Blanqui's Blog

Stop Trying to Kill Me, China, and Other Stories

2009-07-13T16:10:00.005-04:00

It Was Hot and There Were Many Cats, and Other Fascinating Observations on Istanbul

2009-06-15T10:33:00.035-04:00

Also, there was a lot of traffic.

My mother, brother and I flew to Istanbul on Saturday via Frankfurt.

This was breakfast. Can you guess where? The orange juice was a replacement orange juice after the first one was delivered in a structurally unsound vessel that disintegrated in my brother's Lenny-like grip. (Actually, all he did was pick it up and the bottom of the glass just fell off.)

This guy, who shall henceforth be known as the Cherlin Bayramı (Cherlin Festival), flew in on the same day from Paris and we all met up at the airport. We were put up at the lovely Residence at Bilgi University. It's a beautiful campus and they offered an excellent breakfast, but the Bosphorus stinks, y'all, for real. I'd still recommend it to anyone, but you need to have your own bus to take you into central Istanbul, otherwise what's the point?

These people are unknowingly participating in the Bayramı of Cherlin. Traditional Bayramı costume: too-short pants, expansive hair, semi-tucked shirt. Traditional Bayramı demeanor: sunny with a chance of math. Traditional Bayramı folk song: Thriller by Michael Jackson.

On Monday, the Bayramı went to the Bayramı, the monster stayed in his lair, and my mother and I walked down Istiklal Caddesi, a long pedestrian boulevard near Taksim Square with lots of shops and the requisite number of cats. One of the side streets sold fish and watches—Dalí Street, per the Bayramı.

Istiklal

There are packs of wild dogs all over Istanbul (although not nearly as many as there are cats). Periodically, they get rounded up, tagged and vaccinated, and then returned to their original spot.

Government-sanctioned wild dog. All Turkish dogs are blurry, or so says my camera.

Parental units. Untagged and unsanctioned. Cherlin Bayramı is at right, being festive.

This is Asia.

And this is Europe. Or that is Europe and this is Asia.

I was disappointed that you couldn't take the subway to Asia. My brother did set foot in Asia during a four-hour boat trip that lasted only 60 seconds for my mother and me. But that was later.

Tuesday morning, we were exiled from the Residence breakfast table (admittance was restored the following day after protests) and given some floppy pseudo-meats, imitation vegetables and plasticine bread. After breakfast, we deposited our trays in the designated rack. Back in the room, I realized I'd left my craptacular Time Out guide to Istanbul on the tray. Alas, when we returned my tray was still there, along with the alleged guidebook. Kudos to my subconscious for trying, though.

To Taksim we went to meet friends, one of whom was playing hooky from the Bayramı. We walked through the Grand Bazaar and then ate lunch across from the Süleymaniye Mosque at the Historic Seller of Beans restaurant. Or something. The Historic Seller of Beans (or something) makes a mean tavuk ve pilav (chicken with rice). They have a web site, complete with nifty sound effects of what the Internets really should sound like. Click on it. Neat, right? Highly, highly recommended (the restaurant, not the web site). The yogurt was heavenly. The bathroom attendant outside the mosque taught us to count to three in Kurdish (yek-du-se, same as in Farsi) before handing us some toilet paper and sending us in to enjoy the, for once, geographically correct Turkish toilets.

That night, we were invited to a party at Ali Baba's apartment, where, unsurprisingly, there was topless dancing:

The cake was supposed to say "Happy Birthday, Greg Cherlin, from your friends and colleagues," and instead it says this:

According to Ali, who cannot be trusted on any matter whatsoever, this doesn't mean anything in Turkish.

On Wednesday, we had breakfast back at the Residence, followed almost immediately by lunch at Tamirane, a delicious restaurant on the university campus (it has a Facebook page, naturally).

In the afternoon, we had the aforesaid boat trip, which my mother and I ditched. Instead we went to Çırağan Palace, where instruments of the brass family are frowned upon and falafels are $5 apiece.

Worth it.

At the Çırağan Palace, we briefly considered stealing toilet paper (they were really stingy with it at the Residence), but decided against it, because my mother had found a more convenient place to steal from (which I'm not going to reveal).

It's a beautiful day for cleaning one's gun.

Fearsome Istanbullu wild cat.

On Thursday, it was time for some serious sightseeing.

First we saw a cappuccino freddo at Taksim.

Then we saw some beers and highly interesting nuts.

Next, we visited some Ottoman watermelon.

The chiaroscuro of the lemonade's brushstroke was breathtaking.

Okay, so we did cross the Galata Bridge and wander around Sultanahmet. Near the bridge was the train station we arrived at when we took the train to Istanbul from France (via Venice, Belgrade, and the nightmare known as Thessaloniki) in 1989.

Sirkeci

We went to the Hagia Sofia. To but not in. It's been around for almost 1500 years; how much can it really have changed in the last 20?

By the way, never, ever eat ice cream in Turkey. It's a glutinous, possibly extraterrestrial* abomination. The Wikipedia entry for dondurma describes it as having a "resistance to melting." I mean really.

Thursday night we were invited to the home of some other Turkish friends for dinner. Before dinner my brother and I had a little bit of time to use the Internet. I used my time to send a couple of work-related emails. My brother used his few minutes to download and install Firefox on our host's laptop. My brother, ridding the world of the scourge of Internet Explorer one continent at a time (or actually, two continents at a time, though his activities in Asia were not disclosed).

On Friday, we wandered around Istiklal again, down to Pera, site of the Pera Palace (under renovation), where 20 years ago we attended the press conference for Ali Baba's baba's hunger strike.

Sign for the stage named after him at a theater by Taksim.

Urban sprawl

Iftah, ya Simsim!

*If goats are aliens.

Baji Asks and Receives

2009-06-05T06:09:00.005-04:00

Baji and TP are finally getting a vacation and coming to the city and Baji has requested recommendations even though I fully plan to have all meals and snacks with her during her stay. In no particular order:

Brunch – Supper (East Village)
If you're old and grumpy like me, your tolerance for supper at Supper (terrible service, annoying crowds, long waits, but wonderful, affordable food) died out circa 2004. (Mint butter pasta, I miss you!) Thankfully, brunch appeared there a few years later. Like the dinner menu, the brunch offerings are unique, delicious, and remarkably affordable. Bonus: no wait, no crowds, excellent service. Have the polenta and a side of bacon (those instructions are for me, not for Baji). $15 per person

Dinner – Frankie’s (Lower East Side)
One night a middle-aged female tourist came up to me on Avenue A and said she had just eaten at Supper:

"Strangest Italian food I've ever had. They didn't even have meatballs on the menu!"

We didn’t know each other; she just really needed to share. She did not find in me an understanding soul for her savagery. I felt truly sorry for her from the tips of my elitist NYC toes to the top of my supersnobby French head (or is it the other way around?). In any case, she would surely say the same about Frankie's, which has Italian food that is quite simple while being different from what you might expect if you were an uncouth chicken-parm eater slash mouth-breather (although it must be said that they do have meatballs on the menu). It’s a bit pricier than some of the other options here (except Nobu, duh). Main dishes are around $16, unlike Supper and Lil Frankie’s $11–$12. At Frankie’s, everything has been determined to be wonderful. Even should-be-boring steamed broccoli rabe evokes the same awe as the creme brulee (which is marvelous—and big!). $20–$30 per person

Another Dinner – Lil Frankie's, not actually related to Frankie's, but related to Supper (EV)
At Lil Frankie’s, one eats the rigatoni polpettini and one eats it a lot. $15 per person

Another Dinner II – Epistrophy (Little Italy/Soho-ish)
Just saying a restaurant is unpretentious is pretentious. But somehow, Epistrophe manages to cultivate a romantic, sort of scene-y aura that attracts pretentious Euro types while genuinely remaining unpretentious (although certain parental units have complained that it’s too loud). It’s damn good. And yet another example of “weird” (=normal) Italian food. No meatballs. $15 per person

Dim Sum – Mandarin Court (Chinatown)
Mandarin Court’s a little tricky: Some days lots of trays with many options come around frequently, and on other days, it’s just the same two trays over and over again. But either way, you will get a good meal (you just might not get baby bok choy when you want it). One thing to keep in mind when in Chinatown is that no one there (and probably no one Chinese, period) cares what you think, what you want, or when you want it. This is generally closer to charming than annoying because it's not an affectation. On the Lower East Side, the waitstaff with their "I'd rather be modeling" attitude work hard to deliver bad service; in Chinatown, it's effortless. They really don't give a shit. My point being: When the dessert tray at dim sum comes around at the top of your meal, grab your dessert(s) NOW. Don't expect the dessert tray to come around again when you're ready for it. And at Mandarin Court the service isn’t bad, just indifferent. Overeating will run you $10-$12 per person.

Burger – Royale (EV)
This one inexplicably never turns up on the best-of NYC burger lists. I don't get it. It is by far the best burger I've had in New York ($8, fries are extra but they’re kind of crap; onion rings aren’t much better). The service is great. Shake Shack (location: nowhere you need to be) is good too – their fries are amazing – but the lines are retarded and you should only eat there if you’re in the neighborhood around 5pm (or if you’re retarded).

Cupcakes – Sugar Sweet Sunshine (LES)
Repeat after me: Sugar Sweet Sunshine is the best. Magnolia is the worst. I don't even like cupcakes and yet I love the ones at Sugar Sweet. The trifle at Sugar Sweet is also insane. Seriously, NRA-card-carrying, shoot-people-from-the-bell-tower insane. Get it. But leave the shooting to the trifle (no worries, trifle has terrible hand-eye coordination and at worst will make you dance like Bugs Bunny when Yosemite Sam shot at him before being hauled back to the asylum, aka your belly).

Splurge – Nobu (the only reason to go to Tribeca, ever)
You must have: black cod with miso, rock shrimp tempura (times a million), ceviche, yellowtail sashimi, praline parfait for dessert, and then some sushi for good measure. If you’ve never been to Nobu, the waiters will tell you what to get and how much. Listen to them (the pricey specials can be avoided, though). It’s a splurge at about $100 a person, but for the best meal you’ll ever have, one you’ll think about for months to come, it’s unquestionably worth it. My only complaint about Nobu is their cheap-ass splintery disposable chopsticks. I have strong feelings about their subpar sticks and can work myself up into quite a state on this topic. But anyway, hot damn is it good. Don’t let anyone talk you out of getting two orders of the rock shrimp tempura (ahem, certain fathers of mine).

Snacking at a Dinner Place – Momofuku Noodle Bar (EV)
Marry Nobu, cheat with Momofuku. It’ll be awkward when your children are born with marked chicken-bun features, but worth it (especially if you didn’t get a prenup). $10 for two brilliant, valedictorian chicken buns

Japanese Takeout – Ogawa (location irrelevant)
The shrimp tempura roll awaits you and it does not bear hidden, insidious lettuce. Embrace the roll, love the roll, be the roll.

Comfort Food – Mama's (EV)
Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, the only meatloaf I am willing to eat, garlic-infused broccoli, etc. This place always strikes me as pricey when I’m paying, given that it's not really a restaurant, but you can easily make two meals from one, so it’s really not that bad. $12 for a main and two sides

Jerky – Jerky (?) (LES/Chinatown-ish)
Does this place have a name? I don’t know. It’s around Ludlow & Canal and all it sells is jerky. I don’t recommend the beef; it’s kind of boring. Chicken is not bad, but pork is really the way to go. And no, this one is not for Baji. It’s pricey at $14 a pound, but it’s the only time a stranger has asked to share my food on the street (yes, I shared and the stranger was duly impressed with the jerky).

Runner-up Splurge – August (West Village)
It’s in the West Village, therefore the service is excellent and the ambience is elegant yet warm. Just eat whatever, it’s sublime. $30 to $50 a person

Thai – Sea (EV)
Cute, affordable, tasty. The kind of place in which you might be tempted to order every single one of the appetizers. Know what happens when you do that? I do. It makes people uncomfortable, because apparently it’s what restaurateurs do when they’re sizing up the competition. And the people next to you will stare. Do it. $12–$15 a person

Banh mi – Nicky’s Vietnamese Sandwiches (EV)
A very out-of-the-ordinary combination of flavors (to me) plus ingredients that when looked at closely (avoid doing so) resemble bologna and cat food equals: a virtuoso performance by a sandwich. Bravo. $5

Coffee will be had at Cake Shop and ice cream will be had at Il Laboratorio del Gelato, which I am frankly indifferent to and think is overpriced, but I am indifferent to almost all ice cream and all ice cream in New York is overpriced so I am not to be listened to on this front. Baji, I believe you will enjoy this place. And it’s still cheaper than that empire of heinosity Coldstone Creamery. Shudder. I got a cone there once and had thrown it away by the time I got to the end of the block.

What's that? Manhattan continues north of 14th Street and south of Delancey? I don't believe you.

Reasons for Baji to Move to New York

2008-12-12T22:59:00.010-05:00

First, to recap, this is Clo, distinctly not-dead (and not undead) successor to Blanquinou. Dr. Clo is a cognitive behavioral therapist and avid snacker practicing in the lower (but not too low) regions of Manhattan. She is 70 percent reconstituted puppy parts, 20 percent lard, and 10 percent Yellow Number 5.

This is Moosebeck:

(Photo from Moosebeck.com)

This is Rufus:

(Photo from HorribleTerribleDogs.com)

There, now we're all caught up. Moving right along.

-Quick poll: Did you perchance see Prince perform from 1am to 4am on the roof of the Hotel Gansevoort with just 200 people in attendance? No? Really? (H, J, Dave Chappelle, and Anderson Cooper, please do not answer this question. You will skew the results.)

-What you call Monday, I call the day I go see Amy Poehler and Jason Sudeikis kickin' it over at the UCB.

-What you call Tuesday, I call the day I go see Mike Birbiglia, Aziz Ansari, John Oliver, and Laura Krafft kickin' it down the street.

-What you call seeing Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist, I call seeing someone go to the trouble to professionally film a walking tour of my Sunday jaunts. (I also call it seeing a movie made for people half my age. Oops.)

-Also, what you call living in a house with rooms, I call living in a hovel with a room that barely fits a too-large cat and the occasional bedbug for the bargain price of eleventy million dollars a month.

So, Baji, what do you say? Time to move? All you've got is pandas, Obama, and a picture of Stephen Colbert. And yes, I know it's a scientific fact that a picture of Stephen Colbert is worth 1500 words, but come on.

Someone's Turning Something and Getting Something

2008-12-01T16:31:00.003-05:00

Only I know the reason for this post.

A Nation Mourns

2007-02-12T18:58:00.000-05:00

After the deaths of James Brown and Anna Nicole Smith, the world must endure the greatest tragedy of them all.

Blanqui, cat of all cats, lover of milk products, hater of the sound of paper ripping, has left us for the Great Cereal Bowl in the sky. He was buried Saturday at his ancestral home in New Jersey.

Blanqui was the best cat and the only cat and now we must live in a world without cats.

Ethel Mertz, 1988 - 2007

2007-01-22T12:53:00.000-05:00

Ethel Mertz, a dear friend of Blanqui's Blog, died Friday. She was 18.

Ethel Mertz was born into a prominent Boston Brahmin family in 1988. After a fierce argument with her father, she joined the Marine Corps, serving two years in the Philippines and Kuweit. (She is rumored to have been the inspiration for the character played by George Clooney in the 1999 film Three Kings.) After her tour of duty, she moved to San Francisco. Finding the spirit of the '60s replaced by Silicon Valley greed, she decamped to Manhattan. Among the many luminaries she is said to have scratched or bitten figure Tom Wolfe, Engelbert Humperdinck, Mariel Hemingway and Michael Musto. The latter was the first to call her "Firecrotch," a moniker the tabloids who chronicled her savage nights out were only too delighted to seize upon.

Of late, Ethel lived contentedly in the East Village, where she spent her days sitting under her Christmas tree, swatting at passersby. She is survived by her maidservant, CDP.

Blanqui's Blog will always remember fondly the time she objected to being fed and bit us. Rest in peace, Ethel.

Snakes on a Lake!

2006-10-19T23:48:00.001-04:00

I told you I was going to do nothing for many days. But did you listen? No, you just kept hitting refresh.

Day 4: Wandered, ate, drank, snacked, lolled, rolled, lolled and rolled. Our first attempt at having dinner that night was at a Japanese restaurant so untouristed that they in fact would not serve us. (They sat us, but they would not serve us.) When we noticed that Japanese people who had arrived long after us had been presented with their hot towels (which you always get within about two minutes of your arrival at any restaurant), we hightailed it out of there. We ended up at an Indian joint, where the food was served over Japanese rice dyed yellow with saffron. They weren't fooling anybody.

Day 5: I biked up to the Imperial Palace Park, which I remembered as a big load of nothing, therefore perfect for cycling. I had failed to remember that the nothing is covered in gravel, making cycling somewhat less than smooth.

JiJi stares angrily at the gravel.

We had dinner at Asian Libra, a fusion place that looks out on the Kamogawa, and followed that with dessert at the tea salon Lipton. At that point, my digital camera stopped working. The next day I figured out how to trick it into taking pictures, but as a result there are no photos of the outrageous dessert we ate at Lipton.

Day 6: I accompanied D to work in Kusatsu, on the other side of Lake Biwa. I borrowed a bike from her work and went biking along the lake. Finally. The lake tried to have the last word, throwing up a snake in my path, but I am not that easily deterred (although I respectfully let it cross before continuing on my way).

JiJi II contemplates Lake Biwa, as Polky the Chinese Bag greedily awaits lunch.

I went to 7-11 to pick up lunch with one of D's environmentally sound colleagues. That's how I found out how infinitely inferior 7-11's chicken nuggets are to Fresco's.

Clockwise from bottom left: Rice thingy, "Salad"-flavored Pretz ("Salad" tastes like a salty cracker, "Roast" tastes like a petit beurre, "Cheesecake" tastes like heaven), one of the many delightful variations of ice coffee available in a juice box or can, a boiled egg (why can't I buy boiled eggs at grocery stores in the US?), poor excuses for chicken nuggets. In the end, I had to ditch the rice thingy. Even I have my limits.

In the afternoon, D and I went the other way along the lake (we covered the dang thing from all angles), she on roller-blades, I on my trusty borrowed bike.

Days 7 through 10: Wake up before the crack of dawn. Eat enough breakfast for six. Loll about. Bike to train station for no apparent reason, then bike up and down the Kamogawa. Get lunch from Fresco.

Clockwise from top left: mighty chicken nuggets, inarizushi (my favorite), Boss ice coffee in a can (also favorite but not as much), assorted sushi (center ones are of questionable origin).

Eat lunch along the river while reading juicily scandalous True Story (thanks, Y!). Walk around downtown, browse shops, buy nothing. Think about doing something cultural. Think again. Go home, watch Scrubs Season 5. Watch half of Kill Bill Vol. II (aka Kill Bill 3/4), hate it. Wait for D to come home. Watch rest of Kill Bill Vol. II. Have dinner with D. Discuss poorness of Kill Bill Vol. II vs. Vol. I. Discuss brilliance of Scrubs Season 5. Sleep. Rinse. Repeat.

Clockwise from bottom left: much-loved sesame green beans, sushi and rolls (nothing like the rolls you get in the US), two types of rice with assorted stuff in them, including a most excellent bean (fava?).

Day 9: This day was partially spent organizing D's tatami room in anticipation of her iftar the next day. If only I had contrived to throw the words petit beurre into the previous sentence, we might really have had something. In any case, I made her throw lots of stuff away. Throwing things away is one of my all-time favorite pastimes, second only to drinking the blood of innocents, so I spent quite an enjoyable afternoon.

Day 10: D and I had goodbye doughnuts at Cafe du Monde in Kyoto Station, and then off I went, back to my semi-organized homeland.

Kyoto Station, seen from a doughnut.

Doughnut.

As I stood in line for the security check at Chicago's Ohare airport, a man with a deep and menacing voice repeatedly announced over the loudspeaker: "The terror alert has been raised to ORANGE. Repeat. ORANGE. You are about to die. Vote Jeb in 2008! Yee-haw!" Or something like that. I felt the pain of a light, ghostly kick to the shins. I'm pretty sure it was Orwell. Bad Orwell! I'm going to sic the Dog Whisperer on him.

Random Facts & Figures:

What I bought in Japan:
Two boxes of cereal, a gummy pizza for my brother, a small chair for Y's lazy cell phone, a bag that A will hate, and a trench coat. Oh and magnificent cheesecake-flavored pretzels. The trench coat is from a clothing store called Clef de Sol. When I got my credit card receipt, I had some trouble finding the trench. Finally, I found it. Under Kuredosoru.

Impact of Japan on my life now:
1. Renewed interest in bike-riding. Acted upon: No.
2. Obsession with Asian pears. Acted upon: Yes. 1 Asian pear purchased for $1.65. They are nearly as expensive in Japan.
3. Renewed interest in breakfast. Acted upon: Yes, but only as long as both the jet-lag and the two boxes of cereal brought from Japan lasted.
4. Newfound interest in premade ice coffee. Acted upon: Yes, courtesy of my local Chinese grocery store, at which "Salad"- and "Roast"-, but sadly not "Cheesecake"-, flavored Pretz were also found.

Until next time, keep the home fires (and the chicken nuggets) burning.

Toto, We're Not in Kyoto Anymore

2006-10-10T23:00:00.000-04:00

Day 3: On Sunday we headed over to D's friends' apartment to steal their cats and feed their magazines. Or the other way around. Although I did want to steal their cats.

Presenting the linebacker and fullback of my Feline Fantasy Football League.

Duties accomplished, we set off for Osaka. First stop: glass box of horror! We went 140 meters up to the 35th floor of the Floating Garden Observatory in a clear glass elevator. It was a little bit terrifying. If by a little bit I mean very, which I do.

After the elevator, the escalator: up one more floor we go.

Being on the 35th floor was a bit less terrifying because there is a closed-off platform surrounding it, making it impossible to jump off or be pushed off (sideways glance at D).

Of course I spotted Loft from up there.

Osaka is a much bigger city than Kyoto (3 million inhabitants versus 1.5 million for Kyoto), and the people are both friendlier and more rebellious than Kyotoans. For example, they will cross the street when it says 'Don't Walk.'

Near Osaka Station.

We had some eel for lunch, and then walked along Midosuji, a boulevard that goes across the city.

We stumbled across the love hotel district. Make of these what you will:

We stopped in the stores, admired the malls, and finally made it to our destination: the Osaka Prefectural Gymnasium. Yes, that's right, we went to Osaka to ice skate. Wouldn't you?

This picture is horrible, but it's hard to take photographs while wearing ice skates. Plus, the skaters kept moving.

The last time I went ice skating was in Andorra, which was about a decade ago. Which was also the last time I went sledding. And the last time I went skiing. And the last time I got my head run over by a Spanish skier. Which was the last time I went to Andorra. What I'm trying to say is that I was terrible at it, but it was still fun. An elderly gentleman had been trying (successfully, I think) to skate with D, and then trying (unsuccessfully) to lure me away from the wall that I was gripping. Later, when I sat on a bench by the rink he came over and started talking to me. He also gave me two sticks of gum (one for D).

The conversation was marked by near total incomprehension on my part and much smiling and nodding on both our parts. It started out okay. He said he was 75 years old, and I said I was 28. Then he told me, "Kireina desu." Kireina sounded terribly familiar, but I couldn't quite remember what it meant so I decided that it meant "young" and jokingly responded, "You're young." It was at that point that I realized:

a. Best not to joke in a language in which you have a 15-word vocabulary, 10 of which are numbers.
b. "Kireina desu" means "You're pretty."

For this I received two more sticks of gum. Our chat continued and only got more confusing. At one point, he said "10" and having no idea what he was talking about, I threw out a number: "14," I said, as if we were playing some sort of card-free, verbal game of War (I win!). D joined us and he told us he had been a ski jumper (he said "ski" and then mimicked jumping).

We also met a young guy who spoke English extremely well. He told us he had learned it at J House (J for Jesus, he explained). He invited us to a skating party, but we had to decline. As he was leaving, the 75-year-old gent had the J-House guy translate all that he had been saying to us and apparently we hadn't missed anything because J-House guy just told us: "He's 75 years old and he was a ski jumper."

After the ice skating, we went a few floors up and I let D stare longingly at the basketball courts. Then we went to the pool. D swam laps like a normal person. I swam laps like myself, which is to say like an old Japanese woman: I went in the walking lane, and walked laps. Then we went in the jacuzzi, which was lovely. After all this athletic activity we were famished, so we went to a Hawaiian fast-food joint in the Namba mall.

Pumpkin soup and an avocado-bedecked burger.

Coming up: I do nothing for many days.

Missing: Lake. Surface Area: 670 km sq. Age: 4 million. Answers to the Name of Biwa

2006-10-01T18:44:00.000-04:00

Day 2: Saturday morning we had a number of false starts. First, we left the house for Osaka because it looked like rain and therefore not a good day for biking along Lake Biwa. As we walked, the weather turned nice, so we returned home to change into lake-biking clothing. Back home, my eye started to itch, and when I went to look in the mirror I discovered to my horror that my right eyeball had grown a second, yellow eyeball. It was both disgusting and disturbing -- so much so that I did not even think to take a picture. D was very good about not looking alarmed, although she confessed later that she had never seen anything like it and that it was gross. We called D's mom (a doctor), who told us not to worry. So we believed her, and went off to Lake Biwa. For the first hour or so, every time I looked left or right, I could feel my extra eyeball sliding along the socket. Disconcerting. But eventually it went away and by the evening I had just the usual two eyeballs again.

Lake Biwa is enormous, and we had decided to go to the side of it (western?) that D had never been to. The plan was to rent bikes and ride along the lake. Oh, yes, that was the plan.

Sudoku 4 ever!

So absorbed were we in our respective sudoku puzzles that we missed our stop. You would think being one stop over from the main Lake Biwa stop would not be a big deal. You would be wrong. There was no one there. No one. We had about four false starts, wherein we walked toward one wheat field (no lake in sight), stopped, turned around, went back to the train station to look at the map posted there, went in the direction of another wheat field (still no lake), looked around, went back to the station again... According to the guidebook, if the mountains were behind us, the lake would be in front of us. Unfortunately, we seemed to be surrounded by mountains. We set off along the wheat fields again, walking towards where we thought the lake had to be. When we reached the road beyond which we believed the lake to be, we encountered a huge tiny problem. A ditch. (This was after we'd wandered through tall grasses all the while a little bit concerned that at any moment an army of farmers would come out and yell at us.) What's that you say, Lonely Planet? Off the beaten path? Kiss my teddy bear butt, LP. I'm fairly sure no one, foreign or local, has ever taken the path we took to get to Lake Biwa.

See any lakes?

What about now?

We threw ourselves over the ditch, only to encounter another ditch. But there was no turning back. Over the next ditch we went, onto someone's property. Across that as quickly as possible, and finally -- the road! And then we saw a boat!! It was parked, but we took comfort in the knowledge that most people don't park boats where there are no lakes.

Lake!

I had never seen a lake with waves and surf before.

Dead fish washed ashore.

By the time we found the lake it was around 1pm, and we were starting to get hungry, but although we'd successfully located the lake, there wasn't much else there.

Nothing but wheat fields, a lake and a lone drink machine.

At one point, there was a sign with a Japanese character written on it and underneath it "0.2km." About 0.2km later there was another sign, pointing back the way we had come with the same character and "0.2km." I began to suspect that the sign meant "Sign, 0.2km." Very funny, Japan, very funny.

This was there.

And a pretty purple bulldozer.

And, of course, a pachinko parlor.

Finally, we found something to eat at Coffee View, whose proprietors were lovely, friendly people. I had a carbonara pizza.

The civilized end of Lake Biwa.

In the end, we didn't ride any bikes, but we did have a nice time walking along the lake. And we're not finished with Lake Biwa, or the bikes. Oh, no, we most certainly are not.

Upon returning to Kyoto Station, we stopped by the incredible food court beneath the station and picked up dinner.

On the left are delicious green beans sprinkled with sesame. The boxes contain eel (fish of the gods) over rice. In the back there is some tofu thing that D pronounced inedible. I didn't feel the need to find out for myself.

Coming up: Hotel Puppy and giant cats.

Japan, Now With Less China!

2006-09-29T07:25:00.000-04:00

Day 0: Initial plans to go to Beijing were scrapped due to general tiredness and Japan's inconvenient location four hours (and US$600) by air from Beijing. Japan is in Asia like the US is in the Americas: It's a million miles from any of its neighbors. (Yes, four hours = one million miles. Stay with me, people, I just got off a 14-hour plane ride.)

So off I went nonchalantly back to Kyoto. A little too nonchalantly. When I landed in Osaka, it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't bothered to bring D's address, or even look at it before I left. But I dismissed this troubling thought, since D had booked me a door-to-door shuttle (3,000 yen, or less than US$30, same as the train to the airport). I figured she would have told the shuttle driver her address. As we neared her building, I began to have some misgivings once again when I realized I didn't know her apartment number, and I would have no way of buzzing her to tell her I was downstairs. Oops. The driver let me out, and I went up to the door and just contemplated it for a while. Hmmm. I tried to dial D's phone number via the intercom system. It did not like that. Then I stood there and willed myself to remember her apartment number. Amazingly, it worked! In I went, back where I belong. We had dinner at a place called "Japanese Restaurant" (yes), where I ate approximately everything.

Day 1: I woke up and heard D puttering about. I scoffed at my (unsmashed) watch because it read 3:30am. Obviously, it was not 3:30am. "What time is it?" I asked D. "3:30," she replied. Damn you, D. Who gave you the right to my jet lag?

Breakfast of Champions. Champions who are sedentary 355 days out of the year and then go to Japan and bike and ice skate and "swim" (more on that later) like nobody's business. Seriously, it's nobody's business, so why don't you just click here.

About 10,000 hours later it was time for D to go to work, so I accompanied her to Kyoto Station. She entrusted me with the task of buying her a new bike, because the previous one had been vandalized (we're sure foreigners were responsible -- teenage foreigners, no doubt). I went to the bike shop, but it was closed. As I walked away, a guy on a bike started to follow me and talk to me. No matter where I am, my first instinct is to operate under the Egypt Protocol, which states that "All people are bad, especially men." Therefore I ignored the poor guy, until I remembered that I was in Japan, where no one is bad. He turned out to work in the bike shop. He was very nice and opened the store up for me, and I felt bad for having tarred him with an Egyptian brush.

Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere's JiJi! (Short for jitensha, aka bicycle.)

Views of the lovely Kamogawa.

JiJi and I went biking up and down the Kamo River. It was delightful. Then we went to Fresco (grocery store) and bought lunch.

Clockwise from top: Pocky (original flavor), french fry chips (as gross as last time; just needed to reconfirm), mini hot dogs, inarizushi (D's and my favorite: slightly sweet rice wrapped in fried tofu), chicken nuggets (truly marvelous; I had them almost every day; the ones at Fresco are far better than those at F Market or, god forbid, 7-11). In case you were wondering, yes, it was too much food, and yes, I ate it all (except for the gross french fry chips, which I ate later).

In the afternoon, I left JiJi in the bike garage and went for a walk. It was nice to be reunited with my favorite street in the entire world. But although I still love it dearly, I didn't get those butterflies of excitement walking down it the way I had last year when it was all brand-new. Which almost makes me understand why some people cheat on their spouses. Bring me a newer, fresher street! Preferably one with bigger boobs.

In downtown Kyoto, I browsed through all the usual suspects (Loft, 100-yen store, 300-yen store, Takashimaya). As was the case during my last trip to Japan, a great deal of my time was spent trying to identify what exactly was on offer. For example, what are mailcuts? And is Loft really selling just the butt of a teddy bear?

Next, I went to my favorite coffee shop, St. Marc's, they of the hot cocoa & clam chowder combo.

The fall special was a mango lhassi. It was good, but there are better ones to be had at House of Baj in DC.

Coming up: how not to find a lake, and ancient ski-jumpers.

Change of Scenery

2006-09-12T16:13:00.000-04:00

One of us will spend two weeks apprenticing as a seeing-eye cat in New Jersey. One of us is off to Japan (redux!).

It's a Thin Line Between Love and Hate

2006-08-27T23:02:00.000-04:00

Rosemary's Blanqui

2006-08-20T19:19:00.000-04:00

9 pounds, 2 ounces

What Up, B?

2006-07-28T17:50:00.000-04:00

(In case you're wondering, the mysterious pile on the right consists of excised dreadlocks.)

Blanqui: the Musical

2006-07-18T22:11:00.000-04:00

Don't wait! Order tickets now to Broadway's newest smash, featuring such soon-to-never-be-classics as "You Won't Eat This":

You won't eat this, you won't eat that
Chicken or fish, won't make you fat

You're skeletal! (He's skeletal!)
So skeletal! (Regrettable!)

You won't eat this, you won't eat that
You annoying diva cat

You're a brat! (He's a cat!)
You're a cat! (He's a brat!)

And the bittersweet "Poop":

Poop! Ain't nothin' like
Poop!

On a mat, in a tub, in the hall, on the rug!
Ohhhhhhhhhhhh it's poop!

Poop! You seen it, you know it's
Poop!

Under there, over here, next to that, still on the cat!
Ohhhhhhhhhhh it's poop!

Starring the dazzling Blanquinou, known to half-dozens from his many appearances on Blanqui's Blog. Blanquinou will also be seen in the made-for-television movie Paris & Nicole: BFF? in the role of Nicole Richie. Additionally, he will understudy the role of Peter Pan in the upcoming Broadway musical featuring Clay Aiken. "Dreams really do come true," says Blanquinou, "even for a skinny beige cat from Jersey."

His Royal Bunniness Blanqui Presents: Baconfest 2006!

2006-07-13T22:27:00.000-04:00

Bacon? For me? What have I done to deserve the miracle that is bacon? (Answer: really and truly nothing.)

Bacon-laced quiche. Even more undeserved than the bacon.

Blanqui Knows Zizou Had a Good Reason for Head-Butting Materazzi, But Is Depressed Nonetheless

2006-07-09T22:30:00.000-04:00

Walk it off, Blanquinou, walk it off.

Blanqui Draws a Conclusion

2006-07-06T22:53:00.000-04:00

It's hot.

There's A/C in the bedroom.

----> Fuck the couch.

(Please excuse Blanqui's language. He is French.)

A Week in the Life

2006-06-12T22:27:00.000-04:00

Monday's child is fair of face (with a slight chance of earwax)

Tuesday's child is full of grace

Wednesday's child is full of woe (because Clay never called)

Thursday's child has far to go (roughly 4 feet from one end of the couch to the other)

Friday's child is loving and giving (his annual sleepathon has raised millions for good causes)

Saturday's child works hard for a living (corroborative photo not located at press time)

But the child born on the Sabbath Day,
Is fair and wise and good and gay (so gay)

Happy Birthday, Blanquinou!

2006-05-22T00:01:00.000-04:00

I know what you're thinking: feathered hair, how eighties!

Blanquinou & me, back when I was the older one.

In the days when Blanqui was more squirrel than rabbit.

Today, Blanqui, age 20 (approximate age in human years: one million), sports a very 21st-century fauxhawk.

Harvard: Enemy of Women

2006-04-28T15:49:00.000-04:00

A letter to the editors of Harvard Magazine:

I consider your cover on the March-April 2006 issue to be pornographic, belittling of women, insensitive, and totally appalling! The whole magazine went into the garbage can immediately. The magazine is too liberal for this conservative. You can cease sending them to our home. --M.M.

This is the cover image in question:

It's the painting Ulysses and the Sirens by Herbert Draper:

Belittling indeed. Everybody knows the sirens were monk seals, not women.

Easter Blanqui

2006-04-17T19:37:00.000-04:00

Cruisin' Down Truckers Boulevard in Ken-tuck-ay

2006-04-12T23:42:00.000-04:00

Lil Baji's wedding was this weekend. It's really easy to get to her parents' house. Just take Truckers Blvd straight from Kentucky into Indiana and make a right at the golf course.

Both LB and the big B herself looked gorgeous, but I cannot post their pictures here because, although the photos have been leaked by the president's staff, the president has not yet declassified them.

Instead I present to you the next best thing:

Onion rings!

Wigs!

Tomorrow's Styles Today!

These are the styles! You can have them today! (You could also have them in the '80s, but shhh...)

I can think of another place for those quotation marks. Also, an undiscovered aspect of the Alberto Gonzales vs. a baked potato qualification contest: Gonzales does the day shift, while the baked potato handles the night shift.

I want to get a bunch of these and start an all-girl group/gang. During the day we'll sing inspirational hymns at retirement homes and in the evenings we'll wait outside diners when the old people go for their 5pm baked potato and rob them blind.

No Matter Alive or Die

2006-04-03T18:52:00.000-04:00

My beloved Chinese grocery store takes a hardline stance on newspaper pilfering.

Blanquinou Wins Koufax Award

2006-04-01T21:18:00.000-05:00

Click for full story.

Cats: They're Just Like Us!

2006-03-11T21:44:00.000-05:00

Shame, Thy Name Is Baji

2006-03-08T20:55:00.000-05:00

Baji's "present" to me upon my visit to DC, shown in the condition in which I received it (minus 2 which TP ate right in front of me).

Explore France: the Flora & Fauna

2006-03-06T22:36:00.000-05:00

The gnarly trees of Montélimar. The bathrooms were also gnarly.

Grandmother and granddog.

Like the Japanese homeless cat, the French SDF (sans domicile fixe) cat also grooms himself. This one's actually not exactly an SDF. He's not allowed in my grandparents' house, which isn't his house. He's also not allowed in the house that is his house. So he's peripherally very homeful, but not in an overhead kind of way. (And I'm the one who let him in the house. But not his house. My grandparents' house.)

Ouf, ze world ees so cruell.
(This cat actually does live in my grandparents' house.)

Magic!

Euh, ello, mai nem eez Monsieur Moustache. Juste louque aht zem!

Pleeze dou notte louque aht mai friende Mamzelle Ponay's butte. Ewe americaines ahrre soh rood!

Voilà.

"And where exactly do you think you were for the last five days?"

Explore France: the Gastronomy

2006-03-02T19:20:00.000-05:00

Etorki, or Brebis, also known as Grebis to those who are small and who also think that Madrid is the capital of Greece.

Salade de lardons. Mmmmm.

Gratin dauphinois. Mmmmm.

My grandparents keep the chicken in the closet. Fortunately, they didn't feed us chicken while we were there. As far as we know, they're still alive.

The goose eggs, on the other hand, they keep in the fridge.

Birth of a french fry.

Death of a french fry.

Warning: Saucisson may be highly comestible.

There's nothing like a slab of pork marmelade. Really, there isn't.

After a four-day war of attrition, the United Charcuterie Republic succumbed to a brigade of hungry Frenchmen supported by an American coalition.

Pandas, Pancakes and Panda Cake!

2006-02-27T19:53:00.000-05:00

False advertising: Waffles were substituted for the promised pancakes. Thanks a lot, Lil Baji and Lil-Baji-in-Law-To-Be.

Mama Bear. Or is that Papa Bear?

Panda

Panda

Panda

PANDA

PANDA CAKE

Return of the Couch/Return of the Cardigangster

2006-02-13T22:16:00.000-05:00

Well, he ain't Clay Aiken, but he'll have to do.

Blanqui's Blog Presents...

2006-02-10T09:00:00.000-05:00

Blanqui's Burger

Mambo Two Step in Seven Steps

2006-02-08T19:24:00.000-05:00

Step 1: The choice is clear.

Step 2: Miso soup. Delicious.

Step 3, bringing new meaning to the words "two step" (with apologies to Douglas Adams): Edamame. So far, so good. We can totally handle this.

Step 4: Seaweed salad. The true highlight of the meal.

Step 5: Shumai. Eh, who needs 'em. We restrain ourselves and only eat four of the five. Next!

Step 6a: Bonanza! At right, the highly authentic West Village roll. At left, sushi! Center, slabs of delight. To the victor go the spoils (i.e. salmon), and to Yael goes the tuna.

Step 6b: Uh oh, we forgot the main course is still to come. Panic mode! Solution: Leave everything white. (We are duly--and in a decidely un-Nipponese manner--berated for not eating the white tuna.)

Step 7: Seafood teriyaki (shrimp, salmon, and crab, oh my!). The alleged point of this meal is now beside the point. But we still find room. Because we're professionals.

See Steps 2-7 for reasons why we skipped Step 8: Tempura ice cream. (Lies! We skipped it because we had it last time and it wasn't that good.)

Sushi Mambo
255 Bleecker St.
212-675-5885

Hobo Dog

2006-02-07T22:14:00.000-05:00

Café con Hobo

2006-02-06T21:35:00.000-05:00

Meme: Tagged by the Baj

2006-02-05T12:05:00.000-05:00

Four Jobs I've Had in My Life

1) Undersecretary of State for Looking Gorgeous
2) Second Soprano, Manhattan Gay Men's Chorus
3) Webmaster, shoepoopers.org
4) Spiritual Leader, Clay Aiken Fan Club

Four Movies I Could Watch Over and Over

1) Remake of West Side Story, starring Clay Aiken as Anita
2) Remake of The Wizard of Oz, starring Clay Aiken in dual roles as Dorothy and Friend of Dorothy
3) Remake of The Godfather, starring Clay Aiken as Sonny (for which he will win the Oscar for convincingly playing against type)
4) Remake of Gremlins, starring Clay Aiken as the mogwai before they're fed after midnight

Four Places I Have Lived

1) Princeton, NJ
2) Jerusalem, Israel
3) Berkeley, CA
4) New York, NY

Four Places I Have Been On Vacation

My whole life is a vacation, thank you very much.

Four Favorite Foods

1) Meow Mix Upstream Dream with salmon and crab in sauce
2) Fancy Feast Ocean Whitefish Feast in aspic
3) Ice cream and all other dairy products
4) Whiskas Savory Pate with chicken and tuna

Four Places I Would Rather Be Right Now

1) On my couch. Where is it?
2) On Clay Aiken's lap.
3) In a glass (but just up to my neck).
4) In a tub of ice cream (again, up to my neck).

Hobo Cat

2006-02-03T21:49:00.000-05:00

Just Another Day on the LES

2006-01-23T21:09:00.000-05:00

So, like, did you know that Clay Aik--hey, what are you doing?

What's that dropper thingy? What's insi--

NEIN!!!!!!!

Neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!

Short-term memory is for suckers.

What I Did On My Winter Vacation

2006-01-04T19:14:00.000-05:00

Partied with Chad while Amélie was out buying cat food.

Dude I am sooooo wasted.

Suffered indignities.

Post-bath blow-dry, canine version.

Ate.

Made abundantly clear what the penalties for the non-sharing of steak are in this household.

Ate some more.

Still more eating.

Suffered more indignities.

Again with the eating!

Defended dinner from interlopers.

Defended homestead from notoriously bloodthirsty Teddy the Bear.

Fought valiantly against notoriously ruthless Cardigangster.

If You Read Only One Article on Massively-Multiplayer Online Games This Year, Read This One

2005-12-20T00:07:00.000-05:00

Inferior solutions to common problems in Virtual Worlds

Disclosure: Blanqui's Blog and the author of the above article share genetic material, as well as certain characteristics, including, but not limited to, misanthropy.

Note 1: Blanqui's Blog does not condone the playing of video games, especially in lieu of a secondary education.
Note 2: Blanqui's Blog does not know what phat lewtz and kewl exp dolers are, so please, folks, no more e-mails and phone calls.

Should Antique Pies Retire Gracefully in the Face of New Pie Technology?

2005-12-19T23:40:00.000-05:00

I confess I hadn't given the subject any thought until just this moment when B.I. Topaz alerted me to Fafblog!'s latest opinion piece on the matter, an excerpt of which follows:

The nanopies don't just taste better than regular ol pie. They taste more efficient. They are injected by the thousands into your bloodstream where they shoot up into the central nervous system and build microscopic technopie colonies at the base of the corpus delecatessum, the pie center of the brain. There they begin to stimulate the brainal nerves with the direct experience of pie a thousand times faster and more technolicious than old-fashioned hand-operated pie ever could!

And you still got your ol obsolete antique pie with its wind-up phonograph an its 32k of pie ram. That's just sad.

Indeed.

Source: Fafblog!

Guest Post: Meet the Squawker

2005-12-15T23:40:00.000-05:00

Meet Ethel, Elegant Madame and Occasional Raging Bitch.*

"I'll sit under this Christmas tree, but I won't like it."

Ethel only drinks red wine. She has seen Sideways five times. (And don't bother telling her that Sideways is trite and clichéd, that basing a movie about wine snobs around the Napa Valley is like composing a paean to cheese focused exclusively on New England cheddar, a fine product but not worthy of that level of snobbery. She doesn't want to hear it. And she will bite you.)

"I swear to god if you persist in watching the Lifetime Original Movie She Cried No, starring Candace Cameron and Mark-Paul Gosselaar, I will bite you." (I persisted and she bit me.)

[*CDP, you know I love her. But tell her to stop biting me.]

About Amélie

2005-12-13T23:49:00.000-05:00

Unforgettable.

One day. Your day. And yet the memories from it will last a lifetime.

Welcome to the world of Amélie.

Fashion-forward and impeccably designed using the most exquisite fabrics and detailing, an Amélie dress makes the most of your very special day--be it your wedding, your prom or just a night out on the town. And our legendary customer service ensures your Amélie relationship will continue long after the night is through.

One day. You deserve the one dress that you'll hold in your heart forever.

Make it an Amélie.

As if associating my precious name with the most American of teen rites of passage weren't horrifying enough, they've gone and used the accent correctly and printed the logo in a pseudo-Middle Eastern font. I am outraged.

amelieprom.com

Annals of Feline Neurological Disorders, Vol. I

2005-12-09T17:12:00.000-05:00

Subject displays acute hemispatial neglect. Further evidence is seen in subject's routine defecation in roommate's right shoe.

Key to Past Post Titles

2005-12-05T19:11:00.000-05:00

Mo' Better Life Extension: Name of a hair salon in Kyoto providing--what else?--hair extensions.

Wow Crazy Chicken: Emblazoned on a shirt in a mall in Shibuya. I wanted to buy it, but it cost $50. I won't pay more than $30 to look retarded, in case you were wondering.

No! Rip! No! Nude! No! Touch!: Advertisement for a place where they don't do any ripping, nuding, or touching. (I wonder if this is something similar to what happened in Lost in Translation, when the prostitute screamed at Bill Murray, "Rip my stocking!" and then threw herself on the floor yelling "No! No! No!" Maybe she came from 1-900-no-rip-no-nude-no-touch.)

Now It's on the Pinnacle of Evolution: I'm sorry to say that I don't remember where I saw this.

Hand Shake Only: You don't want to know, trust me. (Here's a hint: The pictorial for this "massage" parlor's ad was a box of tissues. There was another ad that read "Hand or Foot Shake Only." I told you you didn't want to know.)

Coming up: Nothing. We're done here.

Pictures Requiring No Comment, Or Pictures Requiring Too Much Comment

2005-12-03T18:55:00.000-05:00

Hand Shake Only

2005-12-01T23:04:00.000-05:00

Day 6: After breakfast, D went to work and I went to the Golden Temple. First I took the wrong bus, then I took the right bus and got off at the wrong stop. Fortunately, Japanese public transportation is so marvelous that the buses are almost as easy to use as the subways, a phenomenon that I have never encountered in any other country.

The bus stop tells you when a bus is nearing. See the yellow ball at 205? That's bus 205 (the right bus) approaching.

Kinkaku, the Golden Temple.

After riding around on the bus some more, I went downtown and visited the 100-yen and 300-yen shops (like our 99-cent stores only with stuff you actually want to buy), which D had first taken me to the day before. She also took me to Loft, the best store that has ever existed.

Despite my extreme distate for housewares and housewares shopping (I felt like I was going to die every time my mother dragged me into Williams-Sonoma when I was growing up; the woman can look at wooden spoons for days), I loved Loft.

I had to ask the saleslady what this was for.

This is what it's for. I bought three.

I bought this bag (IV not included) near the Kyoto train station. It's made in China. So are the noses.

I didn't actually purchase this in Japan, but I did cajole D into giving it to me there.

Kompasu!

Day 7: D and I spent the first part of the day walking around and the second part sitting around. Both parts were lovely. We went back to Gion, the geisha district, and walked on from there.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that children love pigeons.

Baji, this duck's for you. Unfortunately, the ducks were blurry that day.

Meet Romeo.

Meet Julio.

Meet the two fathers trying to separate them. Fie!

Julio was not going to let that happen.

Later we spotted Romeo sound asleep in his father's lap. Was that in Act III?

Giant Buddha.

Giant orange arch.

We had conveyor belt sushi for lunch and spent a good 20 minutes wishing and hoping for barbecued eel until I finally summoned up enough nerve to say "unagi" (eel) in no particular direction. We got our eel and were happy. Tip: Choose your seat carefully at conveyor belt sushi. Figure out where the sushi starts because if you're next to fellow eel eaters you're going to be very sad, watching the eel come toward you and then disappear right before it gets to you. Lamprey-loving bastards!

By the way, the hot water for your tea comes out of a faucet built into the sushi bar, giving each diner his own personal tea spout.

Caution: Groovy people crossing.

After lunch we went to a cafe and then discovered a new English-language bookstore behind it.

Step 1: We admitted we were powerless over pop culture--that our lives had become unmanageable.

My name is Amelie and I went to the launch party for this book. Then I went to Japan and took a picture of it.

Of course.

I finally indulged my curiosity and bought one of the mystery bags at the 300-yen shop (plus tax it's 315 yen).

Whatever could be in it?

Why, it's a paper shredder! I dragged it back from Japan and broke it yesterday.

The currency, seen from the front (or the back).

And the back (or the front).

A last look.

Coming up: odds and ends.

Now It's on the Pinnacle of Evolution!

2005-11-29T22:22:00.000-05:00

Day 4: Wednesday morning my rail pass and I jetted off on yet another shinkansen, this time to Hiroshima. Feeling bold, I didn't bother to look at any maps and went madly off in all directions. Two hours of wandering in what may or may not have even been Hiroshima, I found my way back to the train station and took the tram to the Peace Park.

Twenty days and three google searches later, I just found out that I really wasn't in Hiroshima city anymore (although I was still in the Hiroshima prefecture).

Wherever I was, they had some frogs there.

At last! Incontrovertible proof that I was here. Photo courtesy of a guy from Westchester. Strange alienation of head from neck courtesy of me.

The A-Bomb Dome. Formerly a public works building, it has been preserved exactly as it was after the morning of August 6, 1945. Everyone in the building was killed instantly.

This tricycle belonged to a little boy who was hit by the blast of Little Boy while riding it. He died that night and was buried with his tricycle. Forty years later, his father dug up the tricycle and gave it to the Peace Museum. The museum is very informative and definitely worth the trip. It's also pretty gross (skin and nails on display), much to the delight of the bazillions of schoolchildren forced to do homework assignments there.

On the way back from Hiroshima to Kyoto, I almost missed my stop because I was in such a reverie about my railpass. Besides the bullet trains and select subway lines, it's also good for one of the ferries going to Miyajima, the island-god. Which I didn't visit. But I could have. For free.

Day 5: I woke up to discover that my watch was smashed:

Which is a little odd considering that the day before I had seen this picture of the watch that stopped at the exact moment of the detonation of the A-bomb.

And then I discovered this:

This is my leg and it is gross. I never felt a thing. For the two pictures to be related, I would have had to fold myself in half while sleeping, twist my arm so that my watch faced inward and then vigorously smash my watch against my leg.

For breakfast, I went to St Marc's coffeeshop.

I thought this was an interesting juxtaposition.

I got to thinking once again about the differences and similarities between Iceland and Japan, the second- and first-most-expensive countries in the world, respectively. I wondered for example, why, if Japan is the most expensive country, are a coffee and a chocolate croissant in Japan

a. $3.50 and
b. very good

whereas in Iceland a coffee and a bagel are

a. $7.50 and
b. also very good (the coffee and bagel were a bad example) BUT
all other foods in Iceland are disgusting and even more expensive?

This photo is a parenthetical--this is food in Iceland (and if you can't tell from the picture, let me assure you: It was really really bad). Now observe food in Japan:

In your face, Iceland! At least you have your looks to fall back on.

D returned and I got to speak to another human being. It was very exciting, not least because I got to stop using air freshener to wash my hands. We went strolling.

This is somewhere.

Pretty maids all in a row.

Coming up: paper shredders and Brad Pitt.

No! Nude! No! Rip! No! Touch!

2005-11-22T21:35:00.000-05:00

Day 3: I woke up at 5am to take the first subway to Tsukiji, the fish market. It was too early, and I had to wait until 6am for the first subway to run.

Heading into Tsukiji.

Tsukiji.

Soon-to-be breakfast.

Ow, my head!
Thanks, folks, I'll be here all week.

I was determined to have fresh sushi for breakfast, so for some reason I sat down at a noodle stand and had a large bowl of tempura soba soup (not photographed because I didn't want to embarrass the gaijin sitting next to me). Having consumed about half of my soup, I paid and proceeded to a sushi bar, where I had salmon and tuna sushi and was mocked for looking like a fisherman (I think) and for dipping my sushi rice side down in the soy sauce (big no-no).

Remember: fish side down!

Market streets around Tsukiji.

To recap: 6:35am. One major sight seen. Two breakfasts consumed. Can I go back to Kyoto now?

I took the subway to Ueno, the location of a large, lovely park that contains the Ueno Zoo, the Tokyo National Museum, homeless people and their tents, and a bunch of other stuff. The Lonely Planet guide to Tokyo says the zoo "can be safely dropped from a busy itinerary." I went to the zoo. I had to kill about two hours before it opened so I sat in the park, doing crossword puzzles and eating Pocky (and talking to the Main Man on my fancy yellow cell phone).

The lady on the right is homeless. That's why she's wearing track pants. What's your excuse?

Note to potential perverts (in the park and elsewhere): When approaching women, I suggest opening with something less obviously creepy than "Are you alone?"
Note to women: Answering "No!" when the answer is obviously "Yes!" throws potential perverts into confusion and causes them to retreat.

I took this picture so that Blanqui could see that even homeless cats clean themselves. Ahem. Wait--does that cat have a collar? These homeless people are amazing. We should ask the Japanese government if we can borrow them to fix up Iraq. Or at least organize its umbrellas.

At last! The zoo was open!

Lil Baji, this panda's for you. His name is Ling Ling and he loves persimmons.

Schoolchildren marveling at Ling Ling the panda.

In Japan, they call this a "wild dog." I call it a "dog."

Hello, my North American buddy! I don't think I'd ever seen a porcupine before.

Time to hit the gym, dude.

Madonna and child.

Monkeys horsing around.

Lions monkeying around.

Penguins in monkey suits.

I took this picture so Blanqui could see what will happen if he persists in refusing to groom himself.

Totally undignifed llama behavior. This animal is obviously not indigenous to Japan.

Forced to share living quarters with the drunken llama due to an administrative error, the tapir founders in a melancholic state.

There's nothing funny about polar bears.

Elephants yeah!

I went to the Tokyo National Museum:

This building reminded me of the Reykjavik City Hall. Figures the two most expensive countries in the world would have a lot in common. Iceland has clean streets too.

Then I took the shinkansen back to Kyoto. But first:

Just your average everyday train station food. Except for one thing. What was it? Oh yes: IT'S SUPERFANTASTICALLY AWESOME. I miss my little bento box.

Coming up: the mysterious incident of the watch in the night.

Kompasu O Motte Imasu Ka?

2005-11-20T15:39:00.001-05:00

Day 2: Monday morning I took the 8am shinkansen (bullet train) to Tokyo. It took a little less than 3 hours and would have cost me around $250 round-trip, had I not spent just that sum on an unlimited 7-day Japan Rail pass (which you can purchase at JTB USA).

Shinkansen.

Cute little Japanese coke bottle. It got off in Yokohama.

I walked around Ginza (the shopping district) and saw some Louis Vuitton and Prada stores. Over an ice coffee, I tried to map out my walking route across Tokyo. I was planning to walk from Ginza, through Roppongi (the nightlife district), then to Harajuku (the shopping district) and Shibuya (the shopping district), ending in Shinjuku (the shopping district), from where I'd take the subway to Asakusa (one of the oldest neighborhoods in Tokyo, and the site of my capsule hotel). There didn't seem to be any main roads, just a million teeny roads going in all directions. So I hit upon a brilliant solution: I would buy a compass and walk roughly northwest! I cursed myself for not having bought one before leaving the states.

I went into a drugstore and asked the cashier, "Kompasu o motte imasu ka?" ("Do you have a compass?"). She replied, "Kompaktu?" (as in makeup compact, I'm guessing). "Ie, nishi, higashi...", I said ("No, north, east..."). "Kompasu! Ie" ("A compass! No"). Then she pointed me in the direction of the Matsuzakaya department store.

At the Matsuzakaya information booth I asked, "Kompasu o motte imasu ka?" "Ie," the woman said (and for the record, I find it hard to believe that they don't carry compasses in that big department store). She brought out a map of Ginza and started circling places, probably places someone as insane as I should immediately head for, like say the police station, or the nearest mental hospital. I thanked her and moved on. I did not go to the police or the mental institution. I just wanted a kompasu! [*Update: I should have followed that woman's instructions. I just googled the places she circled and it turns out that the police station is actually a stationery store and the mental institution is another department store.]

I went to a third store and asked again, "Kompasu o motte imasu ka?" Something to the effect of "Where do you want to go? I can help," came the reply. Sigh. Unfortunately, my Japanese is not at the level where I can communicate things like, "My problems are so great you could never attempt to solve them in this lifetime." Instead I just smiled and left. I gave up on the kompasu and just took the subway. (I did finally find a compass in Kyoto, but of course I didn't need one anymore. I still bought it, just in case.)

Chikatetsu (subway).

I took the subway to Omotesando, the Champs Elysées of Tokyo.

Omotesando stop.

I passed a game parlor. And no, Baji, I did not play the dancing game.

I had a snack.

Tokyo fashions on Omotesando, the shopping boulevard.

Tenuous evidence that I was here.

More evidence that I was here. Still tenuous.
This is my private internet cubicle in the women-only wing of an internet cafe.

Shibuya.

This guy had great hair.

Still Shibuya. Still great hair.

This woman reminds me of someone.

I took the JR line (free! thank you, JR Rail pass!) to Shinjuku, didn't like the look of it, went back to Shibuya. There a miracle occurred: I showed a lost American tourist how to get to Shinjuku. I'm surprised the apocalypse didn't happen right at that moment. Turns out I am subway smart, but not street smart.

I took the subway to Asakusa, and checked into my capsule hotel, the Hotel Asakusa Riverside. I had to leave my boots in a locker downstairs.

Yeah, that's right.

Me in my hotel-issued pajamas.

The capsules.

My capsule (the green slippers are mine).

My neighbor down the capsule way.

Inside the capsule.

Coming up: the long-awaited monkeys, too many breakfasts and fish who make bad jokes.

Wow Crazy Chicken

2005-11-17T21:54:00.000-05:00

Day 1: Sunday morning I tried to find D's apartment on a map, but was unsuccessful. I left the apartment not knowing whether I would ever be able to find it again.

I walked north to the Imperial Palace Park:

There was nothing there.

Then I walked south to see if I could find D's apartment. To my amazement, it was where I had left it. I walked south some more to the train station, where I had conveyor belt sushi. Then I walked north again. Later that week I would walk east. I never walked west.

Unfortunately you need a membership to go for it.

Kyoto has homeless people, who live under the bridges but nonetheless maintain a complex organizational system for their umbrellas (not shown). There is some water in its rivers.

I'm not sure what this sign means, but I'm pretty sure I was in compliance.

D's friend called me on D's cell phone (I felt very fancy receiving calls whilst in Japan) and we met up for dinner (okonomiyaki, a kind of noodle pancake) and geisha spotting.

I think this is Gion, the geisha district. And that there is a shrine, although which one is anyone's guess. Let' s say it's Yasaka.

A very artfully framed photo. Truth be told, the geishas were creepy. And their singing was a little like Middle Eastern music sung on helium. By cats in heat.

Still to come: monkeys, monkeys, monkeys--and fish.

Mo' Better Life Extension

2005-11-14T22:09:00.000-05:00

In homage to the Japanese's random use of English, post titles will bear little to no relation to the content therein.

So. We begin before the beginning.

This is what happened the last time I went to Japan:

After a round of anger-management classes combined with a daily regimen of yoga, I was able to move beyond the rage of my youth and return with peaceful intentions.

Mount Fuji seen from the plane.

Day 0: After a three-hour nap to Dallas and a 13.5-hour nap to Osaka, I arrived in Japan, where I discovered that it's true what they say: It really is dang hard to find international ATMs in Japan, even in the Osaka airport. But I did find one, and I also managed to turn in my rail pass voucher for the real thing. More on this marvel later. The rail pass voucher form asked for the number of my return flight, which I didn't know. I told the guy "wakarimasen," which led to confusion on both our parts until I remembered that I was saying "I don't understand," instead of "I don't know" ("shirimasen"). Oops. In my Japanese class we only learned how to say "I don't understand," never "I don't know." (Presumably because to not know would be rude.) We also never learned how to say "left" or "right." But we did learn how to say "Kyoto no shisha ni ikimasu" ("I'm going to our branch office in Kyoto"). It ain't called Japanese for Busy People for nothin', folks. Phrasebook consulted and mistake now corrected, I set off with what Socrates tells us is the most important knowledge we can have: the knowledge that we don't know.

First surprise: The Japanese drive on the left! How did I not know that? Whoops. Sorry, Socrates.

My friend D (who was in Paris) had arranged for a friend to let me into her apartment. Which is probably the best apartment in Kyoto. It is definitely on the best street in Kyoto.

Best street in Kyoto.

Other end of best street in Kyoto, the part with the sketchy clubs. So worst part of best street in Kyoto. Still pretty great.

Best vending machine in Kyoto. On best street.

Best toilet in Kyoto. When you flush the toilet, the water in the sink starts running, both washing your hands and refilling the tank. For five days, I washed my hands with that orange thing in the sink. It was really hard to get the soap out. When D came back, I asked her about it. It's an air freshener.

A word, if I may, on Japanese toilets. There are still a lot of squat toilets in Japan, always a delight for the ladies. However, when you chance upon a non-squat toilet, you're in for a treat (and not just because of the drastic reduction in the chances of peeing on your pants--something I once did on Mount Sinai, but in my defense this was not a squat-toilet situation. This was a no-toilet situation. A no-toilet-I-climbed-a-mountain-all-night-and-now- I'm-peeing-while-balancing-on-craggy-rocks situation). Now that I've established my urinary credentials, allow me to continue. First, the seats are heated, which is disturbing at first because you think that the previous person had a shockingly warm posterior (and given the air freshener incident, above, and my tendency to see technological advances where there are none, it's possible that this was in fact the case). Second, when you reach for the toilet paper, the motion activates a sort of "flushing machine," designed to cover any embarrassing noises. You can adjust the volume. There are three settings: loud, soft, and off. In the sink, not only is the faucet motion-activated, but the soap dispenser is as well (real soap this time). If you can't find the hand drier, look in the sink. The drier is inside it, on the opposite end from the faucet.

Coming up: geisha, attempts to buy compasses, and lots of monkeys.

Banzai!!!!

2005-11-11T09:25:00.000-05:00

Richard Gere Wa Sharemono Desu (Richard Gere Is a Dandy)

2005-11-11T01:13:00.000-05:00

And ha--it's an "Exclusive Men's Beauty Day Spa."

Rechts Stehen, Links Gehen! (Stand on the Right, Go on the Left)

2005-11-07T16:20:00.000-05:00

This rule, of German origin and one I like to yell loudly at my parents when they're being unruly on the escalators, is in full effect in Japan and makes for some very orderly promenading in the Tokyo Station area.

In Shibuya, however, all bets are off.

In other news, in Japan Richard Gere is the spokesman for Dandy House and I have photographic evidence of this.

Doe a Deer

2005-11-04T03:31:00.000-05:00

One of us is very sleepy.

One of us is off to Japan at 5am.

One of us should stop playing with her digital camera lest she forget to pack it.

I lied. Both of us are sleepy.

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie

2005-11-03T22:44:00.000-05:00

Scottistani Special Bulletin: Mabrouk to Bajerrific and TP who will soon be hearing the pitter-patter of little mouse feet.

p.s. I think this blog only exists to link to your blog.

Time Warp

2005-11-03T08:30:00.000-05:00

Close your eyes. You are in another place. The sun is shining. There is a faint smell of prosciutto in the air. You are on vacation. You are me. You are me and my parents.

Now go away, this isn't intended for you.

Italie mai 2005

On attend le train. On est en Suisse? Ou peut-etre en France? En Italie?

On est dans le train. La, on doit etre en Italie quand-meme.

This was the gelato equivalent of the Creative Zen Micro: all form and no function. The Zen Micro doesn't drip all over my fingers though. Then again, the gelato didn't have a firmware problem and freeze for six months (it stayed frozen about 30 seconds). Also it cost approximately 1/100th of the Micro's price.

If a and b, then c: If you're in the market for an mp3 player, you'd be better off with this gelato. But bring napkins.

Quick! Who is who? (Hint: The one on the right purchased multiple chess sets.)
Those shoes didn't make it back. Fortunately, fully cognizant of my destructive abilities (which are generally directed at shoes and electronics, see above), before leaving I had purchased another pair, so in a sense they never left.

Italy has flowers. It also has pigeons (not shown).
There is no water in its rivers.
Other things to know about Italy, courtesy of B. I. Topaz, first runner-up at the 1998 US N-Tournament: "Italy is closed on Sunday and Monday. The summer operatic schedule is quite simple: Operas are held the day before your arrival and the day following your departure; plan accordingly."

This was a more successful gelato experience. Following Baji's gelato grading system, I'd give it an A-. NB: When you order watermelon ice cream in Italy, they will bring you coconut ice cream, which is what you really wanted anyway.

Prosciutto and friends.
This might be Parma. I say "might" because it's actually Bologna.

Still life with jambons. (This was actually a different day--look at my shirt. Actually, that probably means it was a different week. Heh.)

We now return to your regularly scheduled programming.

Secrets

2005-11-02T08:29:00.000-05:00

I don't believe you.

Facelift

2005-11-01T19:29:00.000-05:00

Results not guaranteed.

How do you say "pantaloon" in Japanese?

2005-10-31T23:43:00.000-05:00

Answer: paireetsupantsu!
ichi sakibou = one paw

ni sakibou = two paws
san sakibou (to ichi hana to ichi me) = three paws (and one nose and one eye)

Shi sakibou = four paws
Shi sakibou is the maximum number

Kore wa neko desu = This is a cat
Dainonekozuki wa Nihon ni ikimasu. Sayonara! = The ardent cat lover is going to Japan. Bye!

Bush Likely To Tap Judge for Supreme Court

2005-10-29T13:20:00.000-04:00

In other news, shooting victim likely to tap surgeon for operation.

Or:

Pick me!

Blanqui Redecorates. Or: How To Make Good Use of an Expensive Digital Camera. Words and Pictures by Amelie. Starring Blanqui

2005-10-28T19:36:00.000-04:00

Blanqui suffers from ennui. What should he do? He will google his favorite tweenage not-gay Southern pop singer!

See Blanqui google.

See Blanqui google Clay.

I hate dial-up!

How about this wall?

This wall will do. Now I can enjoy my dinner.

Life is good.