tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183600122024-03-08T08:26:58.840+09:00Tiny sniper - Wink your future!Kumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-92104720341911590792008-10-01T23:12:00.002+09:002008-10-14T09:12:45.053+09:00The FateA wise man once said, “All we can do until time kills us, is kill time.” So yeah, that’s what I’ve been doing this past week. Thanks to the glorious invention of the three-day weekend back in 1785, I have been able to attend one concert, one tradeshow, and one mountain, although quite how you actually attend a mountain is frankly beyond me at this point.<br /><br />But first! A long meandering discussion about Fate. Or Coincidence, if you prefer. For last night, on our way back from the Mountain, we stopped in Yokohama for some Chinese food. This is a good thing to do. Not only was the food good, but it was complemented by the appearance of Yoko-san, who works at the company I did my thesis at. Said company is abour 20 miles away from Yokohama. This got me thinking about other chance meetings I’ve had the pleasure to experience in the past - queue flashback music and blurred picture:<br /><br />1) Last night, on our way back from... Ok, did this one already.<br /><br />2) One week ago, in Shibuya, at the Hachiko-crossing (“The busiest intersection in the world”, according to those who want it to be the busiest intersection in the world), I’m out with a couple of friends when I am distracted by someone actually pronuncing my name correctly, at very high volume, nonetheless. Queue Norwegian friend Sigrid, who is back in Japan for a month, training with MTV to present a show on Norweigian TV3. So a <em>celebrity</em>, no less!<br /><br />3) Back in July, I was having dinner with some friends from work near Tokyo station, when Aya-chan, whom I am on a sort of friend-of-a-friend status with passes by and waves enthusiastically. She was moving to Osaka in a couple of weeks, just a little FYI.<br /><br />4) Then we have the work-people: I’ve run into one guy both in Nakameguro and in Shibuya, and another time I’ve run into Ie-chan from work, also at Nakameguro, this time at the station. So 4) should really count as 4-5-6).<br /><br />7) The really freaky one happened in December 2003. Tomo, Caroline, Alexandra and I thought it would be a good idea to spend three weeks travelling three thousand miles across Australia. And it was! At the start, when we camped on the World’s Largest Sand Island (Fraser) by night and bumped around in a landrover by day; a couple of Germans, an English guy and two girls of the same nationality also joined in. This was around December 20th. Our group split up on reaching the terra firma of Australia proper a day later, and we thought that would be the end of it. Ten days and 1500 miles later, without any communication of any kind, we’re celebrating New Year’s at Mrs Mcquarie’s Point in Sydney, when English girl #1 show up and happily greets us with a fairly gorgeous "Hello!"<br /><br />8) Ok, I have one more, about running into a Korean guy I met in Gifu in Tokyo two weeks later, but after the Australia-story, it’s kinda hard to work up the enthusiasm. Never mind.<br /><br />Now that that’s all taken care of, lets get down to the triple mentioned at the start of this post, before it got all verbose. The Concert:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDHdGHDFnpvb_oG05PuBxXzwlq7GrTk1kfj5NWY2RRa1dXzW43xWBhgR1YdpqiK0N51Qup0KQmdIibsuB34JVfTweBIRRx95k9Kbuvkixd2dAgeHxoHwUd0Pz9GDfTxVbcrN_W/s1600-h/DSCN1222.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDHdGHDFnpvb_oG05PuBxXzwlq7GrTk1kfj5NWY2RRa1dXzW43xWBhgR1YdpqiK0N51Qup0KQmdIibsuB34JVfTweBIRRx95k9Kbuvkixd2dAgeHxoHwUd0Pz9GDfTxVbcrN_W/s320/DSCN1222.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256793394988261346" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Ah, the Sound of Music.</span><br /></div><br />If you think Japanese people are mild-mannered, polite, and just people who don’t indulge in crowd-surfing and thereby shoving their feet and other even less preferable body-parts in your face, then you obviously weren’t at this shindig. Which is a shame, because it was what the early ninties would refer to as a blast. Did you see the purple lights, well, did ya?!<br /><br />Next up: Trade Show! This was not the first time I’d made the trek (by train) out to Chiba, but it was the first time that crowd-control had gotten it into their collective hive mind that it would be a good idea to make 70 000 people walk <em>around</em> the entire building (a one-mile walk, thank you Google Earth) before allowing them to gain entry to the show proper. The length of the queue at it’s peak? Estimated at a mile and a half, which, yes, is almost an entire mile longer than the shoddy half-mile deal H&M managed to pull together when they opened in Ginza last month. Also, here’s what it looked like, from back-stage:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjoSGRAd6ODRTazhyZY1JjQxfbg7auR-pxAXpn7HmOfUz_gkBFEGnS7aghmA3n8JIwWq0zoWQHvpRvNQahKhFVbHAoAwVk52IQKamZCNowqP2YHdh1vAARRAozSVhTILGt7sx/s1600-h/DSCN1249+%28kopia%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjoSGRAd6ODRTazhyZY1JjQxfbg7auR-pxAXpn7HmOfUz_gkBFEGnS7aghmA3n8JIwWq0zoWQHvpRvNQahKhFVbHAoAwVk52IQKamZCNowqP2YHdh1vAARRAozSVhTILGt7sx/s320/DSCN1249+%28kopia%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256793558544018690" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Look ma, people!</span><br /></div><br />Then the triple to complete the crown. Nothing quite like a show about cars to make you more interested in Nature. A while back, I’d seen an episode of Top Gear (look it up!) where three English gentlemen travel to Japan to see what can get them from point a (Sea of Japan) to point b (Mt Nokogiri in Chiba) the fastest: a Nissan with more bhp than the spaceshuttle, or public transportation - bullet trains, that sort of thing. A story of sat-nav failiures and getting-on-the-wrong-train-’cause-the-signs-are-in-Japanese hilarity ensues. Eventually, the car option wins, by about three minutes.<br /><br />But that’s not the point. The point is that Mt Nokogiri is a gorgeous place. I shall demonstrate this now:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSxJQRuveHkZoZa3TxMxvXQlQT3N_anhHv9rPYJV6u_WGBlJfnW7ubVUujcoJuJqXGO58YCzcu-7q6d5e0JU4VcyUIU6jFMwYD-KT3M-EvtnHqrHFIN75uibcLlR_ixVnVXgSl/s1600-h/DSCN1295.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSxJQRuveHkZoZa3TxMxvXQlQT3N_anhHv9rPYJV6u_WGBlJfnW7ubVUujcoJuJqXGO58YCzcu-7q6d5e0JU4VcyUIU6jFMwYD-KT3M-EvtnHqrHFIN75uibcLlR_ixVnVXgSl/s320/DSCN1295.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256793738823848674" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">A gorgeous place.</span><br /></div><br />So a mere one hour on different trains, a 40-minute ferry, <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">a 15 minute hike to the ropeway station</span> an hour-long hike to the top, and we were there! Which was very much the prefered option to “here”, at least at the time.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLYDKYbNperwKTDtCEVOdYsxI1vS7sbI6GWrNTJZOhp0NPYjXuQYjiiocQjKqgJrmYQcs7FgH_5clhP9LTvnVvZT61N8NvPBKjL0ngPW0C_MhR7-2-3DssDog7dIL7Tgtoe3H5/s1600-h/DSCN1326.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLYDKYbNperwKTDtCEVOdYsxI1vS7sbI6GWrNTJZOhp0NPYjXuQYjiiocQjKqgJrmYQcs7FgH_5clhP9LTvnVvZT61N8NvPBKjL0ngPW0C_MhR7-2-3DssDog7dIL7Tgtoe3H5/s320/DSCN1326.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256793895759636546" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The “we” who were “there”.</span><br /></div><br />Also there? Japan’s biggest stone Buddha, a cliff sticking straight out of the (other-) rock with just a neat-o 100 foot drop straight down (“peaking into purgatory”, they called it, and yes, going up there was not completely un-scary), and a sunset.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1UZjgNduB_cMgPMGQx79gF3R86MSpgYPPUBuNGCQtnW2PEhyphenhyphenZiJhyphenhyphentC-pAgdp1__Z_25zF02NQxzotoNYBusJd-Z3CEi-h3GH435G2t7-IZB1MaQzps7oSBenYf0wE3b2vO4o/s1600-h/DSCN1364.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1UZjgNduB_cMgPMGQx79gF3R86MSpgYPPUBuNGCQtnW2PEhyphenhyphenZiJhyphenhyphentC-pAgdp1__Z_25zF02NQxzotoNYBusJd-Z3CEi-h3GH435G2t7-IZB1MaQzps7oSBenYf0wE3b2vO4o/s320/DSCN1364.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256794055685422450" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">You guessed it.</span><br /></div><br />Final note: the thing that will stay with me from this trip, possibly more than any other? Two Japanese guys, who going up the trail as we were going down, went “Ninja! Ninja! Ninja!” to... get in to the spirit of things? Whenever you need a little extra energy to keep going, just exclaim that quietly to yourself. And no, I don’t know why.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU5ruoIV0Tm2vurMJwP8nWPOZx7br93oOIRztZsaGBAky3AOAoTrzXbNVSbqQ4eXcHq_q7g54DJ8FzVxk7JwuQfbRhhBNQVTYUr7WPOWWZjLW14porxXTMmoK9uzQL7il4Rzod/s1600-h/Sprite3G.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU5ruoIV0Tm2vurMJwP8nWPOZx7br93oOIRztZsaGBAky3AOAoTrzXbNVSbqQ4eXcHq_q7g54DJ8FzVxk7JwuQfbRhhBNQVTYUr7WPOWWZjLW14porxXTMmoK9uzQL7il4Rzod/s320/Sprite3G.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256794228925967234" border="0" /></a><strong>Beverage of the Week #14</strong><br />Name: Sprite 3G<br />Catchphrase: <em>"Look at us, we've named our new softdrink after that next-gen mobile phone tech that was so hot four years ago"<br /></em>Price/volume: 147 yen for 500ml<br />Place/time of purchase: Circle K, somewhere, 09:55<br />Particular Point of Interest: The 3G’s are: Glucose, Green-Tea-Caffieine, and Guarana. And yes, they call it Glucose because a) “Sugar” doesn’t have the ring it used to, and 2) calling it “Sugar and 2G” or possibly “SGG” was just not an option.<br />Taste: Like Sprite. Or maybe 7-up, I can never tell those apart.<br /><br />Overall score (package/taste): 5/BKumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-22808286373545610152008-09-26T20:57:00.001+09:002008-10-01T23:29:58.037+09:00The DesperationYou might imagine there have been goings on over the past seven days, and you would be right.<br /><br />Not quite as many as you might think though, take it easy now. First of all, there’s all the crazy “I didn’t see that one coming” type-deals. For example, Autumn! I mean, what the h****? See, that extra asterisk makes it completely impossible to tell which word I’m aiming at. Could it be “helix”, or maybe “hello”; surely not the obvious answer: “helve”?<br /><br />Yeah, I’ll just go play scrabble now.<br /><br />Ok, back now, hope you enjoyed the break in our regularly sceduled programming. So yeah, autumn. Really? Does this mean I shall have to take out some sort of coat to wear to work? Surely not! This is Japan, and while they have yet to perfect the one-person electrical heating system (surely by next winter, though!), there is no need for a coat yet. The reason for this is that Japanese autumn, thus far, is a wuss. I’d say “sissy”, but that’s one of those words that by taking it in your mouth and making it your own, you sort of become that word, or what it means, rahter. Kind of like “extraneous”.<br /><br />Man, I thought I was all scrabbled out, but apparently I was mistaken. Sorry ‘bout that.<br /><br />Getting back on track (not that I can remember getting on track in the first place, but yeah), you have not lived until you have witnessed a middle-aged Japanese man in a suit try to parallel-park a Hummer H2. Yes, I know it’s the “tiny” model, but if that was your first thought, they you do not realize the magnitude of this situation. The entire population of Sweden is gathered here in a 35-mile radius from my house (and no, I don’t mean all my neighbors are blond, blue-eyed, and have a strange affinity for the outdoors and eating fish eggs on hard bread). Nine million people. Approximately 34 parking spaces for them to share. Which means that when I said before that the rent on a parking space by my building is pretty much what I paid for my 920 square feet apartment when I was a student in Sweden, I am not kidding. Supply and demand, my friends, or at least demand. Supply apparently took the day off, and was last seen heading towards Cancun. He was never spotted in the lower 48 (or at least Japan) ever again.<br /><br />Sadly, I didn’t have the cohones to actually take a picture of the situation, so if you have problems visualising, feel free to use Google, or maybe that newfangled YouTube (you see, it kind of sounds like “You too!”) that them thar rotten kids are always screaming at me (?).<br /><br />---<br /><br />Yes, it’s the return of the three dashes to mark a new section! Yay! And in this one, I shall examine... vegetables! And ham! For you see, on my way home from <em>the gym</em>, I stopped off to have some <em>vegetable tempura </em>(look at me, being all healthy and aware-like! Probably won’t happen again. Ever). I also did some other shopping of the food kind. Now, putting aside that one banana is like two bucks, and that the money you’d have to spend on four tiny tomatoes could allow some people (me) to live <em>the good life</em> for a fairly long time, the story of the day is the ham. For you see, people are starting to see this whole overpopulation of the Earth-thing as a problem. To paraphrase an old teacher of mine: imagine a world with six billion humpback whales. Not much room for anything else.<br /><br />But yeah, that’s not the point (surprise!). The point is that, the <em>boffins</em> (God, I <em>love</em> that word!) have figured out that you can feed more people if said people eat veggies instead of meat. For years, the meat-lobby has stood firm, arguing... well, basically not arguing anything, since people still love their meat. But now, change is coming. After my delicious veggie tempura, I tried to get back to my normal over-consuming self by purchasing ham. And what is written on the pack? “Vegetables are tasty” Seriously! Do I not feel bad enough already? Do you have to remind me that not only am I missing out on eating something that’s a) good for me, 2) good for the Earth (or comparatively less bad, anyway), but also something that’s actually <em>tasty</em>? Three darts is too much man, indeed.<br /><br />---<br /><br />Finally, this has nothing to do with Japan at all. But I found <a href="http://linkopinglivin.blogspot.com/">this blog</a> the other day... It’s kind of freaky. Have you ever had that feeling, you know, walking around town, looking somebody in the eye and immediately think “Whoa, I’m sure that dude is actually an American expat living in Sweden, writing about his experiences of Sweden and Swedishness just like I’m living in Japan, writing about my experiences of Japan and Japaneseness. ” Ever get that feeling? Maybe it’s just me. But there are loads of expats writing about loads of experiences in loads of countries. So to spice things up further, this guy is from a place I am going to visit in a couple of months time, and he’s now living in Linköping, home of my dear University. Still not freaked out? Then your heart is made of stone, there is nothing more I can do here. Bet you didn’t cry when your mom told you that Mr Wiskers was just going on a long vacation in the country either, huh?<br /><br />That, my friends, is essentially your kettle of fish. Except for:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ7nSQGcZfOtP_ICBamjeglVr2XownDmrEH5MPht8tBNIidleYlVUsRN7XXAUpPcUNykWe8FJE0LMpKxc1ouGLlbcYhkPFwW0HQVIVJpmy-QDZ6Pg2WNwcarXJv4HIbMXztKhR/s1600-h/Aquarius.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ7nSQGcZfOtP_ICBamjeglVr2XownDmrEH5MPht8tBNIidleYlVUsRN7XXAUpPcUNykWe8FJE0LMpKxc1ouGLlbcYhkPFwW0HQVIVJpmy-QDZ6Pg2WNwcarXJv4HIbMXztKhR/s320/Aquarius.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252191144073787090" border="0" /></a><br /><strong>Beverage of the Week #13</strong><br />Name: Aquarius<br />Catchphrase: <em>"Hey man, it’ll stick around for approximately 2150 years. Either that, or we named it after what we thought that catchy 60’s tune by The Fifth Dimension was called. We were apparently mistaken."<br /></em>Price/volume: 98 yen for 500ml<br />Place/time of purchase: Foodium, Musashi-kosugi, 20:48<br />Particular Point of Interest: Aquarius is an (surely not “the”?) official drink of the International Olympic Commission. And no, I did not just make up “Foodium”.<br />Taste: Like if I had brought this climbing Mount Fuji, I would still be able to drink it, unlike Pocari Sweat. And yes, the whole point of that sentence was to inform you that I have climbed a very high mountain in Japan. Mainly by buss, but come on, it’s the 21st frikkin’ century!<br /><br />Overall score (package/taste): 7/B+Kumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-57361353612388904882008-09-20T00:14:00.001+09:002008-09-24T19:41:22.991+09:00The TyphoonYou might imagine there have been goings on over the past four months. And you would be right.<br /><br />But instead of that, let’s live in the now, and just get on with it, yeah? The problem with that is that I don’t quite know where to begin. Which means this is probably going to end up being one of those list-type posts. With numbers and crap! Here’s the official Only-In-Japan-Kids-list for the week of September 22, 2008:<br /><br />1) The last time I was going to go see a movie, we got to the theatre seven and a half hours late. That’s actually not the point. Nor is the point that there was a typhoon raging outside - it hadn’t even impacted the screening scedule! However, upon choosing to have dinner instead, we discovered exhibit a) Fresh towels in the entrance for people to try to make themselves less dripping wet. It’s a grand concept, almost up there with Hello Kitty Toilet Paper.<br /><br />2) Hello Kitty Toilet Paper. I’m not sure, but maybe somebody, somewhere, crossed The Line when I wasn’t watching. I mean, really?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE0reOXHUsSpM1vxaLrVSdwgcWzC8a_O77gCqrMGoRU8-brPTPrG_QGJBLqSiZ7-1mYzbYG3uxN0nFTDFnK65UGHeAyL-50STfYImzSPXiLsuT7wN7MdIvyENXOMp0e2w7FHl_/s1600-h/DSCN1211.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE0reOXHUsSpM1vxaLrVSdwgcWzC8a_O77gCqrMGoRU8-brPTPrG_QGJBLqSiZ7-1mYzbYG3uxN0nFTDFnK65UGHeAyL-50STfYImzSPXiLsuT7wN7MdIvyENXOMp0e2w7FHl_/s320/DSCN1211.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249535118822580626" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">There you go.<br /></span></div><br />3) Pen-twirling. It’s the next big thing. Or the last one, damned if I know. But it’s still big enough to warrant its own display in the fabulous Tokyu Hands store in Shinjuku, They’re not taking any chances on letting this thing pass them by, I can tell you that much. Of course to begin with, you need to acquire the probper technique. This is not easy. Thankfully, people have been bored in class/meetings/while meeting the in-laws for the first time for a while now, meaning the field has been extensively researched. Now you too can enjoy the fruits of those last 10 000 years of human evolution, as long as you have a Region 2 DVD-player, and 2940 yen to spare. But of course, what use is a DVD, if you have nothing to practice with? For that reason, the boffins (damn you, boffins!) have developed special twirl-friendly pens that will allow the user to... make a strong statement to everyone around that he’s (women have better things to do, at least that’s what I’d like to imagine) so boring he’s even practiced his being boring - or at least bored - at home. Here you go, this one’s for you:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3qB5XxE0IR70LOY1fCHTJR-b2h_G-Tv0gCjwFdvN1kuhsOhbds-6C5jK5skGxv0tl6oT4-Mifreb39xSwduGhraegYH3MoBJ8TzMXSyV4aSdqqWf2hK8bRGSi3_wt2RyQqfq/s1600-h/DSCN1198+%28kopia%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3qB5XxE0IR70LOY1fCHTJR-b2h_G-Tv0gCjwFdvN1kuhsOhbds-6C5jK5skGxv0tl6oT4-Mifreb39xSwduGhraegYH3MoBJ8TzMXSyV4aSdqqWf2hK8bRGSi3_wt2RyQqfq/s320/DSCN1198+%28kopia%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249535338068626658" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Further explanation redundant<br /></span></div><br />4) There was a show the other night on TV (if you by “the other night” mean “May ‘07”, and by “TV” mean “TV”) where they were doling out legal advice on what to do, should you be falsely accused of groping someone on the subway. Apparently this is a major social issue in the country I live in. There are “women only-cars” on the trains during rush hour - I double dare you to break the social convention and actually ride in one (given that you, dear reader, is a man; it wouldn’t really be that big a deal if you are of the fair sex)! But yes, the problem has escalated so that people who get unjustly accused of groping are standing up, and with one voice, they scream from the top of their lungs: We want a portable subway strap for five bucks that shows <em>beyond a shadow of a doubt </em>that we are innocent; our hands were busy carrying this stupid plastic thing around, so there’s no way we could be groping! I still say the guy on the right could hold his files with his elbow and get a free feel in, but maybe I’m being too cynical.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPV1sIrPwMYrfTTEPpWXCAVvQ7QeX4HPAnOhb_qxQNkGAGwAuy9JEu-tjx_v24GfXiqewgvG7QJXR7Jp7KAjm4aNPMkWr5a5wFrAdGhOipW2RZTiI6WLDtI2DwYsvFM6aGD5KI/s1600-h/commuter_strap.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPV1sIrPwMYrfTTEPpWXCAVvQ7QeX4HPAnOhb_qxQNkGAGwAuy9JEu-tjx_v24GfXiqewgvG7QJXR7Jp7KAjm4aNPMkWr5a5wFrAdGhOipW2RZTiI6WLDtI2DwYsvFM6aGD5KI/s320/commuter_strap.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249535684034856946" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Look out!<br /></span></div><br />5) Ok, maybe I don’t really have a five, but have I ever ended a list with an atual entry in the list, and not one of these stupid things to use as filler? Thought not.<br /><br />And that’s your kettle of fish for the week/next four months. But before I go on my merry way and try to publish this thing (which probably won’t be as easy as I hope it will), there is something I should direct your attention to. I tried finding it on YouTube, but for some reason it’s not there, and the site it’s on won’t allow me to embed it here, so I’ll just have to link it the old fashioned way. I’m sure it’s <em>meant </em>to be funny, but maybe not in the way it actually is. And somehow, it must have been officially sanctioned by The Company, given the environments in the video. <a href="http://www.tv.com/video/14934/training-day?o=tv&tag=new_videos;video;1">But no, you don't have enough spare time to waste by watching this.</a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijqUkEObQ1kMdOx-FdONDTFdCiZh6ilKlf15nIvZppl_ggZTn78Pi5PuRaKdyPcZRAvNjx9Rcmu0PsJuMIrp-cyMJ9gPXgwnldTfRdI0_EVpdbOV8SFqeXm9md0EJnNaaZUfKY/s1600-h/DSCN1210.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijqUkEObQ1kMdOx-FdONDTFdCiZh6ilKlf15nIvZppl_ggZTn78Pi5PuRaKdyPcZRAvNjx9Rcmu0PsJuMIrp-cyMJ9gPXgwnldTfRdI0_EVpdbOV8SFqeXm9md0EJnNaaZUfKY/s320/DSCN1210.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249536000430049666" border="0" /></a><br /><strong>Beverage of the Week #12</strong><br />Name: Café Use blend coffee<br />Catchphrase: <em>"It’s coffee"<br /></em>Price/volume: 430 yen for like 150ml<br />Place/time of purchase: Café Use (well duh), Shimo-Kitazawa, 16:02<br />Particular Point of Interest: The first café in all Japan I’ve been to that makes a point of not putting sugar or milk in the coffee. Also the first café in all Japan I’ve been to that plays music with the main lyrichs are “Sugar in my coffee”. <a href="http://papercuts.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/06/30/isnt-it-ironic-probably-not/">Depending on who you ask, this could teach Alanis Morisette a thing or two about irony.</a><br />Taste: Like I could actually get used to drink coffee if it tasted like this.<br /><br />Overall score (package/taste): 6/AKumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-73578166605581925542008-05-11T19:13:00.007+09:002008-12-10T19:33:05.456+09:00The TomatoSure I'm a week late. Or <span style="font-style: italic;">am I? </span>Maybe you were just a week <span style="font-style: italic;">early</span>? (And it turns out that, no, you're not, and yes, I am)<br /><br />In other news, I know this girl. This may come as a shock to those of you who actually know me, but it's true. What's so special about this girl that she deserves being mentioned <span style="font-style: italic;">here</span>? Well, she owns a book about avocados. And one about tomatoes. This, to me, is absolutely gorgeous. It gets better. For you see, this weekend, I went with her to Odaiba. For those of you not in the know, allow me to inform you that not only does Odaiba host one of metropolitan Tokyo's two beaches (swimming not recommended, according to Wikipedia, so I've never tried it) and a replica of the Statue of Liberty, it also contains a Toyota showcase. Where there's a car that looks like a big tomato. With several small tomato-touches to increase the level of tomato-ness.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4rHx9KS0eX6434RZc0QHZfAFMhG9stL-zTTqD2TiZK-95CUwNsbwPh1efwmZkBI9QzLzdHXpxPR4MrwBzeJgd9aaUEqRNksFWO-UjEUR23mshFoGnh6UzwqxRnI9ZN8pjmnGH/s1600-h/DSCN0650.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4rHx9KS0eX6434RZc0QHZfAFMhG9stL-zTTqD2TiZK-95CUwNsbwPh1efwmZkBI9QzLzdHXpxPR4MrwBzeJgd9aaUEqRNksFWO-UjEUR23mshFoGnh6UzwqxRnI9ZN8pjmnGH/s320/DSCN0650.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199064275605535330" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Sadly, it doesn't run on Bloody Marys. Apparently</span><br /></div><br />Of course, the tomato-loving girl in question was overjoyed at the sight of this thing, and it's not hard to understand why. I mean, I eat a tomato every morning (as well as other things, preferably on bread) but without being a complete tomato lunatic, I could see it's appeal here in the land of, well, lets just say Japan and leave the rest up to your imagination.<br /><br />Now I'm sure you think I'm going to spend this entire post blabbering on about tomatoes. Nothing could be further from the truth! I shall, instead, blabber on about other things. Like global warming, and - in an increasingly rare moment of actual segueing - cars/commuting. From the last post! For you see, there are a few reasons why I don't own a car, despite quite often ending up in really-really-wanna-buy-ville, population one. I'd like to say the main one is global warming, but of course it isn't. Not really. It's more the combination that getting a parking lot here would add US$200/month to my rent. And that gas is hitting US$1.60/liter (yeah, that tops six bucks a gallon), meaning I could get a car, but then I'd actually have to live in is as well. Have you any idea how hard it is to cook spaghetti in the back of a Prius? Thought so. Anyway, the other reason is that there are trains here, and trains that work well, run on time, that whole thing. Sure, they're overcrowded and full of ads, but that applies to the roads as well. Enter pet peeve #1783: The rolling advertising trucks clogging up downtown Shinjuku/Shibuya on any given weekend.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCmg198tmDsiatGHbGclJ717iVNoPOWh3F8Otjvd5ETIZT9HjBiOOh-UPPw_vRZ6v9UXXpw_gD9HmRvVXXAwMt0i0hybCaNC22NHgyXt46ZMnf1fUQNKOavT7WFy2-m49-Ct8S/s1600-h/DSCN0644.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCmg198tmDsiatGHbGclJ717iVNoPOWh3F8Otjvd5ETIZT9HjBiOOh-UPPw_vRZ6v9UXXpw_gD9HmRvVXXAwMt0i0hybCaNC22NHgyXt46ZMnf1fUQNKOavT7WFy2-m49-Ct8S/s320/DSCN0644.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199067153233623666" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Like advertising trucks in the night<br /></span></div><br />Now I can accept that a certain amount of physical distribution needs to go by truck, or at least need to go by truck if I'm too cheap to pay for somebody to ride a bike and get it for me from the port of Yokohama and too lazy to do it myself. But having these - by Japanese truck-standards - massive things cruising around making a nuisance of themselves for no other reason than "we want to sell ice cream using pictures of scantily clad ladies, but billboards cost too much" or "we want to sell whatever that second truck is selling using a picture of a fairly well-dressed smiling guy, but billboards cost too much" just irks me, for some reason. I'll just go ahead and lie down for a while.<br /><br />That's better. Before I head off into the sunset, allow me to present you with this: It's a picture from Odaiba, which has in no way been altered by in-camera or in-Photoshop filters. Or any other such digital trickery! It just reminds me of a simpler GameBoy era, when everything was either green or grey. Or maybe, maaybe, black and white as well.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaJnIo13dncg26M5LsINZln6IjWBt2gJrQloJfJ-OBbE8ljQHKvfIVLAsvp46vVpR8jbnFSPHlSlT3EtnY-1Uu_rhrBIcnwQjAyHmC5k_-T1zLN0JcdcxymXFlsB-39RRaLp4B/s1600-h/DSCN0655.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaJnIo13dncg26M5LsINZln6IjWBt2gJrQloJfJ-OBbE8ljQHKvfIVLAsvp46vVpR8jbnFSPHlSlT3EtnY-1Uu_rhrBIcnwQjAyHmC5k_-T1zLN0JcdcxymXFlsB-39RRaLp4B/s320/DSCN0655.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199068768141326978" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Fuji Television<br /></span></div><br />And now: The beverage of the week!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIq9nJiynWRYt2iOkmLwkMPOEPjIjKu6OT3Y0CQDAqjtQlzn-cxgTJcDbSRojWz-56lUCHcjECZfxzdUCF_oYyqUy0DQbqIAOnuzDdtBKjs9sbVElHAQygrwKaN8Q7-qcWxpbH/s1600-h/DSCN0657.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIq9nJiynWRYt2iOkmLwkMPOEPjIjKu6OT3Y0CQDAqjtQlzn-cxgTJcDbSRojWz-56lUCHcjECZfxzdUCF_oYyqUy0DQbqIAOnuzDdtBKjs9sbVElHAQygrwKaN8Q7-qcWxpbH/s320/DSCN0657.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199070937099811474" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Beverage of the Week #11</span><br />Name: Fanta Furufuru Shaker<br />Catchphrase: <span style="font-style: italic;">"Will you carbonate? You know, Jell-O? Will you? Really?" </span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span>Price/volume: 120 yen for 190ml<br />Place/time of purchase: Unknown, it was a gift<br /></span>Particular Point of Interest: It's carbonated orange Fanta. So far so good. But it's also Jell-O. So you have to shake the can "at least ten times" before opening. Then you can suck down gelatinous chunks of... something, to your hearts content. At least if it's content with 190ml. Which, and I speak from experience here, it will be.<br />Taste: Like the illegitimate child of orange Fanta and, well, Jell-O. Not too bad, actually.<br /><br />Overall score (package/taste): 6/B+Kumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-73550769720824368372008-04-30T10:10:00.006+09:002008-12-10T19:33:06.117+09:00The CommuteI know it's not Sunday. Even in Hawaii.<br /><br />You may feel the need to vent this frustration on someone. Or something. I suggest the morning commute. Ok, so maybe it's not solely responsible for me being three days late with the post, but it plays a large part.<br /><br />For you see, as with most things, the Japanese like to go big with their commuting. Lots of trains, lots of stations, and above all, lots of people using lots of trains to go to lots of stations. In theory, this is all very well and good. I mean, if you've got all these trains and all these stations, it would be a shame if nobody used them, right? But this beautiful theory has a fatal flaw. All of the lots of people want to go use not lots of trains to go to lots of stations; they all want to use the same train to go to the same station. At the same time. More importantly, <span style="font-style: italic;">at the same time as you</span>.<br /><br />For the commutationally impaired masses living outside Tokyo, but for some reason still earn their daily croissandwhich in said metropolis, this is (probably) a problem. Me, I commute in the other direction, so I get to sit (sit, I tell you!) and smirk at "the other people" feeling justly superior in my choice of domicile. However. Upon changing jobs, it has become necessary to sometimes go in the opposite direction some mornings, crossing through downtown Tokyo and come out the other side, if you will. This is painful. How painful? Allow me to demonstrate:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIyJQ-xomFHC29e9l9Y9iJv2jQZ5SKrVK2o_1rsbranfOWXEapj9ujfQVIJMyg5CEL9tRExMYPnm99ZiRcqZ3pXEMd20fbh3oU5c9XwRU2mX_W3ZkuxvNo_WWHG9MZfM36S04r/s1600-h/DSCN0621.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIyJQ-xomFHC29e9l9Y9iJv2jQZ5SKrVK2o_1rsbranfOWXEapj9ujfQVIJMyg5CEL9tRExMYPnm99ZiRcqZ3pXEMd20fbh3oU5c9XwRU2mX_W3ZkuxvNo_WWHG9MZfM36S04r/s320/DSCN0621.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194846441957369362" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The train.<br /></span></div><br />Now I forgive you for thinking "Hey, that doesn't look too bad. It's just a lot of people on a platform, waiting for the next train." Have a closer look. At the doors. They are in a state of semi-openness, not because of my superhuman photographic timing skillz (although superhuman they may be!), but because there is not a single square inch of free space inside the train, and some people just can't live with waiting for the next one, so they squeeze in anyway, prompting the men in white gloves (not the ones with white coats, but close) to with all their might forcibly push the extruding salary man flabbyness (or, in my case, just general flabbyness, I guess?) into the train. And then they try to close the doors, the above is an example where someone is still in the way.<br /><br />The funny thing? This behavior is what keeps the universe from imploding. For you see, if that final salary man had not tried to mutilate your groin with his shapely attaché case, he would have had to wait for the next train. And setting aside all the micro- and macroeconomic consequences that would have, it would mean one more person trying to get on the the next train. Which is gonna be pretty f-ing full as it stands. So we're all saving the world in three easy steps.<br /><br />It's a good thing the powers that be have spotted this problem and are now doing everything in their power to alleviate the sitation. The first logical step, introduction of a new SuperHero!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8Nm883pO5pWDkZv8nBdj9wuci99ot4Tfnn9rxPlVItZ7UKT82AOyP_ut8sBRkmLyBQ3pAp_6nla-6qoeQ8PrF2YqYfRo4z80T27k_lHX_pfv9jQ_HzUBs3TdRNOTg7tyVwkN/s1600-h/DSCN0622.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8Nm883pO5pWDkZv8nBdj9wuci99ot4Tfnn9rxPlVItZ7UKT82AOyP_ut8sBRkmLyBQ3pAp_6nla-6qoeQ8PrF2YqYfRo4z80T27k_lHX_pfv9jQ_HzUBs3TdRNOTg7tyVwkN/s320/DSCN0622.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194849663182841378" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Hey kids, it's Mr. Business!<br /></span></div><br />The final thing that causes my life to be slightly less than 100% perfect? Going shopping on the other side of tracks as everybody's coming home at night. This means you have to face the human tide, equipped only with an (admittedly gorgeous) SAAB-bike. While going shopping back home used to be a physical challenge due to various hills, inclines or whatever you call them, doing it here is a mental one; try to get back before going insane from internalizing the anger at all these people going in the opposite direction, keeping you from your goal. Really, what is the problem with <span style="font-style: italic;">some people</span>?<br /><br />And now, a Tiny Sniper Special Event! I sure didn't think we'd ever reach this stage, but here we are. History in the making. Standing on the shoulder of giants, or whatever. The 10th Beverage of the Week!<br /><br />And no, I'm not telling how you can get ten beverages of the week to take seven months.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihhf_V6V3JvEe-9zMwuaqzum_72bRQh8rCK-dBYZeyS4dt4a-g03qnPdtsGAu5CvGTRgL01kTbCCaq62s0LwiK_ZL9q2L2Ovp26-sZ26ZVBYGJMMZKbZdWqvgnsvg_i-Lk9t5y/s1600-h/DSCN0629.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihhf_V6V3JvEe-9zMwuaqzum_72bRQh8rCK-dBYZeyS4dt4a-g03qnPdtsGAu5CvGTRgL01kTbCCaq62s0LwiK_ZL9q2L2Ovp26-sZ26ZVBYGJMMZKbZdWqvgnsvg_i-Lk9t5y/s320/DSCN0629.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194853249480533554" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Beverage of the Week #10</span><br />Name: Kinokuniya Omo<br />Catchphrase: <span style="font-style: italic;">"No way did we just put tap water in here!" </span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span>Price/volume: 120 yen for 350ml<br />Place/time of purchase: Aoyama 1-chome station/12:50<br /></span>Particular Point of Interest: Kinokuniya is mainly a bookshop. Very good selection, I especially recommend their 6th floor.<br />Taste: It's water. Sold at a ridiculous price to people who really should know better. Tastes like, well uhm, water. Reminds me of my history teacher telling me we drink the same water that the dinosaurs pee-peed.<br /><br />Overall score (package/taste): 4/B-Kumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-64289576973397419642008-04-20T12:49:00.006+09:002008-12-10T19:33:06.576+09:00The ConceptIt's not every week that you buy a new umbrella.<br /><br />There have been two main events with which I wish to regale you this week. T-shirt shopping and breakfast with the prime minister of Sweden. In that order, though sadly otherwise without any relation to each other.<br /><br />The first, and thus most important(?) - T-shirts! Finally, we are in that time of year when people realize that all their short-sleeve garments are soo 2007, and go out and buy new ones. Now I'm not one to care about other people, but it does mean that various stores try to profit from this. Now I'm not one to care about profit (or, indeed, "various stores"), but it does mean that they bring out new t-shirts for me to drool over. And then hand wash 30C, no tumble dry.<br /><br />Now that I've (hopefully) got you thinking t-shirts, I've probably got you thinking Harajuku, fashion capital (well, one of them, anyway) of Tokyo. Either that, or you're thinking 990-yen cheap-ass white-tees from Uniqlo. If you are, however, combining these concepts, you are the winner of our little quiz.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh1RNd_bd6QwkY9J29wcCl4tifVs9zTfGa2lpYjSRpyOAZnVZfeyL5DU3srb1xCbS18NDjNuu3_GffJCssUVgRlWc454wtfZrEhZvZkxL7iMdK-t-tNKVaC5cdRA4RlS9T_5_4/s1600-h/DSCN0612.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh1RNd_bd6QwkY9J29wcCl4tifVs9zTfGa2lpYjSRpyOAZnVZfeyL5DU3srb1xCbS18NDjNuu3_GffJCssUVgRlWc454wtfZrEhZvZkxL7iMdK-t-tNKVaC5cdRA4RlS9T_5_4/s320/DSCN0612.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191173059828469730" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Behold, the future of t-shirt shopping!</span><br /></div><br />Or, indeed, the future of shopping, in general. See, a little less than a year ago, Uniqlo introduced this "concept store" (which is marketing-ese for "it's a really cool idea that's gonna cost a f-ton of money and will never ever make any noticeable ROI, but we see it as a tax-deductible brand-capital investment") where - and here's the kicker - all the clothes are t-shirts! Wait, that's not it... Where all the clothes are stuffed in plastic cylinders! Except for the jeans, that would just be silly.<br /><br />Yes, when purchasing a t-shirt here, it's like you've traveled back to a vaguely 60's inspired retro-futuristic vision of "how people will consume goods in the 00's". Pretty cool stuff, then! I loves me some of that retro-futurism, big time!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgka0mfn3BjCr3CaM8Jg2LerEku8H9oyiY3tQswynfGCk1LKUerxwKvJ_2Cs-9fKo9jIjZuJNy37o-5zZsDY-OH5Oq4elLwHvW9GhDwCGR9liMwXgw_CB-XK2nUWdW7d1bj2HrZ/s1600-h/DSCN0609.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgka0mfn3BjCr3CaM8Jg2LerEku8H9oyiY3tQswynfGCk1LKUerxwKvJ_2Cs-9fKo9jIjZuJNy37o-5zZsDY-OH5Oq4elLwHvW9GhDwCGR9liMwXgw_CB-XK2nUWdW7d1bj2HrZ/s320/DSCN0609.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191174906664407026" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Behold, the close-up of the future of t-shirt shopping!</span><br /></div><br />It is at this point that I'd like to make a segue into the breakfast meeting, but regardless of how "with it" I am (enough with the retro-futurism, already! And that doesn't even make sense!), I did not head off to meet prime minister Reinfeldt wearing a t-shirt from the Uniqlo store in Harajuku. I did it in a plain white one from a Uniqlo, bought for song in Nagoya back in 2005. Good stuff. I also wore a shirt (and suit, underwear, etc; I even brought an umbrella!), but that's beside the point. The point(s), then:<br /><br />1) I got to cross off another prime minister from the Grand List. Not like I spent hours one-on-one with him discussing how to tackle global warming (or how I opened the door in the face of his predecessor, and almost went to jail, as <a href="http://kumadude.blogspot.com/2006/04/i-could-be-in-jail-right-now.html">previously reported</a>), or anything, but I still feel it counts as an achievement. Did I mention I wore a suit?<br /><br />2) I learned that had he not gone into politics, he could so have ridden the Seinfeld wave in the 90's and gone into stand-up. He was genuinely funny at one point, and that was something I didn't expect.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgamjm8fjItrInzgGI2uz1txS86oFld9qfFBb7yHjJcWz-f-SjUOazqZgaBENhAtoivrO5xDNlo7d39mgRufVBBOWAtFl0_aey7wPhpCS_9NDDfRJaZzdZlW_8G702h6II3lb2g/s1600-h/DSCN0628.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgamjm8fjItrInzgGI2uz1txS86oFld9qfFBb7yHjJcWz-f-SjUOazqZgaBENhAtoivrO5xDNlo7d39mgRufVBBOWAtFl0_aey7wPhpCS_9NDDfRJaZzdZlW_8G702h6II3lb2g/s320/DSCN0628.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191170663236718546" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Beverage of the Week #9</span><br />Name: Ribbon Citron<br />Catchphrase: <span style="font-style: italic;">"Ribbon City, population: Flavor" </span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span>Price/volume: 120 yen for 300ml<br />Place/time of purchase: Ebisu station/16:11<br /></span>Particular Point of Interest: I wonder if that little red kid on the bottle has a name.<br />Taste: Like every other "cider" (lemonade?) in Japan. With a faint, but noticeable twist of lemon.<br /><br />Overall score (package/taste): 7/DKumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-41699006969712087982008-04-13T11:13:00.007+09:002008-12-10T19:33:07.023+09:00The RainI always thought that finding the work/life balance just meant working as little as possible to maintain the fun parts of life. Until I got this gig.<br /><br />If you do a Google search (and who doesn't, really?) for <a href="http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&client=firefox-a&rls=org.mozilla%3Aen-US%3Aofficial&q=why+we+talk+about+the+weather&btnG=Search">why we talk about the weather</a> you get around six million hits. Ok, sure, if you're all smart and use quotation marks to weed out undesirables, you get 577. But that's still a lot! So I thought I'd add one more (?).<br /><br />See, it's been raining this past week. This is... not the way it's supposed to be at times other than that lovely rain month that is June/July. And while I am generally a fan of rain, it's a sort of passive fandom. I suppose it's like being audited for tax evasion, I wholeheartedly agree that it should be done, just not to me (and no, I've never missed the filing date for my Form K4, thank you).<br /><br />The good things about rain even when it's really cold and happening as you are outside are:<br /><br />1) You get to play the power version of SalaryMan Bingo. For those of you joining us for the home game, this is a powered up version of SalaryMan Bingo. I guess the name kinda gives that away. Anyway, SMB - the kidz love to reuse their old acronyms - basically involves getting on a train at non-peak-rush hour, and guessing at which stop the two SalaryMan (looks like a superhero name, but yes, that's still the correct plural) sitting across from you discussing how easy it is to find the warp zone in the old SMB are going to depart the train. A seasoned Marunouchi-line traveller always bets on Kasumigaseki. But yes, the power version is basically the same, only this time, you get to take into account the extraordinarily mundane umbrellas they carry, to match their very likely far too expensive suits.<br /><br />(incidentally, I had a Hillbilly moment this week when I told a colleague I had to get my suit dry cleaned for an event next week. So what if I only have one!)<br /><br />2) You get to pass Chiyoda sushi, and have what the internet of five years ago would have called a Lost in Translation moment. Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it was my pronunciation. Maybe the clerk was hearing-impaired. Either way, when you have chosen your take-out sushi for the night, she asks "Chopsticks and soy sauce?" requiring input on if you have said articles at home, or would like some of theirs to bring with you. Being the proud owner of a pair of "Man Chopsticks" (I kid you not), and also being generally cheap, I ask for "only soy sauce, please". Having made a choice of three fine dishes I expected to be granted the standard three small packets. And I was. And then I was granted 20 more. I have no idea why, but I imagine it was because it was raining.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYOju5LJNV-EN7BYvS3RCqOR4pJJGsNsbBMNIfYWYmrSbSDy3jur3sCYqcc-XR0ZDH-gVY1yTkKoOAsZBIKEuwlsbZ1tkhEXxvT9I819zazvJ8L000yb7ubWCADnxLSwBQD5ox/s1600-h/DSCN0599.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYOju5LJNV-EN7BYvS3RCqOR4pJJGsNsbBMNIfYWYmrSbSDy3jur3sCYqcc-XR0ZDH-gVY1yTkKoOAsZBIKEuwlsbZ1tkhEXxvT9I819zazvJ8L000yb7ubWCADnxLSwBQD5ox/s320/DSCN0599.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188557336013251602" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Another example of West Shinjuku trying to be like London. Wait, what was this post about again?</span><br /></div><br />3) I can't really think of anything else, but in order to make a list, you really need three things, so here we are.<br /><br />That's pretty much it, I guess. Short and sweet, just the way I like it. Be sure to tune in next week when I will have had my suit dry cleaned and had breakfast with the prime minister. 'Tis the truth, I tell you!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg43NEHAk15E4Cl2EL8FffTvR7Hr2ho0hCPG35F2UoquOOKKQrcwx1V0koNZsmXQpOvbO0D-8FS0y4WvXVK0aYelUnmiVdLUVtNfJ-sujtQVkGH_om30vouGE7TbdaDVWNg9j7_/s1600-h/DSCN0562.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg43NEHAk15E4Cl2EL8FffTvR7Hr2ho0hCPG35F2UoquOOKKQrcwx1V0koNZsmXQpOvbO0D-8FS0y4WvXVK0aYelUnmiVdLUVtNfJ-sujtQVkGH_om30vouGE7TbdaDVWNg9j7_/s320/DSCN0562.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188549270064669698" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Beverage of the Week #8</span><br />Name: Kirin Nuda<br />Catchphrase: <span style="font-style: italic;">"No added sugar, no fruit juice" </span>(then what the h*** is in there, really?)<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span>Price/volume: 150 yen for 350ml<br />Place/time of purchase: Circle K /21:31<br /></span>Particular Point of Interest: Looks invitingly like cheap sparkling wine, with a name to match.<br />Taste: You'd think a drink named something which is almost "nude" would be too good to be true. In reality, it's just not too good.<br /><br />Overall score (package/taste): 6/FKumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-24086218840195950072008-04-06T14:11:00.010+09:002008-12-10T19:33:07.870+09:00The JobToo good to be true.<br /><br />To most people, working seven days in a row seems a bit much. Not cripplingly so, just a bit more than you'd really like, the same as when the guy comes in and tells you that you can get a free refill of Kimuchi with your Bibinba. No, I did not make either of those up. But yes, I'm on something of a Korean kick at the moment, at least a culinary one.<br /><br />The reason for this "working week" is, as you are no doubt aware (surely!), that I have a new job. At my old job. Which is kinda cool. Or actually really cool, but I'm not sure I'm able to judge that after only having worked there for four days so I'll just drop it. For now. You have been warned. Instead, I give you this:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtfaUS-kZtE96JDcFvOuuMmZYDrZurNII3e0nyFKBo7amWfXq0BoqtdymISa8wOUwHQsRuFkVTf5GHrMZwblGJ_2qp9ZvqcP2LsckPrkhuhLVQ4KXG-KZpLItXc7CMlpQqG5_0/s1600-h/DSCN0586.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtfaUS-kZtE96JDcFvOuuMmZYDrZurNII3e0nyFKBo7amWfXq0BoqtdymISa8wOUwHQsRuFkVTf5GHrMZwblGJ_2qp9ZvqcP2LsckPrkhuhLVQ4KXG-KZpLItXc7CMlpQqG5_0/s320/DSCN0586.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186000883079633490" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The Sakura goodness.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div>This, as they say, is Sakura. You may know it from how it seems to make <a href="http://kumadude.blogspot.com/2007/05/name.html">every foreigner in Japan</a> take random pictures of trees every spring. But you see now, in the words of Murray Walker, "they think it's all over, and it is." Because today is the second day of summer. Logically enough, the first day of summer arrived yesterday, what with yesterday being the first day that I spent outside that didn't necessitate wearing a sweater. Or a wool overcoat, for that matter. If it's almost twenty degrees at the start of April, you can imagine what it's gonna be like here by... mid-April?<br /><br />This next picture is just here 'cause it looks freakishly similar in composition to the one above, but instead of trees, it prominently features various electrical cables. How very post-industrial of me! In the future, there will be no room for trees, due to all the wiring. And such.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh60o5sPVJcMGfkqMfxhN2LYmu-zqAUT_wg_gM7R0S8kRmXbLTVjEEc6SMhcnxwQLihLdQ40MuJqDk3e8DKd5xxnU1IIPFAbPB44ZnKrTOmHGBS1UPaaxADUiaMq6zPLCWeUinU/s1600-h/DSCN0587.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh60o5sPVJcMGfkqMfxhN2LYmu-zqAUT_wg_gM7R0S8kRmXbLTVjEEc6SMhcnxwQLihLdQ40MuJqDk3e8DKd5xxnU1IIPFAbPB44ZnKrTOmHGBS1UPaaxADUiaMq6zPLCWeUinU/s320/DSCN0587.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186002991908575842" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">A not uncommon sight. In the FUTURE.<br /></span></div><br />---<br /><br />Now, though, I'd like to talk to you about advertising. Sadly, it is not that this blog has been purchased by what is basically <a href="http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.wordpress.com/2008/03/31/stuff-white-people-like-bought-by-target/">a giant grocer</a>, but rather since I'm now at least partially into that most definitely evil field of work, I feel it is important to update the people around me on how they do things here. For today's presentation, I shall use two examples, one image, and zero added sugar.<br /><br />First. When I went to the movies a while back with my good friend Tomo (As I've stated elsewhere on the internet, "there's a delicious pun in there somewhere, but not good enough to learn Japanese for"), I bought a drink. A soft drink, quite naturally, as I prefer to keep the hard liquor out of the theater. Now this soft drink, which shall remain unnamed (except to say that it was Coke - not New Coke, not Classic Coke, not C2, just plain Coke) came in a very handy cup, in order for me to be able to imbibe it when I saw fit, and not having to bring the entire Coke-machine into the place with me. However! The cup came with a lid. The lid came with a tiny-@$$ CD squeezed in there, complete with flash-ads for the cinema I was currently visiting, as well as ladies underwear. A fine combination. It is, and I quote "<a href="http://www.lidrock.co.jp/">turning the lid into the perfect marketing tool.</a>" Another possible slogan might be: "LidRock® - It's no wonder we still haven't cured cancer."<br /><br />Second. LidRock is all well and good, but you have to first realize there's a tiny CD there, then actually be dumb enough to bring the thing home with you and play it in your CD-ROM-drive (whatever happened to those things, anyway?) of choice. A far simpler solution would be be to have your prospective target register his/her commuter card (Suica) in advance, and then, when he or she sees an ad poster on a train that features something he or she would like to know more about, he or she can just hold up his/her commuter card (Suica) to the poster, which reads the card, consults the database for the registered email address associated with said card, and sends you an email about the product. Or you could just, you know, access the website. It's <span style="font-style: italic;">probably not that hard.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsIA4KA7VvhtIlvyepC98LoDxF8uxnO0xKIdpJlOtRHuTYeJFTkkU0Sw4l4JFbkxF0VpSrEMshXMGFhs8zpZfreTCTHowMNoa8RfNuNsfMBnhNihUwlgLZbgUN8jiyU4UloELG/s1600-h/DSCN0602.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsIA4KA7VvhtIlvyepC98LoDxF8uxnO0xKIdpJlOtRHuTYeJFTkkU0Sw4l4JFbkxF0VpSrEMshXMGFhs8zpZfreTCTHowMNoa8RfNuNsfMBnhNihUwlgLZbgUN8jiyU4UloELG/s320/DSCN0602.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186008377797565042" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Suica registration is a beautiful thing.<br /></span></div><br />And that was supposed to be it. But as I wrote that, the little ticker-thing I have at the bottom of the screen informed me that a US man just got <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7331042.stm">2.6M$ for the domain name pizza.com</a>. It all feels very late-nineties, somehow.<br /><br />Tune in next week as I will have worked all week! Again!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-u2i1FB66eos7sKikusdle10NRG12MgNnV_thJym6Kjq9FRHLuczPC_1rsmruXKPhyFQWiQkuIHYXV746lyeRceKEsDh6U6-acF65bHDpNYBRvYt8uODAFyUC6sFjorBc1yLR/s1600-h/DSCN0560.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-u2i1FB66eos7sKikusdle10NRG12MgNnV_thJym6Kjq9FRHLuczPC_1rsmruXKPhyFQWiQkuIHYXV746lyeRceKEsDh6U6-acF65bHDpNYBRvYt8uODAFyUC6sFjorBc1yLR/s320/DSCN0560.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185998147185465922" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Beverage of the Week #7</span><br />Name: Pocket Juicer Stand Kiwi Smooie<br />Catchphrase: <span style="font-style: italic;">"As if you still don't have enough crap in your pockets" </span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span>Price/volume: 120 yen for 300ml<br />Place/time of purchase: Heiwa Park /15:00<br /></span>Particular Point of Interest: The second in a series of two <span style="font-style: italic;">exclusive </span>PJS-tests<br />Taste: If you really want that much kiwi, you should probably consider buying one. And possibly moving to New Zealand.<br /><br />Overall score (not an average): 7/DKumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-56037836354661881432008-03-28T15:47:00.009+09:002008-12-10T19:33:08.960+09:00The WaitIt has been brought to my attention that a great deal of my posts start with the word "so".<br /><br />In order to justify the fact that this post is tagged with "toilet cleaner, F1, exhibitionisms", I shall proceed to proclaim the following: I went to baseball. On a Wednesday.<br /><br />For you see, it is not every day that the World Champion Boston Red Sox - and yes, that little bit of extra arrogance still bothers me, despite it probably being true - face off with the Oakland Athletics (which, by the way, is the far superior name for a baseball franchise). Ok, maybe it actually is every day, I don't know. But apparently the A's are moving to some place called Fremont, prompting affluent white young Bay Area Volvo-owning Americans to <a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=SlTvSUCCqPo">protest</a>.<br /><br />But that's not the point. Either. The point is that it was all on in Tokyo dome, filled with 55296 random people, and three guys I know from work. Upon arrival, half an hour before the opening toss, you'd be forgiven for thinking you'd walked in on NHK filming a special... I don't know, I honestly have no idea why you'd fill the entire infield with people doing their very best to convince the world they live and die by Bushido.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoDsG8ChBXpjVQx2vNwj8wUgzLkI-T_FxbyKulQR2KnHmeTbkkf0TaLxSx76scnC0onWIEHWhbk51hPhPGKdH5ElxTvxMPjUwvKFYXAtrrTGv3CNrNHynCz9c5KFWHzH55JQ6M/s1600-h/DSCN0570.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoDsG8ChBXpjVQx2vNwj8wUgzLkI-T_FxbyKulQR2KnHmeTbkkf0TaLxSx76scnC0onWIEHWhbk51hPhPGKdH5ElxTvxMPjUwvKFYXAtrrTGv3CNrNHynCz9c5KFWHzH55JQ6M/s320/DSCN0570.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182687113947306546" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">In the words of the entire internet, formal attire ftw wtf!</span><br /></div><br />But all was not lost, or won, for that matter. There was still the little matter of watching the game. You'd think paying a quintuple digit amount of any actually existing currency for a seat would pretty much guarantee interest enough to pay attention, but no. It just guarantees that you have enough cash to buy the ticket so that you can proceed to watch the game. On your phone.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDefiHoao0-QRDLh3rJP51pV5wc7ChyNjRE9kDtvvxlSibqhYq3Q7wdczLn3yOn6piFhS3FgVMV7Z5MO1Nmb7skaLawVIMa3nqvS_Zjcadp9mRDfL9sBoLk262wxTqybuJiv_e/s1600-h/DSCN0576.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDefiHoao0-QRDLh3rJP51pV5wc7ChyNjRE9kDtvvxlSibqhYq3Q7wdczLn3yOn6piFhS3FgVMV7Z5MO1Nmb7skaLawVIMa3nqvS_Zjcadp9mRDfL9sBoLk262wxTqybuJiv_e/s320/DSCN0576.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182681075223288322" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Sorry 'bout the flash there, buddy<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span>I can understand how when - watch me name-drop corners from the Suzuka Circuit - sitting in the Spoon curve you might want to keep appraised of lap times and leader boards by, say, bringing along a tv and a frikkin' satellite dish. But at a baseball game? Where the action's always right in front of you and the scoreboard is <span style="font-style: italic;">right there</span>? You might think it was for the color commentary, but the guy's not even bothered to produce his ridiculously tiny headphones. And no, that screen is so small that it sure ain't to watch the close-ups.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></div><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjViErujtD6PVS_hqXKbRa8B2hCl2v8VHCRxSeP9Op8h2P5xpQ38SF9ow5REzzWt4K2yYYyljEB5DXxr_n0Shbt4jPjQBesqRoW7ETy1drso22pdOtC71r6FON8jiWaP6RV6OmX/s1600-h/Mycket+val+forberedda.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjViErujtD6PVS_hqXKbRa8B2hCl2v8VHCRxSeP9Op8h2P5xpQ38SF9ow5REzzWt4K2yYYyljEB5DXxr_n0Shbt4jPjQBesqRoW7ETy1drso22pdOtC71r6FON8jiWaP6RV6OmX/s320/Mycket+val+forberedda.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182681977166420514" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Sanctioned usage of television at sporting event</span><br /></div><br />Now, though, there is but one thing left to do. And that is to say I went to Ikebukuro prior to the game. Once upon a time, I was there quite often, having to do with me living a mere hour and seventeen minute bike-ride away. Lately, though, living not-there has changed my Ikebukuro habits to the extent that I only ever go there to catch the night bus. Which, lemme tell ya, ain't that often, see? But this time, it was not for the bus. Nor for the sushi. Although that was good too. Hell, it wasn't even for the Bic Camera, despite the very convenient bathrooms. No siree, it was for Café Pause.<br /><br />Which is a great name for a Café. Given the chance to get side-tracked, I'll jump at it with the strength of ten men and the sleepiness of a koala bear. For you see, it is not only in Sweden that hair dressers have "funny" or "funny" names:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYn3vpOVDGV3UNk3VwHl_N2_E9n7yOFwGl09m5S3ovpRf00u36viYaxLqDPcTHUqb55VW90l2KmFzGzWJEpxhuw0Q1xJsUAh_jD7bCEbvPSkwaBwC-F-fWIib3bnRcAQBjeLIm/s1600-h/DSCN0568.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYn3vpOVDGV3UNk3VwHl_N2_E9n7yOFwGl09m5S3ovpRf00u36viYaxLqDPcTHUqb55VW90l2KmFzGzWJEpxhuw0Q1xJsUAh_jD7bCEbvPSkwaBwC-F-fWIib3bnRcAQBjeLIm/s320/DSCN0568.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182680804640348658" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">I'm not sure this is a good thing</span><br /></div><br />Anyway, back to Café Pause - and watch as I stick to just one subject all the way down to the rest of the post! There is currently an exhibition there. It's actually running for another week, so you still have time to make the money for the ticket, pay the fare, and go. Kinda. If you like ok latte and pretty pictures, it's definitely worth the trip. I went for the pictures, but I ended up staying for, well, for the pictures. It was really uplifting to see something genuinely beautiful, and genuinely depressing to come to the understanding that <a href="http://www.tonicbound.com/wordpress/?p=150">some people</a> just see things in this world that I don't. And genuinely uplifting that those people are nice enough to show it to me. And I'll stop now.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP0MxR2APIhpqnbm-RHN3-s0lFszBFTz4opyCWyOoY76iwhFO83a8GpGPRIA_xIRkmNVycQiDOTh6m9xoUxxX0alnP88RZT1CsWNaeodSDYnWqKNbFHREqEAoEDFXqdIA2jwo-/s1600-h/DSCN0561.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP0MxR2APIhpqnbm-RHN3-s0lFszBFTz4opyCWyOoY76iwhFO83a8GpGPRIA_xIRkmNVycQiDOTh6m9xoUxxX0alnP88RZT1CsWNaeodSDYnWqKNbFHREqEAoEDFXqdIA2jwo-/s320/DSCN0561.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182681569144527378" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Beverage of the Week #6</span><br />Name: Pocket Juicer Stand White Natadekoko<br />Catchphrase: <span style="font-style: italic;">"As if you don't have enough crap in your pockets already" </span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span>Price/volume: 120 yen for 300ml<br />Place/time of purchase: Heiwa Park /14:59<br /></span>Particular Point of Interest: The first in a series of two <span style="font-style: italic;">exclusive </span>PJS-tests<br />Taste: The first comment upon drinking this was, and I quote "why did they mix these white cubes of coconut with toilet cleaner? And why did I then proceed to purchase it?!"<br /><br />Overall score (not an average): 7/F-Kumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-35960197475345208652008-03-23T13:46:00.007+09:002008-12-10T19:33:10.473+09:00The AddictionThere's no way this can be healthy.<br /><br />For the second time in what mere mortals refer to as a week, I have returned to the internets! But the last post was kinda different, so lets not count that one, and just get on with it. The reason for the getting on with it is that I've got a job!<br /><br />Ok, before you go all nit-picky and try claiming that that's been true for all of the mighty fourteen months since I left the cradled world of university life, let me expand by introducing a modifier. I've got a <span style="font-style: italic;">new</span> job! For those of you noble enough to have read <a href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18360012&postID=7746127332130288045&isPopup=true">the comments</a> on the last post, I hinted at this opportunity there, and it has since come to fruition. In what's probably the fastest turn of events <span style="font-style: italic;">ever</span>, I applied on Monday, got the call to come to an interview on Wednesday, had the interview on Thursday, and got the news I'd passed on Friday. In retrospect, Tuesday was quite uneventful.<br /><br />So now that we've taken care of the important things, let's get down to what really matters, which in this case would be me detailing how wonderfully strange life in Japan is, and how small the world the world can be sometimes.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Exhibit A)</span> In many cities, especially the ultra-urbanized city-centers, the issue of graffiti is one that has caused many a mayor sleepless nights. Whatever the basis or rationale for it, it is a fact of life in many cities. This is the part where I tell you about how ridiculously clean and efficient Japan is, because they've... abolished spray paint? Sadly however, this is not the case. I present you with the following evidence that in their heart of hearts, Japanese kids also just ache to take to the streets, chanting "Vi vill ha en lokal". (And yes, you are certainly entitled to ask what's the point of this thing being in English if I insist on making Swedish in-jokes all the time)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNsjR7zyVdOUMAUSoKwKyXvCOPv8WPlh3Fp-NuzeGUCfisbFj7d4LmwLYMoDu3Yod0K50N72mwNdIrunGpztfEPY0rd0UoyoLRMw7UDGWaVs4FNuuNuLnKTjXLpMqf-2CuyvnM/s1600-h/DSCN0555.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNsjR7zyVdOUMAUSoKwKyXvCOPv8WPlh3Fp-NuzeGUCfisbFj7d4LmwLYMoDu3Yod0K50N72mwNdIrunGpztfEPY0rd0UoyoLRMw7UDGWaVs4FNuuNuLnKTjXLpMqf-2CuyvnM/s320/DSCN0555.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180799170878036402" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Ok, it's a crappy hard-to-read shot, but look close enough and I hope you'll agree Japanese graffiti lacks the punch of its American or even Swedish counterparts</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Exhibit B)</span> The other day, on one of my travels, I came across the following, which basically informs people that at this particular Pachinko establishment, patrons are not allowed to automize the process of losing all their money by fixing the handle in place.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIw4NflFSKXbuKS9RoW3ZUl9rKO7dsSX4nn7-Rs9F-J5xAfcYT45qKMIWZjXNBi83AjfbSRNRahKDbKtcMFSv2-3LyF08XNcauNlT7F3MKSX99m-Y1eyMskd4aGTyz2lyGtCEH/s1600-h/DSCN0544.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIw4NflFSKXbuKS9RoW3ZUl9rKO7dsSX4nn7-Rs9F-J5xAfcYT45qKMIWZjXNBi83AjfbSRNRahKDbKtcMFSv2-3LyF08XNcauNlT7F3MKSX99m-Y1eyMskd4aGTyz2lyGtCEH/s320/DSCN0544.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180801374196259266" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Lots of Japanese squiggles, and a big STOP, basically<br /></span></div><br />Update! Upon consulting my knee-deep-in-Pachinko mafia connections, it turns out that if you manage to fix the handle in the exact right place, you can just keep feeding the machine quarters or balls or squirrels (or whatever it is you feed it) and keep winning, well quarters or balls or squirrels, basically. Serves me right for only having played once (borrowing 500 yen and turning it into 5000 in five minutes is still my prime - and, sadly only - gambling achievement).<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Exhibit C) </span>Bet you were expecting me to change it up with a humorous "Exhibit 3" instead, huh? No dice, continuity cops! Instead, before the Beverage of the Week makes its celebrated return, I shall offer you this: It's the first ever - surely! - Japanese sighting of what nine million people know and cherish as Lösgodis, something which is best - though certainly not most accurately - translated as "loose candy" with a definite promiscuous air about it. The sighting took place in Roppongi (where else, really?), and upon reading the fine print, you'll see that getting 200g of the stuff (normally the prescribed amount for going to a non-romantic movie) will set you back 630 yen. Which is more than six $US. Which back in 1961 would have netted you 2437 yen. Which today... Yeah, I kinda lost me too.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdmk9-LCCCfhNy0UKD0RSlkNkOySS0E3oI1-YvhOsGq8LNBHGZY4DipeHI9otnIEmTT5TD1u5aFcn_lkC0jh7EI90o4lQEFvf2jHIaOm0jMeHxbfIEecxsjQPL3yfzIC33pnf6/s1600-h/DSCN0543.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdmk9-LCCCfhNy0UKD0RSlkNkOySS0E3oI1-YvhOsGq8LNBHGZY4DipeHI9otnIEmTT5TD1u5aFcn_lkC0jh7EI90o4lQEFvf2jHIaOm0jMeHxbfIEecxsjQPL3yfzIC33pnf6/s320/DSCN0543.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180804595421731282" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">(Not) Only in Japan, kids<br /></span></div><br />So yeah, there you have it! And now, for the moment you've all been waiting for: A tirade about <a href="http://www.hmv.co.jp/product/detail.asp?sku=854553">Copenhagen Airport</a>. No, not the actual facility itself, but the album it's spawned. Normally, I'd think it was funny enough to have come across a find such as this at my local Tsutaya (think Blockbuster if your American, Patriks Video if you're not), but it doesn't end there, oh no! For you see, upon consulting the track list, one notices that there are several tracks there by a band called Physics. Which is all very well and fine, until - dadadaduuuum - you realize that that's the same Physics that my first Swedish Japanese teacher (hah!) played in. And probably still does, for all I know. So this means one of two things:<br /><br />1) Either they've really made it big, are already famous from Tirana to Tashkent, and I'm just late to join the party (surely impossible!). OR<br /><br />2) The world is really, really small. Which is kinda the point I'd like to make, so bear with me. First of all, the series of events that conspired to me living in Tokyokohama in the first place are kind of what the 80's kidz would call "whack". No less "whack" are those that conspired to have me walk in to Tsutaya with enough time on my hands to check not only movies, but also music. Not to mention those that had me find a two year-old album partly by a band my old teacher belongs/ed to, named after the airport that almost always takes me home and back. That's just freaky.<br /><br />And now, your international moment of Beverage:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIEHbHC6H5AvAqvurSaVbQF7UQdwmE-JiBrpLGZke50XiH7OxjQQTBgIYoKL1ZP_wioTnyUNiiOjQY8cd2AlVEAHs5zxjKLEGUsSs5kZ1jYeJgVrg-efH16yKJ9gA1MML926Le/s1600-h/DSCN0559.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIEHbHC6H5AvAqvurSaVbQF7UQdwmE-JiBrpLGZke50XiH7OxjQQTBgIYoKL1ZP_wioTnyUNiiOjQY8cd2AlVEAHs5zxjKLEGUsSs5kZ1jYeJgVrg-efH16yKJ9gA1MML926Le/s320/DSCN0559.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180808735770204642" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Beverage of the Week #5</span><br />Name: Hukkokudo Cream Cider<br />Catchphrase: <span style="font-style: italic;">"Add vanilla to your carbonated cream" </span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span>Price/volume: 120 yen for 300ml<br />Place/time of purchase: Heiwa Park /14:58<br /></span>Particular Point of Interest: Something must have made me try it?<br />Taste: Carbonated cream is the next New Coke<br /><br />Overall score (not an average): 7/DKumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-77461273321302880452008-03-18T10:52:00.002+09:002008-03-18T11:41:57.965+09:00The FisselSo yeah, it finally happened. It was bound to, really, sooner or later.<br /><br />Just a word of warning, this may very well turn out to be one of those (very, very few) posts which aren't so much fun for you to read as they are for me to write. It's all about catharsis, or something. It doesn't even have a Beverage of the timeperiod-since-the-last-post! Or pictures! Go on, treat yourself to something fun instead. I know this great little place called <a href="http://www.times.com/">YouTube</a>.<br /><br />On Thursday, it's Vernal Equinox Day here in Japan. "But of course, they don't call it that, they call it" uhm, 春分の日, which just looks plain weird, wouldn't you say? For average Joa Tanaka (name changed to protect the actual identity of the caller), this is a day to revel in the arrival of Spring, and that his language is far more succinct than English with reagrds to Equinoxes, be they Vernal or Autumnal! And no, I did not just look that up.<br /><br />It's also a day of mourning. For all the people who miss the winter here, with its let's-see-if-we-can-make-it-colder-inside-than-it-is-outside approach to global warming. I am not one of them. I can't be sure anymore, but I imagine I liked Swedish winter marginally better than the Japanese one, mainly on account of insulation being present in the buildings. But if my Swedish self heard me say that, he'd probably be all like "Yeah, you love the slush and rain, don't you, slush-and-rain-lover!". Apparently, my Swedish self is about seven years old.<br /><br />Now, as I have previsouly detailed elsewhere, spring is a time of new beginnings, especially here in the land of 2 000 000 vending machines. The school year starts, the cherry blossoms do their thing, and everybody starts going to the park on Sunday because nobody else will probably have thought to do that yet (Yes, they will also be terribly wrong). And so, given that it feels kinda silly to go around in jacket made of actual winter (or should that be made of actual summer?) when it's 15 degrees out, our young hero dons his spring ditto, and heads out into the world.<br /><br />The first thing you need to in spring is renew something. It's just the spirit of the thing. So instead of renewing things like my apartment (which would cost money) or my pledge to join a gym (which in an of itself wouldn't cost anything, but were it ever to be honored would cost heavily in percentage of body fat), I decide to go look for a job. At the company where I work.<br /><br />Allow me some build-up-to-the-fall backgroundish reveling. I have never failed to get a job I've applied for. I leave it up to the all mighty Intranet to decide if this is indicative of me only applying for jobs anybody can get, or actually being infused from birth with magic, job-getting powers. I have, on occasion, been offered two jobs at the same time, and - not being ambitious enough to work 80 hours a week at <span style="font-style: italic;">one </span>job, much less two - been forced to cherry-pick. It's all quite stressful. But as it turns out, monkeys apparently do fall from trees (much more colorful than "the sun has its spots", yeah? Joe Tanaka 2, Rest-of-world 0). Not all the time, though, that would just be silly. Also, it would eventually make them stop trying to climb the damn things in the first place, one would hope.<br /><br />The most annoying thing about - queue overly drammatic Danny Elfman tune - faililng? I have nothing to complain about! The rationale behind the decision is solid, the way the news was delivered was considerate, and as far as I know, the guy deciding is - shock, horror - nice! How am I supposed to work around that, I ask you?<br /><br />So esentially, for all intents and purposes, this has been a very roundabout way of saying excuse me while I go wallow in chocolate. And then head to the park. It'd be a shame not to, really, on a day like today.Kumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-32316044751510360772008-02-21T13:49:00.007+09:002008-12-10T19:33:10.860+09:00The LogisticsA lot of things can happen in, uhm, four months?<br /><br />So yes, I'm back! By actual public demand! With exclamation marks! Now you may be thinking that this hiatus occurred because so many interesting things happened in my life that I just did not have the time to write about them. Or, you may be thinking, that so few interesting things happened in my life that it took all this time to scrape together enough stuff to fill this post (which so far isn't really about anything at all, further strengthening that theory). You would, however, be wrong.<br /><br />Damn it, what did my creative writing teacher say about not being rude to the audience? Come on, focus!<br /><br />I guess what it all comes down to is that circa October/November 2007, when the entire Western World congregated on Facebook, and the entire Eastern World (which obviously exists entirely of the Islands of Japan) did the same on Mixi and 2-chan (at once!), what little relevance this thing used to have went out the window. The Personal Blog is Dead, and all that. But you know, it's just not. So now that Global Warming has smiled on me to the extent that I was able to sit on the balcony and finish off a book this fine morning, I think it's time again. Feel free to bear with me, if you care for puns of that particular nature.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNvDvNY5M-7bHT6q4vPnBfxm_Mwj3Viumrq-CGWfskH23cEH1970qV5g5nrnriv746jjxZsLx_GE406sqLdPxwt1wDsuHJQeeWnWN-DkiVmtn4RILlSg9sycpyCthKhYhNpbbM/s1600-h/DSCN0477.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNvDvNY5M-7bHT6q4vPnBfxm_Mwj3Viumrq-CGWfskH23cEH1970qV5g5nrnriv746jjxZsLx_GE406sqLdPxwt1wDsuHJQeeWnWN-DkiVmtn4RILlSg9sycpyCthKhYhNpbbM/s320/DSCN0477.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169296844159414162" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Snow! In Tokyokohama!<br /></span></div><br />That being said, the picture is the view from the very same balcony mere days(-ish) ago. And I did go snowboarding ten days ago. If by "snowboarding", you mean... Here, the old - or rather, young - me would have gone with something like "if you mean falling on your ass much to the merriment of all around", but boarding actually went pretty well. I guess my extensive surfing experience - having failed spectacularly at it on two separate continents - really helped. Not like I was instantly transformed into *pauses to google "<a href="http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&c2coff=1&safe=off&client=firefox-a&rls=org.mozilla%3Aen-US%3Aofficial&hs=EZO&q=%22world+famous+snowboarder%22&btnG=Search">world famous snowboarder</a>"* Terje Haakenson *curses at realization that the article is three Olympics old* but by the end of the first day I could turn, and by the end of the second, I could imagine I looked like Terje Haakenson doing it. Naturally, pausing to imagine that broke my concentration and made me fall on my ass, but there you have it.<br /><br />While the above alone would easily qualify it as one of the top three ski/board-trips of my life, there was more. Logistics, for instance. Now I did not major in it, and I guess it showed. For you see... Taking it from the proverbial top, the story goes: Our hero gets on the night bus in Ikebukuro at 23:00 to arrive in Hakuba at 07:30 the following morning. Only he doesn't, because the tour operator somehow "misplaces" his reservation. A full hour - I shit you not - of the one guy in the suit calling somebody else - probably not wearing a suit, given the hour - and I'm on the bus. Groovhey.<br /><br />Logistics-failure #2. The first night is spent with friends who came up from Gifu. Unfortunately, they had to cut the trip short due to a slight relationship/communication SNAFU, meaning I was left on my own for the second day. No matter, the second team of friends were incoming to rescue me from riding lifts with Japanese people who, when I told them I was from Sweden, asked which country I was from. At least they had the courtesy not to believe it was Spain. Or Switzerland.<br /><br />Logistics-failure #3. The second friend-team had also split up on that day, one half heading home. This in and of itself was not a failure, it was part of the original plan. What wasn't, however, was that the driver's cornea would start to come loose. This, as I am sure you can imagine is not entirely pleasant. So having joined up with team #2, we pack it up and start heading back to Tokyo to take over the driving, to much protestations from the gallant driver. Thankfully though, his condition stabilizes and nothing happened on the way back.<br /><br />And now, having suffered three logistics-failures in one trip, the sun finally shines. As I'd rented my board and gear in Hakuba, with no way of returning it in the middle of the night when we unexpectedly left for home, I had to return it someway. But to the delight of everyone, the fact that I now knew the Japanese word for cornea meant I could explain things to the rental-place, who let me off without even having to pay for the extra day it would take to return the gear via Kuroneko Yamato ("black-cat ancient Japan", basically Fed-EX. Not UPS!). Thank you Japan, good night!<br /><br />Feel free to tune in next week - which if the past is any judge will occur sometime in mid-June - as I will have gone to Disneyland! Or I could just be making that up.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-v6onQ9X3um3oCCz6gtiIAXFC05t9SbOImhlAqynSfdiplcf2joYAlyOZKKBYn9nim1gDribJqS7Dk5WdauRe_4kUVVE9PBsi5aICDqa1l7XsPQ1RGXyPrLWNuo5EnhgYZl_4/s1600-h/DSCN0499.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-v6onQ9X3um3oCCz6gtiIAXFC05t9SbOImhlAqynSfdiplcf2joYAlyOZKKBYn9nim1gDribJqS7Dk5WdauRe_4kUVVE9PBsi5aICDqa1l7XsPQ1RGXyPrLWNuo5EnhgYZl_4/s320/DSCN0499.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169305575827926946" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Beverage of the Week #4</span><br />Name: Ambasa Sour White<br />Catchphrase: <span style="font-style: italic;">"Ambassaaaaa!" </span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span>Price/volume: 120 yen for 300ml<br />Place/time of purchase: Bus station in Kawasaki /22:12<br /></span>Particular Point of Interest: It's Ambasa, does it really need one?<br />Taste: Heavy on the White, light on the Sour<br /><br />Overall score (not an average): 7/BKumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-66202468573364528912007-10-26T22:12:00.000+09:002008-12-10T19:33:11.858+09:00The EscapeA lot of things can happen in two fortnights.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> colder in central Siberia than it is in Stockholm.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz6RAff27UAqBuA8Palo-vhnqMJg80AVnKaScL3TV7SubB039rVsUys1wYmUrkbBDjr1pLfhAT1Tswfk97OZxWvgQ1y6FbIYlTGyJE1IHkOsKcXQ5WEe9iv7_s1Ds30mOJMWzP/s1600-h/DSCN1849.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz6RAff27UAqBuA8Palo-vhnqMJg80AVnKaScL3TV7SubB039rVsUys1wYmUrkbBDjr1pLfhAT1Tswfk97OZxWvgQ1y6FbIYlTGyJE1IHkOsKcXQ5WEe9iv7_s1Ds30mOJMWzP/s320/DSCN1849.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125637937868696146" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Who knew? There are green, flat things in this country!<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOaNbn2kKLfJLBOTmrZqRNvyKGp9p14Oakqdhp0mG6PmNt9qjt6EF8zZAwnLfZft9iESR1MnE6kce66sJYpVyqN_LCWSnT2dddWPmLSjny27cHlZNzAwe-oXOpNWwI1bphGkoZ/s1600-h/DSCN1752.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOaNbn2kKLfJLBOTmrZqRNvyKGp9p14Oakqdhp0mG6PmNt9qjt6EF8zZAwnLfZft9iESR1MnE6kce66sJYpVyqN_LCWSnT2dddWPmLSjny27cHlZNzAwe-oXOpNWwI1bphGkoZ/s320/DSCN1752.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125636168342170130" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Day 1: Weather not great. Sights? Definitely top three</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA3BJmWWs_PLqXNlqxnsQJuwERRjo-EcJ7pu_zmH00B8cziLhovNrfMnoHhBmTkRrFKolYNG2-0EbdtAMW0Ptt8JtYeHCwSqhEEdeNjFatwI0ZJDNUBnp5XgzvdNeQH7kiac4M/s1600-h/DSCN1804.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA3BJmWWs_PLqXNlqxnsQJuwERRjo-EcJ7pu_zmH00B8cziLhovNrfMnoHhBmTkRrFKolYNG2-0EbdtAMW0Ptt8JtYeHCwSqhEEdeNjFatwI0ZJDNUBnp5XgzvdNeQH7kiac4M/s320/DSCN1804.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125636838357068322" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Day 1: Weather improved. Sights? Certainly not top anything<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>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, <span style="font-style: italic;">manually</span> 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:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA26EJeIPkLTyEyzUyNVGWZijGmCvBM-62qaou5uRLasuUkSICvZyaltVKA6aJXpSBWXZK5v7I81ng0-OKPZVYfoOCCVLDDL_8wwNS1UrRFtpVISp0Ve_QlCFDl81X0eVMapTB/s1600-h/DSCN1831.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA26EJeIPkLTyEyzUyNVGWZijGmCvBM-62qaou5uRLasuUkSICvZyaltVKA6aJXpSBWXZK5v7I81ng0-OKPZVYfoOCCVLDDL_8wwNS1UrRFtpVISp0Ve_QlCFDl81X0eVMapTB/s320/DSCN1831.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125637104645040690" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Welcome to 1984<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>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).<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFmfJUtECnR6GRA1NCtWMyuFjTSWjzypDCDHyGSmv2gTtjv5psEr2jxnqw7tbbV9htYp07ckPqE-v2g7L_rA_ivA2TRzEbUUU26vpuXavCwjycIemNAAwHhIwmakPEwWjMkAD/s1600-h/DSCN1787.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFmfJUtECnR6GRA1NCtWMyuFjTSWjzypDCDHyGSmv2gTtjv5psEr2jxnqw7tbbV9htYp07ckPqE-v2g7L_rA_ivA2TRzEbUUU26vpuXavCwjycIemNAAwHhIwmakPEwWjMkAD/s320/DSCN1787.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125637598566279746" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Mr Donut will be crowned King Donut based solely on this ad. At least he should, damnit!<br /></span></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiytI0dQMMTjNCw_q-QqziXGttELod2mUydS8ADW2JHMCdjbtGqBB8Brav1sb5tQ5zdiuU3Q2cmyZWHhzrEL_bz0HvbcZYO8R0gxzL0fWx_5tMD5uIX67l_fu-DwIfvC2j-5qJ_/s1600-h/DSCN1868.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiytI0dQMMTjNCw_q-QqziXGttELod2mUydS8ADW2JHMCdjbtGqBB8Brav1sb5tQ5zdiuU3Q2cmyZWHhzrEL_bz0HvbcZYO8R0gxzL0fWx_5tMD5uIX67l_fu-DwIfvC2j-5qJ_/s320/DSCN1868.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125645346687281762" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >Beverage of the Week #3: </span><br />Name: FFVII Potion Limited Edition (Tifa version)<br />Catchphrase 1: <span style="font-style: italic;">"Guano bowls, collect the whole set!" </span><br />Catchphrase 2:<span style="font-style: italic;"> "Gotta catch 'em all!"<br /></span><span>Price/volume: 200yen for 350ml<br />Place/time of purchase: Maruetsu/16:36<br /></span>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<br />Taste: Way better than you might think, given the packaging and, well, concept in general<br /><br />Overall score (not an average): 9/B+Kumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-25541602566025614072007-09-29T09:24:00.000+09:002008-12-10T19:33:12.884+09:00The WeddingA lot of things can happen in a fortnight.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />To further increase your amusement (anything for you!), here are some random pictures from Saitama, spiritual home of... Something, I'm sure.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWHYTM46qNGXFP_NYQYcUX6iSghM_6v8q_sff_vqIDNFDIy2HyOHcpGc23GDRSkFsu6e0Hl7ds6hJFHYHh_u6OI9E7wOR_uO6Bk_PuAUUimoNsxN9RmlwhSx5_jg17kejQxSga/s1600-h/DSCN1574.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWHYTM46qNGXFP_NYQYcUX6iSghM_6v8q_sff_vqIDNFDIy2HyOHcpGc23GDRSkFsu6e0Hl7ds6hJFHYHh_u6OI9E7wOR_uO6Bk_PuAUUimoNsxN9RmlwhSx5_jg17kejQxSga/s320/DSCN1574.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115420225647932802" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The Happy Road. On what we who have lived up there know to be the right side of the tracks.<br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEismTD5fGrf2jipjGCLguptjsTu2122wEpOq53lpslFMa7XqQwrSst1o-sMEwXz6e2JRYZenXHUoJQAqI2sg7TYkWlai5yC3s8840g5T36uEGkjrRW5AeUXWJgGVEUD6MhPMHOn/s1600-h/DSCN1592.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEismTD5fGrf2jipjGCLguptjsTu2122wEpOq53lpslFMa7XqQwrSst1o-sMEwXz6e2JRYZenXHUoJQAqI2sg7TYkWlai5yC3s8840g5T36uEGkjrRW5AeUXWJgGVEUD6MhPMHOn/s320/DSCN1592.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115421956519753106" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">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.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ-ID_fWCll6pXF3XOxVuh0z5YfmWnsaMnEqLb7A3xZ57cBQHTmUngiQy71Msyg8QU243_-kMGJclcdD1sm7Di2L8jquW1Qkt6JjkANW0UGx0IIEZB9p_wFK6YX-ggAFz5JrX1/s1600-h/DSCN1608.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ-ID_fWCll6pXF3XOxVuh0z5YfmWnsaMnEqLb7A3xZ57cBQHTmUngiQy71Msyg8QU243_-kMGJclcdD1sm7Di2L8jquW1Qkt6JjkANW0UGx0IIEZB9p_wFK6YX-ggAFz5JrX1/s320/DSCN1608.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115422970132034978" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">In the grand tradition of this blog, guess the place where the warning sign was posted, and win absolutely nothing.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;">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:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrfGo8uUvdphJLcrRlD4lfySNQuWhuKT6gpwv8xgj7JWtQynabsVCqcfVA6Ds9TU1z4RnClTJ4Qcz4s09wO6YzMhs_I1ajGxOWCLdux8UwbLech4oZm3kTvp0zpUOipp6ekxMV/s1600-h/DSCN1638.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrfGo8uUvdphJLcrRlD4lfySNQuWhuKT6gpwv8xgj7JWtQynabsVCqcfVA6Ds9TU1z4RnClTJ4Qcz4s09wO6YzMhs_I1ajGxOWCLdux8UwbLech4oZm3kTvp0zpUOipp6ekxMV/s320/DSCN1638.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115424172722877874" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Why this sign was not present at Hultsfred, I will never know.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;">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.<br /><br />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:<br /><br />1) Get a white tie. No, it's not a funeral, but that's the deal here.<br />2) Borrow a suit, since my own suits have only just now arrived in Yokohama harbor with all the rest of my junk.<br />3) Get a special envelope to give the tradition wedding-present: cash.<br />4) Learn that you can't give an even number of bills, as that would imply that the couple too would be divisible.<br />5) Get <span style="font-style: italic;">new</span> bills. No old money here.<br />6) Get a special pen to write on the special envelope.<br />7) Spend two hours on the internet learning what to write on the envelope.<br />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?<br />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.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikYwrYbaLoH8mSEnJAR7tBbtJFv-WbgivHeo2N-3PKucG7R6lHu9843YAB-9nHWhXziMKp5jhpnqJE5Bdg9CGm5prUu24ij2401ko1anmE6QleR45JYvm5M9nWB5woAwayYr4a/s1600-h/DSCN1656.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikYwrYbaLoH8mSEnJAR7tBbtJFv-WbgivHeo2N-3PKucG7R6lHu9843YAB-9nHWhXziMKp5jhpnqJE5Bdg9CGm5prUu24ij2401ko1anmE6QleR45JYvm5M9nWB5woAwayYr4a/s320/DSCN1656.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115428257236776386" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Not my computer, but the fine penmanship is indeed mine.<br /></span></div><br />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.<br /><br />And now, the moment you've all been waiting for:<br /></div></div></div></div></div></div><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8E8s9X24w97JL3JCaXpEL4GxdobcAZ4AIUL8NT_SEF2X4d74LB9cPFiaF-xHN4tZ4RN8iv2bFD2KPlUjtbkplEd0R1wn2zZGQKMg4fP_to-SgHijzunyhvxqQDbNKSRAL2x4P/s1600-h/Lifeguard.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8E8s9X24w97JL3JCaXpEL4GxdobcAZ4AIUL8NT_SEF2X4d74LB9cPFiaF-xHN4tZ4RN8iv2bFD2KPlUjtbkplEd0R1wn2zZGQKMg4fP_to-SgHijzunyhvxqQDbNKSRAL2x4P/s320/Lifeguard.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115417360904746354" border="0" /></a><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >Beverage of the Week #2: </span><br />Name: Lifeguard<br />Catchphrase: <span style="font-style: italic;">"Because no other beverage looks this good in camo"<br /></span><span>Price/volume: 130 yen for 500ml<br />Place/time of purchase: Saitama Univeristy/15:16<br /></span>Particular Point of Interest: The World's First "Bionic Drink" (possibly)<br />Taste: Like it's probably gonna be the World's Last "Bionic Drink"<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8E8s9X24w97JL3JCaXpEL4GxdobcAZ4AIUL8NT_SEF2X4d74LB9cPFiaF-xHN4tZ4RN8iv2bFD2KPlUjtbkplEd0R1wn2zZGQKMg4fP_to-SgHijzunyhvxqQDbNKSRAL2x4P/s1600-h/Lifeguard.JPG"><br /></a>Kumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-48879304207344686532007-09-11T14:06:00.000+09:002008-12-10T19:33:13.170+09:00The LemonsAcross 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQNVhFcYgU80vuFkly1YCbLWdh7HYYjsodqnLeMylLoAQ9knN4m1HAHmCHApnkiKJ4LoYH3zFtrFI57o1Frv28tjlBGwHOEZtbuOV07Br2aorFNu3V9KTvnmJTlaHn0PHB7USj/s1600-h/DSCN1532.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQNVhFcYgU80vuFkly1YCbLWdh7HYYjsodqnLeMylLoAQ9knN4m1HAHmCHApnkiKJ4LoYH3zFtrFI57o1Frv28tjlBGwHOEZtbuOV07Br2aorFNu3V9KTvnmJTlaHn0PHB7USj/s320/DSCN1532.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108813874770383298" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">There is much rain in Japan. And traffic signs.</span> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZG4GGr3ZxTjHFROJBFiVdmPxcMSdUOo6ShG6ABJyH_kzXraYGMQRIJWlFceL4D4YB4J2BT31C5DqKipUmYo5vvsKTjvvP01TJwJ-EAbf-JrgQfeXUyfw5JCvg13MBMEsL4kcD/s1600-h/DSCN1553.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZG4GGr3ZxTjHFROJBFiVdmPxcMSdUOo6ShG6ABJyH_kzXraYGMQRIJWlFceL4D4YB4J2BT31C5DqKipUmYo5vvsKTjvvP01TJwJ-EAbf-JrgQfeXUyfw5JCvg13MBMEsL4kcD/s320/DSCN1553.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108817860500034018" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >Beverage of the Week #1: </span><br />Name: Lemon's Lemon<br />Catchphrase: <span style="font-style: italic;">"Because it isn't just anybody's Lemon"<br /></span><span>Price/volume: 120yen for 140ml<br />Place/time of purchase: Okurayama Station/22:04<br /></span>Particular Point of Interest: Contains 50 Lemons' worth of vitamin C<br />Taste: Like it contains 50 Lemons' worth of vitamin C<br /><br />Overall score (not an average): 6/B<br /></div></div>Kumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-48425949573778892912007-08-07T22:01:00.000+09:002007-08-07T22:20:15.392+09:00The Retard RodeoNo, 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?<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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".<br /><br />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.Kumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-54964971933069783702007-07-13T18:06:00.000+09:002008-12-10T19:33:13.951+09:00The PackLast night, I went out to get a pack of what cigarettes. Because I'm moving to Japan.<br /><br />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!<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6sGfHr3ic7U2m9AvtQTJBxlVBB2dQA0pMARWY2a2wqzMLScM3n3rxA5RG_HRcRY3U3PCe2THREKpYeSS6c0-0sJtEDcahxjaKsAZ3IyyByI_mn4zhOKSSDKrOJKyKW0CJsoK1/s1600-h/DSCN1390blur.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6sGfHr3ic7U2m9AvtQTJBxlVBB2dQA0pMARWY2a2wqzMLScM3n3rxA5RG_HRcRY3U3PCe2THREKpYeSS6c0-0sJtEDcahxjaKsAZ3IyyByI_mn4zhOKSSDKrOJKyKW0CJsoK1/s320/DSCN1390blur.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086606364288433282" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">It doth be in there good. Or bad, as it were.<br /></span></div><br />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.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSLfPEHgiLYhSO8FAq0fdL7_Nr09DPlUrwUI8VDb-cSjJQto96cEOKQ8FRo540K7pQf4FCWITplfRzKjhuYyunh2KP0ovTFbpjfjwnPtjIrQryi34FnlNeeaBhlzjlPaT3vIcw/s1600-h/DSCN1386+blur.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSLfPEHgiLYhSO8FAq0fdL7_Nr09DPlUrwUI8VDb-cSjJQto96cEOKQ8FRo540K7pQf4FCWITplfRzKjhuYyunh2KP0ovTFbpjfjwnPtjIrQryi34FnlNeeaBhlzjlPaT3vIcw/s320/DSCN1386+blur.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086606729360653458" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The not-quite-right way up. And no, that's not my crap in there, thankfully.<br /></span></div><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />---<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTcPu_MKYRmKQCzA-miMdf32DoM-f7GRny8wa44ayXHgNF7I4ROytacXvJuLy8zjWgJxqUgt6kb1D7-6Isk6TTRL5ICXnVtGsznbBM1A3nUdOFfWG48K1VL5qeq9iiXrsOLk5A/s1600-h/Mot+Sydkoster.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTcPu_MKYRmKQCzA-miMdf32DoM-f7GRny8wa44ayXHgNF7I4ROytacXvJuLy8zjWgJxqUgt6kb1D7-6Isk6TTRL5ICXnVtGsznbBM1A3nUdOFfWG48K1VL5qeq9iiXrsOLk5A/s320/Mot+Sydkoster.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086610779514813602" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Sunset or midday? You be the judge!<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0VKI9P6zMzSlfrREYo4GzWLuAV_sX3sMXKb8DejjH34CL7emyHVzuuBnNZ3mMFwhZw4KVTQw5lyK3cQ2NPlW7_ogCkrie2jyiYzRE5EzspKggePMpnPF6iMLVH7k8JyMnKYDK/s1600-h/Solnedgang+over+Basteviken+1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0VKI9P6zMzSlfrREYo4GzWLuAV_sX3sMXKb8DejjH34CL7emyHVzuuBnNZ3mMFwhZw4KVTQw5lyK3cQ2NPlW7_ogCkrie2jyiYzRE5EzspKggePMpnPF6iMLVH7k8JyMnKYDK/s320/Solnedgang+over+Basteviken+1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086611144587033778" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Midday or sunset? It can't be both!<br /></span></div><br />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.Kumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-16576248831553675142007-06-17T19:23:00.000+09:002008-12-10T19:33:14.708+09:00The BusinessSay 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.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLugmrMqI218Uy3jHONX4rccJBwyF07SZIPwhT8FK67PuqPQsPSonYOlWtu2Ogc9Qy6NDNXWL2spuRRm1eHls04X7-bqTSDeBS7zE9Scnn5MjO8gi5CvafeLdJHqlNEUtENiYr/s1600-h/DSCN0956.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLugmrMqI218Uy3jHONX4rccJBwyF07SZIPwhT8FK67PuqPQsPSonYOlWtu2Ogc9Qy6NDNXWL2spuRRm1eHls04X7-bqTSDeBS7zE9Scnn5MjO8gi5CvafeLdJHqlNEUtENiYr/s320/DSCN0956.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076981403211004018" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Indeed it does, my friends.<br /></span></div><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chesney_Hawkes">Chesney Hawkes!</a>) 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".<br /><br />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?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKB42KOdvPjg6kh-HrLy9EsgGtkBVlItnXyCz4BlTu-pJ-n1fYulFtDE9yioKoBlzR12ZMyBKNDk5hCd4F9SsZpn_-jwAuueOeouW_BmmZBKu-gWTuNbrWDVEgCw5Hm8MUPpw2/s1600-h/DSCN1094.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKB42KOdvPjg6kh-HrLy9EsgGtkBVlItnXyCz4BlTu-pJ-n1fYulFtDE9yioKoBlzR12ZMyBKNDk5hCd4F9SsZpn_-jwAuueOeouW_BmmZBKu-gWTuNbrWDVEgCw5Hm8MUPpw2/s320/DSCN1094.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076985165602355330" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Really, it tasted better than it looks<br /></span></div><br />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.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxPA9Zg18o5-z8tCT9rwNX61nUR0Mf2yxalBh1zQxhDv7cSsqFOFfEmsxoiSJ3UvMmuqmyM0uW5kND-f09zj0-3i4WWtnDyMPQzB772FiNdoPMh8P-SYEa6kijATw28GOsfQZc/s1600-h/DSCN1102.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxPA9Zg18o5-z8tCT9rwNX61nUR0Mf2yxalBh1zQxhDv7cSsqFOFfEmsxoiSJ3UvMmuqmyM0uW5kND-f09zj0-3i4WWtnDyMPQzB772FiNdoPMh8P-SYEa6kijATw28GOsfQZc/s320/DSCN1102.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076988215029135506" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The Financial Times</span><br /></div><br />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!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMUTczoZTvp1FI366OAzS-K6E53alaE0Mt3zlKExCGCBlYX6i9WG5SQcaBS0nUoMNN3z45XuHs4u0kHxzM82gkM0b15vz15iFiwFz8ZCezCb4h4jD54sCsBUU0rOU4YH05tt5k/s1600-h/DSCN1070.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMUTczoZTvp1FI366OAzS-K6E53alaE0Mt3zlKExCGCBlYX6i9WG5SQcaBS0nUoMNN3z45XuHs4u0kHxzM82gkM0b15vz15iFiwFz8ZCezCb4h4jD54sCsBUU0rOU4YH05tt5k/s320/DSCN1070.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076991844276500642" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">A giant... thing<br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><br />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!<br /></div></div>Kumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-43500016437845191852007-05-28T22:38:00.000+09:002008-12-10T19:33:14.824+09:00The BarbaridadThere's not much else to say really. That's it, game over.<br /><br />As you have by now <span style="font-style: italic;">no doubt</span> 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?<br /><br />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.<br /><br />However, all is not lost! As compensation - there is <span style="font-style: italic;">always</span> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ANFSCD">ANFSCD!</a><br /><br />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:<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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 <span style="font-style: italic;">any</span> 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.<br /><br />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?<br /><br />Straw. Yes, because you see... What the hell?! Straw? Seriously?<br /><br />Straw products. Because these are terribly easy to manufacture without using the <span style="font-style: italic;">active ingredient known as <span style="font-weight: bold;">straw</span></span>. So this means I can't <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/G%C3%A4vle_goat">bring my great big goat made from straw and then put it on fire at or around Christmas</a>? What kind of a democracy is this?!<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidimvIsadMkQ4MciDcEatiY8bXzLtLM-jeKyLpcMaGRC6HpljrlnL75LZVWtytgQMRS8gGXalW437iIlEQzkA9HvPFUFxm71IEs4czxQ5ujx_vVFIAxh24tqrCB1tS_M4-Wx1V/s1600-h/Retarding+Management+Center.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidimvIsadMkQ4MciDcEatiY8bXzLtLM-jeKyLpcMaGRC6HpljrlnL75LZVWtytgQMRS8gGXalW437iIlEQzkA9HvPFUFxm71IEs4czxQ5ujx_vVFIAxh24tqrCB1tS_M4-Wx1V/s320/Retarding+Management+Center.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069613821882701202" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">If you need to manage your retardation, be sure to come and enjoy beautiful Tsunashima, home of world class retardation... managers?<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>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!<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div></div>Kumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-37031561903126972792007-05-21T03:19:00.000+09:002008-12-10T19:33:15.753+09:00The TripleSurely there must be some mistake. Three weeks in a row with a timely update? Things are... afoot? Rotten? All of the above?<br /><br />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!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />---<br /><br />Intermission!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />---<br /><br />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:<br /><br />A1) You should aim to take the best possible picture when you take the picture.<br /><br />This seemed fairly obvious to me, so I skipped down to number A34b) (does that even qualify as a "number"?)<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!<br /><br />B1) You should aim to know actual things about that program.<br /><br />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!<br /><br />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 <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fraser_island">world's largest sand island</a>. (Master Class difficulty: no checking that link, or where it leads, Google/Wiki it yourself!)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOM_Xt-C3Nz3e-I3umA498rxM_N9w1vl3nrsKu32eU1xR8X590o6g9l9OgXIwUlTKR24HTJM0JNe41mMXZAKMUCGXYg0MGAvpQRD6R-5M1N8-TFP9bFMz5lDp4PMmKgxHDlvF1/s1600-h/En+Land+Rover+och+ett+hav.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOM_Xt-C3Nz3e-I3umA498rxM_N9w1vl3nrsKu32eU1xR8X590o6g9l9OgXIwUlTKR24HTJM0JNe41mMXZAKMUCGXYg0MGAvpQRD6R-5M1N8-TFP9bFMz5lDp4PMmKgxHDlvF1/s320/En+Land+Rover+och+ett+hav.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066718107687097698" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The Original, complete with Land Rover goodness<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>Now, feast your eyeballs on the digital imaging revolution that is the result of... the internet's guidance:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHVWfEdCfAN6luy-JuiuE1JIBBgKSv1Nl9vP2Uj118K5yfrdIbQR9Va_SlVjbQ2Grr5oPSvTF8VV5Cpei1GGHBDbqYp1RpCIu2-y5f8PeZN8W5rETBHwhcTMZVcNSuM9kMJ0qs/s1600-h/Movie+-+En+Land+Rover+och+ett+hav.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHVWfEdCfAN6luy-JuiuE1JIBBgKSv1Nl9vP2Uj118K5yfrdIbQR9Va_SlVjbQ2Grr5oPSvTF8VV5Cpei1GGHBDbqYp1RpCIu2-y5f8PeZN8W5rETBHwhcTMZVcNSuM9kMJ0qs/s320/Movie+-+En+Land+Rover+och+ett+hav.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066718580133500274" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The slightly not-so-Original, complete with way OTT vignetting effects<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>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:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6TlYYSUg5Ly2pmSCo0_PB8RpcVUj-hHwkERx2LCAcFc2wX7YcopeeAdHTPDFdLsI5xMcqXgEwgLn1dvf6HbcFTCwgFW27Qlz7isbST3a8bST3OG0x8ICBcOvzRLu0CRAhpMvz/s1600-h/Loft+Mobile+Ashtray+Museum.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6TlYYSUg5Ly2pmSCo0_PB8RpcVUj-hHwkERx2LCAcFc2wX7YcopeeAdHTPDFdLsI5xMcqXgEwgLn1dvf6HbcFTCwgFW27Qlz7isbST3a8bST3OG0x8ICBcOvzRLu0CRAhpMvz/s320/Loft+Mobile+Ashtray+Museum.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066720736207082882" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Mobile ashtrays. Implying that they tend to be stationary?<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>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!<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div></div></div></div></div></div>Kumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-1706978422172668142007-05-13T19:52:00.000+09:002008-12-10T19:33:16.130+09:00The WestNo, that's not the tired East/West Eurovision-thing.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 <span style="font-style: italic;">sure</span> 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?<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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.<br /><br />But yes, transpire they did. To prove this to you, I present you with photographic evidence, exhibit A:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipgvY5A-7QxQ6tyyhF8V7B63m517Q2Dr_b7ho5Ao2sWOR88FI7qq16ooTKtsQ3XO3mi5S8OrgAwWhgG0BuDzks5cyOn4nY9fJ93OzxjE0FBLRwuAy5GX1BBBRp-llauuHHqFL4/s1600-h/DSCN0877_resize.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipgvY5A-7QxQ6tyyhF8V7B63m517Q2Dr_b7ho5Ao2sWOR88FI7qq16ooTKtsQ3XO3mi5S8OrgAwWhgG0BuDzks5cyOn4nY9fJ93OzxjE0FBLRwuAy5GX1BBBRp-llauuHHqFL4/s320/DSCN0877_resize.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064001256041737298" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">A Chinese restaurant?</span> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;">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?<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKk5blvMinHXYDSvTpEMau73n85bHICDKgObYF4aNXrXSaXRCXmHeUMKSkaKZNAtk_YGagDPTdH0eKaKqtEt70W-Y79MMBjRQe-z_NtTDnHe6U09iF8xq2c7dQFfars1fF9qDF/s1600-h/DSCN0869_resize.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKk5blvMinHXYDSvTpEMau73n85bHICDKgObYF4aNXrXSaXRCXmHeUMKSkaKZNAtk_YGagDPTdH0eKaKqtEt70W-Y79MMBjRQe-z_NtTDnHe6U09iF8xq2c7dQFfars1fF9qDF/s320/DSCN0869_resize.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064003446475058274" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Number plates are good.</span><br /></div><br />Be sure to tune in next week as I will have... had time off? Yay!<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div></div>Kumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-1309318373178900992007-05-06T02:48:00.000+09:002008-12-10T19:33:16.608+09:00The NameYou 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj3pi0NOa4QFBokPYDWWrTRfXMeArv_HzStsanAX49GAT0nHEe7-VzqrjvBGHDVZst668-j5gcwYVtYsSTIWT9xNjY-hsDQ2fwQcZggjqelXWuYHkaVE7LmNYJNlPSlnwGyd11/s1600-h/DSCN0783_resize.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj3pi0NOa4QFBokPYDWWrTRfXMeArv_HzStsanAX49GAT0nHEe7-VzqrjvBGHDVZst668-j5gcwYVtYsSTIWT9xNjY-hsDQ2fwQcZggjqelXWuYHkaVE7LmNYJNlPSlnwGyd11/s320/DSCN0783_resize.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5061136379711319074" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Pause for a bit of flower-porn. It will be explained below. Possibly far below.</span><br /></div><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN54r6EhXcNilBoN5d-K3E8hBaY4l9HTVJQ64VXRrlKJTOiYrUao7JPA8Ja0R9tQlo8O3TXWY9x9X4vnhyB-6J6MWRIR27KhEfMcfx0zH91BXzl9u-ianyuSQPAWeJ-8HQRnmF/s1600-h/DSCN0782_resize.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN54r6EhXcNilBoN5d-K3E8hBaY4l9HTVJQ64VXRrlKJTOiYrUao7JPA8Ja0R9tQlo8O3TXWY9x9X4vnhyB-6J6MWRIR27KhEfMcfx0zH91BXzl9u-ianyuSQPAWeJ-8HQRnmF/s320/DSCN0782_resize.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5061138127763008562" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Yet more flower-porn! What the h's going on here?!</span><br /></div><br />---<br /><br />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:<br /><br />It's amazing how giant fusion reactors in the sky can almost kill you.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRmzWwZgEYo46SpsT4P7FgN54iXDtX6J4cKWXPhUhJBBmcTr9mlvF2CuMHTyCu6o_c-kNCP2hii6EyaLd_uglteMUaU_6WDBB80kfJH8Vz7nxfvpW0HU2DD9z_-JHiEUBEhrNt/s1600-h/DSCN0777_resize.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRmzWwZgEYo46SpsT4P7FgN54iXDtX6J4cKWXPhUhJBBmcTr9mlvF2CuMHTyCu6o_c-kNCP2hii6EyaLd_uglteMUaU_6WDBB80kfJH8Vz7nxfvpW0HU2DD9z_-JHiEUBEhrNt/s320/DSCN0777_resize.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5061138634569149506" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Final bit of flower-porn, right there!</span><br /></div><br />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.<br /><br />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!Kumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-34296171453424269902007-04-14T20:19:00.000+09:002008-12-10T19:33:16.808+09:00The KingOr maybe that should be "The Kuma". I'm not sure. I'll get to that part at a later date.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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...<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />---<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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.<br /><br />---<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg92oSqIUGvPLp505Fx5sw6-bDldw_hOR-FNUSOBEfcGwj1xomDM9LtuyeiZsvbO8FJX0CKGLmNcCKWCPEQVWj_AP0e5opDCuTRJ8PPZqPLX9WYUBXy5uvvY83dt3Hds0tUPtg0/s1600-h/DSCN0730_resize.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg92oSqIUGvPLp505Fx5sw6-bDldw_hOR-FNUSOBEfcGwj1xomDM9LtuyeiZsvbO8FJX0CKGLmNcCKWCPEQVWj_AP0e5opDCuTRJ8PPZqPLX9WYUBXy5uvvY83dt3Hds0tUPtg0/s320/DSCN0730_resize.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053243590540481314" border="0" /></a>Kumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-16359787742281606772007-03-26T21:29:00.000+09:002008-12-10T19:33:18.169+09:00The QuestionWhen 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 <span style="font-style: italic;">walked</span> 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.<br /><br />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 <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Activation_energy">threshold energy</a> is thus... great?<br /><br />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 <span style="font-style: italic;">worst</span> 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.<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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.<br /><br />---<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCOxTQOPkdJtiy8FACuKYYT7uATTrL0xTmTaInM51qzj8_8iSjt5ZlYWb_ESWRTaPICEkqBoZI2GYyvsR4ZejON_Dj1esVQthtc4xmTo9w7dqvz9z9vd1VKzGqPF-rcyc5lgPl/s1600-h/DSCN0737.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCOxTQOPkdJtiy8FACuKYYT7uATTrL0xTmTaInM51qzj8_8iSjt5ZlYWb_ESWRTaPICEkqBoZI2GYyvsR4ZejON_Dj1esVQthtc4xmTo9w7dqvz9z9vd1VKzGqPF-rcyc5lgPl/s320/DSCN0737.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046216157850921714" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">An old Porsche.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXtDwJVBWpQnLneoytAZDLmSJr4xb5C8V2t2M4k3m32wrUVHIs2Jcs48ZyDjkqYyJhyyh7y4QZxPYJ5kSAmZPP8PgilxB50GrccYq1h7SWWZofuNCuDTBv-g6Ugzt-2EWobldU/s1600-h/DSCN0748.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXtDwJVBWpQnLneoytAZDLmSJr4xb5C8V2t2M4k3m32wrUVHIs2Jcs48ZyDjkqYyJhyyh7y4QZxPYJ5kSAmZPP8PgilxB50GrccYq1h7SWWZofuNCuDTBv-g6Ugzt-2EWobldU/s320/DSCN0748.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046216613117455106" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Hint #1: </span><span style="font-style: italic;">The Porsche was not parked near here. </span><span style="font-style: italic;">(5 points)<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv_YMUMaCqucS_IOyZaLvzO17nz2-r2hGLx4djx_ww3ZA94IjPzW6w7P_4IU-d9gJVRGvCAoUSEjnj0cLU8_DH-q3Jq59PUTW_O7PgJYffQt1o0eHjb6ep-SjAZxNY7rkEJ3zP/s1600-h/DSCN0741.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv_YMUMaCqucS_IOyZaLvzO17nz2-r2hGLx4djx_ww3ZA94IjPzW6w7P_4IU-d9gJVRGvCAoUSEjnj0cLU8_DH-q3Jq59PUTW_O7PgJYffQt1o0eHjb6ep-SjAZxNY7rkEJ3zP/s320/DSCN0741.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046217051204119314" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Hint #2: The Porsche was parked near here. (3 points)<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNMZHcCUHFuzFPAB_Uw6mT6jEhisBzHqqqlqeX8vaB7zPmu6yvHhUQEhyDAQvK9E_TsVTkjuT2Tjrs7-_UwLa2_C5yoxtx5fNNID9UaRss7A_KMZ6PmcqoUB-FRE-hgVEyCn8c/s1600-h/DSCN0743.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNMZHcCUHFuzFPAB_Uw6mT6jEhisBzHqqqlqeX8vaB7zPmu6yvHhUQEhyDAQvK9E_TsVTkjuT2Tjrs7-_UwLa2_C5yoxtx5fNNID9UaRss7A_KMZ6PmcqoUB-FRE-hgVEyCn8c/s320/DSCN0743.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046217283132353314" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Hint #3: The Porsche was parked nere here. As well! (1 point)<br /></span></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;">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!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4QFsktBccMeqMAgQF6boXoDUhHH4rHdqg4FQtNFBOKl691m0HD_PqyzBik_8zQuG8C-46YIDoi58Cenxk3gdOSy7uLob4MMB-3IcQQ09IFJ3Vun3PF1q87eB1lRwDrtIOYKts/s1600-h/DSCN0753.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4QFsktBccMeqMAgQF6boXoDUhHH4rHdqg4FQtNFBOKl691m0HD_PqyzBik_8zQuG8C-46YIDoi58Cenxk3gdOSy7uLob4MMB-3IcQQ09IFJ3Vun3PF1q87eB1lRwDrtIOYKts/s320/DSCN0753.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046217910197578546" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">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?<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6o47ij49nA3lBLJbkYienH1OpzTGdvKfh4KRRnAR-CRp2NdoHHIL85rApXi5Mylc1JW5cWHUH-Ae010aBIvkB33qqXZgkEnjR-8F7O1XQdjPG4Jtxp226pu_AN7H9Bw-cRAc_/s1600-h/DSCN0758.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6o47ij49nA3lBLJbkYienH1OpzTGdvKfh4KRRnAR-CRp2NdoHHIL85rApXi5Mylc1JW5cWHUH-Ae010aBIvkB33qqXZgkEnjR-8F7O1XQdjPG4Jtxp226pu_AN7H9Bw-cRAc_/s320/DSCN0758.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046218356874177346" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">What's wrong with this picture?<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZTwUomxUdLclmntRttPnyU72q4mMW0Ky758gdXcjNSo4p8Vct4Ta7PeaUMGro1A94A1O3EayrYvswJgdtQGZtpzoXrbn7Hv7ulwrvf4_BZez7GK_SEOlNr7MaCh763QIJy92e/s1600-h/DSCN0759.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZTwUomxUdLclmntRttPnyU72q4mMW0Ky758gdXcjNSo4p8Vct4Ta7PeaUMGro1A94A1O3EayrYvswJgdtQGZtpzoXrbn7Hv7ulwrvf4_BZez7GK_SEOlNr7MaCh763QIJy92e/s320/DSCN0759.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046218605982280530" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Who would win a pie-eating contest, the Japanese or American NBA?<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitZdyAF584cDH5fBTZEqQKWFVnC4mdKsccB7RbCEjts451cfyw_nxw4miDBytSt4M7k3Qnoq-BR_M_5FQUKGCuAPZfZZdXK1wrN5gDvIsM08180vhG4sVsioWhMfwh0IxK0dci/s1600-h/DSCN0772.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitZdyAF584cDH5fBTZEqQKWFVnC4mdKsccB7RbCEjts451cfyw_nxw4miDBytSt4M7k3Qnoq-BR_M_5FQUKGCuAPZfZZdXK1wrN5gDvIsM08180vhG4sVsioWhMfwh0IxK0dci/s320/DSCN0772.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046218992529337186" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Nah, I don't have a question about this one, I just thought it was... funky.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>Suppose that's about it, really<span style="font-style: italic;">.</span> 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 <a href="http://kumadude.blogspot.com/2006/11/babarovsk.html">Russian mountains secretly harboring wishes of redistributing wealth</a>. It's got a shocker finish, let me tell you!<br /></div></div></div></div></div>Kumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18360012.post-43948691933567350762007-03-16T20:09:00.000+09:002008-12-10T19:33:19.105+09:00The InconsistencyWell 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 <span style="font-style: italic;">didn't exist</span>) but three weeks. So yeah, I guess it's not really anything like that.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUweuTwB_wyooeAnbj3-eAsFMd_YLtZ_Fh0oJBrmzmNQFGwtL0VvrvOF0Nm4AvWSdBsNMsQg4QrCaMtSbIbqGn7UqI0DaGBWAiixUfphQ6iu2dd4lrF0wmtszPxfVApAR4WQil/s1600-h/DSCN0626.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUweuTwB_wyooeAnbj3-eAsFMd_YLtZ_Fh0oJBrmzmNQFGwtL0VvrvOF0Nm4AvWSdBsNMsQg4QrCaMtSbIbqGn7UqI0DaGBWAiixUfphQ6iu2dd4lrF0wmtszPxfVApAR4WQil/s320/DSCN0626.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042482568747261954" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The Guys<br /></span></div><br />Nah, I'm joking! Or am I...? Intriguing.<br /><br />---<br /><br />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 <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> 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:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJXZ2PGm_jmMttDk4Eb9k17JzPXk44jIOLVZT-z_gvuJ1l6fWugyfsIq_S2Kg5ONZqsaDE0ooFUBV7QLoD-MUHA3ZVxtcV2rkjmqqIdNNWWrx_zXueJs5VdtR7SFwtfpHzNlGp/s1600-h/DSCN0667.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJXZ2PGm_jmMttDk4Eb9k17JzPXk44jIOLVZT-z_gvuJ1l6fWugyfsIq_S2Kg5ONZqsaDE0ooFUBV7QLoD-MUHA3ZVxtcV2rkjmqqIdNNWWrx_zXueJs5VdtR7SFwtfpHzNlGp/s320/DSCN0667.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042483595244445714" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">I'm so taking it out for a spin once I finish writing this. Can you take flying stoves out for spins, though?<br /></span></div><br />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 <a href="http://mapping.jp/map/sakura_gmap.html">this</a>. 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.)<br /><br />Did I just spend an entire paragraph talking about not only flowers, but <span style="font-style: italic;">cherry blossoms</span>? 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 <a href="http://www.makaga.com/projects/excubo/">help people who have to sleep standing on trains</a>. I'm so getting one.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />---<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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".<br /><br />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 <span style="font-style: italic;">bore<span style="font-style: italic;"> you</span></span>. So! Spot that holy mountain, and the... holy-hell-that's-a-lot-of-red-bricks/taxis?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidQgeOVAIWeKIUVsuagVqN3W_pkr7EQEM_KUm2Q9picuU_XRH0KaOSOf8zs8PtEwWJjpa2iHnCRhfeyHq-3Q-M3HMAfSEF_ucyya2pzt6l1W5AIhGOZ9rDF5jrC-xPVP4gvSQ2/s1600-h/DSCN0652.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidQgeOVAIWeKIUVsuagVqN3W_pkr7EQEM_KUm2Q9picuU_XRH0KaOSOf8zs8PtEwWJjpa2iHnCRhfeyHq-3Q-M3HMAfSEF_ucyya2pzt6l1W5AIhGOZ9rDF5jrC-xPVP4gvSQ2/s320/DSCN0652.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042490303983362082" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">A holy mountain, and a girl who's actually taller than it<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp0jP3wfDAvT71Skhb5mfXCZoHvIPHN0JXzYtP6K8tIS-Lj8frSDFQLKB6_0HBiPep56ZcQlP425yvj4z5wYPO7gAEGKgfg6VZ1YK2WDvd2jbac5-B1yXBBrk1RlGB7pNZZYuR/s1600-h/DSCN0661.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp0jP3wfDAvT71Skhb5mfXCZoHvIPHN0JXzYtP6K8tIS-Lj8frSDFQLKB6_0HBiPep56ZcQlP425yvj4z5wYPO7gAEGKgfg6VZ1YK2WDvd2jbac5-B1yXBBrk1RlGB7pNZZYuR/s320/DSCN0661.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042490789314666546" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Red brick warehouses, housing fine exotic goods for centuries. Like avocado burgers<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP0vDU_zzrlOvqQViCFX8ThonMT1fXjo03nOLYsbqza41JSQuf8F4aldqUiwrAhLjJ64gqbe0bTHT_N5DnaTBbr7flsL8kcy9St1fJKU-nMZS-wjVIJ0DMP5khdtVe8R2cAw9h/s1600-h/DSCN0705.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP0vDU_zzrlOvqQViCFX8ThonMT1fXjo03nOLYsbqza41JSQuf8F4aldqUiwrAhLjJ64gqbe0bTHT_N5DnaTBbr7flsL8kcy9St1fJKU-nMZS-wjVIJ0DMP5khdtVe8R2cAw9h/s320/DSCN0705.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042491253171134530" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">So sue me! Again! I like the lights of Kabuki-chou. And taxis. Surely I am not alone in this?<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>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:<br /><br />Things I have not eaten:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8rIhkTtvz09Jm_MvOOCG7ihEg21LyPz_Pcs9uXfMH8uVJLKwa7OkYd6qfwTo5s5UCLr_JdwR-2xfz0p1MwEzF3rdj2wFqukrToQE99i6U75ByViBU941Nku02j3F6DraPwPAV/s1600-h/DSCN0682.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8rIhkTtvz09Jm_MvOOCG7ihEg21LyPz_Pcs9uXfMH8uVJLKwa7OkYd6qfwTo5s5UCLr_JdwR-2xfz0p1MwEzF3rdj2wFqukrToQE99i6U75ByViBU941Nku02j3F6DraPwPAV/s320/DSCN0682.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042492679100276818" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The Fugu. Potentially extremely poisonous blowfish for you and your special lady friend, sir?</span><br /></div><br />Things I have eaten (wihout chewing?):<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik-cjtcvSxTpwN6h41fEflzr2XRjx-1Uo5F8304pGhYofbWB4ugUgPgQPrfcG2V0YUO-okuZfqvDtR8qyJcE739Jq9pmSmSFCh4H28JD2Js8eLzTAEXXDI5A5HVCyFZmSyFf9v/s1600-h/DSCN0704.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik-cjtcvSxTpwN6h41fEflzr2XRjx-1Uo5F8304pGhYofbWB4ugUgPgQPrfcG2V0YUO-okuZfqvDtR8qyJcE739Jq9pmSmSFCh4H28JD2Js8eLzTAEXXDI5A5HVCyFZmSyFf9v/s320/DSCN0704.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042493026992627810" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The Yamachan. Potentially extremely thirst-enducing spicy chicken wings, Nagoya-stylee.</span><span> Note: Actual chicken wings may not be present in the above picture. Void if removed, no purchase necessary.<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>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.<br /></div></div></div></div>Kumadudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13322066472178401959noreply@blogger.com4