Farmer's Tan: a kind of tan commonly found in Florida natives. In the arms, the tan begins just below the line of one's short-sleeved shirt and in the legs, the tan is restricted to the feet, leaving the upper arms and legs lily-white. It is referred to as a "farmer's tan," because it mimicks the
I've been in the U.S. for nearly a week and I still can't sleep properly. I'm either down at 9 and up at 3 or I can't sleep at all. Instead of taking advantage of my sleeplessness and updating my blog, the only writing I've done has been in the form of facebook status updates:
It's 12:16 a.m. on Tuesday morning but Sean and I both feel like it's Tuesday evening. He's on my brother's couch, eating from a bag of Herr's mesquite-flavored potato chips and we're watching Dustin Hoffman teasing the Letterman audience with a "dirty and true" story about his time filming Tootsie. Spill it, Dustin. Oh my.
Yesterday, I made my last cranberry chain and didn't care that Daisuke was complaining loudly to his friends that he didn't want to do the Christmas lesson craft. I bid goodbye to my coworkers and wished them a happy New Year in Japanese; correctly, I might add, since that morning I had embarrassed myself by
She's everywhere. Serene and regal, her image stalks me from ad posters plastered all over the walls of almost every commuter train station I pass through. She's always photographed against iconic Japanese backgrounds: a serene temple surrounded by deer and cherry blossom trees, a ryokan inn heated by the steam of a nearby hot spring.
The quality of my work day lunch depends on where I'm teaching. On Thursdays, I work near a seemingly endless shopping arcade and the choices are rich. I favor a steaming bowl of ika tempura udon soup, spiked with lots of spicy red pepper and black sesame seeds. For my mid-evening snack, I stroll past
It's been over a week since I updated. This wouldn't be unusual or upsetting except that I vowed to myself that I'd update more frequently due to my rapidly diminishing time in Japan. You know, lock in all those sensory details, brand names, annoying conversations, and daily humiliations before they start to fade. The doors
It's a chicken katsu bento, complete with black sesame-flecked rice, raw cabbage, pickled radish, pickled cucumbers (hidden behind the luscious, plum sauce slathered chicken katsu), a hunk of steamed egg, some spaghetti and a fresh slice of satsuma. Note, the beer is not mine; its empty shell is another leftover "present" from Sean.