Grace in your face! Shhh. Incognito.

So I guess I'll start this post with a bit of an apology.

I'm sorry I haven't written more about more. Perhaps it is a good thing though, to do less. To talk less, to take less, to eat and drink less. I have been doing exactly that- less. Partially out of choice, partially by necessity and a little bit by the sheer neglegence of any notion that I have any responsibility whatsoever right now.

The truth is that there are a number of factors determining the notable worth of my experiences. Whether or not they (my experiences) are worth anything to me is up to me, whether or not they are worth something to anyone else is also up to me. Whether or not I have experiences worth sharing at all... well thats kind of up to me.

You see. I'm kind of being held captive. Its sort of like house arrest. I shall explain.

Emily is somewhat of an indentured servant, if you will, for a young married couple here in Kamakurakokomae. In return for Em's gardening services she recieves tenance in a small appartment on the third floor of their house. Im not sure that there is any set agreement on how much she actually does in terms of gardening... but she does what they ask when she can make the time and in return they allow her to stay.

It seems as though she has done quite a lot of work for them. The flower beds are clean, the gutters and the deck and stairways are newly pressurewashed. The hillside has been cleared of brush, trees trimmed and earth removed from concrete drainage ditches on the steep mountain side in preparation for a walkway to be built.

She had mentioned to the owners that she would be having visitors at various times to which they humbly agreed that she not worry about it. She may have forgotten to mention that her friend (me) might be staying with her for oh...say.... a month and a half. To which they might have frowned upon, maybe not... but she doesn't want to find out. This leaves me in the position of both a prisoner and a stowaway freeloader (which isn't nearly as presigious as say- a hobo), and it puts her in the position of harboring said stowaway squatter. The landlords are essentially... La Migra of Koshigoe.

I'm ok with this situation for a few reasons. Firstly, I have helped out in numerous seen and unseen ways. Im like a gardening ninja. Secondly, I paid rent to someone about 8 months ago, for the purpose of staying with her wherever she might be, assuming that it would be passed on to whomever it was that owned wherever we were staying. Thirdly... well because of that last one I can't really afford to be anywhere else until we get to India.

Naturally, Em is a busy woman. It should go without saying that vacating a country in which you've lived for almost 3 years, without the intention of returning, leaves quite alot of loose ends to be tied up. But I said it anyway. She's out taking care of business and solving problems and tying ends- no problem. I don't need to be entertained. I don't even need a tour guide. I'm perfectly capable of getting around here by myself, which I proved the other day as I shall explain later, when I have pictures to share (another long story).

The thing is... unless I leave super early in the morning, stay out all day and come back late at night- I have to be here unseen and unheard for the duration of the day and into the night. It is pretty damn easy to kill a whole day in Japan without even looking at the time... but doing that also tends to kill most of the money in the wallet, and the last three days have been cold and raining... not too good for taking photographs or sitting on the beach with a book. Therefore I have been Incognito- The Ninja Tenant for several days.

Remaining completely incognito in somonelses house leads to adventures reminiscient of our high school days when we would wait for the parental units to turn in, do a sound check, do a light check, then go out to the cars to smuggle in the booze! After the long and blurry night of imbibing whatever we could get our underage hands on- it was then time to smuggle the contraband back out to the cars. (Note* If you've ever tried to carry a box full of empty glass bottles silently up a slippery, rain-soaked hill, while being well over the legal blood/alcohol limit for a rhinoceros... you might recall that it makes about as little noise as said rhinoceros with sponges attached to his feet and wearing jingle bells tip-toeing across a wet church floor covered in marbles while the congregation has bowed their heads in a moment of silence for the unlucky child victims of a terrorist attack at the local Chuck E. Cheese.)
Ya. Like that.

So even peeing in this joint can be an exercise in precise movement. Its like the Matrix meets Minesweeper meets Tai Chi class meets The Last of the Mohicans. I must move about so that the floor doesn't squeak, so that there is no vibration from my feet, so that each step is unheard and unfelt like I were a native warrior stalking the enemy for his scalp and a feather for the coup. I am the Incognito Ninja, the toilet is my enemy. Well not the toilet, but the squeaks and creaks on the way to the toilet. The pitter patter of liquid on liquid as I relieve my discomfort. Its an exercise in fluidity and finesse, like a slow and intensely choreographed dance through the appartment (with no music of course). Even the microwave and the gas powered stove are out of the question. This leaves just me and the rice cooker.

I can hear them moving about below me, talking, humming, working outside. I can hear them crunching on chips and opening beers. Can they hear me? Probably. But I'm having fun being the Incognito Ninja Sloth, unseen and unheard by the evil landlord people of the planet Koshigoe as I operate in complete stealth. Its like being Anne Frank, only Im not being threatened by Nazis or guns or a gas chamber. Ok maybe that was too far. Sorry.

So all I get to do in these long hours is play Ninja while I try to eat and drink and pee. Its pretty easy if I just surround myself with books and my drawing stuff and post cards and such. The computer is nice and distracting, and mostly quiet.

This comes to the other reason I haven't written much. I really want to get some pictures up that I can write about, but I'm having computer issues. Stupid technology. Its just that, the Mac wont seem to read my card reader... mostly because I dont know how to make it do so, and its super old, so Im not so sure it wont eat the thing anyway and destroy the 400 pictures Ive taken in the last couple of weeks. My laptop (queue in the sound from Law & Order "tchum tchum!"), is experiencing the fatigue asociated with being a relic. Unfortunately, I, Dumbass- The Incognito Idiot relied on someone elses claim that they had a universal prong adaptor... My laptop "TCHUM TCHUM!" has the battery life of a single- dollar store "AAA size Premium Extended Life" whilst my laptop "!TCHUM TCHUM!" has requires about as much power as it takes to light up Tokyu. (Note* Not to be mistaken for Tokyo, the city. Tokyu is a department store in Kamakura. 1st floor- Premade food, deli, confectionery, miscellaneous vendors selling miscellaneous items of consumption. 2nd floor- "Fresh" grocery items, fish and meats, breads and grains and tofus and rice and noodles, produce (some of which are extraordinarily large and phallic), beer and liquor and sake... and candy and gum. 3rd floor- clothing for men and women. 4th floor- cosmetics, sunglasses and designer clothing for women and a restraunt and bar. 5th floor- Housewares. 6th floor- more housewares and miscellaneous hardware and outdoor (hoses and work gloves and things). 7th floor- Brothel. Ok Im kidding about the brothel... at this store. Point is, I can't use my computer until I can plug it in. And I can't plug it in until I get an adaptor. And I can't get an adaptor until I can leave the house, which is not today.

So there it is.

I'll tell you about my awesome sushi experiences and my trip to see the Big Buddha at Daibutsu as soon as I have some pictures to back up the stories. Until then, I have to pee. Whish me luck. Thats right, like swhish, and phish. Shut up.

Peace and Love,

Chris



P.S.
If you want a post card from somewheres, kick me an email with your address and I'll try to get you one... if you ask real nice and show me them purrty teeth. Word.