talked about the state of the world, holidays, travel, and Japan.

I love getting a chance to meet people I've met online. Especially when they are neighbors!

First sighting of Xmas

First sighting of Xmas decorations in my neighborhood. Sprout Planning Co (a realty office) has a small wreath with blinking lights propped up on a bench outside thier front door.

Takashimaya Times Square in Shinjuku lit their elaborate holiday sculptures last week, but I haven't seen them yet. Apparently most of the big department stores are already decorated for the Christmas season (which isn't even a holiday in Japan) but I haven't been shopping in weeks. Maybe I'll make a special trip to see the deco.

"You have the nose

"You have the nose of a tyrant."

I'm not exactly sure what that means, but Tod swears it's a compliment.

The leaves are turning

The leaves are turning red and gold in the hills west of Tokyo. Waking up this morning, I took a walk up a mountain road damp with recent rain. Yellow and brown leaves speckled the pavement like confetti.

It was idyllic. Pine and wet bark scented the air--a refreshing change for my smog-filled lungs. Only my footfalls and a rushing river in the valley below broke the silence. No cars roared by; there wasn't even the squeal of bicycle brakes. Not a single cell phone rang.

Little rituals that mark

Little rituals that mark the passage of time make life richer for me. This week, I bought us new house slippers. During the winter, the floors are too cold to walk on with bare feet or even in socks. We don't wear shoes in they house (they stay in genkan) so we, along with everyone else, wear slippers. Buying fresh ones is a tiny way to note that time flies by.

These aren't the sort of slippers that last a lifetime. They're fabric-covered scuffs with vinyl soles that last about a year. This winter, we each have a pair of furry plush slippers and non-furry pair with decorations. Mine have geometric patterns embroidered in gold; Tod's have 1950's advertising illustration-style applique of a man with an umbrella. They'll keep our feet warm just fine.

One stop away on

One stop away on the Oedo line there are two neighborhoods--Iidabashi & Kagurazaka--that I need to explore.

A lively crowd passes through the area: well-heeled young women, grungy college students, and the ever-present salaryman with a few foreigners thrown in for spice. Enticing shops (one with a fantasic array of Japanese dishes) line the streets. It's old-fashioned and fashionable at the same time.

Although they are so close that I can get there in a 30 minute walk (or take a 2 minute train ride), I've never spent time there. But after dinner of delicious French crepes at Le Bretagne in Kagurazaka last night, I think I'll be going back. Not just to that restaurant but to the others that I spied on the short stroll from the station to Le Bretagne.

My office looks as

My office looks as though someone rifled it. My G4 computer is gone, along with its monitor and a CD burner. My backpack spills its contents in the corner; cables and cords tumble from open drawers. A carpet of papers, CDs and office supplies covers the floor.

Was I burgled? No. I made this mess while preparing to ship my computer equipment to Saitama where I'm leading a digital video workshop this weekend. My equipment, cables, and class materials are packed neatly in boxes and waiting for pickup.

My office begs to be straightened up. I will oblige it as soon as I've had another cup of coffee.

Tokyo Transportation Series City

Tokyo Transportation Series

City bus (with advertisements) 4:14 pm

Nothing strikes fear into

Nothing strikes fear into my heart like having to transport my computers around town. This fear is compounded when they are going by delivery service. It's further intensified when I've just conducted the transaction to ship them in Japanese.

I believe that someone from Pelican will arrive at my doorstep on Thursday afternoon to pick up three boxes which I will have packed myself. They will put them on a truck and drive to Saitama Prefecture about 60km away, to delivery them on Friday afternoon. I plan to pay in advance so I hope that's what they expect, too.

There's an entire field

There's an entire field of study for human-computer interactions. I wonder if they study the odd ESP that lets computers know when I'm too busy to fix them. I swear my computers choose to break down when they can cause me the most headaches.

I am leading a two day digital video retreat this coming weekend and I've just had to remove memmory from my laptop to keep it from crashing when it boots. That makes this already sluggish machine even slower. I need to rethink my teaching strategy to compensate for the longer times to compile the videos. Argh.

Utility monopolies [insert rude

Utility monopolies [insert rude scatalogical verb here].

I have one in mind in particular. Pittsburgh's water and sewer authority has screwed up again. Instead of maling bills regularly, they wait for a year then visit the house to paste a termination notice on the door.

When this happened in July 1999, I thought it was my error. Perhaps I hadn't given them an up-to-date address; I'd moved to Chicago, then Japan, then back to Chicago (briefly) before returning to Pittsburgh. But looking back, I think they had the right address all along.

Because it happened again. Last known bill, June 2000. Termination notice, November 2001. Total amount due, $650.

Argh!

"Good morning, what's for

"Good morning, what's for dinner?" is a favorite greeting on my online hanggout. My compatriot in Chicago is just about to start cooking when I wake up. Sometimes we trade menu ideas. Once in while we discover he's about to eat the same dish I had the night before. Weird food synchronicity.

This morning, we discussed short ribs.

K> I have some short ribs to do tonight
K> haven't decided how to cook them yet.
N> broiled?
K> maybe. or perhaps simmered til they fall off the bone
N> poached in a tasty liquid
N> sear them first and poach in the deglazed goodness
K> that sounds great.
N> maybe I'll make that tomorrow :)
* N consults the Meat Bible
K> I can deglaze them with sake and flavor the liquid with soy and mirin
N> yum

I love reading. Curling

I love reading. Curling up with a novel at the end of a long day is a great way to escape the stresses of work. Nothing beats a good reference work when I need some assistance--even the Internet isn't as reassuring as my trusty dictionary. Nonfiction challenges me to learn, sometimes in areas I've never explored.

And I like to read aloud. Speaking the written word is slower but forces me to focus on every word and to hear the author's cadence and rhythm. Every morning I read to Tod, usually highlights from the morning paper. I like to think that hearing me helps him to wake up. On some weekend evenings, I recreate old fashioned drawing room entertainment by reading from a novel. Every once in a while I read aloud when I'm alone, or simply to entertain my wool-headed Zous.

It occurs to me that if I got some training, I could read aloud for a living.

My desk is host

My desk is host to two towering stacks of papers & books. There are pens, notebooks and office supplies scattered evenly across it. An empty take-out cup has a place of honor near the mouse. My empty coffee mug rests on a coaster nearby. 14,910 yen is divided into two heaps. My arms occupy the only clear space--a swath terminating at the the keyboard.

Two days ago my workspace was completely barren. What happened?

Tod surprised me with

Tod surprised me with a present of books. Actually, it wasn't a surprise; he let the cat out of the bag a while ago. But he didn't tell me what books he had ordered from
Powell's our favorite online book retailer.

First he handed over Geoffrey Sampson's Writing Systems, a dense tome, thankfully brief, on the development of writing symbols to represent our spoken languages. That will be good bedtime reading though not guaranteed to put me to sleep.

Then, with a big grin on his face, Tod pulled out an old, jacketless hardcover book. Imprinted in fading black ink on its green fabric binding were the words "Origins, a short etymological dictionary of modern English" We proceeded to spend the next hour looking up words and discovering connections we never dreamed of.

Did you know that 'suave' and 'sweet' have the same root? That 'boot' (as in "Buy three oranges and you'll get an apple to boot") means rememdy or improvement (which might explain the name of the British pharmacy chains, Boots) and has the same background as 'better'?

Ah, words. Maybe I should have taken Latin in school.

If you peeked into

If you peeked into my genkan, you might think a dozen people lived in my house.

The genkan is the entryway, recessed a bit, where you remove your shoes before stepping up into the house. It's a relic from farming days when shoes and boots were muddy and keeping them at the door kept the house clean. These days, Japanese dwellings still have a genkan and a shoe closet where the entire shoe wardrobe is stored.

But my shoe closet is empty and my shoes are all over the genkan. I'll blame it on the changing seasons; it's warm one day, cold the next. I've worn just about all of my shoes over the past week. Now they are spread all over the genkan, crowding the margin between outside and inside.

Are they anxious to leave or to come in?

On the 29th of

On the 29th of every month, our local yakiniku (Korean barbeque restaurant), has a 29% discount. It took me a while to figure out why.

The date in Japanese is "ni-ju kyu nichi" (2 tens 9 day). If you read the numbers without the place value, it is "ni kyu" which is very close to "niku" which means meat. The perfect opportunity for a restaurant featuring meat to offer a special discount.

This is the first niku day I've remembered in advance of dinner. But I'm not comfortable with the government's reassurances that there is no more BSE in the local livestock. I think I'll skip the discount dining this month.

Astrid's Chinese Opera Costume

Astrid's Chinese Opera Costume party had the best costumes of any I've ever attended--so much red and gold silk and excellent make-up.

I was a Chinese acrobat crowned with a three-tiered layer of glitter- and sequin-enhanced wine glasses. I think I wore the most talked-about headpiece at the party--at the very least, it made me stand out above the crowd. Three different men poured champagne in the glasses and drank from them which required some acrobatic bending on my part. I drank from my own handheld props.

Tod was decked out in a gorgeous red and gold satin brocade coat and a black hat with a button on top and a queue of yarn hanging from the back. Very scholarly and beautiful, too. I've already claimed his costume pieces for my daily wardrobe.

Japan's consumer price index

Japan's consumer price index fell again in September--the 24th month in a row that prices have dropped. It was just 0.8% lower that last September but every little bit helps a shopper's wallet. Despite lower prices, Japan's consumers aren't buying as much. We all purchased 2.9% less stuff in September.

Dropping prices are bad for business and combined with a drop in overall purchases, members of the government are pressuring the Bank of Japan to plan inflation targets to increase prices. So far the BOJ has said no; they don't seem to like to tinker with the economy too much.

A couple of weeks

A couple of weeks ago I resumed SITO again after a five year absence. SITO is an online art community. I've been playing in the Gridcosm where eight artists share a grid and try to create a cohesive image.

After last night's chat with friends in the US, I've got two new projects going--a writing project and another to make prints--so my Gridcosm activity is going to have to slow down a little bit.

Collaborations are very satifying. I discover other people's ideas imbedded in me like shards of glass after an accident. I can pick them out or leave them in and let them heal into me.

I discovered that I

I discovered that I can touch type.

That probably sounds odd coming from a woman who's spent a significant chunk of the past ten years at a keyboard. My shameful admission is that I always watch my fingers. Not so much to find the keys, I guess, as to will the words to come out of my head and onto the blank page.

Yesterday, as I was concentrating simultaneously on two things on my screen, I suddenly realised I'd typed an entire paragraph without once looking at my hands. What a revelation. My style and fingering leaves something to be desired (my jr. high typing teacher would cringe) but it gets the job done.

I'd been anticipating dinner

I'd been anticipating dinner at the Irish House for more than a week. It's an Irish pub in Shimbashi with all the right beers and a wonderful menu of potato-based foods. Potato bread, champ (mashed potatoes with bacon), stew. Mouthwatering just to think about it.

Think about it is all I can do now. We hadn't been there in a long time. As we flipped through the newly designed menu, we discovered there were no Irish foods! No champ, no mushroom bread, no stew. The bartender confirmed it; "Japanese tastes, well....Irish food wasn't so popular"

I looked around and realised that there weren't as many Irish nationals in the place as there used to be. We ordered pints of Guinness and some appetizers--ravioli with yogurt sauce, shiitake garlic toast, and a mini plate of fish and chips. It just wasn't the same, so we ate quickly and left.

Tonight, I will have to make mashed potatoes for dinner.

Diagnosis: migraine. After four

Diagnosis: migraine.

After four months of tests and appointments, my doctor has pronounced that my headaches will not kill me or cripple me and that since they don't stop me from doing what I need to do, I should just learn to live with them.

"Take two aspirin and call me in the morning..."

The interior of Zakuro,

The interior of Zakuro, an Iranian restaurant near Nishi Nippori, is completely covered in carpets--stacks of Persian carpets fill an alcove; a thick layer of them blankets the floor. Even the walls sport carpets worked with figures of women and tigers.

Iranian foods are similar to other Middle Eastern cuisines but with several different spices, including a flaky, bitter, burgundy powder for grilled meat. I couldn't identify it beyond perhaps the dried skin of a fruit. Curried and stewed dishes, basmati rice, flatbread, nuts and pickles rounded out our meal.

But the experience to remember was fruit flavored tabacco in hooka pipes. I tried it and enjoyed the sweet apple scented smoke. Tod had cherry tobacco which was also delicious. The headache and sore throat afterwards (I'm not a smoker) wasn't so fun, but the initial experience was memorable.

Three cheers for Tod

Three cheers for Tod and his astonishing Internet knowledge.

For about a month, I've been having weird Internet problems. I first noticed them around the time of the terrorist attacks and I chalked it up to extra-heavy Net use. But as the Net returned to normal, my problems continued.

Tod spent the day researching IP arcana and eventually found the answer. As it turns out, it was a conflict between settings on our home network and our ISP's specialty equipment. Changing a single setting from 1492 to 1454 fixed everything.

Hip, hip hooray! Hip, hip hooray! Hip, hip hooray!

Tokyo Transportation Series Family

Tokyo Transportation Series

Family with Babycar, Ueno Zoo. 3:10 pm

The Count Basie Orchestra

The Count Basie Orchestra played to 1800 people at the Bunkyo Civic Hall last night. It was a fantastic show. The band was so "on" that it was like listening to a recording. They've been playing together a long time and they seemed to have fun doing it: lots of banter between the drummer and bassist; smiles from the brass players; general goofiness between songs.

I wonder what it's like to be a musician in front of a Japanese audience.

The Japanese audience (in the entire audience, we spotted 6 foreigners including us) applauded enthusiastically at all the right places, but nobody shouted, whooped or whistled. I tapped my toes until I was almost dancing in my seat, but the woman to my right was in better control of herself. She tapped a tiny bit, once or twice.

Most astonishing was the rhythmic clapping. In the US, when the band gets the audience clapping in time with the music, it breaks down after a dozen bars or so as people get tired or start missing the beat. Here, it lasted through the entire song. Even after everyone applauded the soloist, they returned to clapping a 2-4 beat.

How is it possible

How is it possible that in a country where clothes don't fit me, I've accumulated so many over the past three years?

I cleaned out my closet--really cleaned it out--and got rid of three 70 litre ("lawn & leaf" sized) trash bags of worn, torn & stained clothing. Some of the discards were from Tod's wardrobe, but even so, three bags seems like an awful lot to come out of one closet. And I still have more than enough clothes to wear.

Maybe I should go be merciless with my shoes, too.

At the end of

At the end of the day, tired & hungry, we often opt for whatever food is easy and quick either at home or in a familiar neighborhood restaurant. We avoid the more challenging experiences like seeking out new restaurants of questionable character--the izzakaya beer pubs, the little yakitori shops presided over by a middle aged Mama-san. They look interesting, but...

The trouble is that sometimes they always seem full of regular customers who maybe aren't too comfortable with strangers--especially foreigners. Even though Tod speaks passable Japanese and I limp along, we are not the easiest people to talk to.

But every time we screw up our courage and go into one, we walk away wondering why we hadn't tried it before. Last night we stopped into a yakitori places that I've been wanting to try for almost a year.

And it was a great experience. The owner greeted us warmly and after asking a few questions, engaged the other customers in our lives by repeating back exactly what we had told her even though they certainly must have overheard since they were sitting within a foot of us. "These customers live in Nishikata. They have lived in Tokyo for three years. Aren't they skillful with their chopsticks?" That brought others into the conversation and we managed to chat for about half an hour with a man and his wife on topics other than our chopstick skill.

Tokyo Transportation Series Rowers

Tokyo Transportation Series

Rowers on Shinobazu Pond, Ueno Park. 2:40 pm

The neighbor's new puppy

The neighbor's new puppy woke me up this morning. In truth, he woke me throughout the night. The poor thing has been outside barking since yesterday afternoon. Nobody slept well last night.

Barking dogs are quite unusual in Tokyo, though there are plenty of dogs. I guess they must be trained to stay quiet and that's good since houses are so packed in that a dog barking nearby sounds like it's in your living room.

I'll bet that the puppy's owners get the cold shoulder from the neighborhood for a while. Maybe that will encourage them to send their dog to obedience school.

Two days in a

Two days in a row I've been to some of Tokyo's atypical spaces. Yesterday it was Daiba, an island of shopping malls and entertainment complexes. The day before it was the convention center, actually east of Tokyo in Chiba Prefecture. It is another planned complex with hotels, office buildings, and the convention center halls.

Both of these places seem foreign--their vastness seems American. Yet of course they are Japanese. Modern Japan continually rebuilds itself using whatever adaptation of international style is practical and attractive.

The Tokyo I'm used to, the one I love, is cramped, crowded and run down. It's full of neon, workers shouting greetings and people stopping in the middle of the street to make a phone call. Not practical or attractive at all. But charming and captivating in its way.

Maybe Daiba and the convention center on the outskirts of the city, are the vanguard of future inner city planning. I hope not.

The "soft unchi" character

The "soft unchi" character seemed to be a big hit at the Game Show yesterday.

The demo of Graffiti Kingdom was playing on a huge video screen in the exhibition hall. As dozens of onlookers gawked, what looked like a blob of dark brown soft-serve ice cream appeared.

Except dark brown soft-serve is the anime iconification of poop (unchi in Japanese). It's very cute and popular, too. I've seen teenage girls with "soft unchi" keychains.

As the demo voiceover intoned "Is it soft unchi? No, it's an ice cream cone!" the cone came into view and the dessert came to life with facial features and limbs.

Needless to say, chocolate is not a popular ice cream flavor in Japan.

Today I'm off to

Today I'm off to cover the Tokyo Game Show Autumn 2001. 53 vendors will exhibit hundreds of new video games and related products.

Doors open at 9 am for the press. The hardcore gaming magazines are already on site, writing articles out of their press kits. The Gamespot website has articles online that were updated at 7:30 this morning.

Not being quite so hardcore, I will arrive in time to watch the flood of people coming in for the public opening at 1:00. I'm dragging two friends/gaming fiends along to provide some much needed perspective and extra energy for game playing.

It's bath weather. Now

It's bath weather.

Now that the temperature is dropping and nights are chilly, the bath calls to me. Nothing is more relaxing than sitting in a tub full of hot, hot water scented with hinoki (Japanese cedar) or yuzu (a citrus fruit).

Our bath employs sophisticated technology. The press of a button fills it to the desired level and temperature. It keeps itself warm for a while, then turns itself off to save energy. You can easily reheat the water without refilling the bath by pressing the button marked 'atsuku".

Since we follow the Japanese habit of getting into the bath only after washing off, the water stays clean and we can share a single tub. In fact, the bath I drew last night was Tod's this morning and I will pop into it again, too, before draining it this morning.

I broke my thermometer.

I broke my thermometer. I was shaking it down and cracked it against my foot (don't think too hard about how the thermometer and my foot managed to collide, ok?). Glass everywhere, and little balls of mercury, too.

Its replacement has a feature that ensures I can't repeat that disaster. The thermometer case is a long plastic tube with a screw-on cap. A cord slips through about a third of the way down its length. By twisting the cord tight and then pulling hard, the case spins and cetrifgual force will push the mercury down.

Very clever and much safer...as long as the cap's in place and the cord doesn't break.

Should anyone be fooled

Should anyone be fooled into thinking that I am an IT expert (as described in a recent article about DigitalEve Japan in the Daily Yomiuri, Bringing Women into IT), think again. I can't program my way out of a paper bag.

Even simple tasks confound me. I just tried to change a font in a PHP script and broke the entire thing. "Parse error on line 69" isn't giving me the clue I need to fix the problem I created. Fortunately, I have been using our version control system, so I can undo my changes.

P.S. To get out of a paper bag, it's best to use a knife. Programming doesn't have quite the right edge.

Today is Health Sports

Today is Health Sports Day, a national holiday to commemorate the opening of the 1964 Olympics in Tokyo.

Those Olympic games put Japan back on the world stage after WWII and the government made a big splash to show off. A huge amount of city planning and construction took place beforehand: the city highway system, Shinkansen, and many stadia still stand as testament to the growth spurt. Part of the Olympic village in Omotesando is used as a series of shops and galleries, but there are constant threats to pull down those charming but dilapidated old buildings.

Japanese holidays are pretty mellow. The Emperor or Prime Minister will visit a stadium, make a speech or play a round of golf in public to mark the day. Everyone else just enjoys a long weekend. In fact, Health Sports Day used to fall on the actual anniversary of the opening ceremony, 10 October, but recent changes in the laws rescheduled it for the second Monday.

I never thought I'd

I never thought I'd see the day when all of the computers in my house were in active use. But yesterday, a team of four volunteer translators (Reiko, Kaori, Shino, & Nagusa) came over to work on the DigitalEve Japan website and every computer that could be used was.

I pressed two of my old machines into service, plus the two I normally work on. Lil edited English text on Tod's PC laptop. Tod sat at his usual place, somewhat stunned by the number of people in our office space. And me? I didn't have a computer to use, so I poured drinks, took pictures and offered limited help with translation.

Yesterday, my art was

Yesterday, my art was not neglected.

Erin, who designed the graphics and layout for DigitalEve Japan's new website, came over to visit after an extended holiday in Greece. She and I fell into our designing habits and played together for six hours reworking the front page of the DEJ site so that it better matches the look of the rest of the content.

We laughed as we made suggestions simultaneously. A stereo outcry of "Polka dots!" had us staring at one another. Like any good collaborative effort, it was chance for us both to learn and to gt a fresh perspective. What we created is nothing like what either of us would have done alone.

"If you neglect your

"If you neglect your art for one day, it will neglect you for two" is a Chinese proverb that's been dogging me.

A shopping trip with a friend turned into an exploration of galleries in Yanaka an old-fashioned neighborhood in Taito-ku. By accident and good fortune we met Jim Hathaway who paints sumi-e, traditional Japanese ink painting. He's lived in Japan for twelve years and after we had viewed his work, he invited us to stop for a cup of tea. Jim's down-to-earth and I really enjoyed hearing about the art community of Yanaka. It's much more vibrant than I'd ever guessed.

Seeing all of the art at Jim's and other galleries makes me realise how long I've been neglecting my art. I want to drag out my printmaking tools and carve some blocks. But I have too many computer-based projects going on right now. Maybe next week...

Whump. pause. Whump. pause.

Whump. pause. Whump. pause. Whump. Godzilla is romping through our neighborhood this morning.

When I was making coffee at 8:10 this morning, a woman outside the house signaled an unseen companion "5-5-5-5" with a flash of her hands.

The thumping began 20 minutes later. Emergency vehicle sirens started screaming down the main thoroughfare about 15 minutes after that. Now it's 9 and the noise continues but thus far Godzilla (who sounds like someone thumping a very large metal bin) seems to be walking in place a few blocks away from here. I hope he heads in the other direction.

Tokyo Transportation Series Well-marked

Tokyo Transportation Series

Well-marked intersection in Bunkyo-ku
4:12 pm

In the days immediately

In the days immediately after September 11th, the local news reported that quantities (varying from 6 to 29) of people with links to bin Laden slipped through Immigration and entered Japan.

Since then, there's been no news of them. In Germany and the UK there are reports of detentions, questionings, and arrests of suspects or suspicious persons. But here...nothing. Where did those 6 - 29 people go once they arrived here? Are they plotting some insanity or are they innocently climbing Mt. Fuji?

A quote vaguely attributed to "an Irish journalist" claims that there is a "29 year old Japanese woman named Masumi" in the bin Laden organization. The quote was published in the Shukan Shincho, a somewhat-reputable weekly tabloid.

Are the police (Japan has no FBI or CIA, only a police force) looking for these people? If so, they are doing it very quietly.

What's your poison? Today

What's your poison? Today could be your day.

October 1st is Coffee Day, and it's Sake Day, too. The national associations of these two beverages claim this day to celebrate their products.

On Coffee Day I'm enjoying a steaming mug of coffee made with Doutor espresso beans. These beans make bad espresso, but good strong coffee. If I had known today was a coffee celebration, I'd have saved some of the home-roasted Sumatran that my friend Brendan gave me but I finished it on Saturday morning.

Today is also Sake Day, as enforced by the 19th century law that sake production begin on October 1st. I have no plans to brew my own, but perhaps I will indulge in a glass at dinner tonight.

If you are ever

If you are ever in the business of setting up a non-profit organization in Japan, here are four ways to do it:

1. Apply to become an NPO. This is the legal, formal way of going about it. You petition the appropriate government ministry and after about a year, they give you a retiring executive who "works" for you for a few hours a day and takes a big salary.

2. Incorporate in the US then open a branch office in Japan. This is not as challenging as it seems despite the fact that it has two nations and two tax authorities involved.

3. Start a normal corporation and run it without a profit. This is perfect for the first three years but then you get audited. Start up costs: $30,000 paid-in capital and about $3,000 in filing fees.

4. Write up a document that says you're a non-profit organization. Sign it. Done. Unfortunately groups of this sort have no legal standing whatsoever and some banks and businesses will not work with them.
   

Autumn brings out the

Autumn brings out the creativity in people. These men stripped off all their clothing (except for a tiny strip of loincloth), shaved their heads, painted their lithe bodies white, and danced a slow and twisting modern dance. A small band of musicians accompanied them.

This is not the sort of performance art you would see in the US. Anyone this unclothed would be arrested for public indeceny. But here, well...a policeman rode by on his bicycle and checked his watch. Maybe public performers have a time limit.

The performance was the sort that makes me wonder "What are they trying to say?" My interpretation: ghosts move slowly and sometimes fall down in agony. Despite the autumn weather, I wasn't feeling very creative that afternoon.

OK, enough of being

OK, enough of being a nabob of negativity. Here are three good things that have happened this week:

The Tuesday night DigitalEve steering committee meeting was extremely productive. We mapped out our long range goals for the next five years. 1,000 members, here we come!

Last night's Women in IT panel discussion, which I moderated, was a big success. The five panelists presented the state of women in the IT field in Japan. It wasn't an entirely positive message, but it held hope for improvement. The audience was interested and much larger than I expected. There were members of the press attending; I think this was a PR coup for DigitalEve.

An unexpected e-mail made me smile. Cynthia was my boss and my friend when I lived in Pittsburgh but our bad habits and busy lives keep us from corresponding regularly. Hearing from her makes me feel "natsukashii" (nostalgic).

I'm waiting for the

I'm waiting for the third shoe to fall. You know how they say bad things always come in threes. Well, I've had two this week and no doubt #3 is on its way.

First, my cat died. Eliot, who has lived with my parents since I moved abroad, was 16. I used to swear he was really an enchanted human cursed to wear a cat body. It may be overly sentimental to call an animal a friend, but El surely was a personable, faithful companion to everyone who loved him.

Second, I was told I have thyroid tumors. Yesterday I had a biopsy and although the tumors are unlikely to be malignant, these two little lumps in my neck simply do not belong there. I'll have to monitor them indefinitely; the doctor said I require two biopsies a year but I intend to bargain him down to once a year and then "forget" to schedule my appointment on alternate years. Needle biopsies are unpleasant.

Third,...? I have my fingers crossed to ward off anything truly devastating. You might want to cross yours, too.

Tokyo Transportation SeriesDerelict Bicycles

Tokyo Transportation Series

Derelict Bicycles tagged for removal. 2:18 pm

I don't often post

I don't often post lists of links, but I've been enjoying the webpages of friends & family recently. Want to meet some of the people who influence me?

• Jennifer Kaucher. My sister and a poet. She updates her weblog daily.
• Team Perot Systems Japan. Three colleagues who are biking from Seoul to Osaka this week to raise money for the Children's Cancer Association of Japan.
• Grandfather Philip. My father's showcase of stained glass windows and doors.
• Ben Gertzfield. A newcomer to Japan and a new friend.
• Arsenic. Run by an old friend in Erie, PA who is now having a baby.
• Seth & Tara Immell. They travelled around the world for a year and have the pictures to prove it.

My house is full

My house is full of unnecessary junk and I can't stand seeing the clutter any longer. I hate cringing when I open up my full-to-overflowing closets. Now is the time for a big dumptruck. I'm tossing it all. I don't care if it wastes money or if I ditch stuff that has sentimental value.

It's amazing the things I keep. Do I really need the half-empty can of spray snow? I suppose I might use it someday, but probably not. How about the gift of chinese tea that sat unopened in a closet for two years? I am being unrealistic by keeping a dress that looks great if I lose a pound or two.

Bye bye material goods!

Today is the autumnal

Today is the autumnal equinox and everyone is in a festive mood. Yesterday children pulled minature shrines through the streets. Today, we've got a neighborhood rummage sale going on, a kids' bazaar.

Most of the items were children's clothing and toys but a few enterprising moms had snuck in some household goods. A woman called to me as I passed by her booth. She pointed at some magazines--old issues of Bon Appetit in English. Surely these must be what I was looking for?

As it turned out, they were. For a hundred yen, I couldn't refuse and she threw in a matching set of "Year of the Snake" tea cups. I'm not sure I'll use the cups, but the little girl who was trying to sell them looked very happy when I took them.

I was suckered in at another booth by a rather worn set of lacquered food boxes. Red inside, matte gold on the outside worked with a 1970s style motif of shiny gold and red flowering branches, the three layers fit inside a lazy susan stand with a handle. Truly, you would be hard pressed to imagine anything less tasteful but they are kitchy classic and 100 yen is a bargain compared to the 10,000 yen price tags on new lacquered bento boxes.

Our neighborhood hums like

Our neighborhood hums like an air conditioner.

Maybe it's the ever-present trickle of water in the storm drains, or the distant traffic from the main road nearby, but I've been fooled twice in the past twelve hours.

The shades in the dining room window were dancing during dinner. I heard the aircon, but the fins weren't open to distribute the breeze. The power button was switched to off. Tod had to tell me that he opened the window before I understood.

This morning I heard the buzzing aircon as I lazed in bed but the breeze was coming from the wrong side of the room. Tod had opened a window to Nature's chilly night air.

Japan really, really wants

Japan really, really wants to be a leader in the field of IT. They have a vague, lofty goal of being "the most advanced IT nation in the world." Whatever that means.

The government is implementing policies to improve infrastructure and education. And they are sponsoring INPAKU Internet Fair 2001 but it is completely inscrutable to me. I think it's supposed to be like a World's Fair, but online.

A series of funny ads for the newly opened .jp namespace made me laugh. Apparently, changing .co.jp to just .jp makes it easier to have a homepage and easier to remember. Listen to these realAudio files from the radio campaign: "If I had my own homepage, I could show off my bonsai tree to the whole world." "I remember the name of the campaign, but I'll never remember the long web address."

A few weeks back,

A few weeks back, we were waiting for a friend at Myogadani station. She was late and we had time to examine the bronze relief map of the station. It showed the layout of the exterior and interior, marking all of the key points: ticket vending machines, wickets, stairs, toilets. Everything was labelled in Braille and Japanese and popular spots were worn to a shine.

I closed my eyes and ran fingers along the stairs and other prominant features, but I'm hopeless. Even when I know what I'm touching, my fingers are insensate. If I were blind, I think I'd spend a lot of time tripping and falling down.

For the touch-impaired, the map features a talking legend. When you press the button for "toilet", it tells you (in an embarrassingly loud, clear voice) how to get there: thru the wickets, then straight ahead about 10 meters. Ticket machines: behind you about four meters away.

In times of uncertainty,

In times of uncertainty, there's nothing like an earthquake to keep you on your toes. Or in my case, in bed with my head under the covers.

The one that shook Tokyo at 4:30 this morning was a 4.4 with an epicenter in Tokyo Bay. It was strong enough to rattle windows and to wake me up. The house shook for about 30 seconds. No damage done and I fell back asleep within minutes just a little more shaken than before the earthquake.

The dreams have started.

The dreams have started. The first few nights after the terrorist attack held blissful, dreamless sleep. Last night, current events crept in.

But the dreams weren't nightmares, exactly. In one dream, I was training as a spy. Part of the course was learning to compose coded messages in poetry while swimming. In another dream, there was a relief benefit concert. The Bee Gees were on stage.

I woke briefly then, as Tod came to bed. "Why are the Bee Gees playing a benefit concert in my dream?" I mumbled to him. His answer was succinct. "Stayin' Alive."

"Gyo-zaaaaa! Gyo-ooOOoo-za!" I love

"Gyo-zaaaaa! Gyo-ooOOoo-za!"

I love the food vendors who cruise the streets of Tokyo. The gyoza truck, with its delicious menu of potstickers, began making the rounds of our neightborhood this week. I smile when I see the little white van with its traditional red paper lanterns hanging from the open hatch in the back of the van. Inside the van, the gyoza man is decked out in a white paper hat and a white apron as he fries gyoza on a hot grill. The menu is limited to a few kinds of gyoza--pork, vegetable, burdock, and curry--and everything costs 500 yen per dozen.

You can't miss the food vendors as they drive around town. Like Good Humor trucks in the US, these kitchens on wheels announce themselves loudly. The gyoza truck's pre-recorded chant has the tone and rhythm of a Edo-era hawker and it sings (literally) the praises of gyoza. Oishiiiiii gyoooOO-zaaaaaaa.

I tried to find

I tried to find something else to write about today but there really isn't anything else being reported. So here's an update on the Japanese perspective:

• Japan offered to send a 90-person team of police, firefighters and medical personnel to assist in the rescue, but they were told they weren't needed.
• All airmail to the US has been cancelled until further notice, as flights are simply not leaving Japan for any US destinations.
• Former President Clinton cancelled his Sapporo speaking engagement scheduled for next week.
• US military bases spent a day on Delta alert, checking everyone for bombs and threats, but have stepped down to Charlie level today.
• The US Embassy reopened for business as usual yesterday morning.
• Economic pundits fear that the attacks on the US will plunge Japan into a recession and harm US-Japan trade.
• The Nikkei average plunged 680 points on Wednesday to close under 10,000 for the first time in 17 years.

Yesterday, Tokyoites were grim

Yesterday, Tokyoites were grim as news poured in from the US. The first question from everyone I saw yesterday was "Your family and friends are safe?" It was a relief to be able to answer 'Yes." As far as I know, everyone I know has escaped harm.

Mobile news vans were parked in the financial district, reporting from the headquarters of major banks. Hundreds of Japanese citizens worked in the World Trade Center at Japanese branch offices. As of this morning, most had been accounted for, but there were still 17 missing. The news stations show graphics of the buildings marking the floors they worked on and list each name along with the person's name, age, and in some cases photos.

During the Gulf War,

During the Gulf War, I was part of an IRC-based news network. Dozens of us each took a radio station, TV station or other source and parroted back what they were reporting. People from all over the world participated, sharing news as it was reported.

I never thought I'd be doing this again but when I learned of the US terrorism just minutes after it happened, I started a new channel on IRC (irc.undernet.net, #moderated_news) and invited people to join me in reporting. There are over 100 people typing and reading news from around the world.

Food for thought today.

Food for thought today. Why does the Japanese government say nothing is wrong when Japan's first case of mad cow disease has been found?

Last month, a cow in Chiba Prefecture mysteriously fell over and could not stand again. It was slaughtered and sent for testing. Results were positive for BSE, mad cow disease.

Mad cow (BSE) is infectious. Cows get it by eating feed made with bone meal. Humans get it by eating infected cows. The incubation period for mad cow is two to eight years and it is always fatal.

But despite this first confirmed case, the government denies that there is a problem. In June, they supressed a report published by the UN saying that Japan is at high risk for an outbreak because of the sort of feed they use. Apparently, the farm ministry began testing for BSE in April. They know something's going on but their communication with the public is disingenuous. What are they hiding?

No more beef or milk for me, thank you.

The weather outside is

The weather outside is frightful. The air is heavy with humidity and heat. Typhoon 15 is heading towards Tokyo, so far only a steady rain without any wind.

Today is a good day to stay inside but my schedule isn't going to allow me to do that--I have things to do! So I will grab an umbrella and hope that the typhoon doesn't kick up too much wind or stop the trains.

As we conclude Disaster

As we conclude Disaster Preparedness Week, our neighborhood supply shed has been cleaned out. In every train station, disaster maps are posted that show evacuation areas. Our first refuge is across the street in the tiny play park. From there we and the neighbors proceded to the large botanical garden if necessary.

A team of men and a big flatbed truck appeared at the local park in the morning. They opened the shed and took out a large assortment of things: a red and yellow striped beach umbrella, wooden planks, folding trestles, trash bins, rice making equipment, bamboo screens, large signs, boxes of miscellaneous supplies. It all looked a bit derelict and not at all as I expected.

Why did I imagine that disaster supplies would be tidy, futuristic packages? Most of what I saw come from the shed wasn't even wrapped to keep the dust out. One of the older men sprayed around the edges of the shed with a fumigant. No doubt this man is our neighborhood disaster representative and I will I read about him in the next issue of Nishikata Dayori.

By the time I returned from running errands, the shed was repacked and the truck loaded with refuse. The men were moving one final item onto the truck--a stair-stepper exercise machine. I guess that's not too handy in a disaster.

Mom always said pretty

Mom always said pretty on the inside is pretty on the outside. So now I know that she was right. Everything inside me is normal, my doctor tells me. And that's good news.

But look at me revealed by magnets and radio waves--what a horrifying mug with those googly eyeballs! I'm ready for Haloween any time.

The MRI image in the middle above reveals a miniature, snow-capped Mt. Fuji tucked into the center of my head (perched on top of an egg and waiting to explode, I think).

Over on the right that big white circle is my brain stem and my nose is pointing to the top of the image. Look carefully to see my ears and a shoulder, too.

The pictures on the left are from an MR angiogram and show my blood vessels. Those big white lines down the back of my neck are veins. The little white spot (just below the H which stands for 'head') is the main plughole where all the blood is collected and sent down into the veins to return to the heart.

The lower picture is a closeup of more veins. What a complicated tangle. Obviously, kittens have been running amok in there. Or maybe I'm really a 1973 SuperBeetle...I think this looks like the wiring diagram from "How to Keep Your Volkswagen Alive." Which one connects to the lights?

Check out the unusual spelling of my name: kurisutenn makuuirinn. Romanized katakana loses something in the translation. No wonder everybody in the hospital just calls me "Kristen."

Another autumn treat--wonderful menus

Another autumn treat--wonderful menus of fall foods. Kushikyu, our local pub, held a Kinoko Matsuri (mushroom festival) yesterday. We ate seven different mushrooms prepared as kushiyaki (skewered and grilled).

I'd never eaten so many different kinds at once and it was a great opportunity to compare flavors. Earthy shiitake and woody maitake are my favorites. Thin, white enoki are too stringy and they taste like fruit juice; Tod loves them, but I'll pass. Shimeji have a slight wine vinegar flavor that doesn't stand well alone but blends nicely in simmered dishes. Matsutake are extremely expensive--running 800 - 2,000 yen for a pair of Snickers-sized specimens. They taste like butter, but they are tough and fibrous. White button mushrooms (just called "mushroom" here, since all the others have specific names) are really juicy and very mild in flavor.

Last night I heard

Last night I heard crickets chirping and realised that autumn is upon us. The late-summer hum of cicadas is over. Where did they go? They must have vanished during the rain.

The whole world feels a little bit cooler as the crickets' syncopated beat breaks up the silence.

I must be the

I must be the only busybody in the neighborhood. Or maybe I'm the only one at home during the day.

Yesterday afternoon, two cars collided at the intersection outside our house. Hearing the thump and crunch of metal, I leaped from my desk and threw open the window. A man was stepping from his crumpled red Lexus. On the other side of the street, a white car ejected a tall man in a tan suit. I craned my neck and called down to make sure everyone was OK, but they ignored me.

Within moments, cellphones were deployed as they reported the accident to the police, insurance companies and families. About twenty minutes later, the local policeman arrived by bicycle. He took their statements while I peeped.

Surely someone else watched this little drama. I guess I'm the only one who is obvious about it.

The weekly classified in

The weekly classified in Tokyo are often strange. In addition to the lonely hearts ads, the transient foreign population has an abundance of sayonara sales to sell off everything in an apartment before moving from Japan, and plenty of individual appliances, computers and furniture for sale.

But most interesting ads are in the Help Wanted section. It's not what you might expect:

Anyone pursuing art? My wall is still all white so I need someone's beautiful drawing, like beautiful oceans, maybe?

Chilean man seeks magazines with Madonna on the cover. I want to trade for collectibles.

Maria Yumeno. She is an actress and a model. If somebody knows how to meet her, please tell me because I am really interested.

Ah, I didn't win

Ah, I didn't win in the Kamo-Mail lottery. Kamo-Mail is a summer greeting postcard sold by the post office and sent mainly by business to their customers. We received one from Inoue-san, our realtor.

The postcard is imprinted with a 6 digit number and yesterday (lottery day, remember?) the winning numbers were announced. Very cleverly, they announce one 5 digit number, four 4 digit numbers, and two 2 digit ones which is an easy way to get multiple prize winners without having to draw thousands of numbers.

What are the prizes? For the 5 digit winners, there's a digital camera, a handheld TV, a personal organizer. Other winners get post office gift certificates or commemorative stamp sets.

But not me. 256019 was not a winner. However, i do have a pretty postcard and something to write about today. :-)

Shinano, a new restaurant

Shinano, a new restaurant near Kasuga station, serves the best tonkatsu in the neighborhood.

Brightly lit and freshly decorated with traditional tables in blonde wood and hanging lamps with white washi shades, the focus of this eatery is the quality of their meat.

Tokatsu is crispy breaded, deep fried pork cutlet. Shinano starts off with a base of tenderised pork--I heard the chef pounding tomorrow's servings as we ate a late dinner--and adds a perfect breading. The outside is flaky, light and fried to a crisp golden brown. Inside, the pork was buttery in texture with no extra fat and not a bit of sinew or gristle. Chewing optional.

Spicy Chinese mustard or a thick worchestershire-based barbecue sauce adds extra flavor. Traditional side dishes accompanied the filet katsu dinner: steamed white rice; a pile of shrededed raw cabbage; brine-pickled cabbage, cucumbers and eggplant; and a rich miso soup with tofu, mushrooms and mistuba.

"Dorobou-mawari," Oyama-sensei said as

"Dorobou-mawari," Oyama-sensei said as she gestured with an anti-clockwise motion. We were going to take turns answering our homework questions. But the term dorobou-mawari confused us, despite the gesture. We know both words: 'robber' & 'going around' but why did she say that? Oyama-sensei explained.

"Back when people wore kimono, they tucked their wallets in the fold above their sash where the kimono overlapped. Robbers could easily slide a hand in to pick this "pocket" if they approached from the correct direction."

We continued with our class from there, but I'm still not clear. Kimono are worn left over right, making an opening on the right. If dorobou-mawari is anti-clockwise, then the robber would come from the left and not reach the wallet...

Add another volunteer project

Add another volunteer project to my To Do list.

Yanesen Magazine is a neighborhood publication that focuses on the historical aspects of the old shitamachi area in Bunkyo-ku. They have published in Japanese since 1984 and produced a scant few issues in English.

I have a copy of the 1992 English edtion of Yanesen (loaned by a friend in 1999 and still not returned) that I treasure for its hand drawn map of local points of interest and its articles on local arcana that commerical magazines would never think to print.

Earlier this month, a Sendagi neighbor, who introduced herself after reading this weblog, invited me to write for the upcoming Yanesen English edition. Of course I said yes. The details for the issue are being ironed out now and I am looking forward to being involved.

When it's done, I will return the cherished 1992 edition along with interest--a copy of the latest edition.

Japanese medical insurance system

Japanese medical insurance system is government-funded. I'm finally getting to use my taxes!

I pay 30% of the cost; tax money covers the rest. In the quest to figure out my headaches, I've had an MRI, an MR angiogram, an eye exam, and two consultations with my doctor. My cash outlay to date is only 19,500 yen (about $156). Good value for services rendered.

I enjoy paying the hospital. When my appointment is over, I approach a bank of squat machines that look a little bit like ATMs. I slot my pale green hospital ID card into the machine and it tells me how much I owe. I feed in my money and receive a printed receipt. How modern!

When we first came

When we first came to Japan five years ago, I thought that Japan's crime was quaint and retro, a restrospective of 1950s America: people with knives robbing stores; domestic violence; bribery; extortion; government scandals and coverups.

But now it all seems terrible and truly violent. 8 children slaughtered at a school in Ikeda, a girl held captive for 11 years, a family of four stabbed to death in their home, a hostage held at knifepoint. Plus the neverending bribery, extortion and scandal. Crime reports seem more frequent and too often have grimmer endings.

What's changed? Is Japan entering a period of rage? Or have I become more aware of what's been around me all along?

We are almost out

We are almost out of coffee.

Normal people would just run to the grocery store and buy some more. But we have to have whole beans, dark-roasted and oily. Our grocery store doesn't carry these, so we purchase our coffee at a coffeeshop. A coffeeshop which is never open when we need more coffee.

Tod rummaged around in the cabinet and found an emergency ration, actually some very fine beans we'd negelected. When I ground them this morning, they smelled like dry leaves.

Adam lives in a

Adam lives in a swanky bachelor pad.

On the outside, the decor is industrial--all concrete and metal with lighted pipeworks exposed behind glass doors. The interior architecture is minimalist with white, silver and dark grey the only colors. Adam selected individual pieces of interesting furniture and smart artworks. Excepting his books, everything fits the cool, white theme.

It's beautiful and tasteful, but to be honest it's pretty sterile.

But I realised the value of the space and its decor last night. I was delighted to see partygoers in riotous colors filling the rooms and even climbing the roof to sit and dangle legs onto the revellers below.

A simple, white room makes a perfect background for people.

[OK, one final post

[OK, one final post about wireless networks and then it's back to the humanities.]

Years ago, I wondered what the world would look like if radio and TV waves were visible--beams of colored light, say, or threads showing the path from their source. Radio and tv bathe us in invisible sound and images but we don't think about them because we can't see them.

But now we've glimpsed them and our neighborhood will never look the same.

We just wanted to see if we could reach our own network from the park nearby (we can, barely) but as we left, we caught another network in our scanner. Surprised, we decided to "war walk" up and down the street a bit and found half a dozen wireless networks: DEPB500, ant1, AirportNetworking227766, airmac, AirportNetworking 231e45, & kikuna.

It's good to know the neighbors, even if they appear only as a green dot on a graph.

Lately, we've been reading

Lately, we've been reading about "war driving" (more at The Register) and other methods of finding unsecured wireless networks. It's interesting to us for two reasons:

1. We have a wireless network card in our laptop;
2. Japan uses the same wireless standard as the US, but different channels.

So we wondered if our US-sourced wireless equipment would find Japanese wireless networks. Last night, we had dinner at a British pub near Tod's office and tested it out. The pub is next door to an Internet cafe, and sure enough we found not one, but three unsecured wireless networks.

Yesterday, the "big, black

Yesterday, the "big, black noise trucks" were out in full force.

The extremist political groups own huge black, windowless boxes on wheels. On top is a railed platform for speeches and the entire thing is rigged with powerful speakers. Painted with Japanese flags and slogans condemning foreigners, non-patriotic Japanese, Russian island-snatchers or other brands of political skullduggery, they are intimidating.

They travel around town slowly, blaring the Japanese national anthem (only recently officially recognised) and shouting slogans from the belly of the beast. They disrupt office workers in Otemachi regularly and sometimes cruise through residential neighborhoods.

Yesterday, I think they parked somewhere nearby and held a rally. For over an hour, waves of angry call-and-response washed through the canyon of buildings in my neighborhood. The words were indistinct, but the emotion came through loud and clear. It was scary. I stayed inside.

No doubt they are terrorising some other neighborhood today.

NTT Kanto Medical Center

NTT Kanto Medical Center is cutting edge and when I went there last month, I didn't think it was at all strange to be visiting a hospital owned by a telephone company (NTT is Nippon Telephone & Telegraph, Japan's Bell Telephone). It didn't even cross my mind.

But when a friend described his recent problems with midwest US telephone provider Ameritech (crossing phone lines, no response to service requests, untrained workers), I wondered what I would do if I were visiting "Ameritech General Hospital." Turn tail and run, I think.

So when I went back to the NTT hospital yesterday, I observed carefully. Except for the payphones on every floor and the logo on the signs, there was no evidence of telco ownership. Operations were very efficient and I was even seen before my appointed time. Not a single crossed wire.

Typhoon 11. Phooey. Why

Typhoon 11. Phooey. Why won't Japan anthropomorphise major storms like everyone else? I want to see Typhoon Ichiro or Typhoon Mariko.

Throughout most of watery Asia, typhoons have names. The tropical cyclone names lend personality to natural disaster. Ironically, Japan contributed to the "Western North Pacific" names, but they don't use them.

Japan's contributions: Tenbin (balance/scales), Usagi (rabbit), Kanmuri (crown), Koppu (cup), Tokage (lizard), Yagi (goat), Kaziki (marlin), Kuzira (whale), Kompasu (compass), & Washi (paper).

I grudgingly admit that sequential numbering does make it easier to track a series of storms within a given year, and I'll be more suprised to hear about Typhoon 26 ("Wow, so many this year!") than Typhoon Zelda, but you have to admit that numbers aren't nearly as catchy.

The Bunkyo ward newsletter

The Bunkyo ward newsletter arrived today. Tucked inside was an extra sheet, the Nishikata Dayori, that reports all of the local association's activities. Here's a sampling of what's going on in our neighborhood:

"The Nishikata Meeting Hall Reconstruction Team met on July 8th. The names of the team members were introduced in the last issue of Nishikata Dayori."

"The Used Paper Recycle results for July were 12,010 kg (newspapers 9,220 kg; magazines 2,790 kg). Thank you, everyone. The next recyle day is 8/10, as usual, on the second Friday of every month."

There's also a report on the budget of the town festival car (parade float), which is 3,304,700 yen (about $30,000). Donations accepted through 8/31 and thank you to our generous sponsors.

The news concludes with a long list of contact names and telephone numbers in case you want to join the association. It's tempting to join and be part of the local community but my ability to communicate is still so limited that I'm not sure I'd be much use to anyone.

We are experiencing a

We are experiencing a delightful change in the weather--the vanguard of autumn. After a day of leaden clouds and drizzle, today is clear and cooler.

We slept in the path of a cool night breeze and even as I type this now, there is fresh air sweeping over me. I couldn't ask for much more. Except, perhaps, a mug of coffee and another pillow for this lazy Sunday morning.

I tagged along to

I tagged along to the Tokyo Linux Users Group nomikai last night with Tod, mainly because he said our friend Ben would be there. Tod & Ben met on irc a while back and connected in person for the first time on Wednesday. Ben's a total hoot--he's got more energy than any three people and is hyper-intelligent. (He's also 13 years younger than me. Yikes!)

So at the TLUG party, instead of talking to the Linux geeks where my conversation is limited to topical technology subjects instead of source code, I played ChuChu Rocket on Ben's GameBoy Advance and watched Invader Zim on his laptop. It wasn't very sociable but it was more entertaining than listening to Steve on a tirade about xemacs.

ring "Kristen McQuillin" "Moshi

ring

"Kristen McQuillin"
"Moshi moshi..."
"Hello, this is Kristen McQuillin."
"Moshi moshi?"
"Kristen McQuillin."
"Moshi moshi?"
"Ergh. Moshi. Moshi."
"Ah! NTT desu. Ashita ni kimasu." [...]

Starting a telephone conversation is like vocally negotiating a modem connection. "I'm 56K, what are you? I'm 28.8. Well, I'm 56K, can't you speak at 56K?" NTT was not going to even try English with me yesterday. I think I could have kept volleying Hello at them for hours. But they are coming to install coppper for our ADSL line today so I'm not complaining.

The fruit flies read

The fruit flies read yesterday's blog and sent in reinforcements. A platoon of mosquitoes has attacked me and late last night something (maybe a spider) bit Tod on the head and raised a lump the size of a marble.

But I struck back this morning by carrying a whole mess of fruit flies from the battlefield to the curb. Ha!

Tomorrow: "Bold! Brave! Blistering! Poison in a spray can!"

I'm fighting a losing

I'm fighting a losing battle with fruit flies.

Some eggshells left in sink this weekend lured them in. Now, despite cleaning carefully, I can't seem to stop their offensive in my kitchen.

Although they have the upper hand now, I'll rally to a win when the weather changes. I live longer than they do in the cold. Then again, insects rule the earth; in the long run, fruit flies will win.

But not in my kitchen.

You probably won't read

You probably won't read about this in American news. PM Koizumi made a very controversial official visit to Yasukuni Shrine yesterday.

Why is visiting a shrine controversial? In this case, it's because the shrine honors war dead who are interred there, including some infamous war criminals. China and Korea have been protesting this visit for weeks. Upon hearing that it had been accomplished, 20 Korean gangsters cut off their fingers (or so it was reported). These strong emotions stem from Japanese atrocities over fifty years ago.

Koizumi had planned to visit on the 15th, the anniversary of Japan's WWII surrender, but instead slipped in on the 13th. He doesn't seem to wish to upset his neighbor nations, but he certainly has.

How do I spell

How do I spell relief? SHIATSU.

Having a shiatsu massage transforms me. Before the session, I am made of macrame--a serties of knotted muscles. During the massage I am a lump of dough being made into thumbprint cookies. Mizuno-san uses his thumbs to press out all of my aches and pains. He closes his eyes while he works so he can feel what's under his thumb (me!).

After the massage, I am a limp noodle. My knees wobble and I crave water. But I feel good.

Mizuno-san warned me as I left yesterday that I'd hurt today. He was right. All the lactic acid released during the massage is coursing around my body now. Yet another reason not to take holidays--I shouldn't go so long between sessions.

Eastern Japan is experiencing

Eastern Japan is experiencing a drought.

Our exceptionally hot summer followed a very dry rainy season. Although the dams and reservoirs were full six weeks ago, one of the primary reservoirs is down to half its former level. Tokyo has cut its water intake by 10%. They say that this cut won't have any effect on citizens' daily lives (only agriculture and industry will have to cut back) but in 1996, during the last drought, they slowly increased the cuts to 30% and everyone was asked to conserve.

September brings typhoons and plenty of rain, so I hope that we can last out the next few weeks and see the water levels improved soon.

At this time of

At this time of year, mid-August, the city is abandoned. Kids are on summer vacation and families are heading off to visit their parents and relatives in their hometowns.

So many of Tokyo's residents are originally from somewhere else that Obon matsuri, the midsummer festivals to honor the spirits of ancestors, are held a month earlier in the city than in the country. That way everyone can celebrate here and in their hometowns.

The exodus of people means that streets are a little less crowded than usual. Local trains, too. It's not quite as dramatic as the New Year holiday, but the effect is noticable. It's a nice time to be in Tokyo.

While we were in

While we were in China, we learned to play mahjong. We enjoyed it so much that we all bought mahjong sets. Ours came from the Number 9 Department Store in Shanghai, just down the street from our hotel. Seth and Tara bought four sets after scouring the city for just the right ones.

We played in the hotel on the night that Tod wasn't feeling well then again the morning before we flew back to Tokyo. And we had a final game together the night before Seth & Tara left Tokyo. Tod's installed two different mahjong games on the computer and is staying up late at night to practice.

Really good mahjong players move the tiles so quickly they are only barely taking turns. For us, play is pretty slow and careful. I'm sure we'll speed up once we learn the strategy.

The house is quiet

The house is quiet this morning. Our houseguests, Seth & Tara left for America yesterday.

They are repatriating after six years abroad but their experience returning was less than delighful. Rude cabin attendants on the American carrier, two metal detectors at the airport, and no apologies from the staff when no rental cars or hotel rooms were available.

Reverse culture shock is the pits.

Last night as walked

Last night as walked home, Meziane Mejdoud wobbled by on a bicycle and stopped to talk to us.

He's quite a character. Originally from Algeria, he's lived in Japan for twenty years ("vingt ans" is what he said, actually, since we conducted our conversation in English, French and Japanese). He owns a home in Sengoku, just a few kilometers north of us. He's married to a local woman, but he doesn't seem to speak much Japanese.

He was extremely nice, if a bit off balance, and told us that if we ever felt Foreigner's Stress (he voiced it like a tragic disease), we should come visit his home to relax. I've filed his name and phone number in my card file and we'll see if I ever feel stressed enough to take him up on the offer.

Vacations are great. Coming

Vacations are great. Coming home to hundreds of messages, minor crises, and changing deadlines isn't so fun.

OIne of the joys of freelancing is a flexible and lighter workload. But returning from this vacation, I am as swamped with stuff to do as if I were a wage slave. I'm a slave, but no wages. My To Do list is already 10 items long and I haven't made it all the way through the archive of e-mail. I know there will be a few more surprises hiding in there.

So forgive the brevity of today's writing. I have some stuff to take care of. 11...12...

In eleven days we

In eleven days we covered plenty of territory in China: Beijing; Xi'an; Chongqing; Shanghai; and countless places I'd never heard of before. I captured it all in images. 252 slides on film and 181 digital photos, to be precise.

But my favorite snapshot, the one that best sums up my travel experience, isn't one by me. It's one of me (pretty narcissistic, eh?). I was standing at the bow of the ship trying to frame the beauty of the Qutang Gorge when Tara framed me instead. This is how I looked most of the time: eye pressed to lens, mouth squished to one side in concentration, hair unruly.

Beijing is a city

Beijing is a city of fluid movements: tai chi in the shadow of the Temple of Heaven; ballroom dancing in a park; pedestrians sauntering down a shopping arcade. Traffic moves with the moment. On broad avenues bicycles, donkey carts and trolley buses share the raod with taxis and pedestrians. Nobody hurries, especially not the big blue government construction trucks that haul dirt and mysterious loads under tarps.

Private car ownership in Beijing is only 10% but in a city of 13 million, that's still a lot of cars. The air is brown from pollution and walking around on a cloudy morning, before the sun can burn off the haze, induces headaches. It is one extremely unpleasant aspect of Beijing (and Xian, we're discovering this morning) that the government plans to correct before the 2008 Olympics.

Arriving at Wansheng Theater

Arriving at Wansheng Theater was a Neil Stephenson novel come to life.

Our taxi driver pulled up in front of an old, peeling-grey, three story building. Its windows were boarded over and outside the second floor unlit neon letters spelled out "Welcome to our ACROBATICS SHOW" A middle aged man in a dingy polo shirt and sandals waved us around to the back of the building. At the end of the alley, a red neon sign glowed ENTRA CE.

Inside, the William Gibson-inspired setting continued. But it wasn't faked, this is where Gibson & Stephenson get their ideas. Everything was plush but run down. Two attendants showed us to our seats, four boxy armchairs, then served us bottled water and a tiny tray of cookies featuring an Oreo in the center.

The acrobats were delightful. They performed seven or eight acts featuring lithe contortions, balancing objects, spinning plates, winding ribbons. Several times, I had to wonder aloud, "Did she just do what I think she did?" as a woman moved from one improbable position to another by a even less probable route. Her head passed through her hips, I swear...

Maybe Chinese acrobats are Replicants.

We rode three hours

We rode three hours out of Beijing yesterday to see the Great Wall. There are nearer places, but we wanted to see the Simatai section, described as "not touristy" and affording the best views.

On the drive there, we passed through the northeastern suburbs of Beijing. Towards the airport are the lastest developments. First tall, tall highrise apartments owned by the government and inhabited by the "common people" as our driver, Mr. Lee, informed us. A little further along, we started to see billboards for places like Dragon Villas and "Lomond Lake villas: North American Demeanor, rich and strong" detached houses costing from $1,500 - $9,500 US dollars a month for about 500sq meters. (To see some Beijing real estate, visit www.merryland.com.cn ) Mr. Lee says "The common people say this is the new Forbidden City."

The Simatai Wall had great views. Neverending scenery bifurcated by the Wall. Words can't describe it. I spent a lot of time taking photos and saying, "Wow. Sooo beautiful."

Last night we strolled

Last night we strolled down Wangfujing, a broad boulevard closed off to traffic. As the evening settled in, crowds of people came out to enjoy the bands and the beer at outdoor festival tables. We dined on food from stalls (avoiding the skewered crickets, scorpions and pupae) at a special night market and had fun in a pharmacy. So much Chinese medicine. An attendant in a green nurse uniform tried to persuade Seth that some natural Viagra would be a good purchase. We ended up with Oreos instead.

You know how you almost always forget something when you pack? This trip, mine is something I rely on a lot more than I expected--a tablet and pen. We scoured the shopping street for a notebook but to no avail. My notes in Beijing will be taken on hotel stationery. Already the details of last night's fun are fading, so I'd better commit them to paper before they are gone...

I'm in China. Beijing

I'm in China. Beijing reminds me a lot of Hong Hong, Kuala Lumpur & every Chinatown I've ever visited. There's a mix of high-tech billboards and people on bicycles. Old, weed-sprouting roofs on houses hidden behind grey, tile-topped walls. 1970s residential highrises with air conditioners on the outside of each window. Upscale boutiques. Teeming millions. Kanji that's not quite the same as back home.

A nice treat: we got upgraded to a "Cyberroom" at the Crowne Plaza so I'll keep up with 'Blog & mail for a few more days.

Seth & Tara came

Seth & Tara came back from Akita in the north of Japan bearing a gift box of "Aunt Stella's Hand Made Cookies from the Heart of Pennsylvania Dutch Country." It's the perfect blend of Amish & Japanese.

The box is wrapped in pink sprigged gift paper just like all Japanese omiyage boxes, and in addition to the logo stickers and "fresh by" date, it bears a translation of "The taste of Aunt Stella's" which begins sutera obasan kara.... The English on the box reads:

Warm heart communication by Aunt Stella.

Japanese hospitals are medicine

Japanese hospitals are medicine machines that quickly move patients through a set path from Reception to Accounting. The NTT Kanto Medical Center is no different, but it is newly renovated and offers a comfortable environment. I was there yesterday for an appointment.

I wasn't the only foreigner there, but I was one of perhaps two. My funny name confounded the nurses. I was escorted around the hospital from place to place. Registration took me to the Consulting area. From Consulting I was ushered to MRI. I probably could have found these places myself. Everything is labelled in English, it turns out, but people were kindly pandering to my confusion.

Dr. Arasaki speaks fluent English and put me at ease. I enjoyed watching him use his computer to create my chart as he examined me. And looking at the pictures of my brain was really stunning. I'll be going back, but next time it won't be so scary.

Sitting on the arm

Sitting on the arm of a friend's sofa last night, watching two little girls put "hair toys" into my husband's too-long hair, I had an insight on writing the description of that scene. Glittering hearts; hysterical laughter; amused patience.

But I slept and my insight faded and though I can still vividly picture the scene, this morning I can't do it justice. And I didn't even get a photo.

Summer is time for

Summer is time for grilling and Tod has fired up the barbeque three times in the past week. But last night we were hungry and didn't feel like cooking for ourselves. Where did we end up?

A Korean barbeque restaurant for indoor grilling!

Kenbu Yakiniku is a catch--great food, an interesting atmosphere (half industrial, half neighborhood hole-in-the-wall) and it's so close to our house that there's not enough time to start sweating between our door and theirs. Perfect summer grilling.

When I was a

When I was a little girl, I read a lot of fairy tales, fantasy and historical fiction. I was fascinated with the things people wore and the descriptions of women embroidering all the time. What a lot of work for clothes that we take for granted these days.

Yesterday I was shopping with a friend and saw a shimmering purple dress. It was in my size and on sale so I tried it on. It fit and looked quite lovely but I didn't decide to purchase it until I read the materials and care tag:

69% cotton
31% metal
Dry Clean Only

This is cloth-of-gold, just like queens wore. Of course, mine's not really gold but the idea is the same. Now I need a pair of dancing slippers and a crown and I'll set.

P.S. Today marks the 1st anniversary of this 'blog. Time flies.

Everyone around me is

Everyone around me is publishing books.

Caroline Pover, a friend of a friend, launched her new book last night. Her apartment was packed with friends, contributors, stacks of the book and lots of champagne.

Being A Broad in Japan is a sourcebook for foreign women living in Japan that grew out of Caroline's magazine and women's network. It's packed with practical information and interviews with scores of people. Leafing through, I recognise many names and even a few of the anonymous contributors are familiar. I have no doubt that this book will be a hit.

Perhaps it is time for me to dust off my own MS and get it published.

For the first time

For the first time in three years, Japan's trains let us down.

We were on our way to a party in Kisarazu, Chiba prefecture (the "state" to the east of Tokyo). It's about an hour and a half away by train, or only an hour if you catch the Sazanami express train.

Kisarazu is "in the middle of nowhere" and trains stop running at about 10:30, so this would be an early party for us. We planned to arrive around 8, spend two hours then head home in time to make all our connections.

But yesterday evening, the trains from Tokyo were running 90 minutes late, due to signal problems. Our plan to catch the 6:30 Sazanami was thwarted. The next train was due to leave at 7:00, but when it didn't turn up by 7:20, we bailed and called in our apologies.

So we missed the party and disappointed our friends all because the trains were late.

Peterb is in town

Peterb is in town from Pittsburgh. We haven't seen him in five years, and all of us have been busy in the intervening years--marriage, mortgage, moving--but I think that neither he nor we have changed much.

In a way, that's very comforting. It's nice to have a solid foundation of personality that remains immutable despite changing circumstances. On the other hand, why haven't I changed in the last five years?! I guess I have, but perhaps only subtly. Speaking Japanese doesn't count.

If I had to

If I had to name one thing I hate about living in Japan, today I'd name bilingual computing.

My Macs are generally pretty good at allowing me to display and type Japanese. But my e-mail program gives me trouble with encoding--I can receive Japanese e-mail, but I cannot send it. And after my recent upgrade to OS 9.1, everything is falling apart. Photoshop 6 lets me do Japanese on one machine, but on the other machine it does not. Why? I'm not sure. I'll have to track it down. A rat's nest of similar problems has plagued me this week.

I should be accustomed to bilingual computing by now; in addition to my own machines I have plenty of friends and clients with Japanese machines and English applications (or vice versa) but I never seem to get the hang of it. Sort of like Thursdays.

The city changes its

The city changes its clothes at dinnertime.

Hakusan Dori, the four lane boulevard that runs through our section of town is pretty sterile during the day; the high-speed traffic doesn't encourage many small shops and long stretches are lined with office buildings and shuttered shops.

But in the evening, the metal shutters of the shops open to reveal lively and interesting restaurants and bars. Although we've lived here for nine months, until last night we'd never walked up Hakusan Dori in the evening. Now we have a new range of restaurants to choose from!

Last night, we tried One's Drive, a hamburger joint. I tried a sauerkraut dog, but the sauerkraut was Japanese-style pickled cabbage. Tasty, but not sauerkraut!

I tried really hard

I tried really hard not to work yesterday and to enjoy a day of rest away from my computer.

That is hard work.

It was too hot (another 35 degree scorcher) to go outside for long. Everyone else in the house was engaged in solitary pursuits, like working on web pages or watching movies. I bounced around the house, trying to amuse myself. Ate a marshmallow. Made some iced coffee. Finished a book and took a nap.

I did spend time at the computer--even worked for an hour or so--but it was extremely reduced from my usual 12 hours. I think my day would have been more satisfying if I had just given up and worked like I usually do.

We went to see

We went to see the lanterns floating on the moat at the Imperial Palace, but we arrived to late to see them launched. They were very pretty in the twilight from the height of the moat walls, but the best view must have been with those who had rented boats and were rowing among them.

Slightly disappointed, we walked through the Mitama matsuri, arriving just in time to watch a troop of men pushing a giant, lighted float through towering walls of stacked lanterns towards the shrine.

The matsuri had dozens of food stalls, vending everything from ikayaki (grilled squid) to candied apples. We shared some Doraemon-shaped cakes, but ended up eating dinner out.

The Sony Building, in

The Sony Building, in Ginza, is a showcase of Sony's products. Each floor has a different category--televisions, computers, cameras, stereos, games--with sample products you can try, games to play and more uniformed showroom attendants than you can shake a stick at.

I spent 20 minutes playing with the "location free" Airboard, a portable TV/Internet terminal. It was fun and easy to use, but I'm not going to run out and buy one (retail price $1,300).

Also in the Sony Building: a game where you control a mosquito who must bite a girl who is sleeping. If you wake her up, she goes into Battle Mode and tries to swat you! Very amusing, though we never figured out the controls well enough to bite the girl.

My husband is a

My husband is a delight to wake up.

He's not a morning person. I get up early and work until his alarm goes off, then make coffee and deliver a mug to his bedside. If he's conscious enough to talk, I spend a few minutes chatting with him. On the weekends, I read him articles from the newspaper but weekday mornings are usually filled with talk of the day's plans, weather, and his late-night computing triumphs. Afterwards, I go off to continue working and he falls back asleep (sometimes).

It's a pretty nice way to start the day together.

Today I'm going to

Today I'm going to the doctor to complain about some strange headaches I've been having. I really don't like the medical profession and this visit makes me nervous and tense, but the headaches are stronger than my aversion and fear.

I'm chickening out though, and not going to a local Japanese clinic. Why? If I have to describe my pain, I don't think I can do it in Japanese. I can say "My head hurts" but that will only get me "Take two aspirin and call me in the morning."

So I'm off to an American doctors' clinic where everyone speaks English and my Japanese insurance is not accepted. Which is OK, because I can't find my Japanese insurance card...

I always feel a

I always feel a little bit nervous when I have to leave my passport somewhere.

Yesterday, I went to apply for our visas to China. The Chinese embassy's consular section is very nice. Clean, well-lit, open space with plenty of writing desks and even glue sticks for attaching your photo to the application form. Not too many signs in English, but enough to get me where I needed to be and into the right line.

While I waited (only five minutes), I watched a woman with a huge pile of maroon colored Japanese passports sitting at a special desk in the waiting area, sorting documents and photos before submitting them. She must work for a tour company.

When it was my turn, I handed over the forms and passports and received a yellow reciept--one copy of a triplicate form. The white sheet was pasted to the applications and the pink copy was rubberbanded around our passports which the clerk then tossed into a bin on the floor.

I go back on Thursday to pick everything up. I won't lose my yellow slip. I hope they don't lose my passport.

Last night we grilled

Last night we grilled burgers and lit sparklers on the patio. Perhaps it was an unconscious nod to American Independence Day, though I didn't think of that until just now. At the time it seemed perfectly Japanese.

Fireworks are legal in Tokyo (and all over Japan, as far as I know) and it's really fun to light them off. The packaging all shows cartoon toddlers lighting them over open flames (at least on the packages of handheld fireworks) and since we don't know exactly what any of them are, it's always a bit of a mystery to discover what each one is going to do. The element of danger makes it even more fun.

Last night we had road flares on sticks. They were intensely bright--painful to look at--and burned from green to pink to yellow before dousing themselves. The people walking past our house probably thought we were nuts as we did not have the obligatory toddler lighting them. But then, we're foreigners which makes us toddlers on our own, in a way.

Tod tested me yesterday.

Tod tested me yesterday. He spent the entire day reconfiguring glass,the keystone in our household computer network. That meant no Internet access for the whole day. I fell asleep at midnight wondering what I had missed.

When I woke up this morning, there was a note on my monitor:

TO BRING UP LINK, PRESS ENTER ON GLASS --TOD

What had I missed? Not too much. Some DigitalEve messages. A client canceling an appointment for Monday. Half a dozen spam e-mails. Nothing of life-changing consequence. I really shouldn't spend so much time tied to my computer.

What did I do while I was offline? I read two and a half books.

My sister, Jenn, is

My sister, Jenn, is three years younger than I am. It's a good gap in ages, and we've always been friends. But my competitive nature makes us rivals, too.

Jenn's list of one-upsmanship (from my perspective)

• She's taller.
• She wore pantyhose before I did.
• She had a boyfriend before I did.
• She drove first.

And now she's published the first book. Questioning Walls Open, a collection of her poetry. came out this week. My book is still in MS form, sitting on a shelf, taunting me to revise and submit it. Perhaps this is the incentive I need. Jenn's not going to be the only sister to publish a book.

It's 8 am and

It's 8 am and I am happy to have my new laptop, Ferry, who I purchased in Dover last month. Her umbilical cord (an Ethernet cable) stretches across the bed, down the hall and into the office to give me Internet access.

I also have a cold. A miserable summertime one, probably brought on by life-saving air conditioning on extremely hot days. Ironic that the life enhancing coolers always make me sick. Which is worse: sweating in 36 degree heat or suffering a head cold?

Since I don't have any client appointments (but plenty of work to do) I will poke around in bed today, nursing my cold and working with Ferry bridging the gap between my upraised knees and my stomach. Fortunately, her mouse buttons are placed far enough away from the edge of her case that my fat rolls do not activate them.

Prime Minister Koizumi must

Prime Minister Koizumi must be happy. An interview revealed that he always wanted to be a rock star. Well, he is popular enough to be one. His Cabinet's approval rating is a record-breaking 88%.

What I can't figure out is why. They don't seem to be doing much of anything differently, though Foreign Minister Tanaka has an amusing big mouth (often full of foot) and not a lot of diplomatic skills.

Koizumi is making his world tour: golfing with President Bush; chatting with British Prime Minister Tony Blair; and shaking hands with Jacques Chirac in France. Beautiful photo opportunities. Maybe Koizumi is a bit like Ronald Reagan--the leading man with a good supporting cast--because the government today really does seem like theatre rather than solid national leadership. Maybe I'm just not reading the right newspapers.

Hmmmm, can I get thrown out of Japan for vague criticism of the government? Nah...

Tod gave me a

Tod gave me a present of books. He often orders books from Powell's in Portland and he loves their delivery. They come in big, grey postal sacks.

There's no bookstore quite like Powell's here in Tokyo--not for English books, certainly (the paucity of English books in this city is really depressing), but not for Japanese books either. So we buy our books online and have them shipped overseas to us.

What did I receive in this batch? Edward Tufte's The Visual Display of Quantitative Information, a book all about the theories behind graphics and charts, very interesting reading, an O'Reilly book on Web Navigation to add to my collection, and a few novels to share.

On the way to

On the way to my 1st grade student's house, I passed a wonderful French patisserie. The window display of a chouchon (pig) cake caught my eye. It was so cute; I was very tempted to buy it and share it with Katie during her lesson. But it was 3,500 yen and pretty large, so I held back.

Tokyo is strangely populated ethnic food places. Fashions in food launch a thousand new restaurants all offering variations on a theme. A few years ago it was Indian curry. Then Italian pasta. The trend now seems to be bagels.

When the fashion changes, many of the mediocre restaurants redecorate their menus hoping to catch the next trend, while the superlative shops keep serving up their finest. Which is why you can find a real patisserie in Sugamo, or an excellent Indian curry shop on the back streets of Nakameguro. I'm still looking for a really good bagel.

Because of the recent

Because of the recent heat, Tod's been busy replacing batteries in the aircon remotes. Yesterday he did the second unit in the dining room.

"Come look at this! It bows when you press a button," he called to me.

He failed to mention the novelty of having a cartoon of a uniformed Japanese Office Lady pointing at the time and temperature. It was her bowing that he noticed.

She's cute. I wish she did the dishes, too.

Geez, we eat a

Geez, we eat a lot of salt.

I was shocked when I finished up the last of the salt in the bin (we don't even use shakers anymore) and rummaged around in the cabinet to find some more. There wasn't any. In the course of three years here, we have consumed two liters of salt. I'm sure we didn't use that much salt in 8 years of married life in America.

Where does it all go? Pickles, mainly, and food preparation. Salad dressings, miso soup, marinades, sauces. An infrequent bout of baking. And lots and lots of brined pickles.

Visiting America, I find I salt my foods now. I never used to. My soduim tolerance is increasing. Bring on that salt-broth ramen, please!

I'm too used to

I'm too used to waiting.

It began (as I recall) with a boyfriend in 1986 who was always running late. I learned to bring a book. I started watching people.

15 years later in Tokyo, I still find myself waiting. Yesterday it was an hour's wait for an out-of-town visitor I had promised to meet at 2. I arrived a little early and watch the tides of people washing out of trains and through the wickets. Businessmen, well-heeled housewives, and a curious phenomenon.

Teenaged girls in groups of two or more came and went from the station wearing the same t-shirt. "629" (the date?) was emblazoned on the front, along with "Big Egg Show performer" in orange script. Some of them wore yellow and black polka dotted hats--four of them had enormous, egg shaped headpieces made of yellow and black spotted fur. It was mysterious, but later I found out there was a J-Pop band called Yuzu playing at Tokyo Dome (aka "Big Egg")

At 2:55, I tired of watching and waiting and headed back to my office to work. During an evening phone call, I found out that my guest arrived at the station at 3:00, having gotten lost in the neighborhood of her ryokan.

Maybe I should have waited a little longer...

Best new web resource

Best new web resource of the day: Google Image Search.

Google's already my favorite search engine (and has been since it was in beta several years back) and now it has an image search, too. While you won't find high-res artworks (like you do at Corbis or Getty), I've already discovered that it's a treasure trove of local maps of obscure places. And if you search for 'mcquillin' you will find a photo of me.

It's always fun to find a useful new tool on the 'Net. It's even better when it satisfies my narcissism.

It's summertime and the

It's summertime and the sewers are stinky.

Smelly sewers are one of the hallmarks of summer in Tokyo. I don't really notice them at any other time of year, but from tsuuyu (the rainy season) until autumn, I catch a noseful of noisome bouquet at almost every corner.

Some drains are worse than others. In past summers, I've found myself crossing streets to avoid particularly foul areas. The fetid stink has only begun to surface here in our new neighborhood, so I haven't yet learned the bad patches. But within weeks, I'll be crossing the streets as needed.

This morning I've been

This morning I've been preparing for the judging portion of DigitalEve Japan's postcard design competition.

For the past six weeks, we've been advertising our contest (grand prize is 30,000 yen (about $300)) but have received only three entries. The deadline is Saturday June 30th so I'm hoping that we'll have a last minute flurry of entries. That's why I'm preparing the judging portion now.

Would you like send a last-minute entry to the contest? The theme is "Women - Japan - Technology" and the submission details give all the specifics you'll need to know. Everyone is invited to enter and who knows, you could win a prize! If you have any questions, you can e-mail me.

Yesterday we received visitors.

Yesterday we received visitors. But not in the formal Victorian/Edwardian sense of posting hours during which visiting is acceptable. This was much more casual.

Simon, a friend of Tod's who is staying with us for a few days, called at 2:30 to say he'd arrive around 3:00. I had to leave at 2:45, so I left the door unlocked for him when I left. Did it feel strange to leave the house open to someone I'd never met? A little bit but Tod vouched for him so I knew it was OK.

Our second visitor was Erin. She's masterminding the redesign of the DigitalEve Japan site. On Thursday she's off for a three month holiday, so we were finishing up all the loose ends of the design before she goes.

Because Tod, Simon and I were holed up in the 3rd floor office with the aircon on and the door shut, Erin was greeted by a note on the door downstairs. "Come in. We're on the third floor."

I know first impressions are important, but yesterday was too hot to bother.

My computers' fans buzz

My computers' fans buzz frantically trying to cool off. Already this morning the thermometer registers 28 (82 F) degrees with a forecast of 33 (92 F). The office seems to amplify the temperature outside, so I know it will be stifling in here today. Today would be a good day to switch on the aircon.

I'm not sure when summer snuck up on us, it must have happened while we were away. Humidity hits 90%, skies look grey, I turn red, blotchy and cranky. Summer is not my favorite season. I will just have to bide my time until October when things cool down again.

Whew, am I tired.

Whew, am I tired. The web retreat was a great success, but lots of energy!

Still in jetlag mode, my body demanded large quanitities of food all weekend. Fortunately, we ate extremely well during a feast at the resort last night, two hearty lunches, and a wonderful Japanese breakfast.

After dinner but before we went to bathe in the hot spring, we enjoyed playing with fireworks outside the hotel. A five year old boy was lighting some and his parents shared with us.

The workshop portions of the weekend went well, too. But for me, the onsen and the food were the highlights. The rest was more like work.

When I'm jetlagged, I

When I'm jetlagged, I eat strangely.

First of all, my mind and body are out of synch by about four hours. I went to sleep last night at 1 am and rose at 5 this morning with my mind so full of ideas and plans that it forced my body to move.

So here I am, four hours of sleep behind me, ready to start a new day (the first day of a two day DigitalEve web retreat that I am helping to teach/lead) and I am famished. I crave protein. No namby-pamby tofu and beans for me, please. I want meat. Give me a big juicy steak or a hamburger. Or maybe a horse.

Sadly, there is no meat in the house and the only restaurants open at this hour are not serving meat-rich dishes. I'll have to settle for toast and coffee. Lunch will come along in another 7 hours and I'll get some protein then.

Well, the pipe inspectors

Well, the pipe inspectors must have sent in their scathing report. The drainage system across the street has been reworked into a maze of waterways. Not only are there new, complicated joints connecting all of the branches, but they dug up the street to create two new access ports into the underground gutter!

Most of the work was done while we were gone, but a man driving an unmarked van was putting on finishing touches today. Quite a production!

When it's all said and done, I think the moss was pretty and the grey PVC pipes quite ugly. They should have left it as it was.

When we arrived home

When we arrived home last night, I grabbed all the mail out of our mailbox and reviewed it.

Half of the volume of mail was flyers for real estate companies, movers, telephone cards and food delivery services. I dumped those in the trash, then sorted the remainder: two tax notices, a bill, a contract, a magazine, and an entry for DigitalEve Japan's postcard contest.

I guess that's about right for two weeks. I wish I received more interesting mail.

Delays and cancellations made

Delays and cancellations made our trip home an extra-long day. Our 10:10 flight from Pittsburgh had a mechanical failure which forced us to switch to a later flight so we missed our connection in Chicago. The next plane out of Chicago to Tokyo also had a mechanical failure--we waited for five hours while they flew in a replacement.

I was happy that we had Star Alliance Gold status (access to the Red Carpet Club and business center) and the new laptop (access to our e-mail and chat with friends) to keep us amused while we waited. The bloody mary didn't hurt, either. :-)

Now we're home, showered, and downloading e-mail before we retire for the evening. I'm looking forward to some tasty Japanese food for lunch tomorrow.

My maternal grandmother, Romayne,

My maternal grandmother, Romayne, had a fondness for shoes. Her closet was full of shoes to match every outfit. I've never thought I inherited that same love of shoes as closet is full of practical styles in black.

But yesterday I realised my heritage. I was shopping for yet another pair of black leather shoes at a store that can only be described as a supermarket of shoes. Aisle after aisle displayed sandals disguised as confections, fruity pumps, meaty oxfords, and of course, my practical staples.

They looked tasty enough to eat and I walked away with four pairs. Two were what I'd anticipated. But two were in the spirit of Romayne--bright salmon mules and burgundy sandals.

This year's Father's Day

This year's Father's Day Death March was the best ever.

Since the fateful Father's Day hike about ten years ago (It was long, hot and very wearying), we've carried on a tradition of a fruitless and terrible trip as selected by Tod's father. We've driven for hours to walk for ten minutes in a grassy ghost town, we've visited oil fields, ridden steam trains, and even found the southwest corner of Pennsylvania.

But now that he's a grandfather, Pete's mellowed. This year we went bowling only a few miles from the house. Justin (the newest father in the family) won with a score of 145 and Pete came in second at 116. My score? A pitiful 74.

Everyone says that Seth,

Everyone says that Seth, our six week old nephew, is a good tempered baby.

He must know that a baby skeptic (me) is in the house because he wailed for 45 minutes straight last night, putting his good behaviour in serious doubt. Just as I suspected. ;-)

However, his crying didn't seem to damped the enthusiasm of the adults around him. They held him in every imaginable position, on his back, on his stomach, upright (though not upside down) while bouncing, rocking and jiggling him to placate his screaming. Eventually, he fell asleep lying on his grandfather's stomach.

Winding up a vacation

Winding up a vacation is always a bummer. I'm shaking sand out of things and putting them back into their places. Tod's showering and finishing up his packing. Soon we'll be checking out and heading for the Philadelphia Airport to catch a flight to Dulles then on to Pittsburgh. The mood in the condotel is melancholic frenzy.

It's been an interesting week getting to know my family again. Both of my cousins, who were kids when we last met, are adults now. My niece is growing by leaps and bounds. The rest of us are getting older, too, but it's better not to think too much about that. Jenn and I were silly sisters together, falling right back into the playful patterns of our childhood. But I still resent that she's taller than me.

Get any far-flung, multi-generational

Get any far-flung, multi-generational family together and you're going to get new words introduced into the collective vocabulary. A daughter's use of "right" or a cousin's use of "quite."

But my family coins new phrases wholesale. Here are some of the ones we've come up with this week:

1. Spiral. (adj) Hip, cool, groovy. "This record shop is really spiral." Author: Fran.
2. Ass clown. (n) A total jerk. "What an ass clown." Author: George Going to Dover. (v phrase) A trip fraught with minor disasters. Author: Jenn.
3. Evanescence of avuncular remembrance. (n phrase) The affliction that explains why Helen won't remember Tod next week. Author: Tod.
4. Hot trouser. (adj) Very cool. "That sexy girl is hot trouser." Author: Tod
   Posted by kuri at 09:43 PM [view entry with 0 comments)]

"Making movies" is what

"Making movies" is what you're doing when you think through how a situation will play out--a romantic dinner, a confrontation with a colleague, a trip to the dentist.

I was making movies when I thought of a way to mark the recent passage of several relatives whose funerals I had missed: my sister and I would light incense on the beach and spend a few quiet moments staring out to sea, remembering. Just a quiet passage of time to reflect.

Of course, things never turn out as planned. I brought five fat bunches of temple incense from Tokyo and that was the end of the director's cut. Six of us gathered on the beach, struggling with bad lighters and the wind to get the incense lit. A few sticks caught, then blew out. Dad burned his thumb. We probably looked like a group of bumbling terrorists.

In the end, we passed around one partially burning bundle, blackened at the edges and emitting a faint trail of smoke, while we each said a few words. I was unprepared to speak, but got my turn first, "Our time will come, too." Mom cried; Uncle George made us laugh; Jenn trembled; Emily voiced a wry observation; and Dad spoke briefly before we all laughed again and headed off to continue our day.

So it wasn't the movie I'd planned, but it turned out OK anyway.