I can’t say for sure if the 16-hour fast has helped or not, because every trip into a different time zone is different, due to the time and duration of the flight and other factors, but I’m doing reasonably well.  I still have impredictable moments of incipient narcolepsy, but overall I’m staying awake when I should and feeling dirt tired right about now. 

On the train to church I began Barack Obama’s book “Dreams from My Father,” which resulted in a retiree opposite me asking where I was from and what was my purpose for visiting Japan.  I let him have his English practice; he used to work in advertising for mass media.  He said he thought I looked like an American or a German, so he was surprised that I was from Switzerland, especially since he figured I’d be an American from the book I was reading.  I didn’t explain the details – sometimes I can’t be bothered. 

At church Uchida-san preached on 1 Corinthians 4:1-5, with the title “It is the Lord who judges me.”  It seems that he’s also working through this book, if a previous post is any hint (the difficulty in understanding his Japanese corroborates that it was also Uchida-san preaching back then).  I can tell his sermons are systematic and his sentences a little tortuous, and that’s about it, although I do get the gist of his sermons.  Today’s sermon as I understood it: The judgment that matters is the Lord’s, because in comparison to him men know little and wield little permanent power.  Even I myself don’t know myself well enough to judge myself correctly.  Or so. 

Because today was the first Sunday that a group from Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas joined the church, they made taco salad and lemonade for the young adults group.  What with my zeppin burger yesterday for dinner I’ve had quite the Japanese culinary experience so far… 

I had the odd experience of nearly all new American acquaintances expressing the impression that we’d met before.  In some cases we got close – Isaac had come here in 2002, shortly after I’d returned to Switzerland.  In others, we merely figured out that Patrick got his degree at DTS, where Catharine is now, and Amy works at SMU, which is where Mom went to college.  At any rate, after lunch they proceeded to explain what they were doing (which is where I found out that they’re a sister church of Tim Keller’s Redeemer Presbyterian in New York City) and talk about Texas (y’all, it’s the biggest state in the contiguous US).  They concluded with a game called “Howdy Partner!” where the person able to say Howdy Partner with the most marshmallows in his mouth wins.  It will pain some of my friends in Basel to learn that all the contestants spit out the marshmallows in their mouth at the end. 

On the train home I had my sleep attacks, despite otherwise enjoying Obama’s book.  I spent my evening buying a train ticket to Nagoya for tomorrow and eating sashimi, tofu and radish salad, and chicken wings at a neat Japanese restaurant which unfortunately decided strident R&B made for the best atmosphere.  I walked briefly into a bookstore and again pondered the purchase of the DVD with the robot called Stephan, ステファン 宇宙へ行く.  Again, the idea of laying down 4000 yen for what was essentially a novelty product – a DVD in Japanese and “Stephanese with Japanese subtitles” – prevented me from following through.  On the way back to the hotel I came across a Dodge Ram 1500, possibly the most ridiculous car a Tokyoite could decide to purchase. 

A final observation on observations and I’ll close.  I’m a rather visual person and I observe people.  I’ve noticed that although I still notice female beauty, I see it with somewhat changed eyes: admiration has been mostly supplanted by analysis of what works and what doesn’t and what might work on the woman I care about.  I hadn’t particularly noticed that in Switzerland, so I suppose it’s the distance and the sheer amount of fodder for people-watching in Japan that brought that to my attention.  I’m not unhappy with this development.  

Actually, I’ll add one more thing: if someone could help me turn off the stupid little joystick cum button in the middle of my keyboard, I’d be most grateful.  I keep hitting it as I type.