Moon Viewing Parties!

They are AWESOME.

I just got back from two moon viewing parties. They usually happen after the fall equinox and HP's two schools had them on the same night.

School A (the high academic one): Tall grass/wildflower arrangement, sushi, sanshin music (with electric guitar solos, which was pretty epic), mochi, toasts, and people sitting at a long table. We stayed for about an hour.

Classy to the max with a little bit of rock 'n roll thrown in.

Party B: Sanshin music by three somewhat toasted dudes, party games, totally plastered attempts at folk dancing (oh my god so great), at least three kegs, tarps spread on the ground in the courtyard, and AN ENTIRE GOAT. We stayed for the whole night.

You know what I did? I ATE GOAT SASHIMI.

RAW. GOAT.

I ATE YOU

Okinawa is turning me into such a badass. I am so pumped.

There was a game where you had to guess who it was based on the three secrets the emcee read from the slip of paper, from easiest to hardest. (he could read my handwriting, but had trouble with HP's HA BEST AT WRITING) My three secrets were:
1. I do not wear glasses
2. I like Okinawa Pro Wrestle
3. I am in the KGB! (Courtesy of Masashi-sensei, who I had told that I was part russian and had a gun permit.)

HP couldn't think of a third "secret," so Masashi-sensei scribbled "I LOVE MASASHI-SENSEI KISS KISS" in english across the bottom and it was great. They're notorious around the school, apparently. They're like two crazy people teaching kids english and they are total ridiculosity-bros. AND Masashi-sensei is his direct supervisor and I'm pretty sure that there is photographic evidence of Masashi chasing HP around yelling "HARD GAY HOOOO ADAM KISS KISS" at least twice.

HARD GAY HOOOOOO

And I totally got invited to like, every drinking party and school event ever by all the staff, who asked the english teachers how to say it so that they could tell me how much they liked me and I spoke in Japanese to people and it was so chill. Seriously. Tarps and kegs and a stage and a goat. Best. Party. Ever.

Unless you're the goat.

Also, it is really late and I might be drunks.

First major (minor?) dog crisis

Elsa was due today for her heartworm pill. Like most pills, you give them once a month and it kills pretty much all internal parasites. Luckily for me, I'm on a schedule trying to get her "stuff you have to sit still for ten minutes to get done" (advantix, pill, nail trim - I do it all in one go) day to the first of the month, so I've been doing it a few days earlier every time.

This is what it's like. 

I'd noticed that she'd been acting oddly for a few days. She'd either scarf her meals down like she was starving or peck like a bird, she'd wake up early and cry for an hour, she was sleeping a lot more and attacking a lot less, and a ton of little things that you notice when you have a totally-healthy-and-not-at-all-unreasonable-obsession-is-kind-of-a-strong-word interest in your dog.

I gave her the pill on Monday, a few days before she was due, and since the moment I gave her the pill that morning, she started having accidents in the house. HP got incredibly frustrated, since she'd been doing so well on the housebreaking front, and I told him that it was because she'd been doing well that this was a bad sign.

She spent the rest of the day being restless and overly affectionate and refusing to eat. I got increasingly worried. Sure enough, that night, she passed a small, but unmistakably adult roundworm.

A picture of a baby wallaby instead. Because roundworms are gross.

Despite having seen infested dogs in my time working with them, that night I engaged frantically in many rounds of Ask Dr. Internets on all sorts of questions. Everything pretty much said the same thing: dog roundworms are common, easy to kill, and even if they do pass to people (rare) they can't survive.

The next morning, I was at the vet as soon as it opened, asking them what I should do. I gave the techs and doctors a good laugh, even the ones who didn't speak any English - apparently "oh god what do I doooo" panic translates just as well as it does in the States.

"Let me guess - first time she's had worms?"
"Yes!"
"Did she eat this morning? Poop? Want to play?"
"Yes..."
"She's fine; the pills kill everything. Even the eggs. She'll be clean in two days. Stop letting her eat dirt and grass and bugs."
"...Bugs, too?"
"Yep, good luck with that."

Apparently, there's no monthly med on the market that prevents worms, just kills them on a regular cycle. Worms here are very common, and the girls told me that as long as I kept up with the pills, I may see the occasional one every few months or so. It's the people that don't give their dogs the pills and don't clean up after them that cause the big problems, they added, and that meant that the lot behind my house where Elsa goes to the bathroom is probably a haven for all the stray cats (huge problem here) and lazy dog owners (huge problem everywhere).

I thanked them profusely for putting up with me (they told me it was funny and that crazy dog owners are the same in every country) and even though they said it wasn't necessary, I washed all of Elsa's bedding and toys. For my own peace of mind.

BECAUSE IT MAKES ME FEEL BETTER OKAY

I felt guilty at first, because I strongly believe that it's my responsibility as her owner to make sure that she's healthy, but both HP and the vet reassured me that I was doing everything right and that common parasites are totally normal in humid subtropical climates. Also, Elsa probably didn't have any damn idea what was going on.

Vet recommended that if I really wanted to help her out after the de-worming, I should make sure all of her nutritional needs were okay. Sweet potato, thoroughly-cooked salmon, and a bit more food than usual would give her a good start. And changing her pee spot. So now we're back to a litterbox, except it's outside on our porch. She's doing well so far - and now she doesn't whine about having to go out in the rain. Less wet dog smell, too.

And I'll bet anything that all Elsa remembers from this whole ordeal is that one day she slept a lot, but the next she got big chunks of two of her favorite foods and doesn't have to get wet to pee any more.

Ignorance is bliss, I guess.

Meeting the neighbors

Being home so much lends itself well to bumping into neighbors.

So far, I know we have:

An American, Matt, who lives with his Okinawan wife on the first floor (they're an older couple, she wanted to come back home, so they moved here a few days ago)

A very friendly Japanese firefighter, also on the first floor, who loves the dog

A young couple with an infant who live on the second floor

Two small children in the house next door whose mother tells them to go practice their English with foreigners, so they ask Elsa questions in broken English

And various other people (mostly singles) who now know me enough to know that it's okay to greet me in Japanese whenever we meet. And squee over Elsa.

Japan sure does live up to the stereotype of loving adorable and tiny things.

No nosy old ladies yet. But I'm not going to let myself get complacent.

Woodland Creatures, aka My Foray into Japanese Fabrics and Indoor Mall Things

The fashion here is pretty great. I really like the aesthetic, if it is a tinge too girly for my tastes.

Not feminine. Girly.

Ruffles. On. EVERYTHING.

One fad in particular that I really like are the long skirts. Lovely tea-length numbers that had two major problems: elastic waistbands (unattractive crinkle and painful, nothing good there) and the aforementioned ruffles.

But I wanted one. And then it occurred to me to make one. As this thought sank in, I got excited with the prospect of using Japanese fabrics, having heard so much about them and seeing the brilliant parades of kimono and yukata plastered across anything having to do with Japan ever.

I headed over to the Main City shopping center (one of a chain of mini-mall-type-things) and went to the sewing section of the department store.

Quick note about many malls in Japan: they don't have walls to separate the stores. Just wider aisles. Like a big open-air yet indoor market that makes you want to wander forever. I love it.

Anyway, -

OH AND I TOOK THE BUS THERE! I rode the bus all by myself without using any English and got off at the right stop and everything and it was glorious.

I found the fabric section. It had nifty maps on the shelves to show you where in Japan the fabrics had come from. Hokkaido, Aomori, even Okinawa - they were arranged by color and pattern and were all sorts of neat.

Even in a small department store-sized section, my head was swimming in all of the bright colors. And the colors here are intense. Like, just-looked-directly-at-the-sun-for-a-second-now-the-visible-spectrum-is-wonky bright. I already have plans for some of the beautiful fabrics I saw there. If I have to live in a house filled with throw pillows, I am willing to make that sacrifice.

And just try to stop me from making a bright yellow Power Rangers-patterned party dress when I get hold of a pattern. Go ahead.

One thing I can say, though: the Japanese are so not afraid of prints.

No, not you. 

I found this linen-y blend printed with woodland animals like deer, squirrels, birds, and rabbits. And it was my favorite colors. I had to have it.

It took me all of a few hours to whip up (I used an old pattern with some heavy modifications like HUGE POCKETS), but here it is. My Woodland Creatures Tea Skirt.

Worn a couple of ways. Photos sans dog.

Click for a better view of the awesomely adorable print.

And now my head is swimming with all the sewing I want to do. Especially with Japanese fabric - it's either super gorgeous or cartoonishly great, both of which suit me just fine.

Moral of the story: after I get a job, maybe go buy a sewing machine. Even a small one.

Oh, and put pockets in everything.

An unexpected time warp

Living here is so bizarre in a way I wasn't even thinking about.

Our apartment is fairly new and modern. All the sinks stretch out on hoses. The floor is hardwood, and the A/C is built in. Our toilet has not one, but two different kinds of bidet, and neither HP nor I can tell the difference.

Super modern, right? What you'd expect in Japan.

Except being here is like being teleported back to 1962. I'm not even kidding.

You hear a lot about how Okinawa is Americanized, especially after the war. But what no one tells you is that the "americanized" bits (language excepted) look like shots straight out of Blue Hawaii.

I seriously expect to see this every day.

Tropical prints are everywhere, and hibiscus grows wild in every city, town, and roadside. Chains like A+W and Mister Donut are all over the place, resistant to their stateside collapse and thriving in this post-war time capsule.

I've heard more Elvis and the Beach Boys than I ever did sitting at a Johnny Rockets' (that is to say, near-constantly), and there are times where I swear the world is yellow-tinted and I have to rub my eyes and squint for things to turn back to normal. And somewhere, in the distance, a radio is blasting the Ronettes.

I went to a yakitori restaurant last night with Yoshio and Kiyomi, and the place was covered in 50s and 60s americana, from the labels of model planes to Crackerjack boxes and rubber chickens. Instead of curtains, they hung tropical print dresses and shirts from clotheslines between tables, the outermost of which were tatami and the inner of which were wooden picnic tables like you'd find at a beachside campsite. The corrugated sheet metal walls (also covered in retro memorabilia) were artfully torn and burned, leading up to a traditional Okinawan red terracotta ceiling that had been transplanted inside (facing inward, oddly enough, covering the outer tables like an awning) and guarded by a couple of clay Shiisa. I almost laughed out of the strange feeling in my stomach - like all of a sudden the Tardis would show up and the Doctor would pop out, apologizing for the mix-up wherein he smashed two time periods together in altogether the wrong place.

"Sorry! This entire island is pretty much my fault."

Aside from the constant fear that someone will start following me around while playing the ukelele, it's absolutely fascinating.

Know what it's like? It's like how a 1960s housewife expects her honeymoon to look. And I'm not complaining.

After all, I always said I was born in the wrong era.

Anecdotes from Japan: Slang for genitalia, aka Why you should always have a dictionary

So, even though the OS is in Japanese, my denki jisho (electronic dictionary) and I are inseparable. It has JtE, EtJ, Kanji lookup, and various other wonderful features that I don't understand how to use yet.

It basically looks like a DS. Mine is sans stylus.

It's good for deciphering things in a grocery store and on various storefronts, but not much use in conversation, as that moves quickly and most people (in either language) prefer mime to get their point across.

Also, though I do make it a point to talk to people when out on my own, most of my attempts at extended conversation have been with HP around, seeing as these first few days, we've been mobbed by family members. The closest are HP's youngest aunt, Kiyomi-obasan, and her husband, Yoshio-ojisan. She peppers her sentences with the few English words she knows, and Yoshio is a fairly atypical Japanese man in that he's a chatterbox. Not that I mind - it's refreshing to see someone so friendly - but both of them have encouraged my speaking Japanese, and I've been able to hold broken conversation with them on my own and even make a few terrible jokes.

Fast forward to Sunday night. We're invited out to dinner with them and their only daughter, Reika, who is my age and recently married. Her husband Yuuji was also there, and I'd been warned that Reika was uncomfortable with her American relatives, and therefore would likely be functionally mute throughout dinner. Though after introducing myself (in Japanese) and giving her the gift I'd brought over (a designer label bracelet covered in gold filigree and various charms), she seemed to warm to me a lot. Dinner was ordered, we talked about various subjects at normal Japanese pace with HP giving me rough translations when needed, though I could mostly follow along and contribute. They asked about my family, what kinds of foods I liked, and how I was liking Japan and wow was my Japanese getting better by the day! Also, what anime and manga did I like? Because everyone does.

A mysterious but great philosopher known only as The Sphinx once said: "We are weakest when we think ourselves strong." And just as I was relaxing into the flow of conversation and congratulating myself on how well everything was going, I heard a word I didn't understand.

Now, there's a phrase that almost every beginner Japanese student learns on the first day. It follows the pattern of "Xx wa nan(i) desu ka?" meaning "What is xx/What does xx mean?"

I use this phrase a lot. The Japanese are usually happy to oblige when I don't understand, and I've learned most of my daily vocabulary this way. So when HP and his uncle were talking about work and wives and pain and snickering, I asked about the word I didn't know.

"Sumimasen - 'Kintama' wa nan desu ka?"

At this point, he and his uncle started laughing, and everyone else, who'd been having another conversation, asked what was so funny. I turned to them and repeated the question, and they laughed too. Kiyomi smacked her husband a little, and HP only managed to say that they were "Ichiban no taisetsu" [the most important thing] before he and his uncle died laughing again. At this point, I sighed and grabbed my jisho out of my purse (a habit that made his family laugh without fail, and this was no exception) to look it up. Reika looked over my shoulder, saying "Arimasen!" [It won't be there!]

Except it was.

Don't bother looking it up; I'll save you the trouble. Hint: It means "balls."

Kintama - lit. "golden balls;" testicles.

Reika laughed even harder as she declared "Aru yo!" [It's there!] and everyone broke. Again.

I had (albeit unknowingly) functionally asked them "What is 'nutsack?'" and then looked it up in the dictionary.

His uncle bought me a beer and gave me a thumbs-up. I am apparently the most hilarious white person ever.

The moral of the story is always have your dictionary with you and men are the same everywhere the end.

Travel log

In the string of backlogged updates, here's the first, chronologically - the trip over.

I got into Logan at about 7am, and immediately regretted packing such a heavy duffel bag. My rolly, square-shaped bag was manageable, but the shape of the duffel bag made sure that the weight was as unevenly distributed as possible. Awesome. I was sure I was going to pay, like, $500 in oversize baggage fees.

Luckily, my check-in attendant was awesome. She checked Elsa's papers first, weighed the bags, figured a few pounds' difference was negligible, slapped destination stickers on them and waved me on my way.

Elsa wasn't liking the airport, but a chunk of breakfast sandwich was an adequate bribe.

The first flight was fairly uneventful, aside from me worrying about how she'd do. But there was no whining, no crying, no nothing. I did have the good luck of sitting next to a young Japanese math teacher who was on his way home from a conference at Harvard. He was extremely friendly and kind enough to help with my reading (I had a textbook open in front of me 90% of the time), commending me for my study.

I don't think I'll ever forget what he said to me. "Most foreigners go to Japan because it's Japan, not because they want to talk to the Japanese. You are different; you will do well."

Then the furball got to take a pee break in Dulles (they have super cute dog bathrooms in the terminals!) and we hopped on to the main leg of our journey.

I got bumped up to economy plus in order to balance out the plane. I didn't complain.

Elsa did get stressed out, but more in heartbeat and breathing irregularities rather than whining and crying, and mostly on takeoff/landing/turbulence. Again, small chunks of my in-flight meals helped, as well as when they darkened the cabin. I got to catch up on my movies, watching the new Pirates of the Caribbean and X-men: First Class before passing out for a few hours.

I also met my guardian angel on this flight: a marine assigned to Okinawa, V*. He was a few years older than me, and talked nonstop about his wife and two kids back home, and how he couldn't wait to finish his assignment and get back to them in the States. He also offered to guide me through customs, as our connecting flight was the same and he'd made this trip five times in the past year.

"Grateful" doesn't even come close to covering it.

We landed and I was like a baby chick following its mother. We grabbed our bags and headed to the Animal Quarantine section of customs, where Elsa was descended upon by vet techs cooing in Japanese about how cute she was. Her paperwork went through quickly, and she was in and out in less than half an hour. They commended me on my organization, and I thanked them for all their help.

Then was actual customs. About two minutes spent there.

Then the ticket counter to pick up our connecting boarding passes. That was an adventure, as Elsa needed to be put in the animal cargo section in a big, plastic kennel. Again, done quickly, and we ended up at our gate with an hour to spare.

I slept through to Okinawa, where by the time I walked off the plane and into baggage claim, our flight's bags were already on the carousel. The animals were in their own section off to the side, and a very tired, but no-worse-for-the-wear Elsa bounced back into her soft-sided carrier. Two bags later (they check your claim tags before you're allowed to leave, which is awesome!) I got to see HP waiting with two of his aunts, Midori-obasan and Kiyomi-obasan, who both gave hugs and greeted me in a broken mix of English and Japanese. Then one of the english teachers from his base school came by with the school van ("Party van!" is apparently a running joke at their school) and drove us to Okinawa-shi.

By now, it's 10pm local time. I get the grand tour, feed the pup, put her in her kennel, and pass out, enjoying the air conditioning.

All in all, my travel here was pretty spectacular. Not only was I surrounded by super friendly, helpful people, but it was like the world saying "We know this sucks. Let's make this a little better."

Total time in transit: 24 hours
Time, adjusted: ~36 hours (9:23am depart Boston, 8:45pm arrive Okinawa)

Not bad for flying to the other friggin' side of the planet.

Thus ends the obligatory oh-god-flight post.

Now we can get on to the good stuff.