I saw “Lost in Translation” this weekend. I’m not sure how many of you know this, because I don’t write about it much, but my family and I lived in Tokyo for three years, from 1988 to 1991. We moved there because of my dad’s job. I was 14 when we moved there and 17 when we left; I went to an American high school there.

So I appreciated “Lost in Translation” on different levels.

It was a sweet, smart movie, and Bill Murray was perfect in his role (indeed, he was Sofia Coppola’s first and only choice for it). But on top of that, there were little wonderful moments in the movie that brought back memories. The subway announcements; Tokyo Tower; Japanese television commercials with American movie stars; problems in multilingual communication. The movie captured Tokyo so accurately. It was even more resonant for me and my parents (with whom I saw it) because it brought back those disorienting feelings we had when we first moved there. We spent our first few nights living at the Imperial Hotel because we hadn’t rented furniture for our apartment yet; we were in this strange, almost alien city; we were suffering from jetlag because of the 13-hour time difference. What the hell were we doing here? My brother and I discussed sneaking back to the airport, flying home to the U.S., and living with our aunt and uncle. But you know what? We really came to love it there.

On our first night in Tokyo, my dad, my brother and I went to a McDonald’s, and my dad spilled a Coke.

It’s weird, the things you remember.

I did something like this for a couple of years, although it was nothing more than a sheet of paper with a list of names. Then, towards the end of 2001, I compiled everyone from the past year onto a spreadsheet, and I included more details, such as what was done, etc.

I told this to a friend of mine, and he and I then tried to come up with a name for a computer program that could keep track of one’s sexual encounters.

There’s iTrick, as Brad points out in Mike’s comments. And my friend came up with Trickminder.

As for me, I came up with a better name:

Tricken.

I’ve been in this different place lately.

My routines have changed. It partly has to do with being sick last week; I didn’t leave my apartment from Wednesday morning to Sunday afternoon. And it was really nice. As I mentioned, I watched tons of old movies on TCM. I also put together some nice big meals out of the food my mom had brought me. I did lots of New York Times crossword puzzles. (I like being able to complete, or nearly complete, the Friday and Saturday puzzles.) There are times when I enjoy the isolation. As for this old movie kick, I’ve taken it further — yesterday I got myself a Newark Public Library card (I can get one since I work in Newark) and I took out a biography of film director D.W. Griffith. As usual, I’m following my brain wherever it takes me.

It feels like ages since I’ve been to a bar. I think it’s only been two and a half weeks, but it feels longer. And no alcohol for me for a few more weeks, because of the antibiotics. Oh, well.

As for sex, I haven’t felt like having it lately. I went a little overboard a few weekends ago, trying in some way to make up for having been hurt the weekend before. Now I’m taking a break from sex; I feel like I need some distance from it, some space, some cleansing.

In addition, I’ve begun singing with the chorus, which I’m enjoying. It feels so natural to be singing again — just as if I’d never stopped — and there are lots of nice guys in the group. I’ve also dropped an unfulfilling volunteer activity.

I’ve decided to renew my lease, because I have a newfound appreciation for my apartment. There are some things I wish were different about my living situation, but I’ve realized that although it’s not perfect, it’s still damn good.

Old stuff has dropped away, and I feel like I’m resting, waiting — taking a breather before new stuff comes along.