Two top reasons I should not be here:

  1. I hate cold weather
  2. My definition of cold weather starts just below 20 degrees Celsius

I mean, I was already freezing on the plane, despite turtleneck sweater and airline blanket, while stewards were strolling gaily along the aisle in short sleeves. Obviously I don’t have the genes.

Perhaps if I drink enough vodka it’ll be a painless death by hypothermia…

On the upside, they have lotsa free sockets for your laptop and reasonably priced wifi in Vancouver airport, whence I’m writing this piece on my ongoing 3 week rant about temperatures…

Scene Reconstitution, English dubbing added for our international audience:

Eriko: So what’s the weather like over there at the moment?

Dave: Mmn, that’s a good question. Let’s find out

Eriko: -10°… that’s a bit nippy, innnit.

Dave (fainting): …

Eriko: …?

Dave (slowly regaining consciousness): That’s minus 10 degrees Fahrenheit, not Celsius.

Eriko: What does it give in Celsius then?

Dave: Below -20°, not counting windchills.

Eriko (fainting): …

Now where did I put my baby seal fur-lined thermodactyl underwear.

Eriko: それでね、 あそこに 天気はどう?

Dave: そうですね。探そうね

Eriko: −10°だね、ちょっと寒いじゃん。

Dave (眩んで): …

Eriko: …?

Dave (ゆっくり起きて): セ氏じゃない、華氏ですよ!

Eriko: じゃあセ氏でいくつ位なの?

Dave: −20°下。冬風もあるんですよ。

Eriko (眩んで): …

Picture 01roof.jpg Picture 02building_leaves.jpg Picture 03cemetery.jpg

I think the only reason I can stand the freezing winter in Tokyo (ok, freezing is a relative matter, but let’s just say it’s much colder than Tanzania right now) is the fact that it is sunny all along: that does make a big difference.

Great light for pictures.

The one on the right was taken right behind my house… I’ll let you guess what it is.

Few people know that the natural color of the Japanese tatami is, in fact, green.

It is only with wear and sunlight that it becomes its trademark straw-yellow color.

All right, everybody knows that. Especially around here, where Eriko gave me her usual demeaning laugh when, upon my discovery that every patch of tatami that had remained covered by furniture so far, was much greener than the rest, I suggested mould.

Crazy stuff, I know…

Oh, and the free-falling posting rate? What can I say, critical sense is a bitch.

Seriously: once you start actually wondering twice whether what you are about to type is worth the time, or if you shouldn’t instead run to the local combini to see if they got any new seasonal flavored beer… that’s the end of it all.

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When I am taking visitors out and they start on the whole tired “Tokyo is like Blade Runner, without the flying cars” thing, I usually just nod and take them to Shinjuku Nishiguchi… Making our way toward Sakuraya and its floors upon floors of useless electronic gadgetry, before taking a sharp turn into the insanely narrow backward recesses of 思い出横町 (Omoide Yokochou: Memory Lane).

Impossible not to experience at least some level of self-sufficient ‘bet-they-don’t-mention-this-in-lonely-planet’ pride when you walk through that über-authentic remnant of post-war Tokyo, trying to catch your breath amidst the carcinogenic fumes of kushiyaki barbecues and slaloming between drunk salarymen and people sitting at the street-side stalls in an alley that is barely big enough to walk with your arms outstretched.

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Picture typhc.png The signs are unmistakable: the End of Days is approaching.

Not only has my garden turned into a lovely little pond outpouring into a nearby river that, upon closer examination, would seem to be the road…
But simultaneously — and despite the distance I haven’t ruled out any correlation — Duran Duran has just noisily resurfaced: crushing ten years of dwindling hope that they might never be heard ever again outside of late night VH1 and supermarket PA.

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Picture luggage.jpg Now I ask you: are your luggage hand-delivered at home for free, every time you fly on your favorite airline?

Ha. Suckers.

Some people are quick to bash Aeroflot for the most insignificant details (you know, like when two drunk flight attendants start beating up a passenger…), but they always fail to point out the positive.

For example, how many companies are so truly dedicated to the well-being of their long-distance flights passengers that they insure all luggage are directly dispatched at home by qualified airport personnel, free of charge.

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In the US, when dealing with customer service reps, it is of utmost importance to be authoritative: show them who’s the boss and ask to speak to a manager every time something doesn’t go your way. Customer is King, even when customer is an asshole, even when he’s wrong. Especially if he’s wrong.

At least, that’s what any wise American will teach you, with a conspiratorial look that’d make you think he is letting you on the secret masonic handshake of the customer support guild. Equipped with these conceptions, he will then proceed to use them abroad, wherever he goes, perpetuating the accepted worldwide standard for Ugly Americanness…

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