I have decided that my private student Yumiko is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

Like my doctor last year, Dr. Yamamoto, the little muppet doctor whose English was decent except for the little subtleties of the language, Yumiko uses what English she knows to get her point across very directly. Like Dr. Yamamoto, who asked me, "How fat are you?" when what he really meant was, "How much do you weigh?" Yumiko has taken to saying a phrase that to most native English speakers would be just a tad too direct.

"Don’t worry. I am rich."

She said this over and over last night amidst my protests that she let me pay for something. We went to a concert (Ikuko Kawai, an extraordinary violinist) and to a swanky hotel for dinner (that ended up costing almost a thousand dollars) and all I could think about in between gulps of expensive beer and mouthfuls of exquisite cuisine was that this must’ve been what Little Orphan Annie felt like when she met Daddy Warbucks.

I boasted to Jeremy about this star-treatment when I got home (via a taxi paid for by Mommy Warbucks), slurring past all those beers and burping parfait. "Seems like they’ve adopted you," he said. He pretended like he wasn’t jealous but I know he is.

Little Orphan Susan. I don’t mind that characterization.

And all I gotta do is sing stupid songs into a karaoke machine once a week! I suppose Annie had to do that too.

I have a friend in the building next door named Nathan. He is from New Zealand. He is only the second foreigner ever to approach me simply because I am a foreigner. (The first being my infamous friend Calvin, the Scot, whose spontaneous conversation on the train one night almost two years ago led to a most amazing friendship.) For some reason, foreigners, or gai-jin as we are known in Japanese, don’t speak to each other much. It is quite opposite from my homeland of the American South, where everyone waves and speaks and if you don’t then you must be a Yankee or some kind of big-city scumsucker.

But Nathan the Kiwi (which is what everyone calls citizens of New Zealand, the most accepted and preferred term) threw me for a loop one day several months ago. I was reading my book waiting for the train at Bentencho station and he popped his head over my book and said, "Hello!" in a most sprightly voice.

And that one Hello led to many hangovers and morning proclamations of "What happened to all my yen?" over the coming months.

Anyway, I received an early morning phone call from a very worried Kiwi today. "Hey mate, I left my keys in my bike lock when I rode it to the station today. Can you go up the street a bit and find my bike a bring it back to my building?"

"Who the hell is this?" I said groggily.

"It’s me, mate," he said.

In my sleepy 9am state I thought it was Calvin. No one else with a thick accent ever calls me unless it’s a Japanese person, and they never speak English when they call. But then it hit me that Calvin is back in Scotland and probably didn’t have a bike in my neighborhood on which he left his house key.

"Uh, okay, just tell me exactly where it is and I’ll try to find it," I said, scrambling for my pen and notebook.

His directions went something like this: "Okay, you know how you’re going to the station and there’s that road? Well, you turn right on that road, and then you know that mailbox? The one next to that tree? It’s kinda near a school, but not real near it ‘cuz there’s some other stuff on that road too, but you’ll see it ‘cuz it’s just around the corner from this other place we went to one night, remember? Anyway, mate, mine’s the one with the keys hanging out of it."

I finally found his bike around 2pm. I wasn’t going to ride it (because I didn’t want to become one of those people, those obnoxious bike riders who think they own the road and jingle their stupid little bells at you to get out of the way, which is pretty much all bike riders in Japan) but I would’ve felt stupid walking his bike all the way back to the building.

Long story short. Today I became one of those people. It felt so good to ride a bike again after so long of not having one, and I rode for hours around our little neighborhood of Bentencho. It was a nice day and I had my headphones on, KISS Alive II blaring into my ears as the wind whipped through my hair. People looked at me like I was crazy (is it really that unusual to see a foreigner singing "Detroit Rock City" out loud while riding down the street?) but as a gai-jin I am used to people staring.

What I am not used to, however, is all the ignorant pedestrians who won’t get out of my way when it’s obvious I need to get past them! Sheesh!

Satch came to Bentencho today instead of my having to go downtown to Starbuck’s. I rode to a coffee shop next to the station on Jeremy’s bike to meet her.

A short word about Jeremy’s bike. I have pretty much taken possession of it. Little did he know when he offered to let me borrow it that I would become a bike hog and claim it as mine. I hadn’t intended to do that; see, when I first rode it, I couldn’t get the seat adjusted down from Jeremy’s eight-feet-long legs to my little midget legs. I didn’t have that problem with Nathan’s bike, as he is barely taller than I am, but Jeremy’s legs are so long, he is like Gandalf standing next to me. And I am like Frodo. The hairy, frumpy, little hobbit.

So I had to ride his bike with my little hobbit legs hanging off the side, using my tip-toes when the pedals were nearest the ground, having to lean the bike sideways to come to a stop so I could put my foot on the ground. It was rough. People stared. And this time it was not because I was singing KISS songs out loud. It was because I looked like a complete idiot riding a bike that was obviously too tall for me. When I came to a stop outside the coffee shop, I lost my balance and toppled over like a stack of Jenga blocks. The customers in the shop all looked out the window with horrified looks on their faces, but when I finally got up and dusted off they went back to their coffees. I almost gave them a little bow, but I didn’t because my butt really hurt.

I related the story to Sachiko when she got there. "They all looked at me like I was nuts," I said.

That must’ve reminded her. "Uh, Susan, I was reading your website…" (Uh-oh, I thought) "… and I want to know something. What is nou kokorou?"

"Huh?"

"You said on your website that I taught you that. To lose your mind."

"Yeah. A couple of weeks ago, remember?" I said.

"I don’t know what that means. To lose your mind means chizou."

Oh. I must’ve copied it down wrong. Or maybe I wasn’t paying attention. Or maybe I just lost my mind. I can’t remember. See, that’s what happens when you lose your mind.

After we left the coffee shop, Satch helped me adjust Jeremy’s bike seat. Hurray! I can ride around Bentencho without looking like a complete idiot now!

I started my paid vacation yesterday. Two and a half glorious fun-filled weeks of no work, riding Jeremy’s bike, going to beer joints with my neighbor, writing my book on Jeremy’s computer (mine crashed last week and I have to take it back to the States to get it fixed) and teaching a handful of private students. Already, this vacation is turning out weird.

Either my planets aren’t aligned correctly or the world is in chaos. I am not sure which. Something is universally out of whack, is all I know. But it ain’t all bad.

For starters, I finally told mom I was getting ready to quit my job and pursue other endeavors. She was ostensibly fine with it and I did not receive a lecture. Sign of the Apocalypse #1.

Sign of the Apocalypse #2: Not only have I received several compliments on my cooking lately from my roommate and friends, but various members of the Thyroid Cancer website forum have asked for my low-iodine recipes as well. People are asking me for cooking advice?

Sign the World is Coming to an End #3: I had a doctor’s appointment this morning and we had absolutely no communication problems. It was half English, half Japanese as usual, but neither of us seemed to make a horrible language mistake resulting in laughter or raised eyebrows, and I left there knowing exactly what pills I should take and what will happen if I don’t. It was all very strange.

Sign #4. It is starting to get vaguely cooler here in Osaka. My hair and bra were not completely drenched with sweat when I came back from my bike ride today. We even survived with only one air-conditioner on instead of two today. I didn’t even have to walk around the apartment in my underwear to keep from having a heatstroke. When Jeremy came out of his room this morning, he said, "Wow, you have clothes on. What’s the occasion?"

"It’s actually nice in here today. And what do you mean, ‘What’s the occasion?’"

"Well, when you’re up before I am in the morning I just assume you’re improperly dressed."

Smart ass.

And the ultimate Sign the Lord is Coming Back. My private student Yumiko produced a list last week of songs she wants me to sing into her karaoke machine so she can study the English pronunciation.

I am getting paid to sing.

It is as ridiculous as paying my brother to clean, or paying my dad to cook. Or perhaps paying my mother to help with someone’s computer issues.

Yumiko said she was going to increase my payments by a thousand yen (approximately ten bucks) starting in October. My next "performance" is this Friday. I will be performing "How Much is that Doggy in the Window" and "Ten Little Indians." It will be a private performance with no opening act. Groupies are discouraged.

I am getting paid to sing.

Maybe I ought to start going to church again.

Yesterday, after my stunning performance of "How Much is that Doggy in the Window" and "Ten Little Indians" followed by a surprise encore of "You Are My Sunshine," Yumiko and her daughter Kaori (also my good friend) took me out to lunch at one of the finest Japanese restaurants in Osaka. It was on the top floor of a skyscraper overlooking the better part of Osaka and the Yodogawa River, and could not possibly have been cheap. I would’ve had to sing "How Much is that Doggy in the Window" about a thousand times in order to afford a beer and a toothpick there, I think.

After that we went to a proper karaoke bar, the kind with endless free drinks and a private room just for our party. And party it was… I found out during lunch that this was my surprise birthday celebration. Kaori and Yumiko (a.k.a. Mommy Warbucks) had been planning it for weeks, the little sneaks!

I got stuffed and wasted. Again, For free. I found myself saying "No more drinkie" like Long Duck Dong in Sixteen Candles by around 5pm. Of course, cheery Yumiko wouldn’t listen and just kept shoving cocktails and the microphone in my face.

I really didn’t know what to sing. I am lost at karaoke without Jeremy, the ultimate karaoke partner. "Anything is okay?" I asked Yumiko.

"Anysing!" she replied. Judging from the expectant faces of a bunch of drunk Japanese people, I knew I had to perform. It was time to give the people what they wanted.

I found the perfect song. A song I’d never sung at karaoke before (because I’d never found a karaoke bar that offered it) but had sung many times on the street while riding Jeremy’s bike. It was one of my all-time favorites, a song that will forever remind me of my friend Jenny because we had sung it so many times to each other in exaggerated imitation of its original singer.

It was a song called "God of Thunder" by none other than KISS. "You’ve got something about you…" I began, wondering what Jenny was up to at that moment. "You’ve got something I need…"

The drunk Japanese people were entertained. They were clapping, drinking, and egging me on. I got to the chorus. "God of Thunder… and Rock and Roll… the spell you’re under… will slowly rob you of your virgin soul…"

I looked over at Yumiko, the sweet 64-year-old lady who speaks very little English and pays me to teach her English songs. She was clapping and smiling in her jolly way, swaying to the music of Gene Simmons and KISS. Did she know I was singing a song about a demon god and his love for corrupting little children?

Not only did she pay for the entire day, she is taking me to the Osaka Symphony next week.

I think I rather like being Little Orphan Susan!