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.

Can I Go Where You Go?

Incredibly in love with writing lately. I am working on a new Huge Toy Conglomerate series, which is a fine job. Truly. But also, it's a job. We are in post for the podcast, which is a more than fine job! But also a job! I am grateful and still spend all my time in the google docs and editing software daydreaming about the newest play I am writing, my thriller series, essays--too many to keep track of.

I don't want to do anything else. I want to sit alone for 365 days to get it all out. She says songs arrive to her on a glittery cloud. I admire how even her process is a symbolism of her femme power. It emboldens me to step into mine. And I do.

The thing is happening when I get this way, where I begin seeing people as an obstacle. A maze to wander before I arrive at my treasured working time. But I know I know I have learned I have learned I can't do that. I become grey and insane, feverish and hurt. So I make plans with friends as preventative medicine. I grumble putting on my shoes. Last night I met up with an old friend on a couch-y patio. Within twenty minutes I felt my wire brain start to uncrinkle. This has been a big year for old friends. They mean so much to me, it turns out. Folks who have been there, even if in the nosebleeds, for all the eras. I worried we wouldn't have enough to talk about, but a blinked and realized I was running late for my friend's standup show. I sat alone at the back right high top munching a flatbread and laughing loud and proud. She was incredible! The excitement I felt, watching a shooting star, jetted me all the way home.

I had such a beautiful day Wednesday too. Morning dance, coffee with my writers' group, working diligently, an afternoon picket shift with two gals who clicked. Monday I went to the beach and got good news. Tuesday I saw a different friend's remarkable show at ___, went down the street after with an improv guy from ten years ago. I've felt so lonely most of my artist career. A psychic told me last week, I am meant to do things alone. She is right. We can only be the artists we are.

Iced Coffee, JFK Airport

The wait for Dunkin wrapped around the entire food court at 7:15. But I had time. At the front I asked for a medium iced coffee with cream, in a hot cup. I always ask for iced coffee in a hot cup because paper decomposes and plastic doesn't. Some places (the adorable cafe in Henne's neighborhood where I ate a black and white cookie and millionaire shortbread) don't mind at all. Other people insist what I'm asking is insane. I would classify the cashier at the JFK Dunkin as the latter. I was very aware of the family grumbling behind me, but I couldn't help myself when she held up a plastic cup and said, "No" over and over, I had to say, "Why?" over and over. Finally she pulled someone over to ask, and he was like, "Yeah who cares?" The whole thing was so overdramatic they forgot to charge me, and when I protested they just shuffled me away holding my paper bagel bag and victory cup.

At my gate I sat on a high top while the rest of the Group D mongrels swarmed the door. A couple about my age walked by, and I felt my senses heighten when they stopped a few feet from me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw them staring at me. I slyly checked my underwear wasn't sticking out, but beyond that couldn't guess what might be so interesting. I heard the girl mutter, "I'm gonna be my mom" before trotting over. "Excuse me!" she twinkled, "But where is the Dunkin Donuts?" I pointed her back and left. She smiled and went on her way.

Everybody here wanted somethin' more / searchin' for a sound we hadn't heard before.

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.

Songs of 34 (chronological order)

Rock Star -- Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson / a real angry driving song + something completely original

Like A Prayer -- Miley Cyrus / pump up for pitching my sit-com

Minimum Wage -- Blake Shelton / post-shower jam of choice

Ms. California -- Beach Bunny / personal crisis fall

Doctor Jones -- Aqua / hot hot summer beats

Viva Las Vegas -- Elvis / inspired by Elvis phase

My Bar -- Priscilla Block / building confidence when no one is watching

Never Let You Go -- Third Eye Blind / loving the ham & letting the ham go

Sympathy -- The Goo Goo Dolls / out in the world on my own

Saints and Sailors -- Dashboard Confessional / an old sad song made new in fun

Look At Me - The Aquabats / fake it til you make it

Mastermind -- Taylor Swift / well absolute perfection

Rodeo -- Aaron Copeland / truly the most!

I'm Good -- David Guetta / working out

Less Happy More Free -- Ben Lapidus / vulnerability

The Sorcerer's Apprentice -- Stokowski / inspo for the newest play

Dammit -- Skatune Network / toiling on a project that was a total waste of time

I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues -- Elton John / inspired by Elton phase

Your Wildest Dreams -- The Moody Blues / big emotions, small dances

Triple 7 -- Japanese Breakfast / Japan

Heaven Is A Place On Earth -- Belinda Carlisle / Japan

Forever & Always -- Taylor Swift / regression but okay

The Archer -- Taylor Swift / create your own

Wish On An Eyelash -- Mallrat / a late but great addition

I made a wish on an eyelash / made a wish on elevens / made a wish on my birthday.

Big & Little

Saturday Puhg and I hiked up toward the Observatory to watch the sunset. An idea I had to shake things up, freshen things up. The lookout was a stupid LA nightmare. There was a TikTokker blasting viral sounds while filming the gorgeous sun, tourists snapping photos and hyping each other up, a lesbian couple making out and blocking the view. Then an ambulance started screaming from the east. Then another from the west. Then a helicopter flew over. By the time the natural wonder ended I was ready to blow up the entire city.

On our walk up I'd seen a fat beetle in the middle of the path. A dog rounded the corner so I put my foot right next to the bug, keeping it safe from paws and licks. The dog passed, Mr. Beetle crawled on. But after the sunset, as we hoofed back down Puhg saw the same type of beetle, but this one was crushed. We sent out a little love to whoever they were, but still the sadness sat. "Now I've gotta move every beetle I see," Puhg muttered.

At home I laid on the bedroom floor and did a meditation. They haven't been working so effectively lately. Popping in my airpods and mentally sailing away used to be a surefire way to reset myself, to worry less, to remember what is important. But for the past couple weeks it's just not working. I try to show up anyway, but Puhg interrupts and pulls me from the void. "We're supposed to be able to see the space station." He'd set an alarm. Apparently we had three minutes.

We trotted to the balcony and peered up. I saw a planet and squinted beyond. "Oh! There it is!" I pointed. There was a very very very faint dot of light far far far away. But when I tried to get Puhg to see, I realized the dot was actually so faded I lost it. A minute in I began to internally pivot. Well, nice to know it's out there. And then Puhg turned around, looked at another portion of the sky--and there it was! Clear as day! A brilliant streak of white zipping by! I immediately teared up. "There are people in there!" Puhg said! We waved to them. "Hi hi hi! We see you!" we shouted. And those people in their station kept going--7000 miles per hour--away away away. They made their way toward our roof. I leaned over the edge as long as I could, until suddenly they were gone.

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.