"Where" gets used a little differently in Japanese.
ゆみってどこが好き? = lit.:Where do you like about Yumi?
Meaning: What do you like about her?
The first time someone asked me "where" I liked about my wife, I didn't know how to respond. When her friend saw I didn't under stand she offered some helpful Katakana/English: What are her charm points? チャームポイント. "Charm Points" confused me even more, I had no idea what she was trying to say.
どっか食べに行こう? どこか gets shortened to どっか. It still means Let's go [somewhere] and eat?
That is the only traffic I get, even though jlpt posts account for about 2% of my volumes of musings. That is what some might call misplaced market focus, since I have little to say about the test, and little desire to speak about it. Some of the bloggers I read would tell me I have discovered a market and should create a product for them. Hmm. I don't know. Here is my advice: to pass the jlpt, go to Japan, and learn Japanese there by using it all the time. Then, since about half of the JLPT1 grammar is rarely used by Japanese people, by Kanzen Master and study that.
So it looks like I am heading back to Japan in a few months. So it begins again. Looking over these past posts...the individual moments seem like lifetimes ago, but the time in Japan seems like only yesterday. I am scared about going back, but I will be ok.
When I went in 2006, I was single, still drinking, had saved a bunch of dough.
Now I am married, have a degree (started when I got back. I was 39). Sober. On the other hand, I am broke, college loan looming, no job (I am free-lancing). And adapting to married life and possibly living with my inlaws.
In a review of "Step Brothers," Roger Ebert writes:
Sometimes I think I am living in a nightmare. All about me, standards are collapsing, manners are evaporating, people show no respect for themselves. I am not a moralistic nut. I'm proud of the X-rated movie I once wrote. I like vulgarity if it's funny or serves a purpose. But what is going on here?
In High School, I was in creative writing, Judy. I wrote this poem about my father dying. My father wasn't dead, but I was angry and creative. So I read it, a girl cried, I had to lie about my dad. I walked out of class feeling like a sociopath. The whole year, she would look at me sympathetically, and I avoided her gaze.
Of course at PT conferences it came out that my father was not dead, only in New Jersey.