r_pendragon's journal

Since arriving home, one singular thing has become quite clear to me:

I have a ton of crap.

I'd like to say that these items are things that I need. But I know better than that; a year sharing a miniature Japanese apartment with a roommate and an extremely destructive cat have taught me that there are few things that qualify as necessities.

Today I was sorting through some of it (due to the house remodeling that went on while I was in Japan, my mother has helpfully heaped the majority of my things in the basement, neatly labelled "Rachel's Books," "Rachel's Xmas Ornaments," "Rachel's Things That I Wish She'd Throw Away."

And I realized, as I was sorting things into piles of "Want," "Sort of Want," "Garbage," "Give Away," and "Feel Heinously Guilty About," that our culture is amazingly resistant to clearing out useless things. This particularly hit home as I was looking at an old teddy bear my grandmother had made for me when I was born. It's ratty, near-decimated, and I would certainly never pass it on to the future child I hope to never have.

So what do I do with it? It's not like it could go to another child, so that scotches the idea of giving it to Goodwill, but it's not like I want it on prominent display in my apartment, either.

But how do you throw away something like that? There's a voice in the back of my mind that says "How dare you even consider putting that in the trash? It was made for you by your dead grandmother."

My mother loves playing the voice of conscience, too. My brother was a radio broadcaster in Senegal the year I was 7, and he brought back some clothes and dolls for me. Obviously, the very small dresses are long gone, but the dolls have persisted to the present. I was looking at them today, weighing my options, when I heard my mother, like the voice of God:

"You aren't getting rid of those, are you? Matthew brought them back all the way from Africa for you."

She managed to make it sound as if they'd been fetched from Mars and blessed by the Pope.

In general, I'd prefer a fairly minimalist lifestyle. Give me my clothes, a good book, my laptop, a toothbrush, toothpaste, floss and all other basics, and I'm content.

But there seem to be so many people (sadly, myself included) who persist in bogging me down with extraneous goods.

I did manage to pawn my Japanese PS1 off on my mom, at least; she's now enrolled in a program called "Learning Written Japanese Through Copious Playing of Tetris."

To my way of thinking, there are four kinds of vacations, and they can all be divided into four different categories of shoes.

1. Sandals vacations. These are the vacations you spend entirely on the beach. Rum punch, a bikini, a laptop if you're like me and can't live with out one, flip flops. Locations: Hawaii, the Virgin Islands, Thailand, southern Greece.

2. High-heels vacations. These are the vacations you spend money to take specifically so you can spend more money. Wine, little black dresses, hotels that have valet parking. Locations: New York, London, Tokyo, Las Vegas.

3. Boots vacations. These are "nature" vacations. Backpacks, tents, flashlights and mosquito repellant. Locations: Grand Canyon, Yosemite Nat'l Park, South Dakota, any mountain range anywhere.

4. Doc Martens vacations. These are urban warrior vacations. Khakis and a sweater, a museum guide, a temple/ancient ruins map, bottled water and a messenger bag. Locations: Rome, Athens, Kyoto, Seoul.

As a general rule, I prefer option number 4. I like to rattle around cities and scope architecture, and I like to climb around on POR: Piles of Rocks.

However, last week's venture into America's Playground was a high-heels vacation, and I've learned that it's the sort of vacation I can live without.

I arrived at the airport fairly late, which was nice because of course the Strip was lit up and there was an excellent view. (The flight itself was strange, though, as I ended up sitting next to a guy who was essentially the male version of me. He was interesting to talk with, but I was glad to get off the plane– it was too bizarre, chatting with myself for three hours. Gah.)

After navigating the hotel shuttles and the arduous check in process at the hotel, I crashed. The next morning I woke to a list of things my brother suggested I do; he goes to Vegas often and knows all the sites. I took some of his suggestions into account (the Luxor buffet was kinda cool), but mostly I just wandered around the Strip and took pictures of all the insanity. And chatted with some Japanese tourists.

That night I met up with my brother back at the hotel, and he asked if I'd done anything on his list.

Me: Well, I wemt to the Bellagio to see the Chihuly. (Dale Chihuly is one of my favorite artists, it was great to see another piece of his in person.) And then I went to the Guggenheim exhibit to see the Renaissance pieces. Oh, and while I was at Caesar's Palace I got pictures of Julius Caesar, Antony, Cleopatra and a praetorian guard. But all the decor there is really quite historically inaccurate because–

Peter, interrupting: Rachel, it's Vegas. Didn't you gamble or see a show or anything?

Me: Er... no.....

Other than the Chihuly the trip's highlight was dinner at the Hofbrauhaus, (sp?!), which is apparently a fairly accurate replica of the Bavarian original. I don't normally go in for German food or beer very much, but it was fun nonetheless.

On the last day, Peter asked me my impressions of Vegas.

Me: Actually, it's a lot like Tokyo.

Peter: ?!?! How?

Me: Lots of neon lights, lots of ads for prostitutes, expensive, lots of Japanese people. Yeah, it's like Tokyo, only with slots instead of pachinko.

Mostly, it just made my feet hurt, wobbling around in heels. I think I need to take a Doc Martens vacation as rest from my high-heels vacation. ;)

Hello again, NAO friends!

Well. After a few weeks hiatus as I turned my life and my internal clock upside down, I am now sane enough (and awake enough) to check in online. Many thanks to those of you who e-mailed me. I shall get back to you soon.

The last week in Japan was topsy-turvy craaazy. Lots of work, lots of fun, lots of tears, very little sleep. I haven't done much reflection on it though, because I've basically just come home and hit the ground running.

It is so, so good to be home.

I'm not really experiencing Reverse Culture Shock, perhaps because this isn't the first time I've moved home from Japan. But some things still just seem astonishing:

1. Prices. Things are so affordable. My mother dragged me to the grocery store (which was HUGE, my god!) and let me toss whatever I wanted into the cart. Fruit, Doritos, corn on the cob, turkey sandwich fixings, bagels, Edy's Girl Scout Cookie Thin Mint ice cream, the list goes on. I swear all of it cost less than one day's worth of tofu and seaweed.

2. Space. The house is giganourmous. The Fucktard Cat hardly knows what to do with herself– she got lost in the foyer the other day and hid in the closet. Poor thing. It doesn't help that I can't really recognize anything in the house, as my mother has spent the last 6 months remodeling. This week there's a floor guy here who's refinishing the hardwood in the three upstairs bedrooms. Gah. Also, the land space; parks, lawns, gardens. Wow. Seems like I haven't seen privately-owned grass in a century.

3. Stars. Tokyo is os light polluted, I'd forgotten about stars. Last night the Milky Way was so bright and beautiful, and in addition the Aurora Borealis decided to grace us with its brilliant green presence.

4. Color Spectrum. Everyone around here is so blond. (Northern MN, so everyone's Scandinavian.) Even my mother's blue eyes are a bit strange.

5. Religion and Patriotism. I'd forgotten how religious so many Americans are. Did not miss that. Could definitely do without so much flag-waving and "God Bless the Troops." And I live in a blue state.

6. English. My ears sing with my native language. Wit, irony, sarcasm, rudeness, cursing, complaining, pleasantries, greetings and goodbyes. It all makes sense. It's overwhelming.

7. Clothes. Jeans are long enough. People don't overdress. I have yet to see a Louis Vuitton handbag. American men don't wear tight jeans.

8. Elections. My man lost and I'm righteously bitter, but it was still so sweet to watch the news, vote, participate, stay up late holding my breath for Ohio. At least my state went blue. Our 12 electoral votes belong to the right candidate. It's just 4 years. Come on, Hillary!

All of this is up there with the joys of simple things like sleeping in a bed instead of a futon, full-length bathtubs, Mexican food, my wonderful friends and family, driving a car (nothing like the sensation of whipping down the interstate), reading the Star-Tribune, playing with my dog.

I know I'll start missing Japan eventually, but right now I'm not letting nostalgia and regrets taint my glee. It's just so, so good to be home.

I won't be able to check NAO as often because I'm super busy right now, but I missed all of you and I'm not dead. This week: up to Canada to visit friends, then to Las Vegas with my brother for the weekend. We're staying at the Venetian, whee! I don't gamble, but maybe I can convince a drunk rich guy to give me a million dollars…. ;)

I think Japan is doing its level best to remind me that it is time to leave.

Two weekends ago, the Roommate™ and I had plans to go to the Kansai (west Japan). A friend snagged us some cheap overnight bus tickets, I booked hotel reservations, we made contact with some old friends from down there, and we were very excited about revisiting the haunts of our foreign-exchange student days. We'd even planned out a rough itinerary: one day in Kyoto, one in Osaka, and a stop at Kansai Gaidai, our old university.

So on Saturday morning we got up, threw our bags together, hiked off to the station giddy with the prospect of visiting a part of Japan we haven't been to since May 2002.

Mother Nature (or JR?) had other ideas, though. When we got there, we saw a big sign that said "Canceled" in English; reading on in Japanese "All buses to Kansai– Osaka, Kyoto, Kobe, Shin-Osaka– canceled due to Typhoon 22. Go to the JR Midori Ticket Window for refund details."

So we troop up the the midori madoguchi. I'm upset now, because it's occurred to me that our hotel reservations will be non-refundable since the cancellation was same-day. But then I get this bright idea that we can argue ourselves seats on the train. So I talk to the guy at the ticket window, who, in long-standing JR fashion, is a complete asshole. He refuses to negotiate at all, telling me that we can either have our money refunded or we can pay about $100 to get upgraded to the shinkansen. I try to be polite even though he's pissing me off, and I explain about the hotel reservations, but he just doesn't care, and I'm about two seconds away from bitching him out in English when I start to feel emotionally exhausted. I tell him, at this point in pretty rude Japanese, to just give us the refund. He does, I take it, snap something else fairly nasty at him, and walk away.

Due to a brilliant stroke of luck, the hotel didn't charge us for the overnight stay, so we were only out a $10 reservation charge, but I was still pretty angry. Is it just me, or should companies not be obligated to upgrade you to another service when they have cancelled on you? Typhoon or not, they should provide some sort of compensation beyond a refund. A few years ago I got stranded in central Florida, and American Airlines bumped me to first class and paid for my hotel, three meals, and an extra day at Disney World.

Grrr. Anyway, this week we are now dealing with Typhoon 23. Apparently this year has been the worst year for typhoons since World War II. Huzzah. #23 is also, apparently, the worst one this year; big enough to be classified as a mega-typhoon. And it is mega indeed. I gave up trying to keep anything below my thigh dry on the way home from work tonight; even major thoroughfares like Shinjuku, Meiji, and Yasukuni Avenues are completely water-logged.

The upside of all this is that it's supposed to be over by the weekend, which, since it's my last Tokyo weekend, I'd like to enjoy rain-free.

The downside? #24 is hovering south of Okinawa and is on its wet and windy way.

That's the weight allowance for the two pieces of luggage I'll be able to check– it doesn't include whatever I carry on. (Which will be a hiking backpack, my laptop, a winter coat and the Fucktard Cat.)

I've known for a long time that that's all I'll be able to take, but getting down to the last two weeks here, it's painful how little of my life I'm going to be able to squeeze on with me.

Part of the problem is books. I'm an obsessive bibliophile, and I brought a ton of books with me when I first came to Japan, and then another ton when I came back after Christmas. Leaving me with the mammoth problem of reducing 2 tons down to 64 kilos.

And then there are clothes, of course, which I can't bear to part with, either. I know I don't need 6 different coats, but they're all so cute....;)

To stop being facetious, mostly the packing has been very thought-provoking, because it involves reducing yourself to what you really need, paring away all the extraneous items to ascertain what the necessities are. I've spent a lot of time weighing items with the idea of "Is this worth lugging home or paying to ship it, or would I be better off just replacing it when I get back?"

It's definitely forcing me to come to terms with my own materialistic consumerism. Perhaps I should consider the whole thing an exercise in self-improvement.

This post was edited by r_pendragon on Oct 14, 2004.

I can't help it, I don't know why, but I love this color.

I was thinking about it today, as I was making my commute home on the train, that pink is one of the things I will really, truly miss about Japan. That might sound odd, but I genuinely mean it.

There's no stigma to pink here. I was wearing a pink sweater, pink socks, and a pair of pink and magenta striped gloves, and the only comment I got when I walked into work this morning was "Cheru-chan! Kawaii!" (Rachel! Cute!) I can just picture the reactions of my more feminist-type friends at home. Eyerolls and derisively shaken heads.

Men here wear pink, too, which I think is great. I'm not saying I'd want to date a guy who ran around in Barbie-doll rose and carnation all the time or anything, but I do like the fact that this color is equally accessible to both genders. One of the little boys at the school where I work is a huge fan of pink– he will literally scream "Pink is best, pink is best!" until given item X in a rosy hue. When I asked him why he likes pink, he looked at me like I was stupid and replied, "Because it's cute." Duh.

And once, while I was living down in Osaka, I saw a man who was dressed head to toe in badass black leather, except for his shell-pink cell phone. Made my day.

I don't dribble pink all over my life or anything; given the option of a pink cell phone, I chose cobalt blue instead. Most of my clothes are cold winter colors: navy blue, grey, black, red, white; my apartment is mostly neutral/primary.

But once in awhile, I just go weak for pink, and living in the only country in the world that voted for the pink M&M has really allowed me to indulge.

Fellow pink-lovers out there, whether you are still in the closet about your love of pink, or proudly wear your pink hearts on your sleeve, I salute you. ;)