The person who gave me this guitar/said Tokyo's scary.

Well, everyone, I made it to Tokyo safely. And, oh boy, what a trip! I woke up at 4:15 am Wednesday Portland time and have not yet gone to sleep at 8:15 pm Thursday night Tokyo time. No matter how you count it, I've been up for twenty-4 hours. Such a terrible caricature of adventure. But, I got through the flight from Portland to LAX without much trouble. The people next to me were content with talking to themselves, but not with me reading her journal over her shoulder. I was really interested in her sister-in-law's drinking problem, but I never figured out whether it turned out a happy story or a sad one. Thanks a lot, lady, for making me sad and worried.

Then I waited in LAX for the flight to leave. Talked to some people on the phone (you know who you are) and kept looking over my shoulder for the other intern, the one from the U of U. They paged him twice. He didn't show. I was concerned. Would I have to arrive in Tokyo and tell Ryan, the internship coordinator, that I'd come without the other guy? That I'd just left him crying in LA? I really didn't want to, but then they started boarding and I forgot all about it cause I got an aisle seat. Perfect for le toilette trips. And luckily the guy next to me didn't even get up once to go to the bathroom. Also, the other intern finally showed up mumbling something about a delayed flight and taking his seat next to me. He slept like a child. I couldn't. I never seem to be able to sleep well in Airplanes. That's okay, though. I've just been really tired ever since. On the plane I watched The Green Hornet, Apollo 13, and I Am Number Four. And I listened to Seven Swans over and over again. I was really tired, but the closest I got to sleep was a light doze for ten minutes two hours before we landed. Finally, though, we did land.

Turns out Dwight's (the other intern) bags were torn apart. One from another, not one from itself. One made it on the flight, the other didn't. I guess he wasn't lying about the flight being delayed. So, he's having the other bag delivered to the hotel, so it should come anytime in the next 3 and heff hours. As I was getting in line to go through customs, someone said something to me behind me. I was about to get real mad. I mean, I had been soooo good not getting talked to and plagued with idle chit-chat during this transportation-a-thon and now I was soooo close to my goal and it was being ripped callously from my trembling* hands. When I turned it looked just like any other asian person on the flight. But then she said something, like, "Hey, Scott, fancy meeting you here." I, on the other hand, could not say the same; she was asian and it was Japan. I mean, she was cute, but not enough to be independently fancy. Then I looked at her eyes and I remembered where I'd met her before. She was in my internship class this last semester. And here we were: at the beginnings of our internships. It felt like a class reunion. So, I said hey. Then continued through customs.

When I got out, I looked around for Ryan, he was supposed to be standing just outside customs. He wasn't. So, I went crazy and exchanged my money. Then, he showed up while I was getting the cash. He asked about Dwight. I said Dwight was getting his luggage worked out. Then we sat around and waited for Dwight. Then Emi (the girl from my class) came out and we talked. Then she left. Then she came back again and we talked some more. I was glad for the attention from an attractive asian girl. It will give the rest an example of how to act around me. Interested.

Then Dwight finally came out, but Ryan had gone on a smoke-break and we couldn't find him. Then we found him. Then we left and boarded a train. Ahhhhh. I am do love trains sooo much. Japan is such a nice place. We were on the train for about an hour and then we got to our station and got off and Ryan walked us to our hotel. We said goodbye to him and he said, see you tomorrow at eleven. And we were happy because eleven is later than 9. Sleep in time to the max. Then we went upstairs to view our rooms and put our stuff away. This is what it looks like:

Then I got on the internet and checked my fbook and gmail. I was so enthralled by these things that when Dwight and I went out on the town, I was utterly surprised and dumbfounded to find two Japanese business men in the elevator when it opened. I froze up. I didn't know what to say. All I had to say was "Going down?" but that seemed like too much for me. It took me the whole elevator ride to remember the word for "down."

But, so then we went out on the town. Walked up to Akihabara to the HUGE electronics store there. I got a memory card because I forgot to bring one with me and I want to take pictures. And put them up on here. Hopefully they work. Then we came home after eating at Yoshinoya (Gyudon sooo good). Now I lounge here in my complimentary yukata, writing this post. I'm really tired. I'll prolly sleep past our 11 o'clock meeting time. He said the Irish girls will be in tomorrow. that'll be fun. Ireland and all. Well, I'ma sleep and write more later.

*(With Disbelief)

There are three things all wise men fear:

the sea in storm, a night with no moon,

and the anger of a gentle man.

I, though, am no wise man and the list of my fears might be a mite longer. I am somewhat afraid of my impending re-introduction to Japanese culture and language. Tomorrow morning I shall enter an aeroplane and they will fling me over the sea. I will journey from Wednesday at noon to Thursday evening in the course of 11 hours. The sun will never cease to hang above me as I pass this day and a half. A day, a night, and a day. As if it were one day. A terrible burning re-birth will be my journey to Japan. I'll be lucky to make it out alive, much less in complete control and with the full capability of my Japanese knowledge.

Hannah Brambough told me to pack light. I intend to do just that. Well, I intended to and have done just that. I would have normally just put as many of my accumulated objects as I could fit into two bags, a carry-on, and a personal item, but she told me that when she went to China for two months, she only took one bag. I'm suspecting that's in addition to her personal item. I decided to challenge myself, then, with three bags. Can I survive with just one large bag, a small suitcase, and my Dakine ISP backpack? That's Hannah Brambough's Three Bag Challenge (HBTBC). I've decided that Hannah should marry someone with the last name of Prince, or something else that starts with a P. Prince is preferable, of course, but any p will do. Hannah, I will expect nothing less. Also, keep your maiden name as your middle. It's classy.

So, I'm leaving for Japan tomorrow morning to teach English for three months in Hiroshima. I will return on July 31st. That's a Sunday. But, that's far far in the future and I have greater desires than those tonight. I shall not focus on my return, but the looming departure, instead, and the immediate effects thereafter. I will arrive in Tokyo on Thursday afternoon/evening. My flight is to get in at 3:30 pm, which will be midnight-ish for the West Coast. Then I leave for Hiroshima Sunday morning. I have a training from 9:30 am to 1:30 pm on Friday and, as far as I know, the rest of the weekend is free. So, I find myself faced with a day and a half of nothing but pure Tokyo Madness. I wonder what I will fill this time, with. Obviously, I'll ask the hotel people what fun things there are close and I am toying with the idea of going up to Nikko and pay respects to Mr. Tokugawa himself, but I have no set plan. I feel like Tokyo is a really modern city, so my desires for ancient history are hardly satiated through those attractions, but if this is the only time I'm in Tokyo for the next couple years I should take advantage of it. This will be my first time in Tokyo, after all. I need to do all the fun Tokyo things. Like... drifting? That's really all I can think of right now.

My New Twin-Sized Bed

I almost feel bad for what I'm about to do. I've been recently looking for a journal to keep all my thoughts in so that my posterity may learn something about who I was and what I felt during this time in my life and in history. I went to the BYU Bookstore and looked for a journal once. I found them and picked one or two that I liked, but had no money, so I said "I'll wait til the next payday." Sorry, kids, you won't get any of my memories until the heat comes through. Then, when I went back after I got paid, they had moved everything around and the section in the Bookstore labeled "Journals" had turned into the "Gerald Lund" section. I thought of buying one of the Work and the Glory books and just writing "Journal" on it and calling it good, but decided to come back another time. I've been back a few times. Still just works and glories. So, I will have to get some of my emotions out into an electronic text box. It feels dirty, somehow, though.

I just wrote a really long detailed entry, but I suppose the main point I was getting at would be better represented in a line from my good friend Ben Gibbard:

I fall in love everyday

And I feel like a fool

That's the gist of this post. I'll save you all from experiencing the icky vicky details I had expounded upon in the words I erased. And I am far too embarrassed to say anything more.

Wouldn't Mama be Proud.

Megan,

So, the MTC tonight. Have you ever had anything go as like you daydreamed in your head? I have. Tonight. Ha! Let me even tell you.

So, I knew that there was going to be another volunteer tonight, so I figured it wouldn't be like last night where we had an hour and a half to talk just about Japanese. Right before I left and all the way until I got to the room that we were meeting in, I was really worried that I wasn't supposed to go tonight. Like I was concerned I was being pretentious, I mean, there was already someone coming tonight, why did I need to come? Was it for the couples or for myself? To get some sort of satisfaction out of teaching, some validation at something I felt went well the night before. So, I was nervous going in because I didn't want the couples and the cute tutor to think that I was there just to get my power trip fix. But, I went all the same. I dressed in church clothes because they'd invited me to the senior testimony meeting after the lesson. That was another point of concern. I didn't want them to think I was being pretentious in that I thought myself a teacher because yesterday went well.

So, I had all those thoughts going through my head as I arrived at the MTC. When I got to the TRC office/room and the person there told me what we were doing he said that I would be working with one of the Elders on his testimony and he gave me a sheet of vocab that we could go over. I was sad because I would only get to talk to one of them. Elder Rogers IS great, but I wanted to see them all! But when I got to the room they asked me to go to, I saw that everyone was there! I was real happy. And as I walked in Sister Rogers said "Well, now you're dressed like a man." So, my concerns about my clothes and the message they send were gone. We sang "I am a Child of God" in Japanese and I didn't have anything to look at, so I sang from memory, but I forgot some words. The first part of the night we just talked about in-field language learning plans. I still had some of those weird feelings inside running around, so I was pretty quiet. Then the second volunteer came about fifteen minutes after I got there. We finished the discussion and then started working on the testimonies. I was with the Rogers' and we went over a simple testimony. They did great seeing as how they just got to the MTC on Wednesday and had only had two days of Japanese. Sister Rogers was really working on her pronunciation and she did great. We took a little longer on that than we should have and ended a couple minutes late, around 7:05. The testimony meeting started at 7. The other volunteer left and said "Thanks" and I was saying goodbye to the Christenson's when I remembered that I had left the sheet of paper with the vocab to practice in the room. The man told me to give it back when I was done, so I went back into the room, but I couldn't find it. No one was specifically inviting me to the testimony meeting, so I was real close to just slipping away. I crossed the hall to go to the office and Sister Eckstrom, the tutor, saw me and asked "Scott, are you coming to the Testimony meeting?" "Can I?" I asked. "If you'd like to." She said. "It's easier to ask permission later!" So, completely forgetting about the vocab sheet, I followed them to the main building for the testimony meeting.

I felt really weird at the testimony meeting because I was the only one that wasn't a missionary or a MTC teacher. I was an anomaly. I again had those feelings of nervousness. A lot of missionaries got up and bore testimony in a lot of European languages. There was another Japanese missionary couple. They had an actual Japanese person as their tutor, unlike the Rogers' and Christenson's who had Sister Eckstrom, a Dutch speaker. I guessed it was the Norie they had talked about yesterday. Both of the Christenson's got up and bore their testimonies. They probably made a goal to do so because they're leaving Monday morning. Sister Rogers also bore her testimony. She did great. I was real proud of her. Then there was time and no one was getting up, so the guy asked for the tutors to get up. Most did. I wasn't a tutor, so I didn't. Then we had a closing prayer.

I said goodbye to the Christenson's and talked a little about Japan with them. I was stalling so that I could talk to Sister Eckstrom. I wanted to ask her how to become a Tutor. But, again the nervousness. I hoped that someone else would bring it up. Sister Rogers did just that. "Scott," she said, "I guess you won't be with us anymore. Thanks for all your help. You're a wonderful teacher. Why don't you become a teacher? You should work here!" and I was all like "nah, I'm not that good. Thanks. No, really. Oh you're too kind." but Sister Eckstrom was all like "Scott, would you like to work here?" but just then Sister Christenson tapped me on the shoulder to say goodbye one more time. After that, everyone left, but I caught Sister Eckstrom as she was picking up her bag to leave. "So, Sister Eckstrom," I said, "I have a question. How..." I started and she said "Do you become a tutor?" finishing my sentence. "Yeah," I smiled, "I have had the most amazing time here these last two nights and I'd like to do this if I could." "Yeah, well, I think you'd be great. I was going to tell my supervisor about you. You've been great. Let's talk to this one guy." So we talked to this one guy and he said I just needed to fill out the app online and then go in for the demo lesson and they'd call for a language proficiency check and then an interview. But I was concerned because I'll probably be in Japan in the summer, so should I apply now or wait until I get back from Japan? And he said that they could use me these next two months before school gets out. So I said I'd go home and fill out the app. Then Sister Eckstrom and the guy said great, we'll tell our boss about you, the Training Supervisor. I guess she's in charge of hiring.

So, I went home and told David all of this and he said, "Are you serious?!" because we had basically fantasized about this situation last night when I got home. "Dude, that's how you get hired at the MTC." He also said. He said he'd help me prepare my demo lesson. I think I'll go in on Tuesday and do it because I have class and then I'm doing my taxes at the Tanner on Monday, but Tuesday I have free. I'm really excited. If I really prepare and work hard to make it a good lesson, I think I have a shot at working at the MTC! Momma will be so proud.

And that's my story about how my daydreams became a reality tonight. Then I came home and watched Seven Years in Tibet with David, Jordan, and David's China girl. That wasn't really part of the fantasizing, but it's acceptable. Hope you slept well, it's 3:32 am, so I'm going to sleep now. Bye!

Scott

Some good Old fashioned Fanfic

The tap-tap-tap of a typewriter. The cool summer breeze dancing along the linen drapes. The sour smell of the correction fluid. Kate looks up from the paper and surveys her small homey office. A small room filled with too many books and too few personal affects. Her children hated it here. The many hours they had to sit and wait for mommy to finish bathing a student's dissertation in red. That's probably the reason they never visited anymore. They were all gone now. Off to school or careers, married or drafted. Kate takes a bite of her scone. She's an avid baker. And jam maker. A jack-of-all-trades, but the students just call her: Turabian.

She stands, presently, pulling back the drapes and looking out onto the quad from her third story window. He's late, she thinks, But that's no surprise. She stays standing, looking outside at the trees on the lawn, swaying gently in the breeze and she remembers past summers. Summers that she would never return to. Summers she doesn't want to return to. Just like this city, she thinks, looking past the campus to the high-rises downtown. This city is what it is, not what it was. Like me. The past is known, but the present is a vast, polymorphic branching road of possibilities. I am not defined by the past, but by the decisions I make in the present. Those show who I really am.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Turabian?" comes a voice from the door, breaking her reverie. Turning, Kate sees a young man, dressed in his school browns and holding a book bag in on hand and the stitch in his side with the other.

"Ah, yes. Mr. Marshall, is it?" She asks, though there can be no doubt. She's seen him pass by many times and sometimes from the corner of her eye she sees him standing outside the partially closed door as if to knock and enter, but never bringing himself to stretch out his hand and accept the terrible eventuality that awaits him in this office.

"Yes, John Marshall, ma'am. I'm here about my dissertation."

"Of course. Sit down, Mr. Marshall. I happen to just have finished my revision." John sits. Gulps. Holds his hands in his lap. Kate moves to her desk and picks up the paper she had been working on. Glances it over. Hands it to Mr. Marshall. Hands shaking, John takes it from Mrs. Turabian. He begins to read the red. "It's a good paper, Mr. Marshall, there's no doubt about that, but your conventions are plain atrocious."

"Yes, ma'am." Quietly. Very quietly.

"You seem not to have received even the most basic lessons in punctuation and grammar. Your research and conclusions are revolutionary, I'm sure, but until you master the basics of writing, you will never be taken seriously."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now, Mr. Marshall, I have been working on a small pamphlet for people who need help with writing dissertations. It's called A Manual for Writers and I'd like you to have the first one."

"Yes, ma'am." Barely a whisper.

Good Heavens, he's scared out of his wits.

"I'm confident that if you revise your paper according to my notes and this pamphlet that this dissertation will live up to all those grand ideas that you have in your head."

"Yes, ma'am." A little stronger.

"Thank you, Mr. Marshall, you may go now."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." And with that, John stands up and hurries from the room, clutching his dissertation and A Manual for Writers.

That boy needs more help than I can give him, Kate thinks, turning back to her desk and picking up the top pamphlet in the stack of A Manual for Writers's first printing. But hopefully this can make up the difference. She turns again to the window just in time to see the small figure of Mr. Marshall round the bend around the library opposite and disappear. Clutching the pamphlet, she thinks, The present is a myriad of possibilities. Where will my choices take me? Where will this city take me? She loses herself in thought.

Later, She enjoys pizza Chicago Style!

Three Paragraph Essay

Oh my, the words. So many eking out of this place. I'm writing on my laptop that broke the krades. At the end of last school year, my parents came for conference (see below about chinese food). that entry was the last thing I every did on my old computer. It was the last time I ever saw my old back-pack, too. I went to conference the next day with the rents, and when I got back, those objects had been stolen away from me. Someone had walked into my house and stolen my laptop from my desktop. I was quite put off. So I got a netbook for the future use of interwebs and media consumption and possible NaNoWriMo obtainment. (Which are now coming to pass). Also, I went to Wal-Mart at the beginning of the school year for to find an new backpack. Wen I went I found ten dollar packs. I thought it a grand sign of good-will from the universe and left it at that. The face of it was a scene from mario kart. I played that a number of times this last summer and thus thought that I would flaunt the fact that I always got first in our races by having a backpack as a billboard. Recently, the face had been ripping a little and I thought it was cute. The top had almost completely torn from left to right and there was a little tare around the middle going down (But no wheat). Well, given that description, it will make the future telling of what happened more understandable. It snowed recently. I was happy because I finally got to wear all the cold clothing I love to do. When I did, at four thirty in the morning and I ran across the street to get to the other side because a really slow semi-truck was crossing University and I was scared of getting run over by it, even though it was like that one scene in Austin Powers. I don't really feel like Austin is a good British name. My bag ripped when I ran across the street in my large boots. Right down the middle. It was like all those alterpieces I learned about in Humanities 202. My backpack, that is. It now had two doors. Here is the church, here is the steeple, open the doors and all my stuff falls on the asphalt. Thanks a lot, Catholicism. So, my stuff all fell on the road and the semi-truck was barreling toward me at a good 10 miles per hour. I was panicked. I ran and picked everything up and had to go back for seconds because of the sheer amount of things that I had spread like tares upon the ground. I threw my backpack away in the nearest garbage can and just bear-hugged my books all the way to work and then bought a thirty dollar backpack at the BYU bookstore. It's mostly black, but there's some red mixed in. I opened my netbook, though and found that the screen was going crazy with cracks. So, as I write, there are a lot of places on the screen I can't see and have to hope that I spelled everything right. (<-- intro paragraph)

Now that the scene is set, time to tell my story. Today's story = Swan-san. She thinks she's all that. Swan-san is this girl in my Japanese 311R (Conversation class). She was the only girl in the class for a couple weeks because the other lady had some operation and is married. She's from somewhere in WA, so I was automatically attracted to her. She seemed kinda plain to me and her jeans and shoes would agree, but I like her haircut. Then I found out that at eight o'clock she hangs out in the film check-out room in the HFAC, which is where I work and am from 5:00 to 8:30 a.m. in the mornings. So, I started saying hi to her and sometimes asking her questions and I thought that I was making some leeway. I made her laugh a couple times when we talked and she would laugh at some of the things I said in class, so I figured she wanted me hard. A logical thing to assume, but this time these assumptions lived up to their name. Dillon was all over me once about how I need to date more and better and I was all like, fine! Maybe I will! So, I asked Swan-san to go with me to the chemistry magic show. She turned me down. She said she had to go find some boxes for some film she was working on. And she was all like "Well, maybe some other time." and I was all like "Nah, I don't like to go on dates with girls that love cardboard more than magic." Burn. Then I stormed out of the room, leaving her to think about what she just turned down. Who does she even think she is? Words untold. (<--- Body Paragraph)

I'm not a large fan of Las Vegas, I decided. So, when I'm 25, unmarried to Swan-san and wondering what to do with my life and where, I will not list Las Vegas as one of the places to do what I want. If there was a ballot that I could cast to never live in Las Vegas and the world would recognize my decision and say, "Pretty smart guy we got here." then I would, because I love recognition, so validating. Plus, it makes me miss my sunday school class I'ma supposed to teach. Although I did get a jewess to fill in for my discussion of Isaiah, I still really would've liked to be there. With the jewess. Talking about everything that Las Vegas hates, like we're kids in the middle school library trying to tick off all the other babies. Because middle-schoolers hate babies, and carrots. I only ate bagels in MIddle school and capri-suns. I wonder if they could sue me for using their trademark on my published site. I wonder a lot of things. I wish I could still eat through my belly-button. Man, those were the days. (<-- Conclusion paragraph)

Rococo

There are babies in the library. I'm also there. I haven't been in teh library for a long time, but I came because I wanted somewhere that had cushy chairs to sit in while I read Animorphs. Thank you, Dillon Fallon. You always teach me the greatest entertainment media. Unlike Upton Sinclair. I doubt Upton and I will ever see eye to eye.

I'm in the sampler section reading Animorphs on my computer, which I am now using to write this. Reading and writing: it's all I ever do anymore. Kind of. I don't really write all that much which is why I am now writing. Ellen Switzer said she read my blog, I guess to catch up on my life this past year or so, and I remembered about this and decided to write some words. I don't really have anything to say. I just saw Martin Wall for the second time in a month. The other time was just last friday night. Now you know how much we hang out. I wonder if my tick-tacking away at my keyboard is annoying the rest of the people in the sampler section. When I sat down here, there was a space of three empty chairs in a row, so I sat in the middle one to put a chair's length between me and the people on either side. Then, a couple minutes later, a girl from my Intro to Islam class last winter semester came and sat down next to me. She didn't pull anything out or start reading a book for about five minutes. I wondered what she was doing. I was going to talk to her, but then I didn't say anything in the first minute, so it'd've been weird to say something that long after she'd sat down and I'd realized who she was.

Do all seeing eye dog trainers wear tie-dye?

Finally, she pulled something out and started to read. She seemed pretty casual in her reading. Not too focused. I couldn't blame her. I was spending most of my energy on watching her subtly instead of finding out what was happening with Tobias, Rachel, and the gang. After about ten minutes of reading, she just stood up and walked away, never looking back, I know, I watched her until she went out of sight. She was Katherine. Maybe. I think that was her name. She has/had a neckless with her name written in arabic on it. Like a good luck charm. Maybe they called her Katie for short. I don't remember too much from last year. Only some things. Like the cranberry juice I bought for Jenni Boyle when I missed Dillon's golden birthday. I know exactly where it is on the shelf. If you want the same stuff I'll get it for you too.

Then I got really tired and tried to sleep for a couple of minutes. Maybe just one. Or a couple of seconds, but I decided to write on my blog first. There are a lot of books in this sampler section I wanted to read. I doubt I will, though. I doubt I'll write any, too. I wonder if my mood is affected by the music I listen to, or if I gravitate toward music that fits my mood. I wish I could step foot on the moon.