The cabinet of Japan’s Prime Minister Junichiro Koizuimi has announced that it will be formulating a plan to give the title of World’s Safest Country to Japan. Taking notice of the rising crime rate and opinion polls citing the worry of citizens, the cabinet approved a plan to lessen incidents of crime, an presumably their impact on public thinking.
Although the plan announced included steps to be taken in various ministries in Japan, the media, or at least the English language media, latched onto the aspect of the plan dealing with foreigners. The government now plans to reduce by at least half the number of illegal immigrants now in Japan. As is widely known here, foreigners cause problems, and so need to be removed from the country. This will doubtless leave the country much safer.
For evidence of this, one need only look to today’s headlines to see that the pesky foreign-born are blighting Japanese society. Take for example the man who recently walked into an elementary school and whacked a girl in the forehead with a stick, or the man accused of kidnapping and holding a high school student for three days before she escaped, or the drunken newspaper man who punched a fish monger waiting for the stumbling man to finish crossing the street, or five men arrested for firing bullets into banks and teachers’ unions, or the organizers of a giant orgy in China on the eve of the anniversary of Japan’s invasion, or…But perhaps these would offer more support of the government’s position if they had not been all perpetrated by Japanese. One mentioned in today’s Japan times is the Indonesian flight attendant just released after being held without communication to family or embassy on the charge of possessing a forged 500 yen coin. She was released after it was determined that she had not knowingly come into possession of fake coins.
Yet progress is being made in the fight against illegal resident villains. A major raid last month removed from the Tokyo streets a vicious gang of illegal hairdressers. Residents may now rest easier, knowing these dangerous people are safely locked up.
Monday, December 22, 2003
Wednesday, December 10, 2003
Yes, sir.
There is a commercial aired frequently on Japanese television which shows at first a complement being passed down the chain of command from the white haired chairman, through six layers of management, in descending age, before reaching the young worker. The second scene shows a somewhat angry rebuke following the same route, and the third permission for some essential task going the same way. The commercial depicts the higher levels stacked on the back the young employee. The final scene shows all except the highest level calling a placement service, the CEO trying hard to see what is going on below him in obvious futility. It is amazing how accurate the depiction of the command structure of a Japanese company is. Even in “non-traditional” companies, levels of pseudo-responsibility and authority crop up.
Applying these command structures in a company in which most of the employees are not Japanese looks as though it will prove tricky, to say the least. Particularly difficult will be the implementation of a new layer where none existed before. While newer employees may get a sense of authority from the middle layer, longer term employees, in this case those that have been with the company more than a couple of months, will most likely continue to go directly to the hire levels and primarily circumvent the new layer, in a diplomatic way. There is a danger in angering the new level, though no real power resides there, it is quickly becoming obvious that this layer has the ear of the upper management and could probably turn into a rather potent adversary if not handled properly. So far the modus operandi appears to pay lip service to the new layer and arrange direct contact with the upper layer soon after, resolving the issues more satisfactorily.
It will perhaps be interesting to see how long this dynamic lasts before the person in this new layer begins to take actions to protect the position, and try to assert punitive authority to essentially justify the need for the position’s existence.
Applying these command structures in a company in which most of the employees are not Japanese looks as though it will prove tricky, to say the least. Particularly difficult will be the implementation of a new layer where none existed before. While newer employees may get a sense of authority from the middle layer, longer term employees, in this case those that have been with the company more than a couple of months, will most likely continue to go directly to the hire levels and primarily circumvent the new layer, in a diplomatic way. There is a danger in angering the new level, though no real power resides there, it is quickly becoming obvious that this layer has the ear of the upper management and could probably turn into a rather potent adversary if not handled properly. So far the modus operandi appears to pay lip service to the new layer and arrange direct contact with the upper layer soon after, resolving the issues more satisfactorily.
It will perhaps be interesting to see how long this dynamic lasts before the person in this new layer begins to take actions to protect the position, and try to assert punitive authority to essentially justify the need for the position’s existence.
Wednesday, December 03, 2003
Tax, but don't touch
We’ll bring prostitution into the legal economy, but keep your hands to yourselves, seems to be the message coming from Thailand’s ruling party, Thai Rak Thai (Thais love Thais).
Over the past couple of weeks Justice Minister Pongthep Thepkanchana has publicly voiced the idea of legalizing the sex industry in Thailand. The move would allow the government to begin taxing what is estimated to be 3% or Thailand’s economy and improve working conditions for the estimated 200,000 people employed in the trade. Proponents are also hopeful that the legalization of the sex industry would lead to lower incidences of police corruption.
However, even if prostitution were to be brought up from the underground economy, members of Thaksin’s party would still be barred from indulging. Under a new proposal any Thai Rak Thai members found to be cheating on their wives, either by taking a mistress or visiting a brothel, could be barred from running in subsequent elections. Perhaps needless to say, some party members find this to be a bit intrusive. Some members feel that it is no one’s business if they decide to take mistresses, even claiming it as “an individual’s right”. Party officials, on the other hand, stated that politicians must be held to a higher standard regarding their responsibilities to their families.
To read more, visit:
http://edition.cnn.com/2003/WORLD/asiapcf/southeast/11/27/thailand.sex.ap/ (legalizing prostitution)
http://www.iol.co.za/index.php?click_id=126&art_id=qw107035308570B234&set_id=1 (banning cheating politicians)
Over the past couple of weeks Justice Minister Pongthep Thepkanchana has publicly voiced the idea of legalizing the sex industry in Thailand. The move would allow the government to begin taxing what is estimated to be 3% or Thailand’s economy and improve working conditions for the estimated 200,000 people employed in the trade. Proponents are also hopeful that the legalization of the sex industry would lead to lower incidences of police corruption.
However, even if prostitution were to be brought up from the underground economy, members of Thaksin’s party would still be barred from indulging. Under a new proposal any Thai Rak Thai members found to be cheating on their wives, either by taking a mistress or visiting a brothel, could be barred from running in subsequent elections. Perhaps needless to say, some party members find this to be a bit intrusive. Some members feel that it is no one’s business if they decide to take mistresses, even claiming it as “an individual’s right”. Party officials, on the other hand, stated that politicians must be held to a higher standard regarding their responsibilities to their families.
To read more, visit:
http://edition.cnn.com/2003/WORLD/asiapcf/southeast/11/27/thailand.sex.ap/ (legalizing prostitution)
http://www.iol.co.za/index.php?click_id=126&art_id=qw107035308570B234&set_id=1 (banning cheating politicians)
Wednesday, November 19, 2003
The meaning of Christmas
A cold wind is blowing through the concrete canyons of Tokyo and bringing with it the spirit of Christmas. Ignore for a moment any notions you may have that Christmas should be, at least in theory, related to anything other than the religion of commerce. The first creeping signs of Christmas made their debut over the weekend with little notice, save perhaps for a few handfuls or schoolgirls giggling and squealing kawaii!! (Cute!!) as they admired the twinkling lights in the trees and the store displays.
The store displays tend to be slightly different here from what one might find in the West. There are the typical reindeer pulling sleighs, artificial trees with small, colored lights, and cotton spread across everything to mimic snow, or a tarantula’s web depending on how much care was taken to replace the Halloween décor. Other stores, in keeping with their pattern of minimalist furnishings, erect (fake) trees worthy of Charlie Brown. Then there are some displays of the season that may strike some as out of place, even odd. Standing tall and proud outside each Kentucky Fried Chicken is a Santa-suit-clad Colonel Sanders. One department store went so far as to crucify Santa, mounting Father Christmas upon a cross.
Not all that surprising, really, given certain events in the history of Christianity in Japan. Upon the religion’s introduction to the archipelago converts were killed. The authorities of the day took pains to establish the religion of the person before sentencing, employing a test referred to as fumie. Literally translated it means “step picture” and involved placing an image of Jesus on the floor and asking the suspected Christian to step on the picture, and by their response determining the accused’s true religion.
The atmosphere is far more tolerant today, and religions are mostly left to themselves. So is the case with Christmas in Japan – it has little to do with religion (though, in all fairness, much the same could be said in the West). Like Valentine’s Day, it is a day to spend on lovers rather than family or spirit. As one businessman explained, “I buy gifts for my girlfriend. Not my wife, but my girlfriend.”
And so the stores stock their shelves with gifts more appropriate for unwrapping under the mistletoe than the tree, for the retailers have figured out as much as they care to about the meaning of Christmas.
The store displays tend to be slightly different here from what one might find in the West. There are the typical reindeer pulling sleighs, artificial trees with small, colored lights, and cotton spread across everything to mimic snow, or a tarantula’s web depending on how much care was taken to replace the Halloween décor. Other stores, in keeping with their pattern of minimalist furnishings, erect (fake) trees worthy of Charlie Brown. Then there are some displays of the season that may strike some as out of place, even odd. Standing tall and proud outside each Kentucky Fried Chicken is a Santa-suit-clad Colonel Sanders. One department store went so far as to crucify Santa, mounting Father Christmas upon a cross.
Not all that surprising, really, given certain events in the history of Christianity in Japan. Upon the religion’s introduction to the archipelago converts were killed. The authorities of the day took pains to establish the religion of the person before sentencing, employing a test referred to as fumie. Literally translated it means “step picture” and involved placing an image of Jesus on the floor and asking the suspected Christian to step on the picture, and by their response determining the accused’s true religion.
The atmosphere is far more tolerant today, and religions are mostly left to themselves. So is the case with Christmas in Japan – it has little to do with religion (though, in all fairness, much the same could be said in the West). Like Valentine’s Day, it is a day to spend on lovers rather than family or spirit. As one businessman explained, “I buy gifts for my girlfriend. Not my wife, but my girlfriend.”
And so the stores stock their shelves with gifts more appropriate for unwrapping under the mistletoe than the tree, for the retailers have figured out as much as they care to about the meaning of Christmas.
Thursday, November 13, 2003
It wasn't me.
Playboy is celebrating its 50th year of publication with all the great fan fare one would expect from such a venerable institution. Improving on much admired themes like Women of the Big 12, they have embarked on an effort to solicit the poses of the Women of Wal-mart. The question then becomes: Are they legal?
There is little doubt that Playboy will dutifully check the ages of the women of Wal-mart who offer themselves up for their 15 minutes of fame. But has Wal-mart checked their legal status? Do they care?
It doesn’t really appear they do. As the investigation continues into Wal-mart’s involvement, or at least condoning, of the hiring of illegal immigrants (mostly) by contractors to clean nearly a third of their stores in North America, the corporate legal geniuses have come up with a nearly impenetrable defense: We didn’t know.
This suggests two things immediately. First, that the world’s largest retailer by sales is run by a group of ignoramuses, or second, that the legal team and top brass have concluded this constitutes a solid legal position, which exonerates them of responsibility or duty.
While recent developments in a number of global companies have shown that ignoramuses do rise to the top, it is hard to fathom that they could all stumble their way to the top of the same company. Somewhere along the line somebody has to be doing something right and have intended it.
Simply saying “We didn’t know” also seems improbable as an adequate defense. Yet, that is exactly what they are saying. The historical record of this defense, and indeed its daily use, does not bode well for the Wal-mart defense team. In addition to its poor record as a way of proving innocence, or at least disproving guilt, there is little chance they will ever find 12 people who believe it. Unless they get the same jury from the Durst trial (http://edition.cnn.com/2003/LAW/11/11/fugitive.heir.ap/index.html). The idea that Wal-mart executives didn’t know that their dirt-cheap cleaners were using illegal labor is incomprehensible. On previous occasions Immigration and Naturalization Services (INS) has raided Wal-mart stores and found their contractors to be using illegal labor. Yet, they didn’t see it coming this time, either?
Much vaunted in business schools as a model of how to operate, Wal-mart has again shown its faults. It is long past due that the retailer look just over the bottom line and take on its responsibilities to all of its stakeholders, and not just those with a stock price to watch.
There is little doubt that Playboy will dutifully check the ages of the women of Wal-mart who offer themselves up for their 15 minutes of fame. But has Wal-mart checked their legal status? Do they care?
It doesn’t really appear they do. As the investigation continues into Wal-mart’s involvement, or at least condoning, of the hiring of illegal immigrants (mostly) by contractors to clean nearly a third of their stores in North America, the corporate legal geniuses have come up with a nearly impenetrable defense: We didn’t know.
This suggests two things immediately. First, that the world’s largest retailer by sales is run by a group of ignoramuses, or second, that the legal team and top brass have concluded this constitutes a solid legal position, which exonerates them of responsibility or duty.
While recent developments in a number of global companies have shown that ignoramuses do rise to the top, it is hard to fathom that they could all stumble their way to the top of the same company. Somewhere along the line somebody has to be doing something right and have intended it.
Simply saying “We didn’t know” also seems improbable as an adequate defense. Yet, that is exactly what they are saying. The historical record of this defense, and indeed its daily use, does not bode well for the Wal-mart defense team. In addition to its poor record as a way of proving innocence, or at least disproving guilt, there is little chance they will ever find 12 people who believe it. Unless they get the same jury from the Durst trial (http://edition.cnn.com/2003/LAW/11/11/fugitive.heir.ap/index.html). The idea that Wal-mart executives didn’t know that their dirt-cheap cleaners were using illegal labor is incomprehensible. On previous occasions Immigration and Naturalization Services (INS) has raided Wal-mart stores and found their contractors to be using illegal labor. Yet, they didn’t see it coming this time, either?
Much vaunted in business schools as a model of how to operate, Wal-mart has again shown its faults. It is long past due that the retailer look just over the bottom line and take on its responsibilities to all of its stakeholders, and not just those with a stock price to watch.
Wednesday, November 05, 2003
Wedding bells in Jakarta
My first impression of Jakarta, apart from the obvious heat and humidity that is to be expected when one steps from the plane, was the goats. As we pulled from the airport after a seemingly exaggerated wait for our bags, there to welcome us to the capitol were goats grazing on the soft shoulder of the highway. Throughout our stay, anytime we ventured out of the city, goats were there to watch us pass.
Leaving the goats to their coarse tropical grasses we entered the city itself and were greeted with chaotic traffic the likes of which cannot adequately be describe. As we approached our hotel we found ourselves in the center of a major four-way intersection with traffic approaching us from all sides. Another noticeable feature of Jakarta traffic is the enthusiastic use of horns, though given the ostensible lack of traffic regulations this is not all that surprising.
Somehow we managed to get out of the intersection and into our hotel. We stayed in the North area of Jakarta, about 25 minutes by taxi (in light traffic) from downtown. Our hotel was a nice, four star place overlooking a lake on which wake boarding was a daily event. On the lake’s close shore were two restaurants with seating out over the water and sound systems that shook the windows of our 7th floor room. The hotel was what is generally expected of an international standard and the service was prompt and courteous.
Our first night in the city we were treated to homemade Indonesian-Chinese food at the home of a friend. The table, a meter-and-a-half diameter affair with rotating center, was packed with fish curry, chicken curry, steamed dumplings, fried noodles, rice, spicy beef, vegetables and more. After dinner I was asked to be the best man for the ceremony the following day.
Driving through the neighborhoods in Jakarta you cannot help but notice the large iron gates which stand at the major intersections. Within the neighborhoods themselves traffic gates, less stout but effective at diverting traffic, abound. Each of the houses are surrounded by walls and gates of their own, those along the main streets topped with spikes, spiky plants, and in a few cases glass pieces or barbed wire. The gates along the streets are remnants of the 1998 riots in which ethnic Chinese were quite literally hunted by Indonesians in the lower classes. The gates are still closed at night, manned by armed guards in camouflage uniforms.
The day of the wedding the photography crew – a director, still photographer, videographer (with a penchant for swaying angles), two lighting grips, a guy to man the electrical cords – arrived for the shooting of the Jacket Ceremony. This involved the groom’s father (played by his boss) placing white gloves and suit jacket on the groom. The ceremony then proceeded to the hallway where the groom’s father presents the groom to the best man, who escorts him out to the wedding car (in this instance a Mercedes sedan with bouquets adorning the hood and trunk, rose buds on the door handles) pausing repeatedly to be shot and filmed from the appropriate angles.
The church ceremony was Catholic, read almost entirely in Indonesian. (This was a testament to the open-mindedness of the groom, who is a Turkish Muslim.) The role of the best man, it should be noted, here differed significantly from what would normally be done in the West. The parents of the couple stand as witnesses while the best man and maid of honor take seats in the first pew. The photographic crew was an omnipresent force and would have doubtless incurred the wrath of at least one former minister I know.
At the conclusion of the service it was back to the hotel for the shooting of the Tea Ceremony. In this the newly wedded couple present tea to their parents, family, wedding attendants, et al. and receive their gifts (in the case of a Indonesian-Chinese wedding this is a small red envelope containing a sum of money). All, again, carefully directed and photographed.
Upon completion of the Tea Ceremony was a presentation to the family of a soup (again, carefully directed and photographed) and then the family was off for an afternoon at the studio for more photographs.
The reception was held later that evening in a large restaurant, featuring an elaborate stage and a singer accompanied by a man at a keyboard. The reception began with the presentation of the wedding party and then the bride and groom. As the best man I was asked to remain on the stage with the bride’s family, the newly weds and the groom’s father ‘for balance’. The groom made a speech and a carefully directed presentation of the wedding cake was made.
First to receive the cake was the bride, eating from the hand of the groom as would be normally done in the West. They then reversed roles. Then the happy couple presented cake in the same manner to her parents, then his, then the best man ‘for balance’.
The dinner was Chinese, served family style, and quite good. A toast to the couple, read by the emcee, interrupted dinner and the bride’s parents, the happy couple, the groom’s father and the best man ‘for balance’ mounted the stage again to raise a glass of tea in honor of the occasion. At the end of the meal the six were called again to the stage for the receiving line and here the ceremony, but not the photography. At the director’s behest people mounted and dismounted the stage to be photographed and filmed at odd angles with the bride and groom. Eventually, the camera crew ran out of film.
October 27 marked the start of Ramadan in Indonesia. Within the confines of our hotel there was not much that could be seen which would mark it as any significant day. Outside the hotel, however, was quite another matter. During the day most restaurants closed, only to open after sunset when the day of fasting ends, the exceptions appeared to be western fast food establishments. Establishments that would normally serve alcohol did not. The Hard Rock Café even went so far as to cover their external sign in black cloth, making it invisible from the street, and though open, did not serve alcohol or host a band.
Our final day we spent in the cooler mountains near Bogor, about an hour from Jakarta. A tropical haze still hung in the valley, and the peaks would disappear under caps of cloud, but the mid-mountain was mild and pleasant. We walked for a short time among the tea plants, admiring the occasional banana tree growing in their midst. Along the highway as we drove back, between us and the goats, the durian sellers had set themselves on the roads edge. Durian, for the uninitiated, has a spiky brown shell about the size of a soccer ball and such a pungent scent that it is banned in most hotels, subways, buses, malls and aircraft in Southeast Asia.
We took our final meal in Jakarta in a seafood restaurant near the presidential palace. Grilled tiger prawns the size of small lobster, fried fish, a sort of shrimp cake with whole shrimp in them, fresh coconut to drink. As we drove away we passed the presidential palace and then the main mosque in Jakarta. It is a huge building that would easily dwarf the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C. Directly across the street stands the largest Catholic church Indonesia. Around a bend and through a park stands a large monolith, topped in a flame of gold reputed to be 36kg of gold, a gift from the government of China, but with no other significance to the population of Jakarta.
We returned to Japan that evening, upgraded again to the upper deck of a 747 (I am beginning to like Garuda’s service), leaving behind the goats and gates of Jakarta.
Leaving the goats to their coarse tropical grasses we entered the city itself and were greeted with chaotic traffic the likes of which cannot adequately be describe. As we approached our hotel we found ourselves in the center of a major four-way intersection with traffic approaching us from all sides. Another noticeable feature of Jakarta traffic is the enthusiastic use of horns, though given the ostensible lack of traffic regulations this is not all that surprising.
Somehow we managed to get out of the intersection and into our hotel. We stayed in the North area of Jakarta, about 25 minutes by taxi (in light traffic) from downtown. Our hotel was a nice, four star place overlooking a lake on which wake boarding was a daily event. On the lake’s close shore were two restaurants with seating out over the water and sound systems that shook the windows of our 7th floor room. The hotel was what is generally expected of an international standard and the service was prompt and courteous.
Our first night in the city we were treated to homemade Indonesian-Chinese food at the home of a friend. The table, a meter-and-a-half diameter affair with rotating center, was packed with fish curry, chicken curry, steamed dumplings, fried noodles, rice, spicy beef, vegetables and more. After dinner I was asked to be the best man for the ceremony the following day.
Driving through the neighborhoods in Jakarta you cannot help but notice the large iron gates which stand at the major intersections. Within the neighborhoods themselves traffic gates, less stout but effective at diverting traffic, abound. Each of the houses are surrounded by walls and gates of their own, those along the main streets topped with spikes, spiky plants, and in a few cases glass pieces or barbed wire. The gates along the streets are remnants of the 1998 riots in which ethnic Chinese were quite literally hunted by Indonesians in the lower classes. The gates are still closed at night, manned by armed guards in camouflage uniforms.
The day of the wedding the photography crew – a director, still photographer, videographer (with a penchant for swaying angles), two lighting grips, a guy to man the electrical cords – arrived for the shooting of the Jacket Ceremony. This involved the groom’s father (played by his boss) placing white gloves and suit jacket on the groom. The ceremony then proceeded to the hallway where the groom’s father presents the groom to the best man, who escorts him out to the wedding car (in this instance a Mercedes sedan with bouquets adorning the hood and trunk, rose buds on the door handles) pausing repeatedly to be shot and filmed from the appropriate angles.
The church ceremony was Catholic, read almost entirely in Indonesian. (This was a testament to the open-mindedness of the groom, who is a Turkish Muslim.) The role of the best man, it should be noted, here differed significantly from what would normally be done in the West. The parents of the couple stand as witnesses while the best man and maid of honor take seats in the first pew. The photographic crew was an omnipresent force and would have doubtless incurred the wrath of at least one former minister I know.
At the conclusion of the service it was back to the hotel for the shooting of the Tea Ceremony. In this the newly wedded couple present tea to their parents, family, wedding attendants, et al. and receive their gifts (in the case of a Indonesian-Chinese wedding this is a small red envelope containing a sum of money). All, again, carefully directed and photographed.
Upon completion of the Tea Ceremony was a presentation to the family of a soup (again, carefully directed and photographed) and then the family was off for an afternoon at the studio for more photographs.
The reception was held later that evening in a large restaurant, featuring an elaborate stage and a singer accompanied by a man at a keyboard. The reception began with the presentation of the wedding party and then the bride and groom. As the best man I was asked to remain on the stage with the bride’s family, the newly weds and the groom’s father ‘for balance’. The groom made a speech and a carefully directed presentation of the wedding cake was made.
First to receive the cake was the bride, eating from the hand of the groom as would be normally done in the West. They then reversed roles. Then the happy couple presented cake in the same manner to her parents, then his, then the best man ‘for balance’.
The dinner was Chinese, served family style, and quite good. A toast to the couple, read by the emcee, interrupted dinner and the bride’s parents, the happy couple, the groom’s father and the best man ‘for balance’ mounted the stage again to raise a glass of tea in honor of the occasion. At the end of the meal the six were called again to the stage for the receiving line and here the ceremony, but not the photography. At the director’s behest people mounted and dismounted the stage to be photographed and filmed at odd angles with the bride and groom. Eventually, the camera crew ran out of film.
October 27 marked the start of Ramadan in Indonesia. Within the confines of our hotel there was not much that could be seen which would mark it as any significant day. Outside the hotel, however, was quite another matter. During the day most restaurants closed, only to open after sunset when the day of fasting ends, the exceptions appeared to be western fast food establishments. Establishments that would normally serve alcohol did not. The Hard Rock Café even went so far as to cover their external sign in black cloth, making it invisible from the street, and though open, did not serve alcohol or host a band.
Our final day we spent in the cooler mountains near Bogor, about an hour from Jakarta. A tropical haze still hung in the valley, and the peaks would disappear under caps of cloud, but the mid-mountain was mild and pleasant. We walked for a short time among the tea plants, admiring the occasional banana tree growing in their midst. Along the highway as we drove back, between us and the goats, the durian sellers had set themselves on the roads edge. Durian, for the uninitiated, has a spiky brown shell about the size of a soccer ball and such a pungent scent that it is banned in most hotels, subways, buses, malls and aircraft in Southeast Asia.
We took our final meal in Jakarta in a seafood restaurant near the presidential palace. Grilled tiger prawns the size of small lobster, fried fish, a sort of shrimp cake with whole shrimp in them, fresh coconut to drink. As we drove away we passed the presidential palace and then the main mosque in Jakarta. It is a huge building that would easily dwarf the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C. Directly across the street stands the largest Catholic church Indonesia. Around a bend and through a park stands a large monolith, topped in a flame of gold reputed to be 36kg of gold, a gift from the government of China, but with no other significance to the population of Jakarta.
We returned to Japan that evening, upgraded again to the upper deck of a 747 (I am beginning to like Garuda’s service), leaving behind the goats and gates of Jakarta.
Friday, October 31, 2003
Bali
Going from western Tokyo to Narita International Airport at 7:00 a.m. on a Thursday morning can be interesting. The train, as is typically the case when traveling toward downtown Tokyo, was full and nearly audible groans greet travelers with anything more than a daypack or briefcase. Crammed into the morning rush of suited businesspeople and office workers the thought of the beach you will soon be on is enough to forget that elbow jammed into your kidney.
The flight on Garuda Indonesia (named for the mythical bird that spirited kings and warriors around the archipelago) was pleasant, a fact at least partially attributed to being bumped to business class. The plane touched down seven and a half hours later, just in time to reach the hotel before sunset.
The best dinners can be taken in small open-air restaurants along any of the numerous side streets. All told a dinner for two with beers, curries, rice, sate (grilled meat on a stick served with peanut sauce) runs no more than US$10, and sometimes less. Strolling through the streets after dinner, offers of a number of things were made by the lounging taxi drivers: You want marijuana? cocaine? ecstasy? woman? man? (and as though it were an afterthought) transportation?
In the heart of what used to be Bali’s nightlife scene stands a memorial wall to those that lost their lives in the dual bombings on October 12, 2002. The memorial stands with its back to what was once the wall of the Sari club, where the second, more powerful and deadly explosion occurred. Flanking the sides of the white marble wall are flagpoles, enough to represent each country whose citizens were lost. Short sets of stairs lead up to the base of the stone wall etched with the names of the deceased, divided by country of origin. Australia’s list extends for two columns and a half, Indonesia’s, the second longest, rounds out the final column. A handful of tourists and a couple of locals scan the face of the memorial, perhaps recognizing names, perhaps simply paying respect to fellow travelers and lives lost.
A hundred meters on from the memorial, just across the road from the bar targeted in the first bombing, shines a large open-air club, full of western tourists drinking and dancing the night away. Security around the island increased in the wake of the bombings, but is really only most evident at the larger, more expensive hotels. At the club the security was limited to a couple of bouncers at the gate with hand-held metal detectors, who checked only the Indonesians who wished to gain entry.
Further down a darkened alley sits another large open-air club, built to look like a pirate’s ship, the deck open for dancing and a fishpond circling the bottom. A few more bars line the street, but it is obvious that much of the nightlife has left this area, moved on to the next big area a few minutes away, where the recent past is less visible and the way things used to be still reigns.
The Seminyak area, and in particular Jalan Abimanyu, is now the home of Bali’s night. The street is lined with bars and clubs of every imaginable variety – bars that would look more appropriate in New York City than a beach town, with leather seats and modern décor, open-air bars with live bands playing classic rock at one place and Latin-American ballads in another, a bar named for, and serving almost exclusively, Absolute vodka. As the night begins to wane, the party moves toward the beach.
Along most of the beach in Kuta and Legian four and five-star resorts dominate the land, but a bit further up a couple of clubs hold their own. The newly opened Amnesia is a large multi-tiered, open-faced building looking out over the beach. Its opening night party was still going strong at 4:00 a.m., but was not what could be called a grand event. The bars were nearly devoid of bottles, the bartenders completely overwhelmed by the crowd and beers that one suspects had never, since their inception, been near a cooling device. The crowd was up nonetheless, and one might suspect that was a result of the whispered offer of ‘marijuana, cocaine, ecstasy’ by the guys standing by the bar.
Next-door is one of Bali’s better-known institutions, Double 6. Open and facing the beach, the club doesn’t start happening until two or three o’clock and rocks on until dawn. Incorporated into one side of the club grounds is a pool overlooked by a forty-five foot bungee tower for those who need a little adrenaline rush and a video to prove it.
Bali has long been known as a surfers’ paradise, a place of big waves, long beaches. The beaches are clean, the water warm and people trying to sell you something, anything, everything, are an omnipresent force. Lounging under a rented umbrella, on rented beach chairs there is a constant parade of hawkers and the persistent buzz of their pitches. Perhaps, as the hawkers often lament, it is harder for them to make a living now that many tourists have been scared away from Indonesia. They are an aggressive breed of beach vender and will reduce to near begging, or a form of bribery, or try to instill and then prey upon a guilty conscience of the rich, generous tourist.
They will begin subtly, offering a kind ‘hello’ and displaying their wares – fake tattoos, cheap bracelets, necklaces, sarongs, paintings, fruit, offers to drive you to a seafood restaurant down the beach, massages, pedicures, manicures. To ask how much the good or service costs is to enter into negotiation, and eventual purchase. They are skilled bargainers and know the tricks of selling well. They will befriend you, chat with you, and seemingly accept rejection at first, but they will be back. Each time they return a little more persistent, a little more aggressive. And to purchase from one is to purchase from them all. That is to say, you had better purchase from them all or you will be left with the oft repeated phrase ringing in your ears: Remember I talked to you first, you said later, why don’t you like me now? Why you don’t give me good luck? OK, you buy little one from me and I’ll go away.
Eventually the sun sets, the beach clears and becomes peaceful and the tourists head back to their hotels for a shower before the nightlife begins.
The flight on Garuda Indonesia (named for the mythical bird that spirited kings and warriors around the archipelago) was pleasant, a fact at least partially attributed to being bumped to business class. The plane touched down seven and a half hours later, just in time to reach the hotel before sunset.
The best dinners can be taken in small open-air restaurants along any of the numerous side streets. All told a dinner for two with beers, curries, rice, sate (grilled meat on a stick served with peanut sauce) runs no more than US$10, and sometimes less. Strolling through the streets after dinner, offers of a number of things were made by the lounging taxi drivers: You want marijuana? cocaine? ecstasy? woman? man? (and as though it were an afterthought) transportation?
In the heart of what used to be Bali’s nightlife scene stands a memorial wall to those that lost their lives in the dual bombings on October 12, 2002. The memorial stands with its back to what was once the wall of the Sari club, where the second, more powerful and deadly explosion occurred. Flanking the sides of the white marble wall are flagpoles, enough to represent each country whose citizens were lost. Short sets of stairs lead up to the base of the stone wall etched with the names of the deceased, divided by country of origin. Australia’s list extends for two columns and a half, Indonesia’s, the second longest, rounds out the final column. A handful of tourists and a couple of locals scan the face of the memorial, perhaps recognizing names, perhaps simply paying respect to fellow travelers and lives lost.
A hundred meters on from the memorial, just across the road from the bar targeted in the first bombing, shines a large open-air club, full of western tourists drinking and dancing the night away. Security around the island increased in the wake of the bombings, but is really only most evident at the larger, more expensive hotels. At the club the security was limited to a couple of bouncers at the gate with hand-held metal detectors, who checked only the Indonesians who wished to gain entry.
Further down a darkened alley sits another large open-air club, built to look like a pirate’s ship, the deck open for dancing and a fishpond circling the bottom. A few more bars line the street, but it is obvious that much of the nightlife has left this area, moved on to the next big area a few minutes away, where the recent past is less visible and the way things used to be still reigns.
The Seminyak area, and in particular Jalan Abimanyu, is now the home of Bali’s night. The street is lined with bars and clubs of every imaginable variety – bars that would look more appropriate in New York City than a beach town, with leather seats and modern décor, open-air bars with live bands playing classic rock at one place and Latin-American ballads in another, a bar named for, and serving almost exclusively, Absolute vodka. As the night begins to wane, the party moves toward the beach.
Along most of the beach in Kuta and Legian four and five-star resorts dominate the land, but a bit further up a couple of clubs hold their own. The newly opened Amnesia is a large multi-tiered, open-faced building looking out over the beach. Its opening night party was still going strong at 4:00 a.m., but was not what could be called a grand event. The bars were nearly devoid of bottles, the bartenders completely overwhelmed by the crowd and beers that one suspects had never, since their inception, been near a cooling device. The crowd was up nonetheless, and one might suspect that was a result of the whispered offer of ‘marijuana, cocaine, ecstasy’ by the guys standing by the bar.
Next-door is one of Bali’s better-known institutions, Double 6. Open and facing the beach, the club doesn’t start happening until two or three o’clock and rocks on until dawn. Incorporated into one side of the club grounds is a pool overlooked by a forty-five foot bungee tower for those who need a little adrenaline rush and a video to prove it.
Bali has long been known as a surfers’ paradise, a place of big waves, long beaches. The beaches are clean, the water warm and people trying to sell you something, anything, everything, are an omnipresent force. Lounging under a rented umbrella, on rented beach chairs there is a constant parade of hawkers and the persistent buzz of their pitches. Perhaps, as the hawkers often lament, it is harder for them to make a living now that many tourists have been scared away from Indonesia. They are an aggressive breed of beach vender and will reduce to near begging, or a form of bribery, or try to instill and then prey upon a guilty conscience of the rich, generous tourist.
They will begin subtly, offering a kind ‘hello’ and displaying their wares – fake tattoos, cheap bracelets, necklaces, sarongs, paintings, fruit, offers to drive you to a seafood restaurant down the beach, massages, pedicures, manicures. To ask how much the good or service costs is to enter into negotiation, and eventual purchase. They are skilled bargainers and know the tricks of selling well. They will befriend you, chat with you, and seemingly accept rejection at first, but they will be back. Each time they return a little more persistent, a little more aggressive. And to purchase from one is to purchase from them all. That is to say, you had better purchase from them all or you will be left with the oft repeated phrase ringing in your ears: Remember I talked to you first, you said later, why don’t you like me now? Why you don’t give me good luck? OK, you buy little one from me and I’ll go away.
Eventually the sun sets, the beach clears and becomes peaceful and the tourists head back to their hotels for a shower before the nightlife begins.
Wednesday, October 22, 2003
Are we there yet?
The end of October has always been a mark of the coming winter, when ski resorts pumped thousands of gallons of water through their snow makers to beat each other in opening that one little run first, and the anticipation of a Halloween snow. There is no such race here, and little notice is given to Halloween, unless you count a handful of parties and bars attended by costumed foreigners. And there is no hope that can be seen of a Halloween snow blanketing Tokyo. There are still typhoons, however.
Numbers 18 and 19, as they are creatively called, are churning their way toward the archipelago and should arrive just in time to ruin another weekend. In fact, their farthest arms are now soaking Tokyo’s gray streets and making 3:00 pm look more like 7:30. It is times like these when one looks toward the unknown, far off playgrounds of tropical islands and clear waters. The distraction worsens still more when an actual trip is on the horizon; in this case, rising with the sun, which, as previously mentioned, seems to have taken its leave earlier than usual, perhaps in its own anticipation of shining down on sun-drenched beaches and sunburning tourists.
But heading to Bali has not only fevered anticipation, but also apprehension. Here apprehension is not meant to suggest a fear or terrorist action, though that is, of course, not something that is taken lightly. Rather, the apprehension is more caused by the other annoyances of preparing to travel to a place that has become a ‘paradise’ for the western tourist.
Pouring through information and comments from official tourist sites, travel sites and comments from other travelers, those that have been there before, or in some cases are there now, it is possible to begin to prematurely tire of the tedium of such places. The official sites extol the grandness, beauty and idyllic attributes of the destination. The tourist sites offer more of the same – for a price. So far it is hard to imagine how anything can go wrong in a place were every beach is clean, every sunset ‘romantic’, every pool/garden/suite overlooks the beach and the beers are cold, the fruity cocktails fresh, the food delicious.
Then come the comments from those who have been there before, and return for more. Bali has a cult following, particularly among Australians. Entire sites* are dedicated to sharing their views and camaraderie with the world, or that portion of it that is inclined to seek it, anyway. This, it has come to pass, has been the best source of information, even while not always unbiased and at times inaccurate. But, then again, this is true of the sites of officials who know the industry is vital to the economy as a whole and the tourist sites that are more directly linked to it.
It is from the travelers’ comments that the apprehension grows as stories, though humorous and informative (at times), claw away at that idyllic vision that has been so carefully (and no doubt expensively) promoted and ingrained into the mind. It is not all negative; they, too, expound upon the beauty, friendliness and sincerity of their island hosts. At the same time they have a never-ending supply of tales of woe. Tales abound of con artists, time-share salespeople, pickpockets, dirty moneychangers, credit card fraud, taxi drivers that take you to every store that pays commission but not where you want to go, and trinket mongers. There is no need to repeat details here and now. Suffice it to say that it is these tales that raise the specter of holidays ruined and cast a shadow of doubt on the accuracy of their statements about their kind, sincere hosts.
But perhaps it is the weather here today – a cold, grey prelude to the coming storm – that has caused these tales, along with other personal experiences of similar nature in another ‘paradise’, to raise that apprehension of annoyance at being in paradise. It is perhaps, and it is hoped likely, that tomorrow, as the sun sinks into the warm ocean and casts its final pink rays across a white sand beach, that all of these little annoyances will not have materialized and it may just feel like paradise.
*http://www.balitravelforum.com
Numbers 18 and 19, as they are creatively called, are churning their way toward the archipelago and should arrive just in time to ruin another weekend. In fact, their farthest arms are now soaking Tokyo’s gray streets and making 3:00 pm look more like 7:30. It is times like these when one looks toward the unknown, far off playgrounds of tropical islands and clear waters. The distraction worsens still more when an actual trip is on the horizon; in this case, rising with the sun, which, as previously mentioned, seems to have taken its leave earlier than usual, perhaps in its own anticipation of shining down on sun-drenched beaches and sunburning tourists.
But heading to Bali has not only fevered anticipation, but also apprehension. Here apprehension is not meant to suggest a fear or terrorist action, though that is, of course, not something that is taken lightly. Rather, the apprehension is more caused by the other annoyances of preparing to travel to a place that has become a ‘paradise’ for the western tourist.
Pouring through information and comments from official tourist sites, travel sites and comments from other travelers, those that have been there before, or in some cases are there now, it is possible to begin to prematurely tire of the tedium of such places. The official sites extol the grandness, beauty and idyllic attributes of the destination. The tourist sites offer more of the same – for a price. So far it is hard to imagine how anything can go wrong in a place were every beach is clean, every sunset ‘romantic’, every pool/garden/suite overlooks the beach and the beers are cold, the fruity cocktails fresh, the food delicious.
Then come the comments from those who have been there before, and return for more. Bali has a cult following, particularly among Australians. Entire sites* are dedicated to sharing their views and camaraderie with the world, or that portion of it that is inclined to seek it, anyway. This, it has come to pass, has been the best source of information, even while not always unbiased and at times inaccurate. But, then again, this is true of the sites of officials who know the industry is vital to the economy as a whole and the tourist sites that are more directly linked to it.
It is from the travelers’ comments that the apprehension grows as stories, though humorous and informative (at times), claw away at that idyllic vision that has been so carefully (and no doubt expensively) promoted and ingrained into the mind. It is not all negative; they, too, expound upon the beauty, friendliness and sincerity of their island hosts. At the same time they have a never-ending supply of tales of woe. Tales abound of con artists, time-share salespeople, pickpockets, dirty moneychangers, credit card fraud, taxi drivers that take you to every store that pays commission but not where you want to go, and trinket mongers. There is no need to repeat details here and now. Suffice it to say that it is these tales that raise the specter of holidays ruined and cast a shadow of doubt on the accuracy of their statements about their kind, sincere hosts.
But perhaps it is the weather here today – a cold, grey prelude to the coming storm – that has caused these tales, along with other personal experiences of similar nature in another ‘paradise’, to raise that apprehension of annoyance at being in paradise. It is perhaps, and it is hoped likely, that tomorrow, as the sun sinks into the warm ocean and casts its final pink rays across a white sand beach, that all of these little annoyances will not have materialized and it may just feel like paradise.
*http://www.balitravelforum.com
Friday, October 10, 2003
Natural selection
A new study* to be published next week has found a correlation between the birthrate of males and the economy – at least in East Germany, in 1991. A similar phenomenon is witnessed in the populations of herd animals in times of drought or famine. Now, although the authors of the study cautioned against generalizing the findings, does this mean that humans are herd animals? The short answer is yes.
For proof that humans are indeed herd animals one has to look no further than certain economic indicators that may, if this theory holds true, actually contribute to a lower male birth rate – the economy. Or parts of it anyway. Stock markets are excellent, and oft overused, examples of herd instinct in humans. As a stock market starts to show signs of trouble, large investors begin to move off. They are the lead animals of the herd, and the rest of the herd turns and runs behind them, leaving the weak to parish.
Another prime example of people as herd animals is Tokyo, and in particular the shopping districts. Fashion, the coloration of the human herd, is nowhere more evident than, say, Shinjuku. It is easy to spot members of the various herds, but for now we’ll focus on one particular herd, the Louis Vuitton herd. This is perhaps the most populous of the Tokyo herds (a recent census** concluded an approximate 20% of humans in Shinjuku are members of the LV herd), and easily identifiable by the brown, gold-lettered Louis Vuitton bags they carry prominently around.
Being populous and highly visible makes it easy to track this herd as the members go about their Shinjuku boutique grazing. Anecdotal to the study on male birth numbers, the number of male members of the LV herd is significantly lower than the number of females. Given Japan’s prolonged economic problems, this is probably not surprising to researchers. Even superficial observation of the LV herd will reveal much of the behavior normally associated with herd animals. First, they tend to clump together in groups as they travel, particularly when there is danger of being approached by the ever-present Shinjuku Tout Hyenas. Another noticeable thing about the LV herd is that, through natural selection, they begin to assume other similarities in appearance. As the herd leaders establish preferred boutique grazing grounds, the smaller groups within the herd begin to follow suit, thus altering the outward appearance of the herd members and reducing the variations found within the group.
So, what does all of this prove? Admittedly, very little.
--------------
* Ralph Catalano, in the journal Human Reproduction
**conducted by a guy sitting outside the station, counting the number of bag bearers that passed by in a 20 minute span.
For proof that humans are indeed herd animals one has to look no further than certain economic indicators that may, if this theory holds true, actually contribute to a lower male birth rate – the economy. Or parts of it anyway. Stock markets are excellent, and oft overused, examples of herd instinct in humans. As a stock market starts to show signs of trouble, large investors begin to move off. They are the lead animals of the herd, and the rest of the herd turns and runs behind them, leaving the weak to parish.
Another prime example of people as herd animals is Tokyo, and in particular the shopping districts. Fashion, the coloration of the human herd, is nowhere more evident than, say, Shinjuku. It is easy to spot members of the various herds, but for now we’ll focus on one particular herd, the Louis Vuitton herd. This is perhaps the most populous of the Tokyo herds (a recent census** concluded an approximate 20% of humans in Shinjuku are members of the LV herd), and easily identifiable by the brown, gold-lettered Louis Vuitton bags they carry prominently around.
Being populous and highly visible makes it easy to track this herd as the members go about their Shinjuku boutique grazing. Anecdotal to the study on male birth numbers, the number of male members of the LV herd is significantly lower than the number of females. Given Japan’s prolonged economic problems, this is probably not surprising to researchers. Even superficial observation of the LV herd will reveal much of the behavior normally associated with herd animals. First, they tend to clump together in groups as they travel, particularly when there is danger of being approached by the ever-present Shinjuku Tout Hyenas. Another noticeable thing about the LV herd is that, through natural selection, they begin to assume other similarities in appearance. As the herd leaders establish preferred boutique grazing grounds, the smaller groups within the herd begin to follow suit, thus altering the outward appearance of the herd members and reducing the variations found within the group.
So, what does all of this prove? Admittedly, very little.
--------------
* Ralph Catalano, in the journal Human Reproduction
**conducted by a guy sitting outside the station, counting the number of bag bearers that passed by in a 20 minute span.
Tuesday, October 07, 2003
Beer evolution?
There is little doubt that Japan is a beer-loving country. There is also little doubt that the beer industry has been hard hit by Japan’s prolonged economic woes. A few years ago the big producers here began offering low-malt alternatives to their traditional brews. These new products exploded in popularity thanks in large part to a provision in the law which taxed beer. The tax was applied based on the malt content of the beer. Therefore, lower malt content meant lower taxes and thus lower expense for the consumer.
The beer market had been fairly stable up to this point, with strong brand loyalty maintaining fairly stable market shares. The new, cheap brews, however, changed this and that the beer producers started chasing new consumers with renewed energy and promotional blitzes. So successful were these new, cheaper alternatives that at one point sales of hopposhu, as they are known, out did traditional beer sales.
Then the tax authorities realized they were being denied revenue and upped the tax on hopposhu. It now appears that the beer-producing giants are looking for new ways to stimulate sales growth. And the results have been interesting to say the least.
One area of new product introduction that has come about is the non-alcoholic beer. This may also be a partial response to the recent stiffening of penalties for driving under the influence. Advertising campaigns were launched, and free non-alcoholic beers were given away with pizza deliveries. The brews come with enticing names like Beer Squash, Buckler and Fine Brew. The latter features a television commercial showing a middle-aged man of doubtful sobriety in his office, jacket off, spinning madly in a chair, saying, “’How are you?’ ‘I’m fine. Brew?’” and laughing hysterically at his own joke.
However, the real battle for market seems to be more with the alcoholic varieties. Here there have been even more variations on the traditional beer. Take, for example, the hopposhu varieties Fiber and Half&Herb from Sapporo. Kirin has gone for other variations, introducing seasonal offerings for fall, winter, and even one named for August made with New Zealand hops. Asahi has entered the fray with a brew containing rice extract, and a hopposhu called Sparks, for the “superlight” market, no doubt to contest the other ‘diet’ brews on the market. Asahi’s normal hopposhu uses deep-sea water to get its unique taste.
How well this translates into revenue for the companies involved remains to be seen. So far, at least, it doesn’t seem to be helping. August beer sales were down nearly 10%, blamed on an unusually cool summer. Kirin has reported an overall drop of 2% in the sales of beer, but a slight upturn in the hopposhu market.
The next few months will prove interesting to watch as the results begin to take shape and the companies continue to churn out new products to satisfy the varied tastes of the consumer. So grab a diet-fiber-herb-rice pseudo-beer and enjoy the show.
The beer market had been fairly stable up to this point, with strong brand loyalty maintaining fairly stable market shares. The new, cheap brews, however, changed this and that the beer producers started chasing new consumers with renewed energy and promotional blitzes. So successful were these new, cheaper alternatives that at one point sales of hopposhu, as they are known, out did traditional beer sales.
Then the tax authorities realized they were being denied revenue and upped the tax on hopposhu. It now appears that the beer-producing giants are looking for new ways to stimulate sales growth. And the results have been interesting to say the least.
One area of new product introduction that has come about is the non-alcoholic beer. This may also be a partial response to the recent stiffening of penalties for driving under the influence. Advertising campaigns were launched, and free non-alcoholic beers were given away with pizza deliveries. The brews come with enticing names like Beer Squash, Buckler and Fine Brew. The latter features a television commercial showing a middle-aged man of doubtful sobriety in his office, jacket off, spinning madly in a chair, saying, “’How are you?’ ‘I’m fine. Brew?’” and laughing hysterically at his own joke.
However, the real battle for market seems to be more with the alcoholic varieties. Here there have been even more variations on the traditional beer. Take, for example, the hopposhu varieties Fiber and Half&Herb from Sapporo. Kirin has gone for other variations, introducing seasonal offerings for fall, winter, and even one named for August made with New Zealand hops. Asahi has entered the fray with a brew containing rice extract, and a hopposhu called Sparks, for the “superlight” market, no doubt to contest the other ‘diet’ brews on the market. Asahi’s normal hopposhu uses deep-sea water to get its unique taste.
How well this translates into revenue for the companies involved remains to be seen. So far, at least, it doesn’t seem to be helping. August beer sales were down nearly 10%, blamed on an unusually cool summer. Kirin has reported an overall drop of 2% in the sales of beer, but a slight upturn in the hopposhu market.
The next few months will prove interesting to watch as the results begin to take shape and the companies continue to churn out new products to satisfy the varied tastes of the consumer. So grab a diet-fiber-herb-rice pseudo-beer and enjoy the show.
Monday, October 06, 2003
Weekend release
For cubicle dwelling mammals there is nothing quite like the release of the weekend. And for cubicle-dwelling-foreign-city-living mammals, this seems even truer. Friday afternoons usually contain the following conversation, or something akin to it:
‘What’re you up to tonight?’
‘Nothing, just taking it easy. Maybe grab a quick beer before heading home. Wanna go?’
‘Yeah, sounds good, but just one.’ And right there the night is sealed and there will be more than one beer consumed, more than one bar visited, and probably more than one puzzling question present when you wake.
Take, for example, last Friday night. A former colleague had a bit of a get together to celebrate his new position. The evening started innocuously enough with a simple champagne toast to his future endeavors. A couple more complementary drinks flowed from the bar and the clock seemed to speed up. The party changed shape as new arrivals came in and others departed.
Eventually, the drinks at the party stopped flowing and we staggered into the streets. Around the darkened streets we walked in search of more liquid fortification until we found a well-known bar with a friendly pour. At this point the party was down to two of us – myself and another colleague. He was, to put it somewhat mildly, in worse shape than I was.
He had reached his limit and needed to head into the awful sleep that comes after champagne, beer, wine and beer have been ingested. So we wandered from the confines of the bar toward the closed train station. Hours were left before the trains would run, but taxis abounded. On the way was also, thankfully, a public toilet was to be found.
As I used the surprisingly clean, but by no means spotless facilities, I heard behind me the curious clamor of climbing. I turned to see my colleague peering over the locked door of a stall. He had mounted himself rather precariously over the door and was extending an arm downward. I watched with no small amount of bemusement as he pulled up a large plastic bag.
He hauled his newfound prize over the top of the door, tugging hard as it squeezed between the ceiling and the door’s top edge. Once it was free, he swung the bag of ill-gotten goodies over his shoulder and headed out into the night. He hailed a cab and clutched his bounty in his lap, telling the driver which way was home.
Then this morning I received this email, which said it all about the weekend of a cubicle-dweller in Tokyo: I've got more toilet paper than a supermarket at my place! Totally wasted last Friday. What happened??
‘What’re you up to tonight?’
‘Nothing, just taking it easy. Maybe grab a quick beer before heading home. Wanna go?’
‘Yeah, sounds good, but just one.’ And right there the night is sealed and there will be more than one beer consumed, more than one bar visited, and probably more than one puzzling question present when you wake.
Take, for example, last Friday night. A former colleague had a bit of a get together to celebrate his new position. The evening started innocuously enough with a simple champagne toast to his future endeavors. A couple more complementary drinks flowed from the bar and the clock seemed to speed up. The party changed shape as new arrivals came in and others departed.
Eventually, the drinks at the party stopped flowing and we staggered into the streets. Around the darkened streets we walked in search of more liquid fortification until we found a well-known bar with a friendly pour. At this point the party was down to two of us – myself and another colleague. He was, to put it somewhat mildly, in worse shape than I was.
He had reached his limit and needed to head into the awful sleep that comes after champagne, beer, wine and beer have been ingested. So we wandered from the confines of the bar toward the closed train station. Hours were left before the trains would run, but taxis abounded. On the way was also, thankfully, a public toilet was to be found.
As I used the surprisingly clean, but by no means spotless facilities, I heard behind me the curious clamor of climbing. I turned to see my colleague peering over the locked door of a stall. He had mounted himself rather precariously over the door and was extending an arm downward. I watched with no small amount of bemusement as he pulled up a large plastic bag.
He hauled his newfound prize over the top of the door, tugging hard as it squeezed between the ceiling and the door’s top edge. Once it was free, he swung the bag of ill-gotten goodies over his shoulder and headed out into the night. He hailed a cab and clutched his bounty in his lap, telling the driver which way was home.
Then this morning I received this email, which said it all about the weekend of a cubicle-dweller in Tokyo: I've got more toilet paper than a supermarket at my place! Totally wasted last Friday. What happened??
Wednesday, October 01, 2003
Bold banking reforms
Japan is a country that has thoroughly embraced the comforts and convenience which modern life and technology provide. Everyone has at least one mobile phone, with email and internet browsing capabilities to keep in constant contact. Every block in the bigger cities has at least one convenience store, and if they don't, there is at least one vending machine. Trains, though overcrowded to a bone-crushing degree during the morning rush, run every few minutes and go nearly everywhere. This is why ATMs are so confusing.
ATMs in Japan are everywhere, making their access convenient. However, unlike the all night convenience store in which you will almost inevitably find an ATM, the machines shut down from time to time. The downtime is not caused by a computer or mechanical malfunction, but rather because that is the way the banks operate them. ATMs also have holidays off. To their credit the banks have managed to keep their ATMs open past the normal 9-3 banking hours, though some of the normal functions of the machines are restricted. The lack of service on holidays, according to one bank employee, is in case their is a chance of the ATM malfunctioning, leaving the impression that there is normally a crack squad of ATM service technicians on standby, waiting nervously to receive a call that an ATM is down and in need of immediate assistance -- but only during normal hours.
One bank is throwing such caution to the wind and has launched an aggressive ad campaign promoting a revolutionary service in Japanese banking -- the 24-hour ATM. This is a giant step forward for banking here. Unfortunately, the service is only available to this particular bank's customers. There is no system, such as one might expect from ATMs that can be used (during normal banking hours) to do everything from cawithdrawalswls to restructuring government debt, to allow customers of other banks to use the facilities. This will doubtless only be overcome after years of research and debate regarding how to get the other banks' ATMs to stay awake all night. During the day (except holidays) transferring funds between banks using only one ATM card and one machine can be accomplished relatively easy, and the ATMs in convenience stores accept just about every bank's card. But the machines get tired and have to rest at night and on holidays.
Perhaps this singular bank has launched this bold new service in an attempt to attract customers who may find it convenient to be able to access cash after 8:00 p.m. Or perhaps it is a reflection of their customers expressing their desires and having the bank respond to them. Or perhaps this new service is simply an indication that these particular ATMs don't have quite the union the others do.
ATMs in Japan are everywhere, making their access convenient. However, unlike the all night convenience store in which you will almost inevitably find an ATM, the machines shut down from time to time. The downtime is not caused by a computer or mechanical malfunction, but rather because that is the way the banks operate them. ATMs also have holidays off. To their credit the banks have managed to keep their ATMs open past the normal 9-3 banking hours, though some of the normal functions of the machines are restricted. The lack of service on holidays, according to one bank employee, is in case their is a chance of the ATM malfunctioning, leaving the impression that there is normally a crack squad of ATM service technicians on standby, waiting nervously to receive a call that an ATM is down and in need of immediate assistance -- but only during normal hours.
One bank is throwing such caution to the wind and has launched an aggressive ad campaign promoting a revolutionary service in Japanese banking -- the 24-hour ATM. This is a giant step forward for banking here. Unfortunately, the service is only available to this particular bank's customers. There is no system, such as one might expect from ATMs that can be used (during normal banking hours) to do everything from cawithdrawalswls to restructuring government debt, to allow customers of other banks to use the facilities. This will doubtless only be overcome after years of research and debate regarding how to get the other banks' ATMs to stay awake all night. During the day (except holidays) transferring funds between banks using only one ATM card and one machine can be accomplished relatively easy, and the ATMs in convenience stores accept just about every bank's card. But the machines get tired and have to rest at night and on holidays.
Perhaps this singular bank has launched this bold new service in an attempt to attract customers who may find it convenient to be able to access cash after 8:00 p.m. Or perhaps it is a reflection of their customers expressing their desires and having the bank respond to them. Or perhaps this new service is simply an indication that these particular ATMs don't have quite the union the others do.
Monday, September 29, 2003
Me for Governor!
The United States has long been a loud promoter of the virtues of democracy and all its associated benefits. Then came the debacle that was the 2000 presidential election, ending with a Supreme Court decision in favor of George W. Bush. Now California comes to the front as a showcase of American democracy.
In its beginning, the recall effort looked as more of a forum for airing discontent with how the state was being run. After all, this was the 34th attempt to recall a governor of California, and none had succeeded. The verification of the necessary signatures – a portion of the pitiful voter turnout of the last election – was completed and a referendum was on. The state election authorities struggled with how to actually conduct the poll. Gray Davis was thrust into a campaign to keep his job, and his supporters have done what they could to block, or at least delay, the vote. Supporters of the recall fought back and various lawsuits have come up. The end result of the legal wrangling is that the election will still take place on October 7.
All of this in itself is not such a bad example of how democracy can work – though it does demonstrate how quickly Americans will run to a courthouse when things don’t look so good for them. What has really made this a farcical example of democracy at work is not that a governor can be recalled, but the field of candidates that the voters of California will have to wade through should they decide to recall Davis.
The ballot will be three pages long and contain over 130 names. Anyone meeting the minimum legal requirements was allowed to run. No doubt there will be further lawsuits as the votes are counted, possibly recounted and a team of people try to decide what to do when there are six ‘pregnant chads’, two ‘hanging chads’ and a write in for Ralph Nader on a single ballot.
The ballot also appears to be a free-for-all-I-want-to-revive-my-career publicity blitz. Out of work former child actors, porn stars and comedians jumped on the bandwagon, claiming the whole time to be serious while going on a game show or smashing fruit with an oversized mallet to promote their campaigns. Others with a desire to get their fifteen minutes of fame jumped up, waved their hands and added their names to the list, and in at least one case put on a sumo display in his back yard to show how serous a contender he was. Any semblance of a political platform, ideas about how to run a state, particularly one with a larger deficit than the GDP of a good many countries, or experience was not considered necessary. This is true of some of the leading candidates as well.
None of the top contenders really seems to know what to do with California’s budget. The leading republican is better known for being huge and doing movies in which things explode a lot, and has so far done little to inspire much confidence in his leadership abilities. The leading democrat, trying to position himself as a fall back if the recall succeeds, is part of the administration that oversees the current mess. The Republican Party is salivating at the chance to simply take control, going so far as to tell their politically experienced candidates to get out of the way to help ensure victory, while the democrats are fighting tooth and nail not to relinquish it.
Quite an example indeed.
In its beginning, the recall effort looked as more of a forum for airing discontent with how the state was being run. After all, this was the 34th attempt to recall a governor of California, and none had succeeded. The verification of the necessary signatures – a portion of the pitiful voter turnout of the last election – was completed and a referendum was on. The state election authorities struggled with how to actually conduct the poll. Gray Davis was thrust into a campaign to keep his job, and his supporters have done what they could to block, or at least delay, the vote. Supporters of the recall fought back and various lawsuits have come up. The end result of the legal wrangling is that the election will still take place on October 7.
All of this in itself is not such a bad example of how democracy can work – though it does demonstrate how quickly Americans will run to a courthouse when things don’t look so good for them. What has really made this a farcical example of democracy at work is not that a governor can be recalled, but the field of candidates that the voters of California will have to wade through should they decide to recall Davis.
The ballot will be three pages long and contain over 130 names. Anyone meeting the minimum legal requirements was allowed to run. No doubt there will be further lawsuits as the votes are counted, possibly recounted and a team of people try to decide what to do when there are six ‘pregnant chads’, two ‘hanging chads’ and a write in for Ralph Nader on a single ballot.
The ballot also appears to be a free-for-all-I-want-to-revive-my-career publicity blitz. Out of work former child actors, porn stars and comedians jumped on the bandwagon, claiming the whole time to be serious while going on a game show or smashing fruit with an oversized mallet to promote their campaigns. Others with a desire to get their fifteen minutes of fame jumped up, waved their hands and added their names to the list, and in at least one case put on a sumo display in his back yard to show how serous a contender he was. Any semblance of a political platform, ideas about how to run a state, particularly one with a larger deficit than the GDP of a good many countries, or experience was not considered necessary. This is true of some of the leading candidates as well.
None of the top contenders really seems to know what to do with California’s budget. The leading republican is better known for being huge and doing movies in which things explode a lot, and has so far done little to inspire much confidence in his leadership abilities. The leading democrat, trying to position himself as a fall back if the recall succeeds, is part of the administration that oversees the current mess. The Republican Party is salivating at the chance to simply take control, going so far as to tell their politically experienced candidates to get out of the way to help ensure victory, while the democrats are fighting tooth and nail not to relinquish it.
Quite an example indeed.
Thursday, September 25, 2003
Anything, at the push of a button
Vending machines are an intricate part of life in Japan. It is generally hard to go more than a block or two in residential areas without seeing their iridescent glow. In business or entertainment areas, it is hard to go even a few feet without hearing their hum. Even the peak of Japan’s most revered mountain, Mt. Fuji, is topped with the machines. Anything and everything is available for purchase from them as well.
In a major hotel in Shibuya – a trendy area of shopping, offices, bars, restaurants, hotels, clubs, more shopping, karaoke, massage parlors, other adult entertainment venues, and more shopping – there is an enormous vending machine that is, in effect, a convenience store without the pimply teenage cashier. From this contraption guests of the hotel, or anyone who wanders through the lobby, can purchase the typical cans of coffee or other soft drinks, prepared sandwiches and other foods, fruit, toiletries, batteries, portable phone chargers, socks, new underwear...and the list goes on.
Out on the streets the offerings tend to be a bit more selective, as necessitated by the spatial limitations of the machines. Soft drink machines are omnipresent, as would be expected, as are cigarette machines. Japan is still a country in which close to half the population smokes. Still other machines offer alcoholic beverages of various description and quality. Beer machines are a not uncommon site, offering the standard brews, as well as hopposhu (a reduced malt, beer-like abomination in a variety of flavors – more on that another time). Some machines offer sake, Japanese rice wine, of dubious quality and Japanese whisky. A more rare variety of machine distributes pornographic magazines and videos; some go so far as to sell previously worn women’s underwear.
Such selection in the States would be every high school boy's dream. No more awkward trips to the 7-11 for red-faced purchases of “reading material”. No more nervous anticipation as the liquor store clerk asks questions about why a 25 year old from Wisconsin is wearing a high school football jacket and driving a car with a sticker that says “Class of ‘03” on the back window.
Unlike debate in the U.S. about how to control the sale of cigarettes from vending machines so that those under 18 cannot get to them, there is little debate of that kind in Tokyo, although it is increasing. However, rather than come from politicians or pressure groups, the debate is being brought up and simultaneously preempted by the vending machine makers and the companies that sell their drinks through them. Designs are being tested that would require the purchaser to insert an identification card into the machine for alcohol or other controlled substances to be bought. Others are designed to accept a signal from a mobile phone, both as proof of age and of payment. How effective these designs will be in curbing use by minors remains to be seen.
But whatever changes the vending machine industry comes up with, there is little chance that the machines will disappear. After all, one gets thirsty climbing mountains.
In a major hotel in Shibuya – a trendy area of shopping, offices, bars, restaurants, hotels, clubs, more shopping, karaoke, massage parlors, other adult entertainment venues, and more shopping – there is an enormous vending machine that is, in effect, a convenience store without the pimply teenage cashier. From this contraption guests of the hotel, or anyone who wanders through the lobby, can purchase the typical cans of coffee or other soft drinks, prepared sandwiches and other foods, fruit, toiletries, batteries, portable phone chargers, socks, new underwear...and the list goes on.
Out on the streets the offerings tend to be a bit more selective, as necessitated by the spatial limitations of the machines. Soft drink machines are omnipresent, as would be expected, as are cigarette machines. Japan is still a country in which close to half the population smokes. Still other machines offer alcoholic beverages of various description and quality. Beer machines are a not uncommon site, offering the standard brews, as well as hopposhu (a reduced malt, beer-like abomination in a variety of flavors – more on that another time). Some machines offer sake, Japanese rice wine, of dubious quality and Japanese whisky. A more rare variety of machine distributes pornographic magazines and videos; some go so far as to sell previously worn women’s underwear.
Such selection in the States would be every high school boy's dream. No more awkward trips to the 7-11 for red-faced purchases of “reading material”. No more nervous anticipation as the liquor store clerk asks questions about why a 25 year old from Wisconsin is wearing a high school football jacket and driving a car with a sticker that says “Class of ‘03” on the back window.
Unlike debate in the U.S. about how to control the sale of cigarettes from vending machines so that those under 18 cannot get to them, there is little debate of that kind in Tokyo, although it is increasing. However, rather than come from politicians or pressure groups, the debate is being brought up and simultaneously preempted by the vending machine makers and the companies that sell their drinks through them. Designs are being tested that would require the purchaser to insert an identification card into the machine for alcohol or other controlled substances to be bought. Others are designed to accept a signal from a mobile phone, both as proof of age and of payment. How effective these designs will be in curbing use by minors remains to be seen.
But whatever changes the vending machine industry comes up with, there is little chance that the machines will disappear. After all, one gets thirsty climbing mountains.
Wednesday, September 24, 2003
Regulatory pressure
“Ohayo gozaimasu Yakuklto desu!” is the new morning greeting of my cube. An interesting transformation has recently occurred in my office space. A related, but separately run division of my employer has relocated its workers to the floor on which my cubicle rests. This displaced many of my coworkers to higher floors, but a few of us remained. It now seems, as one astute coworker pointed out, “like we’re working for a Japanese company.” This is both true and not.
My employer is a Japanese company, in that it was founded and only exists in Japan. The majority of employees, however, are not Japanese (nor is the founder) – they are from everywhere else. In fact, prior to the invasion of the other division my floor of the building had three Japanese employees out of about 18 people. Now, there are six fuzzy little foreigners (myself and two other Americans, a German, an Australian and a Filipino) and a slew of Japanese. This is where the new morning call comes from.
For those unfamiliar with Yakult, allow me to explain briefly. Yakult (pronounced yakulto in Japanese) is a yoghurt based drink. It is promoted as something one should drink daily for health and is sold, quite literally, everywhere. It can be purchased from convenience stores, grocery stores, vending machines (but then again, in Japan, everything is sold in vending machines) and middle-aged women pushing carts or riding bicycles of the stuff around town. A Yakult pusher even tried to entice me with home delivery. There is also a professional Tokyo baseball team owned by Yakult, the Swallows.
Yakult is not something I have had first hand experience with. However, a friend of mine has, and reported that it “went through me like Drano through a sink”. Only faster. He then offered me the rest of the six-pack he had bought. I declined and have not since regretted it.
It does not seem to be something that many non-Japanese become involved in, unlike, say sumo. In Bangkok, Yakult is widely available, again including home delivery, in the areas that are popular with Japanese tourists and residents. Thais, however, seemed pretty indifferent to it, that is, I never saw any evidence that they consumed it.
Yakult is big with Japanese, however, and thus the new morning-call in my office. Daily at 9:30 there comes the high-pitched screech of the Yakult pusher on her morning rounds, like a mocking rendition of they guys that sell peanuts at baseball games: “Good Morning! Yakult!” Perhaps that is really the purpose of the Swallows. Their games are the training grounds for the street pushers.
My employer is a Japanese company, in that it was founded and only exists in Japan. The majority of employees, however, are not Japanese (nor is the founder) – they are from everywhere else. In fact, prior to the invasion of the other division my floor of the building had three Japanese employees out of about 18 people. Now, there are six fuzzy little foreigners (myself and two other Americans, a German, an Australian and a Filipino) and a slew of Japanese. This is where the new morning call comes from.
For those unfamiliar with Yakult, allow me to explain briefly. Yakult (pronounced yakulto in Japanese) is a yoghurt based drink. It is promoted as something one should drink daily for health and is sold, quite literally, everywhere. It can be purchased from convenience stores, grocery stores, vending machines (but then again, in Japan, everything is sold in vending machines) and middle-aged women pushing carts or riding bicycles of the stuff around town. A Yakult pusher even tried to entice me with home delivery. There is also a professional Tokyo baseball team owned by Yakult, the Swallows.
Yakult is not something I have had first hand experience with. However, a friend of mine has, and reported that it “went through me like Drano through a sink”. Only faster. He then offered me the rest of the six-pack he had bought. I declined and have not since regretted it.
It does not seem to be something that many non-Japanese become involved in, unlike, say sumo. In Bangkok, Yakult is widely available, again including home delivery, in the areas that are popular with Japanese tourists and residents. Thais, however, seemed pretty indifferent to it, that is, I never saw any evidence that they consumed it.
Yakult is big with Japanese, however, and thus the new morning-call in my office. Daily at 9:30 there comes the high-pitched screech of the Yakult pusher on her morning rounds, like a mocking rendition of they guys that sell peanuts at baseball games: “Good Morning! Yakult!” Perhaps that is really the purpose of the Swallows. Their games are the training grounds for the street pushers.
Monday, September 22, 2003
Typhoon claims summer in Japan
Tokyo, Japan – The fifteenth typhoon of the year pounded its way across Okinawa last week, causing airlines to cancel flights to the islands. Further up along the Japanese mainland the typhoon took another victim, summer. Summer was only six weeks old.
After a arriving late in the Land of the Rising Sun, summer only really took hold from the wet, cool spring a few weeks ago. Making full use of its capabilities to turn rush hour trains, apartments, offices, phone booths and any other structure partially or fully closed into a sauna, the summer looked as though it was going to continue for some time. Indeed, even the ever-accurate weather forecasts were predicting a long period of hot weather and skimpy clothing. Yet, despite all of predictions to the contrary, typhoon Choi-wan skirted up the east coast of the Japanese archipelago and swept summer handily away.
“Summer was just here only yesterday,” one mourner in Tokyo’s Harajuku area lamented while clutching a cheap vinyl umbrella, “and today…just nothing, gone like it was never here.” As the storm pushed northward and out to sea, its trailing arms drenched the area in a miserably cold rain, pushed by chilling winds.
Memorial services in the form of bitter complaining were held immediately and will probably continue through Tuesday.
After a arriving late in the Land of the Rising Sun, summer only really took hold from the wet, cool spring a few weeks ago. Making full use of its capabilities to turn rush hour trains, apartments, offices, phone booths and any other structure partially or fully closed into a sauna, the summer looked as though it was going to continue for some time. Indeed, even the ever-accurate weather forecasts were predicting a long period of hot weather and skimpy clothing. Yet, despite all of predictions to the contrary, typhoon Choi-wan skirted up the east coast of the Japanese archipelago and swept summer handily away.
“Summer was just here only yesterday,” one mourner in Tokyo’s Harajuku area lamented while clutching a cheap vinyl umbrella, “and today…just nothing, gone like it was never here.” As the storm pushed northward and out to sea, its trailing arms drenched the area in a miserably cold rain, pushed by chilling winds.
Memorial services in the form of bitter complaining were held immediately and will probably continue through Tuesday.
Friday, September 19, 2003
At long last, VICTORY
The Hanshin Tigers have shaken of the dreaded “curse of the Colonel” and proven to be the polar opposites of their Detroit namesakes. With a little bit of help from the bottom feeding Yokohama Bay Stars, the Tigers clinched their first pennant since fans threw a Colonel Sanders statue into a river the last time they won*.
The last time the Tigers topped the league, Hanshin fans who were acknowledged to resemble members of the team took leaps off a downtown Osaka bridge into the crystal(izing) waters of the river**. When no fan could be found resembling a foreign player, who was at least also willing to jump into the murk, a statue of Colonel Sanders was used as a proxy. Celebrating fans lofted the smiling edifice of the processed poultry king and paraded him to the bridge and dropped him into the dark water.
He was never seen again. Neither was a Tigers’ pennant. Repeated efforts were made over the years to find the Colonel, but all were futile. So, too, were the Tigers’ efforts at winning enough games to secure victory over the Yomiuri Giants of Tokyo, the New York Yankees of Japanese baseball. This year proved different, despite no sign of the Colonel, who by now is presumed to be either buried securely beneath the bottom slime or washed out to sea.
The Tigers took a commanding lead of the league, at one point putting themselves 18 games ahead of the hated rival Giants. The Giants, meanwhile, have lost their main star to the Yankees and are now wallowing in the depths of the league. As some pundits in local media have pointed out, the Giants had dominated through sheer cash (much like the Yankees) and were paying the price with older players unable to keep up the momentum, who will no doubt be replaced with cash fueled off-season deals. Hanshin, on the other hand, rebuilt their team from the ground up, developing their talent and benefiting some from a couple of players back from their stints in the big leagues. Only one player in Hanshin’s lineup was not with the team last year.
Finally, the rabid fans of the Hanshin Tigers were rewarded for their patience. As word spread from radios and sports bars that the Bay Stars had helped their cause and secured the final position for the Tigers, fans crammed the riverbanks and bridges of Osaka. To cheering throngs, pinstripe clad fans jumped, flipped and disappeared into the murky waters of Osaka’s river***.
* a more caring writer may have actually taken the time to see when that was.
** again, a more caring writer might have made an effort to find the name of the river, and very possibly the exact bridge.
*** sadly, one person has gone they way of the Colonel this year
The last time the Tigers topped the league, Hanshin fans who were acknowledged to resemble members of the team took leaps off a downtown Osaka bridge into the crystal(izing) waters of the river**. When no fan could be found resembling a foreign player, who was at least also willing to jump into the murk, a statue of Colonel Sanders was used as a proxy. Celebrating fans lofted the smiling edifice of the processed poultry king and paraded him to the bridge and dropped him into the dark water.
He was never seen again. Neither was a Tigers’ pennant. Repeated efforts were made over the years to find the Colonel, but all were futile. So, too, were the Tigers’ efforts at winning enough games to secure victory over the Yomiuri Giants of Tokyo, the New York Yankees of Japanese baseball. This year proved different, despite no sign of the Colonel, who by now is presumed to be either buried securely beneath the bottom slime or washed out to sea.
The Tigers took a commanding lead of the league, at one point putting themselves 18 games ahead of the hated rival Giants. The Giants, meanwhile, have lost their main star to the Yankees and are now wallowing in the depths of the league. As some pundits in local media have pointed out, the Giants had dominated through sheer cash (much like the Yankees) and were paying the price with older players unable to keep up the momentum, who will no doubt be replaced with cash fueled off-season deals. Hanshin, on the other hand, rebuilt their team from the ground up, developing their talent and benefiting some from a couple of players back from their stints in the big leagues. Only one player in Hanshin’s lineup was not with the team last year.
Finally, the rabid fans of the Hanshin Tigers were rewarded for their patience. As word spread from radios and sports bars that the Bay Stars had helped their cause and secured the final position for the Tigers, fans crammed the riverbanks and bridges of Osaka. To cheering throngs, pinstripe clad fans jumped, flipped and disappeared into the murky waters of Osaka’s river***.
* a more caring writer may have actually taken the time to see when that was.
** again, a more caring writer might have made an effort to find the name of the river, and very possibly the exact bridge.
*** sadly, one person has gone they way of the Colonel this year
Wednesday, September 17, 2003
Horrors of the night
They came with no warning, silently approaching from all directions in the night. By the time I realized what was happening, they were already besieging my home by the hundreds. Where they came from I do not know. They came in small groups, familial units perhaps. In each group there was a large dominant one, in each case it was near impossible for me to distinguish its gender. Following each large, red-armored leader was a small horde of followers of various sizes and shades of brown and maroon.
The smaller ones tended to scatter as I approached, scurrying for cover of darkness in corners or under anything beneath which they could squeeze. The dominate ones were more defiant, staring at me with the confidence of a creature that knows it is nearly invincible to even the most potent of weapons in a civilian’s arsenal.
The largest, perhaps having attained at some point the rank of general, now stood before me, his red shell nearly glowing like the dying coals of an old fire. He stood motionless, only his antennae twitching slightly as he received information from all around him. He then took one slight step toward me; malice written clearly across is tiny face. I made my move, swinging the canister from behind my back. If he knew of what I held, he showed no fear of it. I let go a stream of light foam, drenching his winged body.
In their corners his minions rose up high on their spindly legs to gape in horror at the ill fate of their leader as he soon succumbed to the chemical’s harsh effects. Death was not imminent, however, and the leader turned to beat a swift retreat. I followed quickly, shooting more poison at his fleeing back. In a fast arc I sprayed the cowering followers, for the smaller death was instantaneous, but many of the larger joined their general in painful scrambles for safety.
Determined to extinguish this plague that had invaded the sanctuary of my home I pursued the raiders in mad fury, dowsing them in chemical foam whenever they were within reach. Slowly their numbers diminished as slow death overtook one after another, leaving only their once-brave leader to make a final stand. He held out as long as he could, but the slow creep of the poison began to paralyze his legs. Death eventually came to the general, yet he remained defiantly staring up toward my position.
I made a quick sweep of my home, ensuring there were no survivors. I swept the remains into a single plastic bag, tied it off and left it for collection. Even as I placed the general into his final resting place and consigned him to history, he stared at me with a mixture of hate, admiration and confusion. Even in death he did not fully comprehend or accept his defeat.
So ended the cockroach raid.
The smaller ones tended to scatter as I approached, scurrying for cover of darkness in corners or under anything beneath which they could squeeze. The dominate ones were more defiant, staring at me with the confidence of a creature that knows it is nearly invincible to even the most potent of weapons in a civilian’s arsenal.
The largest, perhaps having attained at some point the rank of general, now stood before me, his red shell nearly glowing like the dying coals of an old fire. He stood motionless, only his antennae twitching slightly as he received information from all around him. He then took one slight step toward me; malice written clearly across is tiny face. I made my move, swinging the canister from behind my back. If he knew of what I held, he showed no fear of it. I let go a stream of light foam, drenching his winged body.
In their corners his minions rose up high on their spindly legs to gape in horror at the ill fate of their leader as he soon succumbed to the chemical’s harsh effects. Death was not imminent, however, and the leader turned to beat a swift retreat. I followed quickly, shooting more poison at his fleeing back. In a fast arc I sprayed the cowering followers, for the smaller death was instantaneous, but many of the larger joined their general in painful scrambles for safety.
Determined to extinguish this plague that had invaded the sanctuary of my home I pursued the raiders in mad fury, dowsing them in chemical foam whenever they were within reach. Slowly their numbers diminished as slow death overtook one after another, leaving only their once-brave leader to make a final stand. He held out as long as he could, but the slow creep of the poison began to paralyze his legs. Death eventually came to the general, yet he remained defiantly staring up toward my position.
I made a quick sweep of my home, ensuring there were no survivors. I swept the remains into a single plastic bag, tied it off and left it for collection. Even as I placed the general into his final resting place and consigned him to history, he stared at me with a mixture of hate, admiration and confusion. Even in death he did not fully comprehend or accept his defeat.
So ended the cockroach raid.
Friday, September 12, 2003
Body part valuation and other things Disney
Browsing the headlines today (while I should have been doing something much more productive with my time) I came across a brief article about Disney being sued for scalding coffee being dropped onto a man’s lap (http://channels.netscape.com/ns/crime/story.jsp?floc=FF-APO-1110&idq=/ff/story/0001%2F20030911%2F000731356.htm&sc=1110&photoid=20030905CADD115). Now, I find most things associated with Disney to be rather disgusting in the first place. Thinly veiled gratuitous self-promotion in the form of horrid movies taking their tiles from Disney’s own professional sports teams tops my list of things despicable about that little empire. But I also have a problem with people suing for their own inability to take responsibility for their actions (e.g. the woman who sued McDonald’s for spilling coffee on her own lap, obese people suing fast food for making their couch potato lives worse, smokers suing tobacco companies, then stepping into the courtyard to light up during the recesses, etc.). However, that is not the case in this particular incident. This man had a pot of coffee accidentally dropped on him while dining and it scaled and eventually discolored his genitalia. This raises the question, then, of how much the normal coloration of your genitalia, or other body parts for that matter, is worth. He is getting 668 grand for it, minus the 1/3 the lawyer, who, incidentally, has probably not had his genitalia discolored by scalding hot coffee, takes as his fees. I wonder how this amount was actually calculated by the jury. I imagine that the logic of the deliberations must have included his domestic situation: He’s 33, already married, one child. What I wonder is if he were single and childless, would he have received more, based on the idea that discoloration of the genitalia would prevent, or at least severely discourage, potential mates. And by that logic, could I get a cool million for my own? The only way to adequately value such things would be through the setting up of a futures or exchange market. There are, in effect, such markets for most internal organs, but these need to be expanded to include others to be truly effective in litigation of this sort.
In other things Disney, is my favorite thing about Tokyo Disneyland – it’s cursed, at least according to numerous people I’ve spoken with in Tokyo. It seems that young couples who venture to the Magic Kingdom on Tokyo Bay find themselves without relationships shortly after such an outing. This is attributed to the fact that after taking out the necessary loans to pay for entrance to the park, you get to stand in slow moving queues and delve into the depths of your partner’s soul. What I enjoy most about this idea is that some of the people who have experienced this phenomenon have actually been with their partner for a great deal of time, but didn’t know the other well enough to realize they had so little of interest to offer. It would seem to me a quiet dinner somewhere with limited distractions would do the trick, and be much cheaper. But then they wouldn’t have the benefit of being able to fill awkward silences with comments about how hot it is.
In other things Disney, is my favorite thing about Tokyo Disneyland – it’s cursed, at least according to numerous people I’ve spoken with in Tokyo. It seems that young couples who venture to the Magic Kingdom on Tokyo Bay find themselves without relationships shortly after such an outing. This is attributed to the fact that after taking out the necessary loans to pay for entrance to the park, you get to stand in slow moving queues and delve into the depths of your partner’s soul. What I enjoy most about this idea is that some of the people who have experienced this phenomenon have actually been with their partner for a great deal of time, but didn’t know the other well enough to realize they had so little of interest to offer. It would seem to me a quiet dinner somewhere with limited distractions would do the trick, and be much cheaper. But then they wouldn’t have the benefit of being able to fill awkward silences with comments about how hot it is.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
