Geisha, Interrupted

copy editors work hard

Behold, my manuscript in its supreme thickness:

Does it not scare you?  It totally scares me. I can't stand details.  If I were a copy editor, I would shoot myself.  St. Martin's recently fed-exed me the copy edited version of my manuscript for review, and I found it immensely painful to check over the grammar, spelling and facts once again.  Even though I wrote it, even though it is all about ME.  Thus, I've gained a new respect for the kind- and sheer amount- of work that copy editors do.  So どもありがとうございます, wherever you are.

I did the vast majority of proofreading yesterday, sitting on the Yamanote train line that circles around the city of Tokyo.  I had a three hour break between appointments during the day, so my monster of a manuscript and I managed to make the loop three times.  There is something about being on a moving train that is conducive to my getting work done, though I couldn't tell you what it is.

Because you can stay on this train without really going anywhere, the Yamanote is useful for many ends aside from simple commuting (presuming that it is not rush hour, when just getting into the train is an adventure in itself).  For example, there is an informal Halloween party every year.  It is an open-invitation festival in which one designated car on a specific train becomes filled with party-goers in costume.  The public consumption of alcohol not prohibited anywhere in this city, so the party is BYOB.  Last December, I made a valiant effort to throw my 26th birthday party on the Yamanote line.  My birthday falls between Christmas and New Year's however, a time when most people are busy or go traveling, so I couldn't manage to gather enough people to effectively turn one train car into a party.  We went to karaoke instead, which was just as well.

Anyways, back to my editing binge.

I talk to myself a lot.  This is especially the case as I am reviewing my manuscript on the Yamanote.  It results in various involuntary expletives such as "Oh god, I can't believe I wrote about that night!" or "I'm such a drunken whore!" or the ever popular "somebody just kill me and get this over with!"   My mumbling is basically psychotic, because I feel like I can't possibly mean what I'm saying.  But by the time I realize what I've said, it's already out there, and a group of school children sitting in the seats across from me are silently affirming their suspicion that all foreigners are CRAZY.

But they will all get off at the next stop.  That is the other great thing about the Yamanote.

I 愛 my camera phone

It's been a gorgeous weekend here in Tokyo.  Yesterday I went to an all-you-can-eat cake shop in Ginza with my friend Laura, who just finished translating a book from Japanese to English.  So we were celebrating, and ate way too much, and it was great.  These pictures were taken of the intersection below the shop, from the third-floor balcony where I happened to be taking a cigarette break.  Sorry if they make you dizzy, I have a thing for stripes and mirrors.

スーパースターの日記 。。。

My first experience on a Japanese television show was a lot like my first night in a Tokyo hostess bar. The decorations were kitchy and the entire mood felt unreal. Still, I was getting paid a lot of money for a job that turned out to require little more that sitting still and nodding my head as I pretended to be impressed by what yet another middle-aged man had to say. The similarities to nightclub hostessing- which I have since quit for good after it nearly destroyed me- were uncanny. The producers tell you where to sit, they tell you how to sit, and they give explicit instructions on how to act.

This lead me to a predictably familiar impulse. “Okay, I did everything you told me to,” I wanted to say, “now WHERE THE HELL IS MY DRINK??” But alas, there will be no more drinks for me. And this was not one of those television shows where they make you take a shot when you get an answer wrong (I actually had to check with my Japanese agent to be sure this wouldn’t the case). So I got through it without the help of liquid confidence, as if it were another party where I had to drink coke.

The hosts of the show asked me only two questions in total, both of which were so stupid they do not bear repeating, and I managed conjure some responses, in Japanese of course. I should mention that when I was first learning this language I found it hard to speak at all without some sake in me to loosen my tongue. Yet there I was, not only speaking Japanese while sober, but also with dozens of bright lights shining in my face.

It makes me feel like I am progressing, and that I totally rock. This is all very novel to me.

I Am a Medical Specialist! (world: officially doomed)

Guess what?  I'm going to be on Japanese television today!  Yes I am.  I'm going to act as one of the judges on a Japanese gameshow.  From all I hear, it is a medically themed program through the course of which two famous Japanese comedians will present their individual research concerning the causes of a medical condition called "kanashibari" or "sleep paralysis".  I will then indicate how impressed I am by each presentation by holding up either a red or a blue card.  The network (NHK) chose me for this prestigious position based not upon my expertise, but rather, upon a photograph.  On one photograph.

I must have been looking pretty damn smart that day.

ようこそ！!

Welcome everyone!  I am Lea, your Interrupted Geisha, and this is my sobriety blog.   I am 26-year-old American expat, living in Tokyo.  Here in Japan, I have worked as an English teacher, a bar hostess, a Japanese-English translator, and a street performer.  I also wrote a book.

Four-and-a-half months without a drink, and I am already sick of people asking me why I gave up alcohol.  But I suppose a brief explanation is in order, so I will just say that It was quite an experience to write a memoir about my misadventures in Tokyo, then read back over it only to see that I am not who I think I am, but instead, that I am borderline psychotic drama-freak with a death wish and a serious drinking problem.

So that's that. This website is the latest in a series of distractions that a part of me hopes will prevent my other, more evil half, from convincing me to screw this sober bullshit and get back to the liquor stores, hostess bars and train station bathroom floors where she feels I belong. (She's kind of a bitch like that.)

Tokyo is not, by any means, an easy place to begin one's sobriety.  To illustrate, allow me to introduce you to an old friend: Asahi Super Dry. It is important to understand that Asahi Super Dry is basically the best beer ever.  Billboards featuring him are common attractions on many a Tokyo subway platform, such as the one below.

It may be impossible to reckon from a mere photograph, but this is no normal billboard.  That is to say, when a commuter views it from a distance this can of beer appears to be two-dimensional.  As she gradually approaches, however, the hologram becomes more and more three dimensional until the can is literally jumping out over the subway tracks.  The effect is much like that of a 3D movie, a spiritual experience or a psychotic episode. 

Yet of course, the advertisement hangs on the wall that faces my platform from across the tracks, so the hologram extends just over where the trains will run, but no nearer. So give into the illusion and reach out for the can, but it would be a literal suicide mission.

Fitting, isn't it?