expat alkie

An Elegant Murder of Crows

I can be a bit of a thrill seeker sometimes. 

In the past, my idea of adventure has been more along the the lines of chugging a bottle of tequila, putting on a mini-skirt then going out to the bars Roppongi - seeing if I might come home alive.

Ironically if not uncommonly, I often felt afraid of even the most mundane things when I wasn't drinking.  As a result, I drank heavily for a sense of freedom from those fears.

Maybe I'm missing that sense of adventure, and that's why I ran right up to some of the infamously large Ueno Park crows today, to snap some photos of these somewhat creepy birds, which looked fully capable of poking my gaijin eyes out.  It's a little healthier than before, don't you think?  (Unless I'd actually gotten my eyes poked out... but I didn't, so it's ok!)

These pictures make me wonder if there isn't a certain elegance or beauty in those things that scare me the most.

And below, we have a murder of crows congregating. I've always wanted to have a reason to write that phrase!  Maybe I really am like a goth kid under the guise of a pink banner. 

This little guy, unfortunately, has  a broken beak and some ruffled feathers.  Yet he seems to be hopping around ok otherwise.  I'd hate to see that the other guy looks like...

 

"Domo arigato gozaimashita," another new friend bows farewell:

                         

what's in a banner...

As you may have noticed, I have recently discovered the custom design option on my blog settings.  I've been coming up with new designs through trial and error- since I don't really know what I'm doing- and this has made for hours of chaotic bliss over on my end.  On the other hand, the redesign function has swallowed up much of my free time in the past day or so. I thought I had completed the revamping of this design last night, only to wake up this morning and find that my blog was way, way too pink (so pink...).  So what do you people think now?  Anyone?

Also, I want to explain some things about my new banner:

This year, cherry blossom season coincided with my third month of sobriety in early April.  And to be honest, I had been dreading its arrival.  Cherry blossom culture is not complete without being drunk.  I do not exaggerate.  The alcohol companies come out with special themed cans of beer and sake which they decorate with pink blossoms during the week-long peak of the season.  Then, as per usual, said cans are subsequently strewn about the streets in bulk, often accompanied by well-dressed party goers whose company outings came to an end on the sidewalks or in the gutters.  This phenomena, most common around New Year's Day and during cherry blossom season in Japan, is perfectly acceptable.  Some argue that it's even part of the "unique" culture here. (But I will not go there with a 10-foot sword.)

I was invited to a blossom viewing party in the park one Saturday last April, and I decided to go, if only because not going would have been even worse.  Watching all the others around me drinking sake and enjoying the natural transience of the blossoms, I felt an overwhelming sense of regret.  Just a as the cherry blossoms were impermanent, so were my wild partying days.  And they were over.

"The party is over," I kept thinking to myself.

Then at some point, I excused myself from the group to go take pictures of the blossoms with my camera phone.  I suppose it's fitting that I tired very quickly of snapping the blossoms on the trees.  Instead, I aimed my lens at the fallen blossoms that lay amidst trash in the surrounding gutters.  Despite the plethora of pink flowers that hung above me in the trees, I thought that the blossoms on the ground were the prettiest.  Party goers who noticed me taking pictures of "the garbage" looked at me as if I were insane.  Which, of course, I basically am.

Then yesterday, one week short of six sober months, I stitched these photos together to create the above banner.  I did this holding to a sincere (if flickering) hope that a different, more fulfilling party is about to begin.

I'm not playing

How much.

These two words are usually harmless.  Combined, they produce a key interrogative phrase in my native language.  They are among the first words I teach the Japanese children I tutor in English, when we are playing "store".

These are perfectly inoffensive words, that is, unless you are waiting to meet a friend outside of a bookstore in Shibuya, and a creepy old man whispers them into your ear as he walks by.

Then they can ruin your day.

He continues to walk a few steps, then turns around in anticipation of an estimate.  I make eye contact and nod my head in order to communicate that I am so, so not about to play store with the likes of his dirty-old-man ass.

This is not the first time something like this has happened to me in Tokyo.  In the past, encounters such as this one have lead me to question how I carry myself in public.  I have often grappled with internal debates regarding whether or not it is possible to not dress like a whore- by conservative Japanese standards- in 90 degree weather.  This time, however, I felt determined not to let some loser ruin my good mood.  Inspired by the intelligent and delightfully bitter website "hollabacknyc," I decide to take a photo of the guy at this very moment. 

And here he is, looking confused as to why I am taking a picture of him.

No, I'm not playing your game asshole.  Every woman doesn't have a price.  I want to yell.

At the same time though, I am grudgingly coming to terms with the idea that, in my recovery from alcoholism,  anger and resentment are luxuries that I can't afford.  Just a couple days ago, I was reading about 'anger' in my version of the Big Book.  When we are feeling such resentment towards a specific person in our lives, the Big Book recommends the following prayer:

This is a sick person.  How can I be helpful to her, to him?  God save me from being angry.  Thy will be done.

That said, my reaction to the above picture now that I have the time reflect on it, is nothing like I thought it would be.  I thought that I might enjoy printing the pervert out and posting him on the wall so that I could throw darts at his nether regions.  But actually, looking at his picture right now, it makes me feel incredibly sad for some reason.  I don't know if it's weird or not to feel this way, but I just pity him so much.  He is just so pathetic.  He is a spiritually sick person.

It's just like the book said.

When I think of the bigger picture however, of all of the similar situations my friends and I have found ourselves in, of all the pictures like this one that should be taken every second somewhere but aren't, then I get angry again. 

And isn't it healthy to get a little angry sometimes?  What is the real difference between anger and resentment anyway?  What about when the wrongs I resent the most are merely symptomatic of far greater social injustices that exist throughout the world??  And what if, by sitting idly by and doing nothing to aggressively defend myself, I feel as if I am only helping said injustices to continue???

Maybe it would help to say:

Higher power, this is a sick society.  How can I be helpful to it?  Save me from being angry.  Thy will be done.

except for this post:

OK, Thy will be done from now on...

live from the 'Jade Must Quit Her Job' campaign headquarters

Despite seemingly sincere claims that she would give her notice this week, guess who is still one of the most-requested hostesses in Roppongi...

   

And guess who, despite coming to the club with the explicit intention to dissuade Jade from working, ended up on the floor tying her obi.

 

I am such a co-dependent Geisha!! Where are my meetings for this?

giri as a thing of the past

So I am outside this evening, playing with some devil sticks in the courtyard of my apartment, like a kid, waiting for my fiance to come home.  There, I cross paths with the young lawyer from Bulgaria who lives on the sixth floor of my building.

"That juggling's pretty impressive," she says.

I bow to her, but say nothing.  Bowing is a great way to shrug off compliments.

"Join us for some drinks," she nods at the shopping bags full of Asahi Super Dry that occupy both her hands.

"I don't drink," I grin, somewhat nervously.

"Still?" she asked with a sense of surprise that has become familiar to me. "You're going to make me feel bad again now!"  Sometime last fall before I quit drinking, I was feeling the type of groundless generosity that only a drunk can possess and picked up a tab for her at a karaoke bar where a group of us had drummed up a pretty tall bill.  My refusal to let her return the favor is getting on her nerves.

"I have giri," she says seriously.  Though neither of us is Japanese, we understand the concept of "giri" (or "duty") very well.  And in this situation, giri dictates that if my acquaintance is not able to repay the generosity she once received from me, then she should feel unbearably ashamed.

I shrug, as if to tell her that she may as well commit harakiri now if she can't deal with the shame of being unable to pay me back.

"Well," she says, "stop by my apartment anyway.  This is the only night of the week that I finish work early."  I look at my watch, noting it's 9:30pm.

"Ok, maybe later," I lie, "I'm waiting for Trevor to come home."

"See you then," she says, making it my turn to feel guilty.

"Do you like me better now that I don't drink?" I ask Trevor, back in our room.

"Yes," he replies immediately.

"Is that the right answer?" I ask again, half joking and half curious.

"Is it?" he deflects my inquiry.

"But you liked me before I quit drinking too, right."

"You were the same person," he assures me, "but now you are a much more constant companion."

"I think that ever since you decided you didn't need to drink," he continues, "nothing but good things have been coming your way."

So much is undeniably true.  I am better at just about everything I do now, and for a goal-oriented type this is very satisfying.

"Then why do I miss it so much?" I want do ask, but I don't.  Actually, I only think to ask so much after I type up the above conversation.  But now he has gone to the store.  Besides, I don't think he knows.

I hear his key in the door now.  He's brought me back cucumber pepsi.

Beer for Kids!! (They hate feeling left out...)

I'm not quite sure what to make of this:

Japanese Beer Company Releases Beer for Kids

. . .Sangaria started their line of fake alcoholic drinks for kids with Kodomo no nomimono (Children’s drink), and has been successful enough to offer it in bottles, cans, and even six-packs. They also expanded the product line to include children’s versions of wine, champagne, and cocktails. The beer, flavored like apple juice, even foams at the top when poured into a glass!. . . Japan is well known for its group drinking culture, and this is actually a great way to include the kids during family celebrations. . .

Bizarre, right?  It makes me think of a time some years ago when I was working with a class of three-year-olds at a Japanese preschool, and they all suddenly started bringing their fake cell phones to school.  I was an advocate of banning this practice, because the kids picked up an uncanny tendency to avoid all responsibilities by pretending to receive important calls.  A typical exchange went as follows.

Me:  Nobuya, it's time to clean up now.

Nobuya (retreating into a corner of the classroom with his plastic phone, putting his hand over his ear that is not next to the receiver as people often do to stifle outside noise):  One moment please Miss Lea!

Me:  Finish your call quickly.  If you don't clean up then you can't eat lunch with your class!

Nobuya (speaking into his phone):  Hai, hai, hai, wakarimashita kaicho. (Yes, yes, yes, I understand boss.)

This in mind, I can't help but wonder what types of unacceptable behavior these fake beverages might lead to among similar toddlers, as they invariably imitate their parent's behavior.  Will the bottle become an excuse to forget about toilet training and pee in the clothes hamper?  Will they begin to think that it's OK to sing and shout around the house without having to use their "inside voices?"  Will they believe that they should stomp and stumble awkwardly around the living room pretending to be roaring tigers or retarded dinosaurs??

I don't know about you, but if I were still a three-year-old I'd get addicted pretty fast...

Jade's Kimono Party

I met my close friend "Jade" briefly in Roppongi last night.  I had just finished teaching an English lesson in the area, and she was about to begin her night job.  I stopped by her place of employment in Roppongi last night as she was getting ready to work.  The two pictures below are of her, with permission.

Friday night was "kimono party night," at the establishment, so I got to see her wear her Japanese kimono for the first time since we worked nights together as bar hostesses in nearby Ginza. Presently, Jade works as a hostess in Roppongi two nights a week to supplement her regular income as a Japanese-English translator.

Jade swore off hostessing entirely last summer, and even convinced me to do so myself by late that Fall (as she was concerned about my drinking).  But Tokyo rents are high, and soon she was hurting for yen again.  Truthfully, it is hard to stay away too long from a job that only requires smiling and accepting many free drinks (with bonuses for each drink a client buys you).  That said, a hostess bar is one of the worst possible environments for a female alcoholic IN THE WORLD.

Jade is not an alcoholic though; she's a workaholic, and has admitted to this. Having recently come into some money as she keeps taking on more work, she presently doesn't need the night job anymore.  Jade keeps saying that she is about to quit hostessing again, and I can tell from the tone of her voice she really believes that she will.  But she doesn't.  She never does.  It is habitual.  She has to be pushed to the edge in order to lay off of any work commitment.  That said, she doesn't so much need to be persuaded as she does shoved.

"If you don't give your notice by next week," I joked, "then I will come join you again as a hostess here!"

"That's impossible!" she exclaimed, "you can't do that.  You don't even drink anymore!"

"I know," I replied smugly, "so you'd better quit already."

In retrospect, I think that it would do Jade and I both very well if we could somehow possess the same concern for ourselves as we have for each other.

one alcoholic's view from roppongi station

pictures that are mine

So I got myself a real camera.  Yes I did.  I received some extra money from that translation gig that kicked my ass last week, so I decided to treat myself.  It's nothing too special, just not my cell phone anymore.

My new penchant for photography is a very recent development.  One could say that sobriety has blessed me with new ability to see in a straight-line, a gift of which I am taking advantage.  There is a bit more to the story though.

Late last year, some pictures were taken of me working at a Tokyo hostess bar.  This was obviously before I quit drinking.  They were commissioned for a magazine in America at the time, and were run with my permission.  About two months ago however, the pictures showed up again in a local Tokyo magazine.  When I inquired as to What The Fuck, I learned that this photographer decided to rake in more yen by selling the pictures to a second publication as well.

To make matters worse, I ended up getting in trouble with some members of Tokyo AA for breaking my anonymity through the photos. I can't get into all this in detail, but let's just say that it is not something I recommend going through at 3 1/2 months sober.  Luckily however, my higher power put some wonderful people in my path to help me get through this "scandal" without quitting the program.

If I wanted to post said photos here, I'm pretty sure that I would have to pay this irritating photographer for the rights to my own reflection.  Even though the images are of me, they belong to someone else.  (Unless uninformed Tokyo AA members need someone to blame for breaking my anonymity, then everything is my fault.)

I find all that pretty fucked up.  So, I decided that I am going to learn to take my own pictures.  And Tokyo is a great place to photograph.  It is a sometimes beautiful, sometimes appalling, often puzzling and always compelling canvas of a city. 

My Real camera and I are still getting to know each other, so I'll leave you with what may be my last telephoto essay.  Again, it chronicles the complex relationship between a girl and her cell phone in the underground matrix that is Shinjuku station. (Also: people on the ceiling!)

One thing I will miss about my cell phone pics is that, by their very nature, they need never be taken seriously...

                                                                                                                                                                                

          

                                                                                                                                                                                 

Karaoke: Not Just for Drunks Anymore...!

Every day I come across more ordinary experiences that I used to believe were impossible to tolerate without the aid of a drink.

Whether it be going to a sushi bar without ordering a bottle of sake to invariably spill on the fish, visiting my former homestay family without guzzling chu-hi on the train over to Yokohama, or even getting a phone call from someone back in the US without a six pack on hand, all of these experiences feel like stepping stones upon which I cautiously maintain my balance as I cross a river of sorts.

Going to Karaoke the other day, however, was more like jumping into the water and just swimming to the other side instead.

I should note that Japanese karaoke is strictly distinct from the American adaptation. In Japan, the sing-along fest is almost always a private party.  Establishments rent out dozens of small rooms equip with the machines, so that we need only embarrass ourselves in front of our closest friends.  It is also not uncommon to go to karaoke alone.  Salarymen and high school students will often patronize karaoke boxes during their lunch breaks, so that they might alleviate some work-related stress by belting along to their favorite songs while no one is watching.  These establishments serve alcohol, but it is not a requirement. 

Nonetheless, karaoke and intoxication still go together like sake and sashimi.

I was out with my best friend, and I forget which one of us suggested going to karaoke.  It is something that we always used to do while out drinking together.  I will call her "Jade" because that is her name in my book. She knows that I have quit drinking, and is an ardent fan of the decision.  At karaoke, she chose not to drink in my company although I told her it would be fine if she did.  I was surprised that she didn't feel the need to order a drink despite the environment.  Other People, I am learning, do not drink nearly as much as I thought that they did.

And so we sang the latest J-pop tunes.  English lyrics occasionally made cameo appearances in these songs, seemingly for decoration.  This "English" is heavily accented and basically indecipherable while only listening to the songs on the radio, so we were very amused to learn the actual nature of these lyrics while reading them off of the TV screen.

I thought you might be too:

I am learning that laughter can be an intoxicating substance in itself, and in this light I feel lucky that I live here in Japan, where there exists so, so much to laugh about.