Aside from a brief emergency trip to an eye-specialist last Summer (literally a mom-and-pop operation, whose office was approximately half the size of my current bedroom), I have never, during my stays in Japan, been afflicted with illnesses serious enough to mandate a trip to the hospital. At least nothing that couldn’t be treated with a self-administered treatment based on quinine-rich tonic water (aptly sterilized and base-neutralized with proper dosage of gin and lime).

This morning, though, I had to check in at my neighbourhood clinic and undergo a whole series of health exams. Not that I was feeling in any particularly bad shape (nasty lingering chest cough and faint hangover from previous night’s gin&shochu outing aside), but the Japanese Ministry of Education and Research insists on making sure that I don’t have tuberculosis, cancer or bubonic plague before even considering shelling out some Yen toward my World Domination Plot research, otherwise known as PhD.

In the grand tradition of furthering cross-cultural enlightenment that has made this blog famous in the greater Shin-Nakano Sanchome area, I figured I would share some random observations about the experience:

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Don’t you think?

I mean, the alcohol, the drugs, the neverending nights of feral sex, the uninspired blogging… it gets old, really.

Alright, so maybe not the booze, drugs and sex part. But the blogging part: definitely. I don’t mean the part about writing inane crap that nobody in their right mind should care about, in between two intense navel-staring sessions. I don’t think I’ll get tired of that part any time soon (I’m trying though). I mean, the sterile format that this blog has come to follow.

Oh, trust me, I am very aware of it. Sure, I have many excuses as to why my posting rate has dwindled to the levels of Bangladesh’s strawberry production on a bad monsoon year… Work, life, love (or pursuit thereof), happiness (idem) etc. But we all know there’s more to it. Truth be told, blogging here bores me, most of the time. There are a couple reasons for that, chiefly among them are:

• This blog started out on the wrong foot.
  When I decided to open my first self-hosted online space, it started as a bastard mix of for-friends-only (”hey guys, long time no see”) news reports and travel-journal (”lookee all the whacky things they have here”)… Both rather boring genres in the long run, neither something I really felt like doing much. But I have been pulled toward these roots ever since.

• It is read by all the wrong people.
  Quite expectedly (although I originally never intended it to be), this has become the place where all people who either have invested some DNA into me, or were court-ordered to stay at least a continent away, come to get their life update on Dave. Knowing that both your genitors (hi Mum! hi Dad!), extended family, past love interests (and potentiall future ones) are all reading this, puts a serious cap on any attempt at spontaneity.
• And therefore… I write elsewhere.
  Yes, I know, it hurts, but I have been seeing other people. In other locales, other languages even. Usually with completely different style and contents. Don’t even try to search the web: believe me you won’t find it. Those other writings are all that this isn’t: personal, fun, hyperbolic, unauthentic, uncensored etc.

Then why bother?

Good question. I suppose because this still serves a purpose for some writings, in some contexts. Also because I hate giving up. And closing that blog before I turn 50 would feel like giving up.

But things need to change. Not sure what, but they do.

Still working on details. I technically have about 10 days before the official 5 year anniversary of this blog. Do not expect grand announcement or sudden changes, just be warned.

Sorta.

Albert Hofman, discoverer of the lysergic acid diethylamide compound (better known under its initials) and advocate of a mature, non-repressive approach to psychedelic drug experimentation, died this week at the age of 102.

Yet another tragic example of a young life cut short by the evils of drugs.

• Stuff I emptied out from my apartment: 56 sq. meters’ worth of furniture, art, daily life crap and assorted paraphernalia.
• Stuff I still owned after distributing everything else to friends, family and random strangers: 6 small boxes (books and some clothes).
• Stuff actually in my possession and not currently sitting in a basement until I have a home again someday: 1 suitcase.

The first metric tonne is always the hardest to part with… After that it just comes off naturally.

This morning, I sat through the last written test of my life.^(*)

^(*) Don’t get all excited now: I am far from done… Still got a couple reports and projects to hand in, not to mention thesis defense(s) in the coming months/years. Not to mention JLPT in December and any other such certification test I may ever be foolish enough to apply for… Still:

The last written test of my entire existence!

China’s recent efforts in Tibet to thwart the nefarious plot set in motion by that most infamous of evil-doers (Peace Nobel Prize recipient 14th Dalai Lama, in case you hadn’t seen through this two-faced monster for who he was) apparently seemed to have awaken some conveniently fast-asleep Human Rights concerns among nations taking part in the Olympic Games this Summer. News in France and elsewhere in Europe abound with competitors in rather forgettable disciplines (pole vault anybody?) voicing their concerns about the ethics of the whole thing…

Frankly, I find it all rather funny (or at least: would find it funny, if we weren’t talking about a massive PR operation unequivocally benefitting a dictatorial government).

If you still have some delusion about the International Olympics Committee upholding some sort of code of ethics or caring for democratic values and such, you have clearly been sleeping through the past hundred years.

Forget the widespread corruption, the notorious bribing, the less than inspiring list of IOC members (a good half of which sits atop one minor autocratic regime or other) etc. etc. For fuck sake, do you know who was the head of the IOC for more than 20 years until 7 years ago (still Honorary President for Life)?

Ask your Spanish friends what they think of Mr. Juan Antonio Samaranch. Ask them, for instance, how they feel about Juan’s former boss and good pal: el Caudillo de la Última Cruzada y de la Hispanidad, also known as the guy who butchered thousands and kept Spain in an iron fascistic rule for 40 years. Before his gig at the IOC, Juan Antonio was a prominent political figure in Dictator Franco’s regime (and stayed involved, long after joining the IOC full-time). Best to say that, despite an innate dislike for those dirty heathen Commies, there were certain Human Rights abuses he very much could live with.

The IOC is not a humanitarian organization, they are a for-profit corporation, and a very conservative-right one at that.

So, shout all you want about the World’s powers leaving their principled Human Rights concerns at the door in the name of Olympic Brotherhood and Coca Cola partnerships, but please spare me the part about how you’d expected better from the IOC. Chances are, the last time the IOC expressed an ounce of concern for the ethics of the Games, you weren’t even a glimmer in your dad’s left testicle…

It is not often that you read familiar names in local news reports. Even less so if the locale itself is one you haven’t lived in for over 6 years.

This is why, when I first came upon a mention, in the SF Chronicle, of a slain college teacher living in Oakland, CA, it did not register much: random acts of violence and the senseless killing of innocent, beloved community members is unfortunately too common an occurrence in Oakland these days, to raise one’s attention…

And then today, while parsing Californian news again, I glanced upon the name of that teacher and realized that, against all odds, I knew him.

Not only did I know Dr. Dennis, but I also personally kept a very fond memory of these two semesters I studied with him. In fact, it was he who gave me a taste for Political Science, to the point of making it my college major the following semester, when I had originally just thought of it as a quick requirement to cross off my list before transferring with a science major.

Out of the very few classes I took at CCSF, “Dr. D” was easily the most striking professor: both as an incredibly smart, witty and engaging teacher and at the same time, obviously dedicated toward helping all students and making sure everybody got their fair chance in the end. I remember his fits of calculated zaniness in the middle of the most serious dissections of US Federal Institution and Constitutional Law. I remember that one time where, upon learning of my odd place of birth, he surprised us all by giving a quick but thorough geo-political recap of that tiny Indian Ocean island most wouldn’t even know where to put on a map, all in impeccable French. More so, I remember how astounded I was, when he concluded by throwing in a couple cheerful comments in perfect Seychellois Creole… I even remember that house of his in Oakland, where he traditionally invited his students for a semester-capping potluck dinner…

I still can’t believe now that his name, of all people, would add itself onto that seemingly unending list of tiresome injustices that is Oakland’s violent crimes reports.

He truly was a good man, in deeds and in inspiration for others. I know he will be missed by a lot.

Good bye Dr. D: may you rest in peace, Oh Zany One…

A tightly-packed ball of childhood holiday nostalgia just for you…

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Nordine, commenting by IM on Mr. Sarkozy’s new glossy romance:

See, there is hope for you: this just goes to show that one can be short, arrogant and, yet, go out with a top-model.

My not-so-great hosting company having unilaterally decided to move the cluster my account resides on. This website, and all other websites on my account, as well as email and everything else, will be out of reach for about 8 hours starting at 10pm PST.

This sucks, unfortunately there isn’t much I can do (not like DH bothered offering any temporary hosting elsewhere: just a very helpful “going down tonight, deal with it” announcement).

Back in 24 hours.

Source: Journal Officiel de la République Française

Source: US Office of Management and Budget

I have never been short of criticisms on the way certain things worked (or didn’t) in France. So I figured I would take a different slant for once.

Reading about the new French budget for next year being voted in this month, inspired me to go fetch 2007 figures for both countries…
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Things I officially cannot — or shouldn’t be able to — do at work without my magic magnetic ID card:

• Walk past security in the lobby.
• Get on the elevator to my floor.
• Go to the bathroom after 7pm.
• Walk in or out of my office after 9pm
• Access the building’s gym.
• Access the lab room and play with my little robot friends.
• Access the lab room and play Wii Tennis on the lab’s 20 mile-wide plasma screen.

Damn you Big Brother…

Her: You know: vodka grapefruit and mini-twix does not make for a proper breakfast…

Him: Oh yea? Well, waking me up for sex at 5am to kick me out of bed by 6 does no make for a proper wake-up either.

You know there are serious problems with your motivation levels when you’d rather spend the day reading up Agrawal’s [sublimely elegant but entirely irrelevant] PRIMES is in P paper than do actual work.

Much drinking and bonding with old Japanese geezers around beer and yakitori in the dark confines of Shinjuku’s seediest Golden Gai and Shouben Yokochou’s 6-seater bars. Learning outrageously offensive Japanese war songs (unfortunately forgetting most of it amidst next day’s hangover).

Going dancing in the middle of Tokyo typhoon #4. In fact a pretty mediocre Dubsteps/Drum’n'Bass party with few dance-friendly melodies and much drug-friendly excruciatingly boring bass lines (god, I hate hardcore Drum’n'Bass). Had fun with friends nonetheless. Woke up to torrential rain, earthquake shakes and some wonders about a possibly upcoming end of the world. BTW, am I the only one to have noticed how often earthquakes seem to occur concurrently with typhoons, no matter how scientifically implausible such a connection sounds? Or am I just high? Or both?

Went and saw a movie at Tokyo’s one and only Lesbian & Gay Film Festival with Eriko. Had pictures taken by the official event photographer of myself mingling at the pre-screening party amidst Eriko and her lesbian friends. Expecting to see them plastered all over next year’s official website, if not before. Not sure how that might help my style with the ladies. Not that I looked gay or anything on them: I was wearing that very manly embroidered white silken shirt and tight-fitting designer jeans.

House party at Klaus’ with twenty-some attendees, each speaking over 2 or 3 languages, none the same two: nearly sounds like a math problem. Ate Asparagus pizza. Examined the spirit of Japan with drunken Japanese boys. Sorta missed my last train and had to go beg for shelter in the neighbourhood.

Apparently acceptable topics for hairdresser smalltalk in Japan include: how long have you been in Japan, do you like Japanese food, do you like natto. Oh yea, also: what do you think of Japanese girls’ small breasts.

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