Hey, is that a passport in your pocket

Or are you just glad to see me?

So. I'm in Japan. How're things with you? Thoughts on Tokyo: It is Balls Hot. And it looks just like the monster movies. Which. Is. Awesome. The women dress super cool. I stick out like a pudgy, blond, American thumb. There are lots of gardens filled with frondy plants. The people with whom I've spoken are very kind and helpful.

First things first. Holy Debilitating Jet Lag, batman. Right now, it is midnight thirty where I live. Here, it's noon thirty. You do the math. The way that the jet lag is being communicated to my brain is weird--I do feel tired, but mostly I feel really heavy. Like gravity is stronger on this side of the world.

Second things second. I do not get to climb Mount Fuji. Which I am really disappointed about. The reasons that I do not get to climb Mount Fuji are many fold. Mostly, they start with my being an idiot making plane reservations. Who flies out of O'Hare on purpose? Um. Nobody.

My La Guardia flight was delayed for two hours. We chilled on the runway in our comfy economy seats. Then, when we finally got to O'Hare, we chilled on the runway for another thirty minutes--just enough time for my Japan Airlines flight #9 to take off sans me. After the initial breakdown, during which I sobbed my problems to a very nice United Airlines employee named Mr. Moy (and after learning that JAL does not transfer flights to United), I did some recon. Called my E and Z--who recently, conveniently enough, moved to suburban Chicago. They totally saved me. Came and picked me up. Gave me a bed and some yummy curry and bottles(!) of wine and played electronic password with me. And, it just so happened that dear M was in town that night--so Hooray! impromptu reunion! It was a delicious stolen season that I never would have gotten if I had been laid over in LAX. Jebus, I'm glad I was not stuck in fucking LAX.

Also, spent some quality phone time with Expedia.com trying to rearrange reservations here. They were wonderful and super helpful, but, alas, there were no more Mt. Fuji expeditions available. Boo.

Third things third. Just got back from Shinjuku, where I tried to meet up with my dear friends S and K. Sadly, that did not happen because S told me to meet them at the North entrance of the subway station. And there is no north entrance. So I felt just a little bit like Pee Wee Herman at the Alamo. Instead of meeting them, I wandered a bit. Bought a big ass bottle of water (which I made certain was water so as not to repeat my Amsterdam mistake of buying gigantic bottles of VINEGAR. Not-so-tasty.)

Fourth things fourth. It's nap time, bitches. I promise, I will only lie down for about an hour, and then I will get up, like the dutiful world traveler that I am. But my legs feel heavy, and I need to rest them.

Tonight--I'm going to the schwanky bar at the top of my hotel to drink martinis and contemplate night-time city views.
Next Post--descriptions of said martinis and night-time city views.

The Hermeneutic of Superstition

Would be a great band name. I think it might also work as a philosophy for life.

So, I'm watching "Dawn of the Dead," like ya do, and I start thinking about my phone. My ring is Stevie Wonder's "Superstition," and people (well, Steve and E!) sometimes tease me about the message I'm sending when I answer every call with a superstitious wink. But... like casuistry (the application of general, ethical reasoning to particular situations--or--the recognition and application of contingency), superstition (depending on the source, mostly definitions of superstition read something like this: overly zealous and irrational beliefs, especially having to do with religion--emphasis on lack of thought and irrationality) has gotten a bad rap--mainly because of its reliance, it seems, on things outside classical reason.

But it's interesting to think about the outside-rational significance of little moments, the strange connections between our thoughts, our actions, and the particular events that make up our lives.

One example: today I was talking with a friend about the therapeutic effects of teaching. He had been thinking about a certain recent crisis in his life, and, on the day in question, class discussion just happened to include that exact situation as a theoretical point, a way to analyze and explore the topic of the day. As he was teaching the class, he said, he had to pause a couple of times--keeping the theoretical discussion and the actual situation separate in his head was more challenging a task than he had thought it would be. And that wasn't such a bad thing, he said. It kind of helped him understand the theory and the moment more clearly. The hermeneutic of superstition, in this case, allowed for a clarifying dip into both theory and practice.

Another example? A couple of weeks ago, I went to an AA meeting with my sister. It's called an "open source" meeting. Most AA meetings are closed, designed to increase and accentuate the feeling of safety-in-community for which AA is so lauded. But open speaker sessions welcome any and every person interested in learning more about the warp and woof of addiction. Anyway, the speaker that day was this cool lady, probably in her forties, talking about her life pre-, during, and post-realization that she is an alcoholic. Coincidentally, earlier that day, my sister and I had just been talking about some of the topics the speaker addressed (the differences between social and addictive drinking, the various definitions of "party" and "problem," the difficulties of "hanging out" in a culture so centered on mind-altering substances). The speaker's story, like many of the stories one hears from and about addiction, revolved around loss and redemption, failure and success--as well as the issues my sister and I had been talking about earlier.

These stories, these moments of clarity, are reasonable, at times. They are often, after the fact, easily designated as instances of rationality and enlightenment. But the mechanisms of the connections, the links between moments of clarity and our interpretation/reception of those moments, is not always a rational, causal thing. Sometimes, it's a mystery, and mystery--as much as it gets suspicioned and ogled and sliced out of our enlightened, reasonable world--can be a situation-saver... keeping us, perched as we are on the edge of the abyss, sane... mostly.

It is good to be home

I woke up this morning to a warm, summer breeze on my face and a soft kitty cuddled up beside me. This week is going to be another crazy one--tying up all the loose ends at school, getting ready for the next trip (I fly home on Saturday--whew!), loving on this stupid cat (who really missed me, despite her best efforts), and unpacking/re-packing suitcases.

I vow to take only three pairs of shoes. And pack lightly. By damn.

However, right now, we are sitting here on our red chair. Tea is brewing. The sun is up and the day is going to be gorgeous and long. I get to see my dear NYC friends whom I have missed.

It is good to be home.

Sitting in E!'s office, part deux

We talk alot. And by we, I mean, the people that I Know, the people with whom I work, and, um, me. I have been traveling for over two weeks now--living out of two suitcases packed with WAY too many shoes, lugging various plastic bags of toiletries from hotel to friend's house to hotel to friend's house, etc... Part of the travel was a conference. Part of it was a graduation. So, all of the time has been subsumed and saturated with interpersonal interactions that are different from "normal" life for two reasons: (1) These are people who don't meet all that often. Family and friends and colleagues who live in different parts of the country (and the world) and are, therefore, scarce; and (2) These events are always already amped up. I mean, c'mon! Graduation from PhD? And a conference in Seattle?--which is eons away from most of the people who are going there and is, actually, a really fucking awesome place to be. Seriously, these intense situations are so wonderful, and so exhausting bothatonce.

So, this is my conclusion from all the past two weeks of schmoozing and boozing and making out and laughing and dancing and conferencing and graduating: we talk alot. We talk about the papers we're presenting.
We talk about the papers we've presented at conferences past.
We talk about the crises we're experiencing.
We talk about the crises our friends are going through.
We talk about each other.
We talk about ourselves.
We talk about upcoming movies and books that we've read.
We talk about our children and our aging parents.
We talk about Tokyo.
We talk about coffee.
We talk about love and the (im)possibilities of our expectations for it.
We talk about the shoes we didn't pack
And the people we wish we could kiss
And the words we'd like to take back
And the aching feeling that this talk
This talk
This talk
Is the only thing keeping us going.

And it probably is.

But, that said, I am looking forward to returning home tomorrow. To seeing my cat (who does not talk) and sitting, with her, in our favorite patch of sunlight on the red chair in my living room.

I will scratch behind her ears. I will shut my eyes. I may turn my phone off. I WILL turn off the computer. And I will rest.

This is my New Favorite Picture in the History of the World

And this is my new favorite adventure.