As promised, on Saturday I went to have dinner with Mark. Steak and potatoes--and how! It was a delicious American-style meal, the likes of which I probably won't see for two months. It's possible that I'll get invited over again, but since they're very busy attempting to move out of the country in the next four weeks, the odds are shy.
After that, I went back to the apartment complex, where we played drinking games before heading out to Roppongi. Two things are worth mentioning. First, one of my favorite clubs, Muse, is apparently trying to weed out foreigners by requiring a Japanese business card, of all things, to be presented at the door. Damn it all! Second, I got way too drunk.
Now, I know what you're thinking. "David," you're thinking, "you handsome bastard, get out of my head!" But right before that, you were thinking, "That's crazy! There's no such thing as too drunk, only increasingly fun stages of drunk." And, under normal circumstances, I would be inclined to agree. But when the goal is to stay out all night and come back at dawn, you can get too drunk. On our way to Muse, before we were turned back at the door, we stopped at a convenience store to buy a flask of vodka, which we passed around. I took about three deep pulls off the thing, and this was after heavy pregaming. And then we went and drank some more. Sometime between 3 and 4, I knew I was incredibly drunk, and, like always when I become incredibly drunk, some kind of switch went off in my head that made me need to go home immediately.
This happens all the time. Usually, I don't even tell anyone--I just get up and walk home, and I'm halfway there before anyone realizes I've left. In this case, Saunders-san was nice enough to make sure I got into a cab. I had the guy drop me off at our subway stop, and, somehow, despite the haze of intoxication in which my world was cloaked, I managed to get back to my apartment, throw up and pass out.
I woke up after 3pm on Sunday and basically wasted the day eating and goofing off before doing my homework at night.
This weekend, I've promised myself not to go that 遠慮なくwith the alcohol. I want to enjoy the whole Roppongi experience.
I'll talk about class a little further into the week, once I have a better idea of it.
以上だ
Monday, June 16, 2008
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Funniest joke EVER
This deserves a post of its own:
Although the legal drinking age in Japan is 20, SANC requires that students follow American drinking laws during the course of the program.
AHAHAHAHAHHAHA! AHHAHAHAH! HHAHAHAHAH! HAHAH! ROFLCOPTER TO THE MAX! THAT IS FUCKING HILARIOUS!
Seriously, though. I actually told them, flat out, "じょうだんしないで下さい", which is a polite way of saying "don't kid me." Several of the teachers have already observed my perhaps tasteless alcohol-related antics, from brandishing a bottle of Absolut Kurant on the bus to discussing my favorite kinds of shouchuu (Japanese liquor) with my "buddy." I don't think they really intend to enforce the rule all that strictly, not that they could if they tried. Obviously, tossing back shots in the middle of class would be bad form, regardless. But nothing's going to stop me from having a good old inebriated time every single weekend.
Although the legal drinking age in Japan is 20, SANC requires that students follow American drinking laws during the course of the program.
AHAHAHAHAHHAHA! AHHAHAHAH! HHAHAHAHAH! HAHAH! ROFLCOPTER TO THE MAX! THAT IS FUCKING HILARIOUS!
Seriously, though. I actually told them, flat out, "じょうだんしないで下さい", which is a polite way of saying "don't kid me." Several of the teachers have already observed my perhaps tasteless alcohol-related antics, from brandishing a bottle of Absolut Kurant on the bus to discussing my favorite kinds of shouchuu (Japanese liquor) with my "buddy." I don't think they really intend to enforce the rule all that strictly, not that they could if they tried. Obviously, tossing back shots in the middle of class would be bad form, regardless. But nothing's going to stop me from having a good old inebriated time every single weekend.
First day of SANC
We had our orientation today. Met up in the Shinagawa Prince Hotel lobby at 9 AM, with faces both old and new. We then took a bus (and I'm ever-so-fucking-thankful that we didn't have to drag our suitcases through the subway system) to our apartment building. Technically, our building is in Shibuya, I believe, but it's at this intersection of three different areas, and the closest subway station is Nishi Shinjuku (meaning West Shinjuku).
I was astounded by how nice the apartments are. Full-sized beds, closets, desks, microwaves, stoves, fridges, freezers, bathrooms... all kinds of little comforts like tea kettles, pots, pans, dishes, utensils and even toothbrush cups. Basically, these rooms are fully livable. I took a bunch of pictures, only to realize that I left my camera USB cord at home. However, I'll link you now to another blog post that has some images of a more-or-less identical room. Those windows in the back, with the curtains, lead to a fucking balcony. Hot damn.
The teachers took us to the building where we take our classes, about a 5-10 minute walk from Shibuya station. We had a brief orientation, followed by a placement exam that all four of us advanced students agreed was rather difficult. However, the exam doesn't really determine our placement so much as it does the areas on which we need to work in our classes. We also met with our classes' teachers to talk a little bit about the curriculum and to get our first assignments. For Monday, we have to read two articles about the Akihabara Massacre.
Later that evening, the teachers took us out to dinner, where we met with some Japanese "buddies." Basically, we got to chat and laugh with a bunch of pretty cool 日本人 while ordering all the Italian food we could eat. Awesome. We now have lots of numbers and e-mail addresses of authentic Japanese people, in case we want to meet up with them later. Mostly, they were Tokyo University students, but there were a few in the workforce. My buddy (damn, that is a lame term) was a girl working at JP Morgan.
There's a strict Japanese-only language pledge, which is supposed to apply both in class and out. We try to observe it when we can, but, amongst ourselves, it proves to be rather difficult to maintain, especially given the varying levels of language proficiency.
I single-handedly managed to convince 7 of the 12 other students to go out clubbing tonight--I went door-to-door to see, individually, whether each person was interested, because we couldn't seem to come to any consensus as a group while we were walking back home. We ended up having a great time in Roppongi, but my desire to stay out all night was sadly overruled. Hopefully, we'll hit up the 'til-dawn party scene on Saturday.
Michael, my roommate from last summer's Tokyo adventures, sent me an e-mail. Apparently the Whiffenpoofs are already in town. Should be good times.
But tomorrow... tomorrow is the Night of Meat. May all the gods of Japan bless Dad's friend and colleague Mark, who has gone out of his way to ensure that I get my fill of perfectly grilled cow flesh, and not chopped up into itty-bitty Japanese-sized pieces. More on that, later.
P.S. Freddie: walking back home at 1 in the morning, we saw an adorable white poodle-like dog. I didn't get a good look, but it reminded me of you. Hope you're doing well and taking good care of the rest of the family!
I was astounded by how nice the apartments are. Full-sized beds, closets, desks, microwaves, stoves, fridges, freezers, bathrooms... all kinds of little comforts like tea kettles, pots, pans, dishes, utensils and even toothbrush cups. Basically, these rooms are fully livable. I took a bunch of pictures, only to realize that I left my camera USB cord at home. However, I'll link you now to another blog post that has some images of a more-or-less identical room. Those windows in the back, with the curtains, lead to a fucking balcony. Hot damn.
The teachers took us to the building where we take our classes, about a 5-10 minute walk from Shibuya station. We had a brief orientation, followed by a placement exam that all four of us advanced students agreed was rather difficult. However, the exam doesn't really determine our placement so much as it does the areas on which we need to work in our classes. We also met with our classes' teachers to talk a little bit about the curriculum and to get our first assignments. For Monday, we have to read two articles about the Akihabara Massacre.
Later that evening, the teachers took us out to dinner, where we met with some Japanese "buddies." Basically, we got to chat and laugh with a bunch of pretty cool 日本人 while ordering all the Italian food we could eat. Awesome. We now have lots of numbers and e-mail addresses of authentic Japanese people, in case we want to meet up with them later. Mostly, they were Tokyo University students, but there were a few in the workforce. My buddy (damn, that is a lame term) was a girl working at JP Morgan.
There's a strict Japanese-only language pledge, which is supposed to apply both in class and out. We try to observe it when we can, but, amongst ourselves, it proves to be rather difficult to maintain, especially given the varying levels of language proficiency.
I single-handedly managed to convince 7 of the 12 other students to go out clubbing tonight--I went door-to-door to see, individually, whether each person was interested, because we couldn't seem to come to any consensus as a group while we were walking back home. We ended up having a great time in Roppongi, but my desire to stay out all night was sadly overruled. Hopefully, we'll hit up the 'til-dawn party scene on Saturday.
Michael, my roommate from last summer's Tokyo adventures, sent me an e-mail. Apparently the Whiffenpoofs are already in town. Should be good times.
But tomorrow... tomorrow is the Night of Meat. May all the gods of Japan bless Dad's friend and colleague Mark, who has gone out of his way to ensure that I get my fill of perfectly grilled cow flesh, and not chopped up into itty-bitty Japanese-sized pieces. More on that, later.
P.S. Freddie: walking back home at 1 in the morning, we saw an adorable white poodle-like dog. I didn't get a good look, but it reminded me of you. Hope you're doing well and taking good care of the rest of the family!
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Danger, Will Robinson
I was in Tokyo for about 9 weeks last summer, and not even once did I feel unsafe. As a white male between the ages of 18 and 25, I am, after all, invincible. Combine that with being in Japan, and, like Kal-El beneath the light of a yellow sun, I gain additional powers such as incredible strength, laser vision and the ability not to pay for the subway.
However, recent events have led me to doubt my purported invulnerability. First, there was that thing in Akihabara. As if that weren't bad enough, I've begun to suspect that I should be wary of the local law enforcement.
Remember that place I mentioned, Geronimo's? Well, apparently a friend of one of the bartenders was recently caught without his Japanese resident's card on his person and thrown in jail for 28 days. It's not like he didn't have a card--he just didn't have it with him whenever they did an ID check for whatever reason. I assume that Japanese prison is clean and well-mannered, like the rest of Japan, but apparently it's somewhat fascistic, too. This guy isn't allowed to speak English to his visitors, as if some sort of secret and dire message might be passed between them. He speaks English to a translator, who tells another translator, who translates it for the visitor, or some crazy shit like that. So the story went.
At the time, I guessed that the police had originally detained this dude for a good reason, like drunk and disorderly conduct. Based on my experience last year, it seemed like it would take an awful lot for anyone to confront a gaijin. But this assumption was challenged when I went out tonight. (By the way, I don't recommend going out alone on a weekday night--it's not easy to meet anyone, since, for the most part, the only people in the bars are suits getting their drink on before the last train leaves.) On my way back, I was stopped by a police officer who wanted to see my ID. I calmly explained that I'm here on a tourist visa, which was in my hotel 10 minutes away. The hotel is pretty well known, so he took me at my word, but not without giving me a brisk frisk. In his words, "Roppongi is dangerous area."
What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Roppongi is dangerous, so I get frisked? That's just not even a good excuse. And what could be the actual rationale? I realize that I've a bit more bulk than the average 日本人, but still, I don't think I look all that sketchy. I suppose it comes down to this: I was a lone foreign male wandering around after midnight. Who knows what sort of mischief was running through my head?
So, yeah. I got racially profiled. From now on, I'm carrying a photocopy of my passport and tourist visa in my wallet, just in case the next curious cops I meet aren't so nice.
However, recent events have led me to doubt my purported invulnerability. First, there was that thing in Akihabara. As if that weren't bad enough, I've begun to suspect that I should be wary of the local law enforcement.
Remember that place I mentioned, Geronimo's? Well, apparently a friend of one of the bartenders was recently caught without his Japanese resident's card on his person and thrown in jail for 28 days. It's not like he didn't have a card--he just didn't have it with him whenever they did an ID check for whatever reason. I assume that Japanese prison is clean and well-mannered, like the rest of Japan, but apparently it's somewhat fascistic, too. This guy isn't allowed to speak English to his visitors, as if some sort of secret and dire message might be passed between them. He speaks English to a translator, who tells another translator, who translates it for the visitor, or some crazy shit like that. So the story went.
At the time, I guessed that the police had originally detained this dude for a good reason, like drunk and disorderly conduct. Based on my experience last year, it seemed like it would take an awful lot for anyone to confront a gaijin. But this assumption was challenged when I went out tonight. (By the way, I don't recommend going out alone on a weekday night--it's not easy to meet anyone, since, for the most part, the only people in the bars are suits getting their drink on before the last train leaves.) On my way back, I was stopped by a police officer who wanted to see my ID. I calmly explained that I'm here on a tourist visa, which was in my hotel 10 minutes away. The hotel is pretty well known, so he took me at my word, but not without giving me a brisk frisk. In his words, "Roppongi is dangerous area."
What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Roppongi is dangerous, so I get frisked? That's just not even a good excuse. And what could be the actual rationale? I realize that I've a bit more bulk than the average 日本人, but still, I don't think I look all that sketchy. I suppose it comes down to this: I was a lone foreign male wandering around after midnight. Who knows what sort of mischief was running through my head?
So, yeah. I got racially profiled. From now on, I'm carrying a photocopy of my passport and tourist visa in my wallet, just in case the next curious cops I meet aren't so nice.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
First night out
A friend complained to me that my previous posts were too long and boring. I agree. But I had a lot of information to dole out that might prove useful to other Japan-travelers. However, in the future, unless it's really interesting and copious details are necessary, I'll strive for pith.
Moving on.
I met my friend Angela last night to go out in Roppongi. Angela did the JET program for a couple years. Now she lives and works in Tokyo. We were originally planning to do the 徹夜 thing, staying out until dawn, but something came up for her at the last minute, so we called it a night around 3 or 4. The time frame is a bit blurry, since I had about 7 or 8 terrifically strong gin and tonics.
Highlights of the night:
- The three G&Ts and two beers we ordered at Geronimo's were totally free! Angela seems to be BFFs with the staff of pretty much every gaijin bar in Roppongi.
- Angela points at the bartendress at Geronimo's and tells me, "You'll never guess how old she is." I look over: the person in question seems to be an attractive blonde twenty-something, so I say, "Is she 18?" Turns out, this woman is 40 years old. I never thought I would actually use the term "MILF" seriously, but damn. I'll go back one night with my camera and try to get a photo of her.
- There was a sumo wrestler at Club 911. At least, we thought he was a sumo wrestler. He was a very tall, wide Japanese man wearing a yukata. We didn't ask him. What happens if you inquire, "Are you a sumo wrestler?" and the guy isn't? I don't want to find out.
- Dropped the Y-bomb on a couple American college juniors at A971. Total destruction!
Apparently, the Numb remix is still loved by all Japanese people.
So is Soulja Boy. Fuck.
Moving on.
I met my friend Angela last night to go out in Roppongi. Angela did the JET program for a couple years. Now she lives and works in Tokyo. We were originally planning to do the 徹夜 thing, staying out until dawn, but something came up for her at the last minute, so we called it a night around 3 or 4. The time frame is a bit blurry, since I had about 7 or 8 terrifically strong gin and tonics.
Highlights of the night:
- The three G&Ts and two beers we ordered at Geronimo's were totally free! Angela seems to be BFFs with the staff of pretty much every gaijin bar in Roppongi.
- Angela points at the bartendress at Geronimo's and tells me, "You'll never guess how old she is." I look over: the person in question seems to be an attractive blonde twenty-something, so I say, "Is she 18?" Turns out, this woman is 40 years old. I never thought I would actually use the term "MILF" seriously, but damn. I'll go back one night with my camera and try to get a photo of her.
- There was a sumo wrestler at Club 911. At least, we thought he was a sumo wrestler. He was a very tall, wide Japanese man wearing a yukata. We didn't ask him. What happens if you inquire, "Are you a sumo wrestler?" and the guy isn't? I don't want to find out.
- Dropped the Y-bomb on a couple American college juniors at A971. Total destruction!
Apparently, the Numb remix is still loved by all Japanese people.
So is Soulja Boy. Fuck.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Observations
1. Showers are awesome.
After about 20 hours of traveling, I finally get to the hotel. I'm hot and sticky, and my hair is beginning to smell like bacon grease. Well, fine, it wasn't that bad. But still, it was pretty gross. And I'd just spent 12 hours on a plane next to a Filipino woman whose favorite topic was how the Philippines are nicer, prettier, funner and more upscale than Tokyo and New York put together. So, after navigating my way to the hotel (like a pro, I might add) I was super psyched to wash the detritus of the day away.
2. I still can't really sleep on planes. I don't know why, but I just can't. I managed to grab about 60 minutes of actual sleep with another half-hour of exasperated semi-somnolence tacked on at the end. And even that was only with the help of booze. (By the way, Manya, I think these homeopathic New Zealand anti-hangover pills might be the real deal.)
3. Tokyo's public transit cartels have put an end to prepaid metro tickets. However, they have done so only to replace them with something even awesomer: chargeable plastic subway cards--for everyone! As far as I knew last year, you could buy such things, but only for specific routes. Now, you just put money on the card (which costs 500 yen to purchase) and it works like the prepaids did, except you don't throw it out. Also, you just wave it over a sensor to use it. 超便利！
4. For the first 6 nights, I'm staying in the Asia Center, which is the business hotel Yale put us interns in last summer. My room's a pillbox, but it has killer air conditioning, high-speed Internet, a TV I won't watch, an electric water heater and a teensy little fridge for all of my alcohols. Also, the lobby has all the free bottles of ice cold Masafi natural mineral water you can drink. Try Masafi today! Maybe they'll see this and pay me.
The location of the Asia Center is, of course, super great. It's a 10 minute walk from Roppongi. Also, my pillbox itself happens to be in a pretty good spot, right across from one of the two laundry rooms in the building.
5. Co-Co Ichibanya is still the shit. I, however, am decidedly not at the top of my game.
Co-Co Ichibanya, for those of you who don't know, is a chain of curry restaurants, serving up huge plates of delicious Japanese-style curry about which I have raved to anyone who would listen. The thing they're really known for, besides deliciousness, is their 10-level system of spiciness. You have your level 1, which I've never even tasted--actually, I've never had below level 6--then level 2, which is 2x level 1, then level 3, which is 3x level 1... and so on. Except, starting around level 6, the spice curve starts to ramp up. Level 9 is 18x level 1, and level 10 is 24x level 1 (making for the biggest jump in the series, because they really just want to kill you at that point).
Last summer, I was able to eat level 10s without touching my water glass until the end. However, they really fucked with my digestion and were kind of a chore to get through, so I generally stuck with level 9. First thing I did after my shower was head to the nearest Co-Co Ichibanya and order my standard level 9 pork curry. It was significantly spicier than I remembered. Finding it unlikely that the Co-Co Council decided to change its magic recipe, I can conclude only that my year of indolence in the U.S. allowed too many of my taste receptor neurons to regenerate. The curries of the Indian places in New Haven, while tasty, barely tickle the tongue, even when prepared "very spicy." The only time I really hurt myself was during Buffalo Wild Wings' Blazin' Challenge, for which you must consume 12 of their spiciest wings within 6 minutes to win a free T shirt. Now that was hot. But clearly I should have been doing it more often, because there I was this afternoon, sorely out of shape and sipping at ice water to work my way through a mere level 9. Trust me, I'll be training myself in this regard at least as diligently as I will be studying Japanese this summer.
6. Softbank changed its prepaid phone option from the stodgy old candybar model to a sleek, sexy black flip phone. I got one at the retailer by Harajuku Station. Just needed my passport and any random Japanese address and telephone number. I didn't have the info for the hotel on me, but the lady said it didn't matter, because they wouldn't look for me or call me, anyway. I found the business card of a guy who works at Temple University in my wallet, and we ended up just using that address and number. I really do hope no one calls him to check up on me.
The phone is pretty pricey--5880 for the handset, plus a charge card that can be either 3000 or 5000. I got the 5000, to start, and I can charge it more online later if I need to do so. She set up my e-mail address on the phone, subtracting 300 yen from the card. If I understood her correctly, I get free texting within Japan, but 100 yen per message for international texts. I don't know where messages from normal e-mail accounts (not cell phones) figure into this scheme. As for calls, they're 9 yen per 6 seconds, which is fine for my purposes. I expect the extent of most of my calls to be, "What's up? Want to meet me at Roppongi, exit 4, in 1 hour? Okay, see you there."
If anyone needs my phone number and/or text address, drop me an e-mail or Facebook message or something. I'd rather not put the info right up on the blog.
7. The pervasive young male Japanese hairstyle I liked to call the "upswept dry red mop" of yesteryear has been replaced, as far as I can tell, with just long, thick hair--dye optional. Combined with the short stature and petite physique of the average Japanese individual, this makes it easy to mistake a young Japanese man for a young Japanese woman from behind. And sometimes even from befront.
But I haven't been to Roppongi yet. Maybe the dry mop heads are waiting for me over there.
8. Sleep. Hm. I'm doing pretty well at the moment. I don't feel too exhausted. So, I'm going to try to tough it out at least until midnight. The best way to beat jet lag is to hit the ground running. And, as I mentioned, to stay up until dawn tomorrow night.
平和外
After about 20 hours of traveling, I finally get to the hotel. I'm hot and sticky, and my hair is beginning to smell like bacon grease. Well, fine, it wasn't that bad. But still, it was pretty gross. And I'd just spent 12 hours on a plane next to a Filipino woman whose favorite topic was how the Philippines are nicer, prettier, funner and more upscale than Tokyo and New York put together. So, after navigating my way to the hotel (like a pro, I might add) I was super psyched to wash the detritus of the day away.
2. I still can't really sleep on planes. I don't know why, but I just can't. I managed to grab about 60 minutes of actual sleep with another half-hour of exasperated semi-somnolence tacked on at the end. And even that was only with the help of booze. (By the way, Manya, I think these homeopathic New Zealand anti-hangover pills might be the real deal.)
3. Tokyo's public transit cartels have put an end to prepaid metro tickets. However, they have done so only to replace them with something even awesomer: chargeable plastic subway cards--for everyone! As far as I knew last year, you could buy such things, but only for specific routes. Now, you just put money on the card (which costs 500 yen to purchase) and it works like the prepaids did, except you don't throw it out. Also, you just wave it over a sensor to use it. 超便利！
4. For the first 6 nights, I'm staying in the Asia Center, which is the business hotel Yale put us interns in last summer. My room's a pillbox, but it has killer air conditioning, high-speed Internet, a TV I won't watch, an electric water heater and a teensy little fridge for all of my alcohols. Also, the lobby has all the free bottles of ice cold Masafi natural mineral water you can drink. Try Masafi today! Maybe they'll see this and pay me.
The location of the Asia Center is, of course, super great. It's a 10 minute walk from Roppongi. Also, my pillbox itself happens to be in a pretty good spot, right across from one of the two laundry rooms in the building.
5. Co-Co Ichibanya is still the shit. I, however, am decidedly not at the top of my game.
Co-Co Ichibanya, for those of you who don't know, is a chain of curry restaurants, serving up huge plates of delicious Japanese-style curry about which I have raved to anyone who would listen. The thing they're really known for, besides deliciousness, is their 10-level system of spiciness. You have your level 1, which I've never even tasted--actually, I've never had below level 6--then level 2, which is 2x level 1, then level 3, which is 3x level 1... and so on. Except, starting around level 6, the spice curve starts to ramp up. Level 9 is 18x level 1, and level 10 is 24x level 1 (making for the biggest jump in the series, because they really just want to kill you at that point).
Last summer, I was able to eat level 10s without touching my water glass until the end. However, they really fucked with my digestion and were kind of a chore to get through, so I generally stuck with level 9. First thing I did after my shower was head to the nearest Co-Co Ichibanya and order my standard level 9 pork curry. It was significantly spicier than I remembered. Finding it unlikely that the Co-Co Council decided to change its magic recipe, I can conclude only that my year of indolence in the U.S. allowed too many of my taste receptor neurons to regenerate. The curries of the Indian places in New Haven, while tasty, barely tickle the tongue, even when prepared "very spicy." The only time I really hurt myself was during Buffalo Wild Wings' Blazin' Challenge, for which you must consume 12 of their spiciest wings within 6 minutes to win a free T shirt. Now that was hot. But clearly I should have been doing it more often, because there I was this afternoon, sorely out of shape and sipping at ice water to work my way through a mere level 9. Trust me, I'll be training myself in this regard at least as diligently as I will be studying Japanese this summer.
6. Softbank changed its prepaid phone option from the stodgy old candybar model to a sleek, sexy black flip phone. I got one at the retailer by Harajuku Station. Just needed my passport and any random Japanese address and telephone number. I didn't have the info for the hotel on me, but the lady said it didn't matter, because they wouldn't look for me or call me, anyway. I found the business card of a guy who works at Temple University in my wallet, and we ended up just using that address and number. I really do hope no one calls him to check up on me.
The phone is pretty pricey--5880 for the handset, plus a charge card that can be either 3000 or 5000. I got the 5000, to start, and I can charge it more online later if I need to do so. She set up my e-mail address on the phone, subtracting 300 yen from the card. If I understood her correctly, I get free texting within Japan, but 100 yen per message for international texts. I don't know where messages from normal e-mail accounts (not cell phones) figure into this scheme. As for calls, they're 9 yen per 6 seconds, which is fine for my purposes. I expect the extent of most of my calls to be, "What's up? Want to meet me at Roppongi, exit 4, in 1 hour? Okay, see you there."
If anyone needs my phone number and/or text address, drop me an e-mail or Facebook message or something. I'd rather not put the info right up on the blog.
7. The pervasive young male Japanese hairstyle I liked to call the "upswept dry red mop" of yesteryear has been replaced, as far as I can tell, with just long, thick hair--dye optional. Combined with the short stature and petite physique of the average Japanese individual, this makes it easy to mistake a young Japanese man for a young Japanese woman from behind. And sometimes even from befront.
But I haven't been to Roppongi yet. Maybe the dry mop heads are waiting for me over there.
8. Sleep. Hm. I'm doing pretty well at the moment. I don't feel too exhausted. So, I'm going to try to tough it out at least until midnight. The best way to beat jet lag is to hit the ground running. And, as I mentioned, to stay up until dawn tomorrow night.
平和外
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Preflight entertainment
So, here I am, sitting in Newark Airport, two hours before departure. I finally got around to packing at around 11 last night, after the penultimate episode of this season's Top Chef. I don't see why people make such a big fuss about packing, but I'm notorious (in certain circles) for traveling light. All I did was throw about a dozen days' worth of T shirts, boxers, socks, etc. into a big suitcase. Follow that up with a few pairs of jeans, one pair of shorts and a selection of button shirts. Belts. One suit and a tie, just in case. And my GMAT and LSAT prep books.
There's also a bottle of very nice whiskey that Dad gave me to pass along to our mutual friend, Isono Isao. Isono-san owns a traditional Japanese shouting restaurant (AKA a robatayaki) in Roppongi. We first met him two summers ago, when Dad and I went on vacation for two weeks in Japan. We sort of became e-mail pen pals after that. Last summer, when I went to do an internship in Tokyo, I surprised him by just showing up at his restaurant out of the blue. I brought him a mezuzah, which I figured would be pretty atypical and therefore interesting as a gift. As far as I can tell, the Japanese by and large have very little understanding of Christianity and almost zero understanding of Judaism, but I explained the significance of the mezuzah to him (in Japanese) anyway. I wonder if he ever put it up in his apartment. I didn't see it when I went there--he invited me over at the end of the summer, and I got to meet his whole family. Wife, high-school-aged son and mother(-in-law?) who lived in the apartment upstairs. It was really an amazing experience. I tried some natto (not as bad as advertised), drank the good shochu, went out to dinner with them and shot the shit in general. Anyway, as much as the Japanese don't comprehend Judaism, they do enjoy their whiskey, so I think I have a good gift with which to show up on his restaurant's doorstep this year.
Thankfully, that wealth of memories and cultural insight didn't take up much space in my suitcase, and it took me less than an hour to get everything together. I also have my computer backpack, which contains a few novels, guidebooks and electronic crap, among other things. I have no idea where my computer lock is, and I couldn't find one in the airport. I'm probably worried about nothing, though. It seems unlikely that anyone in Japan with access to my room is going to take my stuff. I also have Kanji in Context, the kanji supplement we used this year in class. I thought I might use it during my 11-hour flight or the subsequent week before the placement exam. I probably won't, but who knows?
But enough about the bits and pieces of my life that I'm taking with me to Tokyo. "What," you ask, "about your impressions of what's to come?" Honestly, I'm pretty nervous, but it's a familiar feeling. I've gone abroad to live on my own for an extended period of time twice already, and the worst part is always the beginning, when you don't really know anyone. It can get very lonely very quickly, living by yourself. However, even though I'll be more or less alone the first week, I do know a whole mess of people living in Tokyo already. As a matter of fact, I already have plans to tear it up in Roppongi with a friend on Saturday night. Staying out until dawn is a surefire way to get over my jet lag.
So, even though I'm nervous, I know it's just an instinctive feeling, and it will pass soon enough. Once I get into the swing of things, I'll be having a blast. Plus I can keep in touch with everyone at home pretty easily, using Skype. If you're reading this, and you're going to be abroad at some point, and you don't have Skype, get it. Get it and put money into your account. Then you have a cheap, easy way to call any phone in the world from your computer. I'm also going to have a prepaid cellphone (priority number one, once I get settled) but that will be more for quick, coordinating calls and messages between me and my fellow Tokyoites.
Well, that just about wraps up a really boring blog post. I apologize. The awesome stuff is coming soon, I promise.
さよならサッカーズ
There's also a bottle of very nice whiskey that Dad gave me to pass along to our mutual friend, Isono Isao. Isono-san owns a traditional Japanese shouting restaurant (AKA a robatayaki) in Roppongi. We first met him two summers ago, when Dad and I went on vacation for two weeks in Japan. We sort of became e-mail pen pals after that. Last summer, when I went to do an internship in Tokyo, I surprised him by just showing up at his restaurant out of the blue. I brought him a mezuzah, which I figured would be pretty atypical and therefore interesting as a gift. As far as I can tell, the Japanese by and large have very little understanding of Christianity and almost zero understanding of Judaism, but I explained the significance of the mezuzah to him (in Japanese) anyway. I wonder if he ever put it up in his apartment. I didn't see it when I went there--he invited me over at the end of the summer, and I got to meet his whole family. Wife, high-school-aged son and mother(-in-law?) who lived in the apartment upstairs. It was really an amazing experience. I tried some natto (not as bad as advertised), drank the good shochu, went out to dinner with them and shot the shit in general. Anyway, as much as the Japanese don't comprehend Judaism, they do enjoy their whiskey, so I think I have a good gift with which to show up on his restaurant's doorstep this year.
Thankfully, that wealth of memories and cultural insight didn't take up much space in my suitcase, and it took me less than an hour to get everything together. I also have my computer backpack, which contains a few novels, guidebooks and electronic crap, among other things. I have no idea where my computer lock is, and I couldn't find one in the airport. I'm probably worried about nothing, though. It seems unlikely that anyone in Japan with access to my room is going to take my stuff. I also have Kanji in Context, the kanji supplement we used this year in class. I thought I might use it during my 11-hour flight or the subsequent week before the placement exam. I probably won't, but who knows?
But enough about the bits and pieces of my life that I'm taking with me to Tokyo. "What," you ask, "about your impressions of what's to come?" Honestly, I'm pretty nervous, but it's a familiar feeling. I've gone abroad to live on my own for an extended period of time twice already, and the worst part is always the beginning, when you don't really know anyone. It can get very lonely very quickly, living by yourself. However, even though I'll be more or less alone the first week, I do know a whole mess of people living in Tokyo already. As a matter of fact, I already have plans to tear it up in Roppongi with a friend on Saturday night. Staying out until dawn is a surefire way to get over my jet lag.
So, even though I'm nervous, I know it's just an instinctive feeling, and it will pass soon enough. Once I get into the swing of things, I'll be having a blast. Plus I can keep in touch with everyone at home pretty easily, using Skype. If you're reading this, and you're going to be abroad at some point, and you don't have Skype, get it. Get it and put money into your account. Then you have a cheap, easy way to call any phone in the world from your computer. I'm also going to have a prepaid cellphone (priority number one, once I get settled) but that will be more for quick, coordinating calls and messages between me and my fellow Tokyoites.
Well, that just about wraps up a really boring blog post. I apologize. The awesome stuff is coming soon, I promise.
さよならサッカーズ
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