The End

Nobody's ever told me I have a face for radio. Then again, nobody's ever told me I have one for tv, either.

My iTunes Library with its magically crafted "smart playlists" now reflects my personality in both content and order. This is what I spend my days doing. Having managed to watch on in amazement at the Herculian effort produced by my partner in crime to get our thesis out the proverbial door not only in time, but actually almost a month ahead of said time (prompting some to proclaim it to be a true Christmast miracle, if you subscribe to such things), there's not a whole lot else to do, really.

Well, there was that thing a couple of days ago with the jolly bearded fellow with a possibly worrying BMI-problem went through close to every chimney in America and fathers across the land launched out to purchase newspapers they most certainly never ended up buying in other parts of the world, but that's about it, I suppose. For all intents and purposes, I have now "graduated" university, so what better way to celebrate that than to go back home and... make sausage and bring select pieces of wildlife into your living room?

But yeah, that only gets you halfway there. You see, as an aftershock of the health examinations for my new job, I was told to get a wisdom tooth removed. There is no logical rationale behind this. Seriously. I was not having any problems with it, and my dentist told me that we might well leave it as it is, since, well, it wasn't causing any problems. But then he upped and changed his mind and said the following, which I found startling in all its honesty: "But we might as well remove it, seeing as how you do have deep pockets." Now, I'm all for a straight-as-an-arrow take-it-like-a-man way of explaining things to the patient, but was this really necessary? Granted, he was referring to a completely different sort of pocket than the one I was thinking of when I walked out of the place some 2 200SEK lighter for it, but yeah. For my SEK-challenged friends, feel free to look that up, but know that it's basically my last month's rent. However, I should not have been surprised. Previous contact with the Swedish health care-system has left me with very few illusions indeed.

Last year's NYE. This picture will not be possible to reproduce tomorrow for a great many reasons.

So yes, this means that the last New Year's Eve I'll spend at home for quite some time, will actually be spent at home, as in not out gallivanting with my friends. As an aside, people do tend to gallivant a lot less these days, wouldn't you say? And isn't it sad? Anyway, if you're wondering who's going to be sitting at home (with a right cheek that looks like he tried to stuff a basketball in there and succeeded with room to spare) feeling very very sorry for himself at the stroke of midnight, look no further. Happy New Year to you, Interwebs, and all who visit you!

The Future

Back before even the time when the internet was spelled with a capital I, there was little doubt in my mind that I'd grow up to control the launch of manned space-flight.

STS-116 mission patch. Image credit: so not me.

However, as some of you may be aware, things never quite go the way you plan them. The first Swede ever to venture past the thin life-enabling veil of the atmosphere - Christer Fuglesang - of all people should know that, having had the first launch attempt scrubbed on Thursday night. Not to mention training and waiting for 14 years just to be allowed to make the attempt in the first place. So yeah.

Me, I had some problems in the present as well. Turns out that I'd probably been overly optimistic regarding my ability to wake up, or rather mistimed my sleeping so that I was supposed to wake up while in the deepest possible sleep known to man. Or that I forgot to turn the alarm on after setting it, I'm not sure. Either way, it does suck like you would not believe. Thankfully, through something certainly bordering divine intervention, I awoke at 02:59 a.m., 12 minutes after the launch was supposed to have taken place. So I grab my pants (never mind a shirt or a sweater, there's no time, people!) and run out to the TV, turn it on, secretly hoping that they'd scrubbed the launch tonight as well so I'd get another chance later, what with the weather not being very promising tonight either. But it turns out that they did launch, and that I'd thus missed the "near-heart-stopping tension of the countdown" itself. Which, yeah, might be a good thing, since I generally prefer my heart to keep going. At least I was up and about when the first Swede ever entered orbit at 03:05, four minutes before "passing over Stockholm", something which I can only assume means he passed over my head in equal measure, at that altitude.

The launch of STS-116. Image credit: equally so not me.

I may have missed the launch itself, but man... There is no end to what can only be referred to as the gorgeousness of the situation. While the media people were busy showing pictures from the launch over and over again (for which I am grateful) and talking incessantly about the new type of yogurt they'd eat and how problematic it could be to eat bread and go to the bathroom in space (in nearly the same sentence!), they also briefly mentioned the American plan to build a permanent base on the moon, starting in the year 2020 and being permanently settled from 2024. Using experiences from there, Mars will be next, with an attempt to be made by 2030.

In my head, I realize that the above is more political hyperbole from a president who's stopped loving the idea of being "the war president" than it is actual plans, or at the very least that priorities shift over time, and political ones tend to do so quicker than most. But even if they do, what I had just witnessed was a small step on the way to one of the events I would most like to witness during my lifetime: the first human setting his or her foot on Mars. Preferably followed by setting his or her other foot on that same Mars, but that's not a deal-breaker for me personally. And yes, once more I realize it's all about priorities, and that the 16 billion dollars that keep NASA afloat every year could go a long way to easing the much more life-threatening problems of many in the world. But quite aside from all the other ways that cash could help the world or the various organisms living in it, I want them to keep going. Naturally, this has more to do with me being raised in a corner of the world where the biggest problem is getting an email on your cellphone while typing an answer to an earlier email on the same phone than some deep-seeded human desire to explore. Of this, there can be little doubt. Hell, my current main method of exploration isn't even a bike, it's walking. But the eight year old boy inside me refuses to listen. He doesn't care or even know all that much about what's going on on this planet, he's far too busy thinking about how unbelievably cool it would be to venture forth to the next one. Maybe that's why, somehow, that that something happens to me when reading what Robert Zubrin said when proposing the Mars Direct plan a few years back:

"...Someday millions of people will live on Mars. What language will they speak? What values and traditions will they cherish as they move from there to the solar system and beyond? When they look back on our time, will any of our other actions compare in importance with what we do now to bring their society into being? Today we have the opportunity to be the parents, the founders, the shapers of a new branch of the human family. By so doing, we will put our stamp on the future. It is a privilege beyond reckoning."

I promise you here on all that is holy, I won't oversleep for that one.

The Pulse

Once, someone I would come to care a great deal about asked me if I understood Japanese music. I don't remember what I replied. Maybe it's not all that important.

I just spent a significant amount of time cleaning out my closet. This is one of the most exciting things to happen to me recently. Never mind the returning to Sweden, the thesis-writing, and the at times quite disgusting kitchen in the dorm I shall inhabit for another month or so, before I finally (or should that be hopefully?) graduate university. No, it's the closet, it's definitely the closet.

See, it was kinda full. So going through it in all its massiveness, I realised something. Being a self-proclaimed "Jeans-kille" (feel free to make up a meaning if you don't understand the Swedish bit), you can probably tell a lot about me over the past four years or so by the jeans lying in at the very bottom of the pile. Feelings of "wow, I can still get them on!" soon morphed into "wow, I actually wore those!? Regularly? Not to mention willingly?" But yeah, it was a fun five minutes.

Other things that have happened since coming back here include seing a shopping cart turned upside down, and put on the green, uhm garbage-disposal-pipe-thing outside my current domicile. Felt very artisitc.


Also, I was asked to take my clothes off. By a doctor, quite obviously. You see, and this is where the real point of this entry starts to become clear, I got a job. At IKEA. In Japan. Five years, starting in February next year. It's a pretty long time for someone who gets bored if there's 30 seconds of commercials on TV, but there you have it. I shall live there, I shall work there. I shall hopefully even enjoy it there, if I'm lucky. According to the old Swedish saying, "He who lives, shall see".

Anyway, that doctor. He was a pretty funny guy. In order to get the contract sent to me, the last stage is a medical examination. And a dental one, don't get me started. I'm working for a company selling furniture, not going to space here, people. But yeah. So I went and had all types of examinations known to man. I not only found out that I'd grown some .5cm at the tender age of 25, making me a hair over 6'3" (See what I did there, mixing the metric with the not-so-metric? Sit back and watch the universe explode, that's all I have to say), I also had my heart-rate checked. In various places. Such as the tops of both my feet. That was the first time that pretty experienced doctor had been asked to do that, and he did it laughing all the way at the anality (yup, that too is a word) of the form I'd been asked to get filled in.

...

I should really be doing something furthering my goals of graduating and job-starting instead of writing more stuff here right now. So yeah, I'll go and have a shower.

The Babarovsk

Those are some very Russian-looking mountains. I suspect they may secretly harbour a love of redistributing wealth.

This is not the first time I'm enjoying the sight of Babarovsk, up close and personal. It's a fine city, and by my calculations, I will have had a chance to bask in its glory some 10-15 times already, with more to come, hopefully as soon as the beginning of next year.

Well, I guess that might have been a bit misleading. While it's true that I am enjoying the sight of Babarovsk, and it's true that it is indeed up, it's not really close, nor very personal. But you can trust me on the bit about the mountains looking Russian.

I've never accessed the Internet (note the capital) from 30 000 feet before. It kind of makes me feel like I'm the first person ever to do it, like I'm live-blogging some press conference from the Moon where important things have been decided by important people, possibly regarding the recent boom in cheese imports. Sadly, I realise this is not the case, but that's never the less what it feels like.

You see, I am going somewhere. At approximately 568 mph, the friendly monitor informs me (can a monitor be friendly?) Like many other places worth going, it's going to take a fair bit of time to get there. I will be served food again. I will probably not love it, but that's what's going to happen. I will eat said food, as I am now someone who spends most of his time desperately trying to convince the world around him - in this case the city of Babarovsk in Eastern Siberia - how awfully grown up he is. Deep down, though, all I'll be thinking about is that Seinfeld bit when he mocks - mocks, I tell you! - airline captains for going on the PA right after liftoff to drone on about routes and weather. "Maybe I should do the same. Maybe I should get a bullhorn and just go 'I'm gently pouring myself a glass of cola. I'm taking up the bag of peanuts. But no, I won't eat them now, I'll save them for later!'"

At a point like this, when you haven't updated a blog in say three or so weeks due to endless social interaction with others of your own species and miniscule amounts of actual work thrown in for good measure, you'd think I'd try to sum up the past three weeks, four months, or any other arbitrarily chosen period of time. But there's a time and a place for that, and none of them are either here nor now. Instead, I shall just post some random pictures that have been left unposted, for whatever reason, and leave it at that. For now.

Possibly the last twelve payphones in all the land, gathered in Tokyo Station.

The place which serves the meanest Avocado Burger in all of Tokyo. Believe me, I've been around.

Behold! The Future!

A Tower, and not just any Tower.

One small part of one fine dinner. Just missed the smoke spewing out of that thingie on the left there by about three... minutes.

A different Tower from the one above.

My lunch. If only wishing made it so...

That's it for now, I guess. Have used up half my battery already, and since I'm not in Business or First, I'm gonna have to make do without Power. That said, it's not like I don't have anything else to do to occupy my time. There's always the in-flight movies, which of course are far suckier than the ones they apparently showed on the way here. Now with extra static goodness since my side of the plane apparently has some sort of problem. With the electronics. Not exactly what you wanna hear when your rocking out over the ol' Verkhoyanskiy Mountains.

The Long Road - Updated!

Right now, I'm sitting at a computer. This shouldn't come as any sort of surprise.

However, this computer is not mine. I am nevertheless surrounded by two glasses of what used to be orange juice, as well as one which still contains Oolong tea. On the table in front of my is my iPod, and not far from it, my camera. Within reach of my right arm is a magazine which appears to have some sort of exploding airplane on the back of it. I can also reach the lever which will allow me to put the fine (faux-?) leather chair in horizontal mode, granting me a few precious hours of sleep before I get up at six a.m. tomorrow, get out of the buiding, turn right, and pay 1500 yen to have a shower.

Update: My new place.

This is what happens when you don't plan ahead. And I feel it is wholeheartedly excellent. Some of you may recall that I questioned how much punk rock it was to go to eight concerts in one day, and then pay an absolute shitload of cash to get on the fastest train currently available in Japan, and go home. This weekend, however, is slightly more punk rock.

Not that I generally live by those standards, but you know. Either way, I'm back in Nagoya, city of dreams, and I'm going to sleep here, in a Manga/internet/videogame/massage-chair/magazine/soft drink-place. The reason for this is that 150 000 people, some of them Japanese in origin, will converge on a place called Suzuka tomorrow to watch men waste way too much precious fossil fuel while essentially going around in a great big circle. It's F1. You might as well stop reaading right there.

First of all, thank you for struggling on a keeping reading, despite the above. Second of all, pictures will be forthcoming. Being here means I can't upload any (the computer's not WiFi-equipped, unlike my new camera. Zing!). Third, we called three capsule hotels, six regular ones, and pretty much the rest of Western Japan, with no luck in the finding-a-room game. So here we are. Tomo, Shouta, and I. Kenta is... somewhere else. Never mind. Fourth, we walked some 20km today. This is not something you generally want to spend a whole lot of your life doing, but I have to admit it was pretty satisfying when going back from the track - looking at the cars stuck in traffic which was actually moving backwards - there was a fine feeling of both moral superiority and also just... smugness, I guess would be the word for it. Fifth, I got up at 05:20 this morning. You can imagine how much fun that was.

Update: Central Japan on a Saturday night. Betcha Alonso felt right at home.

So yeah, I'll try to get some sleep now, and update this thing tomorrow. Or maybe a day when I will actually be able to stand up straight.

---

The Update follows!

Ok, so maybe it's not what passes for "tomorrow", but it shall have to do. In the grand scheme of things, it was a grand weekend. To celebrate it, I shall present you with a picture of the place we didn't stay at, and a place I always take far to many pictures of whenever I'm anywhere near Nagoya:

The JR Towers. Complete with vignetting goodness.

But lets try to start this update in a somewhat chronologial order, shall we? I can inform you that sleeping in that chair you see in the first picture was definitely not bad. Whlie I don't give the legroom five stars, the fact that you could surf the intertron essentially while you were asleep is a major bonus. I may very well go back there.

Also, the bath/sauna-place the next morning was quite gorgeous. I shall leave it at that.

What about the race, I heard this trip was supposed to be about some race or another, yeah? Well, it was... loud. And it turned out almost exactly the way I'd been hoping for it to turn out, so that's basically two for two right there. Getting back home, however, was another matter entirely. Trying to leave a raceway through what amounts to something like three regular size doors along with 150 000 other people all trying to go through the same door at the same time can only amount to chaos, at least had this not been in Japan. Here, when the race ended, we all got up, and did the lemming-thing, walking off a cliff together.

"Vuxna män gör saker tillsammans"

Suppose that about covers it. A fine way to spend a fine weekend with fine friends, walk far too much, have way too little to eat, and... enjoy the countryside? Not so much perhaps, given that the cars could be heard from the station, six kilometers away. But yeah.

The Age

I guess it's just that time of the week again. Monday, that is.

I generally don't care much for them. Not only do they signify the start of the working week (at least they do for me), but they usually tend to be the days I work the longest hours. So good then, that I'd had the foresight to spend a weekend which - were I to be magically transported to the end of the 1980's - would be called "killer".

If you don't have the same passion as I do for games involving people batting at balls and then trying to run to bases, taking pictures of giant... things, and standing in line with about 80 000 Japanese people, this post might be a little hard to grasp. And I'm not joking about the 80 000, believe it or not.

It all started out on Friday, as weekends tend to do. This one, kicked off with a visit to an arena where baseball is played, and also watched, by for example me. Being there, watching, I got to see "my" team... hammer? Crush? Oh, why not just go out and say it, discombobulate the oppostition. And no, that last one doesn't mesh well with the other two, so sue me. Either way, a Grand Slam by Woods in the fourth ensured victory, which eventually would stretch to 9-1. If you can imagine a better PG13-rated start to a weekend, let me know.

This has nothing to do with baseball, although I guess you could play it on the lawn. If you watch out for the trees. Golf, maybe?

And so the World turned and Saturday came along. And it came to be that I ended up following all those 80 000 people to a place far far away. Well, I didn't follow all of them, it's not like I was last in line, or whatever. Never mind, that place? Makuhari, they call it, in the language of men and - let's be politically correct here - women. My reasons for going had less to do with the fact that it was there and more to do with the fact that they had the future on display in huge booths in even huger halls. I like the future, and got my fill of it during the day.

And thus, as Worlds do, it turned on me again. Yes, this week, too, had a Sunday, and this one was spent with my girlfriend out in Odaiba. Or maybe that should be "over in Odaiba", I don't know. Either way, The Official Kumadude List of Things You Can Do There includes - but is in no way limited to - the following:

1) Take pictures of random Gaijin trying to swipe a race-tuned Toyota Supra

2) Take pictures of random Japanese people trying to climb a giant phallus symbol.

3) Take pictures of random stars descending from across Tokyo Bay.

That's basically what you do in Odaiba. Ooh, and there was this Mexican festival going on too, meaning free tacos, fajitas, and Corona for everyone! If by free you mean "for the small sum of 500 yen".

So that's it. As the World turned yet again (damn it!) and decided it was about time for me to stop fooling around and get back to work, I was so ready to just, you know, not. Join me next week as I discuss... something or other. At great length.

The Sweet Spot

I was afraid I'd missed it. But apparently, I'm just a lucky bastard sometimes.

You see, there's this thing in Japan. They call it "weather". It's probably available where you live too, check your local department store for details. Anyway, this "weather" can be described using adjectives. Good, bad, warm, hot, hotter, hotter-than-hell-on... -on-a-day-when-it's-really-hot-ok? Of course, cold is also an option, but not so much right now. But the thing is, Japanese summer, vintage 2006, is coming to an end. As usual, I'd been looking forward to the Four Days when summer has ended and dark-and-grey autumn has yet to rear its ugly head. You know, the Four Days which come along but twice a year here, when you can go outside in a t-shirt, and not sweat to utter death, nor shiver like you got paid to do it. It's a good Four Days. I like them. A lot, actually. So imagine the horror when it started raining and generally being cold at the start of the week. Fearing I'd overslept my Four Days, I... couldn't really do a whole lot about it, but still.

But yeah, it stopped raining, and we're right in the middle of fantastically "Lagom" weather. If you think that random Swedish word destroys the whole point of this being in English, so be it. Look it up. Learn a language. Live a little, you know? Contrary to many other things my junior high teachers told me, learning can be fun. Trust me on the sunscreen, and all that.

So yeah, that's one Sweet Spot. Here's the story of another. Gotta love my segue/title-setting powers.


Next week, I will have see two of Japan's Prime Ministers in the flesh. The first one was of course Koizumi, but since he's stepping down on Wednesday, I figured I might as well go and see his successor, Abe Shinzo. You know, "collect the whole set", and that whole malarchey.

... which of course is complete and utter bullshit. I mean, I'm as politically interested as the next guy - possibly slightly more, even - but me finding out where a rally was being held for a person I can't even vote for, and then going to attend it is borderline absurd.

Rather, I was sitting in Starbucks at the good ol' scramble intersection in Shibuya, reading the latest issue of TIME (all capitals! Look, ma, I'm cultured!), which I had purchased because Abe was on the cover, and I knew nothing of him.

Having consumed my chocolate chunk cookie and orange juice, I leave, only to find myself surrounded by random people, and more random people being really loud about politics. So I ask this equally random guy if perchance Abe will be joining the show, and get the reply "Yeah, in 20 minutes". So I wait around, get to see him, hear him, and then go home. And eat pasta.

---

But enough politics. Other things have happened this week as well. They tend to do that, the damn things.

For example, I've been to see a movie. On Thursday, I think. And just by accident managed to squeeze myself on to the last train heading where I wanted to go, after said movie ended. It was quite full. I have no idea why all these people chose seven minutes past midnight as the time to go where I was going, but I wish them all the best in their future endeavours.


Yeah, it's derivative and repetitive and whatever, but I like taking pictures of lots of people in trains. Is that so wrong?

Also, I've seen a really cheap-ass building. I really thought Japan was better than this, I really did. But apparently shoddy construction has spread all the way to these shores. Since land is still ridiculously expensive, you wanna make the most of it, yeah? Build high. But then there's the risk of earthquakes, so you can't build too high, or it'll cost another ton of money to make it "earthquake proof". Solution? Build the top half of the building like a Potemkin facade (so what if I like Wikipedia! Sue me!) facing the all-important railway, just so people passing by will believe how rich you are/were. And yeah, it says Microsoft right there on top, too.


Tune in next week as... something happens. It always does, you know.

The New Grey

Like they used to say - or hum, rather - in the 80's: Everybody's working for the weekend.

The last Friday I've had the unmitigated pleasure of living through was a pretty good one. Mainly in a mind-numbingly boring, work-related way. Well, partly because it was payday, and partly because I got word that I'd passed the first interview for a job I think I might not suck at. Not that I really know what said job entails, really-really, but the deal is fair, the people seem nice, and it would enable me to sustain some sort of Tokyo (or, God forbid, Kobe!) lifestyle for an appropriate time. So here's hoping they don't stop liking me before the end of the second interview.

I'm sure there was a lot of other stuff going on as well, but I'll just not mention any of it. Why? Because just as surely as sunshine follows rain (or is that the opposite? I can never remember that), Saturday follows Friday.

Saturday, the word, actually originates from the latin Saturdae, for "sit your lazy ass down and watch a movie or something". Which of course means that I spend part of my Saturday "helping" - yes, those quotation marks are there for a reason - Micke move from a snazzy part of Tokyo to another snazzy part of Tokyo, across a great big road, and some smaller ones. It took quite the driving feat - signed Mr Tiki - to navigate through that warren of streets, but it was, as they say, all good. The following is a picture of a place which is not-there.


Yes, tall buildings and people crossing roads in front of them still impress me.

After lunch, we left Micke to sort through all of the belongings I hadn't managed to completely destroy (yet!), and headed back north to return the rented Suzuki Swift (which, in accordance with the laws of advertising, is anything but). Of course, this being Tokyo on a Saturday afternoon, things didn't really go according to plan. What resulted, however, was a fine drive through a fine city. We also got to see the great-big-gigant LOVE-sculpture-thing outside the office building where my girlfriend works on the 23rd floor. Hell, we were so taken with that sculpture that we got to see it twice, just to make sure, or something.


But yeah, it was a fine drive. However, it was about to be topped by a musical performance on Sunday. Sure, some people would place those two in different categories, but not I.

For you see, that evening, in a tiny club in Otsuka, just a stop or so away from that haven of... something which man calls Ikebukuro, a band called LAB4 (yes, the letters have meaning) were about to take the stage for the first time ever. In a complete contrast to last weekend's Riot, this was... nice. Last week was "nice" too, but in a drastically differnt sense of the word. This was nice in a more grown-up and sensual sort of way, if you'll allow it. The performance surpassed all expectations, the talkie-bits in between contained actual entertainment value, and no, I'm certainly not biased since I know one of the people in the band. Feel free to guess who. Wow, 25 years on this Earth and I've finally made it. I am now a groupie.

Also, in stark contrast to the Greatest Riot, this did not make my ears ring for six straight days, for which I am very thankful.

And you just have to love the sign which welcomes everybody back.

That's all, folks! Tune in next week to see if I get sued by Warner Bros for using their catch-phrase, and also... other things.

The Greatest Riot

And no, that's not just a title trying to be clever. Nonetheless, my ears are still ringing.

Did you ever feel like you were in the Truman Show? By this, I don't mean to ask if you've ever thought you were Jim Carrey, or indeed if you've thought of driving to an unfinished bridge and hitting tiny white balls with great big club-things. Never mind. Waking up this morning, I was entirely positive I was in the middle of an earthquake. Not The Big One, mind, but still. Do not take this lightly, I've been awoken by earthquakes before, and while I can't really think of anything that can get you out of bed and ready for a brand new day as quickly as an earthquake, it's not really something I'd recommend.

But yeah, it turns out that there was no earthquake. Or at least nobody's willing to admit that they felt it too. Not even the ever-lovin' INTERNET seems willing to admit that there's been one. It's a cover-up of near-epic proportions. Well, there's always the slight (slight, I tell you!) chance that I dreamt the whole thing up, on the back of the actual magnitude four quake we had about a week ago. Whatever.

So I'm pretty much planning to blame the lateness of this post on earthquakes, but in reality, it's more the fault of... something. Over the weekend, I undertook a drive (by which I mean "riding shotgun and messing with the satnav so we almost got lost") to Nagoya, a place where I used to live for most of last year. It's kinda strange going back to a place you used to live, as a tourist. But I'll leave that for now.

The reason for the trip was not to see Nagoya again, but rather Toyota. The city. Yes, they renamed it after, well, I think you can see where I'm going with this. What's in Toyota, aside from Priuses? A stadium. And what can you do if you have a spare stadium? You can gather some of the GREATEST BANDS OF ALL TIME, and make an event of it. And call it The Greatest Riot.

And it really was. Well, the riot part was carried out in traditional Japanese fashion. Upon arrival at the scene, Yasu and I were greeted with a 50-minute line. For merchandise. T-shirts, towels, that sort of thing.


Goodness, gracious me. The actual concerting took place from 12:30 p.m. (no, that's not a typo, the Japanese like to get an early start to their riots) to 8:30 p.m., when the last of the eight bands left the stage. They left after another traditionally Japanese riot... thing. See, people were starting to get a little rowdy in the front (we had tickets for section A5, which will put you close enough to the right-hand speakers to make your ears ring for, and I speak of experience here, four days. And counting), so the organizer goes up on stage and... Apologises for the bad planning which has led to this, asks us all to take care, and promises to plan better next year. In Sweden, they would have told us to possibly "Back. The fuck. Off". As a former classmate and current Nagoyan would say: Only in Japan, kids.

Before that however, the following band performed gorgeous music. Triple point score to anybody who can name the band (not to mention any of the actual band members). Three words, strung together just so, starting with "Yum", and followed with another "Yum". See how close that stage is? Consider the fact that my camera has the zoom qualities of tuna fish, and you realise... something.


But yeah, the concerts ROCKED, one might say, if one were so inclined. Incidentally, I cannot imagine a warmer place on God's Green Earth than bumping (welcome back to the 1950's!) around at the very front of an open arena while the Japanese sun (which kinda refuses to acknowledge that it's actually supposed to be autumn by now) tries - and succeeds! - to bake you. Over the course of the first two concerts, I consumed 1.5 liters of water. As if that were anywhere near sufficient.

After it all ended, I used my supreme train-navigation-skillz to get me back to Tokyo on the very last Shinkansen available that night. Ok, so maybe pay ten gazillion dollars for a one-way Shinkansen-trip isn't very punk rock, but you know, too much of a good thing and all that.


And no, the above has nothing to do with... well, anything, really. At least not anything mentioned here today. I intend to keep it that way. Tune in next week as our young hero will see if his ears will ever fully recover!

The Four Cards

I got up at six thirty on my Sunday morning to sit on a hardwood floor for an hour and a half. What did you do?

But there are more important things than that. Such as, oh, I don't know, having mexican food with friends you haven't met in far too long. Haruka, Yukari, Naoto (and Tomo too, but you know, if I step hard enough on the floor in the morning, I end up in your place, so you're kind of in a different category), thanks for... everything, basically. I had a grand time, and I hope you did too.

For those of you who thought I'd gone nuts and started writing about sensible things, prepare to be stunned! All is well. I shall instead spend the majority of this post contemplating what information you can get from a person by the contents of his or her wallet.

No, I don't mean how much cash they carry around. I'm talking about cards. Going home today, I started developing this theory. People carry around loads of cards and crap these days, but in my simple mind, you can basically tell everything you need to know from seeing which four cards the person uses the most. This is all because of the structure of my wallet; I always place a card I've just used in the bottom of one of the pockets, making it easily reachable, strange as it may seem. So I can tell which cards I use the most just by checking the pile. Here's the top four.

1) Suica Commuters card. Not only can you buy hot dogs at furniture stores with it, but you can also ride trains. It's just that fantastic, which is probably why I can't seem to shut up about it. So what does this tell you about me as a person? That I like cards that go bleep when you touch them to sensors, and that I try to run away as often as possible by getting on various trains.

Sadly, the Suica is not valid on the Hello Kitty Bus.


2) Jexer Gym Members Card. Yes, it's completely unlike me in every way, but if there's nobody around to play tennis with and they have little tvs attatched to the bikes and treadmills and what have you, then even I can stand feeling like a hamster. I only wish they'd put generators in the things; I could power all of Tokyo for like... no time at all. Really.

What does this tell me about me? That if there's a tv involved, you can pretty much make me do anything.

3) 7-eleven cleaners card. This is a pretty straightforward one. It tells you that I'm a) lazy enough not to do all my own laundry (can't be bothered to iron my shirts in this fine establishment), and b) poor enough that I have to do get it done at 7-eleven.

4) Tower Records point card. This is actually a lie. Right now, it's my Xanadu Hair Salon member's card (possibly the most manly name ever!), but that's not really representative of the way things are. What the Tower Records point card tells you about me is that I'm desperate enough to seem cool that I'll lie about the order that the cards occupy in my wallet, or stupid enough not to change my theory to "It's cards 1,2,3, and 5 that are important". Or both, what do I know?

This is quite different from the list, had it been produced when I was in Sweden. It would then have been: 1) Visa debit card. No credit for me, thanks. 2) Driver's licence. Not that I got pulled over all that often. 3) Student ID. To get into buildings built for, well, students. 4) That's it. The rest of them were just there 'cause I couldn't be bothered to clean them out.

So yeah, what four cards do you use the most? I hope they include the member's card of a motorcycle gang of ill repute (they get the best cards) and possibly something involving ice cream. Feel free to make your own analysis, by the way.

---

In closing, I offer this, which has absolutely no connection to any card whatsoever. It's just that it looks like what I imagine that every building looked like in the 1980's Soviet Union, only that it's located in 21st centure Takadanobaba. And no, I did not just make that name up. Seriously.

The O.C.(D)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

The Homecoming

There were these five middle-aged ladies tonight, sitting across from me on the train home from where I don't usually go home from. Suddenly, there are fireworks going off behind me, which sends all five sensible (I'm assuming) housewives (I can tell) into a complete frenzy. You'd think they'd been born in a fireworks-factory, but taken away from there at an early age, never to have seen actual fireworks, but still somehow never lost hope that they really were this beautiful.

This is what happened to me tonight, just replace "fireworks" with "Swedish furniture giant", and "taken away from" with "taken into". I went, ladies and gentlemen, to IKEA.

To most of you, that will mean very little. "So what, the guy went to a furniture store. Next he's gonna tell us about the time he went to Saitama to see the Urawa Reds football team play Bayern Munich". And you'd be right, since that's what I did last Monday, and I do intend to tell you about it in a while, if I can manage. But I digress.

For an Älmhultian [Wikipedia: "Älmhultian" - noun, refering to person or artifact originating from IKEA-ville, which up until the mid-21st century went by the name "Älmhult"] who's spent some two years in Japan, it's as close to a religious experience as you can get in this secularised world of ours. Instant recognition overpowers all the senses as you walk through the door, and until you leave, you just can't help but going around smiling like a retarded person. Not that I know anything about the smile-ratios of retarded people, but I hope they smile a lot. Never is looking at stuff you've grown up around more enjoyable than when said stuff is airlifted 7000 miles to end up in a huge building out in Minami-Funabashi.

I had hotdogs. They were almost as cheap as they are in Sweden; something of a miracle all its own. And they tasted fine, oh, so fine. I paid for them in the traditional... Wait, no. Here's where you start to see the changes. See, I paid for them with my commuters card, the Suica. For those of you in Sweden, the obvious analogy would be referencing the "Cash-card" of a few years back, with the only difference being that people use Suica to actually pay for stuff. There were other, more subtle differences too, but in a last-ditch attempt to keep the one reader who made it this far interested in what I have to say, I shall let them slide this time, and instead present you with:


Due to circumstances partly within and partly without my control I spent a rather fine 25 minutes (!) at a train station out in Chiba. At first, I was annoyed, but then, I noticed there was sky around, and my duty to look at it.

Continuing with the photo theme, I present you with a big building in a big part of a big city. It is a place where they keep many stores, among others the one which provided me with a Yamanote-line clock the other day. Currently, all time in my room is told along the lines of which station that little train is arriving. Right now, it's approaching "Nippori minutes to Takadanobaba". It's a fine system.

By the way, I really did go to that football game, but it wasn't really much to write home about, as it were. Urawa managed to win against a Bayern Munich whom I'm sure were giving it their all. Just that the 15 players in the team all had a bad day at once, including Olli Kahn, about whom a fine piece of music has been composed (sadly, permalink is unavailable at this time, head there fast for the full experience!). Said Olli let an own goal slip between the posts, but it was deemed inadmissable on account of a defender breaking the rules in scoring the own goal. You'd think that you couldn't really avoid an own goal by making one more error, but such are the rules. And they say people can't wrap their heads around cricket.

In the week or so since the last post, I've also been to Saitama to say hello to Japanese people I know, Swedish people I know, and sing songs I very much don't know in karaoke. It was a grand old time. It's also been a little busy since my girlfriend got herself a gorgeous new apartment only four stops away from Shinjuku, in Kouenji. For those of you following the long-distance Japanese class, that translates as "Temple of the expensive yen". Seriously.

Which leads me nicely to my final point. As has been known for some time, money can by happiness. I just never knew they sold it at IKEA, and only charged 290 yen for it. (For those not so well-versed in Swedish, please use your imagination)

The Week

You knew it would end up being the title of a post sometime. Imagination doesn't last forever, you know.

I don't think I've had a week this busy, at least not this year. And I'm not getting any younger, much like most people I know, but still.

Monday: "Let's celebrate that guy in BDD, he's been here a month, so let's go out and eat loads of fancy things and talk and be merry"-night with the Company, as I call it.
Tuesday: "Let's take those two foreign guys in BDD to a place where they serve noodles, only it's not the usual noodle-place"-night.
Wednesday: "Let's let the foreigner who's never seen a gym before avoid working out by having him fill out forms for over an hour, until the gym closes"-night. I swear, it's harder to join a gym than it is to get accepted as a foreign national in this country, and Lord knows that takes a fair share of paperwork.
Thursday: "Let's measure everything about the foreigner who's never seen a gym before and explain to him that he needs to gain three pounds of fat, that should screw with his perception of what a gym is!"-night. Of course, they said I needed to put on eight or nine pounds of muscle-mass too, but that's nowhere near as funny. Also, I burn 1977 kilocalories on a day in which I do nothing. Don't ask me how they do it, they just know. Probably just by looking at you for two minutes, or something.
Friday: "Let's have a party at a club really-really far away from everything and make sure the foreigner almost gets lost getting there"-night. Ok, the blame for that has to fall on the Canadian ice hockey club hosting the party for the 200+ people, but yeah.
Saturday: "Let's play tennis, then eat something at a really expensive place in Shinagawa"-day-and-night. With the Company. And fun it was.
Sunday: "Hmm, it's been busy this week at work as well as in my spare time, so let's relax by walking for 238 frikkin' miles through Tokyo"-day. Yotsuya to Aoyama to Roppongi to Tokyo Tower to Hamamatsu-chou. And no, I had no idea where that was, either. Still don't, come to think of it.

So yeah. I've also seen a match or two of the premier league of Japanese floorball. The team is Shooting Stars, and I have two and a half friends on there (the half since I don't know him that well), which I suppose makes me a groupie of a male team of indoor-hockey-people. It's not bad. I even got one of the fastest shots ever, on camera. And this at a time when Shooting have only two players (excluding the goalie) on the field, compared to the opponents, who have four! Talk about a different level.


Oh, and upon crossing a, well, crossing, in Shirokanedai, I saw a tv-show being shot, starring none other than (someone I've recently been informed may very well be-) Kamenashi-san of something-fame. They were just there, filming their hearts out and keeping us from crossing the street and eventually getting almost-lost on the way to the club on Friday night, so I figured they deserved to have their picture taken.

New Topic Goodness! When I was here four years ago, doing the round-trip thing of basically all of Japan (bar Okinawa) with someone who goes by the name of Da Pete, we had access to the Lonely Planet range of guidebooks, specifically the one about Japan. This because we felt it would suit our needs far more than one of outer Mongolia. We may have been wrong, but that's the way it was. Anyway, in it, we discovered such memorable pieces of advice as "A man is wise to climb Fuji-san once, a fool to do it twice" and "Tokyo Tower just isn't worth the effort". Both of which turn out to be true, at least to some extent. If I only had one week in Tokyo, I certainly wouldn't want to spend all of it waiting in line to get to go up to the top of a tower built expressly to top the Eiffel Tower on some far-off continent, but since I'm here for a while, I figured it was about time. Besides, you get to go in an elevator! Who wouldn't pay 1420 yen for that pleasure, I ask you?!

In closing, I offer this picture, as proof that things here might not be quite like things elsewhere. I don't really know what they use their old hair-driers for in Sweden, but I'm pretty sure it's not for keeping the plants for freezing. In summer, with outdoor temperatures approaching 5 billion degrees. Celsius, no less!


The question of the day was just posed by someone close to me. "Do nomads have an address?" Do they? And if so, do they fill in their change-of-address-forms as promptly as the rest of us? See you next week.

The Delay

No, that's not just a clever way of informing you that this post is a week or so late.

It's also a way of getting the subject squarely on trains. You see, trains are cool. I mean, I'm not some kind of train maniac, but in Japan, the people they do love their trains. I had a teacher in junior high who brought a video to class of his huge train-set-thing, occupying his entire garage. He'd love it here. You see, you can't imagine a Tokyo without trains. Well, you could, but it would be a city which would be dead within the hour, basically. And it's almost as hard to imagine a train that doesn't run on time. Yes, this is very much not Sweden.

So I therefore present you with the following:


For those of you into this sort of thing, you'll have no problem reading those sqiggles, but for the rest of you, this is a "Proof of delay" I got just about a week ago, coming home from... somewhere. There had been thunder and lightning all afternoon, and this had caused random havoc on the system. My train was almost twenty minutes delayed. In Tokyo! This will not stand. Any guesses to why they hand out little notes saying "Proof of delay" are welcome. Most creative, furthest-from-the-truth explanation gets a free t-shirt.

Ah, but the train madness does not end there. Instead, it reaches all the way into Shinjuku's Takashimaya department store, where they sell many things. It's what department stores do, or so I've been told. I'm not really big on Takashima, however. It's the Tokyu Hands in the same 14-story building that has wrapped me round its little finger. There, you can by stuff like this:

It's an alarm clock. Which has a little train right there in the middle. One which runs on the Yamanote-line, going round this city of ours in a great big cirlce (and thus excellent to sleep on, trust me on this). But the fun doesn't end there! It's got all the station names printed on the face, including the exact time it takes to travel between them. Thankfully, it takes just about an hour to complete the entire lap, so there was no need to invent a new system of telling time in order to fit it on the clock. And yeah, finally, it plays six different tunes from some of the stations, so you can wake up to that tune you'll hear in half an hour when you have to change trains in Shibuya.

I want that clock so badly I can taste it. And it tastes good.

More pictures!


Feel free to guess which one depicts an ice cream parlor in Shibuya named after the country of my birth, and which one depicts a completely random guy riding around on quite the bike, wearing nothing beneath the waist except a white pair of boxer shorts. As a friend of mine would say, "Only in Japan, kids".

Other than the above mentioned madness, I have spent the past two weeks doing many things, some of the including actual work. Imagine the horror. It's not bad actually, we're still very much in the start-up phase of our projects, but today I've spent a five-digit number of yen on litterature of various kinds to help me on the way. If I study it round the clock, maybe I'll catch up to Tomo. Maybe not.

I've also...
1) been to Hokkaido (the restaurant, not the island. At least not recently), followed by karaoke. 2) played table tennis, ending by skill-shootin' our only ball up on a beam making up part of the ceiling, where it promptly laid still, in an effort that defied some of the laws of physics and pretty much all logic.
3) actually not been to baseball since the last time.
4) in the spirit of my forefathers come up with a project that I shall see if I can get approved. Most likely it won't work, but I'm really enjoying trying my hand at it, and for now, that's all that matters.
5) seen a program on TV about Doga. "Dog yoga", to the lay person.
6) learned that they've changed the man on the 1000-yen bill from Natsume Soseki to Noguchi Hideo mainly on account of the latter having more hair, thus making the note harder to forge.
7) gotten the first bill for my mobile phone. It's not happy reading.
8) gotten my ATM-card. About bloody time.
9) not joined a gym. I might well do so though. Stop laughing, I can hear you all the way from this side of the Intertron.

That should do it. In closing, I present you the following:

My girlfriend went to a wedding, and got this machine that "makes beer out of beer", as a wise man once put it. It was not I. It's called Let's Beer Great, and is of great nostalgic value to anybody having been in Gifu in the summer of 2K1. As, I am sure, is this.

The Dog

I so need a bike. It's not even funny.

Last year, the main part of which I spent in the fabulous city of Nagoya, I lived with two guys. And a lot of very loud Austrians, but that's neither here nor there. Anyway, one of the two guys was Norwegian, no less, and went to a 100-yen shop (the slightly more luxurious version of the 99-yen shop. And no, I'm not joking) and came back with a rather ugly, and therefore insanely lovable mini-statue of a dog, promptly named Za Doggu, in proud Japanese fashion. I here offer a small tribute to Za Doggu:

And no, I have not used it to clean any kind of dog. Yet.

There are things you only do once in life. They come in two categories. One is things you'd really, really love to do again (oh, I don't know, experiencing the joy of getting up at 06:30 on your birthday to take the theoretical part of the drivers' licence test), but can't, the other is made up of things you've done you just don't want to do again (such as getting up at... yeah). Today, I did something that I with the aid of a future bike won't have to do again.

I walked from Shibuya to Harajuku to Yoyogi to Shinjuku to Yotsuya. Where I live, so there wasn't much need for further walking. I could have taken the train. There is money on my Suica commuter's card, and I have the knowledge to utilize it properly. But no. So if anybody needs directions to the Subway (the sandwhich place. Or, for that matter, the train station) closest to the Yoyogi police station that I passed on the way, you've come to the right place. The serve a mean roast beef sandwhich, if memory serves.

I took a brake though. In Yoyogi park. Which seemed like a good idea at the time. I had brought with me one very fabulous book and, it would turn out, an equally fabulous magazine. So I sit down, hoping for some peace and quiet (well, except all the people around, and the two bands trying to out-volume each other). And promptly get shit on by a bird. I'm pretty sure that's never happened before.

Right after The Incident, three guys come up to me and start talking to me because I look like a foreigner. Probably because I actually am one. But who knows? Either way, we talk for a while, and then I break out the Japanese, to much applause, and now it looks like we're going to be playing some Footsal (or is that Futsal? I should ask the guy who bought Za Doggu, he'd know) together in the future. That pretty much cancels out my anger at the world for being, well, shit on. The picture has nothing to do with that. It just has lots of people in it. It's taken at a place many of you already know and all of you must know one day.


Walking around this great city of ours/theirs, I also managed to find something that just makes me happy, somehow. Not so much the product itself, but the fact that there are people in the world who work at companies which let them produce stuff like this. And the Dog Cleaner. If you study the picture, you'll realise how I'll spend my Friday nights from now on.

I believe that, as they say, is that. I could regale you about tales regarding mine and Tomo's adventures in the Junior Suites at Tokyo Dome watching the Dragons slay the Giants this week, or possibly show which part of western Tokyo looks most like the Mediterranean (hint: it's not the Turkish embassy, despite it being located here), but I have to save something for later.

As I wrote this, I have consumed far too much of very good Swedish chocolate. Oh, and Mitsuya Cider, once quoted as being "God's gift to thirsty people". By me, quite obviously.

UPDATE! I was just informed of the nature of things by Toyomi, calling from Nagoya (where else?). She has been given a machine that will amaze some of you. Or me, and I hope one more person, at least. Let's Beer Great is all I have to say for now. Make of that what you will.

UPDATE the UPDATE! I was just informed of the nature of some other things by Tomo, calling from room 719, and it looks like... a lot of things. Never mind, I just wanted to update the update, really.

UPDATE the UPDATE the UPDATE! Yeah, he called again. Lost the charger to his phone, it would seem.

UPDATE the UPDATE the UPDATE the UPDATE! Now we're talking! And he found the charger. Hidden away in his bag, apparently.

I'm going to sleep very, very soon.

The Tokyo

Across the street from me, there is a lady who is cleaning her window. The window is located eight floors above what mere mortals refer to as "ground", where there is an AU-shop. This shop sells mobile phones. I should know, I've bought mine there. But that is still not the point. The shop, aside from being located eight floors below the lady cleaning the window with a fervor that would indicate she's having inlaws over for dinner, is also located on Shinjuku-doori. If that lady were to stop cleaning for a moment, get out of her apartment, turn right, and walk 10-15 minutes through the rain currently streaming down, she would find herself in Shinjuku. The place to be, as it were.

I have never lived this near the center of, well, anything, really. Cities with twice the population of my home country even less.

I arrived last week, after a flight which left me feeling pretty good, having slept all of 25 minutes. Then I was led into the "special immigration office", feeling way too special, with the ominous phrase "there's no problem, but...". That's not what you wanna hear at 09:27 a.m. in Narita International Airport. No, you want to hear "Yes sir, all your luggage has already been sent to your specified address", or possibly "I'm sorry, only the white helicopter was available to take you into Tokyo today". But it turns out that there actually was no problem, praise the somebody! Sadly, there was no helicopter either, but I'm willing to let them go on that one.

So, six days in the capital of my own personal little world, and what have I accomplished? I've:
1) ...been to baseball twice. Once to see my dear Chunichi Dragons own the Yakult Swallows, and once to experience what may objectively be the best supporters in the sport at the Hanshin Tigers' game against the Yomiuri Giants.
2) ...had 22 pieces of sushi in one sitting. At the Kappa sushi in Harajuku, hidden though it may have been. Thanks to the magic of mobile-phone-GPS and lots and lots of love for the raw fish thing, we still managed to find it. Ha-HA!

It was not at this place, the name of which translates into "Surprise sushi". Isn't that taking the whole concept just one step too far?
2b) ...had one order of "Fresh slices of horse". Seriously.


3) ...been to Ebisu to see England have their b-hinds handed to them on penalties in the quarter final of the World Cup. I also had dinner there with some ten or so other people, less than half of which I knew beforehand.
4) ...been to Omiya, up in Saitama, not too far from where I and Tomo used to study. "Study" being our word for "heading downtown to do random shopping and have fun looking at Japanese people doing Japanese things".
5) ...bought a phone. On which you can play an arcade-perfect conversion of Ridge Racer. Oh, and use it as payment for the subway. The last time I was here, I had to have a card in my wallet and hold up the wallet to a sensor, this time I can do it with the phone instead. And I can buy stuff from convenience stores too. What will they think of next? Anyway, if you're reading this, chances are you already know the number/email address. If not, email my regular one and I'll set up up double-quick-time.
6) ...bought a lot of other stuff too. It's amazing what you can accomplish in less than a week if you put your mind to it.
7) ...started my training at Tetra Pak Japan, which is supposed to end up being magically transformed into some sort of Master's thesis. "Magically" being the key word.
8) ...gotten a fine massage from my hairdresser. This is apparently the way they do things here. It was a good one too. The conversation was almost even better, about this new Cup Noodle (r) timer. You put your cup (preferably with noodles and water in it) on there and that little sucker will tell you when they're done. See #5 about what they will think of next.
9) ...seen Jack Bauer (yes, that's his real name!) do an ad for "Calorie Mate", which is basically just space-food. A brick you eat so you don't need to eat anything else, essentially. And Tommy Lee Jones did some ad for... diapers? Something in a supermarket, can't remember what. Never mind.
10) ...not been late for work once. Thankfully, the soccer was on Saturday night, otherwise the 12:30 p.m.-wake-up the next day might have had dire consequences.

The lady across the street has now finished cleaning her window. Maybe she took my advice and headed off to Shinjuku.

In closing, I offer this picture of Tomo pretty much punching the crap out of Omiya's resident mascot squirrel. At least it looks like it, and pictures surely don't lie, much like this dear InterTron of ours.

Kumadude out.