negativespace.net

Abstracted Daffodil #2, originally uploaded by ubermichael.

I love tumbling through Tumblr.com looking at all the crazy stuff people post (and the smut -- I'll admit it) but I don't like their navigation.

I'm a keyboard user: hate the mouse, despise the track pad. So I wrote a handy GreaseMonkey script to add accesskeys to the next and previous page links at the bottom. I like it.

Tumblr add access keys but you will need to install GreaseMonkey for Firefox first. It's easy, the site will walk you through it.

The entire script is much simpler (simplr?) than I thought. I think I spent more time looking up all the javascript stuff I've forgotten over the years than actually writing it. Ah well.

// ==UserScript==
// @name           Tumblr add access keys
// @namespace      http://negativespace.net/msj
// @description    Add access keys to the Tumblr "Next page" and "Previous page" links.
// @include        http://www.tumblr.com/dashboard
// ==/UserScript==


// TODO: make this stuff configurable.
var nextID = "next_page_link";
var nextKey = "m"; // m is closer to the ctrl key on a querty keyboard.

var prevID = "previous_page_link";
var prevKey = "n"; // n won't be used as much, it can be further away from ctrl.

// ------------------------------------- 
// This is where the magic happens.
var nextLink = document.getElementById(nextID);
nextLink.accessKey = nextKey;
nextLink.innerHTML += " [" + nextKey + "]";

var prevLink = document.getElementById(prevID);
prevLink.accessKey = prevKey;
prevLink.innerHTML += " [" + prevKey + "]";

Theodore's roommate took to pranking him with the omni-ventriloquism trick he'd developed, which got old quite quickly. Imagine sitting in the kitchen, at the table, finishing a crossword puzzle that makes you feel woefully inadequate. Imagine having every object in the room abruptly start to mutter at you as if under their breath; the blue tea kettle your sister gave you for Christmas. The microwave. The block of cheese that your roommate still hasn't put in the fridge since he used it last night. Imagine all these pinprick voices referring to your indiscretions, your secret fears, the ugliness of your individual body parts. This was Theodore's life now, rubbing his temples while his shoes demeaned the smell of his toes and the crossword called him names. The pencil, well, the pencil made terribly unfunny Freudian references. This was all Lyle's doing with his ability to throw his voice about simultaneously. As a result, Theodore felt it best to execute him. There would be no time to practice the weird technique with Lyle nursing a major chest wound and a disgorged heart leaking rotten blood onto the bathroom floor. Unable to think of a suitably ironic means of death, Theodore bludgeoned him with a frying pan -- a frying pan that pleaded with him for its life as he brought it up and down -- while he screamed "I can't hear you." The whole thing was a bit embarrassing in retrospect, but Theodore could, afterward, walk into a room crowded with knick-knacks and antiques without being concerned they'd make reference to his hairline.

The robot is cute and little girls love it. They go heart-shaped over it, over him, thanks to a crack team of designers and engineers. He has plastic eyes that sparkled, almost teary, never mind that he's got the emotional range of your common sociopath. The button nose in particular tested well. Little girls demand their mummies and daddies purchase the robot for them, slotting cards into vending machines and waiting for the coiled metal arms to discharge one of the robots from within the vacuum-sealed womb.

"Hi," says the robot as he stands in front of a little girl on the plaza, her father hopping from foot to foot a comfortable meter away so that his little baby can meet her robot. He's jacked up on coffee and wishing his ex-wife would show up already to take the kid and her weird bastard machine off his hands. He has things to do. He's got a date tonight. Family time's great and he loves his little girl but he's allowed to have his own life, right? Right. "Hi," says the robot to the little girl and he leans forward, plastic joints clicking arthritically as he goes, to hug her. The little girl giggles, as one does when one is hugged manically by a robot that feels like plastic wrapped around gelatin, wobbling as it goes, with the click-click-click of a mouth opening and shutting. She hugs the robot back, arms around that detailed spine.

"Oh, daddy! I love him!"

"Great, honey." Her father checks his phone again, no calls and his ex-wife is a full half-hour late. She'll bitch about having to deal with the robot, which probably has exhaustive cleaning procedures attached to it -- the booklet remains sealed in an envelope on the back of the robot's head -- but she's going to have to deal with it, because it was the only way to keep Pumpkin quiet while they wait.

"I love you too," says the robot and for the first time her father actually turns his head to look -- there's something about that tone of voice, perfectly pristine and modulated and good lord, it's still hugging her and...and... "I'm hungry," the robot says.

"Pumpkin!"

You have to understand, dozens of engineers have worked long hours to ensure the speed and dexterity of the robot, because coordinated movement that look natural is important for creating that meaningful bond between robot and child. Pumpkin's father has no hope of stopping it, even from this close, because Pumpkin doesn't fight. She's struck by the hug-euphoria and the drugs secreted through special fingertip pores. She's giggling still, and he lunges for them as the robot opens up as a mouth, hidden seam opening, as one whole mouth, and take her into himself -- itself! -- and begins to digest. It will be able to make another of itself in under five minutes, it will bud off quite easily, and they will have the father's credit cards within seven minutes.

The vending machine will be empty within fifteen minutes.

I'm having so many Life Experiences lately. God, I'm sick of it!

But seriously folks. Naw. It's been a nice week. Went to a farewell party for the junior high school I used to work at, on Tuesday. Held my liquor admirably and gave a pretty good speech in Japanese. Didn't spill anything. Ate ice cream with chop sticks. The new P.E. teacher and I hit on each other for about an hour, to the collective shock of all the other teachers. Went for smoke breaks with my old buddy the janitor. When I finally left and stepped into an elevator, who should be standing there but K, an old co-worker I last saw in January, drunk on a train, when I convinced him to join us for a mad night of clubbing and strife in Shibuya. "We meet again," he said. This Phillipino girl who was also in the elevator screamed, "Why are you fucks always speaking English? I'm fucking Phillipino, desho!" He asked if I wanted to go to a dance party but I didn't; we ran to the station together anyway, split up cuz I needed to go to the toilet, then randomly bumped into each other again on the platform. He turned melancholy and said, "You never looked me up on Facebook even though you promised to." I went home.

Went to the gaygaygay bar with a co-worker on Thursday night. I had a hideous problem with my foot that I won't go into here and couldn't dance; stood at the sidelines with hooded eyes, chainsmoking and drinking beers and looking like what Danorama would have described as "a tired old queen." Some boys came up and showed my co-worker and I various pictures of hot men, asking us to select the hottest; we did and it turned out the pictures were of themselves and then they asked to sleep with us. We drifted away.

Friday night I met up with Mr. Vice for some sexy adventures. Orgasms and political documentaries and then as usual I couldn't sleep; stared at the fish transcedent in their aquarium at the head of the bed and thought, Who am I who am I who am I? Didn't figure it out but it was okay. Sex in the morning, he made me breakfast, sunlight and that hazy May feeling where the cicadas haven't quite been born yet but you feel they're about to be and it puts a smile on your face, there's a vibration in the air that lets you know they're coming. Limped all the way back to Baba on my fucked-up foot for a joyous reuinion with Sage -- FINALLY she's back from Australia! Caught each other up. For hours. Went to a bbq at Prince Harry's, where I smoked intense cigarettes with intense people and ate fish and salad and sipped Corronoas dreamy-eyed and not altogether there; locked in my own head, an internal choreography.

Tired, tired, tired: why do I go for salad and wine after work? Wine makes me tired.

Today I woke up at 3:30 a.m. Unable to sleep. Smoked cigarettes. Checked my email. Read Murakami Haruki for a while. Stared out my bedroom window at the abandoned building, at the sky beyond, black then grey then blue. Reflected on men I have lost, men I have never found. Made coffee. Didn't put Kahlua in it because it's Monday, a work-day. Had a shower. Listened to a remix of the Killers' "Mr. Brightside," emailed to me by Prince Harry after he heard it for the first time at a gay bar in the wee hours of Sunday morning, struck speechless as he watched two men he had recently, separately, slept with meet for the first time and become enamored with each other. Read the news. Chopped onions and broccoli, sauteed them, added two eggs and cheese. Watched an NHK morning news program, dead-eyed announcers, beautiful shots of Tokyo coming to life on a Monday morning. Brushed my teeth. Got dressed. "Jealousy / Turning saints into the sea." Walked to Takadanobaba station, my iPod playing Justice and Nirvana. Descended into the creepy depths of the subway, thousands of black-haired salarymen shuffling mutely along the concrete. One exception: a 6-foot tall Japanese punk with ragged jeans and dyed hair. He stood beside me on the train and every time it swerved he bumped into my shoulder; he had a hoarse, sexy cough and I wanted to hear it every weekend as we woke together naked and sex-drenched in his hovel of a Shimokitazawa apartment, reaching for pineapple juice and Communist newspapers. He disembarked at Iitebashi and I spend the remainder of my journey missing him and reading "The English Patient." I reached my station and walked through the turnstile and up the steps to the sunlight and the traffic and the cherry trees, blinking like a mole. I don't like the subway but will say this: few things in life can make you feel like a mole, and you learn to treasure them. Walked to work. Stopped en route to smoke a cigarette in a parking lot beside a Chinese restaurant with dusty red paper lanterns that I love and look at with pleasure every single day. Walked the rest of the way. Took the elevator up to my office and said good morning to everyone and poured myself a mug of coffee and sat at my computer. I've switched jobs; I'm a technical rewriter now and spend my days coaxing beauty from sentences describing aerogel synthesis or architectural business management theories. I don't even know what this shit MEANS, but I love this job. Reminded myself, as I do every day, not to become a yuppie. It would be easy enough, even expected, but I'm just not built that way: the clothes I wear are only a costume, and even if I wanted to I couldn't get certain things out of my head: couldn't forget oceans, or alienation, or old men selling me their haikus in Shibuya, or Moloch's familiar and uneasy presence just next to my heart, or drunken mistakes with men who kiss me beside rivers and then vanish from my life, or vice, or childish tantrums where I stomp off stages or or out of kitchens or out of bars to drink alone, convinced that nobody loves me. Couldn't trade that in to love money or status. So I worked all day, happy and absent-minded, then walked back to the subway, listening to John Lennon. Now I'm at a cheap restaurant eating cheap seaweed salad and drinking cheap red wine. As it should be. Frenchy's had a crisis and I'm meeting with him in a little while; Sage will be back from Australia soon; through the magic of Google Images Prince Harry now knows about both clitorises and felching; Butterfly is so pristine and so pretty, arm around my shoulder on drunk Shibuya Friday night; SuperHiro may move to Africa; Mr. Vice broods in Yokohama. All is right.

Joy,

You still have your chair and diaries at my parents' house. You have a job. Please find a way to ship it out.

Need I remind you again? Seriously. Why is it still there?

By the end of January, I will have made more dollars in the past two months than any two consecutive months in my life -- about a third of the annual salary of my previous job. Thrown into the mix is a two-week holiday. I am murdering my student loan.

Just got back to Tokyo from a five day trip to Kyoto (dollar beers 百円ビール and reggae bar), Nara-ken (jazz bar), and Osaka (okonomiyaki kushi katsu お好み焼き串かつ). Spent time with the little brother, his gf, and my gf. Too many beers and a day-trip to the spa.

Great view of Fuji on the way down with Sachi, great view of a few beers and baked goods on the way back. Sachi is now making some Japanese Oyster Stew (かきなべ） which will go down with a few good beers that my younger brother equipped me with.

I'm proud to be an American! What an amazing day this is! The way in which our country hands over power is truly something powerful. I watched President Obama, Michelle Obama, Vice President Biden and his wife Jill walked former President Bush and Laura Bush to the helicopter that would take them away. There they all stood standing waving goodbye. It had me in tears. This is why I love my country. This is a great place and now is the time to make it even greater.

The benediction given by Joseph Lowery was brilliant. Here are his closing words!

"Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get back, when brown can stick around -- (laughter) -- when yellow will be mellow -- (laughter) -- when the red man can get ahead, man -- (laughter) -- and when white will embrace what is right."

When I was a kid I would put on my roller blades, take my boom box and blast music while I would skate and make up routines in the street in front of my parents house. I did this for years. The neighbors would often sit on there front patio and watch me while I did my thing. I made up routines to the music of Celine Dion, Live, Miss Saigon, All 4 One, Natalie Merchant...etc. Those were the days. I would be out there for hours. My mom's clients would walk up to the house and I would just be doing my thing. There were times I fell and had bloody knees but I kept going. It was like therapy for a young middle school gay kid. I loved it.

I remember watching Brian Boitano skate and he used a folding chair as a prop. So, of course I had to incorporate a folding chair into one of my performances. I made up a routine to Natalie Merchants song “Beloved Wife” using a folding chair. I think the neighbors like that one. :)

I’m writing about this because I just listened to that song and the memories came rushing back. I can still remember flinging the chair around and over my head while I would be turning on my roller blades. Those were the days. I’m telling ya. It was great fun.

There are so many things pregnant women aren't supposed to do or eat. Deli meats, fancy cheese, caffeine, strenuous exercise. I haven't bought into much of it. Other than not drinking alcohol, I'm not finding this pregnancy thing all that restrictive. Of course, what I do is probably seen by many as bad pregnant behaviour, and I'm putting my life and the life of the shrimp at risk and blah blah fucking blah. Imagine all that concern over eating a hot dog! Besides the natural restrictions food aversions force on me, I haven't cut anything out besides alcohol. I checked all my meds and supplements to figure out what was safe and what wasn't and I just ask my Dr. or pharmacist if I have any doubts.

I eat sushi, hot dogs, deli meat, blue cheese, soft cheese, runny eggs, rare meats.

I drink the same amount of coffee I always have (one cup a day).

I take hot (not smokin' hot, but hot) baths.

My doctor is totally cool with all of this.

I barely read anything about pregnancy and I exercise when I feel like it. I act like a normal person, albeit a normal person who tries to sneak in nap time on a regular basis. I even had half a Guinness with a meal last week. *SHOCKER*

I thought I would hate pregnancy, but I don't. At all. As my doctor says, pregnancy seems to agree with me. A huge relief considering I still have 6 months to go.

I'm revising a conference paper on Dracula that I delivered at ACCUTE two years ago. The paper isn't half bad, actually, and with some tweaking I think it will make a decent journal article. I'm making the tone a bit more formal, extending some of the critical junk -- for conferences you can do a lot of riffing off the top of your head, but that doesn't help a journal reader -- and trying to come up with a conclusion that actually wraps everything up without sounding too pithy and half-assed. I think I'll be done by tomorrow evening, if I keep at it. Right now my head hurts and I need a nap.

I have learnt a lesson, however, and it is as follows: when one is writing conference papers, one tends to think "I don't have to include a works cited, right? Who cares if these quotes are a little off in numbering? I can ad-lib this part, right?". The answer to all three of these questions is nonono (repeated for emphasis). It's so much more of a pain for one to try to find one's quotation two years after one has completed a paper. One really wishes one could go back in time and kick two-years-younger one in the pants.

I could see the light from car headlamps reflecting colours onto the street but I couldn't figure out where the colours were coming from. When I looked up from the sms ad my mobile phone was broadcasting they caught my eye: a boy of about five or six was standing in the middle of one of Delhi's busiest streets--Inner Ring Road--holding thirty-odd balloons on a stick.

What I've realized living as an expat is that what was once baffling and strange can become almost common place. Almost.

I'm used to boys and men standing at the car window in the middle of the day hawking the latest issue of The Economist or illegially printed copies of Midnight's Children. That is, when the drivers have decided to obey the traffic signals.

I've seen women selling giant plastic statues of Ganesha covered in a lifetime's supply of glitter, or bowls full of jelly balls that expand in water (the purpose of which is as yet undetermined). My mother even bought sixteen boxes of facial tissue from a boy in the street one afternoon, most of which we still have months later.

But I wasn't ready for this. It's a phrase I've used so many times in Delhi.

He was barely tall enough to see into the sedan window, but there he was, a few cars ahead, peering through the glass with his stick full of colourful balloons.

It was dark.

The street was filled with post-work Delhi traffic (a nightmare by anyone's standards).

And, as far as I could tell, he was alone.

It's not like this lone boy in the street is an unusual sight, either. My heart has made several mad dashes to my throat as I've watched tiny children play in the street, not yet old enough to understand the consequences of being hit by one of those wheeled boxes they've likely never ridden in.

It was something about the balloons. When he finally gave up on that driver in front of us and turned around, all I could see was his silhouette, backlit by the headlamps on the other side of the intersection and holding what are supposed to be symbols of fun and excitement and innocence. But he wasn't at a birthday party or in line to ride an elephant at the circus. He didn't have cotton candy in the other hand. He was out there hawking balloons to passing drivers, hoping for a few rupees that he would likely take back to the pimp/family member who had sent him into the street in the first place.

The light turned green and traffic began to move around the tiny salesman. He ducked through a gap in the cars and perched on the raised median that held the traffic light. I didn't get a good look at his face as we passed, turning right under the flyover and onto the street that would eventually take us home.

As we rounded the corner it became clear to me that he wasn't alone. There, on the median that had been blocked from view by the concrete pillars of the flyover, another fifty people sat, stood, and laid around, many of them carrying similar or larger bunches of balloons.

Sometimes this city is tragic. Sometimes its strength is inspiring. And sometimes it's just downright bizarre. Had I not been in Delhi, the sight of hundreds of balloons being lit by the glare of headlamps and poorly powered incandescent street lights would have convinced me that I had left home for the Twilight Zone.

But no, this is just Delhi, where sometimes, even when you think you've seen it all, you're presented with proof that you really, really haven't.

how tenuous,
these tethers wrapped around our wrists and ankles,
and yet how unforgiving--
the strands that have bound us loosely
have kept us from entirely floating away,
but we have chosen to body them, name them
books and borders.

The only time in my life that I had come close to being bohemian was the last summer of my visual art degree. And while my middle-class humanist parents-funded education certainly disqualified me from all the true artists around me, the ones whose art had become a mean of rebellion against the suffering of the poor, I nevertheless spent the days of that summer trapped in a tiny studio on the top floor of a thirties modernist building among unfinished canvasses and my nights in the concrete courtyard of the art department drinking wine and smoking and arguing for the liberation of the line from the regiment of centuries of Western realism.

Continue reading "From the Scrap Book" »

I recently attended a half-day session of motivational speakers in Vancouver (I walked out, blinking into the sunlight, overwhelmed by the desire to run an ultra-marathon, conduct a scintillating study and write a book for my thesis, organize my desk, and create my own company, simultaneously) during which a very interesting psychologist spoke about the chemical reaction to stress in one's brain. Ordinarily, he explained, we have anywhere from 5 - 9 synapses firing away in our heads per second, keeping us in tune with the plethora of happenings occurring around us. However, in times of great stress (anger, frustration, sadness, shock) that number reduces to no more than three per second. This, of course, accounts for why we as individuals say dastardly things to one another when we're angry: we quite literally don't have the mental capacity to weigh the consequences, as our 2 - 6 other synapses have completely fucked off.

I'm convinced that this is why I should NEVER write and post something when I'm upset. There's so much emotion flowing that I assume I'm writing beautiful, elegant prose, and articulating what has never quite been articulated before. In actual fact, I'm usually spouting cliche at an alarming rate. Unfortunately, my mental defenses against crap are weakened and I can't tell the difference.

In short, this accounts for a rather weak start to the resurrection of my personal blog, in the form of some weepy Breakfast Dishes. I've decided to keep the post up (we must always remember our humble origins), but I have plans for this space that don't involve whiney personal lamentations.

Really, I do...

I stand at the sink, where women go to mourn. As he leaves the kitchen I scrub the cutting board furiously, but as he clears the door I stop, and the tears, the fat tears, they roll off the edges of my cheeks. They roll off the tip of my nose and fall to my hands, now clasped above the soapy water. This is where women have said their prayers, dishes stacked around them like a shroud, their pew the steadying comfort of counter against belly. From here, buried in the pretense of women’s work, I escape bewildered eyes, and do not have to acknowledge what they confirm: I am alone. He and I share passion, we share a warm and pumping, vital heart, but we will never truly share our thoughts. My mind is mine, alone. The front door opens, slams behind my angry and sheepish lover, and I shake with sobs. Each dripping dish a lamentation for what we’ve lost.

I somehow have found tranquility from boredom. Those long hours spent sitting around waiting to go home...
At least now I have my occupational (let's face it, if I try to explain anything about my work; people's heads will explode) and Japanese studies to keep me occupied whilst waiting for the sun to rise over Holland....

As the year began, I bed farewell to my Junior High School and Elementary schools. My work proved to be MUCH simpler after my school line-up changed (and switched to Elementary education only).

I'll never forget the farewell ceremonies for both schools.

At the junior high school, so many people were leaving and everyone was giving their usual 15-20 minute speech (at least this time, it meant something as opposed to 40 drunken teachers rambling on after a sports day). I thought, "You know what? I have to sit through your boring crap not understanding anything, so now you gotta through my crap....in English!" Ok, not much of a revenge. But, considering how much I was ignored at this school, it was time for people to shut up and listen. Ever still, no one cared. It was a pity, because I'd finally come to terms with the idea of the Japanese hard-working ethics and lifestyle.

The elementary school's farewell ceremony was completely different - everyone was so kind and encouraging during my attempt at a Japanese speech. I could barely move as every kid was diving to high five me as I left through the hall. I got flowers from both schools, but these flowers actually meant something to me.

Bonus: I left at between 2:30 and 3:30 - a big improvement over sitting around until 5:00.
The furthest school of the 3 schools was less than 30 minutes away.
I must point that the first month or two were EASY AS PIE. No lessons had been scheduled as of yet, so I was simply scheduled to join in their other lessons and interact with the
Since name-dropping is a no-no, let's just number them:

1. This school was MASSIVE. It gave me a sense of calm in all of the chaos that goes hand-in-hand with the lack of space in this country.
One thing I learned from this school is that you are usually the last to learn of the plans that others have in store for you. Things kicked off pretty well. I knew where I stood - the teachers either took charge of the lesson and worked with me or literally let me do everything. Seriously, one of the teachers did absolutely nothing - she literally sat in the back of the classroom and let me teach them. I still wonder to myself: was it nerves? was it apathy? should I care?

Then, BAM! It all changed....12 "assistants" - Count them! Every lesson, I was escorted into class by 2 randomly scheduled Japanese mothers/grandmothers who joined myself and the class teacher in educating 30-40 kids in bad English. If you just said overkill, my clairvoyance already picked up on it.
It was crap to begin with, since I stopped running any lessons at all and was simply one of three human tape-recorders. I had to assert myself and gain some control back. After all, who wouldn't be frustrated when they aren't even being included in the meetings prior to said lessons?
Everything smoothed out after a while and everyone seemed to find their place.
It was funny watching the teachers running around like headless chickens trying to plan and organize demonstration lessons....all this fuss over "learning another language made fun".
One of the teachers was fantastic though. He always asked for my input on lessons and it was great collaborating on activities together. I knew he really used my ideas, because he would spend a couple of hours constructing my elaborate ideas into really great games.

2. This school I spent a total of 2 weeks at. I would have spent more time had I not left halfway through the year (this is due to them not starting English until the second semester).

The one great thing that I did do there was plant rice! They have a rice field next to the school that they use to supplement school lunches. We spent the first day bunching the seedlings together in the pouring rain. The second day was actually spent planting.
They asked me to bring long socks to use specifically for the planting - I couldn't be bothered wasting such a purchase on a one-off occasion.
It was quite interesting - At the beginning, the field is full of muddy water and everyone lines up in two parallel lines behind pieces of string to ensure an even planting process. You are pretty standing in mud halfway or up to your knees (depending on one's height).
I loved it how the teachers explained that if you are going to fall, then fall. Don't grab anyone else otherwise you might cause a chain-reaction!

My supervising teacher was hilarious - she knew more Spanish than English, so would launch into explanatory conversations involving a three-language mash-up.

It was also fun going to an expensive dinner for the welcome party followed by karaoke. These teachers definitely know how to have fun! I think that was my best Japanese speech to date.

3. I had some actual friends at this school - as opposed to colleagues. (I guess there's a first time for everything!)

Pros
- Everyone let me run the lesson.
- Once they realized my job isn't to make the lesson plan (it was theirs and it came from a book anyway), my input became more meaningful and it was easier to base the games upon something.

Cons
- These teachers love to whinge.
- They were under the delusion that I was being paid more than them and working less hours.

Facts
- Japanese teachers probably don't get paid much.
- Japanese teachers do A LOT of overtime without pay.
- I don't care, it's not my problem and I can't fix it.

Well, I covered mostly negatives here, I'm sure there'll be more postitive in the next part...

It's strange....it's been months since I've written here...
I just felt like I needed to release.
So much has happened in the many months gone, you never know where to start. I think I'll start from the end and work my way back...or start jumping around...whatever, you understand me, don't you?

So, it's been just over 3 weeks with the new job. Working with a Dutch Printing-related company as a Service Engineer / "IT Specialist". It depends on where you look, actually. The first one can be found on the company website, whereas the second is found on my business card.
YES! I have a business card! Since I never endeavoured to make my own "small business"-type card, this qualifies as the first one. (btw Very Small Business, great little Australian comedy!)
You gotta love the perks that go with being in a REAL job. Company laptop, cell phone, camera and a variety of accessories that are apparently still coming my way providing I can get off my ass to purchase them and then provide my assistant with the bill.
Again, YES! I have an assistant! Admittedly, she's not my personal assistant, but that's the closest I'm gonna get for a while... It takes a while to get used to someone offering you drinks and doing the majority of menial tasks for you. Although it's still quite refreshing to have one with a sense of humour - I've been trying to count - I reckon I need to say at least 3 English words (when speaking in the Japanese-English mixture I've become accustomed to whilst my Japanese lessons sit on hiatus) before she looks for a reason to say "You are stupid" with a cheeky grin. To which I reply in Japanese "Get lost" and then am told that phrase is not in her vocabulary - It's a love-hate relationship as you can tell...
Working in the middle of Tokyo - the only foreigners I ever see here are wearing business suits and discussing the "next big venture".

Anyway, so I venture back to the topic at hand. Last week was quite the experience, to say the least.
Trip to Holland. (just got back on Sunday evening)
I'd have to say that this is not the recollection I expected to write, but I guess the word intensive really does live up to it's word sometimes. When your training schedule includes "having dinner with at (how's my new-found love for italics working out for me?) almost everyday, you wonder "when do I get time to smell the roses...ahem...tulips?"

Holland is flat. REAL flat. With lots of things that spin round in the wind (which apparently is more wind generators than windmills these days). It's below sea level, so I'm told they have to pump water back into the sea, which is why they had windmills before.

I guess Dutch is similar to German? It sounds like it to me. In the minuscule week that I spent there, I managed to pick up some language from trying to read signs etc. (And was welcomed back to the world of :- I've got no fucking idea what these people are saying...) It's MUCH easier than trying to study an Asian language. I tell you what.
Everyone speaks English - people will try to tell you that about Japan, but they're just lying to themselves. It all depends on whether you have to someone to lean on, I guess.
Rob's GF Hannah: "I just let Rob talk to them and he does everything." - This does fit in rather well with the manly persona that Rob always tries to convey. But, I'm going off track again...

So, an intensive week of training with a Dutchman, an American and a Spaniard. What a rugged bunch of nerds. It was rather fascinating studying in a group of professionals discussing extremely technical lingo. I never thought I would use the words "circumferential" or "retardation" in the same conversation.
So that settles it - no talking about the specifics of my job - No one would understand.

I crossed two animals of my list of "Things to eat" - Pigeon and Deer. The deer was as expected, the pigeon was surprisingly delicious.

OMFG I always heard about how breasts aren't a dirty word in these countries. Fuck, they weren't kidding. I remember sitting there with my American colleague watching television in the wee twilight hours and I swear we must have flicked through about 5 channels of women fondling themselves and enticing us to "call them now" in their ermm...exotic language (It's hard to call the language elegant when they pronounce their G's as a phlegm-y-H sound)

So, I had about two half days to spend in Amsterdam. I never actually realised how sleazy this place is - LOL. I think they really bring new meaning to the term "red light district" - I can't remember seeing so many filthy words in one place at one time.
So, they have cafes and they have coffee shops. Coffee shops are where coffee is bought as an after-thought - to quote one of the fine gentlemen that I talked to in such an esteemed establishment :- "She can help you with the coffee and I can help you with the weed". Their loaner bongs are sealed shut - Hell, even the cone-piece is stuck to the chamber.
Needless to say - Anything goes in this country.

Amsterdam wasn't exactly the fun-filled cavalcade I expected it to be. There was a lot of old buildings and museums.
The highlight for me was definitely Madame Tussauds - an incredibly realistic wax museum.
I can recall seeing a guy taking a photo and waiting patiently for him to finish. After about ten seconds, I decided to duck under his camera and let him go about his business. Until I turned around and realised it was another wax figure!
The Pirates of the Caribbean section was great! Scared the living shit out of me - the cherry on the cake was the random pirates half-taunting, half-flirting with attractive women...hey, I guess you gotta amuse yourself somehow in such a job.

I went on my first Duty-free shopping spree as well. I bought lots of food for people basically - cheese and orange-peel chocolate.
Although Hiromi was rather impressed with the 18 ct. white gold and pearl bracelet I bought her. I still feel like I'm throwing money at her, but when I saw the look on her face when she got it and the subsequent showing off to everyone in sight gave me a warm fuzzy feeling. In previous months, such a hit to my wallet would leave me eye-boggled and feeling financially-raped. But, let's just say everything is gonna be alright from now on! ;-)

Well, that's all I could muster this morning. I'll be sure to bring this blog up to speed with more stories. No regrets about not keeping up the posting since the first 6 months were incredibly slow - so the interesting stories were far and few between...but I guess that makes them much more memorable, right?

I'm off to see a neurologist about some "ice-pick headaches" tomorrow. Hope it's not anything serious - but there's always that lingering fear when you go to see a specialist.

After a short stopover in rainy BC, it was not hard to leave our BC blues and make our way down to the sunny city of San Francisco. Led by our city savvy friend Hugh, we toured the many hills and busy streets of the refined yet culturally rich city. From Alcatraz to the Golden Gate, the Stinking Rose and famous Joe’s Crab Shack, our brains and bellies were in a state of euphoric bliss when we left to the next destination on our Bucket List.

Hanging on Fishermans Wharf

View of the Golden Gate Bridge

The city of Beijing was as hurried and cluttered as one could imagine, yet held affluence in culture and pride that neither Chris nor I would have predicted. With each similarly unending business day, the Chinese would dash through the busy streets determined to shortcut to their next destination. Every aspect of life in Beijing was fast-paced. From the Silk Market, where one sale seemed more like you were bartering in an underground auction, to a common noodle house where food was ingested as though it might disappear, there was little desire for locals slow down. Chris and I are still amused when we recall the hundreds of locals with their surgical masks riding half-hazard down the congested streets resembling a herd of lemmings. Needless to say, our relaxed demeanor and clear physical difference brought us a constant stream of attention.

Olympic Birds Nest

Although appearing as a busy and chaotic metropolis, many aspects of Beijing were awe-inspiring. Our visit to the Forbidden City humbled us with its enormity. With over 9,000 rooms, one was easily lost and overwhelmed. Enclosed by its grand moat and surrounding walls, the massive structures were detailed to perfection and painted with the most elaborate of colors. Similarly, the Summer Palace also captured our attention. With over 75% surrounded by water, it was no wonder that it served as such a tranquil setting for regal families over the hot summer months. Dozens of small shrines, gazebos, temples and serene buildings lay strewn throughout the hilly enclosure of the Palace. Its setting easily put even the most overwrought visitor into a state of relaxed euphoria.

Guarding the Forbidden City

Stoffe in the Forbidden City

Forbidden City Detailing

View from Summer Palace

Tiananmen Square

Further, no tour to China would be complete without a visit to the Great Wall. Although limited to how much we could explore because of lack of restoration, that which we could was nothing less than amazing. There, lain between mountainous peaks, was the structure that we had only read about in books. With each section of the wall at least 10ft high, it is no wonder that it is one of the Great Wonders of the World. Although all aspects resembled those from the history books, what my education failed to mention was the modern and INGENIOUS way to get down. I mean, what Great Wall wouldn’t be complete without a LUGE SLED to transport tourists back to reality. Hilarious!

The Great Wall

The LUGE!

So apart from the sights, the food was also certainly a highlight. With my Aunt Fiona (who currently lives in Beijing) as our guide, we sampled all the food that China had to offer. My favorite experience of course was when Fi’s chef, Chef Wong, came to visit and spoiled us with a traditional Chinese FEAST. It was the perfect sendoff to a perfect week and certainly energized us for the next leg of our journey.

mmm...pekking duck!

Thailand here we come!

"But when on shore, & wandering in the sublime forests, surrounded by views more gorgeous than even Claude ever imagined, I enjoy a delight which none but those who have experienced it can understand"
-Charles Darwin

Being in what Darwin himself has deemed the "origin" of the Origin of Species has been an experience that is nothing more than a dream come true. Our three week stint in the Galapagos has been absolutely everything I had believed it to be. The truly unique and distinct environment was in all areas as enchanting as those who have visited before have relayed. I can´t think of a similar environment so enriched and diversified and so intoxicatingly captivating.

We started out our island hopping on the Eastern Island of San Cristobal. With only 6,000 inhabitants it had seemed that we were truly at the end of the earth. The streets were eerily bare although an abundance of sea lions and marine iguanas littered the sidewalks and surrounding beaches. The combination of the hot equadorian sun, the emerald sea and seemingly prehistoric landscape gave you a feeling of being transported back in time. Although extraordinarily beautiful from our modern perspective, it is no wonder that the first explorers had deemed this barren land ¨the gateway to hell¨.

Marine Iguana on the beach

A tough life...

After a couple of days basking on the beaches and relaxing on our seaside patio, we left San Cristobal to head West to the much more tourist oriented island of Santa Cruz. For me, stepping foot on the island was a dream come true as the first place we visited was the Charles Darwin Research Center. There, surrounded by copious amounts of evolutionary evidence and information, I finally got to see what I had read about throughout all my years at Uni. We saw finches, tortoises, land iguanas and of course, the legendary Lonesome George, the last known living tortoise from the Island of Pinta. WOW! And the greatest treat for me was the rumour that George had infact helped in producing the first batch of Pinta\Wolfe eggs with one of the female Wolfe tortoises in his enclosure. It looks like Lonesome George may not be so lonesome anymore!! =) I know it may not be so relevant to many of you, but for me it was the perfect accompaniment to an already fabulous experience.

Not so lonesome George..

Although hard to top, we left Santa Cruz to embark on another extrodinary 8 day experience aboard the yacht Golondrina. On Golondrina we were able to visit those islands not accessible without a guide or private certified yacht. Although not cheap, the cruise was necessary as without it we would have not seen the unforgettable flora and fauna of each islands perfectly preserved individual ecosystem. We saw so many mindblowing things that I am sure my words won´t be able to do them justice but here goes.

Our fearless vessel.

Diving\snorkeling--right here is why we came to the Galapagos. With four major currents colliding, we saw the most diverse array of species I have ever seen under water. We saw hundreds of species of fish, sally-lightfoot crabs, eagle rays, sting rays, manta rays, white tip sharks, black tip sharks, galapagos sharks, hammerhead sharks, sealions, turtles, octopus, moray eels and an abundance of other marine life. Now I know what most of you are thinking, Rebecca...you are terrified of sharks...well yes I am, but the comfort of knowing that there are so many more appealing objects to snack on down there had put me slightly more at ease...slightly.

Ready to battle the seas..

Turtle Power!

A playful sealion

Landscape\in the air--The landscape is ever changing throughout the islands of the Galapagos. Some of the elder islands display lush and rich forest while other ´teenage´ islands are barren for miles with only an abundance of volcanic debris. Likewise, those animals which inhabit the islands are equally as diverse since only those which can adapt to the environment can survive. We´ve seen so many species of birds that it´s hard to keep track of them all. We´ve seen blue-footed, red-footed and nazca boobies as well as dozens of species of Darwin´s finches, flamingos, mockingbirds, frigate birds, swallow-tailed gulls, red-beaked tropical birds, penguins (yes, I said penguins), owls, doves, gulls and of course, my favorite, the albatross. With a wingspan of nearly 7 feet it is truly a remarkable bird to observe.

Beach on Genovesa

Such is love...

Blue Footed Booby

Flamingo

Red Footed Booby

Cactus

Pelican

Land Animals--Other animals on the islands also show some truly unique characteristics. Although extremely abundant, both marine and land iguanas always seem to amaze us when we see them. In no way do they feel any sense of threat towards humans so they easily will approach you with little or no hesitation--remarkable! The tortoises´ have also been a highlight. Ranging in size from a few inches to two meters long, these graceful giants dominate the landscape with ease. Since they live up to 200 years, a sense of superior insight and profound wisdom is ever present when you gaze into their eyes. Seeing these animals in the wild is a remarkably humbling experience.

Land Iguana

Tortoise

Sally-Lightfooted Crab

And who said three´s a crowd =)

I´m sure, like I said before, my words don´t do justice to the amazing things we´ve seen. The cruise, which we´ve now left behind, allowed us to visit close to a dozen islands which we would have never seen or possibly even heard of. The diversity we observed has left us awestruck, dumbfounded and filled with modesty and respect for our surroundings that is worth more than we could have ever imagined.

And now, we sit on the last of our Galapagos islands called Isabela. The island which is the youngest we have seen so far has proven to be the most unique. We are surrounded by white sand beaches, palm trees, sunshine and beautiful sunsets. The island is also home to 2 active volcanoes and an abundance of trees and wildlife. Yesterday we spent the morning with flamingos in the lagoon, the afternoon with baby turtles at the breeding center and the evening with sleepy-eyed iguanas on the beach. This place is a paradise.

And now we are slowly about to embark on our journey home. We have a few days in Ecuador, Peru, Chile and Brazil before making our way back to Canada. I hope you all have enjoyed reading this blog as much as I have in writing it. Possibly it will encourage you all to come and experience for yourself this all that South America has to offer and perhaps offer me insight into those destinations that we still dream to visit.