Ne? Ne.

When I am in danger of dissolving into apathy about the wonders of this town, I look around and try to remember that I am in Tokyo, a place that--until I moved here--I wasn't quite sure existed.

This morning Tokyo reminded me of the fact that every day, I see hundreds if not thousands of men for whom 1952 never stopped happening. They are in suits and ties and shined shoes and they are conservative as hell--though you couldn't tell it from how the train smells at ten p.m. The whole place smells like you soaked each and every salaryman in shochu or sake or whiskey and beer. On the way home the other night, at Asakusa station, a woman led her male companion over to a bench, where he hurled a night's worth of drinking onto the platform. They call them "platform pizzas." Honto, come weekend nights, some parts of Tokyo move effortlessly from train station to vomitorium. Every book will tell you that the Japanese love to drink--but perhaps only a trip to Japan will convince you that very few of them seem able to hold more than a half a beer.

This morning, Tokyo reminded me that there is a place in this world where, every day, you can see women in kimono and geta on the subways.

On the train home from work, I sat next to a young man whose t-shirt read: End Product. On the way home, I sat next to another young man whose t-shirt read, "At The Edge Of The Looking Glass."

A man in jeans and tennis shoes sat next to me on the train from Asakusa and pulled out a sheaf of papers to study. The papers had pictures of bones on them. The bones were labeled in Japanese and English, some names highlighted to draw the eye. But it was the bones, not the labels, that drew my attention. The pictures were stunning, and I was brought, by the combination of exhaustion and the simple beauty of bones, to tears.

I'm getting used to this place though, ne? I'm getting used to the fact that the burger joint downstairs serves octopus. I'm getting used to the fact that I fill out expense reports that elicit information in kanji. I'm getting used to the fact that this country has yet to embrace the concept of a giant fountain drink. I'm getting used, too, to twelve hour workdays and speaking English. Like. This. I'm getting used to being an intelligent, near mute, nearly illiterate woman in a country with the highest literacy rate in the world. Oh--and for the most part, men still rule here.

This morning in Shop QQ, a man cornered me and, in English, told me he didn't speak English. Then he told me, in English, that he loved John Denver and Clint Eastwood's Dirty Harry movies. Those movies are unexpectedly popular in a place where little crime happens (to the average person).

One thing I have realized from April and Aaron's visit though, is that, if you come (and please do come), please come with an agenda and a desire to see Tokyo and the surrounding areas. Please don't come with your motivating desire being to see me. Because, first of all, I'm not nearly as exciting as any given part of Tokyo. And second, this is what you'll see: Brenda wakes up. Brenda goes to work. Brenda comes home from work. Brenda goes to the gym. Brenda comes home from the gym. Brenda goes to bed. Brenda wakes up. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. That's five days a week, folks.

It's only been three months, and I am still acclimating to this new life of mine. The parts fit together, I'm sure, but it's like Tetris a bit. I'm still working out where socializing goes. I mean, I do manage to sneak in some eating (mostly at night) and day trips (on the weekend). But the rest of it? Is on the to-do list.

Which you should have with you when you come.

Because I love you all, and want you to see this place, ne?