The Land of Ugly Sweaters and the Japanese Leisure Suit Larry

I discovered that there is an entire shopping neighborhood in Harajuku that is best described as the Land of Ugly Sweaters.

There are lots of boutiques and trendy clothing stores, but there are also used clothing stores and 700 yen stores, which might be my new favorite things. The largest used clothing store is called Chicago, and I tagged it in my phone as "Ugly Sweaters R Us." It's like everybody's grandmother's knitting supplies were picked out by a drunk hobo. Not many things were gasp-out-loud hideous, but nearly every sweater was just ugly enough that there was a cumulative effect. But it wasn't just sweaters. They also had a respectable selection of other clothes and coats spanning the entire aesthetic spectrum from "that's super cute and I wish they had it in my size" to "sweet mother of fraggles, why would anybody need an electric purple fur vest?"

For the record, if that purple fur vest had been just a smidge bigger (chafed armpits = too small) Husband would have insisted we get it and that I wear it out in public. Bullet dodged!

Overall, the prices were fairly reasonable, too. I tried on a couple trench coats in really good condition that were a little too big to fit properly, but would have only cost about $25.

One of the 700 yen stores we visited had a brontosaurus neck and head wearing a vintage army helmet over the entryway inside the store. I took that as a good sign. They had a smaller selection of ugly sweaters and used clothing, but everything was 700 yen (with the conversion, about $8.50 USD). We came away from that store with two suitably ugly sweaters and an awesome scarf.

We'd been halfway looking for ugly sweaters ever since we were invited to an ugly sweater party circa 2008 and couldn't find a single one in any department or thrift store. As of yesterday, crisis averted! Now we are prepared if we are ever invited to an ugly sweater party again. I debated between the too-large sweater with polar bears and snow-covered pine trees or the slightly snug brown sweater with reindeer and fur-trimmed hood (fake fur, animal-lover friends, don't worry). I opted for the reindeer.

I should get extra points for color coordination with the cat.

I'm not crazy about the hood, though. The fur seems to be attracted to my eyeballs like a magnet.

Husband's sweater, the color of canned peas, has the added benefit of being too loose in every dimension and making him look like a serial killer. Especially when he wears his Army-issue square plastic glasses. Seriously. It's chopped-up-women-in-the-freezer creepy.

Also worth noting: this sweater actually clashes with jeans. You wouldn't think so, but someone else made the observation when he first put it on and I agreed.

My new kickass scarf: seven feet long and purple (murasaki!) stripes.


In a small men's clothing boutique, we found what might be the most awesome shoes in the world.
You know you want a pair.


In a train station we passed by a doughnut table. Buying a doughnut is unremarkable, but they're just so prettily packaged! It makes the experience just a little bit more special, y'know?

The US needs more illuminated tractor trailers with cartoon fish. How can you have road rage if you see a happy cartoon fish driving along next to you?

We went to a bar for dinner that was themed around Antonio Inoki, a Japanese professional wrestler.
The bar itself is in a boxing ring and all the televisions were playing an old video of him in a drama-filled match against some cave man with crazy hair and a full beard. In case you were wondering, professional wrestling is just as painfully fake in Japan as it is in the States.


They encouraged group photos with the statue of Inoki, and had the requisite your-face-here wooden cutouts by the elevator door. Who could resist?
Unfortunately, the food wasn't particularly good. At least the pasta dish I ordered wasn't, the fried cheese appetizer and complimentary seasoned popcorn were tasty.


We moved on to a different bar called Tokyo Loose for some drinks and met up with some friends. It's a gaijin bar (sorry, "international bar") that caters to foreigners and is pretty chill. The owner is Nigerian and the Japanese bartender spoke perfect English, and they had excellent sheesha.

After 10pm or so, it started to get a little more crowded. That's when we met the Japanese Leisure Suit Larry. He couldn't have been any taller than four foot ten and was very interested in dancing with the gaijin's womenfolk (but not the men...Husband tried). I think he goes there to dance with gigantic women. (Before anyone goes on a "you're not fat!" tirade, yes, yes, I'm a tiny svelte thing. But I was eight inches taller and could have lifted him with one arm. It's all relative.)

There are a couple photos of my attempts to follow his lead in some form of ballroom dance, but I do not have them. He alternated between a waltz-like box step, spinning himself under my arm, and miming either cartoonish infatuation or a heart attack, I couldn't tell.


My memory of the time after the bar is a bit hazy, but we made a stop at Burger King so the guys could get an obscene number of chicken nuggets. And a paper crown. Did you know there are rules printed on the inside? There are! Whomever dons the crown must proclaim in a loud voice, "I am the King!" and then he (or she) is King. Unless there is a coup and the crown is taken by someone else for more than three seconds, in which case there is a new King. There is also a handy warning that the crown is in fact made of paper and therefore the current reign may come to a premature end if exposed to water or flame. There are some more rules for "Advanced Play" like the King must speak in a cool accent, but I'll leave that set un-described so I don't ruin the surprise for the next time you get yourself a Burger King crown.

We were so busy dancing with Leisure Suit Larry and getting chicken nuggets that we missed the last train. Lucky for us, our friends are not only super cool people, but they have an extra room and let us sleep in it.


The next day we went to the New Sanno for brunch. On the cab ride over from the friends' apartment, I saw this helpful illustration about pedestrian awareness.

And on the way back I picked up a new drink:

It feels anticlimactic to end on a ginger ale, even if it is red, so here's a video of Crooked Head disemboweling a bag of catnip.

Buddhist Pet Ceremony and Cemation

I'm honestly not trying to spread my grief around, and I wouldn't devote a post to this if it weren't also a cultural experience. Please accept my apologies if this is too detailed.

Let me start with this: my husband and I are not religious. Having gotten a recommendation for a place that does pet cremations and also offers a Buddhist ceremony, we decided it was a unique opportunity. And really, if you're going to pick a religion to trust with matters of death, Buddhism is the way to go. Their whole deal is largely about death and the soul moving from one stage of existence to another.

We took this whole thing perhaps a little more seriously than most people in our situation, we wore black suits to the ceremony and picked up a small bouquet of flowers on the way. A little funny, a little tragic. It's how we roll.


The facility was very small; on one side of the lot was a small trailer with a waiting area and a small altar. (Also my first experience with a squat port-a-potty instead of a Western style.) In the middle of the lot was a large altar with incense burning, covered in fresh flowers and offerings others had made for their deceased pets - toys, dishes of food, bottles of water. Very bittersweet. On the other side of the lot was the cremation area.

We handed her over to the (very, very respectful and very polite) people that were working, and they helped guide us through the process in spite of our painfully small overlap in vocabulary.

Most couples that go there are either both Japanese or one spouse is Japanese. We had to be the only Western couple in a long time that opted to stay and get the full experience, but I'm glad we did.

They placed her in a box in front of the small altar in the trailer for a moment, I think as a mini wake, and we spent a tearful moment saying goodbye and preparing for whatever was to come next.

When she was brought to the preparation area, we were provided with a basket of fresh flowers (chrysanthemums, daisies, carnations, and the flowers we had brought with us in white, yellow, and purple) with which to surround her. Husband tucked a single red bud under a front paw. My last visual memory of her is ringed in beautiful fresh flowers, and I didn't expect that to have such a positive impact on me, but it has.

Then Husband made a comment about the giant metal box being Aria Spaceguns' escape pod and we both suddenly needed some tissues.

One worker started it up, the other struck a bell, and they gestured for us to light some incense. Then we were ushered out to the main altar to light more incense (and leave a symbolic dish of food), say a short prayer, and return to the trailer to wait an hour for the process to be finished.


It is typical, after cremation, that the family members use chopsticks to place the bones of the deceased into the urn. I thought that part would be painful, but it wasn't. It wasn't my friend anymore, just some crispy bones that used to belong to her. I know how awful that sounds, but I don't know how else to describe it.

We were gently instructed with a lot of hand gestures and pointing to start from the feet and tail and leave the head and shoulder bones for last (so she would be upright in the urn, which I thought was a considerate detail), and we were supposed to comment on her good bone structure, whatever that means, (thank you Internet research), but we completely forgot until that moment had passed.

The cremation attendant very carefully placed the last few bones in a ceramic urn for us and carried it to the trailer where the hostess/cashier/supervisor/whoever-she-was that seemed to be in charge showed us samples of fabric for urn covers. I chose one and a sticker design for her name, and she was very sure to place the urn so the remains were facing front, toward the name tape. (Another considerate detail.) The remains went back on the small altar for more incense lighting and a final moment of silence, bringing the ceremony to a close. She then insisted on carrying the remains for us to the car, only relinquishing them once I was seated and could take the urn with both hands.

We ran a couple errands on our way home, making sure the remains were safe in the back seat.


Again, it's how we roll.

I understand there is also a custom to give the deceased a posthumous name to prevent the spirit from returning every time the name is spoken, but I think I don't like the idea of never saying her name again. It may be silly to pick and choose which parts of the customs we follow and which we don't, but we're doing almost everything right, I think. And the guidelines are obviously less strict for pets than people, since nobody else we saw was dressed up at all, not to mention that you can opt out of the ceremony and just pick up the urn at a later date.

This experience reminds me why people have traditions for major life events: ceremony is helpful. In this case, it has helped give me some peace of mind. We're still sad and we miss her, but I am confident that we've done everything we could have for both her body and soul.

Aria Spaceguns: A Retrospective

In December 2005, I was helping my cousin move and found this awkward, starving, beautiful cat. Barely out of the kitten phase and obviously a sweetheart.

Nobody seemed to be looking for her (no collar, no Lost Cat posters or notices with the local vet) but she wasn't afraid of people, so we concluded that she'd been abandoned. I brought her home, and she spent hours on my lap, gazing around in wonder as if to say, "I get food? And affection? And I get to stay? Oh, this is the best day ever!"

I think she never forgot that. From that day on, she orbited me like a furry little moon, and almost without fail if I said her name she would chirp and trot over to me, tail in the air and genuinely happy to see me.

Because of her disposition, I decided she needed a soft, round-sounding name with no hard consonants. I settled on Aria, the Italian word for melody.

I had already had Crooked Head for four years and they didn't really hit it off. They eventually settled into some sort of truce, but she clearly didn't trust him when he was being nice to her.




When Husband (then Boyfriend) got out of the military, he moved in with us. Aria was clearly unsure of who he was or why he was there and spent a lot of time sitting on a table behind his computer, staring at him from behind his monitor. It was hilarious, but a little creepy. Always watching. Judging. With those enormous round eyes.


Oh, those eyes. No matter what she might have actually been thinking, she almost always looked like she was gasping in surprise or dismay.







Her pupils often reflected red, but her irises were light blue. Admittedly, this isn't a great picture, but she's wasn't a fan of standing still unless she was parked on my desk or lap for a nap.





Eventually they established a treat-based relationship in which he ceased to be Strange Man Who May Not Be Trusted and became the Bringer of Treats and The One That Might Share His Food. Eventually she even started sitting on his lap. That was a good day.



Around 2007 we realized her teeny little stuccato meow was more of a "mew!" and decided it sounded like a laser. Put your hands out in front of you like you're steering a space jet and say, "Mewmewmew! Zoom, zooooom, mewmewmewmewmew! Take that!" We did, and that's how Aria became Aria Spaceguns, lovable hero in a fictional universe in which she accidentally saves the day on a regular basis. We have character sketches, scenes and a couple vague storylines floating around us like a long-running inside joke. I won't get into them here, but trust me, they're funny. Someday I'll even make a web comic about it. We also developed Miss Aria, master of ladylike etiquette and hostess of grand tea parties with Very Fine Hats. Husband and I each have a voice for these characters. We keep ourselves entertained.


One of my favorite games to play with her was Hide and Seek. There were two versions of this game. One was for her to hide in the tub between the shower curtains and wait for me to find her, or jump out at me to surprise me if I took too long. The other version was making eye contact with her from down the hallway then backing around the corner. Five seconds later I'd hear a chirp and the padpadpad of tiny feet. Here she comes, barreling around the corner on a mission to find me. Ears up, chest out, she was very pleased with herself that she found me every time.


Truth be told, she's not the smartest cat I've ever had. Once, she managed to get a ball lost in the depths of Husband's shoe. She reached and reached, but couldn't find it. She took a moment to compose herself and enthusiastically thrust both feet in up to the shoulder...inside the wrong shoe. Husband went over to help. He picked up the shoe with the toy and dumped the ball out. She looked at it for a moment, then at him like he was some kind of wizard. Then she completely forgot about him because the toy needed immediate pouncing and she had a memory like a goldfish most of the time.

Hair elastics were her favorite prey, although once she brought us a live (terrified) mouse. Husband caught it in a box and put it back outside.







She wasn't a very relaxed cat. She was always a little shy at first with new people, she startled easily, and usually preferred to crouch at arm's length on the back of the couch than sniff someone's face. (If she liked you, she'd sit on your lap for a while. If she really liked you, she might sniff your eyelid.)

But once in a while she'd take a nap with me.











And if I was really lucky, Crooked wouldn't hit her in the face to make her move when he decided that he also wanted to take a nap with me.








For a year, she had a love/hate relationship with a roommate's cat named Face. She was so mean to him! She'd get a running start to claw him across the nose for no good reason. I think he just wanted to be friends with her. We'd see them both in the back yard, she'd be mincing her way through the grass with Face three paces behind her. She'd stop, he'd stop. She'd look back at him accusingly, and if cats could whistle, he would have. Then she'd start walking again and he'd follow, still three paces behind.

Moving to Japan was tough. She's timid to begin with (unless she's around a cat that isn't Crooked, in which case she rules the house with an iron paw), and a 24-hour journey across the planet with an overnight stay in New Jersey was very difficult. But once she was around us and some familiar things, she settled in pretty quickly. She's happy to be a house cat with the occasional trip outside, so one house is very much like another for her.

In November 2010 she developed pancreatitis and was constantly finding new and exciting places to throw up when I wasn't in the room. We put her on anti-vomiting meds, and she got better for a little while, but it didn't last. Then in January 2011 we put her on anti-inflammatory meds, and she got better for a little while, then suddenly stopped eating and drinking. We stopped the medication, but she still wouldn't eat or drink. Then she turned yellow. Her gums and the whites of her eyes were yellow, and her eyes were turning from blue to green as her liver started to give out. She threw up any and all medication and we had to wrap her in a towel to force feed her with a syringe.

Crooked, for his part, was no help. He sniffed her face, and my face, asked for some of the syringe food, and generally got in the way.

I ended up having to take her to a neighborhood vet (that thankfully spoke enough English to communicate with me, my Japanese is still at "see Spot run" sophistication) and checked her in to the ICU for fluids and observation. She was drooling and clearly pained and wouldn't even look at me. I was scheduled to visit her again late the next morning.

When I saw her again, she didn't have the strength or motivation to get into the litter box she was leaning against to relieve herself. She hadn't thrown up again and she was completely conscious and alert, but her liver was obviously damaged beyond repair. Her skin was bright yellow under her fur, but the most shocking thing was her eyes.

Those beautiful blue eyes no longer had even a trace of blue, she was so full of toxins. I knew that it was all but over, and I almost lost it when she saw me and made a mad dash inside my coat to hide. No real action could be taken until an ultrasound was performed and the senior vet got out of a meeting at 3pm, but they were very nice and found a place for me to sit with her, even through the hours in the middle of the day when the clinic was closed to the public. I talked to her, encouraged her, made sure she wasn't pulling on her IV, and did my best to soothe her when each new wave of agony washed over her and she made heart wrenching noises.

Husband left work early to join me and the vet just after 3pm, and the vet from the army base was very kind and volunteered to be on the phone as a translator. She may have had a small chance of survival, but she had a much greater chance of getting worse. We couldn't let her get worse. I don't think she would have lived another night. We discussed it and decided it was better for her if we put her to sleep right then and not wait another day for observation and treatments that probably wouldn't help. It was quick and humane and she died warm and loved, which is more than most pets and some people get. Japanese vets don't usually euthanize pets, but afterward the doctor said he thought we made the right decision. The Japanese vet from the base expressed the same sentiment.

Crooked is his regular obnoxious self, which is helpful in its own way. His nose squishing mine and his purrs in my ear have always helped me feel a little better, and this is no exception.

I miss her and wish she hadn't had to suffer for so long, but I did everything I could and I was able to spend time with her at the end. She curled in my lap and buried her head in my elbow, so I know she got some measure of comfort from my presence. That's something.

She was too young, only 6, but she had five and a half really good years (I found her when she was about 5-6 months old). That is more than she would have gotten if I hadn't brought her home in the first place.

The end chapter is still very fresh in my mind and raw in my emotions, but this is how I want to remember her: comfortable, playful, and happy. Aria Spaceguns. My fuzzy little moon.

(under catnip influence)


(ignore the audio)
(Crooked is under the kotatsu. It's like a coffee table with a heating element and a blanket to trap all that nice warm air around your legs and feet. Possibly the best invention in the history of winter.)



Many thanks to friends and family who have extended their sympathies.

Edit: We had her cremated with a Buddhist ceremony. Click here to read about that.

Pizza Question and Answer

The Question: If you want to order a pizza, do you go with the crab girl advertisement or the heart-shaped pizza?



The Answer: Crab Girl is awesome and we may have to see what kind of exotic pizzas she is touting (that picture may be a pizza with crab meat and corn), but we will probably celebrate Valentine's day with a heart-shaped pizza.

I know, we're hopeless romantics.

Gluttons for Punishment, Snowboard Style

After the New Year trip to Niigata, we decided (well, he decided, but I wasn't going to veto the idea) we should get our own gear. We'd already planned on going again in February, and if we took just a few more trips between now and the end of time, it would be more financially responsible to buy than rent.

Then we had to test our new gear, right? We clearly had not had enough of falling on our butts, so Husband and I went with one of his coworkers back to Niigata for a one-day snowboarding trip.

We left while it was still dark to catch one of the first trains heading into the city to get the shinkansen the rest of the way. At the station, I saw a type of pastry I hadn't thought existed before. The Sweet Dog. It's a fluffy pastry version of a hot dog bun with all kinds of goodness inside. Of course I had to try one, and I opted for a mango/custard/whipped cream edition (next to the chocolate on the right). Definitely worth trying, partly for taste and partly for sheer novelty.


Real breakfast was buttered shokupan toast. Can you see how thick this bread is? Trust me, it's awesome. Shokupan makes excellent toast.

When we bought our shinkansen tickets, we discovered that there were some bonuses - a free gift and a free lift ticket. Cool...want to know what our free gift was?
Single-serve bags of rice! Hey, it's something we can use. I can't find fault with that.


We took a cable car from the base lodge (train station, main gift shop, locker rooms, and equipment rental) up to the main ski/snowboard area. That early in the morning, the view was very impressive. Impressive to the "pictures don't do it justice" degree. Husband got some video, that does a slightly better job.

Something I didn't expect - the single most advertised product was Blue Seal ice cream. Go figure.

Of course I tried some. It was between this flavor (Shiiguasa Sherbet? It might be lime or something similar), ube (sweet potato?), and sugar cane.


The snowboarding experience was good (I think I had worked out harder than I thought the day before, my legs were not cooperating as much as I would have liked), the snow was fresh, and the slopes were uncrowded. I fell a few times, but nowhere near as much as the first trip. And I'm slightly more comfortable with the whole standing/not falling/marginal steering concepts, although I'm still not technically doing it right.


We had lunch in the main area of the building, where they have all the different food booths. You know, the food coat.
They had Japanese food, Korean food, and Western food. I only saw one item that didn't obviously contain beef, pork, or chicken, but that's all I wanted.

This is chijimi. According to what I could find on the interwebs from my phone, it's a Korean vegetable pancake (YUM!), although the name might be Japanese. I had no idea how to eat it, so I ended up doing my best to wrangle the hashi (chopsticks) to wrap the nori (seaweed strips) around the squares. I skipped the sauce because it looked like it was made with some kind of meat stock.
それは　おいしかった　です。It was delicious, and I found a blog of Japanese home cooking with a very easy-looking recipe. If my attempt is hilariously disastrous, I'll try to document it.


Husband had a more protein-oriented approach to lunch.
To each their own. It's a good thing we were in a food coat with lots of options.


Reason #8403 Japan is awesome: beer vending machines.

While waiting for the guys to make one final run, I perused the gift shop. They had snacks, gift boxes of candy, keychains, ski masks designed to look like Spiderman or someone in a diving suit wearing a snorkel, drinks, and wines. One in particular caught my eye.


Mmm, kiwi wine! It didn't taste overly kiwi-ish, more like a bottle of white with a touch more sweetness, but it was a fantastic light wine and I would certainly get it if I saw it again.

And you thought this was going to be about snowboarding. It was a snowboarding trip, I swear. It's just a lot easier to take pictures of foods and things when I'm sitting still instead of when I'm careening down a mountain at a barely controlled speed, surrounded by frozen water that would love to destroy my camera if given half a chance.

New Sanno Buffet

We brought the gang along (the friends we made while snowboarding in the last post) to Sunday brunch, an all-you-can-eat buffet (Viking buffet, as it's known here) at the New Sanno hotel in Tokyo. I thought the ice sculpture on the cheese table was a little excessive, but everyone seemed suitably impressed with the food.

I learned some things.

One: fruit is not a breakfast or beginning-of-meal food for Japanese people like it is for Westerners.

Two: waffles are a dessert food, not for breakfast.

Three: sometimes a fish will be served like this, which I find really creepy, but nobody at our table could explain why there would ever be green cake frosting dotted with cherry tomatoes and olives. Or why this was just for display. I think flowers are fine decoration, but I'm obviously not thinking outside the box.


Four: the champagne they serve is really, really good.
To friends and food. かんぱい！(Kanpai, cheers!)

Waiting for a train headed back home, we realized that five out of eight of us were wearing purple. So I took a picture and the opportunity to ask what "purple" is in Japanese. I've learned most of the other colors, but that one has been eluding me.


むらさき。Murasaki = purple. Victory! I shared my newfound vocabulary with the husband, but he had to go and look it up on his phone. To my surprise, what came up was "soy sauce." Oh boy. Apparently it's pronounced the same way, but the kanji are different. One more reason to learn to read kanji, so I can tell if we're talking about soy sauce or the color purple.