Tatoo Blues

I want to relay a story about a bad day I had two Saturdays ago. Actually, I’ll skip over the really bad parts and jump right into the fray (and that’s a good definition of my life in general). I ended up that day with a friend who was going to get a tattoo. We went to the tattoo dude’s apartment in separate cars (completely unnecessary detail), and to make a really long story short, I ended up waiting for 3 hours in the living room with 3 guys, friends of the tattoo dude, who were hard at work. Their profession of choice was of the “Receptionist/Driver for Escort Service” category. All I can say is, I am damn proud of my gutter Japanese skills.
These guys knew I was a foreigner and were consciously/unconsciously shrouding the content of their conversations concerning shady/sleazy deeds by using the absolutely most Kansai-inflected dialect and verbiage… And I understood every word of it. I’m a big fan of yakuza flicks and have always loved studying the Kansai dialect, and probably know more underground/sleazeball slang than any Japanese not sniffing thinner or missing fingers. These guys were talking about the craziest shit right in front of me.
Some gems:
– I heard them consulting each other if they had girls in the stable that were anorexic, for some client with a thin-fetish they were had on hold
– One more than one occasion, I saw the old customer service trick where they say “please hold”, cover the mouthpiece and wait 30 seconds, then smugly tell the caller that whatever they wanted wasn’t possible (ad-libbing the reasons for why, as well)
– They referred to one of the girls as “the one who likes coke bottles”
– There was also apparently another girl who looks like a young Seiko Matsuda, with a third nipple
– In an academic bout between calls, I heard the most (sorry about this, Corky) retarded summation of the war in Iraq to date. I am an avid peacenik bloghunter, so this means a lot. Pre-war economic sanctions were described as “the UN not buying oil from Baghdad because Bush’s father said it was of poorer quality than Saudi Arabia’s oil”. (Actually, I kind of like that explanation)
– One of them shared a business revelation: If you drove around in a van and stole all the satellite antennaes attached to people’s balconies in Nara, you could ship them AND the van to Baghdad and make a fortune selling them on the street. I almost encouraged him to do it, because all I could imagine was the Iraqi headline in six months, “Jap’s Imported Loot Ganked by Local Entrepeneurs”.
Well, I think Net Nanny will officially bust a nut with this post.

About a Girl

On Saturday, I was awakened by Kohei (the guy who gave me a Devo hat when I was like ten) who had the nerve to call me at ONE THIRTY in the afternoon. As I groped to find the ringing cellmonster around the gap between futon and tatami, my arm brushed against the wet spot on my pillow (I admit, sometimes the whole pillow is a giant wet spot. That’s when it’s time to flip it over.). Somehow, the saliva rub woke me up almost instantly, and it was act-like-you-weren’t-sleeping talkfest time. You know that feeling, when your tongue moves two steps faster than your brain…. But I Digress Heinously.
Kohei was coming down to Kobe from Nagoya with New Companion in Tow. Still dazed, I said let’s meet up, so Nam and I got in the car after a 30 min. cosmetic application sesh… Actually I played CS while brushing my teeth (although I had applied to Asahi-net for the switch from A to B Flets the night before, I didn’t try Hikari out until Sunday night because It Takes Time for the change to be noted – and I was too lazy to take the end of the Cat 5 cable from the ADSL modem to the ONU and try it out right then.) and was on a roll with 15 kills and no deaths but got distracted because the toothpasty foam in my mouth started getting too minty; it felt like the Doublemint twins were grinding stiletto heels into my tongue…. Sorry, digression problems.
In short, we met up in Kobe. I proposed Harborland as a meeting place, as the flowerbusheep at Canal Gardens are my favorite Kobe meeting point (will explain flowerbusheep later – Maybe). It’s really funny when people get up close to look at the flowers on the face and it suddenly starts baaaaing (Willow, you iiidiiiiiot!). That’s exactly what Pat, Ko’s new girl, did. Heh heh. We walked around looking for signs of the Kobe Matsuri which was supposed to run on Friday through Sunday, but found that the middle day was the odd one out and there were no signs of festivities either at Harborland or Motomachi (There were live parade broadcasts on TV the next day, though – it looks more like the Rose Parade Without Floats and Just a Marching Samba Team than a matsuri, though). So we walked around and shopped. Ko went aggro and got the look I’ve seen in my dad’s eyes before when he wants to buy a specific thing for my mom that she doesn’t really want to buy (at the time, at least – no woman can suppress the urge to buy – anything – for very long) but will concede to buying just to get the crazed “buying fever” out of his brains. Well, that day Kohei was for some reason convinced that Pat needed walking shoes. I know this sounds innocent, but it breaks one of the basic tenets by which all men should lead their lives and that is, Never Choose Shoes for Women. Yes, he chose to walk the dangerous route and basically steamrolled her to buy a pair of shoes, which I must say, were pretty darned Fugly (explanation necessary?). In fact they were Beeg, but that’s another story and I’m starting to scare you with my new language (New Sandovenese subvariant). Digressing you say? Me?
We had a nice day. Tonkatsu moundage for dinner after finding that all restaurants on the second and third floor were overflowing with people and/or yakiniku smoke. On the way home, Nam and I decided to go on an impromptu trip and I went straight instead of turning left for the 4Km suspension bridge (2600 yen toll one way!) for the island. We went to Himeiji. I had left Baby (Vaio U3 and Air ‘H PHS card) at home since I’d not charged her (bought another car cig lighter inverter at Autobacs on lunch break today to avoid this problem in future), and because of this, discovered the secret Himeiji night culture.
It seems that people in Himeiji do not sleep. This became evident after finding video rental stores, clothing shops, liquor stores (that sold imported cigarettes – Marlboro Mediums! – by the carton, something I’ve never seen here), and a big-name electronics store open at midnight, with signs indicating they were open until “26:00” (the electronics store was only open util 25:00). Weird. But Cool. After the semi-long but pleasant drive, I was on cruise control. I browsed through used rental videos and CDs that were for sale, and spent a few thousand yennage. Cool. Someone please tell me why the hell I felt compelled to purchase “Number one with a Bullet” for 300 yen. Got a soft spot for Lando Dee Williams, I guess (props to Lileks for that one).
I had intended to fold down all the seats in the van to make a bed (cool loaner car, Kataoka san!). The van model by the way, is a Bongo Friendee (Mazda). I have an uncle of Chinese descent who we call Uncle Bongie, so this car is of special interest to me, but perhaps not to you, but this is my blog, so I can rant incessantly and all you can do is close your browser window, LOSER! (sorry! -Ed). Anyway, I wanted to sleep in the car and in fact had – by myself – the day after I took my Silvia in for shaken after getting loaded at Bill’s. However, I soon remembered that girls like sheets and blankets and stuff, so we stayed at a hotel after driving by the local Kenkoland (got directions at the video store; “turn right at the JA building intersection” – but went a totally different route and found both the JA building and Kenkoland by accident) and pronouncing it even less desirable than roughing it in the van. Oh, I forgot. We had ramen somewhere along the way, and found out Himeiji has kick ass ramen at 2 in the morning. Nam got a regular sized chashu-men and it had more pork than any chashu-men I have ever seen, I mean like 20 slices (albeit the thin stuff, not fatbelly). We ordered it with the tonkotsu (there was also shoyu and miso or something like that) stock, ichiban koi (of four levels of richness for the soup, nam ordered Thick and I ordered Mud). But heavenly mud this was. It was the best ramen I had since we were down in Kyushu visiting Japan Noobie Adam. I might add that I ordered extra garlic and it was chunky, funky, and there was a good heaping tablespoon of it in a mound on my noodles. Ambrosia.
We came home yesterday after going to Himeiji Castle. On the way home, we saw a large warehouse type building that looked possibly like a Costco, so I took the exit (Kakogawa). It was pachinko. Pretty damn big, too. The parking lot was so huge, there were guys on motorized carts that would ferry you from your car to the entrance of Gaia Pachinko Heaven or whatever the hell it was. I will make the next part quick and to the point: I lost a lot, and Nam won wnough to buy one or two tickets back to Thailand, depending on the season. On the way home, she bought me dinner (Awaji Beef). Good Weekend it was.

Oh neighbor, forgive me…

Oh, I took off from work early on Friday because I couldn’t stand the excitement. Rushed home and saw a telephone line crane-truck parked next to my parking lot (on a street close to my house). Got a sick feeling in my stomach because I somehow knew this was used to bring the princess Hikari to my home, and remembered asking for my landlord’s permission a month ago, before going to Thailand. I passed on the explanation I got from the NTT rep, that FTTH installation is not a big deal, and existing holes in the walls are used so that there is a minimum of impact. Well, it was not exactly a lie, as the fiber optic cable enters the house via a hole made for the air conditioning unit hose (fixed in place with white silly putty-like stuff), but the sun glinted off the newly attached mounting plate screwed to the outside wall (used to protect the fiber optic line) as I realized there must have been a five man work crew stringing lines from the power poles, drilling holes in my wall, and annoying the neighbor’s neurotic pomeranian (redundant, I know – i had a Pom). I am so glad my landlord wasn’t there, I’ll have to paint the cables and mounting plate outside to match the house.

happyhappyjoyjoy

First of all, the Hikari works. It rocks. Last night I heard the lonely scream of a 56k on some lame hackeresque TV movie, and it made me cringe. I watched the green LINK lamp on the ONU (FTTH “modem”) flicker as I downloaded files off some puny T1 server in Sweden, and was reminded about the Salaryman post I wrote a few years ago about hacking into the company LAN. About bandwidth: Out of the box, I have measured 23 Mbps in both directions. Average speed for this type of Hikari (B Flets Family 100 plan) is around 17, so I have a decent connection to begin with, which makes me happy. What makes me unhappy is that I have to find all the registry hacks I made to accomodate ADSL on all four of my windoze boxes in order to optimize for FTTH. For 8M ADSL, I managed to bring average speed up double where I started at and at the end, the speed measurement site I was using throughout started claiming I was breaking theoretical speeds, spiking up to 8.1M. Average speed was around 4.5M for DL/750K for UL.

Just Chill, foo!

Twenty-seven full minutes have passed since my last mail update from Nam. What is that girl thinking? I give her the benefit of the doubt and check for new mail actively instead of letting the system update my phone – it’s faster that way and the auto update is spotty in these concrete buidings sometimes. Goddamn it, why do factories have to be so utilitarian? I’d trade the third story metal doors (for moving big equipment directly in by crane) for wide-open (packet-friendly) gaping holes any day.
Thirty-one minutes now. I could really piss her off by calling for an update again, but before I get home she will be there all alone with the Precious so I’d better be a nice little hobittses until I can wring her filthy lying little neckses, Smeagol. (Raving sicko alert!) ………… Can’t wait… Must call… Must have Preeeeeeeeciouuuuuus…
(Doctor’s note: No more cookies for this patient until further notice.)
OK. Must Call. Must Find Out. Stay Tuned.

FTTH Bandwidth

Nam (the, no The GF) sent e-mail to my batphone (did I mention it can output a map of my surroundings using GPS?) saying they are installing the fiber optic cable RIGHT NOW. How many hours till I’m free? If all goes well, the thingamabob they set in my home will report dutifully back to spook central at NTT, confirming ALL SYSTEMS GO, OKIE-DOKIE, WE-ARE-INVINCIBLE@100MBPS-IN-YOUR-FACENESS. Then I can cancel my measly 8Mbps ADSL tonight and tell my provider, Asahi-net to give me a B-Flets (NTT-provided FTTH) account and cancel the A-Flets (ADSL) one. Shame, shame. For one night, I will have a cumulative theoretical bandwidth of:
B-Flets FTTH: 100 Mbps
A-Flets ADSL: 8 Mbps
Air ‘H Card: 128 Kbps
POTS (Pudgy ‘Ol Telephone System) Dial-Up: 56 Kbps
au cellphone dial-up (non-enhanced): 14.4 Kbps (actually times 2 if you count Nam’s, but no, this is mine, ALL MINE!)
Total: 108 dullards and 20.24 centsicles
I’M ON TOP OF THE WORLD!
UNIMAGINABLE BANDWIDTH! RAW POWER! TWISTED-PAIR KILLER! I WILL YOU MY EXCESS LATENCY, YOU UNDERPRIVILEGED SNAIL-TURTLE-SLOWTHINGS!
MUWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
[Sometime later]
Sorry, I kind of lost it up there. Everybody was staring at me as I wrote “MUWAHAHA…” cause I was glaring at the screen and typing in an exaggerated hunt & peck, where my fingers were death rays and the keys were snail-turtle-slowthings. As if they know what it’s like getting wired with Hikari. Uninspired corporate slothmongers. Have fun dialing up to check mail tonight, australopitheces! (austalopithecuses?)
Did I tell you this tech fetish is temporary and I will soon forsake all things digital?
Until then,
THE BANDWIDTH LORD HATH SPOKEN

DeQuervain’s tenosynovitis

During our trip, I realized that I’m possibly suffering from an RSI. DeQuervain’s tenosynovitis. My wrist has been painful for a couple months now, but it all culminated in Phuket when I threw a beach ball to a little Aussie girl while swimming in the pool. The motion of that overhand throw (two handed) hit a sweet spot, and I ducked underwater to scream as loud as I could. Cool! The most painfully painful pain I have experienced in a while. Purifying, in a pure-grittish way. I went back to the room and laid on the bed for awhile. We went to see the local clinic the next day, where the doctor told me I was suffering from tendinitis. I accepted this at face value and let the nurse (who was kind of cute but not pretty or lovely or understanding like my girlfriend, I might add) wrap my wrist. Later, Nam’s sister, Nok (who is the most selfless person I know), convinced me to see a famous doctor in Bangkok, and I did so in order to get a second opinion. Good thing, too, because this doctor knew his stuff a lot better than the Phuket guy, who was probably more used to injecting penicillin into Fat German Ass or urine testing Recently-Impregnated Japanese Princesses than diagnosing specific types of RSI.
But this Bangkok doctor was great. He runs a private clinic located in the heart of the city. It opens every night after he finishes his rounds at a big local hospital. When I first walked into the place (comprised entirely of a large fluorescent-lit waiting room with a small adjoining treatment room), I immediately was reassured because the nurses/receptionists were Old Women, Greatly Experienced Yet Non-Bitter types. As I waited, I noticed that some of the patients in the waiting room were bearing gifts – flowers, food, etc. – and placing them on the reception desk after being treated. In retrospect, I’m absolutely sure that these people had no money and that the gifts were actually barter (Is that the correct word? I’m using it to express “goods for services”). This reminds me of stories about my dad, who accepted goods (one specific example was jars of Tupelo honey) when patients did not have money to pay for treatment (props to pops for that), and also my pal Taro’s dad who accepted produce from families that sent their kids to his juku (cram school). Thinking about this kind of stuff makes me happy. Buddha would be moved (In fact, he is).
He did more specific testing involving twisting, tapping, and squeezing my hand, wrist, and arm to isolate the specific area of Pain. I now know this area is called the tenosynovium which is the slippery covering of a common tunnel for two tendons – the abductor policis longus (APL) and extensor policis longus (EPL). I assume my l337 mousing caused the irritation to I read that the reason this is important is to distinguish it from another type of tendinitis where the intersection of the tendons is irritated (and hence requires another treatment). Doc approved of the meds the Phuket doc had prescribed (a pain reliever and a “muscle relaxant” – at first I thought it might make me crap my pants or enable Gumby-like contortions), and said that if the pain persisted, cortisone shots to the wrist would be next. All I can think about is how much a wrist injection would hurt. Pretty bad, I imagine. Also, the last step, which is apparently a final solution of sorts, is surgery to widen the tunnel surrounded by the inflamed tenosynovium.
All this Latin reminds me of a documentary I saw in high school history class. The narration ended with the words, “we can woe the plight of doomed Australopithecus,” delivered in Britspeak (Lorries, brollies, biscuits, etcetera, etcetera, and so forth. Is the word “soldado” used throughout the former British Empire [colonies reconizeable by Commonwealth Game attendance] or only in OZ?).
Surgery, huh? Gotta ask dad about this one.