The Japanese Language Proficiency Test

or

Another Goddamnned Learning Experience

a Christ-mass storie to warme the Heart... Or Rile the humoures

Part I: The Set-up

This story starts on November 30. As I was planning on going to Nagoya to take a Japanese test on Sunday, December 1, my only plan on Saturday night was to leave work quickly and go to bed early, so I could catch the 6:11 train to make the test by 9:30.

But...with 10 minutes to go before quitting time on Saturday, the head teacher called me into her room for a conference. She wanted to know why I was only getting to work 5 minutes early instead of 15. I explained to her my position of preparing my lessons in advance the night before
and my inability to see the value in making any effort for the head office that would not directly benefit the students, since I've known since June that they weren't renewing my contract and since August that there was no chance to change their minds. Generally, I've been dealing with this bitch of a situation by focusing on the students and trying to forget my urges to plot revenge or just stop going to work. But good old Miho reminded me of how much the students like me, and how much my coworkers like me, and how much they all depend on me since more than half of the staff has been there for less than one month. (No, I don't know how they say "guilt trip" in Japanese, but it's clear they're familiar with the concept.)

Anyway, after 40 minutes of making sympathetic noises alternated with requests to keep working harder, helping the new people, and filling out all the paperwork for the new classes that will start two months after I leave, Miho finally let me go for the evening. I packed my bag, remembered my wallet and phone, and went home for the night. I studied for about 10 minutes before succumbing to a stress headache and going to sleep.

I woke up instantly at 5:20 the next morning with a clear head and one stark realization: I had left my test voucher, without which I WOULD NOT BE ADMITTED, in my journal, with the directions, on my desk at work.

Part II: The Problem

Quickly reviewing my options and swallowing the bitter dregs of my pride, I called my long-suffering and too-kind manager at 5:30 AM to plead for help. To her credit, she not only woke up and answered the phone, but chose to help me at that hour by calling the building security company to let me in.

After all the phone calls were made I took a quick jog downtown (time till last train: 35 min...) to meet the man in charge of security.

All 19 years and 140 pounds of him.

He quickly gathered that I was the foreigner he was supposed to meet (a keen deduction, given that I was the only person on the street) and got out of his car and let me in the building. We went upstairs to the Aeon office where we discovered that neither he nor I was the manager of Aeon. That was a problem only because the manager is the only one with a key to the office door.

So I was still unable to get that one piece of paper I had been told was essential to my taking the test, and now I only had twenty-eight minutes to get in and out of the building, to the station, buy a ticket and get on the train. It was then that I remembered that there was a window in the copy room that opened onto the roof of the next building. If that window was unlocked, it would be a simple matter to climb in and get my card. So I went to the roof, opened the door, and discovered that the rooftop I was on was only around twenty feet above the part of the roof I needed to be on. So I decided to dangle off the edge of the roof and drop down.

Part III: Breaking and Entering... Or maybe just breaking.

I suppose at this point I ought to remind you that this test was only offered once a year in Japan and once a year in the US, on the same day. If I missed this test, my next chance to take it would be in twelve months. Additionally, I was in the process of trying to apply for new jobs in Japan, and figured that some certification of my Japanese ability, no matter how low, would be better than nothing at all. And all that was going to be a moot point in another twenty-six minutes.

It's a funny thing about perception. When I stood across the street and looked over, the two roof levels didn't seem so far apart. When I was climbing the stairs from the fifth floor to the roof, it didn't seem so far. Even when I was looking over the edge and trying to find a ladder or a rope or a sturdy looking drainpipe, it didn't seem that far. But once I actually climbed over the edge and lowered myself as far as I could by dangling from my hands, all I could think about was how easy it would be to break my ankle again, the two support screws already embedded in my leg bone notwithstanding. Fortunately, just as I was preparing to drop, the ever helpful security guard came back up to the roof and looked over just in time to offer me an incredibly helpful question:

"Hora, daijoubu desu ka? Abunai?"

Exactly the question a person wants to answer when he's literally dangling by his fingertips.

Despite the guard's assistance, I did manage to drop down and tuck and roll. I'd made it down with no problems beyond a few scrapes and a lightly sprained wrist (which I wouldn't realize until later), and scrambled over to the copy room window.

Which was locked.

So now I was on the roof of the fourth floor of a building I could not get into which had a ladder that only went down to the third floor roof, and only twenty-two minutes until the train left.

I suppose I'm lucky that the part of downtown that I work in has a bunch of those buildings put up in the 1960s in a very limited amount of space. It was pretty easy to creep over a fence, down a drainpipe, along a balcony and down an awning to the street.

And it was from the street, looking up at my classroom window that I remembered something: I almost never remember to lock the window of my classroom despite repeated requests, notes and reminders to do so. Assuming I remained true to forgetful form, I should have been able to simply slide my window open, walk into my room and get the form, then run down to the train station with seven or eight minutes to spare.

All I had to do was climb up to a window that faced the street, not a rooftop.

There is a sign just under my window that functions as something of a ledge. And a maintenance ladder that runs up the outside edge of the building from the second floor to the sixth.

I suppose there are really only two details about my climb that're worth recounting.

One: I remembered to lock my window after all.
Two: The security guard was no more helpful from the street than he was from the ledge.

"Oi oi, sugoiii abunei da yo..."

All told I managed to get to within two yards of my voucher, but that wasn't quite close enough. Admittedly it was from the wrong side of a fifth floor window, so I guess that oughta count for something. But in the end I couldn't get in the room, I wasn't able get my voucher and I didn't take the test.

So I thanked the guard, apologized for his trouble, and went home. Just in time to see the sun rising. I went home, completely defeated. I couldn't get into the building. I couldn't get my test voucher. I couldn't take the test. I couldn't get my $50 test application fee back. And I sprained my wrist, which swelled up pretty good for a couple of days.

That night, when all the other people who had gone to take the test came back with their reports on how difficult it was, I got the final insult, without which the previous injury would not have been complete.

They didn't even bother checking the vouchers at the test site.

Apparently, one foreigner is as good as another, and it didn't really matter if you tried to take the test with or without proper documentation.

...

You know how when things go badly, and there's really no upside to the final results, people always tell you "well, I guess this is a learning experience, huh?" I've had people tell me that after car accidents, having to work at shitty jobs, getting dumped on Christmas eve, and tearing the hell out of my leg falling through a window.

Turns out there's a similar phrase in Japanese that literally translates as "you have become a lesson to be learned from."

I think I've heard that more than enough for one lifetime. I'm sick of learning this way. And I'm really sick of other people learning from me this way. I'd really like to learn something from a resounding success for a change.

And honestly, what the hell did I really learn from all of this?

1. There's lots of ways to not get into a building.
2. Always following the rules gets you dick.
3. If you have a halfway interesting story that you're going to have to tell more than once, make sure you tell it to a group first, otherwise that one person is going to tell everyone they meet before you do, effectively defusing your ability to vent and they'll get the details wrong to boot.

The End.

Next Time: How I went from worrying about how to chat up three girls to wondering about the extent to which each of them thinks less of me than your average thesaurus.

Merry god damn Christmas.

Busy.

Really fucking busy.

If I ever get free time, I'll tell you about taking tests, teenage security guards, misread signals from the opposite sex, and what Spider-man's got that I don't.

It's fall here. Which means its been cold (around 40 degrees F) and has been raining about every twenty minutes.

The girls have started wearing sweaters and coats and gloves and scarves and hats. But, oddly enough, have not stopped wearing skirts that stop around halfway between knee and thigh. Not that I'm complaining, but it seems like it'd be a little... drafty.

Anyway, I'm too chilly to get my blood boiling over Bush or commercialism or any of the other things that I'd normally be ranting about. So here's a short story about Nara, a place I visited when it was a lot warmer.

Next time: International communication and giving people the finger.

A thought about live music in Japan:

Most popular music in Japan seems like it evolved from some imported type of music that was cross-bred with a unique Japanese sensibility to create something that sounds sort of familiar to a westerner, but still has that unmistakable stamp that says "Made in Japan." I suppose it's not unlike the feeling a person from France might get if they went to California and ate nouvelle-French food. Most of the key elements are there, but there is also some essential difference in execution that changes the final product, no matter how slightly. It's familiar, but changed somehow.

But it's not just the sound of the music that's altered, the reception of music by fans here is very different. The separations between styles seem to be more matters of fact and not sources for passionate disagreement or enforced separation. The differences in social situations between, say, punk rockers and rap fans in America in the 1980s just didn't exist here. And all the baggage that goes along with those differences is missing too. I am conditioned to expect that a person wearing ripped, thin leg jeans with a big belt, a leather jacket, boots and a shaggy haircut is probably a white guy. If it's in California, that white guy is probably from Anaheim. Or the kid wearing baggy jeans, basketball shoes, a sports jersey, baseball cap and a gold chain is probably Black, Hispanic, or a white kid from a well-to-do suburb.

But in Japan those aren't even options. Virtually everyone here is Japanese. And all the social forces, norms and tendencies that are carried with being a white guy from the suburbs or a Puerto Rican kid from midtown which would keep those two from hanging out together are non-existent here.

Here it is possible for a person to go to a a rock show one night, a techno DJ event another night, and see some of the same people at both places. Maybe the candy raver isn't moshing, and maybe the punk isn't getting that deep trance feeling of peace. love and so on, but they can cross over without too much trouble. It seems possible to like more than one thing here.

Of course, I am oversimplifying things, and have undoubtedly ignored any number of relevant societal factors. 'Cause I ain't a social scientist. I just happen to like being able to go to a rock show one night, and maybe a techno show another night, and not get hassled for not dressing like a rocker or a mod or a raver or a hipster or whatever. It's nice to have options.

Now, getting hassled for dancing like a rabid dog having a spastic fit... well, that's not gonna change no matter where you go.

One of the great things about living in another country is the chance to try new and interesting things. (And here you thought I just spent all my time in bars and complaining about politics.) For example, I recently had the pleasure of trying the Japanese culinary experience that is "kaiten-zushi."

"Zushi" being a phonetic change of "sushi," small pieces of seafood on vinegared rice, and "kaiten" meaning "circling on a conveyor belt."

That's right. I stayed still. The chef stayed still. The waiters stayed still. But little plates of sushi traveled around the restaurant on a converyor belt. If you wanted it, you picked it up and got charged by the plate. If you didn't want it, it kept traveling. And if no one wanted it, well, then that unloved little piece of sushi would just go around and around until one of the chefs decided to exercise a little mercy and send it to that great sushi bar in the sky. Or the trash bin in the back.

And to top it off? A set price per plate. You know exactly how much it's going to set you back based on the number of plates on the table. For you jokers still living in America and paying $3.00 a piece for marbled tuna that you have to wait for in a sushi bar crowded with west side yuppie scum, think about this: I could pay 100 yen (about 82 cents) for two pieces, and have it come to me.

Really low prices.
No obnoxious crowds.
AND THE FOOD RIDES AROUND ON A CONVEYOR BELT!
In your face, Santa Monica!

Of course, I am now an active and participatory contributor to the over-fishing of Earth's ocean resources. But at these prices, how could I possibly be a part of the solution?

I recently had a birthday. Due to a quirk of the calendar, my birthday tends to fall on days early in the week. Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays particularly (next Friday or Saturday birthdays: 2004, 2005 and 2010). So generally I don't do a lot on my own to celebrate it. But occasionally I'll get some things for my birthday that are particularly unusual. Like the time I got to buy dinner for two even though someone else had invited me.

(This is the point where I start complaining about some slight that happened years ago, but over which I still harbor some small resentment. This is one of a number of small but indelible stains on my soul that will ultimately keep me from attaining spiritual purity, deny me nirvana, and force me to be reborn again and again and again! Will my soul never know peace?! But anyway, here's the story in question...)

A couple of years ago, my then-girlfriend decided it would be good to take me out to the Olive Garden, but refused to drive after sunset (it's a long story). Which meant I had to drive. Which meant she could have a glass of wine. Or two.

With her cold medicine.

After which she passed out at the table. Stone cold asleep. Out like the proverbial light. Fortunately, the waiter who had found a candle to put in my birthday cheesecake saw the situation and carefully and quietly brought me the check so as not to wake the girl. Needless to say, she wasn't in any condition for much birthday fun afterwards. Dammit.

(That's about all for the harping on the past. It's bygones now. No big deal.)

This year I caught a head cold and got the dirtiest look I've seen in the last seven months. The cold I probably caught from being exposed to a parade of over-worked, under-immunized and over-tired English students. The dirty look I got from a Russian prostitute who was apparently off duty and enjoying a little shopping with her friends. Maybe my necktie was too offensively knotted for her...

I also got a bunch of really cool books and toys and music from the people I know who aren't Russian prostitutes and exhausted language students. Someday I'll develop photos and post them. Until then, why don't you make do with this instead?

Anyway, happy birthday to me.

What's the point of social science?

To talk about people's habits and stuff, but act like it's really something quantifiable and predictable.

For example: The Heisenberg Certainty Principle.

A grant proposal is in the works.

I live in an apartment that has been used to house foreign teachers for some time. There were at least four different people who lived in this place at one time or another. And each of them seems to have left different types of things here. Some of it was fairly innocuous, some of it was just garbage, and some of it was highly personal. Like books.

A person's choice of books or music is almost like a relief map of their personality. Certain assumptions can (and will) be made about them based on their preferences. If there's nothing but romance novels on the shelf, it's safe to guess that it probably wasn't a football loving guy. And if it's all military history and investment books, it's probably not the property of a dreamy young woman. Of course, if more than one person has left things, it's a little harder to guess what kind of person left which stuff.

For example:

There were a couple of Kurt Vonnegut books left here. Well, a lot of people like Vonnegut, so that doesn't narrow anything down very much. And a couple of Heinlein books. Inexplicably, a lot of people also like Heinlein, but they usually tend to be guys, so that doesn't narrow it down much.

[Theory 1: At least one guy lived here]

There were also some cookbooks. A lot of people like to cook. Or think they're going to learn to cook. Since I haven't seen anything like a food stain on any of the cookbooks, I tend to think that they belonged to someone in that second category.

There was also a couple of Agatha Christie books. And a couple of spy novels

More specifically, there were three John Gardner books. Including "On Becoming A Novelist" and "The Art Of Fiction." So there was one person here who was probably an English major at school. An English major who was planning on becoming a writer. An English major who was probably planning on getting a novel out of their experiences in Japan.

[Theory 2: One guy and one English Major]

There were also a couple of well reviewed, recently published novels. Novels that were mostly about young, resilient women dealing with a man's world that they had to break the rules in.

[One guy and one female English major]

But there were also a couple of magazines, all from fall 1997 or spring 1998. Two Newsweeks, one Atlantic monthly, and a Maclean's.

[One of them was probably a Canadian]

Two issues of Shape magazine.

[So the female English major was the Canadian...]

Two Victoria's Secret catalogs and a copy of Cheri ("Nipple Hickey Lesbos Leave their mark"?!)

[...or not.]


And on and on it goes. Who left the copy of The Basketball Diaries? Who wrote notes about all the words they had to look up in The God Of Small Things on the inside of the front cover and explanations of what they thought were important thematic points in the margins? Was it the same person who left a handwritten note in a copy of Memnoch The Devil describing (what I can only consider) a profoundly crappy idea for another vampire-coming-of-age story. I guess I'll never know. And in a way, that's probably best. I don't really want to know whose life and dreams filled up this apartment before I moved in. And I really don't want to know what kind of person chooses such shitty books to schlep across the Pacific ocean.

Come on, four Agatha Christie books?

Personal Note:

Decided to take a Japanese Proficiency Test in December. It's sorta like the TOEIC, but in Japanese.

I needed help just to fill out the application form. This does not bode well.

Decisions showing poor judgement (For the month of September only): 317

This just in:

Poor nations screwed again
America: "Did someone say something? I wasn't listening..."

The UN Earth Summit is over, and nothing is being done. Again. Even though there's countries that will probably be gone within less than a century.

What are you going to do about it?

What can any one person do about it?

Finally, the summer heat has broken and the weather is cooling off. It's actually possible to sleep at night again. But, of course, I'm wondering about a few things. That's what I do...

Thought 1: Two weeks ago I went to Yokohama for a short vacation. And there I was able to meet my cousin. It's very odd, finding someone who you appearantly have some connection to but so far from everything that you would expect to be connected to. While he was a witty, fun and all-around good guy, it was surprising how different we are.

Let's forego the explanations about different backgrounds and experiences. I'm not concerned about why we're different, that part is easy to understand. I'm concerned about how and why we happen to have any sort of connection at all. The same last name? Some shared DNA? What makes our connection more valuable than the connections that we would share if we were entirely unrelated by blood? Why is the idea of family so important?

Thought 2: Some people seem to be able to be happy fairly easily, others have more difficulty with it. Is it a skill that can be acquired? Is it like dancing or singing or making good coffee? Is there any reason to think that people can learn how to be happy? Or can people just learn how to do things that make them happy?

If mood altering chemicals like prozac make it easier to be happy, is it reasonable to think that a solution might be purely quantitative? That all one might need for a type of happiness is the addition or removal of a certain amount of certain substances. I'm not entirely sure where this train of thought is going, but it's been rolling around in my head for a while.

Thought 3: If America's current government is going to continue behaving as it has, is there any reason to think we won't face a series of attacks, famines, ecological crises and general reductions in the quality of life on the planet, all of which might have been easily avoidable?

I was just wondering...

Not much time before I go to work, so this'll have to be quick.

Two months ago I went to Albuquerque for my brother's wedding. After the ceremony, I went to a bar with my high school buddies.
'Cause that's what you do when you only have 28 hours in town between 26 hour travelling schedules.

What does that sort of nostalgia-soaked evening look like?

Damnned if I know. It was also fairly alcohol-soaked. But someone took pictures and this is what they look like.

(There seems to be some sort of editing glitch below, so please excuse any inconvenience it may cause...)

It's almost O-Bon

Or Obon. Or something. I'm not too clear on the spelling. It's a traditional holiday that's something like a Japanese version of Dia de Los Muertos. Folks go back to the old homestead to clean off the family tombstones, leave offerings for the dead relatives and visit with the live ones. Most businesses give folks a couple days off to handle ancestral affairs.

Since I'm on the wrong side of the Pacific to easily visit my family, I'm just gonna hack around Tokyo for a couple of days. That is, if I can get out of Fukui.

Damn stupid night bus being damn stupid sold out tonight.


Of course, my own waiting until the last day to buy a bus ticket has no bearing on the situation.

No new pictures this week. Maybe next time I'll get around to posting the shots from Kyoto.

Or the ones from that weekend in Albuquerque in May.

Or not.

Worth noting:

In February, was consistently colder in my apartment than outside. My refrigerator was often warmer than my bathroom. Now that it's August, it is consistently hotter in my apartment than it is outside. Given that it is around 33 C here (that's like 91 Fahrenheit) with consistent 75% humidity, I'm none too comfortable wearing a suit and tie every day.

Even though Japan is years ahead of the rest of the world in personal technology (the cell phones here are just incredible), there is a strange reluctance to adopt something as radical as a central heating or cooling system in most buildings and homes. Perhaps it's a plot by the companies that sell fans, small air conditioners and space heaters.

What's the point?

I realize that whole schools of philosophy are devoted to this question, and that one hastily written post isn't going to add anything substantial to the pursuit of an answer, but I would like an answer. To be more specific, I would like an answer that seems to have some logic that I can agree with and understand. There ought to be some valid reason for doing things, right? I mean, why the hell should I go to work? Or take a shower? Or eat? What purpose is served by my continued existence? For that matter, what purpose is served by anyone's existence?

Do I add something valuable to the condition of life on Earth? And is what I add worth more than my existence costs in terms of energy, other people's time, or raw materials? Am I a waste of oxygen? Could the food I eat be put to better use?

Starvation is bad, right? Starvation leads to death. Which is bad, right? Maybe the other side of the question is more important. Is it good to feed people? Is it good to keep people alive? What's the value in living? Of course, we don't really have a choice about being born, so there's not much we can do about the whole arrival here. But why is staying alive so important?

Are people supposed to do something? Anything? Making babies, however much fun the conceptive act may be, doesn't strike me as being a good enough reason by itself. If all people are good for is reproduction, then dogs and bees and ants are much better at it than we are.

Hmm. It looks like I really need two questions answered here:

1. To what degree is human life valuable?

2. How was that answer arrived at?

Any thoughtful or amusing answers should be sent to the author. Any replies concerning "God's plan," "The Lord's Will," or "Jesus Loves"-anything will be mirthlessly laughed at, then deleted.

This weekend I went to Kyoto for a couple of days. As usual, it was a surprising and enjoyable taste of Japanese life. I saw some old temples, some old shrines, and a beautiful old garden, way out in the hills. (I'm not going to name it, since this column would, no doubt, influence everyone who reads it to go there en masse and soon it would be just another overvisited tourist spot. Just like the Temple of the Golden Pavilion.) Kyoto is famous in Japan for being the place that all us round-eyes are supposed to go crazy for 'cause if you have some stereotyped idea of classical Japan, you can probably find something to fulfill it or support it here.

Women dressed like geishas walking the streets?
Check.

Old people wearing kimonos and those wooden sandals?
Check.

Quaint little shrines to gods and sprits you never bothered to learn about even though you claimed to be really interested in Japanese culture?
Check.

But there was one thing that was really surprising: The sheer number of amateur photographers taking pictures of foreigners. Specifically, the foreigner I was sightseeing with. Oh, sure, she's a relatively tall (5'8") blonde. But Kyoto is famous in Japan for being the place that all us round-eyes are supposed to go crazy for. At any given time there were at least a dozen girls who fit the general description of "relatively tall blonde" in almost every public area. And perhaps they were all being photographed constantly.

It's interesting what some people find worth preserving in a photograph.

Three thoughts

1. Is loyalty reasonable? More specifically, is it reasonable to be loyal to any individual or organization that has repeatedly and consistently shown a flagrant disregard for the well-being of others each time its own ability to profit was at stake? I suppose what I really want to know is why anyone would claim we have a duty to work hard for people, companies, churches or nations that have repeatedly made choices that only benefit a few people at the top.

Maybe the question should be whether or not we should even bother offering such a personal service as loyalty to an institution. A person can be held responsible for their own decisions. At least, in theory, anyway. But each day brings another example of how individuals, acting in the name of an institution (Enron, Merryll Lynch, Snow Brand Foods, Mizuho Bank, The Catholic Church, The United States Government...), found a way to line their own pockets while leaving their trusted employees twisting in the wind.

For some reason people are raising a stink about whether or not we should include the words "Under God" in the pledge of Allegiance. Why isn't anyone asking what and who we're being asked to pledge allegiance to? Forget whether or not you want to say God gave America its power as a nation, who is going to use those powers? And who are they going to fuck when they use them? Because these days if Bush is making a decision, someone is going to get fucked. Do you think its going to be "the heads of businesses that keep the American economy running" who take it in the ass, or do you think it's going to be someone who can't make a six-digit contribution to a campaign fund?

In all fairness, it's not just Bush and Company who have continued to ask for loyalty while preparing to use and discard the people below them. In almost every industrialized nation, there is some case of a person in power using their position to further their own ends, regardless of what it does to anyone else. Maybe we've finally reached a point where there's enough people on the planet that their individual value was fallen due to increased supply. Does it really matter if ten people in Japan get liver damage from imported fen-phen diet pills, even though the companies that make those specific chemicals have been aware of the toxicity of their products for years? Or does it matter that American grain tariffs on African nations will cripple their abilities to compete in that "free and fair" global marketplace, delaying any possibility of an improvement in the standard of living?

Honestly, who gives a damn if products kill people, ruin our ability to breathe, or wipe out entire communities with regards to working, saving money, or being able to buy food? Who gives a damn? I'll bet it's not anyone who's asking you to pull together, remember "family values," or to focus on a large-scale anything.

2. It is really humid in Fukui right now. I can literally watch paper curl up on my desk.

3. Does it matter to you what I look like? Do you care?

Well, I finally saw Star Wars: Episode 2.

Sheesh, "Attack of the Clones."

I gotta say, each successive movie makes me like Star Wars less and less.

After Phantom Menace I didn't think I could dislike Anakin any more. Then I saw what a whiny, petulant teenager he turned out to be. Maybe the only thing more irritating than his whining was his inability to use contractions. Say what you will about Luke's whining ("I was gonna go into Mos Eisley for some power converters"), at least his delivery didn't sound like a prep school drama student.

Of course, it is entirely possible that Lucas wanted him to sound like a background character from Cruel Intentions.

As long as I'm griping, did anyone else find it odd that Amidala, who was apparently elected queen (what? Queens are elected?) at the tender age of late-puberty only seemed to have aged one or two years to Anakin's 10? And that even if she was only 15 when she was elected queen, she had no problem dating a boy who would have just been finishing high school when she was finishing her second term in the senate? And what the hell kind of government elects a queen but gives its legislative voice in the republic to a senator who would leave her affairs in the hands of Jar-Jar? I have to say that people of Naboo don't just have a stupid name for their planet, they have a stupid way of life to go with it.

And perhaps that is my biggest gripe with the last two movies: Great pains were taken to create an entire universe with its own history, mythology, politics and society; but the whole universe is reasonable only as long as you don't think about anything for more than fifteen seconds.

C'mon, why the hell would the trade federation's new battle droids have neck sockets compatible with whatever model C-3PO was kit-bashed from 10 years earlier? Apart from making possible the unnecessary and seemingly interminable Head-switching scene, I mean. Whoever thought that was clever enough to justify returning to it more than twice should be dragged out behind Skywalker ranch and beaten with a rubber hose full of bird shot.

Oh yeah, the special effects were continually impressive. The sheer number of new characters and vehicles will undoubtedly infuriate anyone who has to pay for a Star Wars Toy collection. I counted at least three different types of walker vehicles in the final clone battle alone.

And if you were one of those people who were holding your breath waiting to see Yoda fight, you should get out of the house more.

What's the first thing I see when I open the USA/World page of the Japan Times today? President Bush being questioned about the legality of stock sales he made in the past, and whether or not he made use of priviledged information to turn a profit.

Happy fucking birthday, America.

Sure, it was before he was president. He was only the Governor of Texas at the time. And this was well before he publicly decried the questionable ethics of people at companies like Enron, WorldCom, Merryll Lynch and Arthur Andersen.

At least it wasn't another story about Bush's colon causing a temporary change in policy. It's good that his colon has been polyp-free for two years now. I'm not ready to wish colon cancer on him, or anyone else just yet.


But I don't want to hear any more about Bush's ass for quite some time.

Another week has gone by and the World Cup is over. Even though I'm not much of a soccer fan, it was really interesting to be in Japan while they were co-hosting the Cup. Whole cities turned into mini-festivals for the teams they were hosting. School kids who might not have been able to locate Cameroon on a map got to meet and spend time with their team. Hell, even Fukui found a passion for Mexico, of all places. For over a month you could get Corona, Tacos and $400 sombreros at the department stores.

(Before you ask, the Mexican food was less spicy than I remember it should have been, but it was still a damn sight better than Taco Bell)

International interactions aside, it was surprising to see people cheering wholeheartedly for the Japanese team. I know it was only a passing fancy, but for over a month, everyone had at least that one thing in common. I was sorry to see the Japanese team lose.

But even after Japan was eliminated people still had a lot of interest in the games, especially with Korea's great performance. It's sort of a shame that feeling is gone.

But I'm not gonna miss that Beckham-style haircut. It's not like there weren't enough people running around looking like Astroboy without adding the molded hair-fin.

Drunken Antics

Awright, since I'm apparently completely incapable of getting current information posted, lemme offer you a little glimpse of my surroundings from before I came to Fukui.

A long, long time ago I used to live in Santa Monica, California. I tended to frequent bars that were comfortable, dimly lit, and cool only in that they were cheap and not stylish enough to be popular. One of the best was The Speakeasy. A tiny bar with no (count them, no beers on tap) and weekly karaoke nights. If you ever wanted to hear which local rummys could carry a tune, this was the place to go.

And it was a place I went to in November, 2001. Me and a group of my jackass friends went.

(Obligatory drunken photos)

This is what alcohol can do to you. Kids, don't drink until your ID says you're 21.

Maybe next time I'll actually be able to write about something that happened in the last eight months. Don't hold your breath though.

Actually, hold your breath if you want. If you pass out and hit your head on the coffee table, it's your own fault.

First things first

I suppose that since you went to all the trouble to type in the url, I oughta give you an explanation or two at the very least.

It seemed like I ought to have a hobby other than drinking, especially since I moved to a place where drinking out can be really expensive.

And since I've had to put some of my other hobbies on hold for a while, what could be a better waste of time than a web log?

(Yeah, I know the HTML is really simple. In my haste to move I left my copy of HTML for Dummies at my old place. And it wasn't really my copy. It belonged to Schoobert. Tough break, pal.)