Food with its own standards

I totally respect the French approach to cuisine; I really do.  It’s amazing what can be produced from such a philosophy and background, and I have reaped benefits from it many a times over the years.  However, there is something to be said about the places and people who go purely for quality of taste, with little regard for presentation.  In other words, the hole-in-the-wall kind of places.

Sitting at the small counter in a restaurant for maybe 20 people just now, I watched one guy lopping together fresh gyoza (Japanese dumplings) with his hands and a spoon.  A few minutes later, my bowl of ramen (a sort of Japanese noodle soup) was set in front of me.  I noticed a trickle of the soup on the side of the bowl, as well as a smear of the gyoza wrapper dough.  My thoughts, far from appalled, simply said, “Well, this place is definitely not about the presentation.”

For me, of all people, this is a somewhat surprising response.  However, AAawwzc —-that was a small tangent in which I stopped to pet and squabble with and be kissed by a little fluffy, curly-haired, three-year-old dog (Moku-Moku) on the street… now back — the food, as my experience yesterday at this same shop can attest, as well as the throng of people waiting to eat there later in the evening, as I passed it on my way home, is wonderful.  It’s kind of like the grown men who run the shop care for little else – including presentation and looks – than sharing their good food.  And I think that is wonderful.

And, obviously, it’s delicious, too. ;P
Post-a-day 2017

Nonsense or not?

I sometimes feel like it’s just a whole lot of nonsense that I’m writing on here.*  And I sometimes wonder about why I even bother, because it feels like a whole lot of nonsense.  Yet, there is something that these writings do for me.  Somehow, they open up something within me… perhaps it’s that they’re helping me to be the me that I not only truly am, but also want to be.

I don’t know, of course, as everything is just conjecture here. But there is something about this weblog that is huge for me, in an almost-tangible way.  I can feel my breathing ease whenever I think about what this weblog is for me.  It’s like me being me or something.

Anyway, it means a lot to me, even though I’m not quite sure what it all is, and even though it feels like a bunch of… well, nothings.  Hmm… guess it really is a lot like Kathleen Kelly after all.  ðŸ˜›

Anyway, I just wanted to share that.  So thanks for letting me write, world, and thanks, Nicole, for getting me on this weblog in the first place, and for holding me accountable and helping me win a plan with which I could work.  ðŸ™‚
Post-a-day 2017

*If you’re seeing an odd parallel to Kathleen Kelly right now, too, bonus points to you.  ðŸ™‚

Soundtrack to life

Tonight, I dedicate my writing to the songs that make a soundtrack to life.  Riding home on the train this evening, exhausted, watching the lights blip on and off in the darkness as the world glided cooly by, my forehead and hand pressed against the glass of the door to block out the light inside the train, I noticed how the song in my ears was a perfect fit to the soundtrack for that scene of my life.

I truly don’t know what song it was, – something new from NoiseTrade – but I know that it was perfect.  If someone were filming my life at that moment, – what I was watching anyway, and how I was feeling – the song would have been what was playing with the clip.  That hopeful, I can make it, even though life is hard and lonesome at times feeling was so clear, I wanted to know what happened next in the movie.  Alas, it’ll be weeks before the next five minutes of that film make themselves clear (movies are such cheaters on time), but I’ll hang in there – I’m here for the long haul, anyway.  😛

It wasn’t as good as the time I was saying goodbye to the acrobats in Dallas (another time, and I’ll tell all, song included), at which point my life really was like a scene from a movie, soundtrack and all.  But it was still a good one.  It reminded me a bit of the power of music, the things it can do to the mind – give us hope when we’re hopeless, lift us when we’re down, energize us when we’re exhausted, sober us when we’re going a bit nuts-o.  Music is like love, but more easily acknowledged and with benefits more often reaped.

So, tonight, I say a hearty thank-you to music and to those who create it.  Especially to the ones that work so beautifully as soundtracks for life.  Thank you.  Thank you, all.  🙂

 

Post-a-day 2017

 

Home is best shared

I think I have reasoned well enough that I want always to have someone living with me.  There is too much that I miss out on by living alone, I don’t want to do it again.  Most of my time living alone, I make efforts to find ways not to be home alone (or at least feel like I am at home alone).  My own bedroom and bathroom is plenty of alone space for me, for my nighttime relaxation and settling down.  I want common spaces to be common spaces.  Plus, without someone around, how else do I keep the place cleaned up, huh?  I’m too comfortable with clutter, to accustomed to it, to do anything about it until it gets really bad.

Life is just easier with someone else always coming around.  And the easiest way to have someone come around is to have someone living here, you know?

Yeah, I want a flatmate forever.  🙂

 

Post-a-day 2017

 

Japanese Health Clinic

My experience today with Japanese health was an interesting one.  I walked to a clinic in my neighborhood late this morning, because I had intense flu symptoms all weekend, and I needed a note to miss work.  I wasn’t feeling so great today anyway, as I had already suspected would be the case last night, but my supervisor from work told me that I just needed to stay home today no matter what, and go to a doctor at some point for the doctor’s note.

Why?  Well, apparently schools have a very specific protocol for people with influenza.  If you have influenza, I was told, the first day you have fever counts as Day 0.  After Day 5, you are allowed to return to school. (So six days total that you must remain absent from school.)  However, you must have at least 48 hours between the time you last had a fever and the time you return to school.  So, while it can be longer, you have a minimum influenza quarantine of sorts of six days, no matter what.

Now, for my job, we have a differentiation between personal/vacation days and sick days.  However, to set your sick days as sick days, you need a doctor’s note.  And, by a doctor’s note, they really just mean the dated receipt that you are given when you pay your 20-ish dollars at the end of your visit to the doctor.  So, I had to go see a doctor today in order not to have to take three days of vacation days for my required absence (read banishment) from school this week.

I found the clinic alright, despite the name having been misspelled in the e-mail to me about the clinic.  Walking in, I noticed that, naturally, nothing was in English.  I had no idea what to do, but saw a small room with benches and people, and a small desk-type area that was not very reception-y.  A lady approached me and handed me one of their white masks*, which I accepted gracefully, as I asked if anyone spoke any English.**  She said that the doctor knew some, and so I wandered into the waiting room behind her.

She asked for my insurance card, which I gave, and then attempted to pronounce my name, which is written quite clearly on the card in Japanese lettering (katakana).  For those who don’t know, you can’t mispronounce this sort of thing, because each ‘letter’ only has one way to be pronounced, no matter how it is combined with other ‘letters’,  Nonetheless, I had to help her read the name aloud for some reason.  Whatever…

So I sat and waited on one of the benches.  One of the ladies came back with some paperwork for me to fill out (yes, in Japanese), and handed me a small thermometer.  I had some hesitation in using it, though I couldn’t quite tell why.  Nonetheless, I eventually stuck it in my mouth, and it proved that my fever had, indeed, resided.

As I waited, more people arrived and did as I had done, minus asking about the English.  I eventually noticed that there was only one thermometer, and that the lady would do one single, quick (with no twist or anything) swipe of the bottom part of it with what looked like an alcohol swab each time after someone new used it.  I solidly decided not to think about it – I already had germs enough in me to manage for this week – , but I made an inner snarky comment of If I wasn’t already infected, I sure will be now before setting it aside.

Eventually, a version of my name was said over this scratchy speaker in the ceiling, and I was summoned to room #1.  I found out after this little bit that my supervisor had already called and mentioned that I was coming, and so perhaps she gave enough details for their concerns, because I found it rather odd how the doctor instantly asked me, ‘So, you might have influenza?’ and then asked only two or three other questions before shoving the swab thing up my nose for the 60% success rate rapid flu diagnostic test.

It was only when the test came out negative a while later, and I responded with a ‘Seriously?’ to the doctor’s confident declaration that I ‘just have a cold’, that the doctor asked my symptoms.  For the previous three-ish days, I had had high fever, intense muscle pain all over my body, a horrendous and throbbing headache (even causing my hearing to be pained), and a sore chest with some coughing, and I hardly could get out of bed for anything other than the bathroom or more water.  Today, however, things were significantly improved, and my fever had finally broken yesterday (so, no more fever today, but still low-level aches and pains of all sorts).

Nonetheless, – and I partially attribute this to a lost-in-translation bit – he prescribed me a different medicine for each of these ailments, to last me for five days.  I went and sat in the waiting area for the third and final time, before being called up to the desk again, paying about $20 US, being given two receipts and my insurance card, and being pointed to the building across the street.

Across the street, I used my Google Translate app to translate a questionnaire about ‘Are you pregnant?”, ‘Do you have any history of severe illness?’, ‘What allergies do you have?’ and the likes (plus one question I never quite figured out about ‘Generic Medicine’ or something), waited a few minutes, and then paid just over $5 US for a baggie full of medicines I didn’t want.  (Really, I just wanted the receipt from my doctor’s visit, and then to go back home and have a green smoothie and some sleep.)  But, hey, at least it all cost me only about $25 US for the visit and the meds.  Could have been much worse than that.

When I called back my supervisor, at her request, to inform her of the results and the rest of my visit, she said she’d talk to the Vice Principle and call me back after a while.  About ten minutes later, she called and informed me that, though the Vice Principle was on a business trip for the day, she, the head of teachers, and the school nurse had all convened and decided that, despite the rapid flu test, I had the flu, and so can not return to school until Thursday at the earliest (and even later, if I am still sick Thursday), and that it would all count as sick days (since I had gone to the doctor today).  She said she would inform my visit school of this, she wished me well, and she told me to call if I needed anything these next few days on my own.  I thanked her, and that was that.

So, I unofficially officially have the flu.

 

*I must admit, I have a sort of odd phobia against these masks.  I think they remind me of the feeling of being stuck under the blankets too long in bed, making the air super stuffy and hard to breathe, but then add in the factor of their being hooked around your ears, like then pressing the blankets against your mouth, increasing the intense suffocation and decreasing the chance of fresh air entering your mouth or nostrils… and so these masks elicit in me a sort of instant panic whenever I consider actually putting one on my face.

**Okay, I realize I am in Japan.  I am not aiming to disrespect their culture by wanting English here.  I simply do not know enough Japanese to work my way through a medical visit, in which every detail counts, and the slightest misunderstanding could be incredibly troublesome and even dangerous.

Life and Movies and Longing

I’ve been a dreadful sort of sick all weekend, though I’ve been mostly un- or half-conscious through it all, so it’s been somewhat tolerable, I suppose.  Finally, today I was able to watch some filmage, as I have been conscious these past seven-ish hours, and I was finally able to tolerate sound.  As I searched for a movie to watch, I got to wondering about the kind of movie I was wanting to watch.

I noticed that none of the movies coming up on the scroll (Netflix Japan) were really appealing to me, although I have enjoyed several of them in the past.  Why do I not want to watch them now, but I liked them at another time, and likely will want to watch them again in the near future (I have had this happen many times, you see)?  What causes that change in preference to happen?

Mostly, I just wanted to watch Mona Lisa, Smile with Julia Roberts (yet again), and I knew it was because I 1)loved the fashion and lifestyle in the film, and 2)wanted to be like Julia Roberts in the film.  And that’s what had it click.  I realized: I’m looking for the life I want.  Rather than sitting here on the sofa in aches and pains, simultaneously wishing to get well asap and to prolong the illness so that I don’t have to go to work tomorrow, I want to be somewhere else, in some other part of life, even in someone else’s life.  And, since I can’t actually do that, I seek this alternative, improved life via film.

I notice, too, that I sometimes do the same with books.  Now, while I do read the ones that peek over the fence to that desirable and unrealistic life I want (think Shopaholic (the book, not the terrible movie that I turned off in disgust after about five minutes)), I make sure to put in the various classics and highly acclaimed books that have to do with depth and such, as opposed to my girlish ridiculousness and fun, so as to keep a good balance.

Though, as I debated about how to word that second-to-last clause, I thought of books that I have loved over the years.  From Bunnicula to Ender’s Game to Shopaholic to Pride and Prejudice, there was always something I desired and somewhat envied about each of their worlds.  The friendships, the sneaking around, the detective mentality, the genius, the fashion and money, the lifestyle, the travel, the love story, the love… they were all things I would love to have in my own life, in my own world of here and now.  It was never merely a girlish crush on the handsome and strong Native American so in love with the female protagonist (I admit, I truly did love reading those bits of Bis(s) zum Morgengrauen and the whole series.), but often something much greater, much deeper.  I wanted, if not the whole thing, a piece of their lives to come to life within my own life’s story.

And so I think it is with the movies I most love, as well.  Why else would I love my favorite films so much as I do?  I can relate to them for how they are like I am, as well as for how I want to be like they are.

And, to further and complete the thought, when I am sick and alone and longing to be in almost any other part of even my own life, the movie I most want to watch will be the one that best depicts the ideal situation for my life right now.

And, for today, I think that is somewhere with a great beach and the perfect mixture of warm and cool breezes, filled with people who are fun and who love me and whom I love, and where I am already slimmed down from my winter warmth weight.  So bring on some Eliza Thornberry or Just Go With It, yeah?  ;P

Except actually.  🙂

 

Post-a-day 2017

 

The train station at 5am

Out of the darkness, a pair of white tennis shoes appear in the corner, illuminated by some magical strip of light.  They are patiently, patiently, ever so patiently waiting.

Upward, dark jeans, black jacket, a bag… once invisible in their angled darkness, they solemnly allow their existence to be known with a quiet and easy surprise attack.

A man.  Looking at nothing, waiting for something that will come no time soon, he stands still with the time, innerly… something…, outwardly stoical against the near-bitter cold.

This I see as I grumble home in my near hallucinations of aches and pains at 5am.

Post-a-day 2017

What a day…(!)

Sometimes, it is reeeeeaaallly helpful having a brother with distinctions, who is in the same time zone.  Because sometimes you just might feel like you’re suddenly going to explode from terrible-feeling emotions, and the only remedy around is a chat with your brother… which happens to be the perfect remedy, after all.  ðŸ™‚
Thanks, bro.
Post-a-day 2017

A glimpse of Japanese culture

Tonight, I stopped in at an udon restaurant that is a similar style to Luby’s (pick up a tray, grab side dishes as you will, and order the main hot dish fresh when you get to that section, pay at the end of the sliding bar line) for dinner.  I initially hesitate, figuring out what I want to eat. As I decide upon something, I realize that I don’t know how to say what I want, because the first half of the name is written in kanji.  If it had been reversed, with hiragana first and kanji second, I could have faked my way through.  However, how does one start a word/name with only the end of it?

So, I figured I’d just stumble through verbally, and eventually get someone to lean over the counter a bit to see which picture I was indicating.  As I arrive at the ordering section, and attempt to do just as I had planned, explaining that I can’t read Japanese, but I want this one, please, the man in line behind me does me a solid, and reads aloud the name of the dish for me.

Now he totally didn’t need to do this, as the restaurant worker easily leaned forward to see the  picture anyway, but he, for whatever reason – and I word it this way, because this has not often been my experience here, having people be oh-so-willing to help out the foreign girl – decided to help me.  Therefore, despite my terror of getting caught in a language mess of trying to explain and risking not getting my way, I told the lady at the register to put mine and the man’s meals together.  She seemed a bit caught off guard, but accepted my request, likely assuming that I was actually here with the guy after all.

I paid, accepted my change, thanked the cashier, thanked the man once again as he walked up next to me in line once again, and walked off to my seat around the corner.

A minute later, I went to get some tea from the water and hot green tea dispenser, and saw the man there getting water for himself.  When he saw me, he did the Japanese “Oh!”, though a bit subdued, and thanked me in a very fumbly sort of way (I imagine he isn’t quite accustomed to such a scenario, based on his general appearance and fumbliness.), opting to use the version of thank you that literally means “excuse me”, and bowing as best he could holding his tray and water.  I told him that it was nothing, and thanked him again for the help.

Still sitting at my seat a while later, watching a small spider tiddle across the countertop, I notice the man coming over to me, and I look up at him.  He thanks me again (and again in a very fumbly way), looking a bit embarrassed, and bows a couple more times (which I return with a smile and bow) before leaving the restaurant.

It was quite simple, but I found so much culture in the situation, I wanted to share it.  Plus, this older guy was, in a grandpa sort of way, so cute, I wanted the memory to live on somehow in others.

So, thank you, again, old man.  Really, I appreciated your help, and gave you your meal easily and with delight – it was almost an honor for me to have provided you this token of my gratitude.  Thanks.  ðŸ™‚
Post-a-day 2017