Today marks my first week in Japan. This time last week I was stumbling into my apartment, searching for my ethernet cord, aka my umbilical cord to the world, that enables this thing we call a BLOG. 15 years ago, when I was here as a teenager, if someone had said 'ethernet' I might have thought that was either:
A. a sci-fi word from an as of yet unshot James Cameron movie starring Linda Hamilton about the rise of Skynet.
B. A new kind of stocking sold only in high end lingerie stores with giggled over velcro openings and the endorsement of both Jessica Hahn and Suzanne Somers.
But it is not 15 years ago, and I know too well that the net in our ether is the web in our sky. I am warm from a bath and ready to sleep -- feeling self-satisfied that I cooked tonight and even packed my lunch for tomorrow. It gets too expensive, buying each day from the petit marietsu (super market with a somewhat french name in orange creamsicle) which is on the ground floor of the building where I work. Even better, I successfully hooked up the convection oven/microwave do-hickey that had been in my bedroom/living room. I probably just avoided death by electrocution as I had been keeping the convection box next to the sink, plugged in around the faucet. Today at work, I noticed that the microwave had the same 2 wire function in back of it: the plug, and a smaller, green wire that had copper threads. This second wire had been hooked into a small opening beneath the plug -- and after I took note of this I asked Wakako: "so...my convection oven has that same green wire thing...what is that for?" She told me it grounds the appliance and that I should check out my washing machine (in the bathroom) to see how it's attached. This I also did upon my return, using the silver V ring my Mom gave me in 7th grade as makeshift screwdriver to loosen the screw before inserting the copper wiring and screwing it tight again. It now sits atop the already tall refrigerator, and I reach it by standing on a stool, but it is safely plugged in and grounded, away from the sink, and no longer taking up precious counter space. A Tetris triumph.
I am my Father's daughter and not intimidated by hooking things up or solving a problem with my hands. All this while my rice cooked on the stove and I drank my beer. I'm trying to limit myself to one beer a night lest I become a drunk during my time in Tokyo. And if I am already a drunk, I am merely practicing self restraint to limit potential weight gain and keep myself sharp to take advantage of every day here.
I came home tonight and asked the 24 hour security for help figuring out my mailbox code. It was supposedly supposed to be in a binder, in the apartment (along with the directions on how to hooked up my convection oven miracle machine that does everything from toast bread to cook a custard) -- but alas this binder never materialized. The kind man who answered my bell (there is a convenient bell to ring right before you enter the lobby) was a bit taken aback by me in my little white hat and fur coat. I explained that I lived on the 6th floor and could he please tell me the code for my box? He thought the code was in the binder so we came upstairs and I showed him that sure enough, I didn't have a binder, just some papers on recycling (the recycle room is in the basement and it is an exhibit on how materials should be divided -- plus the room has a door that opens to the alley where a garbage truck that is just the size of the door backs in and puts the respective materials in their respective sections of the truck...).
The man was funny and explained that he didn't have the code, his boss did, and could I wait 5 minutes? So I stood by the mailboxes and stared at a pamphlet on how to protect yourself from perverts by taking karate classes for self defense. I was staring at the cartoon of the woman doing what looked like a "hai ya!" move to the pervert dressed all in navy (ie: "chikan") when a little old lady said "konbanwa" while getting her mail. I said "good evening" back to her and she asked if I was reading the notices and answered "I'm trying to," and she complimented me on my Japanese. God bless these sweet old ladies who tell me my Japanese is excellent. It tickles the g-spot of my ego and I could sit there for hours, saying: "it's really not that good," watching as they disagree and become even more impressed with my mini-bio regarding my whereabouts in Japan. But then the sweet man was back with my mailbox code and he opened it in a flurry, pointing out the fact that all I had in there was ads which was to be expected as I'd only been here for a week. He was making his way back to the all night security station when I stopped him. "Could you write it down for me? The code? I watched you but I'm sure I won't remember!" He took out a pen and I turned over one of the ads. "Kanji yomimasu ka?" Do you read kanji? he asked and I said I could figure it out. Then he demonstrated again and then I did it once. I was very proud of myself and told him as much in Japanese. "I learned it!" I said, and he bowed, offering his services whenever I might need something.
When I went through the mail I wanted to run back down to my new friend and show him...it wasn't just all ads -- I had a letter! From Yoshi San -- my mentore and the very first exchange student to Radnor High School in the 1960's! When I lived here in high school, Yoshi San took me everywhere, making sure I saw so much of both Japan and the culture. I recognized her handwriting immediately and opened the large envelope to find the most beautiful 4 page letter, welcoming me back to Japan with pictures of me from when I was here, dancing on Christmas Eve and dressed in kimono. She brought me up to date on all her relatives and told me the dates she'd be in Tokyo. I cannot wait to see her again!!! And my security friend thought I wouldn't have mail -- he doesn't know I have people here!
I watched a bit of Japanese TV while I ate dinner. I haven't figured out how to program the TV to read the portable DVD player as the media it should be paying attention to...the remote is all in kanji and the writing is small, too small for me to even begin counting strokes and looking them up in the dictionary. So I chalked up the colorful game show and slice of life segments to language practice and watched as 4 women sat and talked about the meal they made, an upcoming wedding, the little dog that sat yawning in the cook's arms, and some other topic that I couldn't quite figure out. All the while a small square box kept cutting to different faces back at the studio audience. One was the host (I think) and others were members of the audience. They weren't doing anything besides listening and watching with interest, as if giving the viewers at home a model for how they should be watching. When it's funny, they laugh, when it's interesting, they raise an eyebrow. I guess it's the equivalent of a laugh track...or maybe I'm missing something else entirely. Remember when music videos had those pop up bits of text for a while that gave you mindless trivia about the musicians or the where the video was shot or how many takes it took to get the whipped cream off the bikini clad breasts of all those models? It came and went. It was too much information. She said, in the time of too much information.
So that is all she wrote on this Friday night. I'm attaching a pic of me in my new jacket for Aunt Cathy. Taken just outside of work tonight as I was heading home...to bed!
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