But first, my excellent day!
This morning I got coffee with a gentleman from Thousand Oaks named Ben. He went to Berklee College of Music and has been living out here for ten years as a drummer. He just completed a contract at the Park Hyatt Hotel Bar (from Lost in Translation) and had some interesting observations about music, specifically Jazz, in Tokyo. We spent and hour or so getting to know each other, talking about Boston (a subject I love), our observations about Japan and other things you'd expect to expat musicians to discuss. He said he'd let me know the next time he was having a great jam session. As always, it's fun getting to know people on the other side of the world who shared a similar experience as myself in Boston.
From there I killed some time in Shibuya before my Gaba interview and resisted the urge to purchase a beautiful burgundy suit. I will eventually create a post about fashion in Tokyo, but my bank account should be thankful that I have such long arms. If 3/4 length sleeves were the hot look, I'd be taking this city by storm.
My final Gaba interview was with someone with an important sounding title, but I
do not recall what it was. He asked me a lot of the same questions from my previous two interviews and really hammered away that it was important that I was dedicated to a one year commitment. I hadn't thought about it until he pointed it out, but having split time between LA and Oregon, and then Boston as well, prevented me from every holding employment for any more than a few months. A blessing in that I've been able to have so many great experiences, but a curse when trying to convince an employer that you'll be around for an entire year. I think I was able to convey that it's important for me to stick with this for a year.
The interview went very well. Should know a week from Monday.
Post dinner Catherine invited me to come hang and make dinner at her boss' house, which she was watching while the owners were away. She said I had to see. Somewhere between the jacuzzi tub, in-house sauna, and zen garden, it became clear why. The views of Tokyo Tower didn't hurt anything. But by far the most amazing aspect of the house was that the woman who lived there was a descendant of John Winthrop, second governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony and famous author of the "City on a Hill" philosophy. I was cooking in the kitchen that belonged to a Winthrop. In Japan.
|Do you think John ever had tofu?|
It is fitting then that I received my ballot today and voted. Goal 53. I was unable to apply for my absentee ballot, but since Oregon has a mail-in ballot, a quick FedEx from Deena ensured that I got to vote.
|Priority mail indeed|
|I got great joy voting in the home of Winthropp|
|And from having a Japanese return address|
So how then could I have hit a low point in my life? I had made a new friend, nailed a job interview, spent time cooking a yummy meal with good friends, and had carried out my right to vote in the home of a great American hero.
Well it all started when I decided to check the 24 grocery store upon returning to Tsunashima. I was in the mood for something sweet and discovered that the Japanese people's love for pumpkin had extended into ice cream. A winning combination if ever there was one. I purchased a single serving container:
I opened the lid only to discover there was no spoon. Usually these single serving containers come with some sort of stick-scoop, but I was not in luck. "Not a problem", I thought, "Kelly's apartment is 10 minutes away. I can wait."
But I couldn't.
I decided I could bite the top of the ice cream and scrape some in my mouth. And while this worked fine for a few bites, I soon reached the point where I could not use my teeth. "Well it's a flexible cardboard container, I can make a push-pop out of it!"
But I couldn't.
What I was able to do though was squirt pumpkin ice cream all over my hands, blazer, and jeans. But I kept going. I sucked up the ice cream from my hand and then decided to just dig in. Earlier at dinner we had discussed how much we loved using our fingers to eat food, but ice cream is not a treat intended to be finger fed. But I did. I scooped ice cream into my mouth.
You can imagine the sight of someone walking through the night, ice cream dripping down their threads, as they scoop what remaining cream they can into their mouth.
It was not a pretty sight, but it tasted so good.