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.
Monday, September 29, 2003
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.
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