On the Packers
Hey asshole, ...so, you just complain about the Packers when they are doing poorly. You have nothing to say when they are playing well??
Actually, I had not seen the Minnesota, Philly, or Tampa games because I was in Japan and occupied with other things. I followed the Minnesota game on ESPN's website, but I was able to listen to the radio broadcasts for the Philly and Tampa games after I paid for a season's worth of internet radio access through NFL.com. Worked like a charm, btw.
So, I was not sufficiently knowledgeble about the flow of the games to comment. I've since procured tapes of the Tampa and Minnesota games (only half-way through the Vikes game) and have now developed some opinions.
So, what do you think of Rossley now??
He's going with what is working and I give him credit for that. Still, I would like to see more play-action and down-field attempts.
That's it???
Well, the key is Ahman Green and this fantastic offensive line. Not since watching Ron Dayne work in such fluid concert with his linemen at Wisconsin have I seen anything like this. The linemen know what Ahman is going to do and he knows what they are going to do. It's a thing of true beauty to watch him pick his holes while those bulldozers slide downfield with the deliberance (is that a word?) of chess pieces. Right now, they are unstopable.
What about the thumb?
The thumb is a problem. Favre can't throw as hard. Also, he's not making the best decisions, but I suspect that is out of frustration. He's complained that while running the ball 40+ times a game, he doesn't have the opportunity to develop a rhythm in the passing game. So, I think he's forcing it a bit.
And the defense?
With the addition of Grady Jackson, the Packers are much improved. Two big fat guys blowing up the middle has given KGB and Hunt more opportunities to create pressure. PRESSURE, that's what this defense is all about now. About time! I've only been commenting on the need to apply more pressure since the pre-season! Anyway, they are able to create some pressure with their front four, and that helps a lot. Add to that Nick Barnett and a good game from Antuan Edwards, ...and the defense is really coming around.
So, what's going to happen tomorrow?
Hard to tell. Detroit sucks. They've gotten slapped around all week, ...but this is the Thanksgiving game. This game could make their pathetic season. Look for an all-out effort from them. I think the Pack will sustain it and grind out a narrow victory. But really, that's just a wild guess. Anything could happen aside from a Detroit-sided blowout.
Dumbass of the Week
Lot's of competition this week:
Runner Up: Salam Pax for writing a suprisingly childish and condescending open letter to President Bush.
Lileks takes him down in style today. My favorite bit
Hey, Salam? Fuck you.
Eloquence preceeds and follows that great quote, read it.
Runner Up:
Gary George. A crook. A hypocrite. A Democrat. Caught red-handed with the biggest sleazeball Democrat in the state, Mark Sostarich.
Winner: Mohammed Akhtar for is dumbass quote in today's
Guardian:
Mohammed Akhtar, from Middlesbrough, was in the village as a member of his town's Islamic Society. He said: "All the problems we are facing all over the world have all been created by Mr Bush."
Yes, that's right Mohammed. ALL of the problems. Every last problem facing muslims (I assume that's what he means by "we") was started by President Bush after he was elected in 2000. As we all know, everything was simply peachy in the middle east before that.
Life In Hell
O’hare is hell.
I’m not one of those people who envisions hell as an ironic place where everything is perfect except for one maddening detail. That’s always seemed a bit foolish to me.
Sure, if you have only one brief moment with which to torture someone, irony is a great unseen dagger. But in hell, like in O’hare, they have you for an eternity. Why use a velvet glove when you can ram an unlimited number of pokers into their eyeballs and twist?
Hell succeeds at being hell because it reminds you at every turn, in every corner, in every way, that you
are in hell and that you cannot escape.
As a species, we rationalize way too much. If hell was a double-edged sword, we’d just rationalize it away and not even realize it was hell.
What? Thousands of hot dogs and no buns, condiments, or beverages? Well, at least it's better than brunch at aunt Lucy's No, that’s not the devils way. He’s too smart for that.
Life is a double-edged sword, not hell. Let me tell you a little about hell.
Hell is a 11 hour flight with bad food and a poor selection of movies including Alex and Emma, The Itallian job, and two depressing Japanese language movies. Then, hell adds a few layers of security, customs, immigration, baggage check, a second ticket counter, …and of course, a cancelled flight.
Now, I only need to get from O’hare to Milwaukee. It’s about a 75 minute drive and a half hour flight. They routinely cancel the jaunt from O’hare to Milwaukee because (I suspect) the plane isn’t filled. So, they cram the unlucky passengers onto other flights, and tell the rest of us to kiss their big yellow butts, or worse yet, …to take the bus.
The bus?? I said incredulously.
“Yes. The United limo bus.”
“I’d rather take a car, can’t you give me a voucher for a rental.”
“Sorry, we don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because we use the limo bus. Our job is getting you from point A to point B.”
“I must have missed that in the ads that specifically identify you as an AIRLINE, not a bus company.”
Silence
“Well, when does this bus leave?”
“In an hour.”
“An how long does it take to get there?”
“3 hours?”
“You’re kidding.”
“That’s what it says. I think it takes 3 hours.”
“It doesn’t take 3 hours to drive to Milwaukee, does it make other stops?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you find out? Because I’m not sitting on a bus for another 3 hours.”
It does take 3 hours. I makes all sorts of stops along the way. Screw that. I tell her I am going to rent a car and write to the company to reimburse me. I apoligize for being short with her and I asked for the proper number or address to make my claim.
So, I hussle out of the terminal and see a passing Hertz bus. I flag it down and within minutes I am at the Hertz office, straining to drag my luggage a few more feet to the counter.
They are out of cars. Can’t help me.
Back on the shuttle bus. Back to the airport. A Budget bus is going by. I flag it down, hop on.
“Hi. I don’t have a reservation, do you have cars available?”
“Yeah, come on up.”
Great. About 10 minutes later I’m dragging my luggage to the Budget counter.
They are out of cars.
“But I specifically asked the driver if you had cars available.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, we are booked.”
Back on the bus, a different one.
“What airline.”
“None”
“Huh?”
“I’ve got no reservation and you’ve got no cars.”
“Oh, did someone tell you we had cars?"
“Yes, the driver of the other bus. I asked him.”
At this point, this elderly gentleman became very curious about who made this mistake and inconvenienced me. He seemed really into his job, really into being helpful, which did me no good because in hell, no one can help you.
He explained that I should go back to the terminal, call their 1-800 number and make a reservation if I can. I’ll have a better chance and get a lower rate etc etc …he went out of his way to lay out all my options.
I just know the other drivers hate him. When they have their driver meetings, you know, ...don’t run over people, don’t swear, don’t take the shuttle for a joy ride, etc etc, …everyone just wants to get out of there early so they can go home and forget that they drive the stupid shuttle bus at the airport for a living., but this guy, …I can tell he is the kind of guy who extends the meeting an extra excruciating 45 minutes by asking dumb questions and discussing more efficient ways to load bags. He makes suggestions, tries to solicit feedback, takes notes, and has something to say about each issue. Everyone in the room is throwing daggers at his back thinking “SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU STUPID WHITE-HAIRED PIECE OF SHIT!!!! GOD-FUCKING DAMMIT!!!”
Anyway, the old-timer starts to ask me about the person who gave me the wrong info. The man in question was named Royce, but I lied and said I didn’t remember his name because I don’t want to get him in trouble. So, I play dumb.
“Hmmmm, was he black or white?”
I hate this question. I feel like I shouldn’t answer because he would never ask that if a black guy was nearby, but since we are both not black, we can discuss this fact openly, I guess. It always makes me a little uncomfortable.
“Black”
“Ok, ….was he a tall guy with glasses?”
“Nope.”
“Hmmm, …heavy-set guy with light hair and …”
“No.”
In fact, Royce was good-looking, funny, a real charmer, about medium height, medium build with a permanent smile. I liked him. He’s the kind of guy I enjoyed working with when I did shit jobs in college, …he was a little older than me, funny as hell, and constantly on the hunt for tail. He’d be great to have a beer with after a long night of selling shoes.
“Was he effeminate?”
The truth is yes. But I would never say that. I can see how this old guy would think that. Compared to Charles Bronson (GRHS), yes, effeminate. But compared to an average single urban man in the 21st century, …not really. What we he going to ask next,
Chinaman? Broad? Pinko-union-bastard?
“Not really.”
“Ha ha ha, …well I’ll never figure out who it was then!”
As was my plan.
Well, it’s an hour and a half later. All cars in all rental companies are booked.
All of them.
Fortunately I have parents who are willing to drive the 90 minutes (they drive slower) to get me. So, if I’d just taken the ass-wipe bus in the first place I’d have gotten home earlier.
I remember a bible story about a horrible lady who ended up in hell. She wanted to go to heaven, so an angel looked down and had pity on her. He said that if she had done just one good thing in her life then he could help her. Well, once she gave a boy an onion who needed one and had no money. This is the only good thing she ever did. So, the angel spun the onion into a thin rope and lowered it to her. She grabbed ahold and started to be pulled up. When other people saw this, they wanted to get into heaven too, so they grabbed onto her legs so they could also be pulled up with her. Afraid that the rope would break, she started kicking at the people. The angel warned her not to struggle or she will break the rope, but she didn't listen. The rope broke and she fell back into hell.
Moral of the story, ...stay out of O'hare!
Homeward
As you can see, things are going much better. This shot was taken Saturday morning. After being drastically undersized, the baby has almost caught up to the normal size for it's age. After too much blood obscuring the ultrasound, this new one is clear. As for the fiance's symptoms, ...they are gone. Replaced by morning sickness and a craving for sour-tasting/viniger type foods.
She was even able to spend Saturday-Sunday night with me at her apartment.
She's back in the hospital now, and will be there for a few more days, but things look drastically better than they did when I arrived 18 days ago for a 7 day visit.
Last night we said goodbye from her hospital room at 9pm when the nurses start to kick out the expectant fathers from the maternity ward. It felt different from the first time we said goodbye. Just a few weeks ago we said goodbye from the Mitchell International drop-off zone, not knowing that at that moment she was already becomming pregnant. I missed her immediately, but it was nothing like what I feel now, ...guilt-ridden, needy, and needed.
As I left she told me not to go, that she needed me. I knew she only meant to tell me how much she loves me and how much she will miss me, she didn't intend for me to change my plans again. I told her I felt the same way, and that I will think about her every minute until I return. She didn't say anything else, she just let me talk. We kissed one last time and I walked toward her hospital room door. I turned to wave and she was standing now instead of sitting, looking at me and trying to look away to hide the tears she was fighting. We both managed to smile and wave, and I slipped out the door, out onto the street.
I fought back the tears for the first block and regained my composure. I shuffled on to the station, the train, the walk home, ...all the time thinking about what the next two months will be like while I am in Milwaukee and she is struggling on her own over here.
Two months can feel like two weeks, but I suspect they can also feel like two years. Let's hope it feels more like two days. Even then, we won't be together to stay, I'll still be returning home alone. But this next trip is when I will slip a ring on her finger, sign a document, and make us officially inseperable.
The three of us.
The Mall
Tonight I met her father and his wife.
Previously I had met her mother when they came to visit on my second night in Tokyo. We had planned to go to a nice restaurant where her mother, her mother's husband, her beautiful sister, her cute neice, and her very nice brother in law would officially meet me. But since we got the
bad news at the hospital that morning, we decided to just have them come over to her apartment for a visit.
Her mother is a real pistol. Very petite, talkative, animated, funny. We had a good time and I got to eat lots of new kinds of sushi and lord knows what else. They kept putting things on my plate and I couldn't keep track of all the names. The salmon roe sushi things were my least favorite. The phrase "burst of flavor" applies, but it wasn't to my taste.
Anway, I met her father today. They were coming to visit the fiance at the hospital and would stick around to meet the American who impregnanted her. Well, they don't really look at it that way, but I couldn't help thinking it. They're actually very happy, as I think it is important for them to see their daughter get married and have a family.
The meeting went very well. The fiance translated and it seems the father and I have some things in common. Both of us are a bit on the quiet side. We both enjoy our drink (although his drink it bourbon, mine is beer). We both like fast cars (what guy doesn't).
He was a new CL series Mercedes that my fiance is not sure how he affords. He also has a flat screen plasma tv, a spanking new digital camera (one of the nicest I've seen), and is very generous. The fiance told me about how I wanted to buy some souvineers for my friends, but that I was having trouble doing that with her in the hospital. They offered to take me to the a mall that is very close to the hospital. I said, sure, not wanting to seem anti-social.
So, off I went with her father and his wife to "The Mall" as it is called. Of course, his new Mercedes is pretty hot. It even has a futuristic DVD navigational system that tracks his movements with a GPS device and displays real time traffic info.
Communicating only through gestures and broken English and Japanese, we made our way through the mall. They insisted on paying for all my gifts, and it was useless for me to argue. They made it very clear that they were going to pay and that was it. I know the Japanese are big gift givers, so I did not want to seem rude. I would just return the favor by sending them some very nice and expensive gifts when I return to the states.
We returned to the fiance's hospital room with loads of bags and we talked a bit more before they left. The fiance started to cry. They are very generous people, very nice. They would do anything for her and for her family, ...she appreciates them so much, but I guess they have a hard time communicating those feelings. She's never told him how much she appreciates all he's done for her, and how much she respects and loves him. I know he'd love to hear it.
I guess her x-husband took advantage of their generosity, and never returned the favor. When he betrayed her and callously treated the situation as if it was her fault, he was also slapping them in the face. I suspect this knowledge was also behind her tears. She hated that her x-husband hurt her, but she hates it more that he hurt them in the process.
What An Asshole
Eugene Kane does his pathetic best to
race-bait the Jessica Lynch story.
He suggests that fellow captive Shoshanna Johnson (black female) got less publicity than Jessica Lynch because Lynch is cute and white and Shoshanna isn't. He couples this with the fact that Shoshanna is also getting less disability money than Jessica. He does state that it appears the disability discrepancy is due to different classifications of the wounded, but he wants to use the discrepancy to make his point nonetheless.
In his own words:
Frankly, it's depressing to realize the men and women fighting this war overseas in a hostile land are simply not considered equal when they return to the United States.
It just serves to remind some people, once again, that fighting in the war in Iraq doesn't necessarily win the war for respect still being fought back home.
Shoshanna's situation was not the same as Jessica Lynch's. Jessica Lynch was rescued from a hospital in the middle of the night in a much publicized rescue. Shoshanna was rescued quietly, peacefully, and accidentally along with several other WHITE MEN.
Let me repeat that last part, ...along with several other WHITE MEN.
Why isn't Kane complaining that these white men who were rescued alongside Shoshanna were not also made into heros and given book deals and made-for-tv-movies?
I guess it sorta destroys his point that America and the US Army (and Bush, by extension) turned their back on a black war hero while elevating a white one.
Their situations were not similar. Their wound classifications are not similar. Jessica's story is better than Shoshanna's because her rescue was a daring late night raid where US forces staged a diversion to draw away any forces residing in the hospital itself. And let's not forget that it was caught on tv.
I won't forget Shoshanna. She sounds like a great soldier, much better than I would be. I thank her for her service and hope she gets more disability money from the Army and goes on to lead a happy, peaceful life.
But anyone who suggests that there is a racial discrimination angle here is really fishing for something, anything, to tar the war, the administration, and the US itself with worst kind of slur ...Racist.
Shoshanna received the SAME treatment as the other WHITE MEN she was rescued with. If anything, she received more attention than her fellow captors.
It takes a real asshole to run around shoving the racial finger in everyone's face in order to capitalize on someone's suffering, and rationalize the blind, hateful fury that consumes his bizarre mind.
Defensive Gun Use
Clayton Cramer has been collecting stories of regular citizens who use their legally owned weapons to stop crimes or prevent them. He's got so many that he may start a completely separate blog just for this purpose. These are the types of stories that Eugene Kane doesn't believe ever happen.
Cute girls
As requested by my pals with "the fever", here are some shots of some of the nicer sites in my area.
More to come ...
Erection Day
The Fiance told me a funny story about one of her friends who mispronounced the word election with great embarassment. Japanese have trouble with "r" and "l" sounds because they do not have them in their language. They do have a sound that is a cross between the "r" and "l" sounds, which is why it is confusing to them.
Well, today is election day here in Japan. The candidates are allowed to run these trucks and cars around town equipped with loud speakers that play a recording of the candidates voice. It is really annoying. They started at 8am today. Hilariously, they play music behind the voices. It sounds like the soundtrack for the Little Rascals, ...warbly, string heavy, corny.
Those of you awaiting pictures, here is an election poster.
Vote for Grandpa or else!!!!
What's Up? pt. 2
All this was understandably hard on the GF. She felt a lot of guilt because I could do nothing during my trip to Tokyo but care for her and run to the convenience store and hospital. For a moment, things looked very bleak. The possibility that the baby would not make it seemed great, and the measures we were taking to save it prevented us from living a normal life. It seemed like a lose-lose situation. Add to that the uncertainty we would carry with us for two weeks, and the dread she felt about the possibilty that she could be carrying a dead baby inside her for two weeks without knowing it.
The hospital she is staying at is very small, even by Japanese standards. It had more of a Rec Department vibe to it with the cut-rate brick walls, whitewash paint job, post-war tile floors. The rooms and halls and waiting rooms were incredibly small, even quaint. The staff was friendly, always adding a personal touch to their rounds and exams. She was comfortable, and with me visiting her so often, she wasn't lonely. The doctor saw how sad she became when being told she would not have any further news for two weeks, so they scheduled another ultrasound for the next day, Saturday.
At 10am the GF called to tell me that things looked better. The baby's heart was beating, it was bigger, and the blood cloud on the ultrasound was smaller and thinner. She was no longer bleeding as far as she could tell and had no pain. It was still too early to tell, but at least as of that moment, the baby was surviving and growing.
...and that's where we are at today, Sunday. I'm scheduled to return home in 8 days, and they will give another ultrasound shortly after that. As long as there is no more pain or bleeding, we can be optimistic. She may even be able to come home for one night to spend some more time with me before I leave, but I have mixed feelings about it. I don't want to do anything to harm the baby, but I'd love a chance to lay down in bed with her one more time before I leave. I won't see her again for a few months after that. Back to the states,
...but that is another story.
What's Up?
Before I landed in Tokyo I knew three things:
1. The GF was pregnant
2. There were some complications with the pregnancy that seemed to be getting worse
3. The doctors warned her that she may have to be hospitalized
I arrived on a Friday and she had another doctor appointment scheduled for Saturday. Sitting in a Japanese waiting room pondering the life or death of your unborn child (whom you've only known about for 5 days) is a strange experience. You don't feel entirely connected to the child yet, but you understand it is your child. Your connection to it is through the mother. They are joined together and she wants to do all she can to help the child fight to survive.
After twenty minutes distracting myself with a Japanese phrasebook, they call her name and she disappears behind the frosted glass door. They will give an ultrasound and quiz her about her symptoms. In ten minutes time I can see her figure through the frosted glass. She has paused on the other side of the door before opening it. She's dabbing her eyes with tissue, composing herself, and eventually re-entering the waiting room.
They want to hospitalize her, but she refuses. She'll get her bed rest at home with my tending to her. A week where I thought I'd be taking photos from Tokyo tower, strolling Shimbuku, relaxing at the Basho museum, and climbing the 60 stories of Sunshine city turned about to be a week spent within her small one bedroom apartment, making her food, doing her dishes, cleaning up, and generally caring for my bedridden GF.
It was great.
Sure, there was less excitement and exploration than I planned, but we made do.
Unfortunately, we didn't do enough. On Tuesday she was told she needed to be hospitalized to keep her off her feet and to allow them to keep a closer eye on her symptoms. The baby was too small and there was too much blood obscuring the ultrasound to see how well it was doing. I was scheduled to leave Thursday, but I can't leave her like this, so I tell her I will extend my stay indefinitely. I can arrange to do some work from her apartment in the mornings and nights, and spend my afternoons and evenings visiting her in the hospital.
Tuesday night was my birthday. She had planned a dinner for us at some nice top floor restaurant in Shimbuku, but those plans needed to be cancelled. Instead, I pan fried some thinly sliced steak, some rice, and leftover potatos flavored with oils and rosemary. After a long, strange prelude, I officially began the next chapter in my life by formally asking her to marry me. It was just after dinner. We were sitting on her hand-me-down couch, amongst the remains of our meal and the knowledge that tonight would be our last night together for some time. She said yes, as both of us counted down the hours until 2m Wednesday afternoon when the nurse would place her name on a chart next to a room number and close a curtain around us.
It wasn't all bad. I did still get to see her quite often. Every day I got up and made breakfest, fed her bird, clean up, checked email, got some work done, then made the short walk to the Haijima station, got off at Fussa, and walked three blocks to the hospital where she was staying. I'd sit with her as long as visiting hours would allow, 5 hours on M-S, 9.5 hours on Sunday.
They told her she would be in for about two weeks, but we thought she would be able to return home when the pain and bleeding ceased. On Thursday we got the news that she would be there for two weeks regardless, and that another ultrasound wasn't even scheduled until her two weeks were up. Complicating matters, I had to return home soon, and it looked inevitable that I would be returning home without knowing what was up.
Another Defensive Gun Use
If Eugene Kane paid more attention to actual news stories around the country and the globe, he'd hear about more cases like
this, although I doubt it would change anything for him.
The Long Ride
I've been told one thing about the Japanese that has turned out to be 100% dead on accurate, ...they all love new things. Almost no one buys used cars or appliances, they always buy new ones.
There's a hamburger chain called Mos Burger that competes with McDonalds here. They have a new sandwhich that is rather large (but not by American standards). It's called (translation= seasoned perfect). It's got your usual tomato, lettuce, cheese, and onion toppings, ....but it also has this sauce on it. The sauce looks like terriaki sauce, but it isn't. Anyway, the sauce is very thin, so it runs easily, forcing people to eat it by peeling back the wrapper a little at a time. It looks very tasty and takes 10 minutes to make. You can actually go in, order it, and time them on their efficiency. The burger comes with a card that is signed (in Japanese characters) by the cook who made it. Each Mos Burger location only makes 10 of these per day.
Since the sandwich is not really all that special or different than the other sandwiches, I asked the GF why people are so excited to have this burger. She said plainly, "Because it is something new."
Most of the cars in the city appear to be new as well. If everyone buys new cars, I wonder what happens to all the old ones?? Most cars on the road (I'd say 70%) have color navigational displays on the dash. These screens are large, 8 inches or so, and some even play movies or can receive tv. However, one car ride through Tokyo shwed how necessary those devices are.
The hilarious part of my first night in Tokyo was in the car on the way to Fussa-shi where GF lives. There was apparently a terrible accident on the main freeway through Tokyo. It had caused a 10-20 mile backup. Racing through the narrow Tokyo freeways, dashing across lanes to meet an exit or bypass a stretch or road, GF and the sister were talking in a worried, serious tone as they planned and debated our path to safety.
It was dark, and the sky was suprisingly black, like a Rhinelander summer night, except we approaching one of the world's biggest cities with thousands of other travelors.
They began listening to a radio station which broadcasted traffic informtion 24/7. The ladies voice on the radio was a dead-on copy of Tokyo Rose. She spoke calmly and matter of factly about the roads and times and accidents. GF and the sister listen with bated breath and debated the consequences of her words. It brought forth an image of WWII Japan, listening to the radio to hear the bombing reports and war news, talking with your loved ones about the consequences.
Soon we were passing through Shimbuku, and you just marvel at the fact that this country was bombed to dust not that long ago.
You'd never know it by visiting here. But, it is one of my deepest curiosities, and I intend to dig a little and see what I can find.
The Long Wait
The first thing you notice while looking out the window is that Narita airport is located smack in the middle of Japanese farmland. In fact, the farmers in the area have always hated and resented the airport being located in their quiet town. They've attempted to block it's construction and development since day 1. They're doing a good job as Narita only has 1 runway. The second runway has been blocked by the local farmers for years.
The first thing you notice on the ground is that Narita is the cleanest airport you've ever seen. The Japanese are famous for being fastidious, and it really shows, from the fresh smelling carpets, to the shining and sweet smelling restrooms.
Of course, the next thing you notice is the women. It's as if you were dropped onto a movie set where all the role players (from the stewardess' to the counter clerks, to the passangers) look like fashion models. By the time I had my passport stamped I counted at least 10 girls who were at or near a perfect 10.
The arduous lines took their toll on my shoulders and feet and sweat glands. When I finally reached the terminal, I was looking a bit ragged and was far from smelling sweet as a daisy. It took a while for GF and her beautiful sister to find me. Immediatly upon meeting her sister she handed over her child, Yuna, to me for a greeting. Yuna is a 9 month old girl who's quite active and strong for her age. Being a bit of an inexperienced clod when it comes to handling children, I did my best just to keep from dropping her. Toss me a dog or a cat or even a bird and I'm just fine, but a kid is a different story. I'm always afraid of dropping them, or not supporting their neck in the right way, ...but Yuna and I both survived the encounter.
Arriving in Japan
My first post is stuck in my laptop which uses a 3 prong plug. All outlets here are 2 prong, so I'm stuck until I locate an adaptor.
The 13 hour flight was a breeze. They have these personal video screens for each seat where you can watch 4 recent movies, several channels showing very recent programming (the CBS channel showed a recent 60 minutes interview with Stephen Glass), some really bad radio selections, and a real-time map showing your plane's progress, estimated time of arrival, flight speed, etc. Pretty cool.
Yes, it was long, but it was really the least boring thing I did all day. Anyone who has a long overseas flight, I cannot vouch for the other airlines, but AA was great. My only complaint is the quality of the food.
There are drawbacks to international travel. When traveling to Japan, the drawbacks are these:
- Narita airport is a 1-2 hour bus, train, or car ride from Tokyo
- The foreign passport check line is oppresively long, however it moves rather quickly
- The customs line is relatively small, but moves incredibly slow
- The currency exchange line is both long and slow
The plane ride is nothing compared to those lines and the traffic. I landed about 3:30pm and finally got to the girlfriend's (GF) house about 9ish.
Onboard Movies:
Millenium Actress - Highly recommended. Interesting, facsinating, touching, ...but beware, you WILL cry when watching this movie.
Almighty Bruce - Smarmy in parts, kinda funny in others, ...rather predictable tale about heaven, and separating what you want from what you need. Not bad, though.
The Itallian Job - Interesting movie that was poorly conceived and poorly written. Of course, Ed Norton is great, but the rest of the cast is rather blahze.
First Post
Blog entry 8am 10/30 O’Hare airport
I’m sitting here in O’Hare wishing I had wifi on this laptop, but I don’t so I’ll have to post this later. Last night was a mini-adventure …
Knowing my flight left at 6:24am, I needed to get some serious sack time. My parents suggested I stay at their house for the night as they were taking me to the airport in the morning anyway. This was also convenient because WND (Worlds Naughtiest Dog) is staying there for the week, and it would save me some running around in the early am.
Well, as usual I am running behind schedule and WND is not helping matters by jumping, whining, running in circles, and making a general nuisance of herself while I’m trying to carry my luggage down to the car. Once she sees her leash she goes even more bizzerk, making a huge racket while my neighbors are trying to sleep.
11:15pm, I load WND and my crap into the car and head for the parents’ house. A few accidents dot the scenery, slowing traffic to a crawl, speeding up again, and slowing down once more.
At the house, WND is not sitting still while I try to unload the car. Jumping into the front seat, then the back, trying to escape through whichever door I am using to unload my baggage. I have never let her out of the car through any door but the rear passenger-side door under the naïve assumption that this repetition would teach her the proper door to exit the car through. Nope. She just jumps at any opening almost small enough to let her slip out. She once escaped through a half-opened window while I was paying for gas.
At my parents house she is running around like a holy terror. Running, begging, running again, jumping, running, pestering, running, more begging, and begging while running and jumping. I let her out to do #1 and get ready for bed. About 5 minutes later I retrieve her, let her up into the bedroom I am using (my sister’s old room) and show here where she is supposed to sleep for the night. Of course, all she wants to do is play. Dogs don’t really have the concept of “Hey, it’s f-cking almost midnight, everyone has to work in the morning, shut the f-ck up!” To them, life is entirely situational. Late, early, …doesn’t matter, Let’s
play!
So, play she did. In fact, she played so hard that she ralphed up her dinner on the bedroom carpet. Ok, grab her, back down the stairs and out the door in case she is actually sick and will need to spit up again. Back up the stairs to clean up the mess. Mom doesn’t have carpet cleaner. Super. A house full of carpet and no cleaning solution. So I use water and some pre-depression powdered substance called Soilax or something.
I’d always wondered why dogs like that meat flavored dog food. It doesn’t look or smell like meat. It says it is made with meat, but I was never really convinced of that, …until today. Dog food smells like meat once it’s been half-digested in a dog’s stomache, then spilled out on the floor.
Cleaned it up best I could and went to grab the WND. I go to the back door, but she is not there. The leash is pulled tight. I call her. Nothing. I rattle the door. Nothing. She’s gotten tangled up around the tree and is sitting there in the rain waiting for me to come and get her. So, it’s about 37 degrees outside and rainy. I walked through the yard in my socks and untangle her, returning to the bedroom freezing cold and wet. Time to try to get some sleep.
About 2 hours later she is at the bedroom door whinning that she needs to go out. Not wanting to clean up another mess, I let her out again without incident. Now it appears we are both ready for sleep.
A good night’s sleep, considering …Got the airport on time, saw some nice racks on cute girls, found my connecting gate, an outlet, and here I am.
So, I called the wife (not my wife, yet). Yesterday she had told me about some more trouble signs for her pregnancy. She’s had a lot of symptoms consistent with miscarriage, and they are continuing. When I called her just now, she was looking up some info on miscarriages on the web, but it wasn’t easing her mind. She’s pretty convinced that she is having a miscarriage, as more symptoms popped up today. She is calling her doctor in the morning.
She blames herself for this, like I knew she would. She always take the blame and the fault for things within and beyond her control. Her x-husband cheats on her with some loose Japanese girls, and she thinks it’s her fault. Her childhood cat dies of a disease shortly after birth, and she thinks it’s her fault. Now, she is blaming herself for the miscarriage.
Of course, I tell her that it is not her fault, it is a common occurrence, and that these things happen sometimes. We will try again and again and again. She knows this, but she cannot help feeling the guilt.
There’s an off chance that she may be in the hospital when I arrive, meaning that I will have to try an take the trains from Narita, to Shinjuku, to Tachikawa station in her city, Fussa-shi. I’m not really prepared for that, but I’ll give it a shot. I don’t really have a choice anyway.
For the past several days I’ve been nervous, scared, worried about the pregnancy, about the trip, about spending the rest of my life with her, …but I’m not worried or scared now.
I do love her. If I remember that, the rest of it is manageable.
