Toilets
The toilets in Japan are like no other in the world. They are super advanced. The standard ones have inbuilt bidets, and heated seats. The really posh ones have buttons that you can press to make flushing sounds, urine analysis, automatic electric seat covers and play music. The gadgetry is endless. The toilet in the bar today had 8 LEDs, 3 knobs, 4 buttons, and a full control panel mounted opposite; and a flush. God knows what it all did.

Yesterday, I sneaked (not snuck) a book into the toilet at work, so I could waste even more time by reading. I did this by putting into a carrier bag to disguise it. Thus, when I emerged from the stall, it appeared as if I had a medical problem, and a bag full of medicine, rather than laziness issue.

Here is a picture of a toilet control panel, mounted next to the bowl. Taken from my cameraphone - to avoid walking into the toilet with a giant SLR.



- posted by Daniel @ Friday, September 30, 2005 0 comments

 
resumé
describing my current state in a few sentences, without sounding too much like a speed dating introduction.....

• i wore my shirt inside out today, and only changed when i got to work. that's one hour walking and commuting on the train with an inside out shirt.
  
• currently listening to Mark Farina Mushroom Jazz 5 and reading Guns Germs Steel
• when the lift was plummenting 34 floors at speed yesterday evening, i was jumping to see if i stayed in the air longer. if alone, i normally dance in a narcissitic yet malco-ordinated fashion to my reflection in the marble floor.
  
• my hair is turning white at the side of my head at an exceptional rate - comparable only to the rate at which it is receding in the front. I have days to live.
• I looked at a photo of Ben the other day and realised he wasn't 19 anymore. Dipesh told me he was thinking of buying a Xsara MPV for the kids, and he doesn't even have kids. If those I grew up with are old, I too, am old.
  
• I am at an age where I find some adults merely pseudo adults.
• I feel a lot more avantgarde than most people I work with. I still work in IT
• I have recently spent a vast amount of company time learning about Music. Wikipedia is holding my hand, but I still feel vacant.
• Craig David must be silenced By Any Means Necessary^TM , for bludgeoning R&B and scarring it permanently with poor branding.
  

.... just so i remember When I Grow Up.



All the Eastern Euros at work have bucked the trend and not married Japanese girls. They have all - no exceptions - married Eastern European girls. Is this because:

1. Eastern European girls are gorgeous
2. Japanese girls cannot drink a litre of Vodka, which is perhaps a prerequisite for eligibility.
   

I suspect the answer is a healthy combination of the 2.

The other day I went into a club, and they needed to stamp my hand. All three girls behind the till balked in shock to see someone so hairy. They looked up and down my arm to find a clear spot to tatoo. No luck.

I am about to collect 80 ichi man Yen in cash from my pimp. On a Friday night, prior to a drinking sesh-on. Disaster looms.

- posted by Daniel @ Tuesday, September 27, 2005 5 comments

 
Falling Spirits
Damian got into the lift on Sunday morning and in walked a Japanese man who had a high pitched voice and a camp smile.

"Hello".
"Hello".
"Where are you from?".
"Scotland".
"ohhh, really? what is your name?"
"Damian"
"ohhh, i'm Bernard"
"hello Bernard".
"are you staying here on your own?"
*ding* goes the lift, and Damian makes a quick escape. A fantastic start to the day.

We meet up for lunch, and go hunting for iPod nano's. No luck. The world is out of stock, and I quickly had two sullen faces following me to the PC store to look at ultra small notebooks. Devoid of enthusiasm, I find my favourite meal (ka-ra-ge) then head West for the Sumo.

Without reading the guide and without asking Rimiko too many questions, I found out everything I needed to know about Sumo from watching. All I know is that it is a fantastic way to waste a Sunday over a cold beer, a friendly jabber, whilst watching fat men slap each other. The event itself is rather like cricket. Lots of preparation, parading and applause, very little action.

The guys dance, stare, throw salt, and after 15 minutes or so of messing with each other's psyche, they get ready to bout. The initial engagement is crushing - the sight of two 150+kg men ramming each other at full pelt feels painful even to the onlooker. But the fights are ordinarily over within a few seconds, as the first person to either leave the circle, or contact anything other than a foot with the floor loses. No 2nd round, no rematch, no warmup. You're done, goodbye, see you next year.


The prize giving ceremony at the end was crazy. The winner had to stand by and collect endless tokens of gratitude from other nations. The UAE gave him a years supply of petrol. A prefecture in Japan gave him a tonne of meat. Another gave him a tonne of potatoes. There were dozens of prizes all for the same man. He looked bored, and he had to stand through the whole ordeal in a ridiculous pair of pants. I could leave. So I did, and we headed down to the Tokyo dome for the rollercoaster. It was superb, and i'm hoping that they intergrate it into the Tokyo Metro, so that you can commute to work on it. At least i can guarantee a seat.

It was getting late, so I split with the enormous crowd that Renata had managed to have herded so efficiently so far, and got back to Ikebukuro to meet Nana for dinner. In a spaceship. This was easily the most bizarre restaurant I have been to, ever. You sit on the floor in a cage, in a darkened room lit only by the multicoloured stars rotating as your ship meanders through space and time, in a journey which somehow prevented my grilled chicken from arriving in less than an hour. So I had beer instead, which only took 15 minutes to order. A sure way to stop your patrons from getting too drunk. The girls wore miniskirts. Damo was happy.


And so the weekend ended. Right now,It's nearly 5pm on Monday, and i've blogged, just finished reading the script to Apocalypse Now, found a site to read PG Wodehouse. On Sunday, someone asked me if I was an English teacher. I said: No, Engineer. Reply: Oh, so you have a real job.

- posted by Daniel @ Monday, September 26, 2005 5 comments

 
Freitag Holiday
Despite Monday being a public holiday, Friday had no shame in announcing itself a holiday too. I headed downtown for some shopping with Damo. This involved taking him to electronics stores and drooling over minaturized wonders that were never built for export. They always keep the best stuff for the homemarket. One black PSP, a few movies and a Canon F/2 lens later, we split for me to go home and meet Rheanna plus one.

Rheanna turns up plus two, and a little surprised, i pondered about how to place who and where. If I shove them all in my bedroom, they can enjoy each other's snoring, while i have the couch to myself. So when I did hear that faint snore later in the day, I felt a casual vindication in my choice.

Clean up, remove whiskers, wear striped trousers and drown in Acqua Di Gio. Leave with Nana and return to Ikebukuro to meet D&S, whilst Crew Rheanna managed to acrue yet another member somewhere near the station, and the 8 of us found a restaurant. The only name I recall for Crew Rheanna was Ben, who was a clued up early twenty something and if he wasn't snoring, was actually good company.

The dinner time experience was good - lots of stories exchanged, sashimi consumed, and Kampai! It was surprising to see Sandra, normally interested in new experiences so averse to the strange food, and Damo, fussiness defined, so keen on the culinary delights of Japan. So we finished our beers and headed East for Chiba, with sketchy instructions from Matt of how to get to the bar. An hour later, it was clear that "West Exit (i think)" was a poor thing to write down on a map, especially given that the West Exit did not exist. Amazingly, we tracked down the right place, stepped inside what was a house party with an entrance fee. Nothing so strange to me, but Nana, Damo and Sandra thought this was going to be dire. I am not sure why - Tribe Called Quest was blasting through the curtain as we stepped in, and people were sat on the floor shouting Kampai whilst dissolving their livers. My kind of place. Eventually, they warmed up to it, and all was good, apart from Crew Rheanna whose complaint was that the music was rubbish.

The last train back from Chiba to Tokyo leaves just before midnight, and so the only thing to do is drink until 4.30am and catch the first train back. Not so bad when the drink is free, methinks. And so i concentrated on getting value for money for my 4000 entrance fee. Damo concentrated on making Sandra jealous.

I found 50,000 Yen in the bathroom. A stupid place to leave it, at best. So when in Rome... I gave the money to Matt, who gave the money to someone else, who gave the money to some girl who was crying about losing all her money. What the hell was she doing with 5 ichi man yen in the bathroom?

Rheanna berated me for being mean and condescending towards Anthea. This irritated me, because despite not knowing Rheanna, and meeting her for the first time on Friday, her feelings on the subject were strong enough to warrant such terms. She must know something I do not.
 


We called it a day sometime around half four, and took the 2nd train back to Tokyo. It was a struggle staying awake, and everyone bar Sandra and Damian napped on the train. We got into Ikebukuro before 6am, to witness a queue forming by 7-11. Pachinko players were queuing up 4 hours in advance of the opening at daybreak on Saturday in the driving rain. Superb. Got back home and passed out on the couch. Woke up without any blood in my left arm. Tingling. 3pm.
And so Saturday was largely R&R with a late trip down to Ginza to eat at a fabulously decorated, very grown up restaurant. I ate somethings that I will want again, and somethings that I will beg to try again. And warm sake, of course.
 


- posted by Daniel @ Monday, September 26, 2005 3 comments

 
Da-ni-e-ru
There is no L sound in the Japanese language, and Japanese people are largely unfamiliar with the sound L. Therefore, the translate L into R, and if the word ends in an L, append a vowel for spice.

Daniel becomes Da-ni-el becomes Da-ni-e-ru

I introduced myself to someone as Danieru on Thursday, and Paul (Pa-u-ro) folded in laughter.

Thursday. After work, After a few beers, I walked up to Ginza and located D&S's hotel with perfect timing as they had just checked in. Head down to the Korean for a firey iron bowl of rice and meat. Their stories:

+ Outside Helsinki, English was not that widely spoken
+ There was a enormous wooden church in Finland
+ Russia was London prices, and abysmal service
+ The transiberian express was scenic and worthwhile
+ People spit in China
+ The Maglev in Shanghai is unbelievable
+ They were too scared to eat local food most of the time

Said goodbye, hailed a few cabs, and eventually one decided he was desperate enough to want my money, and head on to Shinjuku. To-wa Re-ko-dos. No luck. Try Shinjuku Stay-shone. Jay Arr. Shinjuku Station JR. Door closes automatically, and we head off. Get to Tower Records by foot, grab a flyer and stand in a queue for La Fabrique, and finally get in. Hook up with Gerald trancing to some Daft Punk. 30 minutes later, the music turned sour, as some woman started screaming uncontrollably and out of sync with the music.
- posted by Daniel @ Monday, September 26, 2005 3 comments

 
The Outdoor Weekend


Jumped onto a train heading North. At least I think it was North. Jump out, wander the platform attempting to change train, and by luck alone, manage to get spotted by Ricky who herded me into the right train. Get to Kinugawakoen and have to pay a further 1200 Yen for the journey. Trains in Japan aren't cheap, unless you can pull off the Ricky stunt of saying "siumasen, i have lost my ticket" and then just get let through the gate free of charge because the guard can't be bothered communicating with you. A stunt I will consider for longer trips. Head up the road to get the guide, a wet suit, and a lifejacket. The guide turned out to be a Peruvian, with a half Brazilian half Japanese sidekick, whose actions - not looks - reminded me of a donkey. All the girls fell in love with him. Got the gear on, and started climbing waterfalls. This is a fantastic activity which I cannot recommend highly enough, if the terrain is good. You start out wandering upstream along a river fueled by ice cold mountain water, which has a series of waterfalls. Some can be small at a mere 1m high, some can be tall, at 10m, and some can be broad, with the water running down a smoothed rock surface a 10 metres in length. The latter made good slides. The scenery upstream was breathtaking. I never imagined Japan in it's countryside form, instead, I envisaged neon lights and tall buildings. The weather was perfect. 25 degrees, clear blue skies. As it hit 3pm, and the Sun began to lower and pierced through the trees. Far from the average, polluted British stream, the river was pure and the setting so serene. As I wandered along, I realised how much I was seeing only now, which kids in the country took for granted. The sad fact is, living in the city should never have restrained me from doing any of this. When you take your annual holiday, money loses significance, and experiences come first. I never want to spend money on cars, watches or overpriced furniture when I could have this. And I can have it back home, as long as I put experiences before consumer goods.

When we'd had enough of heading upstream, we turned and went back. This is where the fun really began. It involved jumping, rather than climbing back down. Jumping into ice cold pools of freshwater from a height, and swimming to the bank, and continuing to the next. The jumps appeared to get larger and larger, until the final one, which panicked one of the girls so much, she refused to do it. Eventually, she was coaxed into it by the alternative of having to climb through a leech ridden embankment.

Shivering, tired, and hungry, we headed back on to a campsite, and then chilled, with beer, at the local onsen. Then barbecue, with plates of suspiciously illprepared fodder served in poor lighting. Tasty. Sit around, telling stories over a campfire. One of the guys admits to sleepwalking, and tells a story about taking a number 2 in a cupboard. He woke up half way through. Eventually, pass out in a tent. I haven't camped since I was a kid, so it was all a rather novel experience. I must admit that I will, in future, lack the motivation to sleep in the bush, and the shadow of a moderately priced hotel. The campfire is fantastic, and the barbecues even better, but I am now old enough to want a soft bed.

7.30 am wake up and get geared up for white water rafting. These weren't hardcore rapids - perhaps grade 1 and 2, so you really have to be doing something crazy to get a buzz from it. I paddled like a man possessed, and tore by triceps to shreds. Instead of toppling the boat, we tried spinning it, and ramming it. This was all good, but it was far better just picking fights, and throwing people out into the cold water. The donkey guy was fantastic. He screamed orders from the back of the boat in Portuguese, without any handsignalling. Nobody had any idea what he was trying to say, until he stood up and started systematically throwing people out of the raft. I swam ashore, and climbed up to the top of the embankment. The idea was simple - jump from a 15m+ height, into the river, and swim ashore. The fear grips you as you look down, but you know you're going anyway. Afterall, people are watching. Your whole body tenses as you start to fall, and a noticeable period elapses before you hit the water, watching the scenery fly by, and go deep deep down. Ice cold water drowns your sinuses. I had to do it twice.

Back on the road, and head out towards Fukushima for a full moon party, and (what i am told) is Japan's most awesome Onsen. The drive was superb, yet like any drive, it becomes tedious after a while. So we stopped off enroute at a restaurant and onsen combined. Bathe, chill out, shower, check receding hairline, change into fresh clothes and head upstairs for food. That wonderful feeling, as a drop dead gorgeous girl saunters up to me, and says - "Err". I beam back, flattered, yet wondering what she has to say to me. "Errr - you're zipper is undone". "thanks". Cough. Splutter. Die.

Dinner allowed me to discover a Japanese tradition in chopstick placing. I wanted to rest my chopsticks to take a sip of the soup. Being clumsy, I needed to place the chopsticks in the most stable position - jam them in the sticky rice, and they wont go anywhere. *GASP*. Whoever was talking, stopped, all looked round, and stared. You can never, ever do this. It's all to do with death - if i recall correctly, you do something similar with cremations. So sticking your chopsticks into a bowl of rice is the signal of death to the food, and therefore the chef and the restaurant.

Back on the road, arrive at some small town, take the back roads to the forest. Full Moon Party, lots of techno and a latin tent, pass out on some Tatami mat in a hut, and end the day as the sun was coming up.

Sunday was Onsen day. I am quite sure that the guy who designed this Onsen had a vision of paradise in his mind, and the licence to publish it. There are several pools separated by a river, scattered with boulders, and connected by a traditional walkway. As you sit in the steaming hot stone pool of natural spring water, outdoors, looking upstream you can notice a old japanese house gently placing itself in the scenery, in front of a green forested hill. Nothing here is obtrusive. The pools themselves blended into the background, with a few casts of warriors and buddhas sprinkled to taste. After seeing this, I was left wondering how anyone who lived here could ever find the time to play Nintendo. It felt like Eden. It sounded like Eden. And if I was allowed to take pictures, it would have looked like Eden. The weekend was over.


Instead of taking the train back, Ricky kindly gave us a lift in the minibus. However, behind the steering wheel was an deranged 30something kiwi who drove like a teenager. He sought it necessary to remind everyone in the bus that he was once a driver for the NZ consulate in the US. i didn't feel it necessary to ask him why he no longer held that post. after a while, people on the bus asked me to drive instead, thus serving the dual purpose of getting me to shut up and getting a modicum of safety. Although, I did manage to get panicked when someone screamed "MY GOD! GO GO GO" because they saw a tram approaching. "Jesus Christo, they do have brakes" was all i could retort.
- posted by Daniel @ Tuesday, September 20, 2005 1 comments

 
Being Gay in Tokyo
Friday night, and urban ethic demands a few hours of inebriated decadence. So after failing to buy any gear for the coming weekend's adventure, I headed back to the flat and found that Matt and Nanaka were heading out to Shinjuku. And thus I found out that both my flatmates are gay. I learnt some interesting things about gay culture in Japan.



First of all, it is not so foreigner friendly, rather foreigner segregated. The first bar we went to was called "word up"

And it is not accepted or denied, because it doesn't really exist. It's a phase. Or so most people consider. So there is no need worry about your son's lack of interest in women, because after college, he'll get a stable job, get married and make babies. Which is, apparently, what tends to occur, said Matt in a rather disappointed tone.

We walked down the road, to this tiny bar on a street corner, whose mostly gaijin patrons were spilled out onto the street. Some buff guy attemtped to prove his hours spent toiling in the gym were worthhile by lifting another person, and bench pressing them mid-air. It looked childish, yet impressive. Although, thinking about it, i am quite sure that they guy must work at DisneyLand.

Walked into the bar, sat down and then the barman starts talking in broken Engrish to me. I am still trying to get the image out of my head, after he decided to tell me that he was a gymnast, and then showed me a picture of himself on his mobile phone. Naked, of course. So I headed across the road, and sat at a snack stand that sold midnight munches for the drunken. These turned out to be chicken heart and chicken gut, grilled. They were as disgusting to eat as to describe.

Perhaps because of the craziness of the night, and perhaps because it was so different, I actually had a good time, which lasted until 4am, when I was sat on the kerb outside the club, with Nanako waiting for Matt. Eventually got home by taxi (15 sterling was not as outrageous as some of the myths i have heard) to get 3 hours sleep before the weekend began.
- posted by Daniel @ Tuesday, September 20, 2005 0 comments

 
Passions
I want a life. And so I pondered the other day, just how to go about it. Being Mister Mediocre is not easy; I have no scene. If Rocco turned up here, he'd be on the Salsa circuit and socialising within minutes. He'd slide back into life so comfortably. So, for a couple of days, I thought it would be great to actually have a scene, an interest, which you simply took with you wherever you went.

But today, I think I have a scene. Meeting people? That'll happen, in time. Historically, i've never had a shortage of people that want to drink beer with me, so no reason to fear leaving Japan without touching another soul. Which means I don't try to contrive a pastime that is overtly social. This is lucky because practically everything I enjoy doing does not involve contact with other people. It's not that I don't like people - I find them fascinating. To study, rather than to involve myself with.

It's all about passion, and now I have a item that confuses me. Generally speaking, platonically or not, we people that are passionate themselves, and have a desire to live life. We rarely initiate a meeting with someone by asking about their scarred wrists. So, now we have Otaku. In Japan, the word Otaku is a reference to the home. It has now developed into a proper noun for people who stay at home. There pastimes and hobbies span playing computer games, building models, surfing the internet and more. So why aren't Otaku heralded as fabulously cool and glorified as upper members of society? Because they generally lack the verbal interactivity needed to rise like oil above water. I use this example because I feel like clean, pure water suffocated by opaque, horrid oil.

Right now the phrase Otaku is all the rage in Japan, after a TV series documents the life of one, and his ascension to being accepted in the eyes of the opposite sex. It all started out when a kid name Densha Otoko was travelling home on the Tokyo Metro, and saved a fair maiden from a drunken lout. He got her email address. And walked home with diamonds on the soles of his shoes, feeling luckier, prouder and more complete than a mother who just delivered. What now? He didn't know. And so he thought, pondered, and eventually worried. Why would she want him? Before fear consumed and soured his lust, he posted a message on the internet. For help. To a bulletin board for Otaku like him. For once, there was no sarcasm or condescension. Hundreds of people got together and mailed him with advice, lines, stories of success. And most of all, they patched him with enough encouragement and strength to email her.

The most eagerly awaited reply since the Earth found out Who Shot JR arrived. It actually did.

And so he was back to square one and one half. What now? He reposted for help on the bulletin board, and the help once more arrived. The cycle continued, with the visitors to the board hanging on every emotion in their early relationship. Slowly, a dialogue developed, and edged him toward crunchtime. He would have to ask her out. And he did. And she found a soul of true love and passion.

This story is supposed to be true. What confused me was the oil/water problem, which after writing this, became klar.

The factual, less emotional story can be found flooding from font of all knowledge.


Other news: Somebody has just guessed my age based on the assumption that I attended school 25 years ago. He will not be getting any kudos from the pot of D'Souza.


Smashing a Myth: Japan is not expensive. If you think that it is, you have not been here in the last few years. St. Clemens with a twist. Many have heard stories of $500 melons and $10 apples. But those days have long since deflated away, and now prices are more reasonable. My only remaining question is: who was creaming off the profits, back in the day? It wasn't the taxman.

In all, I get the impression that Japan is no more expensive than Europe. Todd said something I did not understand the other day. He said he wanted to move to Singapore instead of Japan because it was cheaper. But you earn almost twice as much in Japan (lower tax), and the cost of living is only 1.3x higher. Which to me, makes Japan 35% cheaper. I am writing this down, because I hope to understand what he was talking about in a couple of years. I think I am right, because by my calculations, London turns out to be one of the cheapest place in the world to live.

A Thought: I can't understand why so many girls want to get married and make babies before 30. It appears to be a mental age limit which they have ingrained into themselves. Beyond this point in their life, they are convinced that the narcissistic concept of having shrunken, and hence cute, versions of their own genetic mutation run around a suburban semi detached house is compromised. Perhaps the need is drawn from over concern about their own beauty fading, spawning the hope to refresh it by propogation.
- posted by Daniel @ Thursday, September 15, 2005 0 comments

 
The Guy
who sits behind me is devouring a fruit through excessive slurping. Really long, deep, excessive drooling slurps. It happened yesterday, and I felt powerless to say "Oi. Slurper. NO." and today I cowered away on the pretense of needing a coffee. Tomorrow I shall confront.

Koizumi is The Man. ¥200 trillion of JGB's are now going to appear back on the market, which is probably why the Yen is collapsing at such an astounding rate. It's good for me - I never came here to save, and I fully expect to take debt back with me. Or an S2000, if I can get a deal. I can avoid being that lardy ageing bald man doing what he should have done as a child, if i do it when i am still a child.

Gnashing of teeth: I bought a squash racquet yesterday, after seeing a list of English speaking sancturies that had courts. Namely, the British embassy. Today, I called all three embassies, and got told No. Which leaves me with a webpage entirely in Japanese.

And then further on the S2000 front, a guy I was drinking with recommended driving home from Vladivostok. This sounds cool. Freezing, actually. Yet the idea of travelling back home across the trans-siberian route with car appeals. I must investigate further.

The Onion has written an article about me.


Japan is not expensive. If you think that it is, you have not been here in the last few years. St. Clemens with a twist. Many have heard stories of $500 melons and $10 apples. But those days have long since deflated away, and now prices are more reasonable. My only remaining question is: who was creaming off the profits, back in the day? It wasn't the taxman.

In all, I get the impression that Japan is no more expensive than Europe. Todd said something I did not understand the other day. He said he wanted to move to Singapore instead of Japan because it was cheaper. But you earn almost twice as much in Japan (lower tax), and the cost of living is only 1.3x higher. Which to me, makes Japan 35% cheaper. I am writing this down, because I hope to understand what he was talking about in a couple of years. I think I am right, because by my calculations, London turns out to be one of the cheapest place in the world to live..
- posted by Daniel @ Tuesday, September 13, 2005 5 comments

 
Flying

Sunday was paragliding day. I jumped onto a train at some insanely early hour of Sunday morning, and headed out of Tokyo in a direction as unknown to me then, as it is now.

As you head outside the city, there are less signs in English. Still, I managed to change train, and arrive on time.

This is not a picture of me paragliding. I merely took the picture. After 2 runs, and the basics learnt - including a full understanding of how to react when someone hollers BANZAI - rain appeared from nowhere and cancelled the rest of the day.

So we headed out to an Onsen, and I learnt how to turn my body to jelly without eating vast quantities of ice-cream or Mako Donaldo Hambugo.

Got back home, and called Renate. Moving to another country these days is logistically painless; but there are, of course, other pains. You get tired of being unable to call your friends, infuriated of looking for basic necessities, tired of starting from scratch on all knowledge, frustrated with the minor differences in process and ethics. All compared to that which you have become accustomed to. I'm way over the worst of it now, and I see a list of dozens of cool things to do in my short time remaining here. My phonebook has an endless list of contacts, and a very, very short list of friends. The contacts distinguish themselves from friends rapidly, when you hear that question: "How are you" in a manner which demands honesty rather than cursory politeness.
- posted by Daniel @ Monday, September 12, 2005 0 comments

 
Cashola
A Southern Frenchman (there seem to be many in Citi) told me a story today about Tokyo back in the day when it meant money. The late eighties.

This guy goes to a bar with a bunch of other Japanese. they order a $5000 bottle of Cognac. After a small glass each, they pay and leave, with most of the bottle remaining. The Frenchman, disgusted by the waste of his countries excellent brew, suggests they take it with them. The response came sharply: "We dont do that in japan".

I've heard many rumours of $10,000 nights out, and I always thought they were exaggerated. Nice to hear it first hand.

I learnt 10 characters in Hiragana today. I am utterly certain that I will not remember them tomorrow. A I U E O.

Nobody sits next to me on the train. People would rather stand, or squeeze into a smaller space, than position themselves next to me. I have noticed this over a period of time, rather than a few isolated incidents. This seems to be the case, despite a change in odour. Since I've stopped drinking so much alcohol, I notice that I smell significantly less. Significantly. Perhaps it is still too overpowering. Luckily, I do not have that schoolboy paranoia about Why the other kids dont sit next to me. It's cos your weird-looking, stupid.

I'm reminiscing. I just had a fleeting memory of the time when I first moved to Edinburgh, and was driving in Paul's car, listening to Pump Panel.

- posted by Daniel @ Wednesday, September 07, 2005 2 comments

 
Smokin'
I lit the match
I lit the match
I saw another monster turn to ash
felt the burden lifted from my back

Just now, i return home after ritualistically drinking multiple hot sakes with Nanako-san. And i love it. Today is the day i smirked all the way home on the train, bought a beer from 7-11, passed out on the floor outside the flat (i lost the keys, again) for an hour, woke up and then went back out for sake and raw dead stuff. All consumed sitting crosslegged at the top deck of some restaurant. Today I am happy, liberated of fear, and embracing all. Today I love myself, and i want to be here. And it feels as if the feeling can last - because it is for me.

Vikram has suggested i learn Tabla. I fancy SL-1200's more. Maybe I should just stay home and learn Hiragana. To Be Decided...
- posted by Daniel @ Wednesday, September 07, 2005 1 comments

 
The Triton Tower
is the sod off big office complex that i work in (20k estimate). As i got out of the underground stop - Katchidoki - today, i joined the swarm of bodies storming the pavements and outdoor escalators to enter the tower. A horrifyingly sad and mechanised process to bear witness to. Nobody wanted to be here at precisely 9am on a Monday morning, and yet, for the pure reason of putting a roof over our head, here we are. Thousands upon thousands of us.

Observation: I have noticed that a lot of Japanese people brush their teeth during the day.
- posted by Daniel @ Monday, September 05, 2005 0 comments

 
Being Polite in Japan

they are, extraordinarily. with the exception of the trains. this is where all the pent up emotional repressment is let loose, and authoritarian fury is seen.

If the train, as pictured, is a little packed, then you need to wait for the inevitable. Somebody boarding will take it upon themselves to heave, in a manner more suited to a rugby scrum, the entire population of the crowd. So you will be almost knocked off your feet, by some dude, rucking everyone further into the train. Real rude. Matt, my flatmate, summarised it quite appropriately:
'if this was NY, somebody would get the ass kicked. and then it would never happen again'.
- posted by Daniel @ Saturday, September 03, 2005 0 comments

 
So now I am the proud owner of a Canon 350D. Photos shortly, and in the meantime i've uploaded the pictures of the Rat Race to photos.kk.

Philippe, a North Frenchman from work took me to the store to buy it. It important to note that he is from the North of France, because most words he enuciates appear rude and display disgust towards the subject. Especially the words PC Bomber, the highly discounted store that the camera was procured in. I hope that sometimes - when the situtation demands - my accent too, will be percieved in such a sanctimonious way. Especially by Americans.

Stories:

A couple of days ago, after spending an extraordinarily turgid period of time sober, I was introduced to a boat with unlimited beer onboard, and all for a 2000 Yen entrance fee. It seems that I was the only person determined to get value for money, and the score sheet drew to a close at 200 Yen per beer. I was pleased, and the boat journey was excellent. On the way home I found a man selling sushi bentos for 100 Yen. After meticiously considering the health risk associated with purchasing stale raw fish, I drunkenly handed over every note in my pocket, and walked home with a rucksack ramed full of fish. Got home, liver still swimming in beer, drowned the sushi in wasabi, blurred out. Fantastic night.

I saw a man in a pink kimono. I was assured that he was Yakuza. "how can you tell, did you see his fingers?"; the reply: "no, just the ambience". now, to me, if you are a guy walking around in a full on pink kimono, personally, i'm not thinking hardcore gangster who would gladly introduce me to pliers and a blowtorch. i'm thinking 'is this the san fran of tokyo?'.
- posted by Daniel @ Thursday, September 01, 2005 0 comments