Hostile Traveler

When I travel to another country, I’m always fascinated with what the local culture is like, from art to food to social interactions to how people view the rest of the world. I have a particular interest in Asian countries because they are so diverse, and in some ways, so alien to what I know. I don’t mean that in a bad way - for some reason I love to be in a situation where I don’t speak the language, can’t read a thing, and don’t identify culturally with most of what is around me. It’s a learning experience, and a bit of an adventure I guess.

Japan is one of those places that I find so interesting, yet so alien at the same time. While the youth seemingly embrace all things Western, much of the culture is still closed off to gaijin - foreigners. It’s not as common as it once was, but you will still see ‘No gaijin’ signs posted in front of bars, restaurants…and, more importantly, places that cater to more illicit activities. I think I mentioned in an old entry a section of Tokyo’s Shinjuku district called Kabukicho, which is perhaps the largest red light district in the world. As a foreigner, however, you’re not likely to gain entry into any of the various hostess bars, clubs, and so on….that is, unless you’re a Western woman working at one. The other thing is that while Kabukicho is fascinating in a lot of ways, it’s also a place where you don’t want to be carrying around a camera snapping photos. Most of the businesses there are run by Yakuza (aka The Japanese Mafia), who are not the sort of people you want to be messing with.

That leads me to what inspired this posting. I ran across an article in the Washington Post written by an American that worked as a crime reporter for Japan’s largest newspaper. From the article:

I came to Japan in 1988 at age 19, spent most of college living in a Zen Buddhist temple, and then became the first U.S. citizen hired as a regular staff writer for a Japanese newspaper in Japanese. If you know anything about Japan, you’ll realize how bizarre this is — a gaijin, or foreigner, covering Japanese cops. When I started the beat in the early 1990s, I knew nothing about the yakuza, a.k.a. the Japanese mafia. But following their prostitution rings and extortion rackets became my life.

He goes on to talk about how large the Yakuza is (80,000+ members) and some of the ways they make money, from the illicit (child pornography, prostitution) to investing in banks and financial institutions. The problem came when the writer got too close to the topic he was covering:

Three years ago, Goto got word that I was reporting an article about his liver transplant. A few days later, his underlings obliquely threatened me. Then came a formal meeting. The offer was straightforward. “Erase the story or be erased,” one of them said. “Your family too.”

The article itself is a short but very interesting read (you can find it here) and the author, Jake Adelstein, is coming out with a book on the topic called “Tokyo Vice: An American Reporter on Japan’s Police Beat”. Now, how much is factual versus hype I can’t say, but it should be an interesting read nonetheless.

So, the moral of the story is: Dangerous things can be fascinating, but it’s wise to keep your distance.

It’s been 6 months now without an update, and while I’d like to say it’s because I’m busy bringing about world peace, the reality is that I just lost interest for awhile. This happens for me with most things because I have the attention span of a gerbil hopped up on Pixy Stix, so I tend to jump around to different interests like a moth drawn to whichever flame is currently burning brightest in my head.

Now, you may ask what brings me back here, and I have a simple answer: douchebag spammers. You see, while this site may have been flickering in and out of the edges of my attention for the past six months, lately it’s been coming into focus more and more often. Basically, every time someone posts a comment or links to the site, I get an email. When I’m not posting any new content, I don’t get many comments, which makes sense. That is, until Captain Douchebag Spammer of the day comes along and posts links to a bunch of shitty websites hoping to advance their page rank in search engines so that unwitting consumers searching for ways to make their penises bigger might stumble upon their page.

There are a couple of problems with this theory. One is that I don’t get a ton of traffic, especially when I’m not doing updates. The second is that spammers annoy the fuck out of me, so I do my best to delete every last trace of their existence as soon as they come in. So, to all spammers, I highly encourage you to go fuck yourselves with your newly-enlarged penises that are fully erect with bootleg Cialis. And I’m still waiting for my money from that Nigerian fellow.

OK..enough of that. Though it may be through sheer annoyance, I’m back. WordPress was in dire need of an upgrade, so I just suffered through that bit, and I’m mucking about with different themes. So, things may look different from time to time until I find something I’m happy with. We’ll see what happens.

Yesterday I took a day trip down to Herndon, VA for a two-hour meeting. You would think that with all of the technology available, I wouldn’t have to still do stuff like that, but you’d be wrong. Anyways, Herndon is where that lovely (?) 60’s airport is - Dulles.

I’m sure at the time it was built, Dulles was some sort of architectural beauty, with its roof being a sweeping curve, and big open areas underneath. However, these days it’s just a sort of grim gray concrete monstrosity. They keep adding onto it by building more terminals, but there’s just something about that main building that takes away your will to live. Maybe it’s just me.

The trip in was pretty unremarkable, the meeting as boring as expected, and then I headed back to the airport to get the hell out of there. My flight was at 4:45, and I arrived at the airport at just after 3. No bags, so no problem. Or so I thought.

Dulles is going through some “expansion difficulties”. That’s a nice way of saying that the TSA hasn’t hired enough slack-jawed knuckle-draggers to get the volume of people through security necessary. So, when I got to the airport, this is what I ran into:

Now, this is *after* standing in line for ~30min - a line that wrapped around the terminal to the front. By the time I got near the scanners and metal detectors, it was 4:35pm, and my flight was due to take off in 10 minutes. I wasn’t the only one in this predicament - all of the people around me had the same issue. So, people are yelling shit at the TSA people, but they’re pretty much oblivious because I’m sure this happens every day. They have that kind of weary, I-Don’t-Give-A-Fuck look that all low-paying jobs seem to foster. I feel safer already.

Around this time, I hear a commotion behind me and turn around just as some dude is trying to elbow his way past me using two of the most irritating words in the English language: “Excuse me!” followed by “I’m gonna miss my flight!”. Now, I’m beyond cranky and well into pissed off when this jackass tries to plow through me. Not gonna happen. So, I step in front of him and explain rather tersely that though he feels he may be the most important person in his world, the rest of us are in the same situation, and the likelihood of him jumping ahead in the line without getting hurt is very nearly zero. Apparently that was convincing enough for him to go back from where he came to sulk. Dumbass.

At this point, I’ve reached security. I realize that not everyone flies regularly, but allow me to give some tips on how to make the security screening a whole lot less painful for you and everyone stuck behind you:

1. GET THE FUCK OFF OF YOUR CELLPHONE. Not only is it electronic and won’t pass through the metal detector, it makes it a whole lot more difficult to perform physical activities like getting your 200lb drag-aboard onto the belt one-handed while trying to keep your phone jammed between your cheek and shoulder.
2. But what if I have a handsfree? Look - just because your hands are free doesn’t mean that your brain is capable of carrying on a conversation and performing other tasks simultaneously. Oh, and know that ugly-assed blue-LED wart sticking out of your ear? It’s not going through the fucking metal detector. Hang up and get out of my way.
3. Got kids? I understand that it’s sometimes necessary to fly with young children, and that they require additional baggage to take care of - car seats, diaper bags, whatever. But people - there’s gotta be a limit. If it’s a two hour flight and you have enough shit to run an orphanage, there’s something wrong. Also, if your stroller requires a degree in mechanical engineering to fold up, it may not be the best choice to bring along on the flight. The kid won’t develop scoliosis from the ghetto umbrella stroller just this once.
4. Liquids. Look, I know it’s retarded, but the TSA says you can’t bring liquids through security unless they fit in a 1 qt bag, etc etc. Maybe you don’t fly much and didn’t know this - I can accept that. But how is it you can spend 90 minutes in a line with *nothing* to do and not notice just one of the 300 signs or 15 video monitors telling you that your giant bottle of water ain’t gonna make it. I actually saw a woman who was going to hold up the whole line while she finished her tall skinny whateverthefuck Starbucks cause she couldn’t take it through and was pissed about it. Sometimes, it really should be legal to throw someone a beating. So - thirsty? Great - drink it before you get in front of me. And no I will not hold your place while you go to the bathroom.
5. Metal. See that big thing you’re walking through? It’s a metal detector. Know what it detects? I’ll give you a hint: METAL. Why people are surprised when their giant Mr. T necklaces or Shop-At-Home rings set off the detector I have no idea. But this is gold! No - it’s not, and guess what - it’s still metal. So is that wallet on a 6 foot dog chain, and likely so is the plate in your head.
6. TAKE OFF YOUR FUCKING SHOES. NOW! I know you’re upset that velcro shoes aren’t popular any more and that tying them is a big mental exercise, but there are few (if any) airports that don’t require your footwear to be scanned. Just deal with it, and take them off BEFORE you get to the scanner.
7. Finally, take a look at what you’re about to bring aboard. Do you truly need that much shit? I know checking luggage is a bitch and I’ve had stuff temporarily lost on at least a dozen occasions, but c’mon - there’s a limit. If it takes two of you to shove something through the scanner, it may be a good indicator that you need to check it. I know common sense isn’t very common, but wtf.

Anyways, after making it through security without causing an incident (though I wanted to), the next thing that makes Dulles unique is their use of Mobile Lounges:

I guess back in the 60s when air travel was still glamorous and stuff, there weren’t really jetways to get you to the plane. You’d walk across the tarmac and up a set of stairs mounted to a truck. The idea of the mobile lounges was to load up 100 or so people onto this big ugly moon-roveresque thing and bring them to the plane. They have scissor lifts that will raise the box thing on top up to the plane’s level and people can board from there.

These days, they’re a relic of bygone times, but they still use them at Dulles to get you from terminal to terminal. The problem is there just aren’t enough, so when you get a rush of people, you have to wait and then try to jam yourself onto one. This was the case yesterday, and I got onto one at 4:45pm, just as my flight was scheduled to leave.

Once I got to the other terminal and evacuated the piece of shit lounge thing, I had to haul major ass to get to my gate across the terminal. Incidentally, the word terminal is an interesting one in that it generally means ‘final’ and is often applied to illnesses. Coincidence that it’s used in a place where you want to die? But I digress…

Apparently the airlines understand just how fucked-up this place is, and I was able to make it onto the plane before they shut the door. But still, not exactly a glamorous travel experience. Then again, it may just be me.

Here in New England, we only get a handful of really good days a year (the number is actually seven), and today was one of those days. So inspired was I by the weather that I blew the spiderwebs off my mountain bike, gave it a quick tune-up, and went for a ride.

There’s an old railroad near my house that was paved over for biking, equestrian, rollerblading, walking, lurching, sashaying - pretty much whatever use you want to give it, though streaking appears to be frowned upon. Damn Puritans….they really ought to make signs more clear - how was I supposed to know? But I digress. It’s called the Nashua River Rail Trail and runs about 11 miles between Ayer, MA and Nashua, NH.

Fall here is by far my favorite season. Pleasant days, crisp nights, and all of the trees call an end to summer with a show of color. I’m not sure if we’ve hit the most colorful part of the season yet or not, but it’s still quite nice. The rail trail runs along the (not so) mighty Nashua river through mostly wooded areas, and it’s a very nice way to spend a Sunday afternoon. I’ll have to do it again sometime…preferably before it gets frigid and all the leaves are gone.

After traveling quite a bit over the last few months, I’m home now for a few weeks before I head out to San Jose, CA yet again.  Well, that’s the plan at least…these things change.  One of the problems with being away from home so much is that it’s hard to stay on top of those things that make your life…well, a life.  While I try to balance things out, the constant interruptions make it difficult to establish any sort of routine.  For the most part, I’m used to it, but there are times where it gets to me.

I’m an engineer (and an all-around geek), so my left-brain tends to get a lot of activity while my right-brain stagnates.  To try to balance that out, I put some effort into doing those things that I enjoy that also happen to be music or art related.  I’ve been a guitarist for 20 years or so, and a drummer for slightly less, and escaping into the music for awhile is something that makes me very happy.  Well, that and hitting things with sticks is juts plain therapeutic.  I’m way (WAY) out of practice these days, but I’m trying to fix that.   With some luck, my callouses will come back soon and it won’t hurt quite so much.

About 4 years ago, I started taking classes in glassblowing, which is something that has always fascinated me.  Glass itself is such an interesting medium to work with, and it changes constantly as it cools.  It starts as something akin to thick honey on the end of a pipe, cools to something you can pull with tongs or cut with scissors, and finally becomes a solid that doesn’t move at all.  Artists make incredibly beautiful objects by playing with form, translucency, and optical properties…there’s really nothing else like it.

This past Sunday, I attended a workshop at a glass studio I had never been to before.  The theme of the workshop was pumpkins, which I suppose is appropriate given the time of year.  It’s been awhile since I’ve done anything with glass, so it took me a bit to get back into the swing of things.  Glassblowing is a very physical thing, mostly due to the massive amounts of heat.  It’s very very easy to burn yourself if you’re not paying attention, and simply standing too long in front of the 2000 degree furnace is enough to scorch you.  Most people walk out with something akin to a sunburn, and it takes some effort to stay hydrated enough.

At any rate, I spent about 6 hours in the shop along with some other students.  As with most projects, you make one out of clear class first to get the hang of the shape.

Once that goes successfully, you can start adding color, in the form of ground glass that you add onto the clear base.  This changes the consistency of the glass itself, and you have to compensate to deal with it.  My first one got too thin, so when I gathered glass over it again, it started to deflate and I had to force the form out with more air.  So, it’s a mutant.

Attempt number two went far better, though the color isn’t as consistent as I would have liked.

My last one was what I was looking for -  symmetric form, nice translucent color.  I know it doesn’t look like much, but it’s hard to explain just how difficult this is…especially for someone with the coordination of a retarded chimpanzee like me.

And a group photo…

I’m hoping my schedule normalizes a bit more so I can get back into doing this regularly, but I guess we’ll see what happens.  All I know is my right-brain is content for the first time in awhile.