You can't go home... well actually you can

It's Christmas night, and I am sitting in my parents' study typing this blog entry. I'm here because after 2 hours of familial bonding, which includes the drive from the airport, I have been exiled from the family room by my parents' need to watch their Korean "dramas."

Somewhere in the depths of my mind, I imagined my return to California would be heralded by trumpets. Streamers and and confetti would litter the air. Neighbors would line the streets and say. "Why there goes ET#1, the youngest of J and S. She's come alls the ways from the East Coast."

I guess I would think that because since my last visit (this summer), my family complained of my lack of face time home. On the phone they would say, "We miss you." Or "Your niece is so big now, you would hardly recognize her." Or my favorite, "ET#1, phone home." "May be it was "come home," but you get the jist.

I have been doing this journey home for 17 + years now. Why I have never lived where the rest of my family is, is a mystery but that is the way the cookie crumbled. Maybe my arrival is just old news and that is why I am in the study right now.

Maybe it is not a big deal because that you can always go home. Admittedly, this is not my home, this is the house my parents moved into three years ago, but where ever they are feels like home. As soon as I got into San Jose Airport and realized that they were late (yet again), I felt that annoyance that flashes up when you are a teenager and everything your parents do irritates you. The fact that I am 30 and perfectly capable of helping myself, but instead had my 68 year old mother serve me dinner. And that tonight I took a bath, something I never do in my apartment, and read a chapter from a marked up copy of the "The Pawn of Prophecy" I bought at the library book fair in the 7th grade.

So from the study at my home, "Feliz Navidad, Joyes Noel, Frohe Weinachten...."

Time Magazine Person of the Year: ME

On "This Week with George Stephanopolous," George Will dismissed bloggers as narcisists because besides fulfilling one's ego what was the value of posting one's diary/opinions on the internet.

For a moment there, I felt a little guilty. That was ME. I was a blogger, who constantly spills her guts about that boy who did not e-mail me back (like the astrophysicist of last week), who gives my opinion on Dunkin' Donuts coffee, who tells about her travels to Japan. So am I a narcisist?

Yes. My vanity was further proven by the fact that I planned to make a mock "Time" cover with a picture of ET#2 and myself, but could not find one in which we were either both sober or cute. Initially, the blog was started out sloth. It was an easy way of letting our friends know what we were doing. But it is possible that over the year and half we've blogged, it might have moved from one deadly sin to another.

I once told my mother (in a smart ass triumph) that if the universe was infinite doesn't that mean I am the center of the universe, that you could pick any point and that could be the center of the universe? Of course, if the astrophysicist had ever e-mailed me back he could explain the falicy of that argument, but he never did so.....

Please, George Will comes on television every week and writes his column in a paper and sometimes makes references to his own life and always is free with his opinions on the state of our nation. Is he just jealous that others can do it too? (Well, don't worry George, I don't get paid for it)

Despite what George Will thinks, I am going to believe that the five people who actually check this website, care that I went to the Garden saw Matsusaka drop the puck at the Bruins game. I am going to believe that they will laugh when they read a very shy assistant professor said in a loud voice in front of my boss, "ET#1, I am always surprised in your ability to ask questions in seminar because you are always sleeping." And that they will clap their hands, when they read I got a pair of snow boots marked down from $210 to $40. Well, maybe not so much the last one.

Basically, all I wanted to say this Monday was "George Will, kiss my grits."

Like, totally, he passed me a note in study hall

Ah ... junior high. I was in it for only one year, the 7th grade. Maybe that is why I revert back to that era ever once in a while. I just never got my fill. It was full of intrigue and when boys and girls started to go steady with each other. (Although nowadays my 2 and half year old niece has a boyfriend, meaning they start out much earlier.) But when I was in school, we thought boys were icky until we got into Junior High. 7th grade was the year that MB gave me my first Camel Light cigarette; the year MB and JR showed me their hickeys in gym class; the year ES (with his dad driving) took me to the Spring semi-formal and we danced to Kenny Loggins' "Meet Me Halfway."

Last Saturday, N and D threw a Winter Solstice party, the first holiday party of the season. With no holiday fatigue, I was excited abut going. V mentioned that she wanted to go shopping to find something to cute to wear to the party. Hmmm cute. Well, from that innocent comment I somehow interpreted I needed to get dressed up for the party. So I donned my gay apparrel: my roomate's black fitted sweater, a gold and cream boucle skirt, and gold brocade shoes. Even though I was overdressed, sometimes fate steps in and rewards your small vacation from jeans.

In walked in a balding 6'3" boy with jeans and an button down shirt. He started talking with me, D and A in the kitchen. I think all he wanted was a beer, but somehow got sucked into a conversation about the "Elegant Universe." He went away into the living room and started playing card games with the other members of the party. I stayed in the kitchen to discuss evolution and homosexuality with S, the new Burger King XBox 360 games with H, and other miscellaneous cocktail hour topics.

It turns out the 6'3" boy was an astrophysicist, associate professor at MIT. He rode a motorcycle, and we talked about bikes for a while. I have been banned from riding motorcycles from my friends and family mainly because I am the worst driver on the planet and the uncertainty of me on a bike is likely to be a deadly combination. He was nice enough and at the end of the night he offered to give me a ride on his motocycle whenever I wanted.

And here is where I go from 30 years old to 12. I went running with D the next morning, and our conversation went something like this:

D: So like, I saw you talking with my friend, the astrophysicist.

ET#1: Yeah he was cool.

D: I think he was like totally flirting with you.

ET#1: Like, oh my God. Like no way.

D: Um like totally.

ET#1: Well, he did say I could ride on the back of his bike like anytime.

D: Hellloooo. Earth to, ET#1. He was so macking on you.

ET#1: Is he like available? Is he looking for friend friends, or like girlfriend friends?

Basically, we came to no conclusion at the end of that conversation. D did inform me though that the astrophyscist did want to hang out and he like trivia night.

Now, I love trivia and I love games. Admittedly, I am slightly competitive, but what game is fun if winning has no meaning. In a bold move I invited the astrophysicist to trivia night at the Publick House. I also invited, B, S, C and Ch.

Yup, that's right folks. I invited the astrophysicist out on a group date. I think the last time I went on a group date, I went to Leominster Mall 15 years ago. A bar is kind of a step up. Right?

Last night, I was on edge. I wanted to make sure we got a table at the Publick House. I convinced N and D not to come, because I thought they would make me nervous. I nearly bit C's head off when he would not stop giving me a hard time.

The astrophysicist did arrive before the game started. In the nick of time. Luckily, the game started right away so there was no time for weirdness. Or maybe I was too focussed on the game to observe it. "Act a little stupid," was P's advice earlier that day. But homey does not know how to play that game.

The night was group date fun. We laughed, drank beer, and ate lots of fried foods. As the night progressed, he and I talked about his family, and how he was born in ths same town I lived in. He too had hiked the Lost Coast. We made a bet over who was right on one of the questions. He owes me a beer at some undisclosed time. At the end of the night, after a close 4th place finished, he pat my leg underneath the table. Like, oh my God, he touched my leg.

As he rode his motocycle down Beacon Street, I was walking home with Ch. I skipped along and asked didn't she think he was cute and didn't she like the part where he said this and didn't he have like a nice smile and did she think he would ask me out sometime.

Who knows what will happen? But isn't like awesome to feel like you are twelve again?

Quarterly Notes

For five formative years, I attended a preppy New England boarding school. Much time has passed, but those ties still bind. The alumni association is on par to the CIA, perhaps even better. They know I have moved before I have, and always have my events calendar, fundraising solicitations, and other mailings waiting for me at my new mailbox.

The most notable mailing is the Quarterly. As the name states, it is issued 4 times a year. In it, there are small stories people have written, a summary of the school events, successes of the alumni, etc.. When I get the Quarterly, I am assuming I do what everyone; flip to the "Form Notes" section. Form Notes is a collection of "happenings" of all the members of your graduating class, with their names in bold print for easy scanning to find former friends and enemies.

Before the Quarterly goes out in press, a series of e-mails from our form secretary, comes streaming into my inbox soliciting news. I had stopped submitting notes when I realized that none of them were getting published. Apparently some high school rivalries never go away, but that is a story for another time. On a whim, I submitted an entry mentioning last summer. To my surprise my news made the notes. Sadly, T basically just cut and paste my e-mail, within the text of all the wedding/baby/job promotion news.

On Friday I got the following e-mail:

Hi ET#1,

How are you? I hope all is well.
I'm at work (grad school). I'm always at work. It's great. "I like it
here." I don't sleep so I can be here! Yay!

I think I read in the quarterly that you said you resigned yourself to
being a student forever or something like that - I can relate. Not as
much as some of my friends though (8-10 years in), so I can't really
complain.

Hope you finish soon, if you haven't already. My boss did it (Harvard
alum "with two young children and a husband..."). She likes to motivate
me by telling me that. It's wonderful ("wonderful.")

Anyhoo, I must get back to work. I just wanted to let you know, you are
not alone (or were not, in case you have graduated - and if that was you
who said that, my memory sucks LOL.)

Good luck and Happy Holidays!
"R's ridiculous nickname in high school" (2006 Journal of Not writing my abstract... Review. Keywords:
Grad school is long.)

PS If you happen to be looking to post-doc down here (Houston), or get
to a job, or whatever, and you need a place to crash, just let me know.
I've got a spare room with a queen size and its own bathroom (beware of
cats and live-in.) Although, I think most places around here will put
you up in a nice hotel. Later.


R and I were friends in high school, but not someone I think about in daily life now. Yet somehow getting this e-mail from him, has left me with a fuzzy good feeling all weekend.

Thanksgiving a plenty

As I have written before, I love Thanksgiving. Let me ammend that statement. I love Thanksgiving food. I have been known to stuff myself with so much stuffing that I start to resemble a turkey with its big round belly.

In my 30 years, I have only spent 15 of them with my own family. Luckily, it is a holiday in which strays are welcomed, even desired. Over the years, I have witnessed a lot of tradtions.

Sometimes they come in the form of food:

- B's family eats noodles & cheese and meat stuffing.
- V's family eats meat and rice stuffing.
- C's family eats Great Grand Aunt Houton's burbon sweet potatoes.

Sometimes they come in form of the things you do:

- ET#2's family dress up in costumes.
- T's family plays football.
- G goes to Paris with his best guy friends.

Sometimes they are a combination of the two:

- S's family fry a whole turkey in their front yard.

But in the end, no matter what happens it is always going to be good.

The Evil Twins in Philly

Truly, this story is ET#2's to tell. Mine is a less interesting one, but as it is the start of my week I thought I should tell my version.

In April after I finished my Boston Marathon 1/3 life crisis run, ET#2 convinced me that she and I should go to Philadelphia and run a marathon there. Being weak and always giving into peer pressure, I said why not. (After making a solemn vow to my Maker and never to run again.) I spent the summer in Japan thinking I would have plenty of time to train when I returned to the US. In the meantime, friends who tried to get numbers for the New York Marathon did not, and joined in the Evil Twin's Philly invasion plans.

Leading up to the Philadelphia Marathon, I sent a few cheesy e-mails to psyche up our rag tag crew. But somehow in my mind it was still something that was not going to happen. Most of my training this autumn consisted of me doing 8 long runs with D. I tried to put in the junk miles in the week, but my heart was not into it. I tried to start a rivalry with the postdoc from a neighboring lab, but that fell apart too.

On Saturday morning, right before my flight left for Philadelphia, I was in the lab splitting cells. Then "Woosh" I was in the city of Brotherly Love.

Since I ended up splitting a hotel room with G, he and I spent time doing our preMarathon rituals together. We went to the Expo picked up our numbers, went to a pasta dinner with everyone at a swanky place downtown, took , watched "Invinceable" starring Mark Wahlberg (appropriate because we were in Philadelphia after all), and then took an Ambien.

The morning was overcast and chilly, I freaked out about what I was going to wear. I calmed down a little at breakfast. But freaked out again at the start line when I could not find ET#2. Once the race started, I felt a little weird. D and I were planning to run together, but he shot ahead with 4 hour pace group. I kept up for less than a mile realizing that I was not feeling well, still feeling unsettled. I ran with G and N at a more comfortable pace and along the way we ran into other members of our team like NOB. I developed a nasty blister on my pinky toe at around mile 12 and complained about it until the end. I was pleasantly surprised to see ET#2's parents, ET #2's BF, and Kentak3, Mamacita and Xtian along the route. Probably the highlight of my run was seeing ET#2 trucking down the road with her iPod shuffle. I yelled her name so loud that until the end of the marathon the runners around me kept calling me "ET#2's friend."

After the race was over, I made a lame attempt to go find ET#2. But as I was limping and shivering in my silver blanket, I was reminded that promises made prior to running all 26.2 miles should be null and void.

Instead I went to the hotel for a hot shower, went to Lincoln Financial Field, ate a philly cheesteak and fries, and went out to dinner with high school friends. I got home on Monday afternoon and stayed in my nice warm bed until Tuesday morning.

Today as I write this entry, the whole thing still feel a little unreal.

Too Honest

I officially terminated the lease on my current "$928 Rent-Stabilized, Sunny and Spacious Studio". Who knew that putting it on Craigslist so that I could find someone to pay my last month's rent would prove to be so popular.

I am now getting non-stop emails from people expressing interest in the apartment. Craigslist has a disclaimer that instructs you on what you should NOT say in your add, such as "hispanic area" or "asian building" or "no kids" or "prefer student". So, I guess when someone asked me what the neighborhood was like and I described it as "predominantly Dominican with some old Irish folks" that is "rapidly gentrifying" (which it is) I may have violated the Fair Housing Act. Doh!

OK, everyone, play nice

I am in the middle of renovating my new apartment. For some reason, I thought that buying a "fixer upper" would be better because then I would be able to renovate it the way I wanted. Things seemed to be going well. I hired a contractor recommended by the Sponsor from whom I purchased my apartment. I was told that he was really good, had worked on several apartments in the building, was very attentive to details, and worked very clean. His name is Pedro.

Pedro gave me a quote for the work I wanted to have done: upgrading the wiring, sanding all the floors, skim coating all the walls and ceilings, removing the old linoleum tile on the kitchen walls, and painting all the rooms. His initial quote was quite high. I was able to bargain him down almost halfway -- I found that not returning his calls was quite effective. When I did pick up the phone, he would inevitably lower his price. I thought I had quite the bargain, until he finally sent me the description of work to be done -- it left out the electrical work. He was asking for an additional $5,000 to have a licensed electrician do the work or $2,000 for a non-licensed electrician. Poor wiring and the threat of an electrical fire really freaks me out, so I knew that I wanted to have the work done by someone who was licensed. However, $5,000 was a little high for my budget, so I found my own licensed electrician who would do the work for less. That's when the trouble started and it became Pedro vs. Pedro.

Pedro the contractor is from Mexico. Pedro the electrician is from the Dominican Republic. I was naive enough to think "Hey, they're both Latino, they'll get along." According to my contractor, Dominicans are sloppy, lazy, and can't be trusted. According to my electrician, Mexicans don't know what they are talking about.

The reason for the controversy? In order to upgrade the wiring, the electrician had to open up the walls in certain places in order to run the new power lines and also had to remove the old fixtures and receptacles so that he could upgrade them. My contractor thought that the electrician and his workers were trying to rush the job and were making the holes bigger than they needed to be. I had no idea who was right. All I know is that I had to wake up extra early last Tuesday so that I could mediate. The contractor was the first to arrive, then me, then the electrician (maybe Dominicans are tardy as well as lazy?). Without going into details, the conversation became quite heated and after the electrician asked the contractor if he was a licensed electrician (he's not, but he was an electrician in Mexico for 10 years) I had to physically separate them. I had the electrician go into the kitchen while I talked to the contractor in the living room. I felt like a preschool teacher telling one of her kids to go take a "time out." In the end, I had to pay an extra $600 in order to fix the holes.

I also had to decide on who would do the work on patching the holes -- I decided to go with my contractor since he was doing all the other plaster work already. When I called him later that afternoon to let him know, he was still upset. And he was slurring his speech. When I first met my contractor, he told me that he couldn't call me on Wednesday nights because he had to go to AA meetings. I think that the incident with the electrician caused my contractor fall off the wagon. This has been the general tone for the work the renovations. The only thing that keeps me going is the idealized image of the end product.

White is for mourning

According to Korean tradition, the mourning family wears white hemp clothes, white head dresses, and white ribbons in their hair. The Europeans that emmigrated to the USA share a different tradition of only wearing white in the summer. And I, have adopted my own tradition of limiting the color white to my unlimitless supply of Hanes white t-shirts and cotton underwear. Of course my reasons are embedded more in practicality than symbolism.

Today, I decided to deviate from the norm and wear a white buttoned down shirt sans sweater. Crazy, I know. But here are a few color mistakes I have made (and it is only 5pm): Brown coffee, red strawberry jam, tan soy sauce, black bicycle grease, orange thai ice tea and coomassie brilliant blue.

Mourn for my poor white shirt.

A little more porridge, Sir.

Part of the student bill of rights, is the right to mooch food. That means doughnuts left in conference room, pizza to attend a lecture, and leftovers from my roommates cooking experiments. It is my duty to scam meals off of my friends, who chose to earn a living instead of stay in state of perpetual adolescence. And sometimes this right is confirmed by the universe.

Becasue the weather was so nice yesterday, I decided to take a walk to Stop and Shop located a few blocks away from school. The nice thing about the layout of this grocery store is that the produce aisle is the first thing you see when you enter. So instead of the chips I was craving, I chose an ice tea and a banana. When I went to check out, the lady running the register asked me for $1.99 and I dutifully handed over two dollars. But then I realized that she did not charge me for my banana. She told me just to take it. Strange.

Then, later that night I went running with V. I was so hungry that I ran to the Shwarma King dressed in my t-shirt and shorts. When I walked a man showed me all the prepared foods for that night. Oooh I thought when he lifted up the cover to the eggplant stuffed with lamb. I'll take it. It was the last piece after all. but then I realized I only had ten dollars in my running shorts. I told the man to change my order to a shwarma, and when he asked why I confessed my lack of cash. He said no problem and said ten dollars was the perfect price. (Although all the other specials on the board were $11.95). He even gave me extra bread for my dinner platter. Weird, that it all happened in one day. Normally, I like to spread out these fortuitous things.

Some things never change

Hi. My name is Evil Twin #1...

Hello ET#1

...and I am a procrastinator.

Even though I knew I had a month to write my report on Daniel Boone for Ms. Watson's fifth grade social studies, I remember the front cover of my rendition of his biography still moist and flexible since the glue stick had not dried yet when I handed it to her. (I had assembled it during our math quiz) A month ago when my advisor asked me for my comments on a paper that I was supposed to review, I e-mailed them to him at 4:59pm the day they were due.

The book club I belong to, assigned the "History of Love" as the book for November. We were given one whole month to finish.

Week One
I look on Amazon.com for any used copies of the book. Have food poisoning and am out of commission for every activity for the rest of the week.

Week Two
Forget to go to library to see if I can just borrow the book. Forget that I even have to read a book for bookclub. Go to SS's house for game night. Am reminded by everyone there that we have a book to read. However, am relieved when it is revealed that two other people also have not purchased the book yet.

Week Three
Fresh of my game night reminder, I go back onto Amazon.com only to realize that it is too late to buy it off the internet. Vow to go to Booksmith. Even go as far as to leave work early one night to make it before the store closes. Get distracted by meeting friend on the street and go out to dinner instead.

Week Four
Things start to get crazy at school. Contamination runs rampant. Go out Friday and Saturday nights. Decide to leave book for the next weekend.

Friday (48 hours before we meet)
I attend a science symposium at our school. Endure many bad talks. Enjoy a few. Go to the reception to symposium for some awkward socializing. Need to wash science geekiness off of me. Convince lab people to go out for a beer. End up drinking more than one beer.

Saturday (24 hours before we meet)
Still attending symposium. It goes on from 9am to 5pm. Make an ass of myself at lunch when I tell one of the speakers about a paper, and she informs me that I am citing her work. Ooops. Also, attempt to make use of time being spent in the building by doing one simple experiment in the lab. Somehow things go awry and am forced to stay until 8pm. Am hungry so go out for Indian takeout with H.

Saturday night (14 hours before we meet)
Rush to the Booksmith before they close. Am talking to ET#2 on my cell phone. I say, "Don't you think it is ridiculous that I am 30, and I am so set in my ways that I'm going to pull an all nighter to finish a book for a club." The boy wearing a tweed jacket and a multistripe scarf and is walking a few paces in front of me, turns around and starts laughing. I am hoping his friends said something funny.

I run into the store and ask a clerk for the book. He replies, "This one?" while picking up a book right next to the register. Yay! I start reading at about 11pm. Have a hard time concentrating due to already using my brain to listen to speakers earlier that day. Skim through to then ending frantically.

Sunday morning (4 hours before we meet)
Get ready to go on a run with D and S. During the run, we talk about nonsense and therefore the majority of what I remember about the book is left somewhere on the esplanade in exchange for knowledge about Japanese artwork detailing squid and women in compromising poses.

By the time I got to SS's house, I was an hour late. Of course, I did not get in trouble for not reading the book well. Its not like this is high school. Except I still can't understand why I just did not start reading the damn thing 4 weeks ago or skip reading it all together.

I really am going to have to start my own support group: Procrastinator's Anonymous.

A night at Copperfield's

C's friend BJ is a character. He is the self proclaimed "greatest salesman on the planet." And truth be told, he is probably right. BJ is loud, friendly, and talks up a storm about any topic on the planet. He has a million friends, all who have a story that start "BJ is so crazy, I remember once when...."

On Friday night, BJ's band was having a CD release party at a bar called Copperfield's. Oh I forgot to mention, BJ is a drummer of a heavy metalesque band. Their normal fair is to cover 80's songs, but on occassion they play original material, which may lack the polish of their covers.

Copperfield's is a dingy sport's bar next to Fenway park. In the background there are unstrategically placed obligatory flatscreen plasma TVs, that were playing the final game of the World's Series. The ambient light is yellow and ungainly. Jack'o'lantern plastic buckets around the bar overflowed with sugary sugary treats. Let's think sugar and alcohol, always an interesting mix.

Friday night, was not about baseball, it was all about BJ. His whole family was there, including his new wife wearing a baby doll tee with their band logo on it. She had the honor of selling CD's. His parents were there. His mother-in-law wore a pink shirt that said "BJ's other mother." His friend from high school wore a t-shirt with a picture of BJ with glasses on, which only could have been taken out of their high school year book. And of course, his college roomate, C, and the Holy Cross contingent was there.

B, S, and I had gone to dinner prior and was resigned to the fact that we were old and tired. Well, maybe not old, but definately a little sleepy and full of yummy malaysian cuisine. So when we got the bar, I nursed my Bud light as we gossiped about the people around us.

C's friend N had taken the bus from NYC that afternoon, just for the night, and for his one crazy night out thought shots of vodka were appropriate. I declined, but then was goaded into it by Sh. Sh is B younger brother, and as long as I can remember our relationship is to annoy the crap out of each other. That means I muss up his gelled coif, he punches my shoulder etc.. So when he said, "What you some kind of ivy leaguer?" I downed the shot slammed it on the bar and replied, "Yup, Columbia and Harvard. And that's how its done in the ivy league." Of course, the rot gut speed rack vodka may not have warranted such dramatics.

As the night progressed, the pile of KitKat, Whopper, Crunch bar wrappers and beer bottles around us got larger. The sugar alcohol high lead to dancing on the bar, ass slapping, and throwing candy at the girl in the teal sweater with the largest cleavage. During one of the band's breaks, BJ came back to say hello. He got C and Sh to pin me down as he stuck his band's bumper sticker on my collar bone.

More shots of tequilla. We bopped our head's to BJ's band. There was a lot shouting. Some wrestling. More beer. N missed his bus to NYC. C missed his booty call. More candy. Lots of laughing.

'twas quite the night at Copperfield's.

somewhat selfish

I tattled on Gari 46 to increase my chances of getting a table once they actually open. Is that wrong?

Loving singledom

Besides the fact that the newest polling that single people outnumber married people in the United States, most of the time the pressure to be coupled is upon me. I hear it in my mother's desperate pleas during our weekly phone calls. I see it when I am the fifth wheel yet again at dinner. I feel it when I buy my frozen dinners for that serve two at Trader Joe's (because really those dinners made for two are tastier than the single serving bowls).

But there are other times when I come to realize that I love being single. And more often than not they occur when I do something normally considered disgusting or weird. For example, when I let out a little gas in the middle of the night under my nice warm covers, I am glad no one is there sharing it with me because frankly I would not appreciate the reciprocal. Or knowing that my Costco cotton underwear will never give me a wedgie and having no one to be turned off by their granny like qualities.

On Sunday, I went running with D and S. After Saturday's night of mild drinking, it was a struggle, but as I hit snooze for the fifth time I motivated to get up. There was no one to complain about my overuse of snooze or waking them at 7:30 am on a Sunday. I wore the world's ugliest running outfit (silver, aqua shoes, pink socks, black tights, red shorts over the tights, and a royal blue thermal top), and went to Cambridge to meet up with everybody. We had a pleasant run, but by the time I got back to my apartment I realized I was late for my shopping date with H.

But what was I to do, I was ravenous and obviously smelly from exercise. As I microwaved my two servings of Trader Giotto's gnocchi sorentina, I had a moment of brilliance. I would eat and shower at the same time. So there I was shampooing my hair between intermittent bites of chewy potato dumplings. And the bonus was two servings was exactly the amount of food I needed.

Excuses, excuses...

This article confirms something that I have observed and remarked on for the past few years. Really, when did Halloween become "Dress-Like-a-Whore Day"?

The Days [and nights] of Wine and Roses

BF and I went to going-away party the last week. It was for a soon-to-be-married couple that is leaving NYC for a house in NJ. I didn't really know what to expect as I had only learned that said couple was moving about a week before their farewell party.

Because the hostess went to a certain school across the way from our alma mater, BF and I were having some fun by predicting what the party would be like. He thought that it would be full of overly chatty women. He was right. I told BF that I thought they would all be in PR/HR/or marketing and that we didn't really need to eat dinner b/c they would have lots of hors d'ouvres. I was right.

It was a proper soiree with a selection of various cheeses, crudite, 3 cases of wine, and most importantly, wine glasses instead of plastic cups. She also had fresh flowers and autumn decor -- meaning a martha stewart style shindig, complete with color coordinated candles and centerpieces with twigs shaped like pumpkins. I wasn't aware that anyone not living in the suburbs put that much effort into throwing a party... I guess that's why they are moving to a house in NJ (the host had, to hostess' delight, thrown together a powerpoint slide show of photos of their new house). The other noticeable thing about this cocktail party is that almost all of the women who attended were actually wearing cocktail dresses and heels. I was in black pants and sweater.

BF made an interesting observation about the guests at the party:

BF: All these women are way hotter than their husbands.

ET#2: Hmm... I hadn't noticed. But I think you're right.

BF: [After hearing a fiance tell his future bride, "Does it really matter what I say? Get whatever dress you want." He was talking about a dress that was in the upper 4 figures] All of these men are whipped. They hardly say a word and let their wives walk all over them.

ET#2: Yeah.

It really was true. The women there were all talking a mile a minute at super high volume. Plus, they were all wearing really big engagement rights that were blinding me. I had to step away because it was making my head hurt. When I told ET#1 this story, she called them "over educated women that turn into over educated housewives". Sadly, I think she is right.

I wonder if my housewarming will be as fancy... Given that I will have to use plastic cups, I guess not. But I'm ok with that.

Sold!

I have just returned from my apartment closing. I am now the proud owner of a 2 bedroom apartment that needs some TLC. I used to think that my Law School loans were big. They are nothing compared to my mortgage which is four times as much. Yay debt!

Tempting Fate

If all goes well, as of this Friday, October 13 at high noon, I will be a homeowner. Actually, to be completely accurate, I will be the owner of 92 shares allocated to my unit, subject to the terms of a proprietary lease -- in other words, I'm buying into a coop.

I haven't posted anything about this impending purchase because I didn't want to jinx it (given my closing date of Friday the 13th, I think that if the sale is meant to happen, it will). This unit has had its problems -- closing was scheduled for September 27, but when I went on my walk through, there was water damage to the ceiling. I went on another walk through today, and everything looked fine and dandy. Next comes renovations... I hope I can move in by Turkey Day, especially since the family is planning on spending it here in NYC. It'll be a bit crowded to have 5 people plus our dog in my studio.

I anticipate that the upcoming renovations will be quite blogworthy.

God is whispering in my ear

(Evil Twin #2 and I went to France last weekend, but she has the pics so I will let her post about it)

My high school physics teacher Mr. Hrasky used to get so excited about the subject that everytime he would derive a fundamental law of nature on the white board, he would say in a really hushed tone "Do you hear that kids? Do you hear that? That's God whispering in your ear."

On Friday, I went out with G to celebrate his company getting the go ahead to go public. It was a big deal, which may explain why I relented and go out with him and his posse.

We went to Sorellina, an old man restaurant that is the mirror image of its sister restaurant Mistral. I walked in with my blue and taupe chiffon longsleeved wrap around dress that makes me look like a thirty something business woman. I did sneak in a pair of bronze sandals, but even though they were kind of cool they were hidden on my feet, and I think that is how I got by the hostess. Inside, I could smell the desperation in the women wearing way too sexy work clothes, making that one glass of white wine last as long as possible, and the gelled haired men wearing their Brooks Brothers sports jackets sans tie to make them look lassez faire.

I drank a cosmo and then a flirtini. I was charming or at least amusing as I told my story about getting stuck in between two women fighting on the 39 bus. (A story that deserves its own blog entry.) Of course, the only question the boyz had was "Why would you take a bus?"

By the time we got seated at our table, I was drunk. Normally, it takes more that two drinks, but then again I do not normally wait until 10 pm to eat dinner. Dinner was fun. Maybe it was the alcohol goggles. We even shared appetizers, which included Wayku beef meatballs, which we were cool for ordering because meatballs were off menu.

The entrees were good. The bass I ordered was tasty and I drank the table's choice of a Bordeux. Did I mention I was drunk? Even K's annoying commentary on everything and anything seemed amusing. I did not call him an idiot once.

By the time I crawled into bed, I knew I was in trouble for the morning. My stomach was a little queasy. I took in a few bottles of water. I kept sweating all night. I had the chills. I woke up at 6 am to run to the bathroom. I felt better and crawled back into bed.

At about 10 am, I walked around outside. At about 4pm, I started having uncontrollable gastro-intestinal distress. On the 6 o'clock news, there was a story on e. coli found in ground beef sent to Massachusetts. Ding ding ding. I called G and asked if he felt ill too. "Well, I did fart a lot last night, and had the worst s$#@ this morning, but I feel fine. Actually, I think some of the other guys had the same thing. None of us are sick now. Maybe it was the fish." Well, it was something. It is Monday night, and I am still afraid of leaving my apartment in fear of not finding a bathroom in time.

After consulting with my roommate C, a pathology resident, she said that it was likely the meatballs that has made me ill. HA! Vindicated, I knew it. She, also, said, it is normal for just one person to be more susceptible to it. And that is where I disagree.

As I was sitting on my porcelain thinking chair, expelling what only could be gatorade and my intestines digesting itself, I heard it. G spends too much time on this blog, therefore must be too much a part of my life. I wasted a quality boy trolling Friday night (and eventually the whole long weekend) on G. Yes, it was God whispering in my ear yet another fundamental law of nature, "Find addtional single people to hang out with because some people will always give you distress in some form or another."

Things I'll miss - post script Japanese series

H, our Japanese friend, is coming to the United States! We, in the lab, are excited about it. In typical Japanese custom, he wanted to know what to bring to the United States as gifts. He wrote "What do you miss from Japan. I will bring it."

But could he really bring all the things I miss?

Things I miss from Japan:

- QUALITY CUSTOMER SERVICE. Sales people who care about their job and help you find my ridiculously large sizes. Waiters/tresses at Mos Burger who bring you water while you wait for your to go order. 7 11 workers that scream "thank you for your business" when you leave.

- NEVER HAVING TO TIP. Everything is included in the printed bill.

- FOOD. Steaming bowls of Tonkatsu Ramen and its fried rice accompaniment. Black sesame soft serve ice cream. Dessert at 4 pm, doughnuts, not too sweet yellow cake with fruit compote. Curry and rice. Pork chop and rice. Pretty much anything and rice. Meat/fishpaste on a stick.

- VENDING MACHINES. Vending machines for morning coffee. Afternoon tea or water at hand and never having to carry my nalgene with me. Entertaining vending machines that have live action film of your coffee beans being ground, brewed, and then poured. Vending machines with beer and sochi drinks, so I never had to go all the way to store for a buzz.

- TELEVISION. Games shows that humiliate their contestants. Lip synching contests. Dramas about the gangster that goes back to high school or the one about the love lorn stewardesses.

I think I'll have to just ask for Japanese office supplies.

Back to school

The leaves are starting to change colors. Large amounts of ragweed litters the air. The BU girls are out in their glittery half naked glory. Summer is over.

Normally, the start of a new semester is a source of irritation. New ID cards, having to get study cards signed, having to justify your existance in the school for one more year. Autumn is also the time I get that dreaded question, "So do you think you can graduate this year?" And the sad realization that I've accomplished so little in the lab.

This year, I have turned over a new leaf. I am kind of excited about the new year and the idea of being around undergrads does not give me the willies. In the spring, V and I wrote a proposal for to teach a class, and it was accepted. The only caveat is that we have to attract at least 4 students.

We attended a biology class fair on Friday, in which we gave out our syllabi and friendly smiles. Our class is about protein degradation. Next to us was a professor teaching virology and world health. I started feeling poor self esteem as hordes of students flocked to his table and ours had only a few visitors. One kid even told me our class looked "too sciencey." Yikes, good thing it was not "too englishy."

Not to be deterred, our first class is tomorrow and I am hoping to have four students that think a science class that is sciencey is a good thing. I will prepare notes, powerpoint slides, the whole shebang. No more fun in Japan. Looks like school has started again.

Football and pondering prickly men

When it rains, it pours. Last week it poured football. I guess it was bound to happen. It started with my ill fated fantasy team, a little BC students partying all around me after their victory and, ended with the Pats game yesterday.

So G invited me to the Pats yesterday. Who was I to turn down tickets to a game? It would be him and his boyz, basically a collection of the whitest middle aged Republican business men.... oh and me, one leftist science loving monitarily struggling evil twin.

On Thursday I receive this e-mail,

s/et#1/k:

looking forward to opening day on sunday.

TRANSPORTATION
here are some thoughts on getting out of boston. i'll pick up k say 8:45am in back bay and then we'll continue on to pick up et#1 and then s in brookline say 9:15/9:30ish. this will prob leave us at gillette at about 10:15/10:45am depending on traffic. as it will be the first game of the year, i expect the roads will be fairly full early, and therefore i would like to beat some portion of the crowd and not be in giant traffic jams (on the way there). this will give us some time to tailgate/chill out before going into the stadium. as u all know, i tend to be the early guy - i hope you will indulge me this once as i see it as part of the fun.

also, we should all be mentally prepared for a tough ride out of Gillette after the game.

FOOD
as far as the tailgate goes, all of you have offered to do something. thanks. maybe i could ask each of you to do just one cool food thing. don't overdo it. there's only 4 of use and i find that my eyes are usually bigger than my stomache for these tailgates. i will bring about a couple of six packs and a couple of bottles of wine. if you want to bring some other beer/wine, be my guest. chips/dip etc. are also welcome. i have a good-sized cooler which we can prob stuff your food into if it needs chilling. k's tailgate axiom: you never have enough ice!

ok, i think that is it. let me know if you have any questions.

g

I realized that these boys, knew nothing about tailgating. Luckily, they have me, who has friends like B and S. A little after midnight on Saturday, I went to B and S apartment to pick up some camping chairs. Now where you might be asking yourself am I going with this tangent. Well, it is this: my friends are awesome. And perhaps because of that I have high expectations for other people's friends.

The next morning I woke up, not very bright eyed and bushy tailed. I fried up some chicken fingers, as my "one cool food thing," and went for a short run as they cooled down. I showered got dressed and was ready to go. Just in case I misunderstood the "one cool food thing," I packed some chips, baby carrots and guacamole, the last two things being foods that need to remain cool.

The boys were on time and we were on schedule for our little road trip. Foxboro was a traffic mess. We were supposed to meet some people in a different parking lot. So G made an illegal u-turn across the cones. "Get back here, " we heard on the loud speaker. A very angry large African American police officer told us to pull to off to the center of the road that was blocked off by cones. G started to freak out. I, on the other hand, started laughing. The worst thing that could happen to us is that G gets a ticket. Please, I could do worse things in my car going to the grocery store. Apparently, the boyz did not find the whole situation as funny as I did. The cop let us off with a warning and we decided to just park in a far away lot not risking the wrath of any more police officers.

I should preface this by saying, I have never met S before in my life and K dislikes me a great deal. But I made the best of our little tailgate. Of course, that is also to say I was the first person to crack open a beer which may be how I made the best of it. We sat on B and S's chairs, chatted, snacked on foods. It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining, and autumn breeze was blowing in the air. It was obvious after a while that K clearly did not want to be there. He was a little cranky, a little tired, and a little pouty. S is kind of a blow hard, droning on about some nonsense about an ex-girlfriend. (According to G, S was not really a friend of his, but he was part of their group so an obligatory invite)

And then I realized something. I never have to worry about my friends. For the most part they are always in a good mood and since I lack any kind of filter those people I dislike have distanced themselves from me. I felt bad for G. He was a little stressed out. He had bought these tickets, organized an outing, and really wanted everyone to have a good time.

We made our way to the stadium and got separated as I went through the very efficient women with purses line. I sat in my seat and got to see the first touchdown scored by the Buffalo defense. Okay, admittedly I am a ditz sometimes, and I was sitting in the wrong section. By the time I realized it, it was 2 minutes into the game. I made my way to my real seats and saw G waving (he seemed happy to see me). We had some new friends join us, and so guy bonding commenced. Well sort of. We were surrounded by massholes, who were die hard fans, and I was with the yuppiest group. G's boyz wore polos, khaki pants, and sweaters tied around their necks. (Credit to G who had the sense to wear a Troy Brown Jersey with jeans.)

I start talking with guys behind me. The older guy was receiving scores on his phone for all the other games. He would tap me on the shoulder and give me the occasional update. We high-fived during key points. G looked over at me and laughed. He whispered in my ear "Do you think K will drive us home?"

Knowing K would drive home, G went for a couple of beers. He relaxed. He started to enjoy the game. G bonded with the two sitting in front of us wearing Rodney Harrison jerseys. He kept shouting nonsensical things, like "wow that was a great kick from Viniteri," just to see if he could get a rile out of the people. He and I go up each time to yell "First down!" We had ... fun.

After the Pats scored a surprising safety in the 4th quarter, the game was becoming a nail biter. However, S and K wanted to go home. At which point a slightly exasperated G (who had shelled out some scratch for his friends to go see this game) said, "Sure whatever you want, although I don't think it will get us out any faster and the game is so close."

We stayed until the end, filing out with everyone else. Our friends being in another parking lot, went their separate ways. The four of us decided just to sit still and wait in the parking lot for a while probably because there was no other option. A boy from a couple of cars away started to throw a football our way. I was banned from throwing the ball after I hit the black SUV next to us.

By the time we hit the road, the traffic was still a nightmare. It took us an hour to move less than a mile. G fell asleep. S dozed off too. So I was left making awkward conversation with K as he drove. His wife called him every five minutes with updates on the US Open men's tennis finals. He clearly had nothing to say to me. I was relieved when G woke up, because at least then it was not so weird. I let the boys gossip about their friends.

I was the last one to be dropped off. G admitted it had been a slightly more stressful day than he had expected. He and K had gone to the Red Sox game the night before. K was a little tired. I told him that he never needs to apologize for friends. If K did not want to go he should have told him. But then G said something that made me a little sad, "Well, I went to K's baseball game last night and he felt obligated to my game today. And as for S, when you are old and single, you to hang out with anyone you can."

Well, I had good time. It is only retrospect that I realize how prickly and PMSy men can be even at the most manly of past times, football.

PS
I don't mean to be insensitive, but as a truly evil person I am choosing to ignore the historical significance of this day with my drivel.

Laborious Labor Day

Labor Day is normally a day of rest. That day before summer ends and school begins. A day to reflect on a job well done. The last day to wear my white linen pants and white sandals. Okay so I don't really own those, but if I did yesterday would be the last day I could wear them.

In reality, Labor Day is not relaxing for all. For instance, the sales reps at Best Buy seemed harried from the crazy mobs of incoming college students and their overtired parents.

I rolled out of bed late, made myself some breakfast, and watched a little Regis and Kelly. I fell asleep in front of the television, before motivating to make an appearance in the lab. At the lab I called my mother, split my cells, and avoided all eye contact with my advisor. Then it was off to Best Buy and Staples to buy some school supplies. Fighting off the crowds was tiring work so I walked a nearby deli to get a sandwhich. At the deli I found Vitamin Water for sale, so I bought 10 bottles. I loaded all my wares in my trusy backpack and trekked home. It was a little heavier than expected.

At home, I convinced my roomate C to help me tidy up a bit. I rode my bike to B and S's apartment to pick up some Polish vodka. Back to the apartment, to which I saw C had cleaned quite a bit. This cleanliness spurred on the desire to wet mop/vac all the floors. I cooked dinner, feat onto itself, and ate it in front of "Two and a Half Men." I showered got ready for bed, and was getting ready to do some paperwork when I realized I had not pre-orderd my picks for my fantasy football team. I stressed about it for an hour and realized I was just screwed so I picked my top 25 and let the autodraft do the rest. (which by the way was a huge mistake). I did a little bit of paper work and went to lala land.

Whew. I need a non-labor day.

I heart John Mayer

I have been bad about the Monday postings, but now school is about to start again I guess I'll have to return to my routine. Until then however, I am going to live up the summer.

Last night, B, S, and M and I went to the Tweeter Center to see Sheryl Crow and John Mayer. B scored some tickets from work and called me on Sunday to see if I would want to tag along.

Of course I did:
1) I enjoy music concerts.

2) Had just watched John Mayer on the Today the previous Friday and sung along to "Wonderland," when it played on the easy listening station that was piped into the sushi restaurant ET#2 and I were at on Saturday.

3) I harbor a tween girl crush on John Mayer. (and since he is only 1 year younger than me it is not sooooo icky)

Road trip down to the Tweeter Center in Mansfield. I tried to serenade the car with my rendition of "Daughters," but it was met with a luke warm reception. However, our stop at the Dunkin' Donuts for sausage sandwhiches, doughnuts and bathrooms was very welcomed by all.

At the Tweeter Center parked in our VIP (b/c that is how my homie B rolls) parking space. We entered throught the VIP gate and mulled around with the common folk to eat our hotdogs. MMMMMM carnie food. As we walked towards our seats, I started feeling weird as we got closer, closer, closer to the stage.

HOLY MOLY! B scored us seats 6 rows from the stage dead center. Sheryl Crow opened the show. Her blonde hair flew around as she rocked on her semi-acoustic guitar. She wore a tight white tank top, with tight white pants, and white and gold suspenders. She was cool. She also was not wearing any panties. How do I know? Because our seats were that freakin' close.

John Mayer took the stage in a different manner. He wore his oversized hoodie sweater, over his white t-shirt and khaki cargo pants. His long curly hair was not hot like Sheryl's but kept getting in his eyes. But there is something endearing about that. He reminded me of one of my stoner friends from high school. Like a well-to-do New England white boy, who looked like he rolled out of bed and recite Marley and Dylan lyrics to rebel from his ultra conservative parents.

No, John Mayer is not cool. When he sings or is riffing on his guitar, he looks constipated. But I guess that is his appeal. He is adorable. Someone who seems genuinely excited to play his music, and someone smart enough to know how to amp up the cute not the cool.

I also think he is going through an image crisis. He is no longer the acoustic guitar singer songwriter. He is more bluesy. I was surprised by his ability to jam. The boy can play the guitar.

At one point in the show a girl five rows from me shouted "I love you, John."

And he responded, "I love you too."

Now why didn't I think of doing that? Oh that is right I am 30. Sigh. Maybe I'll scribble in the margins of my lab notebook, I heart John Mayer.

Japanese hillbillies? - Japan Series #12

H was remarkably generous with V and I this summer. He lets us take long weekends to visit places, spends much of his time translating stuff for us, and buys us food. To top it off he took me and V to visit his home town of Takayama.(V writes about our trip in her blog.)

If Hiroshima is the Cleveland of Japan, Takayama is the Morgantown, West Virginia of Japan.

Tucked in the Japan Alps, Takayama is a picturesque small city. It has many preserved buildings from the Edo period, because it was spared WWII bombings. Freshly melted snow, flows down the crystal clear creeks throughout the the town. Of course, the price to pay to get to such a place is a 10 road trip from Hiroshima, which entailed some curvy mountain roads with signs warning of deer, monkey, rabbit, and badger crossings.

Since H had some family business to attend to on Saturday, we were left to the care of his parents and their friend, who speaks a smattering of English. The family friend, Mr. M, took us around to some touristy places that afternoon. It was during the car rides, we learned some interesting facts about Takayama and its people. Most people do not leave Takayama, and if they do they rarely come back to live there. H is hero there, for going to college in Kanazawa, and then going to the US. And the favorite music of its residence is Japanese folk music which Mr. M commented "It is like your country music."

That night H returned from his trip, and we had dinner with H and his parents. After eating our artery-clogging-melt-in-your-mouth Hida beef (the new Kobe beef), we went to H's parent's house. At some time H had called his little brother and told him to buy some fireworks for us. H thought it was weird I had never played with fireworks, but those who know me well understand why my parent tried to keep me away from all flamable and sharp objects.

In their front yard/driveway/street, we started off by lighting some dazzlers. In the picture, you can see V and I with our lit dazzlers and cans of Asahi beer in hand. Somehow I have a sinking feeling that that was not the safest behavior but it was fun.


We left the next day, and I thought about all I learned about Takayama, the people and the town and I could not help but feel some kind of weird kinship to the place I visited so briefly. At the train station, I could not help singing to myself:

Country Roads take me home to the place I belong
Takayama, mountain mama
Take me home Country Roads

Pottery and alcohol - Japan series #11

I am back in Boston now, but I am still catching up on some posts I left half done while I was in Japan. Nothing much is happening here any way so......

On her first week in Hiroshima, V went out drinking with many people from this research institute. From this outing she was volunteered to participate in many events, including talking in an English class, and joining a Japanese pottery class. Now, the English class thing did not really work out probably because when we met the English teacher he could not understand why Americans would want to practice their English skills. (Obviously, there was some miscommunication.) What did work out was pottery class.

Every Wednesday for five weeks, V and I have been taking a traditional Japanese pottery class being taught at the Hiroshima Minamiku adult learning annex.

Our teacher is a very jolly old man. He is very skinny with a grey beard and big eyes. He wears white wife beaters and sweatpants that hang off of him when he sits crossed legged on alumimun folding chair in the center of the room. He laughs a lot and always talks directly to us, even though he is fully aware we have not the slightest clue what he is saying. He seemed to be tickeld pink to have two Americans visit his class. One of the students is from Austria, so he likes to say over and over again that he has the most international class there. He probably does.

On our first visit there we got to see the finished products of some of the students. The kind of neat thing was then we drank matcha (green tea) out of the recently fired items. "Pottery," sensei said, " was meant to be used."

Afterwards we all went to a local bar in which we ate snacks and drank beer. The class was comprised of a many different kinds of people. 30 something women, housewives, businessmen, all of who just dug pottery. This motely crew were friends and enjoyed going to pottery outings together, where they see other pottery or gather clay. So we drank and laughed and pointed to our phrase book a lot.

Our sensei wanted us to learn real Japanese pottery making and asthetic. All the materials provided were "natural." He dug up his own clay from some local place; he made his own glaze from sand and burnt ash. Beauty is in the imperfections.

So V and I made our own imperfect items. In the following weeks, I made a small cup and dish. We learned about Japanese pottery during class, and culture during our bar sessions. Sensei told us about how the young should be free and happy. K, the woman from the institute that introduced us to this class, taught us about Japanese foods, clothing and rituals.

Although I never got to see my items completed, I have to say the class was one of the highlights of Japan. Thanks V, K and sensei.

A Time to Vent

A bit of back story -- I emailed a client relaying a request from a notoriously fickle government agency that ALWAYS takes its time when reviewing applications. I had previously relayed the agency's request for a simplified drawing that contained only the necessary information to the client. The client refused to give the agency what it wanted, saying that it had already sent the information -- the agency should be able to figure it out by looking through the 20+ drawings we had previously submitted. The govt. agency guy was not happy about this, as a result, he calls to yell at me every so often about how the drawings we provided are not what he asked for. Since he is in a position of power and can screw us over on more than a few projects, I always apologize and never tell him to shove it.

We are meeting with the agency on Thursday. The agency guy called me yesterday and yelled that we need to bring 3 section drawings. I emailed the client passing that request along. Here is a redacted version of an email exchange that we had last night. It has REALLY been bothering me. I am hoping that by posting it, I can get over it and will feel better...

EMAIL #1:

[Evil Twin #2],

I have prepared [a really simple drawing of something that we have on file, but I'm going to make a huge deal about it] for [self-important guy at a super-bureaucratic government agency that has the strongest (insert ethnicity here) accent so it is nearly impossible to figure out what he is saying]. That said, the ONLY reason we offered the entire [property] for the [archaic real property interest] was to expedite the process and avoid precisely the sort of minutia this guy is asking for. With the availability of our entire [property] and SEVENTEEN YEARS to figure out how to use it, why are we doing this? You as our attorney need to convey to the [government agency] our reasoning for offering our entire plaza in return for AVOIDING this sort of stuff! As [client's older brother who is away on vacation and is usually the lead person on the project] pointed out, we can build a smaller building, not combine our lots, and give then NOTHING.

[surly younger brother of main client]

EMAIL #2:

Dear [surly younger brother of main client],

Thank you for preparing the [incredibly simple and easy to create drawing] on such short notice. I have tried to convey your point to [Government Agency bureaucrat that has the power to hold up your project for YEARS if you piss him off] repeatedly. He does not seem to fully grasp it -- most probably because he is used to the [Government Agency] getting its way. Let's hope that this can all be settled at Thursday's meeting.

--[Evil Twin #2]

EMAIL #3:

[Evil Twin #2],

The fact of the matter is that the drawing we already provided have ALL the information necessary to determine if an escalator will fit under our [property]. The drawing I did today and EVERYTHING else he's asked for are completely unnecessary and won't show anything that's not on the previous drawings [which were comprised of 20 sheets of oversized paper, and only 2 of the images from said sheets are actually relevant]. Is he just trying to delay and make extra, unnecessary work for us?

[surly younger brother of main client]

EMAIL #4 (the one I wish that I had sent):

Dear [surly younger brother of main client],

F*ck you. I am not your bitch. Every time you email me, I have to read it and you have to pay the firm $385/hour. If you piss me off, I will stop placating the govt agency guy and your project will be in limbo FOREVER.

Sincerely,

[Evil Twin #2]

World's longest distance booty call - Japan series #10

So if you read this post you are a truly dedicated Evil Twins reader as I am making a poor effort to bury this posting.

The weekend before the baseball game, I went to Tokyo again. This time a friend was flying in from Boston on business. Since Tokyo was so far away, I considered blowing him off but H told me that it would be rude not to go. Before G came there was a flurry of e-mails about what to do see, where to eat, what hotels were acceptable etc..

On Friday after work, I hopped on the Shinkansen using the last weekend of my rail pass. G met me at the train platform with a Wall Street Journal and a manilla folder with "Evil Twin #1" scrawled in black sharpie. When I asked what was inside the folder, he showed me train station maps, maps of Tokyo, a train schedule, and a note I had H write in Japanese that said "I am meeting my friend on Shinkansen train#46. Please help me find the correct platform."

We went for a late drink/dinner and navigated our way back to the very western Hilton hotel. It had been a while since I had seen so many gaijin in one place, and it was strangely comforting to hear English all throughout the building. Both of us were exhausted from traveling, (admittedly my journey of 4 and a half hours on a train was a little less arduous than 17 hours on a plane and a 2 hour bus ride).

Saturday morning activities involved going to the Tokyo Dome and picking up baseball tickets for the next night, a visit to Asakusa (ye olde town Tokyo) and Kappabashi dori (for looking at the plastic food). While at the Tokyo Dome, we decided to make a brief stop to the Japanese baseball hall of fame. Now I have never been to Cooperstown, but .... well lets just say at least G had fun and I enjoyed the air conditioning. Off then to the old section of Tokyo, which is a mad house of tourists. It was a big festival day in Asakusa. That night they were going to have one of the largest firework displays in the world.

Even though we were tired and dehydrated, we rallied for a night out on the town. In Japan, a popular night time actvity is to go an izakaya, which serves drinks and the japanese version of tapas. I had not been yet so I suggested we go. G wanted to find something that looked more familiar like an italian cafe. We downed one apertif at one of those cafes, until I convinced G that my way was the right way. Unfortunately, as we entered an izakaya on the fith floor of some building we realized that no one in the establishment spoke english. So we ordered food by pointing to other peoples tables. The nice hostess poured us very large glasses of sake with saucers underneath. The sake was from her home town. Either that or that was the only thing she could say in English.

By 10, we were trashed. What the hell lets go for another. Two bars later, we ended up in weird creepy dark place with stone tables and benches. We looked around realizing we were surrounded by couples everywhere. Uncomfortable silence. G leaned in for a kiss. Making out ensued. I'm not proud, but there are those people in your life with whom you will always be inexplicably blind and stupid. Then he said the most irritating thing. "I want you to know that I am not serious or anything. I am seeing someone in Boston. I want to be honest with you, and I don't want you to come back and thinking you and I are a couple or something."

What irritated me was not what he said, but it is like how my sister calls me the day before my Dad's birthday every year. I'll never get credit for calling becasue she always beats me to the punch. Back to the story: G stole my thunder.

The next day was a more relaxing day. I got over my irritation during my all-you-can-eat gourmet breakfast buffet. Its amazing how quickly fresh figs, papaya, and pig-a-licious bacon can smooth things over with a friend. It is hard to be passive aggressive bitchy with your mouth full. We chatted and laughed a lot after then. I asked him about work and what he was doing in Japan. "Business stuff blah blah blah blah blah. To tell you the truth, I did not have to come to Japan this summer. Didn't you wonder why I'm only working one day? I could have done a conference call. I flew to Japan to see you."

Admittedly, that was the ego boost I needed. But then I thought, who has the time and energy to fly 7000 miles, 12 time zones, and suffer the massive jet lag to see a girl, when he has a girl a phone call away?

Well, all of that aside, we had a good weekend. We went sightseeing some more. G was a good sport about the early morning wake-up call to go see the sights on my Japan itinerary. He even did the cabbage patch with me when we found Hachimangu after getting a little lost (something V and H refused to do with me all summer). I being an insomniac and he being jet lag, we stayed up and watched late night World Cup Soccer and Charlie Chaplin movies. We ate one truly posh french meal over an argument on why the world hates Americans, in which I think we scared our nice waiter because G called me unpatriotic and I called him ignorant in slightly elevated tones.

Guess I know the answer to my question. I am hella fun. Now what do you all think if I go to Anarctica for a summer?

Home-u run-u Ma-e-da! - Japan series #9

On August 3rd, we went to the Hiroshima Park to watch a baseball game: the Hiroshima Toyo Carp versus the Yakult Swallows. Even though H arranged the outing pretty last minute, we had a decent turnout out fellow workers, who were will to cut out a little early that night.

The sun was still out when we left the university. The whole day had was hazy as the high humidity and heat made for a potent weather combination. Waiting for H to pull the car around outside, I felt the beads of sweat forming and fallling off my brow, nose, and along my breastbone. The park itself is in the heart of the city. Although the Carp are a popular team, they lack a huge corporate sponsor like all most of the other teams in the league. So the city itself pays for the players salaries and the maintenance of the stadium.

This outdoor stadium seats about 30,000 people although it felt a lot smaller and more like a minor league baseball park. As we walked towards our seats, the smell of curry, hot dogs, and popcorn lingered in the heavy air.

On a slight tangent, I should explain a little bit about Japanese baseball. Baseball has vacilated in popularity in Japan since the 30's. Even with Japan winning the World Baseball Classic this year, soccer has been the more popular Western sport. Yet baseball is so intertwined in Japanese culture now, that it is unlikely it will ever go away. Part of Japanese baseball culture how to conduct oneself at a game. The stadium is divided into home team sections and visiting teams. And the price to pay to sit in the bleachers is you must be prepared to cheer along with everyone else.

Since the seats are open seats, our friend chose a section that was in the visiting team section so that there would be enough seats for all of us even those trickling in a little later. As we sat down, the plastic bags everyone was carrying busted open and fried chicken, edamame, french fries and beer magically appeared.

Because I could not stop sweating, I chose an tea drink and tried to sit really still to watch the game. As the sun went further and further down, the air got warmer. A layer of sticky water lay on my skin. When I scratched a mixture of dirt, humidity and skin made a grey clump under my nails.

On the other side of the bleachers, we could see the Hiroshima Cheer Conductor leading crowds. Cheering is organized in Japan. There are certain songs to be sung, you must enthusiatically either clap or beat together cheering sticks when you team is up to bat. Brass horns lead the songs that say something like "Home-u run-u [insert player name here]." It is so incredibly loud, you feel like you are at a rock concert. Our side of the bleachers had the Carp Ladies, devoted fans armed with pompoms rally our side of the bleachers.

We cheered as best we could, but V and I could not understand what the fans were yelling. It was not until 5th inning did our friends inform us that all the cheers were in English. It was an exciting game, and the two teams were tied at 3 - 3. During the 7th inning stretch, instead of singing take me out to the ballgame you are to release a balloon. So at the top of the 7th, we all started blowing up these large, slightly falic looking baloons. Unfortunately, we never got to release them as we heard a thunder clap. The stadium lights dimmed, and every player except the left fielder, Maeda, left the field. The mascot started to dance for everyone. And then it happened....RAIN.

Summer showers are always violent. This was a downpour. We hid under the some signs hoping it would be brief and the game would resume. That never happened. Our shelter was poor at best and we were now told to leave the stadium. As we tried to make a mad dash down toward the exit, we realized it was futile. There comes a point in which you cannot get wetter, and we were already there. Below is the progression of relatively dry, to slightly wet, to soaked:

Since the game was officially cancelled, no one won the game, although I am sure it was Mother Nature 1 Baseball fans 0.

road trip (adirondack edition)

BF and I took a road trip last weekend to Wilmington, NY, which is about 20 minutes east of Lake Placid, both of which are in the Adirondacks. BF's ex-coworker/room mate was swimming/biking/running the Ironman Triathlon on Sunday. I knew that the Ironman involved running a marathon, but I didn't know what the distances for the other events were. For the similarly uninformed, here they are: swim 2.4 miles, bike 112 miles, and then finish by running 26.2 miles. After the swim (1:23:26), DF was around 1700 in the overall standings. He climbed to about 700 after the bike (5:53:49) and then to 440 after the marathon (4:00:12!). He finished in 11 hours and 27 minutes.

Watching a triathlon is a test of endurance in itself. The competition starts at 7:00 am, but the roads closed at 6:00 am, which meant waking up at 4:30 am so that we could grab breakfast and find parking. We then spent 11 hours (a) standing in the rain, (b) taking cover in Jack Frost's restaurant where they kicked us out after we finished our third cup of coffee, (c) napping by the lake after the rain finally stopped, (d) trying to find shade once the sun finally came out, (e) cheering DF on as he whizzed by on his bike and sprinted along on foot, and (f) eating ice cream, pringles, and many cups of coffee. I think the only thing that I have ever done for over 11 hours is sleep. By then end of it, I was EXHAUSTED! I can only imagine how DF felt...

The drive back down to NYC was no picnic either -- I had been making great progress, averaging 80 to 85 mph when we got stuck on Route 87. An accident near Exit 15 had us sitting in traffic for an hour, foiling my attempt to get us back into the city by 11:00 pm. After that, I found myself racing with a Saab -- I guess she didn't take kindly to being passed by a Hyundai Elantra. I got us back to NY safe and sound, but I didn't crawl into bed until well past 1 am. I hope that our next road trip (to Lobsterfest in Maine) is less tiring. I plan on a marathon eating session of lobster. Yum!

confession

I was listening to the radio the other day and found myself bopping along to what I thought was the latest single by Gwen Stefani. The beginning of it sampled what sounded like Kingston Town by UB40. I was shocked to learn that the person singing the song was Paris Hilton. . . and ashamed that I like it nonetheless. As an aside, is it just me, or does it look like she is lip synching everything in her video?

Hot springs - Japan series #8

If I ever visit the main campus of Harvard, I am always amazed at the bus loads of foreign tourists that roam the Quad. Because there is no security guard in the Science Building you often run into them in the basement bathrooms, where tour guides have long figured out that it is one of the few places using the bathroom without an identification. I try to avoid these bathrooms for that reason, but that doesn't mean that I don't run into that stray toursist that has lost his/her group. The odd thing is that you rarely see american tourists on campus. Foreigners seem to out number them almost 4 to 1. However, if you go to Fanueil Hall....oila all the Americans.

I mention this phenomena because I discovered it is universal. During my recent travels in Japan I hit most of the hotspots written up in all the guide books: temples and shrines in Kyoto, Koyasan, Nara, Miyajima, the bright city lights of Tokyo, Osaka, and Yokohama. In all of these places, gaijin roam around freely with cameras and maps in hand.

This weekend, I decided to make use of my unlimited ride train pass to hit slightly off the beaten path locales. Well, actually the truth is I needed a little respite from all the historical sites.

On Saturday, I went into the lab and went out to lunch with the two H's. Both of them were postdocs in our lab and both moved back to Japan. After lunch and some roaming around with the boys, I got a headache from the sun. I decided that I would let hang out and I would take a train back to my house. It was a warm day with little air conditioning on the train and I had a full belly.... Anway, long story short I woke up an hour and a half later in Okayama.

Okayama is known for it beautiful garden and its black castle. The garden is touted as one of the three most beautiful gardens in Japan. I decided to make to best of accidental arrival, by seeing this garden. Korakuen, as it is called, is a large meticulously planned out garden. So depite being eaten alive by all the mosquitoes I was glad to walk around. The one strange thing was that I noticed the lack of non-Japanese tourists even though the place was full of people. They seemed slightly surprised as I spoke English at the ticket gate.

On Sunday, I decided to make use of my rail pass and visit Beppu. Beppu is famous for its active volcanoes and its hotsprings. The water is supposed to have curative powers. Beppu is on the island of Kyushu, which is south of the main island of Honshu. Its main industry is tourism. What I failed to realize was that it was mainly for Asian tourists (although the majority of the people there were Japanese, there were a lot of Koreans too). I hopped on a Japanese tour bus that made the rounds of all the "Hells," which are hotsprings that are meant for viewing only.

Really I have only one sentence to say to summarize my experience: Kentak3, your peoples are weird.

Each "Hell" had a theme, "Blood Hell," "Sea Hell," etc.. The theme was based on what the actual hot spring looked like. Basically, this is what you do: you get off the bus stare at some steamy pool of water, then you walk around lots of concession stands, you get back on the bus and repeat. By the time I had seen three of these (in the pouring rain) I decided I had had enough. I was planning on taking a long soak at one of the public baths, but decided the ridiculously crowded bath houses should be avoided when cranky.

Which brings me to another weird thing. I have no idea why, but the entire tourist population seemed to be grandparents and grandchildren. No one from the age 15 - 45 could be seen. That might also explain why there were an inordinate number of water parks in Beppu too. The whole experience was what I imagined tripping on acid would be like: loud, bright, and strange.

On my train ride home, I tried to figure out what was common between a 350 year old university, a garden, and a city with flashy lights and natural springs all they have in common are that the Japanese seem to think are fun to visit.

I think I'm turning...

It has been so freaking hot and humid lately that I decided to get my haircut. I had been going to the same stylist since 1998 -- even while I was living in Boston. I would go for almost a year without a hair cut. He was that good. The downside of having a fantastic stylist? He kept getting promoted and his haircuts became prohibitively expensive. Now I go to a Japanese salon where everyone is super happy when you walk in and they all shout "Welcome!" in Japanese as you walk by. They also give fantastic massages after they wash your hair. I have been to the Japanese salon 3 times and have gotten haircuts from 3 different stylists. They are all fine and dandy, but I haven't been able to find someone that is as good as my old stylist. But, since my old stylist was charging four times as much as the Japanese place, I thought that I would try out 4 different stylists before giving up. I thought that perhaps the language barrier was keeping me from getting the haircut I wanted, so this last time I brought along a picture of the cut I wanted. It's been really busy and stressful at work lately and after the fantastic massage that the hair washer gave me, I couldn't keep my eyes open while Ichi cut my hair. When I woke up, I found myself with a hairstyle that can only described as "very japanese". How do I know this? The following morning while waiting in line at Dunkin Donuts a woman tapped me on the shoulder and said to me in a very loud and over enunciated manner: "YOUR BAG IS OPEN. You should be CAREFUL. You have to CLOSE your bag in THIS COUNTRY." Arigato, lady.

Lists - Japan series #7

I've just had the most amazing weekend. The past Monday was a Japanese national holiday so I took a three day sight seeing trip. So much has happened that it is hard for me to write one single coherent story about it. As a scientist-in-training, I like the neat concise manner lists convey large chunks of data. The following is a summary of my weekend:

Cities/villages I visited in chronological order:
- Kyoto
- Nara
- Mt. Koya
- Osaka
- Himeji

Places of historical interest:
- Chion temple - Very large bell and entrance gate.
- Kiyo-mizu temple - Drank healing waters.
- Todai temple - Saw world's largest wooden Buddha.
- Kasuga taisha - Walked along the path of 10,000 lamps.
- Okuno temple and cemetary - Strolled in creepy graveyard with hundred of thousand headstones.
- Himeji castle - Climbed to 5th floor without hitting my head on very low beamed entranceways.

Romantic moments shared with V, random tourists, or no one at all:
- Walk in the rain through Maruyama park.
- Sunset at Nigatsu hall.
- Making a romance wish at Kasuga shrine
- Sitting in Japanese garden on top of Koyasan at 5:20 in the morning.
- Standing on the west section of Himeji castle overlooking the city shouting "I am queen of the world" inside my head.

Strange foods I tasted:
- Black sesame soft serve ice cream
- Corn Pretz sticks - be warned: they taste like a can of corn not corn meal.
- Bibim Donburi - items on top of rice still unknown
- "delicious" sauce
- "White sour" flavored sherbert on a stick
- Shojin ryori - full dinner of vegetables including sponge-like rehydrated Koyasan tofu.
- Pocari Sweat ion water
- Takoyaki - octopus balls. (yes, you from the hose have permission to snicker.)
- Chiyo-yaki - savory pancake

Random numbers:
- Unsolicited unbrellas given to me by strangers when needed : 2
- Times strangers said I looked Japanese: 2
- People standing in non-reserved car #3 and in adjoining space next to bathrooms of Hikari train headed towards Hakata at top speeds of 185 mph: approximately 35
- Old ladies sitting on my luggage on that train: 1
- Total hours spent on trains: about 11
- Japanese "talent" seen at Shin-Osaka: 1
- Japanese girls screaming and waiting for him to come off train: too numerous to count
- Sticks of "corn" flavored pretz before becoming ill: 5
- Pictures V took : over 500
- Pictures I took: less than 40
- Number of department stores in Osaka that had Evil Twin #2's favorite dessert: 0

Ouch ... the hot seat - Japan series #6

Even using the toilet in Japan has been a learning experience. I normally just use the squat toilet that is across the hall from our office, but when I have time or need to stretch my legs I will go to the building next door to use their ultra modern western toilet.

Here are some things I learned about using the fancy toilet:

1) Always turn on the courtesy sound button. (It makes a whooshing noise to cover the sound of you doing your business whatever it may be.)

2) Check the temperature of the toilet seat before sitting down. It can get mighty hot depending on the setting the last person used. Also, one side note, if it is too hot and you happen to yelp, no one will have heard you because you had turned on the courtesy sound button.

3) The toilets in the women's washroom have an additional bidet feature: the feminine wash. I have not used any of the bidet functions yet, since I need to read about it thoroughly as not to be surprised by the water jet.

4) Taking your camera into the stall and taking pictures so your friends back home can see how many buttons these toilets have, may get you strange looks when you emerge.

Yokohama and Tokyo - Japan series #5

This weekend I visited the two largest cities in Japan (and in the strictest definition of a city, the 10th and 38th in the world), Tokyo and Yokohama. It was quite the culture shock coming from the much smaller city of Hiroshima. In Hiroshima if someone bumps into you, you will recieve a "Sumimasen" (Excuse me) and a small bow. So when I got off the train platform in Tokyo station only to be pushed by a mob of people, I was definately disoriented. (Toto, I have a feeling we are not in Kansas anymore.)

For the most part, my weekend was quite relaxing. I ate a lot of food, slept comfortably, and intermittently did some sightseeing. I, also, encountered the world's greatest birth control measure: a five year old boy.

Yokohama
My friend S used to live in Boston, and now lives in Yokohama, which is only a half hour train ride from Tokyo. While Yokohma is huge, it has very little of its own character. Because of its proximity to Tokyo, it feel more like a suburb than a city. S, his wife K and their son R live in a two story house, on the top of a hill. In a mainly residential neighborhood, there are no vending machines, 7/11's or any other common Japanese sign of urban life. From their tatami room and their japanese garden you can see a picturesque view of the water.

The city is a port town and Yokohama Bay is beautiful. On Friday night (for no reason I could find), they set of fireworks and lit up of looking Japanese ships with yellow lights. And when the Japanese do a firework show they do it up right. I am pretty sure many of the low bursting fireworks near so many wood ships should be banned, but they made for beautiful reflection off the water.

The other distinguishing feature of Yokohama is its Chinatown. Oddly enough Japanese Chinese food is different from American Chinese food. This discovery has spurred on my new desire to try many different nationality foods in Japan.

Tokyo
Early Saturday morning, I hopped on a train and went to the Tsukiji fish market. This adventure is not for the feighnt of heart, the squeamish, or those who oppose loud noises. Men ride around in these zippy loading carts. Sometimes whole gangs of them run down at the same time and my only recourse was to move to the side and make myself as flat as possible. The market itself was far less smelly than expected, and crowded with people selling and buying fish. Maguro, tuna, comes off of beds of ice, half hacked into by the fish mongers. A sensory overload kind of place. However, I did return to Tsukiji for lunch for the greatest sushi ever. While I do not consider myself a foodie, I definately could taste the superiority of fresh off the boat fish.

Of course, since I poorly plan things when left to my own devices, I went from one crazy loud place to another. Akihabara, is a district best known for selling electronics. Sadly though, while there were a lot of things for sale, the most popular items were all things that you could purchase in the US. Once, way back when, all the items for sale were cutting edge, but now it is simply a large volume of electronics that are astounding. (By the way I still cannot get over how popular Macs are here.)

Even though the Meiji Shrine is clear across town, it took less than half an hour to get there via the subway. In Tokyo, all the subway and trains make their announcement in English, which makes travel a breeze. Not once did I have to break out the Japanese travel phrase book, which I use everyday in Hiroshima. I have to say this shrine was pretty lackluster. It was built less than a hundred years ago and it does not have the historical resonance that Miyajima had. The most amzing part of shrine was the 70 year old man sweeping up the leaved on the gravel path. He had one flimsy rake yet he was incredible efficient and there was not a leaf in sight when I left the shrine.

brief update

A while back, I posted about an embarassing phone conversation. Well, I have followed up the embarassing phone conversation with a surprisingly uneventful meeting -- in person. It turns out that I had completely forgotten what FSM looked like. I remembered that he was [insert ethnicity here] and that he wore glasses. That's about it. I also got to meet the client that I have been conversing with for the better part of the year in person. As an aside, the deal that we were meeting about is the main reason why I haven't been able to post in a while. We are trying to sign it up this week, so hopefully I can try to catch up. . .

Kurashiki, Miyajima, y los banditos - Japan Series #4

Our host for the summer, H, took V and I sightseeing this weekend. This meant he spent his precious days of rest carting us around in his Mazda station wagon.

Kurashiki
On Saturday, we went to Kurashiki. Kurashiki means "warehouse village," and its claim to fame are warehouses made with special black tile and white mortar pattern that can be found on the bottom of all the old buildings.

We first went into the Ohara Art Museum. Mainly a collection of European paintings, in the adjoining buildings you can see a collection of folk art, and modern Japanese paintings. The main tourist attraction is the Bikan area, which encompasses a preserved walkway along both sides of a small river. The walkway is lined with small curio shops.

In these stores, you can find lots of souvenirs with a boy wearing a white headband. Okoyama prefecture is the home of Momotaro, "Peach Boy." This story is uniquely Japanese fairy tale. As the story goes, an old couple who had no child find a peach floating down the river. Before they can cut it to eat it, boy springs out of it. They adopt him, and when he is a teenager he leaves home to go fight demons on a far off island. He befriends a dog, monkey, and pheasant by giving them some millet sweet dumplings. The four of them defeat the three-eyed demon, bring home treasure and live happily ever after.

Miyajima
Miyajima is a small island in the Inland Sea. It about an hour drive from Hiroshima, and then 10 minute ferry ride. The Ohtorii (Gate) in the harbor is a must see monument. The Itsukushima shrine is a maze of orange pillars that sits only a few feet from the shore. According to H, this temple is destroyed time and time again by typhoons. The original shrine was built in 593, by some famous samurai, but what we see today is a reconstructed reconstruction of an interpretation of the original shrine. Despite my cynicism the shrine and the gate were awesome.

Besides the shrine and the gate, Miyajima is known for its wildlife, deer and monkeys to be specific. Right outside the ferry station, a man with a cart sells deer food. The deer have no fear of people and happily walk all around the town. In this case, the teenager in the green is getting attacked by the deer for the deer biscuits he is holding over his head.

Having taken a gondola to the top of Mt. Misen, we saw the following sign, that warns visitors to not stare at the monkeys eye to eye; do not feed the monkeys, and the monkeys will steal all your belongings. The gondola company also warns that all tickets eaten by deer or monkeys will not be reissued.

We did not get to see any monkeys, but the cool breeze on top of the mountain was a welcome surprise. From the mountain, we had a panoramic view of many small islands. On a clear day, you can see Shikoku, the smallest of the 4 major Japanese islands. From a distance Hiroshima appeared to be a truly large city.

Yamaguchi

The last sightseeing stop was in the Yamaguchi prefecture to see the Kintai Bridge. It has five arches and according to legend only samurai were allowed to cross it. Today for 300 yen, one can pretend to be a samurai and cross the wooden bridge.

For dinner, H took V and I to a place roughly translated to "the Bandit's Lair." It is a theme restaurant hidden in the mountains. When we drove up to it, we all could help saying "oh my goodness." (Hanging around H has diminished V's and my English verbal skills.) There were brightly colored oversized paper lanterns hanging above the parking lot. The restaurant itself was a multi-room compound. Large cutouts that you could put your face in to pretend you were a bandit stood at the entrance. Children beat the drums by the cutouts. The food was bandit food, naturally. Bandits apparently ate with their hands a lot because we ordered the house specialties of large rice balls wrapped in nori and chicken roasted on a stick. Every other table had ordered the same things.