Aaah, Christmastime. That's what I think every time I go to the mall these days. Personally, I've never put up a Christmas tree and I don't even own a single ornament. Such is the life of an apartment dweller who can't bear the thought of giving up at least four square feet of precious storage space eleven months of the year for something to be enjoyed only during the remaining month. (Unless, of course, the person reading this is a former VT-er or friend who has given me an ornament in the past, in which case, I have boxes of ornaments, and oh, how I treasure each one.)
But today I was reading
Mary's blog, and Mary (my mom) is a big fan of Christmastime. Lately, almost all of her posts have been about it. I'm a little sad that she hasn't yet mentioned my personal favorite Christmas tradition--one that involves just the two of us and,
occassionally,
lil' bro.
Pboy as an accomplice. At Mary's house they have an "attic." Okay, as all of their ceilings are vaulted, they don't have an actual attic; however, they do have a very small, enclosed space on the second floor that the home's architect didn't know what to do with. This space is only accessible through one of those fold-down, attic stairwell hatches in a closet on the first floor, so the
Ess fam has always called it "the attic."
Mary keeps her ample supply of Christmas decorations in the attic. I have absolutely no idea how she gets them down each year, but without fail, she will decide to pack them up when I'm still around and I will be enlisted to assist her. As soon as she asks me, she will run into her closet, up the attic stairs, and claim her position as "box arranger" in the attic--which means I'm stuck with the job of climbing that ladderish set of stairs 500 times with an array of heavy yet fragile boxes. Sometimes I will huff my way to the top of the stairs with a box only to have Mary tell me, "No, I don't want that one yet," and so I'll have to take it back down. (And I think I just figured out the childhood trauma that has caused me to shun ownership of Christmas decorations as an adult. Blogging is good for the soul, I tell you.)
But here's where the tradition kicks in--every year, when I've only got one or two boxes left, I hand Mary a box, wait until I see her legs disappear from the hatch (which means she's off "arranging"), fold up the stairs, close the door to the attic, and turn off the attic light--the switch for which is conveniently located in the closet as opposed to the attic itself. Then I go off and do something for three to five minutes, giving the entrapped Mary time to contemplate the true meaning of Christmas in the dark while she carelessly yells her way through her limited air supply. Then I let her out and we go get lunch or something--her treat.
Lately, Mary has been featuring some of the contents of those many boxes on her blog. Her recent post about her Santa collection included a Santa figurine she got at the dollar store. This got me thinking about dollar stores. In the 2.5 years I've been back in LA, I haven't been to a single regular dollar store (although I am always inspired driving by the Warholian window displays of the 99 cents store). Why would anyone go to a regular dollar store when, instead, they could go to a Japanese dollar store? I frequent two Japanese dollar stores in the Los Angeles area; both of them are Marukai 98 stores and are related to the Marukai asian groceries. There is a tiny one downtown in Little Tokyo and a huge one in Gardena. I prefer the one in Gardena because it's bigger, the parking is free, and they play some lovely gangster rap over the PA system.
If you've never been to a Japanese dollar store, then you'll just have to trust me: everything, I mean ziploc bags and post-its and cheap batteries full of everything, looks way cooler in Japanese packaging. But the best part of the store, hands-down, is the kitchen section, where I bought all of this:
These are bento-making supplies. There are the bento boxes themselves, chopsticks and skewers, colorful cupcake-liner things to separate your food with, little bottles shaped like pigs and fishies for holding soy sauce, and rice molds. My friend Wingonwing, purveyor of evil obsessions, first told me about the bento-making craze sweeping American hipsters a few years ago. With the tools above, and about two hours of free time every morning before work, you can make yourself a colorful and healthy lunch that looks something like this:
Or, if drama's your thing:
There are a million bento blogs out there, but these pictures are from the BEST one ever: e-obento.com. It is proof that even blogs look better in Japanese. And no, I have no idea what she's saying.
Unfortunately for me, my bento obsession was short-lived as I don't have two hours every morning to make my lunch and I don't really like fish cakes, and you really need to implement fish cakes to make a good bento. Also, I am sad to report that you need about four bento box lunches to equal the caloric satisfaction of one American fast food meal. So for now, my Japanese dollar store souvenirs are simply consuming closet space that could be used for Christmas decorations. If I ever get a Christmas tree, maybe I'll just hang my little soy sauce bottles all over it.
(Oh, and if you're monitor's resolution is good enough to enable you to read the price tags, you will see that most things at the Japanese dollar store actually cost $1.50. I researched this, and it turns out that the phrase "Japanese dollar store" is the English translation of the 100-yen store that has become so popular in Japan. The exchange rate, however, will not be bound by such semantics.)
