http://www.narita-airport.jp/en/

By the time we landed in Tokyo, I had watched two movies (Juno and Motorcycle Diaries), two episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm, and slept a whole lot of hours. I love the 777 planes with the entertainment systems that you can control. There’s a jillion movies and TV shows to watch and you can start, pause, rewind, and fast forward at your own convenience. It makes the flight seem not as long.

The Narita airport is really weird. Right when we got off the plane, there was a plastic table set up in one of the hallways and about ten Japanese girls who spoke heavily accented English who tried to flag down passengers who were trying to catch a connecting flight. They had pieces of paper spread out on the table (much like a registration table at a conference or seminar) and had to look for corresponding passengers one by one. The girls were very nice and helpful but I was a little taken aback by how manual the process was.

They told us that we were currently in Terminal 1 and that we would need to catch a shuttle bus to Terminal 2. Imagine my surprise as I saw Aeromexico airplanes out on the Tarmac. I had no idea they serviced Tokyo.

It is easily the slowest bus I have ever been on. It only runs every thirty minutes and there is no other way to get from Terminal 1 to Terminal 2. You can’t walk it because they are two separate buildings and the bus basically drives on the tarmac, dodging luggage carts and other trucks and buses. It was fine when we were going to Taiwan but on the way back, our layover overlapped with lunch and there was an hour gap between when the buses ran. We asked the man in the shuttle waiting area if we could walk it and he looked at us like we were crazy. So we went back upstairs and ate Tempura Udon and Tempura Rice to kill time. It was expensive! They really need to invest in making an automated shuttle between the terminals or maybe build an airwalk. Or maybe even just a designated sidewalk.

This little point and shoot camera was on our row of chairs we were sitting in when we were waiting to board our plane. There was no one around it. I didn’t know what to make of it so I took a photo of it. The husband told me to stop looking at it and stop acting suspicious. I thought maybe it was a “Hidden Camera” gag where the first person to reach for the camera would get swarmed by a Japanese SWAT team. Proactive policing. That sort of thing. I got bored of it after awhile and a group of American girls came over and collectively squealed. One of the girls snatched the camera and hugged it to her chest, looked up towards the ceiling with her eyes closed and said,”Thank God it was still here!”

They were oblivious to my existence. They did, however, notice the computer terminals next to where we were sitting and some got on the computer and paid the hourly charge to check their Facebook accounts. It made me feel like home.

While we were standing in line to board the airplane, something really stupid happened. I was trying to show the husband a photo I had taken of our living room and in the background you could see him in the kitchen in his underwear (this photo will not be uploaded). I was trying to zoom in so that he could see how funny it was and I accidentally changed the display setting on my camera to where it was all in thumbnail view and when I selected a photo it was in zoom mode. I tried to push all the different buttons but it wouldn’t go back to the normal view. The line to board the plane started moving and I began to panic. If I couldn’t change it back to normal, I wouldn’t be able to quickly review the photos I take. I couldn’t believe this was happening before our big trip. It was so stupid. I kept zooming in and out of the same stupid photo. We had our boarding passes checked and we were actually on the walkway to the plane when the husband, seeing how distressed I was, stopped to the side and took his laptop out. We sat on the floor on the side of the ramp while others walked by us and gawked. I was nervous that security would stop us and question us. It didn’t look good. It looked like we were hacking into their system or detonating a bomb. The husband was finally able to connect wirelessly to the internet (it was an extremely slow connection) and we googled “d200 thumbnail view display” which brought up a page that showed us how to get back to the normal view. I think it was to hold the thumbnail button down and rotate the dial back. Something really simple. The husband saves the day. Again.

And thank goodness the husband as a corporate iPass account. It has come in handy countless times.

I’ll be slow to upload my Taiwan photos because I copied almost 4 GB worth of photos to the husband’s laptop. I need to wait until he transfers them to my computer before I can process, upload, tag, and describe.

In the meantime, here’s the first photo:

We usually reward ourselves for being early to the airport by eating a two-entree meal from Panda Express.  We were extra early so the husband opted for the extra eggroll.  Have I blogged already about how I hate saying “Chow Mein” to the Panda Express staff so I usually say noodles?

While we were eating, there was a family a few tables away.  The little girl would scream to get what she wanted.  Not whine, but scream in a very shrill, very high-pitched voice.  It was ridiculous.  The parents handed her food and drink like servants.  They made no effort to stop her from screaming.  It was obvious that this is how it was all the time.  At home, in the car, at the library and now at the E Terminal eating area.

I always promise to blog about our trips and I rarely do.  Uploading the photos usually exhaust me and then I feel lazy to write about the trip.  But this trip is different.  It was emotionally draining for me.  And I have a lot of funny stories and curious observations– so here’s another hopeful promise to write about our trip to Taiwan.

As for the lag, I slept from 4pm to 10pm last night and missed my Monday night class, and then we went to House of Pies at midnight and we stayed up watching YouTube videos (that my mom forwarded me) of a blind 5 year old little girl who taught herself to play piano by ear on this Korean TV Talent Show called Star King.  I think we went to sleep around 3am or so.  Not really that crazy of a lag, just feels like the good old college days.

Okay, so yeah, we haven’t packed yet. But I’m going to go ahead and write a quick blogpost.

I ran across this post on Lifehacker about why the push-up belongs in your fitness routine. It talks about how the pushup is a great measure of your health because it “tests the whole body, engaging muscle groups in the arms, chest, abdomen, hips and legs…”

The post then links to a Washington Post table that rates your health based on a series of fitness metrics. It’s basically all the things you were tested on in elementary school for the regular fitness test (minus the chin-ups or the more favorable flexed arm hang). It’s broken down by gender and age.

I’ve copied and pasted it here for you:

Push-Ups
Number of push-ups by age group

Men: Full Body Push-ups

Women: Modified Push-ups

Women: Full Push-ups

1-Minute Sit-Ups
Number of sit-ups by age group

Men

Women

Sit And Reach Flexibility
Distance of reaches in inches, by age group

Men

Women

12-Minute Aerobic Test
Number of miles by age group

Men

Women

——————————————————

Yikes! In all fairness, I have very disproportional limbs that work against me in every category except for maybe the situps. I don’t think I’m that unhealthy. The husband rates in good or excellent health.

Where do you rate?

I am a fan of watching pick-up basketball games.

I like all of the unspoken rules, formalities, and nuances.

I like that when you show up at the court, out of respect, you need to ask around for who’s got next.  I like the way good players are picked up for the next team right when they show up and so-so players have to ask the person who has next the magic question: “You got five?”  Which is usually followed by, “Can I run with you?”  Now if the person who has next is gracious, they’ll usually accept the so-so player.  But even if the person who has next doesn’t want to pick-up the so-so player, they usually don’t reject the so-so player flat out.  They’ll say that they already have five.  Even if they are clearly the only person on the court who isn’t currently playing.  It’s the equivalent of letting someone down gently by saying, “It’s not you, it’s me.”  It’s a clear rejection, but a minimal salvaging of pride.  I like crowded basketball courts when teams can be two down or even three down.

I like the way strangers can sometimes have spontaneous team chemistry on the court.  I like the way guys point to each other after a good assist while jogging back on defense.  This is the male equivalent of a female telling her friend that she has cute shoes or a cute handbag.  This says, “Yeah I just made an awesome shot, but only thanks to my new buddy on the court.”  The best is when the other person points back as if to say,  “No, no, you made a good shot.  You deserve credit.”  So generous.  The butt slap is the upgrade of this.

I like the match-ups.  I love how there’s usually a big, slower guy on both teams.  And a really short guy who inevitably runs point for the team.  Why do short guys usually have good handles?  Is it because they know their chance of being blocked is really high so they focus on their handles?  Most people say that basketball players are the tallest people.  But I would venture to say that you can also find the shortest people on basketball courts.  Usually if you’re short, there’s another short guy that you can play against.

I like the way fouls are called.  I like the way there are no free-throws and there’s just a redo of the play.  The All-Star game should be like this to keep the game fast.  I like the way it’s usually up to the offensive player whether there was a bonafide foul or not.  I like the way guys say “stay” after a rough foul.  I like it when people don’t agree on whether there was a foul and a mini judge and jury takes place.  Some players argue, some players shoot around, but somehow, there’s always a conclusion.  Or a fight.  I also like how sometimes after a few possessions, there will be a disagreement about the score.  Then there’s a quick count of the different baskets and who made what.

I like the way egos are flaunted and paraded on the court.  I like it when the cockiest guy on the court gets blocked into silence.  I like the way the new guy will continuously jack up shots whenever he gets a rebound because he doesn’t think anyone will ever pass the ball to him.  I like it when guys with bad handles get ripped until they stop dribbling altogether.  I like it when a guy accidentally banks a three and the smiles everyone has on their faces when that happens.

I like it when the underdogs win out of sheer team work.  I also like scrub-only games where for that short game, some nonathletic person receives glory for his double-pump reverse layup that magically bounces around and goes in.  Pick-up basketball is accessible for everyone.  It’s like digital photography.  Anyone can accidentally make a good shot.

I like that the winner stays on.  I like when a team wins 5 or 6 games straight and they are doggedly tired but they are too giddy with victory to stop.

I like seeing the basketball outfits.  I like looking at nice basketball shoes.  This is largely due to my shoe-crazy high school friends who introduced me to kicksology.com and other related nonsense.  I like it when a guy matches the color of his shoes and his shorts.  It’s adorable.

I like watching people I know play pick-up basketball.  I like learning new things about their work ethic, their temper, their humor and their teamwork.  I watched the husband play a game the other day at 24 Hour Fitness and he passed the ball to a teammate behind his back.  The husband makes behind the back passes?  Who knew?  I like the way we’ll be out at a restaurant or bar in Houston and some random guy will come over to our table to say hey and shake the husband’s hand.  Who are these people?  It reminds me of the scene in Fight Club when the waiter nods his head in recognition to Edward Norton.  Pick-up basketball is like some sort of sub-culture in and of itself.

I like the way guys act different when girls are watching.  They are ten times more likely to be ball hogs.  The other day a guy (who was one of the better ones on the court) came up to me not knowing that I watch pick-up games on a regular basis and said, “Hey, your boyfriend’s good.”  I know he thought he was trying to help a brother out.  I don’t wear my wedding and engagement rings to the gym so he didn’t know it was really my husband.  And that I wasn’t there to be impressed.  So I shook my head to say that the husband’s not that good (I got chewed out for this later by the husband) and he said, “No, he really is!  He just has knee problems, but he’s good.”  Haha, you’ve got to love the on-court brotherhood.  I don’t think the husband even knows this guy’s name.

I like the way basketball makes you fearless.  I remember we were at some outdoor court and some guys (who were significantly bigger than the husband and his friends) drove up and challenged them to a game.  The husband and his friends were beating the challengers pretty badly and a guy called “carry” out of what I can only guess was frustration.  The husband ridiculed the guy by saying that no one calls carry in streetball.  My eyes widened.  I don’t think the husband could have fought this guy.  I thought it was a reckless remark.  Them’s fightin’ words, I told him. He thought nothing of it.  Basketball makes you this way.  Fearless, and maybe a little stupid.

Now I know I’ve used masculine pronouns throughout this entire post.  There’s a reason.  For the record I’ve played coed pickup games before in college but ONLY WHEN THERE WERE GIRLS FOR ME TO GUARD.  Or if there was a skinny Asian scrub that had smaller biceps than me.  I like playing basketball but I’m very realistic about my abilities.   I think it’s really lousy when girls insist on playing in men’s games and it changes the entire dynamic of the game. I hate when the girl is passed the ball and all of the the guys are tentative about guarding the girls.  It’s a mess.  This has nothing to do with sexism or whatever.  It has to do with skill level.  If a girl can hang, then that’s a different story.  For the same reasons, scrubs should stick to scrub courts and not try to hang with the ballers.

Pick-up basketball is great, ain’t it?

I’ll just go ahead and say that I’m not an organ donor. I’ve always wanted to be. I just never went through the trouble of finding out how I can become an official organ donor. I want to be cremated when I die so I’m not particular about keeping my organs or keeping my body intact. My only fear about being an organ donor is related to the unconfirmed fear that doctors are less likely to try to revive you if you are close to death and are listed as an organ donor. It sounds silly. No doctor/surgeon would want a dead body on their watch. But it’s one of those sneaky ideas that creep into the back of your mind and you employ the “better safe than sorry” rule and act irrationally. It’s kind of like breaking a mirror when you aren’t superstitious but you still feel a tinge of apprehension. It’s amazing what cultural superstition can do to you.

Anyway, I’ve had this NYTimes news story bookmarked in my favorites for awhile now and am just now getting the chance to write about it. It’s giving me reason to hesitate to become an organ donor.

“In what transplant experts believe is the first such case in the country, prosecutors have charged the surgeon, Dr. Hootan C. Roozrokh, with prescribing excessive and improper doses of drugs, apparently in an attempt to hasten Mr. Navarro’s death to retrieve his organs sooner.”

“Ms. Navarro has filed a civil suit against Dr. Roozrokh, the donor network and other doctors in the operating room, and has settled a lawsuit against the hospital. A spokesman for the hospital, Ron Yukelson, said a plan to correct the problems had been accepted by federal health officials.

Ms. Navarro said she remained angry about the way her son’s life ended.

‘He didn’t deserve to be like that, to go that way,” she said. “He died without dignity and sympathy and without respect.’ “