The Escape

A lot of things can happen in two fortnights.

I knew it was too ambitious. The project was doomed from the start. It was one of those things that seemed like such a good idea on paper, that once it was realized it would change the world. Not unlike the entente cordiale or possibly chocolate covered macadamia nuts. I am of course referring to the Beverage of the Week, the incredible new (going by the actual number of posts) old (going by the amount of time since the first one) feature of this here blog. And today, as ever, it's a doozy.

However, as I sit here in my increasingly cold apartment (I have got to get in on that space heater action, soonish), there are other things that weigh on my mind. The first? Escape the cold. It's all very Maslowian. Now, to escape the cold (without resorting to purchasing a space heater or wearing actual clothing), you can, well, escape. This, in turn, provides you with two options: North or South. Not a very big idea to escape the cold by running East or West, although I guess it is colder in central Siberia than it is in Stockholm.

So? I tried it. But since I can't really decide on a direction, I figured I go for South-western Tohoku (again, "there's a delicious pun in there, but certainly not good enough to warrant extensive Japanese language study"). Or just Tohoku, whatever. There's a place there called Matsushima, which is one of Japan's "Big three sights". They do love their lists here, or so says Lonely Planet of five years and three editions ago.

Who knew? There are green, flat things in this country!

Day 1: Weather not great. Sights? Definitely top three

Day 1: Weather improved. Sights? Certainly not top anything

Now there are also some quaint features of heading out into the countryside in Japan. Like how you have to push a button to open the train doors (we almost missed our stop! What's next, manually having to push it open?!), or how you can actually smell salt in the air. Once. But it still counts. Don't get me wrong. Coming from a metropolis of 8500 souls, I should not be one to mock the laid-back country lifestyle. Especially when they've got elevators like this:

Welcome to 1984

So yeah, that would be the first attempt at escape. The second one? having tried all directions at once, I decided to stay in and unpack. My entire life. With bits slightly broken and tattered, but overall ok. For you see, I am once again the proud owner of all my junk. And some exciting new junk as well, so that I can display my old junk properly. It's the greatness! Took a fair while to get it all together, though, but at least it is now done (except a tiny pile of things that just don't seem to want to end up anywhere but on the floor, for some reason. Think I'll keep it there).

Of course, that stunt didn't prove effective for very long, before you knew it, I was back in reality again. So if escaping didn't work, and not escaping didn't work, surely escaping again would, right? Flawless logic. Which is why I shall be traveling to the tiny Pacific island of Saipan with someone very dear to my heart, in what is practically only a week's time! Ten glorious days of, and I am quoting here, "Sola och bada, pina colada". And no, I can't be bothered to make the squiggly thing above the "n". Won't be drinking that anyway.

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for! Or at least the lead-up to it. Kind of a theme, this week. Is it any wonder I chose to live in this country, where the donut-ads are 8-bit throwbacks and the soda made from RPGs? (and no, I don't work at Fox News; it's not that kind of RPG)

Mr Donut will be crowned King Donut based solely on this ad. At least he should, damnit!

Beverage of the Week #3:
Name: FFVII Potion Limited Edition (Tifa version)
Catchphrase 1: "Guano bowls, collect the whole set!"
Catchphrase 2: "Gotta catch 'em all!"
Price/volume: 200yen for 350ml
Place/time of purchase: Maruetsu/16:36
Particular Point of Interest: You're never gonna find one with Aeris on it. Also, it's prime ingredient is "Royal Jelly", something sure to turn the stomach of any Futurama fan
Taste: Way better than you might think, given the packaging and, well, concept in general

Overall score (not an average): 9/B+

The Wedding

A lot of things can happen in a fortnight.

I know, I know, I it must have been horrible to go a whole extra week without "Beverage of the week", so just scroll down and there you'll find it. In other news, I have been back to Saitama with one very good friend, attended a trade show with 190 000 other people (some friends included, no purchase necessary), and been to a wedding. Not my own. I think.

But, time is of the essence, as ever. The reason for this is that I have to go to work. On a Saturday. This sucks in a not small way. "What cannot be changed, must be endured", and all that honkey. Anyway. Why would you go to Saitama? Aside from the obvious reasons of "why not?" and "I'm all out of Skittles", the main reason for me and Tomo was that we "studied" (yes, I'm intentionally trying to make this paragraph the most quotation-mark-intensive one since 1998) there what is now a full four years ago. So we basically pottered around up there for a while, getting all nostalgic about things people usually get nostalgic about. Like supermarkets where the one gallon whiskey-jugs are now placed slightly across from the bikes and tvs, but at a price; you can't get puppies there anymore.

To further increase your amusement (anything for you!), here are some random pictures from Saitama, spiritual home of... Something, I'm sure.

The Happy Road. On what we who have lived up there know to be the right side of the tracks.

The bad news: Fresh bars so students can't sneak back onto campus at night to party wildly anymore. The good news: they haven't done anything about the four-foot hedge being the only thing barring entry on the north side.

In the grand tradition of this blog, guess the place where the warning sign was posted, and win absolutely nothing.

One grand tour and a baseball game later (which Chunichi embarrassingly lost by one, despite me having purchased impossibly over-priced cheering paraphernalia at the event), it was time for the big ol' yearly event out in Makuhari. It was... much like it was when we were there in 2003. If you happen to be one of the 6.7 billion people who was not there in 2003, let me sum up the entire trade-show experience in one picture:

Why this sign was not present at Hultsfred, I will never know.

Finally, there was a wedding. Now, some things of this nature you just don't see coming, whereas others can be spotted a mile (or eight or so years) away. This falls into the latter category. I guess it's pretty uncommon for people to come away from a wedding thinking "this'll never last", but in this case, I feel fairly confident in saying that these two were made for each other. If you had been there too, you would agree. On this you shall have to trust me.

Now, I had never been to Japanese wedding before, so I was probably the third most nervous person there (after the staffer who saw this random foreigner approaching, probably to spoil the party, and the guy at the back who quenched all his nervousness in liquor, making him scream out humorous things at well-chosen times throughout the ceremonies). This is a whole different level compared to the informal Swedish one I'd been to. Things I had to do to get ready:

1) Get a white tie. No, it's not a funeral, but that's the deal here.
2) Borrow a suit, since my own suits have only just now arrived in Yokohama harbor with all the rest of my junk.
3) Get a special envelope to give the tradition wedding-present: cash.
4) Learn that you can't give an even number of bills, as that would imply that the couple too would be divisible.
5) Get new bills. No old money here.
6) Get a special pen to write on the special envelope.
7) Spend two hours on the internet learning what to write on the envelope.
8) Spend another hour trying to write that, legibly, and failing horribly. Why use regular Kanji for numbers when you can write them like they did back in the old days?
9) Spend on sleepless night worrying I might screw up all the proper polite phrases used especially for weddings. Ok, so I slept fine, whatever.

Not my computer, but the fine penmanship is indeed mine.

Once all this was accomplished, the ceremony was held, I realized I could probably have gotten away with a lot less worrying. It was a grand ol' time, with waterworks from pretty much everywhere. I won't post pictures of the couple since they're off doing what they're doing and I'm not sure it would be kosher, but I'm certain you can imagine the scene: two happy Japanese people in fancy garb, surrounded by lots of other happy Japanese people. And a half-Japanese guy, some people from Taiwan, and me.

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for:

Beverage of the Week #2:
Name: Lifeguard
Catchphrase: "Because no other beverage looks this good in camo"
Price/volume: 130 yen for 500ml
Place/time of purchase: Saitama Univeristy/15:16
Particular Point of Interest: The World's First "Bionic Drink" (possibly)
Taste: Like it's probably gonna be the World's Last "Bionic Drink"

The Lemons

Across from my apartment, there is a lady who is not cleaning her window. That is not to imply that I think she needs to clean her window, merely a statement of fact.

If I make my way down to the first floor, turn left, and walk for 15 minutes, I end up in... not Shinjuku, as was once the case, but at least Kappa Sushi. Which ain't bad, really. However, the Gods do have their fun with me from time to time. For you see, I have now for all intents and purposes moved to my place of permanent residence. But I still don't have a bed. Or a frying pan (or, as a sign in the place I stayed before said, "this pan suitable for flying"). That will all come later, or hopefully sooner, as it's currently winging its way across what I'm hoping is a very pacific Pacific. Or at least Indian.

The Gods do not only keep me from my crockery, they can also be a little over-zealous in their concerns for my personal hygiene. Like just now, when I went out to have Ramen-noodles (which is pretty much like saying "CD-skiva" in Swedish. Or French, for that matter): The noodles were the best I'd had since getting here - Yayaya is not opening in its new location for another month - but when we were getting ready to leave, the heavens opened and water came flowing down. I suppose that means that there's a large reservoir of water above the heavens, which might not really be the case, but the thing is, we got really wet. In the tropical sense. Not in the Amazon-sense, but pretty frikkin close. And of course, when we get back through the thunder and the rain, it all decides it's had enough fun, and stops. The joke, my friends, is on me. Again.

There is much rain in Japan. And traffic signs.

So yes, I am now "settled in", whatever that means for a person typing this on a collapsible chair. It might mean that posts become at least a little more frequent (the opposite would be hard to imagine), and since I now have The Internet, they may even get their picture-element back.

Right now, though, I'm far too busy (have to watch tv!) to continue these blog-shenanigans. I shall leave you with this, what I intend to make a weekly recurring segment of the show. The Beverage of the Week! Why would this be of any interest whatsoever? Hey, I only provide the questions. Socratic method, and all that jazz.


Beverage of the Week #1:
Name: Lemon's Lemon
Catchphrase: "Because it isn't just anybody's Lemon"
Price/volume: 120yen for 140ml
Place/time of purchase: Okurayama Station/22:04
Particular Point of Interest: Contains 50 Lemons' worth of vitamin C
Taste: Like it contains 50 Lemons' worth of vitamin C

Overall score (not an average): 6/B

The Retard Rodeo

No, I don't mind that much. I might even have gone, had one of my (two) soccer-crazy friends mentioned the event more than ten hours before... tee off?

Yeah, the rodeo's in town. That town is Shin-Yokohama, and the rodeo takes the shape of approximately five point eight billion fans of Barcelona. Don't really know what that town has done to deserve all that love, but I suspect it's all to do with Henke Larsson. Anyway, when I get back from my new place (to the place I'm staying in until the appliances I've ordered get delivered on Sunday), I'm greeted by at least half of the five point eight billion soccer fans, and also five hundred random Chinese people all with the same type of luggage, all moving "up-stream", as it were, away from the station. Throw in a couple of "public safety officers" trying their very best (i.e. their very loudest) to guide said public, and you have a recipe for if not disaster, then at least humor of a kind very few people actually appreciate.

Oh dear, my A.C. just started making strange sounds. In the middle of Japanese summer, that's right up there on the unpleasantness scale with the stewardess kindly informing you - half way over Siberia - that your side of the aircraft is having some electrical difficulties. Good thing, at least the other half will survive us plummeting thirty thousand feet to our frozen doom.

But yeah, I'm getting off track. What has indeed happened since the last time I posted anything, is that I've moved to Japan. I've got the little stamp in the passport to prove it. I have found an apartment... Well, let's not be bashful, it's actually a "designer mansion". Ok, so maybe 40 sqm doesn't seem like much of a mansion to you, but that's your loss, frankly. In Japanese, it's a "mansion", and a designer one at that. I, my friend, am living the high-life. Currently, it contains one A.C. and a couch. Or sofa, of you swing that way. More stuff will fill that place by the end of the week, though, take my word for it.

So that's pretty much what's been taking up all the time I haven't been working. Once I get reconnected to the internet at my new place in a short-short 12 days' time, I might even post some pictures. Yes, I shall live without access to the internet, something mankind has not done for any long stretch of time since the days when it was spelled with a capital "I".

Ok, I'll go and... pretend to be busy with something over there now. In the mean time, ponder the fact that the internet may be the best invention since I was born (fine, I'm not that old, whatever). Except for Pizza Hut's sausage crust pizzas. You take all the wholesome goodness of a hot dog and combine it with the nutritious explosion that is a pizza, and there you have it. Walking heart-attack? I'll take two, please.

The Pack

Last night, I went out to get a pack of what cigarettes. Because I'm moving to Japan.

Of course, they weren't for me. There are far too many great as-yet unknown ways of contracting cancerous tumors for me to spend my time attempting to procure one by pursuing that particular old-fashioned route. While I have been given a pack by a young woman who came all the way from Tokyo to Nagoya "just to give you this, since I saw you on TV", I have never actually purchased any myself. No, they were for this man. I shall call him Ken, because that wasn't his name. He was at my house. With what I can only assume was if not a friend, than at least a colleague, in the shape of Toby. Which wasn't his name, either. But still, two random guys were at my house. Which, yes, technically isn't my house. The lies!

Anyway, they were movers. Now I have some experience in dragging loads of stuff back and forth to Japan, but for all the times I've done it, I've never felt compelled to employ the services of two men and a huge truck. Well, ok, felt compelled, yes, actually done it, no. So it was me, Ken, Toby, and the truck. Which was stuck. Obviously.

It doth be in there good. Or bad, as it were.

Due to recent actual rains and various deities giving it the old college try to rain on my parade in a more poetic sense, Ken backed up over a patch of ground which, it turns out, wasn't really ground at all. Man, was that truck at an awkward angle while we waited for assistance in the form of a great big tow-truck.

The not-quite-right way up. And no, that's not my crap in there, thankfully.

None of this, of course, explains what I was doing purchasing saran-wrapped cancer on a stick. Or would that be in a stick? I'm not quite sure. Either way, they were for Ken, an excuse that when given to shop keepers across the land by nicotine-craving 13 year-olds has fallen on deaf ears. For me, it worked like a charm. Maybe it was because the old lady behind the register was busy screaming "If you're not going to make a purchase, just get out!" at what I can only assume was a group of nicotine-craving 13 year-olds.

So yes, the moral of this story kids? Stay in school. And while you're in school, feel free to say a prayer (as I imagine people in schools do) for all my junk, which is now slowly winging its way East. I hope. Maybe some of it will actually arrive, and some of that might actually not be broken. Hope, as they say, springs eternal.

---

However, the above does little to explain my absence from the intertubes over the past month. That, you see, has to do with vacation, a subject surely far less interesting than that of trucks at weird angles, and also, cigarettes. So it follows it won't get as much space here. Suffice to say, vacation, in all its many, many forms, kicks ass. Seriously. If you haven't tried it, you really should. Sometime soon. It is, as they say in Japan, completely frikkin' お奨め.

I went to a place I had not been in a number of years that can only with the utmost difficulty be counted on one hand. And it was, as they say in Ireland, grand. And yes, I'm very much word-dropping to show off my globe-trotterianism. Anyway, here's what it looks like. One of these was shot during the day, the other was shot at sunset. For once, he tells the truth!

Sunset or midday? You be the judge!

Midday or sunset? It can't be both!

So now, as the sun sets on my time in Sweden (see what I did there? That's was what they call in Sweden a P3-segue) for what in all likelihood be almost a full year, I sit here, wondering... Not about the big questions, really, but more practical matters like how do I end this post? If you have any ideas, feel free to contact me, you do know the number. In the meantime, I'll be busy starting another new life in Japan. This time it's for real.

The Business

Say what you will of the French, but no people have gone further in mastering the art of the incredibly annoying Nokia ring tone-alarm-wakeup-thing.

Indeed it does, my friends.

So yeah, I've been away. You may have noticed. You may not have, that's entirely up to you. But a couple of months ago, I received in the mail a silver-tinted card, officially making me a member of my chosen airline alliance's middle-tier bonus club. Which was nice of them, although I do agree with research that suggest those who end up third are generally happier than those who get second place ("Yay, I made the podium!" vs "Bugg'rit, missed out on winning. Again"). But this induction into the carbon polluters secondary hall of shame meant I of course had to do something with the point-things.

By the way, I really miss the days when I could sanctimoniously scoff at pretty much most other people just because I didn't have a car. Now it seems I can't get on a plane without having an attack of carbon-conscience. Somebody should just take matters into their own hands and disinvent fossil fuels altogether.

Anyway, back to what might resemble a story. What to do about the points? Fly, of course. Where? I have two (or possibly three, now) entirely separate friends in Ireland, lets go see them! (this may or may not in fact have been the primary motivation for the trip, but it seems so much globetrotterian to go the other way). However, even after payment, there would still be some points left. They were about to go bad, just like that piece of soft cheese I've just blatantly ignored in the fridge since its purchase back in times ancient. So yes, since I am now a working man and will likely have less holiday-days a year than you can count on one finger, why not go the whole nine yards and do things in style: Business class. Oh yeah.

Things are very much the smoothness on my flight out, but the return journey? Can-fucking-celled. Technical difficulties. While part of me - yes - can appreciate the fact that the airline took time out of its schedule to check it wouldn't kill us all this time, I can't help thinking the Karmic Gods are laughing their collective behinds off. My second ever business class trip turns into a re-routing via Switzerland, and a six-hour delay in arrival. But being the one and only (Chesney Hawkes!) business passenger from Zürich made me appreciate the reverse of that Seinfeld skit where he imagines what the look back from the stewardess closing the little curtain means: "If you only tried a little bit harder, I wouldn't have to do this to you, you know".

Also! While apparently I am naive enough to believe the guy who told me the EU allows airlines to not give out monetary compensation when flights are grounded on technical grounds, I was generously treated to lunch at the airport. Who says there's no such thing as a free lunch?

Really, it tasted better than it looks

On the flight, reading the staple of the business traveler, the Financial Times, I find this little piece about China and India. And visas! You see, they're not really happy with each other about some random land somewhere. China wants it. India kinda wants it too. Same old, same old. But instead of taking the active option - just invade and get it over with, one way or another - India negotiates sending a team of negotiators to China to talk it over, and possibly have some tea. But these meta-negotiations... crash and burn. You see, China refused this one guy an entry visa. This is a valid reason for getting upset, I feel. But the reason was that since the guy was from the disputed area, China thus considered him to be Chinese, and not in need of a visa in the first place. Now as a guy who's been through his fair share of visa-related crap over the years, let me just tell you, negotiator-guy, don't be an idiot. You take that ball and run with it as far as you possibly can. One less visa-requirement in the world will only make it that much better a place to pollute by flying frivolously around it.

The Financial Times

Now that the actual journey has been covered in excruciating detail, I can leave you with incontrovertible proof of my having been on the Emerald Isle. Or at least ofbeing able to find things quickly on Google Images. I present you with the greatest phallus symbol there is in all the land, located in downtown Dublin, no less!

A giant... thing

You didn't honestly think this post would include stories of merriment with friends in an exotic land, did you? If you did, you are forgiven. Come back soon, as I will have gone on a boat. In an ocean!

The Barbaridad

There's not much else to say really. That's it, game over.

As you have by now no doubt noticed, the streak of timely Sunday-updates has come to an end. There are reasons for this, and they can exclusively be spelled "working the f***ing weekend". If I were in the mood to elaborate on that particular point, I would spell it "working the f***ing weekend, starting at 06:00 on the Saturday and ending at 18:00 on Sunday". I would then be guilty of a lie of omission since I did in fact not work that entire time. In between, I slept, ate, and... balanced my checkbook? That I don't have?

So yes, this means that a) you should all be feeling very, very sorry for me (as is generally the case), and b) I can't even get away with the tired it's-still-Sunday-in-Hawaii line, because quite frankly, it's not. Let's just accept this and move on.

However, all is not lost! As compensation - there is always compensation - I had Friday off, and I have today off. Part of one of those days was spent watching a sporting event I had been unable to watch live - thank you, mighty powers of the great Intertron in the sky. Now I'm not a huge sports-nut ("possibly even a slightly smaller nut than most. Cashew?" - Queue canned laughter), but this particular sport I have been known to enjoy on occasion. But the mighty powers of the great Intertron in the sky saw fit to play a prank on me. Having successfully procured the material online, I set about watching it. And proceeded to be yelled at by none other than three separate Spanish people for about two hours. And I kinda enjoyed it.

Now, my grasp of Spanish is as good as guy who took two years of the language in high school and then promptly forgot all about it over the next, say, seven years. Not so good, then. But by the end of the event, I finding my way back to my old latin-lover self, which is basically just a warning to those of you who might be unfortunate enough to meet me in the coming week - just turn the other way and run when I come along screaming "Qué barbaridad!" and other things, the meaning of which completely elude me. I'm pretty sure that would be most people's gut reaction anyway, but I felt I should still point it out. Call it public service.

ANFSCD!

As filler for this post, I have a gorgeous anecdote about the process of moving to Japan. Back when the moving company said they were going to rise to the challenge of bringing all my knickknacks over - upon having lovingly wrapped them in bubble paper, surely! - they were nice enough to send me some documents detailing what I wasn't allowed to bring in to my future country of residence. These included:

Firearms. Which is a shame, 'cause now I'll have to put up my gun-rack in my new apartment, sans guns, at least until I can go out and get some in Japan. Is that hard? Memo to self: find out.

Swords. Now this seemed a little protectionist to me. I know they're all very proud of their swords and whatever, but what if I wanted a Swedish sword to... put in my gun rack, in liue of actual guns?

Pornography, or "other materials endangering public morals". Which is a great rule to have, and is also one that shows just how little people who make these regulations have gotten on any subway train in the entire country in the last fifteen years. Or been inside a 7-eleven. Or... been alive in Japan? Maybe it's another one of those protectionist things, I don't know.

Narcotics. While I don't have any snide remarks to make about this (wait for it!), it does remind me of those little green notes you get when flying into the U.S., where you have to declare you're not running drugs. Which to me just seems like overkill. I mean, if you catch a guy running drugs, do you really have to go after him for lying on his little green entry form as well, isn't he in enough trouble already?

Straw. Yes, because you see... What the hell?! Straw? Seriously?

Straw products. Because these are terribly easy to manufacture without using the active ingredient known as straw. So this means I can't bring my great big goat made from straw and then put it on fire at or around Christmas? What kind of a democracy is this?!

Yeah, so that's pretty much what's up with me. What about you? In what has become known as Kumadude-tradition, I shall present you with a picture of a road sign which leads to the place where - I believe - the people writing the above regulations sit. Or rather, their managers. And man, somebody ought to talk to them about the poor job they're doing.

If you need to manage your retardation, be sure to come and enjoy beautiful Tsunashima, home of world class retardation... managers?

Be sure to tune in next week, as... Do not make me have this argument again, I will stop this car right now, so help me, mister!

The Triple

Surely there must be some mistake. Three weeks in a row with a timely update? Things are... afoot? Rotten? All of the above?

When I leave my home, I have to cross a tiny metal bridge to get out. It's bit like living in a medieval castle, except that my moat is probably not more than two feet across and one foot deep, meaning my attackers would probably have little trouble gaining entry even if I went apeshit on the bridge and threw it down into the dark chasm below. It's also a bit like not living in a medieval castle since I've got far too little of both meed and the compulsory henchmen around. Knights and whatnot. Also, the insulation in this place would kick Camelot's behind any day of the week. Including Wednesday!

So yes, construction has come to my neck of the woods, and from the looks of things, it would appear it's here to stay. At least they haven't yet begun starting work at four in the morning. Yet. I bear no illusions that that state of pleasant laziness will last much longer, sadly.

Also, I just ran into someone who did something which was, for want of a better description, very "me". I was taking the trash out. In the very boring, very literal, very much not at all the Chuck Norris kinda way. As I approach the trash... building? Palace? Gendarmerie? Either way, approach it I do, and this lady comes from the opposite direction, also carrying something that my astute powers of observation immediately recognize as what the French call "garbage" in that wonderful accent of theirs. We exchange a perfunctory greeting from fifteen feet away, and arrive at the door almost at the exact same moment, me beating her by a couple of seconds (score!). As I contemplate if I should play the gentleman and let her in first or be my actual self and just forget about all laws of civil interaction, she walks right past the door, seemingly oblivious to the bag in her hand. I am quite baffled by this, throw my stuff where it belongs (remember kids, Kumadude's all about the recycling!), and as I am about to exit, she comes rushing in, throws her one bag, and darts out, leaving me to lock up. It was like she tried to give me the impression that "This is not garbage in my hand. I am not going where you are going" in order to avoid the three seconds of forced social interaction inside that shed, then realized it was a pretty childish thing to do and changed her mind.

When I said at the top it felt like a very "me" thing to do, this is what I meant, only I would not have darted back. I would have hopped on the train, rode one stop, and then walked all the way back in order to ensure nobody would be at that shed when I got back, so there would be no risk at all of any sort of social interaction. That's the worst kind of interaction, you know.

---

Intermission!

Radio's come a long way. I used to listen to it wirelessly on my, uhm, radio. Now, I listen to it being wired through the intertubes, through my wireless modem which sends it the final ten feet to my computer, which in turn pumps it out through wires connected to the same speakers my dad got me for christmas all those years ago that used to fill the house with far too abnoxious tunes. Possibly Hits 4 Kidz 53. Anyway that circle, too, doth be complete. As circles tend to be. I mean think about it, a circle that's not complete? In all the ways that matter, it's just the letter "u" with a serious inferioity complex.

---

Third subject of the post? Already? My, how time flies. But yes, here we are, about to broach the treacherous area that is photography. It is one of many things I am not very good at. My dad was a hot shot in his day, though, and I have friends (yes, it is an amazing enough statement all its own) that know their way around a lens cap as well, making it all the more painful I kinda don't. So how to fix that? Why the Internets, of course! And they told me several things:

A1) You should aim to take the best possible picture when you take the picture.

This seemed fairly obvious to me, so I skipped down to number A34b) (does that even qualify as a "number"?)

A34b) If all else fails, you can fix a lot of you half-assed mistakes in post production, possibly using a legally purchased license for a recent version of Adobe Photoshop.

But you see, that would seem to imply you need to know actual things about that program. Hmm. Once more, the InterTubes came to the rescue!

B1) You should aim to know actual things about that program.

B2) If you don't, here's a 14-step tutorial on how to make your crappy shot look like it's not quite as crappy anymore. And a bit like it was in a movie shot in poor lighting conditions!

So I followed the advice, and a mere 14 simple steps (the fastest five and a half hours of my life, I can tell you that), I arrived at a result. Which I shall show you! But first, just for the sake of argument, let's show the original picture, taken when I was Down Under with my good friend Dr Tiki and cohorts Caroline and Alexandra. Five points to anyone who can name the island. Hint: it is the world's largest sand island. (Master Class difficulty: no checking that link, or where it leads, Google/Wiki it yourself!)

The Original, complete with Land Rover goodness

Now, feast your eyeballs on the digital imaging revolution that is the result of... the internet's guidance:

The slightly not-so-Original, complete with way OTT vignetting effects

The reason I put you through all that? I don't... honestly... know. It killed a part of my Sunday, so now I'm having my revenge? Guess that's the part that's fun for me. Tough nuts, and all that. But to try and make up for it, I shall leave you with the following, which was snapped at what I am sure is the Shibuya branch of perennial favorite vendor of useless things, Loft:

Mobile ashtrays. Implying that they tend to be stationary?

Be sure to tune in next week, and see if I can keep the trend alive as I go for a record fourth straight on-time post!

The West

No, that's not the tired East/West Eurovision-thing.

What it is, in fact, is a fine direction to travel. Personally, over the past few years, I've been more inclined to go in the opposite direction, but to balance my carbon-emitting karma and spread some heat-death-love the other way, I figured what the hey, packed my bags, and rode off into the sunset. Well, packed my one overnight bag and got in the back of a white sedan with surprisingly little rear legroom and got driven off into the sunset, but that's not something I'm overly proud of.

For you see, I have now been on the first business trip of my soon 26-year existence. And it was kinda nice. Not nice in the "work two hours over brunch and then get back to the jacuzzi"-way, but still nice. My fine 9.5 square meter hotel room overlooking... a parking lot did what it was supposed to do, even though I was allowed precious little time to enjoy there. Just as well, probably. By now, I'm sure you're all wondering where I went, what was this mysterious westerly destination? Not that westerly, considering you could get there and almost back again on a tank of gas, but still. But I don't think I want to spoil the surprise by letting you in on it, feel free to talk it over amongst yourselves. Possibly around some sort of water cooler, what do I know?

Over the course of my four days at the now secret location, I... worked? Looked at things? Spoke to people? Did businessey stuff? Had far too much food, far too little of which was actually nutritious? That sort of thing. But all in all, it was a pretty nice time. Managed to meet up with Koray too, who's busy doing almost what I'm doing, but in a different place, only for us to join up at the "final" destination (as if such a thing existed) in mid-July. So yes, I can wholeheartedly recommend you do the same, get your boss to put you up in a tiny room on condition that you can mooch a ride off people already going in the same direction. Experience the luxury that is business travel the IKEA way. That might have come out a bit harsh, since I'm actually just happy I got to go at all, but such is life. Live it, love it, and enjoy it, and if there's any time left over, do some homework. Ah, 80's sictoms, where have you gone?

So! What else? Surely other things must have transpired? And transpire they did; if one were so inclined, one might even take a bite out of that thesaurus and possibly imagine that they conspired to transpire. And then go home, knowing that some people shouldn't be allowed near a keyboard, or books containing actual words, for that matter. Ever.

But yes, transpire they did. To prove this to you, I present you with photographic evidence, exhibit A:

A Chinese restaurant?

Granted, my Chinese isn't really all that great (which is a nice way of saying I took one evening course four years ago and that's pretty much it), but I think this place needs to decide if it is a Chinese restaurant or a Japanese one, and then assign it with a name befitting its culinary direction. Then again, it might just be one of those combo-places. Back in my happy uncomplicated youth (as compared to my current happy uncomplicated 25-year-old-ness) in Linköping, there was a restaurant called Tokyo Roma, which happily set about combining raw fish a pizza into a very successful concept. Well, give it's current bankruptcy it might not have been all that successful, but it was certainly... a concept?

Also! Upon going through my files, I discovered the following, taken on what appears to be a mildly overcast day in times past. As I am a simple soul, it made me laugh. I believe this effect will only appear in one other human being on this still-green Earth, so for that reason alone, I shall end this post with it. And no, I'm not laughing at Volkswagen. Although I suppose I could, but that's just a post all its own.

Number plates are good.

Be sure to tune in next week as I will have... had time off? Yay!

The Name

You may now call me Master. And yes, there's a very real risk (or chance, as I see it) that this post is going to be a bunch of incredibly egocentric drivel. No change there, then.

There are a great many things I have been called. Thankfully, not all of them are derogative adjectives bent on my destruction; some of them are actually quite bearable (spot the pun!). A summer soon six years in the past, my current alias ("Kumadude" for those members of the audience who just can't seem to pay attention) was coined on a distant rooftop by someone who's last name was a slightly idiosyncratic version of the Swedish word for "rose". Doesn't that just have a lovely hint of promise in it, like there's some sort of back story there, possibly leading up to several quick cuts back and forth to people doing fun things with weird hairstyles and way too much makeup? In the 80's? Maybe not.

So yeah, Kumadude's been around for a while. However, at work on chill March morning, a Japanese colleague of mine couldn't really be bothered with the added burden that is -dude, and promptly declared in front of a whole meeting of his peers what he and "The Kuma" had been working very hard this morning. His grasp of English may not have been the best, or perhaps that's exactly what it was. In that case, I take it as a compliment. This is my first time being a "the", and I think I like it. And I'll just have to sue the ever-lovin' crap out of AMD for this.

Pause for a bit of flower-porn. It will be explained below. Possibly far below.

But you can't let too long pass without getting yourself a new name. It just wouldn't do, you see. So a week or so ago, I got a letter in the mail. It told me I had a letter to pick up. I love it how the Post Office, bless it, tries every little thing to increase the volume of mail. However! On that not-so-chill April not-so-morning-but-rather-afternoon, I went and humored the P.O. by picking it up. And I was rewarded by a piece of paper instructing me to stand that little bit straighter when I look in the mirror in the morning. Because, as I am about to announce to the entire internets, I am now a Master. Yes, I realize it would have been better to combine it with the above to make me "the" Master, but one step at a time.

So you see, I have now officially graduated university. Took me long enough, but at least I got there in the end. And the dinner I was treated to (by someone completely unrelated to the university, but still) was certainly good enough to make up for my six years of... slacking off, with a final or two thrown in there at arbitrary intervals. Given the deliciousness of the dinner, I would graduate more often. If only it didn't involve so much actual work. At least that's over now.

Yet more flower-porn! What the h's going on here?!

---

And now, a slight excursion to soften the segue into the whole mess with the flowers. A one-paragraph perfectly pretentious post-within-a-post I like to call:

It's amazing how giant fusion reactors in the sky can almost kill you.

No, I'm not talking about some random thought experiment of the Sun blowing up now, or possibly mad scientist types... doing mad science? No, I'm talking about how actually seeing the night sky riding my impossibly trusty and equally old bike home from a friend's place the other night very nearly made me run into a lamp post. It's frightening. I mean, when was the last time you saw the night sky, for realz? Having spent much of the past whatever of my life in either large cities or at least places where there's light at night, actually seeing the stars was almost... Well, it was nice. This despite the fact that there were some party-crashing lamp-posts, lamps included, working and everything. Did I mention I almost ran into one? Either way, I wholeheartedly recommend it - the stargazing, not the lamp-into-running - to anyone with an accurate enough sense of balance. But yeah, the last time I was that moved by the simple act of tilting your head back and not allowing your eyelids to close for a short while was quite a while ago. Senior year of high school, in Lithuania, if you'll believe it. Escha, you know of what it is I speak. No, not the vomit comet or the rowing to Russia, the other thing.

Final bit of flower-porn, right there!

And now, at the very end, the rationale for all the pretty pretty flowers. It's a 2003-promise to someone who really wanted to watch the Sakura bloom in Japan but couldn't hang around long enough to watch it actually happen. Also: I needed filler to make it seem like I wrote a lot. So anyway, sure, she might be biking around NZ right now, but I'm sure the GPS on her bike gets this blog. And quite possibly Soviet-era UHF-transmissions too, but that's a story for another day.

Be sure to tune in next time as I will have completed a long road trip with two people who know an awful lot about kitchens!

The King

Or maybe that should be "The Kuma". I'm not sure. I'll get to that part at a later date.

As promised in the last post, I shall do my utmost to top the post I did the last time I was on a flight home from Japan. As I have already passed Babarovsk, I have but one card to play. That of fame, glitz, glamour, and champagne. And free candy, as it were.

Now I don't consider myself to be the type of person who is impressed by celebrity or celebrities. But of course I am. So when I got the invitation to head on over to the ol' Swedish embassy right there in Roppongi, I accepted with all the grace of stir-fried tuna. On Sunday, I went there, had a pretty nice time drinking a bit of champagne with some of my friends, chatting about this and that. As a pure bonus - and yes, I would call it coincidence were it not the most ridiculous lie ever conceived by man - we were not alone in our hob-nobbing. It just so happened that H.R.H. King Carl XVI Gustav of Sweden and H.R.H. Queen Silvia of the very same Sweden were there too. Talk about a small world. So we hang out, I give him some tips on where to go for music in Shibuya, talk to her about H&M opening in Harajuku, and... Well, ok, so I stood in line with 30 other people to get to introduce myself in a rather brief fashion, shake hands and that was it, but if wishes were fishes...

When I got back, I informed my girlfriend of the above. Her first question, and I am quoting here, was: "So when you introduced yourself, was his reply 'Hi, I am The King'?". I found that hilarious. Maybe it was the champagne, did I mention the champagne?

Come to think of it, I don't really remember his exact words, nor those of the Queen. I do remember his "impromptu" speech right at the end of the hour-long mingle-fest, which started with the words "This is the King speaking". That was kind of funny, too. Seems like a pretty relaxed guy, once you get to know him.

For you see, quite apart from teaching his elder daughter how to fold a paper boat a couple of years ago, I have spent much more time with him than many who were at the embassy that night. In fact, he's sitting right next to me as I type this. At least if by "right next to me", you mean "some 29 rows and two curtains ahead of me". But it's all good. For you see, of course, having felt the same connection I did during our meeting at the embassy, I'm sure he decided to catch the same flight back to Sweden as me. Strange, didn't see him on the train on the way to the airport, though. Guess they must have taken the bus or something.

---

So yeah, this is me leaving Japan. Again. It happens with an alarming frequency, but one that will hopefully decrease after this time. It all feels a little... grand, or something. The reason for this inflated feeling of self-importance is that in pretty much every Japanese movie ever made, things always begin in the end of March, right when the cherrytrees are in full bloom. Also, things have a nasty habit of ending at the same time, albeit one or more years later. Guess they like the metaphor. "Every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end." The whole country is surely whack for old emo-bands from Minnesota. Getting back on track: If you're gonna leave Japan, it's a pretty nice time to do it in. A bit like quitting while you're ahead; getting out while the gettin's good, and whatknot. Get to see nature at its most beautiful, while not having to stick around to endure the inhuman temperatures of... mid-April?

Finally, before I say goodbye to Japan for now, a question: Why on all the Gods' Green Earth is North Shinagawa station located SOUTH of the regular Shinagawa station? You know the people who named it have seen maps and quite likely even a compass or two in their day, I'm just saying.

---

If I had been any less of a lazy-ass (in the denotation of the early 00's, "lazy-@$$", for those who were around to enjoy that particular time), I might have posted the above as soon as it was written. But I'm not. I'm exactly the amount of lazy-ass that I am, so here we are, two weeks later, and one vicious blog-challange is on the edge of being lost. So! I finally get around to posting what is - in all ways that count - old news. Good on me! But to try to cancel that out and leave off with some actually new news, I'll inform you that I survived Friday the 13th (as I have a habit of doing). And that in the future, I expect people to rewrite the calendars to fit the Japanese way of numbering things: 11-12A-12B-14. And no, that's not my hand in there.

The Question

When the world ends, it will not be in a cacophony of fiery explosions, nor will massive numbers of people scream unintelligible... things at the top of their lungs. No. Instead, it will be accompanied by the voice of a cheerful young woman politely explaining that "This is the end of the world. Please don't forget to take all your belongings with you as you exit this plane of existence." Or maybe I've just been in Japan a bit too long.

Not that that has anything to do with anything, really. If you haven't caught on yet, that's kind of the way we do things around here. Welcome. Anyhoo, in stark contrast to the previous post, I actually have some sort of... thoughts, one might even go so far as to call them "plans" for this post. I'll start by bitching about random things, and then move on to some pictures. After which come the explosions, obviously.

Complaint #1) Me. Some people apparently spend their Saturdays relaxing, or possibly even socializing (or so I hear). Me, not so much. No, instead, I go apartment-hunting. Of course, I won't actually be moving for several months yet, and Tokyo/Yokohama does in fact - in stark contrast to for example Stockholm - have loads of empty places just looking to become un-empty. Ok, so I started out thinking "I'll just look at some places in Hiyoshi, that'll be it", but of course, things happened. I had a brainwave. "The next station isn't that far away, I might just as well leg it." I had this brainwave nine more times throughout the day, and my calves will never forgive me for it. For those of you who know your Toyoko-line, I walked Hiyoshi - Motosumiyoshi - Musashikosugi - Shinmaruko - Tamagawa - Den-en-chofu - Jiyugaoka - Toritsu-daigaku - Gakugei-daigaku - Yutenji - Nakameguro. To those of you who don't know your Toyoko-line, that's eleven stations, "cities", if you will. 16 kilometers, in Google Earth-years. 10 miles, and no, I don't know how many calories. Not doing that again anytime soon.

Complaint #2) Me. I only get off the escalator at the floor for classic music at the Tower Records in Shibuya to go the the bathroom. This makes me feel disappointed. I really want to know things about classical music, but I just never seem to reach enough wanting to step over the boundry into actual doing. My threshold energy is thus... great?

Complaint #3) Traffic lights. Bet you thought it was gonna be "me" again, huh? Just keeping you on your toes. Maybe it shouldn't be listed here since my traffic light karma has seemingly improved over the past week or so, but the lights by the station must be the worst invented by mankind. Ever. It's like the God of Traffic Lights ("Jeff", to his friends) just took the day off and played... that there Playing Station the kidz are all talking about? I don't know, whatever. At least I've finally managed to get from the station to my home without having to stop at either of the five lights. Traffic Light Bingo, as we refer to it.

Complaint #4) Me. For actually finding a recent song entertaining. At one point, the singer goes off on a wild tangent and excitedly claims that "I'm a crazy crazy rainbow star". I would imagine so. Do you know any sane rainbow stars? Ok, sure, but do they right music? Well, do they?

Complaint #5) Japanese TV. Usually it's right at the top of my non-complaints-list, but when you wake up on Sunday to a show where celebrities have to guess how much the plastic surgery cost that turned these five men into these five very female-looking males... Maybe it was just pre-Monday-crankiness setting in, I don't know.

---

And now, pictures! First of all, there is one of a Porsche. It's a fine car. You may wish to guess where I had to go to take its picture. If so, by all means, indulge yourself. Winner gets a free cupcake.

An old Porsche.

Hint #1: The Porsche was not parked near here. (5 points)

Hint #2: The Porsche was parked near here. (3 points)

Hint #3: The Porsche was parked nere here. As well! (1 point)

Now as if that wasn't enough of a picture overload, here are some others I found taking up space on the ol' HDD. Triple points!

Why do you need the second sign? Do we really want people who can't remember a direction for five meters actually riding the subway?

What's wrong with this picture?

Who would win a pie-eating contest, the Japanese or American NBA?

Nah, I don't have a question about this one, I just thought it was... funky.

Suppose that's about it, really. Wow, first post since I got here that didn't involve Fuji-san in any way. Kinda. Good to see I'm finally getting over that frikkin' mountain. Anyway, be sure to tune in next week as I try to top my previous post about Russian mountains secretly harboring wishes of redistributing wealth. It's got a shocker finish, let me tell you!

The Inconsistency

Well isn't this awkward. It's a little like meeting a friend you haven't met since elementary school, only it's not a friend but a blog and it's not since elementary school (because back then, computers didn't exist) but three weeks. So yeah, I guess it's not really anything like that.

There have been developments. I don't know what your personal image of Japan is, but chances are that it will fall into one of two categories. Most things tend to, really. The first one is the image of a very efficient society, all cogs working together, firing on all cylinders, that sort of thing. This perception is usually predominant among people who have never been here. For some reason, if you've spent any length of time here, you begin to notice things like four people refilling a soda-machine. And no, it doesn't take a fourth of the time it would have taken just the one guy.

The Guys

Nah, I'm joking! Or am I...? Intriguing.

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And now, some crowd-pleasing from the depths of the oh-my-that's-just-wacky-wacky-I-tell-you-archive. Ok, so it's not that wacky, but it is posted on the wall above my stove, and I hear there's a huge interest in things like that, so here you go:

I'm so taking it out for a spin once I finish writing this. Can you take flying stoves out for spins, though?

Also! It will soon be officially springtime in Japan. In Sweden, it's apparently spring when the average temperature has been above 10 degrees (Celsius, what did you think? Seriously?) for seven straight days. Here, it's when the cherry blossoms, uhm, blossom. And this year, the hype may be more intense than ever, possibly thanks to Al Gore. Spot that connection! But yeah, some people are worried because the frikkin' things are blooming before they planned for them to bloom. These people are mainly tour operators who are booked full for the first week of April, when they thought the blooming would reach its peak, and are now faced with calling a lot of disappointed customers to say they're very sorry they couldn't control nature. This time. I would suggest they check this. Man, the Googles, they've got everything! (for those not daring to look, it's a Google Map of where the things are blooming, complete with pictures! Fan. Tas. Tic.)

Did I just spend an entire paragraph talking about not only flowers, but cherry blossoms? I must recover my masculinity, somehow. So! Toilets. For at least three years now, there have been models available where you bring music on an SD-card, plug it in, and beautiful stereo sound erupts from the built-in speakers. And yes, the seat is heated, of course. We're not barbarians, after all. If they could only figure out how to use insulation to keep heat in/out of the houses too, the entire country would probably just implode under the pressure of utter perfection. Oh, and there's a jacket made to help people who have to sleep standing on trains. I'm so getting one.

Closing out the section: I have cereal for breakfast sometimes. And yes, I felt a whole lot of grown up when I got the turbo-fiber ones instead of the turbo-sugar ones. And no, it wasn't an easy choice. But maybe I should take it easy. The package I got, all 450g of it, says it's for "industrial use", like for company kitchens or restaurants. Eating like a factory worker might be bad enough, but eating like an entire factory of workers? Maybe I should look into that diet thing people keep talking about.

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And now, for something completely different! Over the past couple of weeks, there have been changes to my future life - something a lot easier to deal with than changes to past lives, it must be said. Anyway, these changes have then been changed (a sort of meta-change, I would assume?), but the end result is that I've finally found out what part of the company I work for that I'll actually work for once my training is over in July, where I'll work, and where I'll train, too. If you're reading this, chances are you'll already know, so I won't waste any more key-presses on it. Ok, I will. It has to do with furniture.

Incidentally! The other day - at said place of work - I heard someone call my name. This happens now and then. Only this time, it was a person of Thai origin. This doesn't happen very often. Even less often, it's a Thai person I studied together with three years ago, only for her to go back to Thailand, graduate, come back to Japan to work in Osaka, then come to Yokohama and run into me. It was, as they would have said three weeks ago, "kewl".

Thailand? Travel. Multiple segue points: I've been around a bit myself, too. Some Yokohama here, some Shinjuku there, and a freak visit to Yotsuya only to find my reason for going - the Best Ramen in the Known World, Yayaya - closed. And some other places, but I certainly wouldn't want to bore you. So! Spot that holy mountain, and the... holy-hell-that's-a-lot-of-red-bricks/taxis?

A holy mountain, and a girl who's actually taller than it

Red brick warehouses, housing fine exotic goods for centuries. Like avocado burgers

So sue me! Again! I like the lights of Kabuki-chou. And taxis. Surely I am not alone in this?

And in grand tradition, I shall close out the post with a little something about food. I guess I might have mentioned it up there with the cereal, but as you are no doubt already aware, if I were king, my motto would probably be something along with lines of "to hell with consistency". Or possibly something about donuts. By now, you must surely be wondering why I have not died yet. It is a combination of two factors:

Things I have not eaten:

The Fugu. Potentially extremely poisonous blowfish for you and your special lady friend, sir?

Things I have eaten (wihout chewing?):

The Yamachan. Potentially extremely thirst-enducing spicy chicken wings, Nagoya-stylee. Note: Actual chicken wings may not be present in the above picture. Void if removed, no purchase necessary.

To paraphrase a formerly underground British pop act: Beer always tastes better with a man dressed like a chicken printed on my glass. That will be all.

The New Black

I'm amazed at the velocity at which my body can create rather large amounts of mucus. If only it could manufacture Volvo saloon cars at a similar speed. I would so retire to... somewhere.

Yeah, I'm kinda sick. But it's all good. I'm just sick enough to feel sorry for myself, but not so sick that it actually registers, unlike some people I know. These people who have had surgery today after somebody stepped on their left arm. And that was actually in an attempt to set the bone right! Damn, these Japanese physicians and their... feet? Anyway, get well soon, Mr Tiki!

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A lot's happened since last we met. Not only has this thing gotten brand new sparkling threads in a vain effort not to give up too much distance to Mr Da Pete in our vicious blog challange, but I've also spent a day opening 19 bottles of champagne. Well, it didn't really take that long, but it was quite fun. I've also been to Shinjuku, Takadanobaba, Shibuya, Kamakura, and that's not even mentioning where I actually live, despite me having been there too. And! In one of those places, I met someone named Jeanne D'Arc. That's a fine piece of naming-devil-may-care on behalf of a couple of parents, right there. I applaud them for it! But I digress...

From the top: Attentive readers will no doubt (?) have noticed the new little list right there on the, well, right. It makes a pretentious claim about me liking "A rainy Shinjuku". It makes several other pretentious claims too, but I shall only justify that one, at least for now. So to do that, I offer the following: How can you not like a place that looks like this:

The Rainy Shinjuku of which I speak. Or spoke, at least.

And now, for something completely different! Construction worker sadism. Why is it that the people trying to build something across the street from me absolutely have to do their loudest work when I am trying to get my best sleep? On a frikkin' Saturday. I do not want to wake up at eight a.m. I did not call the front desk to ask for a wake up call, not that there is one to call. Nevertheless, these people see fit to wake me (me, I tell you!) with their... building. And just when I've given in, just when I've realised I'm not going to get any more sleep after half an hour's intensive banging, they stop, content in the knowledge that I am awake. Self-centered? Surely not!

Anyway, I'm sure they've all had this for breakfast. That surely must be the root of all this evil.

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So, work. Aside from the champagne, one interesting thing happened. I was standing outside the entrance, and then I hear a pretty impressive crashing noise, see some pretty impressive sparks, and react way to late to the tire rolling away from the Merc at rather impressive speed. Thankfully, I was about two meters away from its path, and equally thankfully, it was stopped by the door or a taxi and not the flesh and bone of a someone. But it was kind of... rad.

Find the missing wheel, win a prize!

I know this post's a bit picture-heavy, but all this multimedia hoo-hah of late means I have to give the kidz what they want. And that's not text. No siree. They want pictures. They really do. Actually, I'm sure they'd prefer the new-fangled type of moving pictures, but somewhere I have to draw the line. Anyway, what follows is what you can find in the fine coastal city of Kamakura, once proud capital of the nation:

A bamboo forest

A traditional Japanese avocado burger. From Hawaii.

A random guy trying to steal a star.

I guess that should satisfy pretty much anyones craving of colored pixels for now. But just in case, I'll give it one last try. Final sale, everything must go! Have no fear, the holy mountain depicted below was not actually having an eruption at the time. I think. Tune in next week as I dissect every single one of the twelve plates of sushi I had at the gorgeous Kappa sushi located 10-15 minutes away by foot from my current domicile, and also: The weekend! Yes!