tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75673264274898821322024-02-18T21:52:44.716-05:00Now I'm In _________Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.comBlogger208125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-24106753973047887882015-10-08T20:01:00.003-04:002015-10-08T20:04:36.127-04:00Goodbye, Blue Dress<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Goodbye, blue American Apparel Double U-Neck Cotton Spandex Jersey Dress. You were always a little too tight and never stopped sliding up my thighs. But inexplicably I reached for you time and time again, and somehow you became my most loyal friend. Looking back now I can't believe how many nights we shared, and how vividly I remember.<br />
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Though under a sweater or blouse you passed for ordinary, you were the sleaziest dress I ever owned. Perhaps it was your hidden sleaze that helped me<i> </i>become my sleaziest self. For that notion, blue dress, I will honor you always.<br />
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I wore you under my big yellow sweater in the white-hot nucleus of my youth, living on moyashi and whiskey as I swam the streets of Tokyo. </div>
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I wore you to Ni-Chome under a black-and-white tartan top that didn't look good with anything else. That night I got so drunk I failed to take a restroom selfie and took a nap in a parking lot. I never wore that top again. </div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">I wore you under a flea market cape on a date with an arrogant music exec who took me to an expensive bar and talked about himself for hours.</span><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">On Halloween night in 2010 I had no plans, and I wore you with maroon tights, black pumps, and a gray sweatshirt slashed at the collar. We went shopping in Shibuya and smoking in Shinjuku, where I befriended the enigmatic gutter host named Junkie Kou. </span><br />
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So many years. So many memories. </center>
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And then one day last week I wore you to a cafe in NYC and realized your shoulders had lost their shape. Inching up my thighs was one thing, but flopping down my arms? I knew it was time. You've reached your end, my wonderful, sleazy blue dress. I will remember you always.<br />
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Not everyone can live forever.<br />
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Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-48586723635340803742015-10-07T22:27:00.003-04:002015-10-07T22:35:47.307-04:00HEY TEAM<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Did y'all know New York City is a hard place to live in? Moving here was kind of dumb. Sort of like diving into a tar pit. But creatures evolve, man, and somehow I'm surviving this hostile habitat. </div>
Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-69919115927805124312012-03-02T01:27:00.001-05:002012-06-01T15:23:52.730-04:00Reverse Culture Shock: When does it end?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So we know about all the little things that startle you when you come home after a long time abroad. But for me there's been a sneakier side to reverse culture shock. It started one day several weeks ago when I realized that at some point while I was wrestling with New York, I had taken that last stumbling step out of my life in Tokyo. After months of knowing intellectually that my time there was over, I finally felt it to be true. </div>
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And you'd fuckin hope so, right? Good lord, my friends, it is March of 2012. It's almost the anniversary of the earthquake! I got on that plane<i> nine </i>months ago. Tokyo is long behind me. I have a new city and new friends and new jobs. I don't even look the same. I've moved on.<br />
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So what's weird about it? I hate these four words, but: it's hard to explain. First of all, just because I've moved on from Tokyo doesn't mean that I've found a place here. I haven't. I've had a hard time in New York, a really ugly streak of bad luck after what was already an unusually queasy year, and I don't think I've ever had such a terrible attitude in my life. This might make you sick, but I've always felt that I have a pretty good relationship with the universe -- that my hardships are always balanced out by the countless amusements and possibilities scattered all around me every day. That's the truth! I admit it! </div>
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But lately I've started wondering if that's just because I've spent my life in the Northwest and abroad. Because yeah, it's easy to feel like the universe is on my side when I'm skipping along the river eating huckleberries in the Siletz Gorge, or when a bad night means throwing on a killer outfit and going out to smoke cigarettes and sulk under a billion neon lights and soulful gaze of a cheesy pop idol... </div>
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...but that sense of cosmic benevolence doesn't shine as bright when strangers shriek <i>IDIOT</i>! at me on the street. Or when volatile drunks throw their arms around me outside my workplace. Or when a dark liquid from somewhere up above splatters against my cheek on 33rd St. And these are just the publishable calamities! The effect on my superstitious soul, already wearied by the whole homecoming saga, has been disastrous.<i> </i>I mean, one night <i>I sat in pee on the train.</i> I don't think I've ever felt my sense of humor under so much strain! I can take a lot, but that's some heavy lifting, right? </div>
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So here's the point. Yeah, I've moved on from Tokyo. I can reminisce and start to miss it, but I don't die over it every day. I want to live in America right now. No question. <b>BUT: if I went back it would be so. easy. </b>One night recently my nerves were shot again, and I was thinking like, who is this person? What is this attitude? This is terrible! And it occurred to me that if I flew back to Tokyo tomorrow, I'd know exactly what I was doing. I'd get off the plane and onto the train like a breeze. I'd be surefooted in the stations, I'd know what to have for a snack at 7/11, I'd send a hundred texts and I'd have someone to meet by the time I got to the city. I'd have places to sleep and people to call for jobs. I'd know the good places in the right hoods and I'd probably have a few orgasms within the first day. </div>
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You know what I mean? Tokyo's behind me, but that doesn't mean I know where the fuck anything else is. I'm still wary of my foothold. And sometimes, when I get a little tired of the long-haul process of settling in, I think of how easy it would be to run back to Japan and know just what to do. And <i>that</i> is rough. That kind of thinking is harder than the loud voices, the close-talkers, the subway circus, the aggressive strangers -- by far!</div>
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I have enough sense to recognize this as part of the process, for me and for many, many others. It's a theatrical ultimatum: stop or go, back or forward, fold or gamble. And you know what, I Googled this shit -- and I read a whole lot of words by people who, after 9 or 10 or 12 months back home, just said <i>fuck it!</i> and started making plans to go expat again.<br />
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I respect that, but it's not gonna be happening here. I'm over that shit! Rats don't scare me. Pee on the subway bench can't stop me. Recession, whatever. I'm here now and I'm gonna do this thing. So, wish me luck! And I wish you luck, too, if you're in these shoes. You know, being a foreigner in your own country for awhile is as worthy an adventure as anything -- and making a life for yourself is as rewarding and enlightening an accomplishment there as anywhere. No matter what you decide, please enjoy this advice my mom gave me when I was at critical mass last Monday: <i>Don't forget to enjoy what's good where you are right now -- so even if you decide to leave next week, make sure this week is awesome. </i>Hang in there, baby! Tomorrow can be brilliant! </div>
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xoxo<br />
<br /></div>Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-11868906617050334482012-02-20T13:41:00.001-05:002012-06-29T11:17:30.151-04:00My Favorite Japan Blogs Part 1My Google stats warm my heart. I'm glad people are still coming here. I don't live in Japan anymore but I'm still mad connected to Tokyo and the people I know there, and I'll still write here when the occasion calls for it. But if you dig this blog, let me suggest some current jams you'll probably like! There are a billion Japan blogs out there, but I've always mainly stuck to the circuit that revolves around pop culture, fashion, nightlife, sex, hangovers, and romantic street shots. (Incidentally, this is a pretty insular scene -- almost all of these bloggers became good friends of mine, or were already friends of friends.)<br />
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<b>Vivian at <a href="http://vivianlostinseoul.blogspot.com/">Lost In Translation</a></b></div>
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This girl's been blogging from Japan for a long time and has commented here, but somehow I completely failed to read her until recently. That's a bummer because now she's living in Tokyo and her scene really looks like my scene. Carry that torch, Vivian! Let me add that if I'm perhaps a little prone to sulk in gutters or wake up drunk with a tobacco-soaked rat's nest in place of my hair and then stay in the same position for the next twelve hours, Vivian is pure fly. She hits hot parties, snaps good-looking people, and writes professionally. <a href="http://vivianlostinseoul.blogspot.com/2012/02/february-i-heart.html">This post</a> is a great example of what I dig about her style -- in one simple string of photos and captions she shouts out to "Shibuya at dusk," drinking "Slat," "seafoam green nail polish," "Chungking Express," and taking too many self-portraits. That's my jam, Vivian! </div>
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<b><a href="http://www.julieinjapan.com/">Julie in Japan</a></b></div>
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Homegirl hardly needs my introduction. Julie, are you not the reigning queen of stylish girl bloggers in Japan? Haha. If you are one of the small handful that didn't come here straight from Julie's blog, go there now! She hasn't been updating as often lately (bitches got lives, people -- you want us to stay interesting, don't you?) but look through her back pages. Julie tends to write much more <i>informative</i> posts about Japanese culture as she sees it than I do, though she keeps you in touch with a steady supply of shots from her own life and friends. She's also really good at writing interesting posts about international pop culture topics related to Japan, so for such a straight-up Japan blog hers is <a href="http://www.julieinjapan.com/2011/12/jarmusch-japan-mystery-train.html">surprisingly full of awesome film and music recommendations</a>. </div>
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<b>Sarah at <a href="http://thenomadsland.tumblr.com/">The Nomad's Land</a></b></div>
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Sarah is a South African living in Sapporo with her Japanese fiance, so there's a bunch of stuff you don't get to read about often. She's mad prolific, posting all the time about stuff we all love like convenience store snacks, purikura, arts & crafts, snow festivals -- damn, Sarah! How do you do it? I had the pleasure of meeting Sarah during my only visit to Sapporo, and she's just as fab in person. </div>
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<img height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLzXTnpubtOCTFrwX3umq7bVFLpbQvcav5yhc2m8m0VO0nf8WzvYSLwsg60VE9jil-wgggSXfNnD5E9EgJe8Vq8jWQkozXzrnnv9Gw9aTPdTP79qf5kGXMdosNx0_Fu84s6Z45R6vuR4X-/s400/258658_2084998612433_1469162074_2680464_3411078_o.jpg" width="267" />
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<b>Selena at <a href="http://expiring.blogspot.com/">Expiring</a></b></div>
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I don't even know where to start with Selena. She is, straight up, one of the most interesting and genuine people I know. She's fly, fun, smart, socially conscious, and since the earthquake she's been working her ass off to find shelter, food, and care for the countless animals up north that were left without homes or families in the wake of the disaster. Sample writing: <span style="background-color: #f9f9f9; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><i>It's still cold as balls up in the radioactive north, but spring is starting to rear its head, for which I am hella grateful. This week, my mask-wearing mug is appearing in The Big Issue (Japan), a magazine sold by homeless vendors outside of major train stations. The article is about the work of Japan Cat Network in Fukushima, and features a big fat picture of yours truly feeding cats in the zone, as well as an inset on dear King, who we hear is frolicking happily among the hot springs of Beppu.</i> </span>WTF! Do you want to read more of that shit or what? Aw, the last time I saw Selena was back in April or something, when we wandered through darkened Shinjuku looking for parfaits. I miss you, boo! Keep your chin up! </div>Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-76805959028777847682012-02-20T11:59:00.000-05:002012-02-20T12:30:53.003-05:00Reverse Culture Shock: Acute Symptoms<div style="text-align: center;">
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Hey, baby pies! Hey from New York! How are you ? Where are you? What have you been up to? I miss you! How have I been? Oof. Let's talk about reverse culture shock -- short-term now, long-term next. I've made the trip between Japan and the U.S. six times, I think, so I know all about the acute signs of being stuck in Tokyo-mode.<br />
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<b>OMG everyone's so LOUD</b></div>
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This hits you first, even if you haven't been away for long. At the airport, families shout to each other across, like, an acre of space. "JEFF! HEY JEFF! I GOT -- I GOT YOUR -- WHAT? I GOT YOUR BAGS! I SAID I GOT YOUR BAGS! NO I GOT IT!" I still remember waiting for my bags at SFO after one long summer in the Hyogo countryside and feeling tears prick my eyes because all the noise close to my head was stressing me out and I couldn't understand why everyone thought it was okay to scream around me.<br />
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Plus, you can understand all the petty bitching and mundane prattle going on in conversations around you, which makes people seem a lot louder and more annoying than in Japan, where it's easy to tune people out if Japanese isn't your first language. This sometimes hit me when I was still at Narita, waiting for my flight with groups of American military members talking loudly about gossip on the base or their plants back home or whatever. <br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>Well this is a docile bunch, but...</i></span></div>
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And then, whoa, all the noise on public transportation! The airport shuttles are startling enough, but even after three months back in America I was still totally unprepared for the NYC subways. The first time I took the N train into Manhattan I was way overwhelmed. I sat all tense and skittish, my eyes darting around the screeching carriage at all the unpredictable animals packed in with me, singing songs and dancing and yelling at each other and smelling like hair gel and sweat and trash and perfume. Of course, I got used to this fast -- before long I was grinning and skipping from platform to platform like "America's a circus, this is so fucking cool!"<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>Not actually a stranger but the lovely Melissa</i></span></div>
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<b>WTF why is this person looking at me and talking to me</b></div>
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I got a lot of attention in Japan. Foreigners who look different get stared at, and young white ladies who speak Japanese can cause a stir in lots of places. But Japan lacks the American tendency to interact with strangers in proximity, and you really feel this difference when you come home. A lot.<br />
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You'll be like, trying to pick out an onion at the grocery store and suddenly some random guy's asking you a question. And you're like <i>WHAT WHAT WHAT'S WRONG WHAT'S HAPPENING WHAT</i> -- conveyed, of course, with a look of total alarm and a stammered, confused mumble -- and it takes you several seconds to realize he's just a guy at the grocery store also trying to pick out an onion, and since you both happened to be picking out onions in the same bin at the same time, he cracked a polite little joke about how many choices there were. By the time you start to remember that this is a normal thing that happens here, the poor guy has hurried away because you made him feel real awkward.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Hey stranger 'sup how you doin' OK bye man</span></i></div>
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While this is something you notice and can get used to quickly, last year it took me months -- <i>months! --</i> to remember how to banter with strangers again after living in Japan. And it is absolutely one of my favorite things about my culture. People here are so open with their personalities, moods, and senses of humor. Granted, there are plenty of times when I'm not in the mood for that, and I have many fond memories of being left alone in Japan; but basically, American sociability really warms my heart and makes me feel like everyone's in it together.<br />
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<b>GIVE ME SOME SPACE! </b></div>
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I had a hard time with this one when I visited after I'd been living in Tokyo for a full year and some months. I felt like everyone was standing so close to me. When someone touched my shoulder in a casual conversation, it was startling and weird. I can't even really explain this because, as we all know, it's not like I <i>never touched people</i> in Tokyo. But when I got back here I felt like everyone was jabbing my bubble all the time.<br />
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<b>It'll be OK. It'll be OK. It'll be OK. It'll be OK.</b><br />
I was deep in Tokyo for a long time, but I got over all of this stuff within about four months. Fortunately, I actually like my country and culture -- always have! So as much as I dig Japan, I was totally willing to be embraced by the United States again. This isn't the case with everyone, from what I've heard. I've met a lot of Americans who went to Japan and came back a few months later just moaning and sighing about how much better <i>everything</i> is in Japan and how they <i>haaaate </i>being back here because America is <i>sooo </i>this and <i>soooo </i>that. Maybe that's part of the process for them, I don't know. Even when I considered staying in Japan for ever, I never felt ill toward my own country and never doubted I could be happy there. Of course, I'm from Oregon, the greatest land of all, but the point is! If you weren't born and raised in Japan, then chill out about it, okay? You can survive your own country. All this stuff fades away as quickly as you let it. Give it a few months.<br />
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<b>But...</b><br />
What I didn't expect was the long-term version of reverse culture shock, the slow struggle to readjust as I start over in a new city in my own country. It's a sneakier feeling of disorientation, a sense of discomfort that comes and goes, a bleak confusion between your bones that you can't put into words -- and it drags on, and on, and on. That's another post. </div>Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-1359582957757572432011-09-30T00:28:00.010-04:002011-10-28T14:28:02.152-04:00NOW I'M IN NEW YORK<div style="text-align: left;">I didn't know how to break it to you, but I did leave Japan.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVBajscwkTgaklrMViTluc-GvR_nY9BMpFVzmQ7WTwTxCTvw7bSZwDavl9XTQtf1JJScTcsJ-zOnlYAa31Pm_IfgtowkYAwR1DrsT5vigucpxLu09Kqo5k6LN8CLY8rO3i8GSpugoGsMj_/s400/254854_10150209412254351_505649350_6952698_3357649_n.jpg" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Oh, man, it was hard. I can't tell you how hard it was. That's probably why I haven't been near this blog in so long. I mean that was an awful process, leaving Tokyo. I had so much to love there. I cried all the way to LAX. By the time I got to Portland, I felt fine. It wasn't the shock I expected. It was quieter and it took me awhile to realize, like I realize now, that my heart is still aching.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgegPUopqhMINBJqdhugCvk23-aSwKeLUkrJLPUcIQ80VlZLF7niao7G6_75kDsvUD1AADXZrMp9yPWY6wthkDn1qHoafdmC_-hweH0hrEb-5Yn48hzTk5NoVUz0c2xAQcclIMjiIgvxbjW/s400/251369_10150209411054351_505649350_6952675_3855650_n.jpg" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">What is wrong with me? That's what I was thinking in those last few weeks. Why would I come to this place and work so hard to find these people I love so much and this life where I can do anything I want? Why would I do that and then force myself to leave it? Why am I hittin' myself? Why'm I hittin' myself?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnCIAuceDU35acn5c75e_I4jUoAWLoD3CUlTMKfj8bF5-EexI_eoNqEsURxS7GVtfIjKCGn9tP_VjyBjlB2KUbHGeyYm9LtcednI_tATzr-gh_dsGVv7fZtWgkziGbLaTE6O2bmvgJSwN8/s400/253739_10150209412509351_505649350_6952705_1238617_n.jpg" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I don't know why! I was so weary and grateful and devastated during those last days. On my date of departure, I drank coffee in Koenji with someone I cared about very much. When that person left the shop, my Tokyo life was over. There were no more friends to see and I was just waiting for my flight to leave. I couldn't stand that feeling, so I wiped my nose, cleared my table, picked up my bag, and walked across the street to get on the train. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5utLhLlhXkXhRaCwWZDkyJtNGYbmv8Cwiim863nesnEPaAbfetQM3qZ3TC6EURTZC-NnjlQQ0YOAxWReP_wf5TK69HI_y6_t7XVUy4659Ep4UVG9JdxsjsfEsPKJodrJLDeD5eNArbo9S/s400/250459_10150209412289351_505649350_6952699_8096151_n.jpg" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And I'd go to Oregon and be with my family and my dog and my rivers and trees and bay, and I'd have a beautiful summer and I wouldn't cry for that other life much at all. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFyHl_btfZNdoekaDHpYHqYLMEWGtG2NGM-k68VUqtQZz1bfMhAYSb9WWo1N-pp4Wwye5-GdhwwI-S_YxTeJXTlxA5j8Q2vg5l8Kt9caWb8LJhEytPWOgSr3qq-d0SZHp2odqs6CuC499l/s400/259974_10150209412444351_505649350_6952703_5346735_n.jpg" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And a few months later it would be September and I'd be in New York and feeling lost. Here's now, and it's a strange moment to be in. I love being back in America. But nothing can take away this ache in my heart for the streets I walked, the trains I rode, the drinks I drank, the friends I loved, the city where I once said "I found myself in the white-hot nucleus of my youth!" Haha. Oh, Tokyo. You'll forget me and I can't help it, but I will remember our love forever. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjagaJgoYGEKArNKhvkw0bEOt9KVW9WiKt8oTsdbIGopCobYXIgvGCF08DPSXcevyy52dbfGOyD9Qbwr-2UZ7LlNbOnFuAR1T2CDCsc8SZjxcgKFeb3VbSx9POdbe58FH3bXADB6quWHIP/s400/wine+bar+nishiogi.JPG" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Well, anyway. Now I'm in New York. Stay in touch and check back with <a href="http://bigjuicyapple.blogspot.com">my new blog here</a> and/or <a href="http://bigjuicyapple.tumblr.com">on tumblr.</a> Let's do it. </div>Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-13587310500068272011-05-31T07:52:00.001-04:002011-09-30T00:56:14.259-04:00Degas in YokohamaMonths ago I went to see the Degas exhibition at Yokohama Art Museum. I just realized I don't know the difference between exhibit and exhibition.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoNzK6bZB29B5luXmC80aGXNJw9lwqpFsgnYGQyNdD-g8L30cXF_9R5EaG8Mqomd2UJrw0z3g6zIjs3ceZWu4eFTsxrBEVgq-662d4bUhjXznXMO4RbA5rxB-XRAj7MmK_-HQCVc1ixBP4/s1600/Dec+2010+012.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoNzK6bZB29B5luXmC80aGXNJw9lwqpFsgnYGQyNdD-g8L30cXF_9R5EaG8Mqomd2UJrw0z3g6zIjs3ceZWu4eFTsxrBEVgq-662d4bUhjXznXMO4RbA5rxB-XRAj7MmK_-HQCVc1ixBP4/s400/Dec+2010+012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599116949152627970" border="0" /></a>That's the museum, that's all I've got. Hey, sometimes when you live in a big city for awhile, you get used to it and you get bored and you forget about all the cool shit that big cities get, like in museums, like paintings and fossils and artifacts. I try to get out once in awhile and catch whatever's in town. Or just the dinosaur bones in the Nature and Science Museum.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_3qaO9nzfvR5DRKbUQPXtThw2oSUp9fN2ha3K9QLivMJUOpdX6KqNZt6QRwDGH8nLtWOvKey_wkc2kUgoLepq6PSJr63sSRlpKh8E9jWVCkKalUdzDihNB1ge2d167KydVNT6BVpsSxf_/s1600/Dec+2010+014.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_3qaO9nzfvR5DRKbUQPXtThw2oSUp9fN2ha3K9QLivMJUOpdX6KqNZt6QRwDGH8nLtWOvKey_wkc2kUgoLepq6PSJr63sSRlpKh8E9jWVCkKalUdzDihNB1ge2d167KydVNT6BVpsSxf_/s400/Dec+2010+014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599116953847277506" border="0" /></a>It was just getting cold that day.Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-50601958291754092612011-05-31T05:22:00.002-04:002011-05-31T05:35:21.196-04:00Rooftops, Patios<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1f105qBcyne37jhvmVG_p-HPz8spIbIYjxigmqMyIijKbBgVxiuxDDPlZVgqUY3DVFHx2DnbweegaRCQgg3aXomX3qdn14zLhC2uCBd28Rm8vaotkiaI_sndOTBVqW-Fr4RkZMBx6aWwC/s1600/IMG_0214.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1f105qBcyne37jhvmVG_p-HPz8spIbIYjxigmqMyIijKbBgVxiuxDDPlZVgqUY3DVFHx2DnbweegaRCQgg3aXomX3qdn14zLhC2uCBd28Rm8vaotkiaI_sndOTBVqW-Fr4RkZMBx6aWwC/s400/IMG_0214.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612809520403734658" border="0" /></a>Most people might have figured this out sooner than I did, but the top floors and rooftops of department stores in Tokyo almost always feature an indoor/outdoor space to chill out up high, drink some coffee, read a book, smoke a cigarette, whatever. There are benches, plants, and usually a decent view.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Obt8nVYJylUjLAPMnGpcKbQjheIiDuGFyOBQNvNbj7Row5HhEmg07EbRxUVpOEThA_XBBqmwNIfwC6X5OvYa2e27xS4TYfy1kYX4uCpx6Fcs47nF1MD3WmHlzCfVFeATjX-8yJghsyNQ/s1600/IMG_0217.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Obt8nVYJylUjLAPMnGpcKbQjheIiDuGFyOBQNvNbj7Row5HhEmg07EbRxUVpOEThA_XBBqmwNIfwC6X5OvYa2e27xS4TYfy1kYX4uCpx6Fcs47nF1MD3WmHlzCfVFeATjX-8yJghsyNQ/s400/IMG_0217.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612809533339868018" border="0" /></a>This is from the 12th floor of Takashimaya Times Square on the South side of Shinjuku Station, overlooking Shinjuku Park. You can test your cred by picking out the distant landmarks of all the neighborhoods you've been drunk in. Or taken walks or something, whatever, I don't know what you sickos get up to.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg26473akJCC8TB0fF4GoRvCEH1b-JhRZqW2XgBYZNUPatDRIs8SZL8a91Lx_mWLyYRuL9CqUyxWNeNTAGKluKCUBsHBF3T4r1CQsD6M4FRA0Kn7LKK1K9GmRECEP6BRW0apfeIIAx4A1Q3/s1600/IMG_0215.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg26473akJCC8TB0fF4GoRvCEH1b-JhRZqW2XgBYZNUPatDRIs8SZL8a91Lx_mWLyYRuL9CqUyxWNeNTAGKluKCUBsHBF3T4r1CQsD6M4FRA0Kn7LKK1K9GmRECEP6BRW0apfeIIAx4A1Q3/s400/IMG_0215.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612809523667119394" border="0" /></a>One floor up is a patio space. The top three floors are all restaurants and cafes so you can grab a coffee, although after nearly 3 years in Japan I <span style="font-style: italic;">still</span> make a face at paying $4 for a little cup of iced sludge.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF5q1nF4snest529wJHJRlNicUSYXWRMWhUJGvbIY2_eubM84FSDohSGHWk0gznWe7CHAgL5hpQFcYLMY-yKgsWeAD0GHBxhjGB7uCYDSWjyhfWhHgr9507tZSOBzYDMfWUGpWu_7PbBCr/s1600/IMG_0218.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF5q1nF4snest529wJHJRlNicUSYXWRMWhUJGvbIY2_eubM84FSDohSGHWk0gznWe7CHAgL5hpQFcYLMY-yKgsWeAD0GHBxhjGB7uCYDSWjyhfWhHgr9507tZSOBzYDMfWUGpWu_7PbBCr/s400/IMG_0218.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612809539612218194" border="0" /></a>I've always had a weird relationship with Shinjuku.Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-14088051150837159112011-05-23T04:03:00.002-04:002011-05-23T04:06:45.938-04:00Rainy Shin-Okubo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwBP3kMyfANhKobh67fwxKdI3xu8YJDMsTAfybydSGUhOvRgQLNCMMDyYL-q3yQCdzfrbkyrEZ1-d50oF0miyU-d_fXT_iNX0DJsffSemyDnv34p6eDsVx9NQA5WnAijr40RF-iOmf4phe/s1600/V-day+089.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwBP3kMyfANhKobh67fwxKdI3xu8YJDMsTAfybydSGUhOvRgQLNCMMDyYL-q3yQCdzfrbkyrEZ1-d50oF0miyU-d_fXT_iNX0DJsffSemyDnv34p6eDsVx9NQA5WnAijr40RF-iOmf4phe/s400/V-day+089.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609819712048496546" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvCD1FvNOEdXqYSenmuA3wDt7DNkuYV19A-0GHxdpr8oFznLHkMvs7VScgvLOHZG63BnB2CDn_0QbNIlNOXyhs2ZSkAF2ZF9z9BoigA_lPCNj1AnNzht0NJQvtgw6nIu9xJS0z9stuOfSU/s1600/V-day+087.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvCD1FvNOEdXqYSenmuA3wDt7DNkuYV19A-0GHxdpr8oFznLHkMvs7VScgvLOHZG63BnB2CDn_0QbNIlNOXyhs2ZSkAF2ZF9z9BoigA_lPCNj1AnNzht0NJQvtgw6nIu9xJS0z9stuOfSU/s400/V-day+087.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609819712601958866" border="0" /></a><br />I know usually when it rains you can't be fucked to go out, but then sometimes you do and it's beautiful.Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-4792260159609157662011-05-16T02:41:00.008-04:002017-08-23T15:11:32.080-04:00AKB48<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/lkHlnWFnA0c" width="640"></iframe><br />
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There are 56 members in the idol group AKB48, all girls aged 12 to 24. AKB stands for Akihabara, the notoriously eccentric Tokyo neighborhood where the group was invented, and where they perform for creeps on the 8th floor of Don Quixote every day.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-uLcLWmQCtbXTdXPBAH6oBCNQJEZGTHiRQbO7-6_yA-I2EAYzxASX4nDia0mbQjXmL6n_2702cV6u18xwBw8LI2ZeXpKMuX31No3j8t3T61kIHb6oitOTh1KKdXGkKSj_pJV9ZXPTzyGK/s1600/AKB1.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607204685794447074" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-uLcLWmQCtbXTdXPBAH6oBCNQJEZGTHiRQbO7-6_yA-I2EAYzxASX4nDia0mbQjXmL6n_2702cV6u18xwBw8LI2ZeXpKMuX31No3j8t3T61kIHb6oitOTh1KKdXGkKSj_pJV9ZXPTzyGK/s400/AKB1.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>AKB48 members usually appear as schoolgirls, popping cute little blinky faces and wiggling their limbs in talent-show dance moves. When they're not dressed in school uniforms, they're in bikinis or sexy (but sweet) lingerie.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfpshHOzBeAq-v6Xml3FQOgVgJHxEE9BB3liu2BqsDaYToEI92dD3NGk9PsID3Cp0n5xRNcwgsUfpREmWtCRXaCOeVCMPsW79PUO5PCDF7GMSXEOJQvPpPJdrZj5hqYChkkYpbkWc5lOXr/s1600/AKB3.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607204681299363682" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfpshHOzBeAq-v6Xml3FQOgVgJHxEE9BB3liu2BqsDaYToEI92dD3NGk9PsID3Cp0n5xRNcwgsUfpREmWtCRXaCOeVCMPsW79PUO5PCDF7GMSXEOJQvPpPJdrZj5hqYChkkYpbkWc5lOXr/s400/AKB3.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 270px;" /></a>AKB48 is used to promote an incredible variety of mainstream products, and you see images of the group in convenience stores, on train platforms, on magazine covers, on drink bottles. Sometimes it seems like AKB48 is everywhere. This distresses me because in my dreams, Akihabara is a quarantine for this kind of gross lolita bullshit.<br />
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The neighborhood, famous for its concentration of game and electronics shops, has cultivated a similar concentration of shopping and entertainment catering to anime, video game, and pornography subcultures. What you can find in Akihabara ranges from awesome (vintage game consoles and offbeat memorabilia) to distressing (pornographic comic books featuring toddlers). Unfortunately, the neighborhood leaks.<br />
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About a year ago, my junior high school and high school students started showing up with AKB CDs and writing in their class journals about going to the convenience store to buy chocolates to get AKB member trading cards. Before long I'd lost count of how many times I'd watched groups of 12 year old boys unfold the jackets of AKB48 cds to exclaim over photos of the girls in thigh-high fishnets and skimpy pastel bras and panties making pouty porno-<span style="font-style: italic;">moe</span> faces. I'd lost count of how many times I've heard 12 year old girls discuss which AKB member is the cutest.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqxgFfprKHgsr3Ug3rmM6tR08D0OTynAakXeCGv3irhBHdR7NR7PzAk5PQbGkaFpAyM03dmwNosLHU9czmXTw0VqBYDss89Zk1aHQRvMXd1xK5sVVUe1goKWvoOHAAFogYwAC-VzpSM6ZW/s1600/AKB4.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607221183478887586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqxgFfprKHgsr3Ug3rmM6tR08D0OTynAakXeCGv3irhBHdR7NR7PzAk5PQbGkaFpAyM03dmwNosLHU9czmXTw0VqBYDss89Zk1aHQRvMXd1xK5sVVUe1goKWvoOHAAFogYwAC-VzpSM6ZW/s400/AKB4.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 260px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>This is a group that was invented specifically for <span style="font-style: italic;">otaku</span> men who fetishize young girls. The idea was to assemble a bunch of fresh young female faces and bodies to be sexually idolized, and keep them close and accessible to the guys who idolized them. AKB48's fans get chances to meet them at events in Akihabara all the time, and, like most idol groups, AKB48 makes it a point to acknowledge its <span style="font-style: italic;"></span><span style="font-style: italic;">otaku</span> fanbase and ply them with sweet comments like <a href="http://news.asiaone.com/News/Latest%2BNews/Showbiz/Story/A1Story20110516-279013.html">"I consider myself an otaku, as well!" </a><br />
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<span style="font-size: 78%;">Choose your favorite member and pretend she's looking at you while she drinks juice! </span></div>
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Akihabara bothers me. Idol groups like this bother me. Adults drooling over young girls bothers me. Encouraging cuteness as a major female virtue bothers me. That a sizable portion of men in the world can only think of girls as a mystifying and intimidating species, approachable only when they act like talking cupcake babies, bothers me. But AKB48 in particular bothers me.<br />
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<span style="font-size: 78%;">Kiss me...</span></div>
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It's disturbing that someone can create a product as a porno fantasy for men who like underage girls, and then, having cornered that market, push the same product onto children through heavy mainstream exposure with singalong songs on the radio and advertising tied to bottled soft drinks, chocolates, and snacks. It bothers me that parents of young boys and girls aren't disturbed by the idea of their kids sipping this sickly sweet <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lolicon">lolicon</a> brew.Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-62480433720257323272011-04-24T08:00:00.002-04:002011-04-27T06:54:49.873-04:00Shopping Arcade<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh66JEIWQpUHMsAlWWd2BbeVW1_vG7MvHRlkzkgGUDzATgO4iPF0zgF3aOpfCqkuYYtobe_j4mpSa53xOzgeP3MNEtKz_AWqHwhOw2BHuHMpxneTpPXn-FsL-_9lh0T8TVVP9MZYB5awwJM/s1600/Dec+2010+008.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh66JEIWQpUHMsAlWWd2BbeVW1_vG7MvHRlkzkgGUDzATgO4iPF0zgF3aOpfCqkuYYtobe_j4mpSa53xOzgeP3MNEtKz_AWqHwhOw2BHuHMpxneTpPXn-FsL-_9lh0T8TVVP9MZYB5awwJM/s400/Dec+2010+008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599118828729654546" border="0" /></a><br />After midnight in Kichijoji.Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-33108552658128877612011-04-24T07:48:00.004-04:002011-04-25T20:08:18.637-04:00Salad Party in OmotesandoChicken, salad, drinks, art, a veranda and a view.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaUi6ru27vAT6-_Xom7LM1KbOFKgzmpI9uIY3d78dH4pM1Hhr-6YL7QkjpIOQozHbpncS4HNqsNjP8aXgfjK0xL-NItlE50AeZViyJl600wTDVqIsBreWpC2rqS7C2fnzMhFqSSpIwm4t8/s1600/Dec+2010+024.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaUi6ru27vAT6-_Xom7LM1KbOFKgzmpI9uIY3d78dH4pM1Hhr-6YL7QkjpIOQozHbpncS4HNqsNjP8aXgfjK0xL-NItlE50AeZViyJl600wTDVqIsBreWpC2rqS7C2fnzMhFqSSpIwm4t8/s400/Dec+2010+024.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599116192117586034" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglK0l7_5QxuFf8ESb2Q4Gb9k7usEfwGYfQBmfRFROgOkLrz_F3LIIJFkDkqAOPhNCrH9UCYCoizzHwda_VHaTmDC_jvK9PW6impzZl7s1P0vQIF3LekS-tX1HS5HR5sRpO5q2KFCVXQCzN/s1600/Dec+2010+025.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglK0l7_5QxuFf8ESb2Q4Gb9k7usEfwGYfQBmfRFROgOkLrz_F3LIIJFkDkqAOPhNCrH9UCYCoizzHwda_VHaTmDC_jvK9PW6impzZl7s1P0vQIF3LekS-tX1HS5HR5sRpO5q2KFCVXQCzN/s400/Dec+2010+025.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599116178860625954" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp7NvI-I5dLsThL_5UVmytqupTYXzwBCbT_T8srNHhynDOE2K9INYs7yhdRWYU9rzeUshCGz7c2arSk42fQYDmIdzqWPjQdn87vwle2cM75kjnoj9uUEYtwcGfyleWnrnWnlj5UbNECKQI/s1600/Dec+2010+023.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp7NvI-I5dLsThL_5UVmytqupTYXzwBCbT_T8srNHhynDOE2K9INYs7yhdRWYU9rzeUshCGz7c2arSk42fQYDmIdzqWPjQdn87vwle2cM75kjnoj9uUEYtwcGfyleWnrnWnlj5UbNECKQI/s400/Dec+2010+023.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599116196356777762" border="0" /></a>That was a lovely winter day.Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-25723079902190209242011-04-23T23:30:00.002-04:002011-04-24T00:01:00.644-04:00Saki no Yu, Shirahama<div style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px; padding: 0pt; font-size: 0.8em; line-height: 1.6em;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The first time I came to Japan on a summer homestay, some friends of my host family took me on an overnight trip to Shirahama in Wakayama prefecture. That weekend is one of my most vivid memories of Japan. We went by car from Osaka. Shirahama is a popular beach and hot spring town and it's packed in the summer, but I was really charmed by the little white beach and all of the retro hotels, none built more recently than the 80s. We checked into an inn, where the bathtub faucet drew water from the surrounding hot springs. I don't love the smell of sulfur but this detail was so novel and cool. We had a big course lunch at the hotel and then walked along the beach. The next day we spend the morning and early afternoon at the beach, then headed back to Osaka by way of some really gorgeous wild mountain roads. We stopped at a place where there was a forest museum and a little shop selling charcoal products. I can't forget, though, that I thought I was gonna die on the drive home because the guy's driving was CRAZY and the wheels kept crossing the white line at the edge of these high mountain roads, ugh! Kansai drivers! I didn't really know the people I was with -- it was an older Japanese ceramics artist, his Japanese-American friend, her American husband, their American niece or something, and a little Japanese boy. We got along okay without really bonding. It's funny that I remember it as one of the best trips I ever went on and in the six years since I have been dying to get back down there one more time. And I just did!</span><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/hopemeng/3773286898/" title="sakino-yu, shirahama"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2649/3773286898_2684054897.jpg" alt="sakino-yu, shirahama by hopemeng" /></a><br /><span style="margin: 0pt;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/hopemeng/3773286898/">sakino-yu, shirahama</a>, a photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/hopemeng/">hopemeng</a> on Flickr.</span></div><p>This time I made it to Saki no Yu, an outdoor hot spring in Shirahama, one of the top 3 in Japan I guess. Look at it! It's amazing! A week ago I was in that far pool at the edge of the ocean, naked and simmered and splashed by the waves, yelling "POSEIDON!" It was excellent. I've wanted to go to this famous onsen for a long time and now I've been and it was awesome. Mid-April was the perfect time to go to Shirahama. No crowds at all, and it was just warm enough to kick back.<br /></p>Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-81465804659974481922011-04-23T23:16:00.001-04:002011-04-23T23:20:21.804-04:00Here Comes the Sun<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD5CYD-1axWMoz9W5vlIOq9JFeum_UcFh0pd7JqjiPmXWDnby8AK1TZ4BGDBQ6OtOvY8YeWxSBlQcICdU4Z8cg0gggrPSmM9eUt-MbS4hQwBqYTT16wI460r7kZgHtmyTgrpQEYtyowQOv/s1600/visor.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD5CYD-1axWMoz9W5vlIOq9JFeum_UcFh0pd7JqjiPmXWDnby8AK1TZ4BGDBQ6OtOvY8YeWxSBlQcICdU4Z8cg0gggrPSmM9eUt-MbS4hQwBqYTT16wI460r7kZgHtmyTgrpQEYtyowQOv/s400/visor.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598984461016459762" border="0" /></a>I'm ready, are you?<br /></div>Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-60846681300767220032011-03-22T10:35:00.005-04:002011-03-22T10:51:15.145-04:00DARKNESS!I've often complained about Japan being too bright. I like low brassy light, soft lamps or whatever. In Japan, cafes and bars and restaurants and drugstores and grocery stores are equally super florescent.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgss8k4g4XvgAyXkbMHgaFxoema5jSpMihB0IskrWJYlQ5W0bdAbUD1M6aQE6ghnoT_GQRbQlnHZSRu0oAxvJqbNvQ2ZS9VOft34-4WuPycLCiHwr9r53ulp62rAbdNpnBrQYRG3FBsM1Sq/s1600/V-day+022.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgss8k4g4XvgAyXkbMHgaFxoema5jSpMihB0IskrWJYlQ5W0bdAbUD1M6aQE6ghnoT_GQRbQlnHZSRu0oAxvJqbNvQ2ZS9VOft34-4WuPycLCiHwr9r53ulp62rAbdNpnBrQYRG3FBsM1Sq/s400/V-day+022.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586913434467218162" border="0" /></a>Post-earthquake/tsunami, we've been threatened with blackouts, so everyone's trying to save power, and the city's been dimmed. At first I sort of liked it -- and still kind of do, I mean, my eyes are spared the usual florescent assault, and we're saving electricity, and it gives a sense of community, kind of, like we're all working together to get through this.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1nRsw9tdymJ54ybeGbkbj-B5sE8aMe0wtu0WBGMl1PcQgCsaQ-9Rl3yZbko_5_-0DDknFfH8feUYcZZRjvJbxRpFXhLkCu_COSAS72qA8K160gU-mI7DK270s2DrzO-wsCoYhxkdQUB8D/s1600/V-day+015.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1nRsw9tdymJ54ybeGbkbj-B5sE8aMe0wtu0WBGMl1PcQgCsaQ-9Rl3yZbko_5_-0DDknFfH8feUYcZZRjvJbxRpFXhLkCu_COSAS72qA8K160gU-mI7DK270s2DrzO-wsCoYhxkdQUB8D/s400/V-day+015.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586913429659226386" border="0" /></a>Then I went to Shinjuku tonight, and here was the neon jungle, switched off, in the dark.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3L0a4F67eRy6RTw4LBYXjieizZwDPtdy685BsluQwjtZ5Qgyopc-zFh-inc-DdDAoq4P5hpSv8FnGqZLKNTGnKjbYB94bVb4kg7wUXSzr10eCpBjcMQSok_klIJeSbnoCgPAfSE_9rOtX/s1600/V-day+016.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3L0a4F67eRy6RTw4LBYXjieizZwDPtdy685BsluQwjtZ5Qgyopc-zFh-inc-DdDAoq4P5hpSv8FnGqZLKNTGnKjbYB94bVb4kg7wUXSzr10eCpBjcMQSok_klIJeSbnoCgPAfSE_9rOtX/s400/V-day+016.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586913424183209618" border="0" /></a>You know where this is. It's where Bill Murray first arrives in <span style="font-style: italic;">Lost In Translation</span> -- one of the most recognized tacky blinking flashing electric vistas in Tokyo. And now the screens and signs are shut off, and you can barely see the faces of the loiterers.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ8ZwJx8H56RiZ2X8d2SKgOXm5sYeIocas3863DMeghMVcOBouHnUuLs_uHsdjXNbskCM0o9MoH8JALRwud48KSiSZcgNJ-DEANA0alqQJYt9b8siEFc5vgLxIxrWsZjWzqQPCz34ItOj_/s1600/V-day+017.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ8ZwJx8H56RiZ2X8d2SKgOXm5sYeIocas3863DMeghMVcOBouHnUuLs_uHsdjXNbskCM0o9MoH8JALRwud48KSiSZcgNJ-DEANA0alqQJYt9b8siEFc5vgLxIxrWsZjWzqQPCz34ItOj_/s400/V-day+017.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586913419093853602" border="0" /></a>It's spooky. See Kimura Takuya up there atop the ALTA? He's been there for as long as I can remember. He is the holy guardian of the East Exit and his majesty is now cloaked in shadow! You get used to seeing things as they essentially are, and then you see them like this, and it makes you uneasy. You know?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKXRB9Z8Rga8Y96vvsK-EldX0lcy2s3nWL2yvcw7l_ro2LdRQRejOhM-VrmKaJW6cQ_b-Ej_uM5utuDj9Hmh-sypApEiZQ1oLwXr-X8wJzfCaa0GIu3-PuuBJKfSi2xvjT28feNtKU3WXH/s1600/V-day+021.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKXRB9Z8Rga8Y96vvsK-EldX0lcy2s3nWL2yvcw7l_ro2LdRQRejOhM-VrmKaJW6cQ_b-Ej_uM5utuDj9Hmh-sypApEiZQ1oLwXr-X8wJzfCaa0GIu3-PuuBJKfSi2xvjT28feNtKU3WXH/s400/V-day+021.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586913413961904370" border="0" /></a>Here in Tokyo, we're just reading the news, hoping for the best, mourning for those up north. Some have left for other countries or for the south. Some of us still have emergency bags packed. Most of us are fielding scary emails from abroad, pleas to get away from here. It's a strange time to be here, but me and mine are okay, and I hope the same for everyone else. Best wishes, best luck.Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-4056356001904799202011-03-08T10:46:00.004-05:002011-03-08T10:52:46.340-05:00Don Quixote<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuD0LAAA6sj8koeYbsLxI88974duXNgGIO_DMabJqDlTuSqs0LYZKVioEN0hP0uPYGg8XSffxAzYGhdUOkcme_XASvjX57uGtL8tZFQ8TURhY9mDDpSYR5_RXopvPlBqOMLG-fUV_hfoZp/s1600/V-day+011.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuD0LAAA6sj8koeYbsLxI88974duXNgGIO_DMabJqDlTuSqs0LYZKVioEN0hP0uPYGg8XSffxAzYGhdUOkcme_XASvjX57uGtL8tZFQ8TURhY9mDDpSYR5_RXopvPlBqOMLG-fUV_hfoZp/s400/V-day+011.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581736096152825234" border="0" /></a>If you buy a per-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-rsonal item at Don Quixote, it is lovingly wrapped in <span style="font-style: italic;">very</span> discreet cloud-patterned paper. Then it goes into an opaque black bag. Duh. I guess ran into some apathetic cashiers in Shibuya on this particular day. Thanks, Donki. Let's have no shame. Surely my reputation was only mildly affected among salarymen-in-the-know as I wandered home.Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-2305663343631162222011-03-08T10:38:00.002-05:002011-03-08T10:42:02.149-05:00Anytime Anywhere<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH7yKThcqLI3VXF_rbgX5A6WmrodMkcx-yRgo1uwgxm5wQq5V7JLN9LRTz92xOaXe7mlmhBYuymDQs_W_0RH-HVAOlmRQAWNiVbTaNUsFzP44rV2kK-TeU9YaplHp0I8QaMg548NcNqflw/s1600/V-day+003.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH7yKThcqLI3VXF_rbgX5A6WmrodMkcx-yRgo1uwgxm5wQq5V7JLN9LRTz92xOaXe7mlmhBYuymDQs_W_0RH-HVAOlmRQAWNiVbTaNUsFzP44rV2kK-TeU9YaplHp0I8QaMg548NcNqflw/s400/V-day+003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581734269487833666" border="0" /></a>Where I come from, you can't buy booze after 2AM. In Japan, I sometimes head for the station at 6 in the morning past bars full of grisly owls still throwing back beers -- and hard liquor is sold alongside instant noodles and potato chips in convenience stores.Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-2330069010373474932011-02-13T02:11:00.005-05:002015-10-05T19:49:21.843-04:00Now I'm Valentine's Day in Japan<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgepNtxDuxm_AJW5yqjK-BB7-PQZpIOvMeduxeDVjjCQwpjpRi6zlPp_j_KfrnryfMSabdFSOo-X0epa-FhFJINxdWYLSf82Akx7p9wQgb1B-zd7_SW1_VGQd3rnxpumhQRPN3N9_UeqMGM/s1600/V-day+003.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573068621004504418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgepNtxDuxm_AJW5yqjK-BB7-PQZpIOvMeduxeDVjjCQwpjpRi6zlPp_j_KfrnryfMSabdFSOo-X0epa-FhFJINxdWYLSf82Akx7p9wQgb1B-zd7_SW1_VGQd3rnxpumhQRPN3N9_UeqMGM/s640/V-day+003.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a>Valentine's Day in Japan is when girls give boys chocolate and love. One month later on White Day, 3/16, boys return the gesture. I would tell both holidays to blow me but, <a href="http://dontstoptiligetenough.blogspot.com/2010/02/or-dont-be-mine.html">as you know</a>, I like any holiday that calls for arts & crafts so I spent all last evening making rocky road and no-bake cookies and all this morning hand-making and -painting paper boxes to wrap it up in.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHwk5R5MdYmlN4XJJZjKdzQ4FTuXGr7S3ffETHwqLRPRsed7oA5QsVFA-uuaB0yUzXdq34bla1d3_4SdNK6Kmj1TDqdzfxlbmQoDAQo6QLWTQhMr40HqqdBiVybCaSuLlRac7rJR6ljZZ6/s1600/V-day+012.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573068631057190930" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHwk5R5MdYmlN4XJJZjKdzQ4FTuXGr7S3ffETHwqLRPRsed7oA5QsVFA-uuaB0yUzXdq34bla1d3_4SdNK6Kmj1TDqdzfxlbmQoDAQo6QLWTQhMr40HqqdBiVybCaSuLlRac7rJR6ljZZ6/s640/V-day+012.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a>Last week a student asked, "Ms. Roeser, how many boyfriends do you have?" "About 507," I replied. That was a lie. I have a lot of extra chocolate in pretty boxes. Who's lonely? I can help.Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-16666878198579578582011-02-11T08:58:00.002-05:002011-02-11T09:00:54.874-05:00Lookit'immm<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLrFQ1POAgilzq3wewlkC23OtyWDZTopD474GZxaRyyHT4SvMHVwP3mHM65b3ZpyyGTEwIVXxmu32kEThGRt3h2Qco45ooTHPaKcvv9NbPZhmGc7fpuftBISfgP4Yw4rKM0Ij02velxFVt/s1600/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+003.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLrFQ1POAgilzq3wewlkC23OtyWDZTopD474GZxaRyyHT4SvMHVwP3mHM65b3ZpyyGTEwIVXxmu32kEThGRt3h2Qco45ooTHPaKcvv9NbPZhmGc7fpuftBISfgP4Yw4rKM0Ij02velxFVt/s400/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572431007576127410" border="0" /></a>The only endearing thing ever found near Tennozu-Isle Station. There were many good-natured construction workers on the job that afternoon. I saw them posing for photos for each other.Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-73181358222178333822011-02-11T08:54:00.003-05:002011-02-11T08:57:20.380-05:00LEST YOU FORGETWhat, you don't love me anymore? YOU ARE MISTAKEN & I WILL CORRECT YOU.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUD73qkGa1tLs9I7FgQ3PpItMyRhU4FY_3sKwnYr3vks3_huaUIvt0CBCKA0hnrwGeHnshqbkEfriFU7AV7zX89jSbig-3vFQKneATCxUfmDdyP2s_8j5G3GyabPggkxR6rw2CgMdR484R/s1600/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+082.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUD73qkGa1tLs9I7FgQ3PpItMyRhU4FY_3sKwnYr3vks3_huaUIvt0CBCKA0hnrwGeHnshqbkEfriFU7AV7zX89jSbig-3vFQKneATCxUfmDdyP2s_8j5G3GyabPggkxR6rw2CgMdR484R/s400/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+082.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572430273626431330" border="0" /></a>I am the sweater king, I am the bathroom photo king, I am the snow prince when I feel like it!<br />Ever so more where that came from.Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-54965216641130577302011-02-09T06:41:00.010-05:002011-02-11T08:57:56.834-05:00Sapporo Snow Festival<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4QT3zH4AasZnisUmy1BDX7SKvdEvlhgRkwEzrrRrERT9u_rjLCLBDoDZTWsomr9ainT5WoYMgr4I6SsbgsErXxao2UVLHDxcgMc-8vtL9_DsUqszNHiTWc_LbLN3C5qa5rl1aSHTXXJ7S/s1600/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+041.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4QT3zH4AasZnisUmy1BDX7SKvdEvlhgRkwEzrrRrERT9u_rjLCLBDoDZTWsomr9ainT5WoYMgr4I6SsbgsErXxao2UVLHDxcgMc-8vtL9_DsUqszNHiTWc_LbLN3C5qa5rl1aSHTXXJ7S/s400/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+041.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571654399647353906" border="0" /></a>I went to Sapporo this weekend with <a href="http://expiring.blogspot.com/">Selena</a> and look how promptly I'm telling you about it!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7rsNJVkQqTgxmR8qOIxhvIuBDCR7X3b-wGhXH-04IjGUry1UI4fV_BUu5NYyyiTVc3I-xQC8iPW9AK8JWuaS8aGDdQa5i7i52jb_0sMfjwidDUHbISAT7ZKfAHxtRN76fcyRnhrlItlfb/s1600/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+019.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7rsNJVkQqTgxmR8qOIxhvIuBDCR7X3b-wGhXH-04IjGUry1UI4fV_BUu5NYyyiTVc3I-xQC8iPW9AK8JWuaS8aGDdQa5i7i52jb_0sMfjwidDUHbISAT7ZKfAHxtRN76fcyRnhrlItlfb/s400/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+019.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571654384961596178" border="0" /></a>So check it out -- that is one cold city. But it is very pretty, the people were warm and friendly, and they know what to do with a lot of snow -- party with it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinCZNrFnCFt3knYdMNgVbuQ1xqVls_-iIK4hEOx4rYq6-mqw8u88PmwplKMsQyVCFTCj1IVGjooXXMPiKTzQU02mUheCevfTjaWB6HmJjhSC6ayaQ2npKdt3mWDuEosYRMi7WpRx3lOWlr/s1600/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+038.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinCZNrFnCFt3knYdMNgVbuQ1xqVls_-iIK4hEOx4rYq6-mqw8u88PmwplKMsQyVCFTCj1IVGjooXXMPiKTzQU02mUheCevfTjaWB6HmJjhSC6ayaQ2npKdt3mWDuEosYRMi7WpRx3lOWlr/s400/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+038.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571654395856107986" border="0" /></a>I guess the military brings in truckloads of snow and snow and snow to be piled and sculpted. There's Snoopy, and behind him Mister Potato Head, and behind him, men at work.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIN9r4oPKRM8TX4CCAffpqGXBHyeWut_EKjfKCY4BXKxzXKeb7bnMArrD2WQwue2AeNWrqwoMhPjgEFLBhgGZkKX2W6-tc-iFE4cHcysVOvWPPlx-3lApCOANpva8brQ7m89QsYMXWlnov/s1600/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+025.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIN9r4oPKRM8TX4CCAffpqGXBHyeWut_EKjfKCY4BXKxzXKeb7bnMArrD2WQwue2AeNWrqwoMhPjgEFLBhgGZkKX2W6-tc-iFE4cHcysVOvWPPlx-3lApCOANpva8brQ7m89QsYMXWlnov/s400/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+025.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571654388701643522" border="0" /></a>My companion instantly recognized this baseball player. I was like SWEET, GIANT SNOW GUY WITH CORN!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7pl055CkzDf0O_zqxB11yslw4SfXcDWsiRS5Vt5QNA__oL2edjkMnZoezoueaR_nyG0L3T8idd8Xj_pj7xoY_onIH4e-SkQzSSQ1vMNUY4SDQWTClkRktuEgVwpECInSpfqKWVEVxzKek/s1600/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+017.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7pl055CkzDf0O_zqxB11yslw4SfXcDWsiRS5Vt5QNA__oL2edjkMnZoezoueaR_nyG0L3T8idd8Xj_pj7xoY_onIH4e-SkQzSSQ1vMNUY4SDQWTClkRktuEgVwpECInSpfqKWVEVxzKek/s400/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+017.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571654379034422658" border="0" /></a>This is a pretty unbeatable picture of Selena on the ferris wheel. Mountains! Mountains!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHlCkAqwJVkKiKVuHcfWpyHIDKDWEjyuKeQpyzvkFVYwYYDOrPWef2JX0xtzDVk9wSQGbOagQneL9sabqLtLKepmrc-deb0HOIder1MlqwjA-wGJkuQvobJd3CdpIYqUXZwUc1xOGXDRZF/s1600/Guy+sculpting+bird+thing.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHlCkAqwJVkKiKVuHcfWpyHIDKDWEjyuKeQpyzvkFVYwYYDOrPWef2JX0xtzDVk9wSQGbOagQneL9sabqLtLKepmrc-deb0HOIder1MlqwjA-wGJkuQvobJd3CdpIYqUXZwUc1xOGXDRZF/s400/Guy+sculpting+bird+thing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571655504416801826" border="0" /></a>Dreamy guy sculpting an ice Pegasus with a chainsaw while a cheesy beer ad mirrors our delight. You're welcome.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhORdBizbRaOTP_BfITEY8qpAAGIAIW5uVlOVg0WHnmKBF7CZRkgMm5Ru___1mfphe0IrJpDHqk7bV8mQ2dXIDKO-zlqJenVy93SMXabf7-a60otUSCrxGQoxkc5LdLvGonvWszFACg-D2C/s1600/Highball+Sculpture.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhORdBizbRaOTP_BfITEY8qpAAGIAIW5uVlOVg0WHnmKBF7CZRkgMm5Ru___1mfphe0IrJpDHqk7bV8mQ2dXIDKO-zlqJenVy93SMXabf7-a60otUSCrxGQoxkc5LdLvGonvWszFACg-D2C/s400/Highball+Sculpture.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571655510116333138" border="0" /></a>Let me tell you about highballs in Japan. I came to Japan two years ago drinking whiskey and soda. A few months after I arrived, Suntory started this HIGHBALL ad campaign. A highball according to Suntory is Suntory scotch, soda, and lemon. The campaign was so giant and successful that now when I go to a bar EVERYONE is ordering highballs. There are special HIGHBALL BARS. What? Even this snowy festival has an ice sculpture devoted to highballs. The thing is, at some places, like big chain izakaya, if you order a highball, you get the cheapest scotch in a big mug of soda with a squirt of sweetened lemon syrup and a slice of lemon. Sugary and nast. So it's smarter to order whatever whiskey you want, plus soda. Then you have to explain to the table why you ordered a whiskey and soda instead of a "highball." Okay, every time I explain this, I can't remember why I'm annoyed by the highballs in Japan thing, but nevertheless, I usually am.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6oRPzIeQC3S8EdU62LWoulLV7IEY5tltgpfHnMiJdupplXyrc5dNPqDQdNPOaGJmv5aD7BtbbRa_8kofH3kPpFUuW7U7-aojHzEnjJmTlzRui8ujyFSOU27BDllKnfR4S3dWBctokRD08/s1600/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+021.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6oRPzIeQC3S8EdU62LWoulLV7IEY5tltgpfHnMiJdupplXyrc5dNPqDQdNPOaGJmv5aD7BtbbRa_8kofH3kPpFUuW7U7-aojHzEnjJmTlzRui8ujyFSOU27BDllKnfR4S3dWBctokRD08/s400/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+021.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571655517881354994" border="0" /></a>Whoa! Giant owls and foxes or something with a big snow building!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqCrzbqXRkSYh_ctHFDVjXGnT1I7fb4yj1k7LIWi6kdZw8RQRyl07msngPeWFU6XR2l1P7Fj535-ao6_XoQN_vhSFvUe1Z_rEFGICIJOVcMEdVUCZchu0pGnqQr3EO2tyZdpxM78W-_9gQ/s1600/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+047.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqCrzbqXRkSYh_ctHFDVjXGnT1I7fb4yj1k7LIWi6kdZw8RQRyl07msngPeWFU6XR2l1P7Fj535-ao6_XoQN_vhSFvUe1Z_rEFGICIJOVcMEdVUCZchu0pGnqQr3EO2tyZdpxM78W-_9gQ/s400/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+047.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571657435909333538" border="0" /></a>But you know what I really came for, right? FUCK YEAH!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRBv1SXmXSUL2k_AmVcYeYLamEKPWWFwhvQBT82zAkQ1SGJCoT18Ryjj0F5b1IUXu_RovMiIqDVrpvs3MS1JCheuuLmt3ZaiaB1hs0MI5D-whAQV4eFmZMHRQxw9K0LkXahtkRjUFmP9XX/s1600/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+049.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRBv1SXmXSUL2k_AmVcYeYLamEKPWWFwhvQBT82zAkQ1SGJCoT18Ryjj0F5b1IUXu_RovMiIqDVrpvs3MS1JCheuuLmt3ZaiaB1hs0MI5D-whAQV4eFmZMHRQxw9K0LkXahtkRjUFmP9XX/s400/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+049.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571657445700527650" border="0" /></a>Dinosaurs, man!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSeeFqEMFmSLOlJTyc8DHaY3V6IxQrzTVSGWuiE2KvC7F0XeBxwg2VdrCQ1xpZOF9DcYZrFNE1gXQhaLljvPi4PkESkijtMAebkMGvB06QYiHTRAElf0f_7RAKXyUJUY-zV7efbCuuU5KS/s1600/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+046.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSeeFqEMFmSLOlJTyc8DHaY3V6IxQrzTVSGWuiE2KvC7F0XeBxwg2VdrCQ1xpZOF9DcYZrFNE1gXQhaLljvPi4PkESkijtMAebkMGvB06QYiHTRAElf0f_7RAKXyUJUY-zV7efbCuuU5KS/s400/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+046.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571657443546791682" border="0" /></a>Yes! Dinosaurs!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeaIJoPvxf2RdaWWnO4rvVWxwisYgnqRgK1nA4uQ-dEcY8n9sPi1CS4GHNtNwZ4fVDS6yHa0_TXlr6Ry7NXQJXtXJ9NXYLiFYoFjFLUkX1ifrPz7uVY8NnyPZRvToXzAqeyAmc0bF2miZ1/s1600/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+050.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeaIJoPvxf2RdaWWnO4rvVWxwisYgnqRgK1nA4uQ-dEcY8n9sPi1CS4GHNtNwZ4fVDS6yHa0_TXlr6Ry7NXQJXtXJ9NXYLiFYoFjFLUkX1ifrPz7uVY8NnyPZRvToXzAqeyAmc0bF2miZ1/s400/Sapporo+Snow+Festival+2011+050.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571657876207713186" border="0" /></a>The dinosaur centerpiece commits a minor faux pas...<br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/G3VqcTDf6l4" frameborder="0" height="390" width="480"></iframe><br /><br />MINOR? OMG IT GETS ME EVERY TIME! <span style="font-style: italic;">STEGGY!</span> This video is the sole reason Stegosaurus is my favorite dinosaur.<br /><br />If you're in Japan, fly around. I've gone to Kobe and Sapporo for about 20,000JPY using <a href="http://www.skymark.jp/en/">Skymark</a>. You can reserve tickets online and buy them at a convenience store with your reservation number. Flying long distance within Japan is often cheaper than taking trains!Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-74307647862627615382011-01-18T07:27:00.006-05:002011-01-18T08:03:58.674-05:00Make it moist, damp<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYapkDrlNjw8h5YAoDhvGnGEUZHfJaGydW6l7Z-Hd_-o4HhXsJCqaBGcHWoMSBhjmBfwmRpS9YCQ-V7YySVs7XGTmk1J6_gOhXbdccubxny8rpiitHUloEv84siIkqXq7j1K9oCDTNewSG/s1600/110118_2122%257E01.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYapkDrlNjw8h5YAoDhvGnGEUZHfJaGydW6l7Z-Hd_-o4HhXsJCqaBGcHWoMSBhjmBfwmRpS9YCQ-V7YySVs7XGTmk1J6_gOhXbdccubxny8rpiitHUloEv84siIkqXq7j1K9oCDTNewSG/s400/110118_2122%257E01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563502072955938098" border="0" /></a>This hideous appliance is a PET bottle humidifier I bought very cheaply with very little faith. If you're prone to dry skin and you want to move to Japan, watch out! Winter in Tokyo is so, so, so, so dry. I don't know how it is for everyone, but around late November here my nails start breaking off, my hair is parched, and my skin, ugh! Last year my skin got so dry it cracked. My back and my hips were just awful. I tried everything but a humidifier, because being from one of the wettest places on earth I kind of didn't really know what a humidifier was? But it has changed my life! My skin feels amazing!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfWaddD6VV1qhzLWmYmR3ULHAS6dTXMFpxiwnBr2Z60qolBW0Fx_bICzUvjDuePDXZ1UauqvhZTnhVj2KCqFbWYWt6kw02XA4Wy3TKNSbsPDgcEbufdMX-M3_FqXBvkUBEi7p-2bVAJhPs/s1600/humidifier_PNnsu_1822.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfWaddD6VV1qhzLWmYmR3ULHAS6dTXMFpxiwnBr2Z60qolBW0Fx_bICzUvjDuePDXZ1UauqvhZTnhVj2KCqFbWYWt6kw02XA4Wy3TKNSbsPDgcEbufdMX-M3_FqXBvkUBEi7p-2bVAJhPs/s400/humidifier_PNnsu_1822.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563502060034658770" border="0" /></a>I should have bought some sleek ceramic number like this I guess. It looks kind of psychedelic to me. If I designed humidifiers I would obviously start with dragons and stoner gnomes, but whatevs. Anyway, humidifiers are sold everywhere here. Which makes sense. Because it's so dry. I could have figured this whole thing out a bit faster. I spike mine with a peppermint, frankincense, rosemary and lemon essential oil blend. Happiness. So I have got winter DOWN, man. Electric blanket, humidifier, Vaseline lotion from home, Heat Tech leggings/tights/undershirts = this is under control.<br /><br /><center><img src="http://www.greatgargoyles.com/image.php?productid=16600" /></center><br /><br />Edit: Hahaha of course someone has already made a dragon humidifier, duh. But I think we have a lot more places to go with this...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2WCyvjH_aCXBBTU85j2BxjVKb3z8CROp_JNCuL8RcGKRpDRATGSNdH3McFP8d9ObdzPeHHABcMThq3UYrGUCzk7zm9G5_aIK8mo2OqU5NpogPNAiVANbFAgNvwnr5JpfO2mTNJLM4_3cq/s1600/110117_1716%257E01.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2WCyvjH_aCXBBTU85j2BxjVKb3z8CROp_JNCuL8RcGKRpDRATGSNdH3McFP8d9ObdzPeHHABcMThq3UYrGUCzk7zm9G5_aIK8mo2OqU5NpogPNAiVANbFAgNvwnr5JpfO2mTNJLM4_3cq/s400/110117_1716%257E01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563502076247743986" border="0" /></a>I work out in the fucking suburbs, way out in the suburbs. I hate suburbs. But almost any place looks pretty once at least in awhile, if you can see the sky or the ocean. You know why? Because Earth is an awesome planet. Try to remember that once a day.Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-10832049865872411232011-01-12T05:31:00.006-05:002011-01-12T06:01:44.264-05:00I'M BACK!I am! I am SUPER back, because it's 2011 and it's MY LIFE, man! So I have two more months of tedious exams and stinky breath on trains, but to those things I say WHATEVS. I've got good bones for a good life and all the boring stuff can blow me.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6hapYuO_A60y3FWkkDMK0ijme1nvbaMtfz0oR0uLkrRXx7l86QqAfK1InlECne9W8Cz7cG07tmoVI3UdLObIPZFUr2Lu07qSfq2gaWbIUHidfpHjjucOPE4MrFvOXaGL-HPTyD9uUctFp/s1600/Dec+2010+009.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6hapYuO_A60y3FWkkDMK0ijme1nvbaMtfz0oR0uLkrRXx7l86QqAfK1InlECne9W8Cz7cG07tmoVI3UdLObIPZFUr2Lu07qSfq2gaWbIUHidfpHjjucOPE4MrFvOXaGL-HPTyD9uUctFp/s400/Dec+2010+009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561247128929103346" border="0" /></a>Hey, fuck you, desk! You're not important! You didn't create me! You're not my life! I have better things to look at!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT7J9MDxIQ5LKZjxiRT_HUSqei3BiwKyTbYejU2jYpOdWB8MfLgNkUbvQO02xe19TPkKK9xuvOP68w2rdYE6jHZ5HEThyphenhyphenDoj40n4G-OAdxBgU4FfbX-P_gru-6zmFcw3N4bAIILUH6t-JV/s1600/Dec+2010+015.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT7J9MDxIQ5LKZjxiRT_HUSqei3BiwKyTbYejU2jYpOdWB8MfLgNkUbvQO02xe19TPkKK9xuvOP68w2rdYE6jHZ5HEThyphenhyphenDoj40n4G-OAdxBgU4FfbX-P_gru-6zmFcw3N4bAIILUH6t-JV/s400/Dec+2010+015.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561247136694326978" border="0" /></a>Like long lonely winter corridors, like long lonely walks under tracks at night with my headphones on and my boot heels in the background! That's better. That's what I want to do. Miles of that > hours of desk, DEF.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKT2LrkajBMoRAAc_hFSAylQrSW_auh32HsMHbEfTM4ZsOLLRF_btn1K9z-s6wahO3zRJ8AmNlB1V65HeVlj-4-XUIZ52Y7npVBG3_E9p636toYnsuLVAhVFzCtwxS4BniaV3mSYiDVU_Z/s1600/Nov+2010+015.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKT2LrkajBMoRAAc_hFSAylQrSW_auh32HsMHbEfTM4ZsOLLRF_btn1K9z-s6wahO3zRJ8AmNlB1V65HeVlj-4-XUIZ52Y7npVBG3_E9p636toYnsuLVAhVFzCtwxS4BniaV3mSYiDVU_Z/s400/Nov+2010+015.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561247147374159842" border="0" /></a>And SUNSETS! Over MOUNTAINS! Over BALCONIES! I'll take that.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVh5YfEJDziwNqUoPak988Ce-HjDWonk8Dh08zv2caJjFtflDPzDUlKu8uxu24c8ya1FzZL38GD2mZnydg44bZBVT_4h5M3yU_bRkL0CRzaj8jWWxcBu1B2QE4liCv3gCv5OvJ_iDUIy5D/s1600/Dec+2010+001.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVh5YfEJDziwNqUoPak988Ce-HjDWonk8Dh08zv2caJjFtflDPzDUlKu8uxu24c8ya1FzZL38GD2mZnydg44bZBVT_4h5M3yU_bRkL0CRzaj8jWWxcBu1B2QE4liCv3gCv5OvJ_iDUIy5D/s400/Dec+2010+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561247142529099506" border="0" /></a>And BOOZE? And TIGHTS? And FLORAL SHEETS? Yes, these are good.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsdv_5tOY3hcbnhHjfFBlKF1MPRA_GRAQX6f2ZtN-YWKnS2pFL3k9owzt4-hRJVTxfC6cETJkYMHpDnk-9D5KeMfs8OGHlYsdRg3DL_gr8XL1nonuCJ_uKwJp4tnQsC5G1LIWTtc0Hevpf/s1600/Dec+2010+012.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsdv_5tOY3hcbnhHjfFBlKF1MPRA_GRAQX6f2ZtN-YWKnS2pFL3k9owzt4-hRJVTxfC6cETJkYMHpDnk-9D5KeMfs8OGHlYsdRg3DL_gr8XL1nonuCJ_uKwJp4tnQsC5G1LIWTtc0Hevpf/s400/Dec+2010+012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561249080146230882" border="0" /></a>Art museums, also welcome!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6M17xYecLDV8y5XKEyQ0talZuoshfXzfRvX4dsDOF4uhvrcpVf2oxjs99pE6WXNoxM35G9KeXWqgjm88MixohnyzM-UfDjPIv7UqL1o2FZecxMool1r95bEoySSPbRDxaKY7IaS5wBZGI/s1600/Dec+2010+014.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6M17xYecLDV8y5XKEyQ0talZuoshfXzfRvX4dsDOF4uhvrcpVf2oxjs99pE6WXNoxM35G9KeXWqgjm88MixohnyzM-UfDjPIv7UqL1o2FZecxMool1r95bEoySSPbRDxaKY7IaS5wBZGI/s400/Dec+2010+014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561249083035846946" border="0" /></a>Oceans, bays, rivers, you are always number one. You are number one! Walks, nights, booze, beds, tights, bays, dreams, fits, trips, smoke, sun, AFTERNOONS, film, rock, and <a href="http://dontstoptiligetenough.blogspot.com/2009/09/silver-week.html">big yellow sweater</a>. You are all number one. It's 2011, and I'm still 25, and I'm not gonna be in Tokyo forever. Hit it!Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-68953546514214488872010-11-23T05:59:00.003-05:002010-11-23T06:13:38.824-05:00Golden Gai<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDuShNADGttHqSWg7aMmUX0kQHOWJyCfK22rYYCBJXYSEw5uLOkP2pVhUHXIpqEfLxE2YWf1gEBws6RgLztRjM67cuutJ851hvj3LOCOrZTe7wjzTXr_mzkxJGUeWFLFQidxQnavxXR-ns/s1600/golden+gai.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDuShNADGttHqSWg7aMmUX0kQHOWJyCfK22rYYCBJXYSEw5uLOkP2pVhUHXIpqEfLxE2YWf1gEBws6RgLztRjM67cuutJ851hvj3LOCOrZTe7wjzTXr_mzkxJGUeWFLFQidxQnavxXR-ns/s400/golden+gai.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542698193712874514" border="0" /></a>Love this picture Amanda took of Yusuke and me in Golden Gai. Golden Gai is a famous block in Shinjuku packed with tiny little bars that used to be brothels. If you can't speak Japanese, it's not really worth the table fee most of these places charge you to sit and drink -- you can find similar 5-seat dives at almost any station in Tokyo. If you can speak conversational Japanese and like paying table charges, there are some really good places in here. Good luck finding them and then remembering them. I have lost two great bars in Golden Gai.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_iYUgUyw5yFQn02T9rJi6pRVcQYV2Y3Z8xiJRKBt3jQAGzgCovY9gFeqpxtVfG886qQC6trkUXQNuaOfXes5cffnGgrK2YJnZvF6NbJoAvEDDZbo3KWsRqMNty9dFBh3uhGnu36EFZTtN/s1600/golden+gai+sign.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_iYUgUyw5yFQn02T9rJi6pRVcQYV2Y3Z8xiJRKBt3jQAGzgCovY9gFeqpxtVfG886qQC6trkUXQNuaOfXes5cffnGgrK2YJnZvF6NbJoAvEDDZbo3KWsRqMNty9dFBh3uhGnu36EFZTtN/s400/golden+gai+sign.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542701457703197058" border="0" /></a>If you CAN'T speak Japanese, go walk through Golden Gai at night anyway. The atmosphere is awesome if you're a sucker for time-warps. Probably one of the funnest walks you can take on the planet is from Shinjuku Station, out the East Exit, amble through the smoker's island, cross over to ALTA, pass through the red gates, swim through the river of hosts, and head south to Golden Gai. This walk is the best. Just pay attnetion and don't do anything I would do.Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7567326427489882132.post-84527091461569653972010-11-21T00:11:00.004-05:002010-11-21T00:31:19.343-05:00WINTERTIMEEarly November.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc-IrVuWxioKEm8qFE6seXmMUrOY_XsnxleWtVpELxF6ez2b4_XFtNf4Uws0O_orv_E0mTRaxi_-yVOE6pMl6-l73JdFA4NNBbdhTC0DG8sCZIrjWeLqL6Lny9UE8XbS_JorciIV7Kd3CJ/s1600/Nov+2010+008.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc-IrVuWxioKEm8qFE6seXmMUrOY_XsnxleWtVpELxF6ez2b4_XFtNf4Uws0O_orv_E0mTRaxi_-yVOE6pMl6-l73JdFA4NNBbdhTC0DG8sCZIrjWeLqL6Lny9UE8XbS_JorciIV7Kd3CJ/s400/Nov+2010+008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541866655075841650" border="0" /></a><br />Late November.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip3rXLG2mend5WdO2QeKw1ZqJ2Szg9C97Y215uR5QNkAAQpALbeBViLU7EM39cYAlz4CxN6bAaJTjDrlWqZV_8A1ercBlpODCH6Sf2S6UDYMTHJfVLfIOOLnCl-aHkE9Xw7elpJW1zNOtY/s1600/fur+coat.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip3rXLG2mend5WdO2QeKw1ZqJ2Szg9C97Y215uR5QNkAAQpALbeBViLU7EM39cYAlz4CxN6bAaJTjDrlWqZV_8A1ercBlpODCH6Sf2S6UDYMTHJfVLfIOOLnCl-aHkE9Xw7elpJW1zNOtY/s400/fur+coat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541866631155352770" border="0" /></a><br />My mom got me this fake fur coat. It's the darkest dark chocolate color and so warm and I wore it for the first time last night and I fucking love it. This photo doesn't do justice, but I rocked my world so hard with this outfit. It was so comfortable, striking, and fun to walk in. I got these boots from Hanjiro in Kichijoji for only about $11. They are simple and perfect.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy9udOFa3ksjmzImSvjF2M4FE6i6ppWU7oMQ1eY945BgnZpVX68i_xOHuNwsJMWmQQkKxrhVV_x-SvZ-qVk9uwPTFLJlbPeo4KBut73IYhVvocTkenoGhXHtSVfY8BPb2csuxRvMnwUVRh/s1600/Nov+2010+015.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy9udOFa3ksjmzImSvjF2M4FE6i6ppWU7oMQ1eY945BgnZpVX68i_xOHuNwsJMWmQQkKxrhVV_x-SvZ-qVk9uwPTFLJlbPeo4KBut73IYhVvocTkenoGhXHtSVfY8BPb2csuxRvMnwUVRh/s400/Nov+2010+015.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541866659633437026" border="0" /></a><br />It's winter. It's my last winter in Japan, actually. But I can see Mt. Fuji from my house.Beth Roeserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17294411261923337196noreply@blogger.com8