Sushi = Sumo?

While preparing for a post on my moblog, I found a handy list of sushi terminology featuring entries in Japanese kanji/kana and respective romaji readings as well as translations in English and French. Might be handy when we finally visit Sophie’s uncle’s sushi bar in Bordeaux.
The shop is called “Sumo.” I don’t really understand the appeal of this as a name for a sushi bar because it’s said that sumo wrestlers have to eat at least 10,000 calories a day to keep their weight. You would think that trying to scarf down the equivalent in sushi (figure between 40 to 70 calories/piece depending on “topping”) would end gut-bustingly, like Inherit the Wind. Then again, it is a French sushi bar. Maybe they dip everything in mayonnaise? That would make up for the missing calories. Here’s a fun bit of trivia: In France, mayonnaise is packaged in a tube, like toothpaste, and yes, it does squirt like a milked salmon all over your friend’s carpet if you accidentally step on it.
Update: Figured it out. It turns out that Sumo is more than just a run-of-the-mill sushi bar. Its actually known for le repas des sumotori. For a full description, clicke vous (or however you say it in the country that banned the word “e-mail”). Note: It feels very strange to see the words, “le Chankonabe.”
Special Bonus Round Sushi Question: In Japan, the much-beloved fish (among sushi-otaku) called shima-aji is known as a “striped jack” in English and a “sutoraipudo jakku” in Engrish. What is it called in French?
Answer: clicke vous. Just kidding, its a caramgue demtue according to the page I started writing this post about. Unfortunately, I cannot really recommend it as a reference anymore as “caramgue demtue” gets exactly one hit on Google (Heh. Make that two in a couple weeks. I’m honored.) and “demtue” by itself does not appear to be a word at all. The outlandish construct “caramgue” is probably a misspelling of the word “Camargue”, a place in France “where the naked ladies dance”. Oh, it’s also famous for salt. I can’t help but wonder if it’s harvested off the sweaty nekkid dancing ladies, you know, squeezed from their armpit hair during smoking breaks or something.

Duck and Cover!

I am dropping the design bomb on this site. Time to go fucking nuts, old school style. And when I say old school, I mean bust out the clay tablets and sharpen some sticks yo. After a few hours of tweaking, I usually begin to wonder if my eyes actually see color the same way everybody elses do because its almost impossible to find satisfying combinations. I always seem to spend at least half of the total time on any design project tweaking the last 1%, you know shit like “should I move this pic 1/14th of a pixel to the left,” or, “shouldn’t I add an extra ‘the’ to that last line in order to make it longer?, or, “Was that last optimization really worth the 1.3 bytes that were trimmed from the code… I thought so, let’s do it again.”
I like to think that all the hours I spend making decisions, then reversing them, then reversing them again and again (ad infinitum) are a kind of karmic investment that will somehow be helpful in a future life, cause if they ain’t good for something, someone up there is laughing his ass off at me.

Steady Diet of Work Screeds

Oh yeah, it’s my favorite time of the week, every week: The Friday Work Wind-down Period. This is the period that my employers should take special care not to speak to me or expect me to function in any other mode than Weekend Anticipation Mode. Unfortunately, some stateside clients feel it is necessary to shoot nasty thorns in my high spirits with their Thursday Angst Specials, but there’s a cure for that, son – leave the mail unopened and claim there were “network problems on Friday” when you return to work next week!
It’s only fair because I just got the same excuse from the clients themselves! They claim it took a mail I sent ten days to reach them because of “less than optimal bandwidth” and the fact that their accounts are “centrally managed and sorted”!?! WTF does that mean? Everyone uses mail servers and routers too, but do we blame it on that shit? (No, we blame it on more plausible scenarios like “corrupted databases” and “Microsoft operating systems.”)
I mean you just gotta be kidding me. I could slice my pinky finger with my ingrown toenails, scrawl out a note in blood on a white-speckled carrier pigeon, shove the whole stupid-ass bird in a nearly empty Stoli bottle (which I just happen to have in my kitchen next to an unopened one) head-first, toss the corked bottle off the pier near my house in the general direction of the Great Satan and the message would STILL get there sooner than TEN FUCKING DAYS. And that bandwith bullshit… I mean, what planet is your multinational corporation’s mail servers located on? Planet Pakketloss? Planet Diayllupp? Planet Sub-AOLSPD? (Note to my 4th grade teacher Ms. Watkins who had nice legs for an old person: SOME GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING PROFANITY FOLLOWS.) DEAR CORKY, THIS IS THE YEAR 200(ANDFUCKING)3 AND DIRTY MONGOLIAN SHEEPHERDERS CAN SURF FOR ‘HOT BLACK SEX KITTENS’ WHILE SIPPING CURDLED YAK BUTTER TEA (vintage 1986) ON THE STEPPES AND RECEIVE MAIL VIA INVISIBLE “RADIO WAVES” FASTER THAN THE TEN FUCKING DAYS IT SUPPOSEDLY TOOK MY THREE-WORD MESSAGE TO REACH YOU.
Message body of the e-mail in question is reproduced below, in full:
Yes, please hurry.
If I get enough traffic for searches on “HOT BLACK SEX KITTENS,” all is forgiven.

Bargaining Is a Lost Art

As I have explained in the past, I am a terrible gadget junkie. But I’m frugal, in some ways. The main reason I can hardly ever bear to pay top dollar for my toys is that I feel it wasteful since any money I save can be invested… In other toys, of course. I am very proud of being able to find the BEST deals for my expensive buys, be it online or in the bargain carts of back streets in Nipponbashi. I am a merciless bargainer and can invariably get a discount even at stores that “do not practice” bargaining… There are 2 keys here.
The first is specific to Kansai, the western region of Japan where Cosmic Buddha was born. Cosmic Buddha as in my website/band/social circle, not me. And when I say Kansai, I mean Osaka. Osaka merchants are known for being good at business. Meaning, they will greet you with a friendly smile and then stab you in the back… Nah, just kidding – kind of. Osaka merchants are nice and friendly most of the time, but in this giant fucking depression we are muddling through, you best believe they will take every dollar they can get.
You know that practice you’ve read about a thousand times in articles about small shops in Japan, about how they will often give the first customer of the day discounts for good luck? From my observations, that shit doesn’t happen in Osaka very often, and if it does, it’s because someone is getting suckered. Come on noobs, small shops are small for a reason… Do you really think they can afford to take a loss on a big sale as an appeasement to the god of small merchants (Answer: No, and the main appeasements to gods of business are made at Ebisu Jinja at the new year). I talked to one fool who was going to line up for the new DocoMo phones earlier this year and he actually told me that he would be the first in line in order to get a big discount… His brilliant idea was to buy 10 phones at this supposed discount and resell them for a profit. Needless to say, he lined up at 4 in the morning for naught… As if the stores would discount phones they could sell at double profit for the first month (when they had any stock at all)!
But I digress. The first tip for bargaining in Kansai (er…Osaka) is: Incite the Osakan business pride! When they refuse to give you a discount the first time, say “are you from Tokyo or something?”, or “you speak like a fucking news anchor!” in the most gutteral Kansai dialect you can muster (BTW, if you learned Japanese in a classroom, this tip does not apply to you). Then follow up with indignance and further insult, if necessary, as you get ready to leave the store. Something along the lines of “well fuck if you’re gonna ask this much for it, I might as well buy it at a big chain store that won’t go out of business“, or my favorite, “at least I won’t have to make that trip to Tower to get a whiff of Tokyo Ghetto Pussy. ” More often than not, this will result in:
A. A heavy discount for the item in question
– or –
B. One of those hooked poles they use to lower the steel shutters over the shop at closing time, planted firmly in your ass
My second tip is for use anywhere, but you must be shameless and in a true bargaining mood to pull it off. Amateurs need not apply, but this tip works 80% of the time in my experience. I only play this card when I really want something and I feel the shop will accept the offer. Now with all these obvious disclaimers out of the way, let me unveil the second tip for bargaining in Osaka: Show the money.
The best example of this tactic in use I can give is when I bought my Fujitsu laptop three years ago (in Nipponbashi of course). This was the cleanest bargaining I have ever pulled, and one of the best deals I ever made. The shop in question was Naniwa Denki, which has a reputation for having good deals as a result of broad connections (when a computer retailer goes out of business they are often the first in line to buy the merch). This laptop retailed for 255,000 yen. It was new, but the outer box had a crease in it (packaging makes the sales in Japan). They were offering it for 195,000, cash-only w/shop warranty for one year. At the time, this in itself was the best deal I could find in the WHOLE WORLD for a laptop of this caliber (LOL it’s my slowest machine, by far, now). I called my friend Tatsuya at IO Data (peripherals company) and got the 411 about the item (solid) and the shop (again, solid, he told me about their buying practices – which I agree with). I talked the guy at the counter down to 165,000 but felt there was still wiggle room. I took a break and got 160,000 out of the bank. BAM! I slapped 16 bills on the counter – no subtlety today, sir – and did a take it or leave it. The manager smiled and took the money. I walked out with a laptop that was worth more than I paid for it even a year later (although I should state that I got a makers warranty instead of the shop warranty – no biggie).
Showing the money – actually putting down or flashing the cash – has occasionally failed me. When it did, it was embarassing as hell when I was with other people or there was a crowd around, because that’s another factor, the audience. In some situations, the shop will not deal with you in front of other people, sometimes because they have a “no-bargaining” policy (when it’s time to use the “this is Osaka, what do you mean, ‘no bargaining,’ you Kanto wussy?” tactic), sometimes the guy you’re talking to isn’t earning commission and could give a fuck about making the sale (actually if you’re in a chain store, they almost definitely are NOT earning commission – but they do have to worry about sales quotas), and sometimes making a low-profit sale in front of a crowd just isn’t in the store’s best interest. It is not possible to know the reason for deal breakers all of the time, but it’s good to relect upon in the interest of sharpening your bargaining skills.
I love bargaining in foreign countries as well, in countries where it’s practiced, at least. You can tell if a store is good or not by their willingness or unwillingness to bargain with you. You see, some areas have been completely ruined by affluent tourists. If a street vendor greets you in Japanese, that’s usually a bad sign. If sales tag are written in more than one Germanic language, escape!
Cosmic Buddha’s next bargaining practice session is scheduled for January 7th-9th, 2004, in Seoul. Bring on the Prada wallets, I need one to match the “genuine” Speedmaster I bought in Phuket!

Coding over beers

Just put Haloscan-powered comments on Taro’s blog. I hope he starts using it instead of that ghetto BBS for daily posts.
I’m typing this on my baby U3 Vaio while sipping on a tasty bev. They are calling me an otaku but the soft glow of liquid crystal helps me block out all that. Ether. Buddha like ether.
Post more, T!

Max Payne 2:

This is totally the shit. The original Max Payne game was groundbreaking with the first bullet-time system, actual plot and storyline, and non-stop action. MP2 is much of the same, but darker. Better graphics. I don’t really care that it’s more of an expansion pack than an entirely new game, because the first one definitely fits in my top 5 PC games of all time. My biggest bitch about the gameplay in this release is the cyclic rate of the Colt Commando – the akimbo Berettas are faster for god’s sake!

Dead and Bloated

Incidentally, Cosmic Buddha’s GF recently shared a scary story about a women’s restroom at the rear of a temple she visited in Thai a couple years ago. Apparently there was a dead rat floating in the barrel used for holding water used for “flushing”. She fled in abject horror but didn’t have the heart to tell the nice monk who was showing their group around the temple.
Disclaimer: This temple obviously did not fall under the authority of Cosmic Buddha. We have flushing toilets at all of our temples, for both sexes.

Work Request: Bran Muffins

Sometimes working in a factory office with constipated old men really has its downs. I have been waiting to take a crap for a couple of hours now. Its not that there are no stalls free – in fact, I could have been done with my business two hours ago if that were the only concern. The big problem is the stench. The stench that even I, the veteran of a thousand outhouses ripened by the summer sun and open pits at outdoor concerts, the back of temples, etc., cannot bear for more than two seconds. I wish there were a menu especially geared for those over 45 years of age (a full third who work here at my company fall into this bracket) at the cafeteria here, taking the odiferousness of feces during work hours into consideration. Because every time I work up the nerve to head to the bathroom (3 times in the past 90 minutes), I get a whiff of semi-digested ebi-fry (deep-fried prawns) from waaaay down the hall and immediately turn back to the sanctuary of stale cigarette smoke and pasty salarysweat in my office.
To my fellow workers, some of who I know are surreptitiously viewing this blog under orders from corporate HQ: Laying atom bombs in the john are uncalled for in this day and age. I surrender unconditionally in advance; just let me do my business. Soon.