Final Morning in Kyoto, Final Night in Tokyo

Our final morning in Kyoto we went for the fancy hotel buffet. She didn't disappoint. Matcha croissants and yogurt jugs. We were seated next to the Other Americans--loud rich people who all answered phone calls during breakfast. I shuddered thinking about going home. We took an early cab to Fushimi and hiked up the tori gates. At first it felt overwhelming, but the higher we climbed, the thinner the crowd until there was peace. I left yen at the mouth of a fox. They had a message for me, but I didn't know what.

I showered, sat, bathed, sauna'd in the onsen for an hour. It was so calm and intentional, and I was so alone I bowed on my way out. Shoved everything in bags, before trotting out to the mouth of hell. I'd tried to go to the mouth of hell a day or two earlier, but I lingered too long in our room (probably just hungry) and by the time I got outside it was raining. I hustled back up to fetch raincoat, umbrella, etc. and then knew I had only an hour before the temple would close. I sprinted there, got lost, got in, walked around and finally had to desperately ask the ticket counter where the well was. A different temple, I found out. But I'd already paid the entrance fee, so I tromped to a tatami mat room, empty, sat down, and stared at the image of Buddha. Apparently, this temple is one of the first meditation sites on earth. And so I did my best.

Anyway, on this sunny day, I go to the teeny afterlife temple with no problem. I offer coins for dead people and stand at the haunted well. I take a bunch of selfies. I wear the tiny brown shoes and wish I could stay longer. I debate whether or not to buy a prayer plaque, opt not to, then regret it on the walk home--before a huge gust of wind sends floral perfume my way.

I stock up on convenience store snacks for the train, buy a final souvenir for Puhg, and then the bellhops call the cab and we head to the station. I journal the whole way, listening to Japanese Breakfast and sipping my last milk tea.

We arrive at the Ritz Carlton--hilariously the available hotel Puhg could book on points for the night. Before we arrive we think it's probably kind of silly, but once we're in the big room with the incredible view and fancy vanity bathroom, we think differently! I break out my hoard of cheese and crackers and berries. I blast Taylor Swift over the sound system. I wear the robe and slippers. We watch the sun get lower and lower over the biggest city in the world.

We walk to a nearby cabaret. Online it looked so fun and wild, but when we arrive, there are only a few quiet locals sitting in the back. But the show is excellent! An hour of choreography ranging from Fosse to traditional Noh theatre! Spinning stages and elaborate costumes and big drama! I adore it, and when the finale starts I screech, because the entire ensemble trots out in big pink dresses to one of my favorite songs of all time! I feel a burst of connection to the world. This pop ballad from the 80s I first learned at summer camp saying hi two decades later. At the end of the show, the emcee says, "ALICE FROM LOS ANGELES" and I am instructed to get on stage for a photo. Does this happen to all foreign guests? Is it random? We will never know. But I did as I was told and a dancer threw a towel over my lap because (I assume) she thought my dress was too short. As we settled our bill, the actors all walked out and thanked us for coming.

On the way back we spontaneously try a pizza spot with a neon light on. It's actually fantastic, salty puffy crust. In the darkness of night the room view is even more special, and it's even more difficult to go to sleep. I eat my leftovers in bed at midnight.

In this world we're just beginning/

to understand the miracle of living.

Open Air

I'm frustrated by how quickly my Japan cloud dissipated into the mist of work. Just a month ago, I felt transformed. I knew I needed to come home and process, move slowly, think deeper. But because of the guild strike and launching into production of a new project the day after I returned, instead I've been in a cloud. It's been incredible and bad for my mental health.

One month ago was the first breath of our trip. We arrived in Gora, a tiny mountain town. I loved Tokyo, but it was a flashy start to our travels. I was also waking up to piles of work emails, which put me in a mood. As our hotel shuttle rounded the windy forest roads, I felt I could finally exhale.

Our room was absolutely adorable, overlooking a bubbling river. A small wooden onsen on the balcony. Puhg laid down, exhausted. Puhg does everything for our travel. Bookings, plannings, mapping, tickets. I wander around like a clueless toddler sniffing for Hello Kitty stickers while he sweats over each ticket counters and exchange rates. I volunteered to find lunch and trotted out into the village, my heart bursting for the place I just met. Hot stones and salmon buildings, vending machines and thin sidewalks. At the local 7-11 I picked up a handroll and ramen for Puhg, peach drinks and eggs for me. I could have a full (boring) conversation with the cashier, and I could tell she was proud of me for trying my best.

With renewed energy, we made our way to an open-air art museum. I was floored! Every exhibit more interesting than the last! Huge sculptures and social movements and staircases to nowwhere and rainbow squares. It felt like spring! My chest reverberated with understanding in the Picasso building, I stood on a large egg, we took a short break in the gift shop and I marveled at how every place to eat in Japan is so unique. Museum cafes are common in America, but they serve Coke and espresso and chips or maybe a fancy granola bar. I was constantly mesmerized by how precious the snacks were. On April 27th, for example, we had the museum's signature maple ginger soda.

I found a fuzzy caterpillar and brought her to the grass, I looked at the sky through stained glass, I didn't want to go home and then didn't want to go home again.

Thick Toast

"Japanese find great joy in small things," our cab driver explained. He said one might walk up to the mountains, find an herb, and then cook dinner with it. That is great joy. The nature, the simplicity. I nodded, thinking how gathering herbs from the mountains is a common activity in Harvest Moon 64.

We arrived at 5 AM and decided to seize the day, wrangle the jet lag. The train was silent. We had breakfast in the station. Mm the iced latte and toast was three dollars. A stark difference from America. You don't realized how gouged you are until you go somewhere normal. The bread was thick, with a pad of salted butter. A thousand people walked by the window. So the same, most masked, almost no one saying a word.

On our final morning in Tokyo we had breakfast at the same spot. Now older and wiser. There was a mix-up and we accidentally ordered three lattes. I kept saying it was okay, but the barista demanded our credit card. We handed it to her and fifteen minutes later someone came back with it, a return had been made. You just hand over bank cards and leave purse zippers accessible in Japan. You walk down dark alleys and rarely hear loud sounds. When you do, it's never a gun.

I Wish This Were Japan

I can't believe I came back over a week ago. I had the most amazing, magical string of eleven days in my favorite country. A week ago I felt glittery with memories and ideal shifts. Today after an intense work week on the line and in the studio, those feelings have already begun fading. And I don't want to lose any more! So I'm going to dedicate some future question mark amount of blog posts to my experience

The sun crept out after one rainy Kyoto morning. Puhg and I were walking down down the windy brick streets in Gion when we saw a butterfly flitting to a flower. We both stopped and gawked. An older Japanese man paused too. He pointed to the new friend and turned to us, "BUTTERFLY!" he said. And then the critter was gone and we all went on our ways. But it was just so special for some odd reason. "Everybody stops and watches a butterfly," Puhg said.

Los Angeles: Week One

Holding a fritter at a v grammable mural. Headset on.

Puhg came with me on a practice drive to Paramount. I am intimidated by these old highways, but there is no other option. Billboard: there is no other option. I'm drinking a kale smoothie from my new grocery in the sunshine unlocking my loaned Mercedes Benz. Romanian spread with A Jar, specifically a deep fried cheese ball and thick tomato porridge.

Traffic increases every ten minutes and I can't stop replaying the worst case scenarios. Can't find the parking lot right in front of me, but then I am eight minutes early. My first Hollywood space is an empty table with a granola bar wrapper on it, but the lot does feel magical. Kind of like Disney. No one turns on the lights all day. I meet AP. It feels unreal. She is a live human being shaking my hand and welcoming me. I have to sit down and feel the pink drain from my face. And then she is my boss and that's that. I sit at the fountain tense. I drive tense. I eat Thai food tense. I feel the tenseness in my every inch until I fall asleep.

Cowsk wears my gift on the second day. She leaves early and I futz with my new responsibilities. I am not a technical or detail-oriented person, so I learn. (I try to learn.) I'm home for date night. I put on sweatshorts, take off my bra, and we walk to a cozy noodle shop. I order the pot pie, which will take 45 minutes, and I soak in every little minute with my guy. I cannot get over him lately. So good and funny with the best blue eyes I've ever encountered.

4 AM. I'm up. I arrive too early. I have to find the roof. I have to find the van. I have to find the catering. I have to bring Cowsk a breakfast burrito. I had eaten cashews in the car. I was an idiot. I will be completely surrounded by a million foods for the next two months. I didn't know. AP says she likes my raincoat and gives me a huge First Day Hug. I had thought sets would be more organized, but suddenly I'm holding a printer, climbing stairs, searching for a plug. Everyone is friendly. I didn't expect that, and I am relieved. "Am I allowed to...?" "Should I...?" These are my most usual questions. I eat two donuts--a buttermilk bar and a regular ol chocolate. I watch Cowsk work, noting bits and keeping integrity. It is hard not to fangirl over someone you interact with all day. I like the stand-ins. It is raining and I have to get up at 4 again. I am sad and stressed picking Puhg up from a bar. I don't want him to leave. I don't want to drive. I miss my students. I am on a dream movie. I probably need to sleep.

I cry on my way out the door because it's goodbye to Puhg. He will fly away while I start a new location. Today we have a special guest among us, and her time is valuable. I run through cords and hair bags making pages and falling down to my knees when She starts writing to transcribe the improv. I sit in the sound editor's seat watching playback. I have a whiz call me to teach me in the hot sun over the phone while I'm half on headset and MR sings about Cheeze-Its at the craft table. The producer asks me for a joke for AG I preemptively printed, and I sigh a proud sigh. After we wrap, drive to Koreatown, don't even care if I have to pay for the garage. Redbean soft serve in a fish cone. My parking was validated.

Friday prize.

Brene Brown TED Talks as I run. I've never looked at Google Maps so much in my life. I go for a walk and accidentally climb a mountain. One of my girls is on the phone with boy drama. I drive an hour to brunch with Yosh and his finance. I have a ridiculous pile of dessert waffles. All my meals are $20 or free. We've pumped each other up in the middle of the night via text for five years and now we do it in the city of angels. I am listening to that Red Hot Chili Peppers song. Don't @ me. A welcome diversion, a Japan Abroad reunion. I love these three boys. We sit outside and gossip about everyone we've known and laugh about streaking at a temple and discuss where we're at now with the whole spirituality thing.

Sunday I do HIIT while dogs bark at me from behind a fence. They never let up. I go to church with my first college roommate. We used to have a David Beckham magazine ad hanging above our desks and she wanted to be a makeup artist and I wanted to be a writer. I tell myself I will write all afternoon but I have to lay down. I can't not lay down. I clean my mess I watch a Younger I eat broccoli I revise my musical for three hours and sleep.

I dream of moldy cheese, which a psychology website tells me I'm afraid of being awkward.

I'm Visiting You In Your Sleep

This morning I was greeted by not one, but two emails from dear friends who dreamt about me last night.

I. KWall

"The setting is a little foggy, but in essence, we were in a huge group of people staying at a large house, sleep-over style.  ___ ____ won the lottery and decided he didn't want to forfeit all the taxed amount, so he decided to fake his own death and run with the cash (logical, I know). There were like 8 of us in on it...and we were ALL going to fake our deaths and live off this cash together.  

The rules were strict: we all made a pact that we wouldn't tell a soul or say any goodbyes, because the world had to believe that we were really dead.  Part of the main reason I went along with it is because you were in the group.  (If Alice S______ jumps off a bridge...)"

II. Jamin

"i had a dream last night that i was at froyo and you and your boyfriend walked out and we hugged for a long time."

Kyoto 2008.

And they'll come true. Impossible not to do. Impossible not to do.

Those You've Known

My doorbell rang at 10 PM on Saturday. No one rings my doorbell. They text "Here" or they clomp in through the garage. I took a deep breath, prepared to see this person, but when I opened the door I was not prepared to see this person. These are the times I understand embraces. I could not stand on my own in a moment of such affection. It was this person who was the person who nearly gave my first roommate a heart attack by busting into our freshman dorm room with a bullhorn. This person who once sat quietly with me in a second story pension in Kyoto and spoke calmly about death and fear. Scents of blossoms and fish rode the fall breeze in through the window. This person is the same person who has held me when I have cried and once made me laugh so hard I threw up. That person was this person, and this person was here in this whole new world part of my life. "You can't take it with you," they say, but I have my doubts.

This song is apropos and incidentally so beautiful I am almost moved to tears listening to it lately:

Now they'll walk on my arm through the distant night,

and I won't let them stray from my heart.

Through the wind, through the dark, through the winter light--

I will read all their dreams to the stars.

Sometimes This Is What It Feels Like to Do Improv All Day:

Tokyo 2008.


Let us die young or let us live forever.
We don't have the power to never say never.

Triangles

Monday.

The above is not a great photo of me and Muff, but it's us in our element. Chatting and writing together. Wearing trashy clothes. Hair mussed. Cozy. It's important that I show you this photo because it's an act of humility to say, "Yeah, this is actually how we look most of the time we're together. IT'S NOT ALL PHOTO SHOOTS IN CHERRY BLOSSOMS."*

IDEA FROM MUFF: Our issues exist in triangles.
The three sides are pride (we are boastful of this thing about us), but also insecurity (but we know this thing could be damaged, or go away, or others might not see it like we do), and judgement (because we have this thing, we find it ridiculous--literally--that others don't.)

An example might be a very pretty girl who is prideful, but also knows wrinkles are part of life (insecure), but still, she judges others with plain faces.

If you've got one, you've got 'em all. And these triangles can really break us. We stand in the middle of an idea and yoke ourselves to three contrasting but conjoined feelings. OR, we can break these triangles. And humility is the magic hammer, y'all.

*I accidentally typed "Cherry Clossoms"--which could either be a delicate tea cookie, or a lesser-known Japanese monster a la Mothra. "NAN DESU KA!? CRUROSSUM DESU!"

Rough

Having a rough day. It happens. It's spring outside, but maybe the sun's distance still makes my brain get winter blues. I don't know what to do. Scratch that--I know a lot of things to do, but I can't make myself do them. I KNOW the hard part isn't doing things, it's just starting to do things. Furthermore, the hardest part is not doing things. I know this. I know this, but still. But still.

I have decided to remind myself of some times I was truly happy:


ACTF 2008.


Tokyo Disney with my abroad group.


Seeing Andy solo.

These yellow lights are turnin' red, turnin' red.

You Just Can't Show Me

Ultimately the only thing that can make you happy is a choice to be. I believe this. The world could be over. Or your world--you could be afraid to return to school, could be struck with two deaths in one transitory year, could keep getting bloody noses and accidentally muss up your white hankie permanently....but you can understand Good and shake it all off. You can shrug--no, MORE than shrug--you can lace up your sneakers and go jogging down the lake path. I believe this. But, I also believe sometimes it's very very hard.

Maybe it's just watching that episode of Boy Meets World where Cory gives Topanga his jean jacket and remembering first seeing it in your suburban Chicago bedroom, on your bed that you had to climb, and turning off the TV to run over the lines of your speech for the next morning's competition. High school speech is magic, but is it? Who really cares? You say it was so good for you, but who cares? What's actually Good anyway? I repeat: Who cares about any of it? And no matter how decadent the caramel salt latte, how cushy the employment benefits, how absolutely perfect the Arizona heat in January is--there's still unhappiness if you can't make THE choice. I believe this.

But that's why, although we are not entitled to it, we are sent angels in the form of a friendly stranger offering positivity about your writing, about Life. In the form of the poor depressed folk singer who, despite his forever unhappiness, has given me dozens of reasons to be happy--two being "Goodnight Rose" and "Desire," which remind me of walking through Kyoto at night, up the steps of the art school. I asked the noodle shop for a knife. My Japanese wasn't good enough. I ripped open the avocado with my fingernails.

And although we might not be deserving of these angels because we have been such horribly sad, dysfunctional little maggots, they come to us, and although they cannot make us happy, they can remind us to try.

You know me. You know my way.
You just can't show me, but, God, I'm praying.
That you'll find me, and that you'll see me,
and that you run and never tire.
Desire. Desire.

Mems, Cremes, Neve

Memory:


A photo I took of me and Yatchface the first day we were friends. "Look," we said. "Look at the way we sat. Our knees are friends." And then that night we went out for sushi together. Fall 2008.

My mom and aunt are here visiting. I had trouble climbing the stairs to my bedroom just now because my stomach is crushing my lungs. Boop.

Cupcakes I Ate Tonight:
-chocolate marshmallow
-birthday cake
-red velvet with icing
-red velvet with cream cheese
-salted caramel
-peanut butter chocolate

Random Fact:
Collective Soul came up on my iPod today, and my window is open--it's fall--but a California fall in a college town, and I hear party kids being rowdy outside...it makes me feel like I'm in Scream.

Perfection: Part II

Hein Shrine. Kyoto. 2008.

There are two options:

1. Act, even boldly, and be able to defend your action to anyone that ever asks.
2. Don't act if you cannot defend that action. Even if you only can't explain it to one person.

And I took you in right then and there,
and life took on a new form.
No more stayin' out all night.
No more killin' ourselves just to make ourselves feel alright.

Leave It Alone

Kyoto. 2008.

Studying Oedipus in Dramaturgy. Not regular Oedipus, you nerds. What do you think I am? A senior in AP English? No. Cool Oedipus--as in Gospel at Coloneus. I'm in grad school, yatches. Real deal here.

Anyway. Today we watched part of the Julie Taymor version that was done in Japan. Holy sushi rolls! There are a lot of parallels between Oedipus and Japanese culture! Like the whole Oedipus being obsessed with solving the mystery of his own murdering and being told, "Just let it go, trust me, dude." But him not, and then obvi, things don't go so hot for Oedi...

In Japan that's really important--that idea of "Maybe you should just let things go unknown and unsaid please." It was very powerful to see that ancient Greek idea come to life in the context of contemporary Nihon culture. A strong case for the positive parts of globalization of art.

When?

Storming Osaka Castle. Ant, Yatchface, Nac. 2008.

When do you finally let go of your bad habits? Is "letting go" the only way to truly do it because brute force never solves anything? If you know it's wrong, would you still do it if you were the only person on earth acting the way you shouldn't? Would you finally step into the sun? Or would you fight, tooth and claw, demanding your right to act abysmally?

HAPPY UPDATES:
1. I ate ice cream for breakfast!
2. Sketch show dos went pretty well today!
3. CLARA ARRIVES IN AN HOUR!
4. Pandora just started playing "Tracts Of My Tears"--you go, Pandora!

The closer I get to feeling the further I'm feeling from alright.
The more I step into the sun, the more I step out of the light.

Leaves in the River (A Sunday Tribute to Fall)

Kyoto. September 2008.

Some Sunday things: Brown's Chicken, looking out the back window of Chevy Nova, Mentos, improv rehearsals, hymns
Some fall things: pumpkin pastries and hot drinks, Japan, Halloween, candy bars, nighttime, leaves, Speech season

I met a girl on Halloween
when she was lost, and I was drunk.
And it was dark and cold out when we left.

And as we walked the rain started.
The leaves softened with every step,
and all around us people slept alone with their dreams

The wind came down from up the planes,
and blew the leaves all through the streets.
I wondered how far leaves could really fly.

Would they rest in suburb yards
or make it to the city?
Or would they end up in the river just to float away?

She pointed to a small brick house
and said it was where she grew up.
The lights were out-- she asked if we could stop for awhile.

Her hair was still just getting wet.
The water running down her neck
collecting in the handprint in cement beneath her feet.

Apparently there'd been a death,
someone close and nothing left
because she hadn't left him in the end.

I saw her blush when I asked
if she always talked like that.
She said it only happened when she drank.

And later on I felt her hand
slipping into my cold fist.
She promised me a kiss as soon as we got home.

Her costume had begun to tear.
She ran ahead and turned to me.
Her laughter echoed through the empty streets.

The Big Red Dot

Fishies at Hein Garden. 2008.

Today was mini-Japan day!

-This morning I read in the CS Monitor that Japan is still strugglin' even though the rest of the world has kind of moved on. I said a teeny prayer for my favorite country.
-Read a lot about Noh theatre in preparation for Theatre History today. Was whisked back to seeing Noh with Jamin and Mahji on a crisp fall evening in Kyoto. The show was so good that I did a cartwheel while I waited for the bus to take me home.
-Watched part of Throne of Blood--the Japanesed-up Macbeth directed by Kobayashi.* Instead of three witches, the Macbeth and Banquo characters come across an old man singing in the woods. He is singing about man being as inconsequential as insects. The two warriors stumble upon him and demand information about who he is at bow-point. Yo, weren't you guys listening? He's singing about the pointlessness of existence...How scared do you think he is to lose his life?
-For only one millisecond, when I heard the Japanese music and the Nihongo, did I think, "Oh...I could have been there." But then the millisecond was shot through with a billion samurai arrows as all the perfection of me coming to graduate school right here and right now swam up from the depths of the Pacific.

I'm the sea, and you're Japan.

*SERIOUSLY EMBARRASSING EDIT. THIS IS THE GUY WHO CAN EAT A BILLION HOT DOGS. The film was directed by Kurosawa. I am the worst Japanese lover of all time...

The Buses in Japan

Nac with schoolchildren. Japan 2008.

The buses in Japan run on time. Here, not as reliable. I hear people complain about the buses in America all the time. Always late, always gross.

But in Japan when a bus pulls over to make a stop, cars wait, change lanes. Drivers inherently think, "That bus is on a schedule. I am not to get in its way." Here? Here out of resentment for the little public transportation we have people seem to purposely cut buses off, impatiently swerve around them.

Uptown you cater to a million jerks.
Uptown you're messengers and mailroom clerks.

An End to End Wishing

I will stop wishing for an end to the vegan month, an end to the running recovery, an end to the paper grading, an end to the wet spring, an end to the stop-n-go rehearsals, an end to commutes. I do hope for an end in all aforementioned points, but the daydreams should be fewer, the moments today grander.


We had an hour to kill. We found this. Japan 2008.

We should try our very best never to put ourselves in situations that leave us longing for time to speed up, because life is quite short, and not being able to revel in every moment of it is quite sad.

Add the Good Stuff (A Soapbox)

Currently, I'm watching Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution, and I am lah-ovvvvvvv-ing it. Right now I'm watching him argue with the owner of a burger joint in L.A.

The owner has agreed to let Jamie "take over" for a couple days and help make the restaurant more healthy. Immediately, the owner was like, "Well, you can't take anything off the menu" and Jamie was, of course, like "So...how am I supposed to make this place healthier...?" And the owner was like, "Look, man, I have regulars who get every single thing on this menu. So take away any one thing and you get at the very least someone who orders it three times a week not coming back."

And I'M LIKE, "Say what!"

YOU HAVE TO ADD THE GOOD STUFF TO GET RID OF THE OLD CRUMMY STUFF!

Maybe some of the regulars wouldn't come back anymore if the nasty dog-food infused burgers weren't available, but maybe they would be happy to eat the alternative sandwich, or maybe there would just be a new clientele. Who wants to be the person giving someone bad food three times a week because customers will eat it?

The guy who made up the fake Twitter for Rahm Emanuel got so crazy popular that the real Rahm let him donate to any charity of his choice. The guy, a journalism professor, picked a program that encourages kids to write. I remember hearing that and, of course, being happy, but then kind of wondering if a dinko writing club is really the best place to pour a pile of money. And the answer is YES. YES. Because all the world's problems can't be solved by throwing money at bad stuff defensively. But, even if they COULD be solved that way (for a moment) they won't go away unless we've got back-up. Unless we've got the good stuff safety netting the trapeze.


Japan Ladies, Fukoi 2008

Like, maybe it seems better to donate that money to inner-city gang clean-up, but actually, no. A writing group provides kids the outreach, thought, and passion to deter themselves from joining gangs (ideally) PLUS a plan or program for other kids trying to get out! PLUS love and joy and spirit to others uninvolved in gangs to pump the universe with more positivity!

This realization makes me really happy because it proves that the teeny attempts at Good we make aren't overthrown by the bigger badder fanged evils that sometimes seem invincible. We can be pre-emptive by supporting the good stuff--even the little good stuff. I know people SAY that, but I finally really do get it.

Ladies and gentlemen, here's exhibit "A." Didn't I try again, and did the effort pay?