Here goes: Tropic of Caitlincorn, Part II
Hi, Mom!
Oh, sorry about your flash flood. We had one here on Tuesday while I
was wandering about from Ekoda to Sakuradai, and all my stuff is wet. I
am going to have to replace my 40 dollar kanji dictionary, I suspect.
Because it is the rainy season it is wet all the time - humid in the
day, damp cold at night.
Oh, my little O. How I miss him. Now it is *beef soup* - more
accurate. I was a little concerned about your continuing to refer to it
as *kale soup* when *meat porridge* was more to the point. I missed him
especially yesterday when I saw a photo of a baby corgi on an ad on the
train (which could have been an ad for just about anything - the ads
here are so ridiculous) and then when I returned home, exhausted from
the day:s walk around the Imperial Palace (it:s HUGE) and through
Yasukuni Shrine) to find, on channel 6, a TV program about elderly
Japanese people teaching their baby puppies to do ridiculous tricks.
There was even a training montage, the background music to which was the
theme from *Flashdance.* Ridiculous. I realized that if I put O-man on
a raised platform and told him to jump over little obstacles he:d find a
way to tell me to go fuck myself, then he:d lay down in my spot on the
bed. I love that little bastard.
As far as I know, Peter is now in a British hoosegow. He apparently is a
50-year-old vegan who did not have these cats spayed or neutered due to
misdirected animal welfare sympathies, which means that we currently
have NINE cats, but the number could increase exponentially in very
little time. In order to put the kibosh on this situation, another
vegan, Liz, has contacted some agency which finds foster homes for
troubled kitties like ours and is, in the meanwhile, taking care of four
of them. One of these cats has decided that it belongs to me and I have
even once come into my locked room to find him on my pillow. This would
be irritating enough if it weren:t for the ever-present threat of fleas,
on the one hand, and my debilitating allergies, on the other. Still and
all, it:s hard not to pity these wretched creatures. It:s not their
fault they:re cats; it:s not their fault they were accumulated by some
irresponsible crazy man with a precarious visa situation.
Anyway, I love you guys and miss you. Have fun on the boat (hahaha)
Today I will go to Shinjuku, the Tokyo one sees in pictures, with all
the neon lights, etc. There is apparently an observatory on the top
floor from which one can see all of Tokyo. Also there is *Piss Alley*,
a tiny little row of buildings which miraculously survived the 1923
earthquake - amid all the skyscrapers, some tiny little wooden restaurants.
As for food, I:ve been trying to eat one big meal a day, around 3 p.m.
This way I can economize without eating rice and gyoza every day, like
all the other tenants here. I of course want to go to restaurants, the
more *authentic* the better, so I look for places which appear to be
closed because the sliding doors are closed, the menus are only in
Japanese, etc. The first day I had a big sushi plate, telling the
sushiyasan to give me whatever he thought appropriate. He gave me a mix of
various things. I asked for wasabi, having forgotten that wasabi is put
into sushi here, unlike into America, but he gave me a weird look and
gave me some. Because I was one of the few people there, and the only
American, and I am pitiful and obsequious and nice, he gave me an extra
piece of sushi gratis. Alas, it was another piece of squid, and I had
had a tough enough time choking down the first one. I thanked him
profusely and fought the almost overwhelming urge to haku (puke)
The second day I found a tiny tonkatsu place in Nerima. Tonkatsu,
incidentally, is my new favorite fat-girl food. *Ton* means pig, and
tonkatsu is a big hunk of pork breaded in panko flakes and fried, served
with a spicy-sweet sauce, shredded cabbage and, of course, sticky rice.
It:s delish.
Yesterday we stopped at a little cafe where I had kani (crab) chahan,
basically fried rice. I hadn:t the foggiest idea what I was ordering,
except that the suffix -han refers to rice, but I was moderately pleased
with the result. This cafe was near Tokyo Eki and so was more Western,
less tasty, and more expensive than my previous choices, but my feet
were by then so tired that sitting down was the priority. The waiter was
unable to convey to us the difference between the faintly yellow-tinged
water in our glasses and the faintly yellow-tinged water in the carafe
on our table, so instead of pouring ourselves glass after glass (we
tested it, rather intrepidly: it tasted the same) he returned time after
time with 8-ounce glasses of the stuff. Bizarre.
Anyway, I:ve got to go soon if I:m to do anything today. The blisters
on my feet are a problem. I have decided to suffer it out, but it:s not
easy. The ones just below my big toe have me in constant agony, but I:m
not here to lay around with my feet up. Today, at least, I will be on
my own, so I won:t be struggling to keep up with a Polish dude who
thinks I:m being a pussy for sitting down. I spent much of our time at
the Yasukuni Shrine Museum yesterday sitting on the little benches
beside elderly Japanese dudes, pretending to read the little didactic
pamphlets only available in Japanese to alleviate the blinding pain in
my feet.
Okay, love you.
I gotta take my 100 yen shower, then I:m off to Shinjuku. Perhaps I
will toss my hat in the air all Mary Tyler Moore-stylie. I:m gonna make
it after all!
-Cake
