The Poetist

VH-1 and it’s “Best Week Ever” have nothing on my day!

Today was my second day of absolute vacation, and it was wonderful (much better than the first, actually).  I woke up when I felt like it, ate breakfast at a leisurely pace and all that… then I emailed a dear friend of mine (Yuu) who also happens to be my neighbor.  Tuesday is his day off, and after leaving a drinking party together last night we decided to hang out today; his girlfriend (Sunao) also has Tuesdays off so the three of us got to hang out together.

It was wonderfully spontaneous!  I emailed him like oh, have you had lunch?  And he hadn’t so I hopped in the shower and bicycled over to his apartment.  There was no organized meeting time, and we didn’t know where we were going to go, it was just as we felt like it.  We decided on going to a traditional market area near Ueno – the kind of market where trendy, cheap (and cheaply made) shoes are sold next to shops hawking any manner of dried foods, next to a shop displaying a vast (and I mean vast) array of seafood.  I’ve seen pink octopus tentacles with white suction cups before, but today I tentacles that were completely red!  And then around the corner were shops selling expensive jewelry and designer denim.  We had delicious domburi (sashimi over rice) for lunch and then browsed the market area.  I picked up a new charm for my keitai (cell phone), bought some souvenirs for people back home, and finally tried on a pair of jeans from a brand I’ve been craving – Evisu.  They’re expensive, but they’re practically synonomous with Tokyo and remind me of things I like about this city.  I should say I tried to try on a pair of jeans… even with correct waist and inseam measurements there wasn’t enough room in the actual leg.  It’s amazing how many measurements must align in order for something to fit; that doesn’t often happen for me out here.

We ambled over to Ueno park where I saw the largest water lilies/palm fronds that I think I’ve ever seen.  It was also in this area that a Japanese cable tv channel was filming something on people taking pictures in Ueno park, so the cameramen filmed Sunao as she took a picture of me and Yuu.  I really wanted to get a picture of the cameramen filming/photographing us but that was kind of impossible as Sunao was using my camera and there was nobody to take a picture of the whole scene.  We kept walking around and more or less found ourselves at the train station.  So then we decided what to do next, and that turned out to be…

Tokyo Dome City!  Tokyo Dome City is basically an amusement park in the middle of Tokyo.  The Yomiuri Giants (baseball team) play in the Tokyo Dome; there is also a hotel, bowling alley, arcades (pericula!), restaurants, a spa/onsen… and rollercoasters!  The first one we rode was really intense – the initial incline is very steep, and the initial decline very scary/exhilirating.  This rollercoaster cuts through a ferris wheel, and even a building!  Craziness.  The second attraction we visited was hands down the scariest haunted house I’ve ever experienced.  It’s the kind where you walk through and the premise was that you had to open the doors yourself to continue through the house and make it to the exit.  I was the keeper of the keys, and at places I didn’t know if I would be more freaked out by what was behind me or in front of me.  This house was intense – I don’t want to give too much away, but suffice it to say that the images were gory, highly animated, and came out from all sides – including underneath!  We went through so many doors that looked the same we were actually still screaming when we finally went through the exit.  The last attraction we did was an indoor rollercoaster.  There were some breathtaking moments but it wasn’t so scary; there were however some really cool visual effects along the way.  On our way out of Tokyo Dome City I spotted the unmistakable outline of pericula booths and so of course, we did pericula!

In addition to all the things I saw and did, and the people I was with, one of the best things about this day was the food!  For dinner we came back to Mitaka and had yakiniku which means I got to eat my two most favorite foods in the same day.  What a day.

Adventures in medicine are not the kind of adventures you want to have in a foreign country. That being said…

A couple of weeks ago I was doing something totally unremarkable when I realized that thing hurt my middle finger. I looked at the palm of my finger and saw a couple of black spots. I figured it was a splinter that I somehow acquired, and didn’t think more of it. And then the black spots didn’t go away. They multiplied. I started seeing these little white lumps turn into black spots. I started with 2, and now I have 6. And to boot, my arm has been feeling funny too (although maybe I’m sleeping on it too much?)

So I went to a clinic on Thursday. I called my insurance company, told them the problem, and they found a clinic near my train station and (more or less) made an appointment for me. My doctor spoke a little bit of English. Enough to ask me questions, but not enough to explain anything to me. She looked at my finger and basically said the problem was “too weak” to be able to tell what it was. She couldn’t decide if it was a splinter or an insect bite, and said that I should put ointment on it and come back Tuesday.

I was like, something is in my finger. What is ointment going to do??? She said that it would make my finger softer, so she would better be able to tell what the problem was. I asked her why she didn’t know, and what she was looking for but she said she couldn’t explain it to me in English. I looked at my finger again and noticed that two black dots had actually grown to four. So I asked her to take another look at it. I said look -before there were two dots and now there are four! She offered to get a needle to try to dig it out – whatever it is. (In retrospect it seems odd that a doctor would willingly go poking around under my skin without having any idea what’s under there.)

I, however, am deathly afraid of needles. Just to give you a picture of this: in high school I had to get a shot for some reason (vaccination?) and after the fact I fainted. I had been so nervous about getting a shot I fainted as soon as it was over. In college I went through a time where I was pretty consistently getting poked and prodded, and when it came time for a shot my veins collapsed. I was so nervous that my veins literally disappeared and it became difficult for the nurses to find a vein large enough to use. It’s pretty serious for me. So while the nurse went to get the needle I started freaking out. I almost started crying and then in my head I was like ‘Adelle, get yourself together. You can’t cry about this, something is in your finger.’ The doctor came back and the needle actually wasn’t the long scary kind, it looked more like a sewing needle. I was still pretty apprehensive though. She took another look at my finger, claimed that it was impossible to know anything, and then told me that I had two choices. She could use the needle to investigate, or I could take the ointment and comeback Tuesday.

I chose the ointment.

Although I must admit, I haven’t been that serious about putting it on. The pharmacist spoke better English than the doctor, and she told me that the ointment was an antibiotic; something I’m sure the doctor could have communicated to me as well. I’ve been showing my finger to anyone willing to look – it’s not gross, just strange – and one of my friends said that it might be calcium deposits, which happen to people who don’t get enough calcium. Another friend suggested that I go to Web M.D., which I did. The symptoms don’t entirely match up, but it looks like I could have a finger infection. I’m going to go back to the clinic tomorrow and hope that the doctor knows something. And if she doesn’t, I’ll just have to find an English speaking clinic, which hopefully won’t be too hard. All I want is a person who knows what she’s doing and can speak English… two things I didn’t see on Thursday. Maybe I’ll just bypass this clinic/doctor and ask my insurance people to find me another place. Yeah.

Just an hour ago I was still at the police station, answering questions.

I don’t even know where to start telling the story…

I met up with a friend for a couple of drinks in Shibuya, and around 12:30am I was back at Mitaka station, bending over my bicycle to unlock it. I noticed two huge and beautiful dogs a few feet away from me, so I paused to look at them, and when I turned back there were two police officers walking in my direction. I didn’t think anything of it; then one of them spoke to me.

Are you a university student? no. He was smiling, and I thought he just wanted to practice English. He turned to his partner and spoke, and then turned back to me and, in Japanese, asked to see my Gaijin card. It’s something Gaijin (foreigners) always have to have. If you don’t have it, it’s grounds for arrest. I had mine. I showed it to the officer, he smiled and said, ah – Americajin! Then they both started poking around my bike. One officer – the younger one – was inputting information into some handheld computer thing. The older one was asking me questions, including – where did you get it? Tomodachi (friend), I said.

All Japanese bicycles are registered. Mine isn’t. A friend gave it to me, and she got it from a Japanese man who got it from a recycle shop. It’s not been registered. I wasn’t too worried though. I didn’t do anything wrong, and I figured it would become obvious to the officers that I hadn’t stolen it. But they were taking a while to come to that conclusion. I asked if there was a problem with my bike, and the elderly officer indicated that I was to accompany them to the koban, the area police station. This whole time he was apologizing to me – gomenne (gomen nasai – I’m sorry), sumimasen (excuse me). Gomenne, gomenne. At first I was like, daijo bu, no problem. But after a while I got confused, then angry. Why are you apologizing? Stop apologizing. You obviously think I’m a criminal. Either do your job and don’t apologize or let me go! This was all in my head, of course.

At the station I started freaking out a little. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong, but it’s common knowledge among Gaijin in Tokyo that the police are often racist against foreigners. If something happens involving a foreigner and a Japanese person, it’s automatically the fault of the Gaijin. If a crime is committed against a Gaijin, it’s not uncommon for the police to hardly feel bothered to investigate, much less make an attempt to prosecute. To add fuel to my mental fire, in last week’s Metropolis (a widely read English-language magazine) ran an article about police mistreatment and downright neglect of Gaijin and crimes against Gaijin.

At the station the older officer led me into a back room, all the while dropping gomenne, gomenne. They started asking me more questions, in Japanese, and an officer who spoke a little office came to the back and attempted to communicate. At that point I thought to call a Japanese friend who lives in Mitaka, near the station. I texted him, called him 3 times, and left a message. I couldn’t get a hold of him, and I was trying not to get frantic. I mean, yeah I was sitting in the police station but I knew there was nothing they could get me on. My bike is unregistered but that also means I didn’t steal it. But still, it was hard not to freak a little bit.

So, I was back there freaking out a little bit and growing in anger. The old officer was sitting across from me, smoking, still saying gomenne, gomenne. Although to his credit he did offer me something to drink. During my unsuccessful attempts at reaching my friend (tomodachi nihonjin I told them, pointing to my phone) they called around and found an office where someone spoke English. So, I spoke to an officer in English. He bombarded me with questions!

Your bicycle is unregistered, where did you get it? Where does that person live? When did they leave? Where did they go? When did you get the bicycle? Did you pay for it? Was it free?
I explained to the officer that I got it from a friend who got it from a Japanese man who got it from a recycle shop. She gave it to me before she left Japan to return home to Oregon, a couple of weeks ago. I answered all of his questions except the ones about payment. In fact, I asked the officer why that was relevant. He never answered, just indicated that I should return the phone to the nearest Japanese speaker. Shortly after that the officer got up and left the room saying, gomenne, kiotsukete (take care). I was just like ok, so I can go? No one answered, so I got up and left. On my way out the small crowd of officers there were all saying arigato and kiotsukete. Not one person said a thing to me about registering my bike – no words of caution, no information on how to register. They didn’t even ask the person on the phone to tell me.

At this point I was pretty confused and angry, but I returned a couple of kiotsuketes, a thank-you, hopped on my bike and left; propelled home on my anger, smarting from the experience.

In an effort to really look at the depth of my Christmas spirit, I’ve decided to document my festive experiences (effective now, not retroactive).

Last night my friends and I an awesome night of karaoke in Shinjuku. There had been talk of a special Christmas karaoke night for a week or so, but it finally materialized the morning of. As usual we walked the night streets of Shinjuku until we found an acceptable deal – usually no less than Y1500, nami hodi of course. The first place we great. lots of people, lots of drinks, a friend’s parents (her dad was getting into it), and tambourines. i think i’ve felt my true musical calling – a tambourinist. i was playing the hell out of the songs. a few hours later my hand was bruised. it stayed so over 24 hrs later.

we only signed up for 2 hrs – the plan was to catch last train, but with about half an hour left word was spreading around the sauna sized room that some people we going all night. basically anyone who didn’t have to work at 10 the next day. so when it was over the group poured into the street at a good drunken space, light our friends with early shifts. on the street deciding the next move a group of really friendly Japanese guys approached us. The ring-leader, White Glasses, spoke first saying, EXACTLY!!!!! I’m assuming that’s the first English word that came to mind. As is our custom, we made friends. Sean and I started switching clothes with them, Sean and White Glasses practically traded outfits. Two of the guys really liked Allison.

Eventually we moved onto the next karaoke place. as it turns out 7-11 never has after-hours for my bank. There seems to be only 1 711 in Shinjuku, but thankfully it was near the karaoke booth. On the way back I noticed Santa hats displayed enticelying outside of a store, so i immediately bought one. I re-entered our karaoke booth in this festive manner, and I was greeting with rousing cheers. And it all went downhill from there…

The Meidaimae family sticks together, but 2/3 of the children of Meidaimae got horribly wasted. Let’s just say I helped clean up bodily fluids AND solids. I came home and I told my roommate (one of those who we lost to the early schedule) that I became the caretaker of the evening. She was like wow, things must have been bad! cause i was pretty drunk too… I’ll just file it as one of the more mis-adventurous nights.

The background nuisance of ATM ‘after hours’ became palpable a couple of Wednesday’s ago. Coming home from Shibuya a little ahead of last train, I transferred as usual at Meidaimae, the place where I work. In Japan the trains are always on time, so I immediately knew that something was wrong when the timetable of incoming trains was hours behind and a completely empty train was sitting on the tracks. After a few minutes spent racking my brain for the proper thing – anything – to say, I looked at the station agent and said “Fuchu???” He said something that sounded urgent – and I understood ‘Shimokitazawa’ and ‘taxi’. I started to worry – was I supposed to take a taxi from Shimokitazawa? I left Shibuya before last train, but by this time if I was going to Shimokitazawa I had to do it fast, or else I might be sleeping in the Meidaimae station. That’s when I spotted a Jamaican Gaijin on the platform – on the phone with a Japanese person. He handed the phone to the train agent, and after a few minutes his friend gave him the translation. Apparently something happened to a train on the tracks, and NO TRAINS could move! Keio line was shut down for the night!

We were all supposed to take cabs home, and they were suggesting that we did it from Shimokitazawa. It’s not uncommon for Gaijin in Tokyo to ignore each other, so I was happy to have this Jamaican around, especially since he had access to someone who spoke Japanese. Ignoring the question of how to pay for a cab with only ¥2000 on me, I wanted to figure out the Shimokitazawa question. The Jamaican, however, had a different priority. Still on the phone with his Japanese connection he was getting angry that he had to front money for something. It appeared that his trip was being sponsored (common for Gaijin – many come here on tours, etc), and he hadn’t expected to have to pay for anything – even though Keio line was obviously reimbursing everyone. I waited a minute or two for him to calm down, but he just grew angrier. I got so annoyed! I was thinking – forget about the money! We may not even be able to get to Shimokitazawa!

At that point I left the platform to see if anything in the station made sense. At first all I saw was a mildly chaotic crowd, and then a confluence of factors saved me. I spotted Akane, one of the Japanese staff at my branch – she was just then leaving work. I was so relieved to see her!! I rushed over to her, my frantic words practically pouring out of my mouth. She was really calm (probably because she could understand what was going on), reassured me and explained as much of the situation as she was told and could relay in English. I didn’t have to go to Shimokitazawa for a taxi, a makeshift taxi-stand materialized in Meidaimae for the occasion. At that point I realized that I didn’t know how to pay for a cab. It was way after-hours; I was thinking that maybe Keio line would provide us IOUs to give the cab drivers, but I knew that was an empty hope. I wasn’t yet figuring out how to explain to a cab driver where I live – the streets of Tokyo are so chaotic (often nameless) everything requires a map and very specific directions – but with Akane there I felt that crisis was a little less imminent.

She is the reason I got home. Maybe the most crucial and serendipitous detail of it all: Akane lives two stops away from me on the Keio line. Not having money for a cab was no problem. Not being able to tell the cab driver where I live was not an issue. My background state of disorientation would not keep me from getting home. Akane and I found a cab together, she explained to the driver where to take me, and before she got out gave me enough money to cover the ¥8000 ride home. All I had to do was take a deep breath, and remember to get the receipt.

I missed last train last night. I met up with a couple of friends (Sean and Christian) in Shinjuku last night after working a late shift. Add the dizzying labyrinth of the Shinjuku station and it was well past 10 when we finally met up. After hanging out for a while in a little restaurant in one of Shinjuku’s back-alley mazes it was time to start thinking about last train. My roommate (Amber) actually missed it last night in Kokubunji, but was able to catch the first train at 4:30, got home by 5, and had a good bit of sleep before waking up in time for work at 1:20. That tempted me to defy the last train; plus, just as I was checking it on my cell phone, the battery died! Sean has Tuesdays off, Christian didn’t have work until 5, and I didn’t have work until 1:20, so we decided to make a night of it!

We walked around for a while trying to locate English friends of Sean in one of Tokyo’s most dizzying neighborhoods. The mission was to find them at a karaoke bar on the 10^th floor of a building near to the Hub, a chain of English pubs in Tokyo. After realizing that there is more than one Hub in Shinjuku, we set out to find our own karaoke bar. At 1:00 in the morning central Tokyo was still pretty vibrant, thanks in part to the karaoke agents. Every karaoke bar has a cadre of people that circulate outside and try to woo you in. The Japanese pursue other Japanese, and the Africans take care of Gajin. While looking for Sean’s friends we kept running into the same African karaoke guy. He wanted us to come to his bar, but it was too expensive for us and he wouldn’t make a deal. Finally, for some reason he asked Christian if he spoke French. He does not. So I said ‘vous parlez français?’ I chatted with him in French for a couple of minutes, and then he went and found a Japanese karaoke agent who cut us a really good deal. Some people in Shinjuku charged 3000 yen for an hour. Our guy let us in for 1450 yen for two hours, all-you-can-drink. The 3 of us sang karaoke for 3 hours. It was glorious!

(Japanese karaoke is hardcore! You get your own little room with a small couch lining the wall on 3 sides of the room, and a flat panel TV on the 4^th wall. The technology of the karaoke is of course, advanced; and there was an impressive selection of very ‘now’ songs, but they were a bit lacking in some favorite American one-hit wonders.)

We left around 4:30, ambling around, considering our options and being silly in the pre-dawn streets of Tokyo. We got to the train station a little after 5, and I was hoping there might be a train at the ready. Unfortunately, at this station the earliest train on the Keio line (the line Sean and I live on) left at 6am. So Sean and I joined a handful of other Japanese sleeping in the station until the first train arrived. But before the three of us parted ways, we agreed that after such a grand escapade we should regularly tap the awesome potential of Monday night. And that is how the Monday Night Social Club was born.

For my first and only Sunday off one of my roommates suggested that I visit a park near the Harujuku district. She said something about there being drums, lots of people and cool things going on so I decided to check it out. Either I forgot or my roommate just didn’t mention, but Sunday is when the famed vibrantly dressed Harujuku girls gather, hang out, and are admired by passers-by both domestic and foreign. It was quite a sight to see – think Halloween on Franklin Street or at UW-Madison, times 100, minus all the fratasticity. So the equation looks something like this: Harujuku (Sunday) = H³ x 100 – frat boys. Minus H³ points if you have wrinkles. Bonus points for looking like a toy that will come alive and murder you in your sleep.

But that was only the beginning of the afternoon. There was an American film crew doing a segment for a G4 TV (network) show called Attack of the Show. At first I couldn’t help joining the small crowd (of mostly Japanese, actually) that had gathered to ogle the action. I mean, they were speaking English! American English! After watching for a couple of minutes I decided that I was losing some amount of dignity, so I moved on. I was gone for about 5 or 10 minutes when I thought to myself – Adelle, those people are American. They have TV cameras. You need to do SOMETHING! So I went back and trailed the group for a few minutes as they got different shots among the Harujuku girls. Finally, I scrounged up some courage and asked the nearest crew person – ‘Excuse me, is this for American TV?’ It was.

Apparently Attack of the Show is usually live, but they’re filming in Japan all week for a special segment. The guy I was talking to was keeping his eye on the script during filming, but we were able to chat between a few of the takes. I wasn’t sure if I should try to sell myself to him as someone who could be useful to the show or just as a fellow American awash in Japanese culture and yearning for compatriots fresh from the States. I went with the former. ‘(uh) Do you need any help with the filming or anything? I have some experience with fashion…’ Thankfully Jim (Tim? Pretty sure it was Jim) picked up on the latter and vaguely invited me out to go drinking with the group. ‘Do you have a mobile number?’ ‘(uh) No, do you have internet?’ Forgetting that I could potentially call him from a pay phone, I gave him my email address and left it at that. Well, that and a ‘(uh) I hope to hear from you soon!’

After that I walked a few meters and I was at the entrance to the Meiji Shrine, a very famous Japanese landmark. The Shrine itself was very impressive, just being in its presence almost gave me shivers. As I was walking away a group of Asian tourists came up to me with cameras, and I was quite happy to take their pictures in front of the Shrine. Except – that’s not what they wanted. They wanted to take pictures with me! So each individual in the group – about 4 or 5 people – came up one-by-one and stood next to me, facing the Shrine – while a friend took the picture!

I never made it to the park. The Harujuku girls, Attack of the Show, Shrine, and impromptu photo shoot were enough excitement for a few hours. Plus, the mist that formed in the early afternoon had progressively grown heavier and I was without an umbrella, so I went home.