November 24th, 2006
116434674790054091
Marmalade and thanks for labor
Lately I’ve been compiling a lot of things to write about. We’re sitting on one of my blog powder-kegs where I talk about all sorts of experiences, feelings, and other trivialities. However, this has run into trouble for two reasons: 1) I’ve gotten home near midnight nearly every day for the last week couple weeks, and 2) I lost my note pad which had my blog backlog. It’s a shame because I had some really good stuff in there, in particular an entry entitled, “Sex with Idols“. Later, I’ll just have to wing it from memory, which will unfortunately dilute the effect since I originally wrote the passage in the heat of the moment after attending one of my friend’s concerts.
This week I had big plans for Thanksgiving (Labor Day in Japan), as I always endeavour to produce significant improvement over any previous attempt at a structured production. I hunted down my navy bean stand-ins, procured only the freshest vegetables from green grocers around Tokyo, and even segmented my cooking over the span of several days since it was becoming increasingly apparent that I was going to have to work around the Thanksgiving holiday itself. However, that is a gross understatement (I worked from ten a.m. Thursday until nearly two this morning), quite completely submarining my plans for a very happy start to the holiday season. Now I have untouched dressing and a potful of water-plump beans waiting for pork stock and onions, as well as a number of glistening, soon to be fading, greens in the crisper. Of course I’ll be at work again late today, so I’ll have to cook either Saturday or Sunday. I wish I had cable, or global TiVo, or something. I really wanted to see the Macy’s parade today, bad weather and all. Every year it seems my holiday plans are curtailed more and more, making November-December little more than a rotation of clothes in my wardrobe, and the induction of choking seasonal energy bills.
 |
 |
My grandmother sends all of her children a Pittman and Davis fruit package every year, usually about two dozen ruby red grapefruits from Texas. Several similar customs exist in Japan, it seems. The parents of an artist in our office send cantaloupes for the company in one season, and roe at another. Also, our president’s mother makes marmalade, which I am always more than happy take home a jar of. This year it’s citron.
Tomorrow night I’m going to Cube for a twelve-hour party, so I’m going to have to do some creative management with my time over the next several days so this weekend doesn’t become just a bed-ridden blur. So many things I want to do, so many people I haven’t seen half a year or more. It all starts with my house: the metaphor for my psychological well-being; and right now, it’s a huge mess.
