The O.C.(D)

No, this is not about some 21st century ripoff of classic after-school tv in the form of Beverly Hills 90210.

For those who are not so well-versed in the labyrinth of modern-day medicine, an explanation of it can be found here. In my own case, this illness does not manifest itself in me having to open and close the door 14 times before heading out, nor do I have to unscrew all the lightbulbs in my apartment before I can go to sleep. No, instead, I have to go to this town called Gifu. Pretty much every moment I get the chance. There are some rituals involved in this process, such as the climbing of a mountain, and the buying of designer denim at a store known only as Jeans RUS. Yes, that's a ripoff of a big-ass toystore, gone awry. This does not detract from the quality of the denim available for purchase at (quite often not at all-) reasonable prices.

I've been back at least once a year since I first went there in the summer of 2001. Of course, my love-affair with the place has less to do with town itself than it does with the people I know there. It's the same with everything, I guess. I wouldn't have survived the seven-month Expo without the insane Nordic people; I'd have had a miserable time in Saitama had it not been for Tomo, Kalaya, and the fine people of Winning Shot putting up with my idiocy all the time; my 31-day tour of Japan would have bit the big one without the company of Da Pete; and don't even get me started on growing up without Hasse, Escha, Hampa, and the rest. So yeah, that's why I go back to Gifu every chance I get. The jeans, the mountain, and the excellent weather? Perks, no more, no less.

Which brings us right to my Saturday morning. Waking up at 05:30 should be outlawed (if it's not already), and if you're gonna go climb something taller some really tall things, it should be outlawed once more, just for the spite of it. But such was the plan. See, if you go later in the day, it tends to get a little... warm, as the following picture from the inside of a Pajero Mini shows.

Ok, so it kind of exaggerates things a degree or two, but still. You get the idea. Yasu and I started climbing the mountain exactly one hour after waking up, and before we got to the top, we'd lost about a trillion or so pounds in pure sweat. The initial conclusion? We're getting old. Although it probably has something to do with us kicking the crap out of our best time up that beast of a pile of rubble. Incidentally, Shiho, the third member of our would-be team of mountaineers, overslept. Both the mountian-climbing thing, as well as the next engagement. This matters little, and is merely noted as something of an anecdote. Much like the rest of this, one might imagine.

Getting back down was also something of an undertaking, but eventually, we made it to the BBQ-by-the-river. Well, we had to wade across the river to get to the ultimate BBQ spot. Ever. There's a saying that crossing the stream to get water is something you might not wanna spend a whole lot of your life doing, but we figured screw it. And then there was this tiny old man who did his best Jesus-impression. Ok, so he didn't turn water into wine, or walk on said water. He did, however, walk on beer.

Basically, after incurring the wrath of every possibly deity with the above reference, rain and thunder came along, bringing their childhood friend lightning along to have a good time. Still, some BBQ-ians refused to give up the ghost. Needless to say, Yasu, Shiho, Asuka, Yumi, Kaki, Kouhei, and I headed for the cars with every ounce of human speed available at the time.

There was also quite a lot of drinking of beer at night, complete with all the fixin's, including... Well, suffice to say that every party hits a point when somebody thinks it's a good idea to hide on the top shelf of the Oshi-ire (think: "big closet"). Usually, that person is not me, but it was bound to happen sometime.

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Incidentally, this morning, there was a small power outtage. 1.4 million homes in the Tokyo area affected. 440 traffic lights went dark during rush hour. A gazillion trains stopped on their tracks, as it were. I expect Bruce Willis was involved in some manner, possible fighting some Germans named Hans or Simon. Whatever. I knew I should have played the lottery last night.