The Omasum

I tend to talk to myself (more) when I have a cold. Maybe it's because it sounds like I'm talking to somebody else.

There is no toilet paper in my apartment. I don't think that's ever happened before. Well ok, now there is paper. I wrote that, and then finally reached the point where my need for the article in question outweighed my substantial but not infinite laziness, so I went out and bought some. Although I do kind of wonder what the lady at my local (super) market - the aptly named Fit Care Depot - thought of me when I came in to buy eight rolls of toilet paper, a bottle of Coke, and two packs of Instant Yakisoba (the "instant noodle" of the knowing consumer) while the Backstreet Boys were rocking the speakers in the store. Maybe I'll go back to ask her. Nah.

So! In order to amaze and astound, I present you with the following: A picture of a mountain I have climbed with a friend of mine whom I'm in a vicious blog challenge with, the other is a picture which has been given the honor of titling this post.

A mountain.

A dish.

Now, while I could speak at length about most things in general and holy Japanese mountains in particular, I shall focus my efforts on that... thing on the plate right there. You see, it is the "omasum", as I learned this morning when I looked it up. Good thing I didn't do that last night. Turns out (if you can't be bothered to read the six lines on Wikipedia) that it is the third compartment in the stomach of cattle and other happy four-compartmented-stomach-beings. If you aren't a vet (of the animal-loving, not napalm-dropping kind), that might not be very interesting, except that you can eat it. Apparently. At least you can at this little place in Yokohama I was led to. On the way there, one of the two people with me said we were about a block away from where "dangerous Yokohama" becomes "Dangerous Yokohama". I never did get around to asking how he drew the border so that a place that serves inside-out cow's stomach ends up in the "safe" part. As a final... something, not only do you have to pay for the privilege, you also have to cook the thing yourself. The lengths some people go to to get their omasum, I tell you. Suffice to say, I think it'll be a while before I come much closer to abandoning this carcass-centric lifestyle I'm leading than I was last night.

Moving on! In the haha-I-can-see-a-mountain-from-where-I-work category, I can mention that that shot was taken on the fifth floor of, well, where I work. Then again, I can also see a lot of dealers of pre-owned automobiles, so maybe I should downplay the location-angle.

Oh, but I have other completely non-connected pieces of news to dazzle you with:

1) In an interview on tv the other morning, a Japanese fella' by the name of Shigeru was interviewed. Questions in English, answers in Japanese, pretty standard fare. But of course, he was dubbed to English, as it was an American channel doing the producing. But of course, he was then dubbed back into Japanese again, as it was a Japanese subsidiary doing the broadcasting. If my current job doesn't end up working out, I'm so going into translating. Those folks seem to have a lot to do these days.

2) At an ATM near the near-fabulous station of Shin-yokohama, there is an ATM which, I'm near-certain, is equipped with a device that scans the vein pattern in your hand. Thumb-prints? Were you born in the year of the rooster, or what? Anyway, I'm so going to change my bank. Also, the name of the bank: MUFG. Which stands for Mitsubishi-Tokyo UFJ Ginko. And no, nobody really knows what the UFJ stands for, why neither "Tokyo" or the J in UFJ were deemed important enough to be included in the official abbreviation, or what the **** I'm doing writing about it in the first place.

3) A random Japanese person asked me about my real name this week, knowing my Japanese one. And she guessed correctly! Frightening. That's the first time that's happened. I'm so going to... I don't know? Get an even more secret alias?

In the words of a dear friend of someone dear to me: "Must drop off now."