sockspicious

It's the last day of National Blog Posting Month and I'm going to celebrate by writing about socks.

Most of the time, after I've finally convinced myself to do laundry (about once every two months), I won't hang my socks up to dry on the balcony with my other clothes as I don't have enough clothespins to clamp all of them down so they don't fly off the back of my building when a strong wind hits (which I've witnessed happening...twice). Instead I put them on the back of my chair, like so*:



Usually I don't sit in my chair when my socks are drying -- I like to give them their space to air out, and besides, they're cranky when they're wet. Because of that, and because I did my laundry right before I went to bed last night, I was quite surprised to notice their position upon waking (and some milling about):



IT LOOKS LIKE THEY'RE TRYING TO CRAWL DOWN THE CHAIR.

Stripey: I can't take this anymore! I'm blowin' this popsicle stand fellas!
Confetti-y: Yeahs! No kiddings! Let's bail!
White and blackey: Right behind yous guys. Tell that Lauren to go suck a lemon!

I have no idea how it happened. I also have no idea why my socks have the accents of 1920's New Jersey gangsters. I obviously either sat in the chair or bumped it or something but I've no recollection of that happening and besides I noticed it pretty soon after getting up.

And I thought I was doing them a favor by allowing them to dry inside. Puh. I showed them who's boss and balled their sock asses up and put them where they belong: on lock down in the state draweratentiary.

*photo taken retroactively

Here's the top of my toilet. The top little faucet thing starts after you've flushed and you're supposed to wash your hands with the water that's being used to fill the toilet back up.

But...I can't. I just can't do it. Even though it saves water and everyone else does it and the water is perfectly clean, I still walk across the hall and use the sink in my washroom. It just irks me! I'm spoiled.

choo choo

Japanese has such similar sounds to English that sometimes when I step onto a train where people are talking I swear I'm hearing English words, like I've come into the middle of a conversation. Really, my ears are tricking me -- I can feel them perk up at the sound of what they think is English -- like a dog's hair standing alert. It's weird.

In other news, one of the cutest things I see about once week are these two junior high school boys in their uniforms running to catch the train that I've just gotten off of -- they always have these huge grins on their faces, like they're gleeful to have been doing whatever made them late and it's so fun just trying to make that train. It makes my heart happy and puts a big old grin on MY face.

DAWWWW THAT'S SO CHEESY.

homesick limerick

There once was a girl named Lauren
(But in Japan they pronounce it "Roren")

She fought her homesickness with zest
But it won't let her rest

'Til she's statebound December 27 mornin'.

I had a very American day.

I went to Costco with some friends and we bought lots of delicious American foodstuffs (got a whole roasted chicken for Y988! That's like $8.50! Fan-clucking-tastic!) Cinnamon-raisin bagels were also on the agenda. And don't forget about the ridiculously large carton of Goldfish for those magical mac 'n cheese meals! Mmmmm so homelandy.

Afterwards we went to a movie in a movie theater! I haven't been to a movie since I left the States because they're crazy expensive at Y1800 a pop ($16) and for some reason it has bothered me enough to keep me away from the gloriousness that is the movie-going experience. However, if you see the last showing of the day, it's only Y1000. So we did and saw The Bourne Ultimatum. I even got that old feeling I used to have when the movie gets to a quiet part and only then do I remember I have my cellphone turned on with a really loud, obnoxious ringer/vibrate combination that will disrupt the whole audience should someone call at that moment, but then digging around in my bag would be equally disruptive, so I'm on edge hoping no one will call until the movie gets loud again and I can turn it off but usually when it gets loud attention is demanded so I forget about the whole cellphone thing until the next quiet part and I get all on edge again. Tear. It'd been too long...

After that we saw some Norwegians. Not really specifically an American happening, but it happened nonetheless.

VIVA LA COSTCO/MOVIES.

Alright. Phew. Only six more days until National Blog Posting Month is over. For this one I'm dipping into one of the questions I got from my friend Audrey -- she asked what store in Fukuoka will I miss most when I'm no longer here.

The answer is a place that I like to call Hanjiro (because that's the name of the store). Hanjiro has a combination of new and used clothing -- the new stuff is all really well-designed and made (looks like it could be local, but I have no idea), and the old stuff is not all that old and is divided into cool sections (track jackets, argyle sweaters, vintage baseball-style tees, Doc Martens, Converse). It's basically an indie kid clothes heaven. You also get 10% back of any used clothing you buy to put toward your next purchase on a point card (pronounced "point-o card-o")! AND it's huge and looks all cool (click on "shop" and go to "Fukuoka" [duh]).

But what I really really like about it is that a lot of the clothes are fairly unisex, so there's not really a clear men's or women's section -- everyone's just shopping everywhere and so it's not awkward for me (who doesn't wear really girly things and who wouldn't be able to fit in that stuff anyway) to be looking through the clothes that will fit my freakishly long American limbs and torso the best. It's just nice to shop in a place where I feel like I can take my time, nobody cares that I'm shopping there, and I know I can find things that I like and that fit properly (mostly).

Plus I got my key chain there!





His name is Hans.

And on the subject of shopping, let me just say that while I do miss the Christmassy ambiance from not being back home this time of year, I don't miss the full parking lots and horrible crowds that the season brings. Just sayin'.

azerbaijammin'

There are a lot of maps on the walls in the school which makes sense. I stare at them a lot.

Occasionally I'm reminded of fourth grade geography where the lot of us got a laminated world map that resembled a placement. Not realizing that what I had in front of me was the world flattened out, I didn't understand why everyone kept rounding theirs into a cylinder -- and while I was all well and good with the countries we had been studying so far, I wanted to know what was on the other side. I kept flipping mine over expecting to see the rest of it, but it was just some map facts or something. Dur.

So anyway, the present maps! I stare and I stare and I kind of miss geography class. I decided I wanted quiz myself and I found this place and now I can't stop taking all the geographictastic quizzes! It's Saturday night and it's what I've been doing for the past two hours.

I wonder what normal people are like.

Sooooo, everyone's aware that my best friend Kate is amazing, right?



Good. Just checking.

gobble gobble

Well, it's Thanksgiving and I'm in Japan.

That means nobody knows I'm not supposed to be working -- I'm SUPPOSED to be stuffing my face with side dishes (the best part of any meal) and then periodically falling asleep while watching some marathon on TV (used to be X-files, then Buffy, or just the standard Christmas Story) and having a grand old time with my slightly loopy but endearing family while inevitably saying "kryptonite" instead of "tryptophan" scattered between card games or pool or football FUHBALL watching and general good tidings!

I tried to explain it to Japan, but Japan just told me to get back to work.

Here's a list of things I'm thankful for:

• you

Happy Thanksgiving!

Daaaaannng it was cold last night. It was so cold it made me want to watch Adventures in Babysitting, aka, the coldest-looking-movie-to-be-in ever.



Seriously, what's colder than a young Elisabeth Shue running around with a bunch of C-list kid actors in the dead of Chicago winter? I don't even want to know.

extra, extra

Today in the International Herald Tribune (big big English-language New York Times-collaborated internationally distributed newspaper long parenthetical explanation) there was an article about Fort Collins! My coworker alerted me and I was excited, until I found out a lot has changed since I left the Fort:

• apparently, "Renewal is a way of life" is our official motto, and
• they might start drilling for uranium? Jigga what?

Did those of you living in or near the FC know about all this? I feel like I've been, well, not LIED to, but at the very least strategically kept AWAY from vital information about my town. I really don't know what to say. This is world-changing news! I demand to be kept abreast of this sort of vital information pertaining to FoCo! How COULD you? My head is reeling from the lack of abreastedness!

Just kidding. The article was actually a little boring -- I didn't even get through it. And here's a blurry picture of it taken with my phone!

sumo media wrestler heavy

Today me and my friend Cristina watched sumo wrestling from 8:30 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. NO SERIOUSLY.

We didn't really mean to be so extreme about it.

Everything we'd read and heard about one of the six Grand Sumo Tournaments held in Japan per year suggested we needed to be aggressive about procuring two of the hundred tickets set aside daily for non-pre-buyers. The tournament started at 8:30. We figured there'd be a line, even though it's Monday, and dang it, we wanted IN -- so I left my house at 6:10 to meet her in Tenjin at 6:45 just to be safe, since we didn't really know where the event center was.

Luckily, we got on a bus and found someone who appeared to be going to the same destination:



And so we followed, or at least tried to:




(I got scared because when we turned the corner there were a whole bunch of them just standing there, out of nowhere, and they're so...UNREAL, and I didn't want to be all gawky!)

They were all standing there because the doors weren't open yet. Yes -- we got there so early not even the competitors were being let in. So we walked to get some coffee but still wanted to get back about half an hour before show time because surely we'd have some competition in line by then. While out we got a good view of some fall foliage ooo:



When we got back we faced said competition:



It was rough. Especially since we weren't exactly sure when we were allowed in (and since, apparently, I'm only capable of doing things where there's a crowd to lead my way):



Anyway, we were let in and soon found there was no reentry, which meant that we were really REALLY in since all the major matches are in the evening and all the minor matches are at 8:30 in the morning when there's NOBODY there and since we were UP and all we just decided to make a big long day of it.

And I had a blast. It was fantastically entertaining, the entire ordeal -- small match, big match, small wrestler, big (and bigger! oh man, SO bigger) wrestler -- entirely great, and the change in the crowd and amount of pre-fight ritual (ask me about it someday) throughout the affair kept it interesting. Them boys is HUGE.


The ring.


Pre-match ring-entering ceremony.

And here's a whole face-up, rituals and all:


We watched so so so so so many, and it was all so super fun happy Japan timey.

oh, you

It suddenly turned from comfortably brisk fall weather to chillingly cold winter weather today and my turtleneck, jeans, and thick socks weren't cutting it so I decided to call in the heater guns. Kapow!

My heater is remote-controlled and has, along with the other various controls of the japartment, a diagram of functions drawn by a former tenant to aid in usage on a sheet of paper. I unfolded the sheet for the temperature setting remote-control as it was still on air-conditioning, and what should I find behind said sheet but YOU!



I didn't know you were here! Man, you look great. Let me get a closer look at you!



I love what you've done with your face! Seems like you've been doing fine, nothing too exciting or three-dimensional going on.

Anyway, it was good running into you! I should get going, I might be going to a sumo match tomorrow. It was really good to see you. I'll unfold you if I need anything. See you later!

I live on the eighth floor and my japartment faces southeastish. Sometimes it's a bit windy because the sea is near, but not it's not usually what one would consider "gusty" or "really frickin' blowin' out there." I can't even tell if the wind is blowing from up here, except when there's this tiniest of breezes in a certain direction -- I don't know what that direction is, but I DO know that it hits SOME area in SOME part of my balcony that makes a sound that could only be imagined to be heard in an old Western with a single saloon and a tumbleweed passing by in the first shot. Upon looking outside, the leaves on the trees below are barely rustling, yet the shrill whistling whooshing highly implies otherwise. It sounds like a typhoon wind SHOULD sound like -- but it's not!

Mostly I just use it as an excuse to pretend it IS crazy windy and horrible out so I can stay in on the weekends. Mostly.

know what i love?

Crackers, of any variety, especially Wheat Thins and Saltines. And puppies! I love them, too. And random Japanese children dressed as old Japanese people!

The people of my neighborhood have a staring problem.

Yes, I'm a foreigner (egads!) Yes, I'm tall (oh my!) Yes, I'm a female without a child in tow or on my way to the market (heaven help us!)

Some days it's fine. I'll be striding along (because the staring only happens when I'm running -- when I'm in a suit and clearly making a contribution to society I might as well be invisible as evidenced by my never never being able to get where I'm going without being blocked/cut off from/walked in front of at a sloth pace) and the jumpsuited construction workers will go about their business, the men and women walking to work won't bat an eye (but they will look kind of dead inside), the really elderly people just keep moving along (but they will look kind of dead outside).

Then there are times like this morning, though, where everyone -- bicyclers, pedestrians -- even the children and dogs -- will not only look alarmed at my presence, but will turn their heads after I've passed their line of sight to watch where I'm going. I wore sunglasses but was stared at in the eye so many times I'm surprised I didn't turn to stone and then carved into with the words "Beware, Gaijin!" (Gaijin means foreigner which apparently means devil person.)

I want to say something to them like "knock it off!" or "WHAT!?!?" or "a hex on you and yours, J-hag!" but I'm afraid it might kill them to hear me speak.

It makes me feel like I'm either doing something terribly wrong or have got a third leg growing out of my forehead, which, if the latter enabled me to run away faster, I suppose wouldn't be so bad. Wait, what I'm a saying!? See, this is what happens when the Japanese people forget their manners. Let it be a lesson.

I'm empty. (Not of emotion, but of energy. Oh, work. Curse you!)

I was thinking about wishes and how mine used to be so specific.

When younger I'd rub my eyes in the bath and an eyelash would come loose and I'd place it carefully on the edge of my pointer finger and think for a moment "I wish so-and-so would pass me a note during such-and-such class this Friday" "I wish I would lose 16.7 pounds" "I wish we would move to a small town in Maine near a lighthouse" and blow whoosh off it went.

Now all my wishes are general and sweeping and eyelashless. I wish for war to end. I wish for equality. I wish for the happiness and good health of my friends and family.

Guess the second set is a better bet, but when did I lose my belief in particulars? Hmm.

I wish for a Neapolitan ice cream sandwich as big as my head.

Hey, never mind, I've still got it!

And the Most Pointless Blog of the Day award goes to: (see above).

vlog

So far, blob has been the most difficult on-the-spot word I've been asked to define by a student. Seriously! Think about it. The property of a blob is very specific. Tell me how you would define it and I'll tell you what I said -- a blob swap, if you will. By the way, you have a little something on your shirt.

eureka!

For YEARS I've been searching for the perfect accompaniment to macaroni and cheese.

In theory, good ol' mac 'n cheese should be perfectly fine on its own -- how can you go wrong with pasta that has the ability to depict a smile or frown smothered in artificial, neon-orange cheese?

But there was always something off when eating the most complicated meal I know how to cook. Its consistency was just so dang mushy I felt like I was either eating baby food or was in the position to be able to give my dentures the day off. It needed another flavor, some crunch, some thing to make it a full, substantial meal.

I tried, it felt like, everything.

The standard hot dog slices proved not to add enough difference in texture. Bread crumbs weren't a drastic enough addition. Trying a sprinkle of salt and pepper was insulting to both the dish and my creativity. And the can of corn a friend suggested be added just ruined the whole pot.

For awhile I moved outside the bowl, thinking a side dish could be the missing link. Salad (too healthy), bread (too many carbs), pretzels and Fritos (too stand-alone-snacky to be included as part of a meal) were all utter failures too. I needed to dive back in.

But after so many failures, I finally resigned myself into accepting that every time I ate the so-nearly-ok cheese and macaroni lunch or dinner, my palate would feel just a smidge unsatisfied.

I pondered this today as I heated the water for my midday meal, so suggested by Carl instead of a bagel with hummus (see? never have to wonder what accompanies bagels) since it was cold out.

Waiting for the water to boil, my eyes wandered to the giant carton of baked Goldfish I'd picked up a couple weekends back. I'd scarcely eaten any because they were a little flavorless and didn't really go with any of the dinners I'd been eating recently. But then I wondered, oh, I wondered...after the draining and the cheese-powder-pack emptying and the margarine and the milk mixing...how would a handful of those Goldfish do?

Perfectly, it would seem.

Or, in other words:



The search is over.

whoa

Work was long and tiring today so when I sat down on the train I immediately plugged into my iPod and prepared for a good twelve minutes of zoning. Too lazy to consciously choose what to listen to, I hit shuffle and the train departed. First my ears went to Clear the Area by Imogen Heap and when it was finished I was a third of the way home. Girl by Danzig was next and I was two thirds there. Zoning, zoning, all the while, and then and then and then.

And then Around the World by Daft Punk came, and my innocent zonified train ride turned into a full-fledged extended daydream of all those around me suddenly jumping up and doing all the choreography in the video, except using the train aisles and seats and conductor's boxes as a stage -- the salarymen, the office ladies, the school kids, the J-boys, and the old people -- all up, their ties and briefcases flying, in perfectly matched movements on on and off beats, dancing, dancing, moving, moving, me sitting and staring at their rotating hips and shoulders, until we pulled into Kashii Station and the song ended. They all sat down, I snapped back into reality, and I took my ear buds out. ...the heck?

A few mornings ago I burnt my waffles and when I opened the toaster oven door a bit of smoke came out and a lot of burnt waffle smell followed. I tossed the evidence of my failure and began anew.

After successfully toasting and consuming two other waffles, I took a shower.

I'd turned up my water heater level recently because it's getting colder and I like my showers hot -- like searing, pinking skin hot. And so it was.

But I wasn't quite used to how hot my new water level could go, and turned it up a touch too high. As I shuffled around a bit so the water wasn't scalding one particular patch of skin, I smelled a burning smell and thought "oh God I'm COOKING myself!"

But then I realized it was just from the waffles.

save the whales, hold the bikkle

Good GOD I need to do laundry. I'm practically scaling a mountain of dirty socks (and unmentionables! oh my) just to get to the main room of the japartment (my goal this week was to keep the main room clean, which has thus far meant just chucking any and all things into the hallway.) Here are problems with doing laundry, though:

1. It requires effort.
2. Every time I do laundry and hang it up outside, it rains the next day and ruins the laundry, so I'm wasting water which hurts the whales, and I don't want to hurt the whales.
3. And even if it doesn't rain and I'm not hurting the whales, I still don't take the laundry off the balcony until the next night, and so when I come into the japartment from work, I always think there's someone on my balcony and it freaks me out for a second, and I don't like being freaked out.
4. And back to that effort thing. Man, the effort. Phew. I mean, geez. Wow. Wowzaaaa. I mean really. It's like CRAZY efforOK FINE I'LL DO MY LAUNDRY.

On an unrelated note, I would like to introduce to you the most unappealingly named beverage of all time:

I present to you: BIKKLE. *shudder* Just say it. Say it out loud. "I could go for a Bikkle right about now." Guh.

To make matters worse, Bikkle is apparently a yogurt drink, gluargggle (that's the sound I think of when I think of Bikkle as a yogurt drink). I haven't tried Bikkle but I'm pretty sure nobody else has either. I fear that if I pay my Y120 and hit that Bikkle button, the world will just implode because it's way too ridiculous that someone would want to drink Bikkle, and if the world implodes then the whales have nowhere to live, and that hurts the whales, too.

Huh. I guess laundry and Bikkle ARE related.

It's an odd thing, this living abroad.

I have these bouts of homesickness where I'll just stare at the yearlong calendar at work and mentally black out all the time I've been here and look at the white space left and it's too much. I think about all the workdays I have left before then -- all the classes I have to teach, all the days of wearing suits that are still, still there -- and it exhausts me. I'll long for people that know me - really know me - and imagine coming back from a day's work to roommates or family or someone to have a full conversation with. I'll miss everything - going to the post office, the bank, a restaurant - being easy.

But then things always turn around. I'll have good classes and meaningful days of work, weekend plans lined up to look forward to, the meeting and connecting with great people -- people I would never have met if I hadn't come here. And simple things, like my run tonight-- listening to good new music on a four-miler in perfect, perfect fall weather among the uniformed high school students on bicycles weaving through the buildings and businesses -- let me know I'm not done with it. I'll miss the freedom and the adventure, my japartment and my students.

But -- far or soon -- not quite yet.

how many polacks in japan does it take to recognize shoe polish?

The other day, for a low/intermediate discussion class, I was going through some teaching materials. The purpose of the class was to practice correctly describing what various things are and how they work or how you use them (which actually sounds a little easier than it is, as far as forming full, grammatically correct sentences go). Example:

What's that?
It's a cellphone.
What's it for?
It's for pretending to talk on when you're walking past someone handing out stuff on the street so you don't have to take what they're handing out because your other hand is in your pocket, SUCKERS.

Except more serious. Anyway, there were some pictures of some household items to describe; microwaves, spatulas, placemats. And then there was this:



And here's how it went (phonetically spelled-out for differentiation purposes):

Me: What's this? Poh-lish? I don't get it. What's Poh-lish about this? Is it a poh-lish ashtray? A poh-lish mirror? *shows to coworker*
Coworker: That's shoe pah-lish.
Me: *runs away*

You'd think I'd have more than a quarter of Polack blood in me based on this, wouldn't you?

I've really not been helping to debunk any stereotypes lately.

onsen 'n o.j.

Well, I'm back from Beppu (where there are eight, not seven, hells MY BAD). In the past three days I, with my friend Cristina (yes, I have friend here - that's right, friend, singular), have:

• gotten a screaming good deal on both travel (Y5000 round trip by train!) and accommodations (Y3500 per night - huge bed and bathroom right next to the station!)
• made up a song about Beppu (Oh-oh Be-ppu/I just wan-na/walk a-round you)
  
• taken a sand bath which was alright
• taken a mud bath which was amazing
• soaked in an onsen (hot spring) which took whatever shred of modesty the massage incident in Budapest last year may have left behind
• had a long chat with this guy:

• stopped being afraid to take Japanese buses
• regretted not taking my scarf with me all the time
  
• visited a mountain of monkeys and
  
• found out that while not murdering or burglaring, O.J. Simpson has actually been hawking snacks with his image on them at shops in Beppu:

It was a fantastic weekend with more details and photos to be shared. Later.

where do i live?

Last weekend I was sitting in my japartment, probably reading or doing something else to expand my mind (HA - I was wasting time on the Internet and it was glorious) and heard a slight ruckus near the front of the train station next to my apartment building. I walked out my front door and peered down off the stairwell that faces said station. This is what I saw:

I didn't know what was going on but I soon retreated back to my japartment/Internet connection where Japanese people weren't yelling and rolling around on a big blue mat. Later on there was an even LARGER ruckus and I let my curiosity of the real world tear me away from the sweet sweet Internety world. Thank goodness:

Sometimes I don't understand my life.

You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.

-- facts for today:

It's my third blog of National Blog Writing Month in which I'm attempting to blog everyday for the month of November and, as I'm going on a weekend getaway beginning today (hells!), I had to get up early just to write and not fail at my venture the third day in. That would be unacceptable! Inconceivable, even!

I'm in my 30th week and eighth month of living in Japan. Inconceivable...again!

I have to leave in 25 minutes and my hair is still wet and I'm not all the way packed or dressed and I have to take out my trash and go to the bank still. Mmmyeah, that's not inconceivable. Me being on time would be unbelievable.

No more rhyming, and I mean it!
Anybody want a peanut?

Oh man, The Princess Bride is so good.

japanese elevator doors can and will chop your hands off

In an effort to minimize the "oh you know what ELSE happens in Japan!?"'s that will be saturating the beginnings, middles, and ends of my conversations once back in my sweet sweet homeland and annoying the bejesus out of everyone, I will try to address some tiny quirks of this tiny quirk of a country before that time comes. Starting...NOW. Up next: elevatorville, population: YOU. And possibly your dog/jump rope/random appendage.

Japanese elevators are hardcore and the doors are NOT NOT NOT NOT NOT motion sensitive -- it took about nine NOT NOT NOT NOT NOTS going through my mind to remember that terrifying and probably occasionally bloody truth after all those times I was dashing to catch one and almost lost a limb trying to get in.

I witnessed a close call once as a non-Japanese friend of mine swung her purse out in an effort to stop the already-closing-doors from closing but the thing just snapped shut and greedily took it up eight stories. Upon returning to our floor, the once-erect handbag lay sadly crumpled and propped in the corner of the empty lift as if to say "what the CRAP did you do that for? I'll never properly accessorize again!"

See? This is what happens when you don't pay attention to the crazy elevator doors of death:


Please note the inside view of the elevator -- you could lose your DOG or your JUMP ROPE for crying out loud.

The picture is fuzzy because it's difficult to take a picture of something with a cellphone on a moving elevator. But what's funny about that particular warning is that it's on the door of a freight elevator that I use instead of the regular ones in my building to avoid the crowd. The only people that use that elevator are guys delivering tons of boxes with various goods inside and other people that work in the building. There's not been a lady with a dog nor a child with a jump rope anywhere NEAR that elevator, ever. Who jumps rope next to an elevator door anyway? If anything the warning sticker should show cardboard getting crushed or a uniformed cellphone shop girl being split in two.

There's also this weird elevator etiquette that happens on account of the doomsday doorage. As in other elevators, there are open and shut buttons to the right of the doors above the floor number buttons. If you get on the elevator and happen to be nearest said buttons, you are the automatic controller of the doors -- it's your job to make sure no one else needs to get on the elevator because, as you know, once them things is closing, man, that's it; plus they'll just stay open far too long if only a few people need to board. Likewise, when the riders are getting off the elevator, it's your job to be pressing the open button until all have departed, and those leaving give a little nod in your direction for your work.

Usually the system works fine -- unless, of course, I'm running late and desperately need to catch the elevator -- then the door controller is almost always going to be a J-hag (big hideous floppy hat, hunched over, evil, inexplicably oblivious to elevator door etiquette) -- then I have to choose between being late or having no right hand. Usually I'm just late. Usually.

Anyway, I'm going to a place called Beppu tomorrow. Apparently there are seven hells there! More on that later.

i went as a bitter old hag

You know, there's always danger in revisiting anything you used to watch as a kid in that it's likely you'll realize what you watched as a kid was stupid (my God don't even get me started on what happened when I watched Babes in Toyland for the first time in seven years. You'd think Drew Barrymore and Keanu Reeves wandering around in Cincinnati/Christmasland would be movietastic, but NO. I was shocked and wanted to travel back in time to slap myself for watching it over and over every Christmas.)

Anyway, that's what happened with It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, which is OBVIOUSLY supposed to be a CLASSIC. I put it on to have something to watch whilst folding my freshly laundered socks (ooo!) and good God is that thing LOUD. Like really, really, unnecessarily full of shrill voices and extraneous sound effects.

The Peanuts gang's running all over the place shouting TRICK OR TREAT!!!!! every five seconds and Snoopy's riding around in that plane and it's all BBBBBBBBBBBBBBVVVVVBBBB!!!!!! (or whatever the sound of an annoying cartoon plane looks like it sounds like) for hours and Sally's yelling at Linus for making her sit in the pumpkin patch all night and just, just, just SHUT IT! I'M TRYING TO MATCH MY VARIOUS PAIRS OF WHITE YET SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT LOOKING SOCKS AND I CAN'T DO IT WITH ALL THE NOISE! I kept cringing and making my volume go down lower and lower until it wasn't even worth having on anymore. Classics should have standards, not characters talking and doing stuff at a noise level comparable to feedback. And once again, I'm shocked at the poor taste of my younger self. Slappy slappy slap slap.

And I never really did get the whole Great Pumpkin thing. Was I supposed to learn I should believe in something that clearly doesn't exist so people can yell at me and not get free candy? I'm not falling for THAT again!

Welp, my costume's done. Suck it, childhood.

Edit I: HAHA who am I kidding? You know I'll get excited to watch it next year. And Babes in Toyland time is just a mere two months away. I can't wait!

Edit II: Oh my gosh I just watched this preview for Babes in Toyland and now I want to watch it more than ever.