dejadrew

Cell phone vigilante jams loud phone calls on the bus.

....Holy crap.

Holy CRAP.

Guys. It's The Murderer. This news story... it's Ray Bradbury's short story The Murderer.

     "Then  I got the idea of the portable diathermy machine. I rented one, took
  it  on  the  bus  going  home that night. There sat all the tired commuters with
  their wrist radios, talking to their wives, saying, 'Now I'm at Forty-third, now
  I am at Forty-fourth, here I am at Forty-ninth, now turning at Sixty-first.' One
  husband  cursing,  'Well,  get  out of that bar, damn it, and get home and get
  dinner  started,  I'm at Seventieth!' And the transit system radio playing 'Tales
  from  the Vienna Woods,' a canary singing words about a first-rate wheat cereal.
  Then  I  switched  on my diathermy! Static! Interference! All wives cut off from
  husbands  grousing  about  a  hard  day at the office. All husbands cut off from
  wives  who  had  just  seen  their  children  break a window! The 'Vienna Woods'
  chopped down, the canary mangled! Silence! A terrible, unexpected silence. The
  bus  inhabitants  faced  with  having to converse with each other. Panic! Sheer,
  animal panic!"

Leaving aside for the moment how douchey or not douchey the real guy doing this may have been.... Dude. We are genuinely, OFFICIALLY living in a Science Fiction dystopia. I... don't know how to feel about that....

Okay, okay, so I wasn't actually adopted by a pack of tanuki. Although I was kinda adopted for a night by a roving pack of Japanese senior citizens a couple of weeks ago who bought me pocky and grape soda and made me come to karaoke with them, does that count? But yeah, apparently posting every week was excessively ambitious. Old habits die very hard. But I am going to try to do better.

So! My first post from Tokyo! What am I going to talk about tonight? Ueno zoo? The temples in Asakusa? Yoyogi park and the Meiji Jingu Shrine? Akibahara electric town?

All of them, eventually, I hope. But not tonight.

Tonight, I am going to write about public baths.

Good sweet merciful MURGATROYD do I love the public bath.

If there is a heaven, and I get to go there, there had better be a sentou. Seriously.

See, the thing is, my guest house, while it is a very nice guest house and the price is right, has only a shower stall, no bathtub. A minor disappointment, if that. More troublesome is the fact that the bathroom. Is. Not. Heated. This will not be a problem in the summer months, when I imagine we will all be sweltering and trying to peel out of our skin, but in the winter, it means every shower ends with a mad scramble to dive out of the shower stall and into my clothes quickly enough that I won't freeze to death en route.

Thankfully, across the street is a sentou, public bath house. And it is warm. Good God, glorious, glorious WARMTH. I can't afford to go every night, but I consider it more than worth it to treat myself once a week just for the chance to be wet and naked and WARM. One of the Japanese ladies there was asking me something about "poka poka" a few trips ago. I had no idea what that meant at the time. She was making vague gestures in the vicinity of her chest; I wondered if she was saying something about my boobs. Well, she still could have been, I guess, but it turns out "poka poka" means something like "a feeling of warmth throughout your body." So now that I've looked that up, yes, wholehearted agreement, ma'am. Poka poka. F*#^ing A.

A lot of Japanese people AND gaijin are surprised to find out I like the sentou. "Aren't you embarrassed? Most foreigners are too embarrassed to go." "Aren't you scared? I could never be naked in front of other people like that." I... don't see the trouble, honestly. It... well, it takes two people to be embarrassed, doesn't it? One person to do something embarrassing, and another person to witness it AS an embarrassing act. No one else in the sentou thinks being naked in the baths is weird or shameful, so why would I? Context is everything, right?

I was honestly much more worried and embarrassed about everything besides nudity. Being naked is easy. Anyone can take their clothes off. But figuring out the complicated protocol of who gets to sit next to the cool water tap so you don't boil, and for how long, THAT has taken me multiple trips to figure out. (As near as I can figure out, nobody's allowed to just ASK for a turn in the good spot, but if someone looks at all overheated, you should ask them if they are hot and immediately offer it to them, and if you're lucky enough to get that seat you have a duty to use your hands to swish the cooler water over to the other bathers. WEEKS it has taken me to parse this. Nobody details this kind of stuff in the travel guides.) I've been petrified of committing some horrible breach of manners. Fortunately, little old ladies keep popping over to correct me and show me the proper way to do things (though I still had to figure out stuff like the cool spot etiquette thing myself)

Mmm. A seated shower in a heated room. Hot water that never runs out. A jacuzzi that doesn't smell like chlorine. No clingy sticky bathing suit to get between you and the water. And today I did laundry, so I brought a fresh change of clothes. Nothing beats getting clean and warm and then putting on fresh clean clothes. I'm still all comfy and glowy. Poka poka. The folks who are too scared to strip don't know what they're missing.

I found out from bookblather 's lj, and read further on the author's official website. Diana Wynne Jones died today.

When I was a kid, I used to binge read. I would find a book I liked, and then I would promptly sign out every single other book the author had ever written from the library. I would then read them back to back to back, reading in the halls absently dodging passing classmates, reading in class with a book tucked in my binder, reading in bed with my lamp muffle under a blanket to dim the light (causing one very small but memorable fire), reading until I was staggering around in a daze with a literary hangover.

Diana Wynne Jones was one of my first great book binges. If it had been any other drug but books it would have ended with me waking up in a hotel in some strange country with a headache and no idea how I'd got there. As it was I woke up in my own home with a head full of strange countries and no idea how I'd got back.

Castle in the Air. Howl's Moving Castle. Charmed Life. The Nine Lives of Christopher Chant. Dogsbody. The Homeward Bounders. On  and on and on.

Diana Wynne Jones is dead.

...Fuck.

A word to anyone who plays World of Warcraft or knows someone who does. Blizzard's official forums have always had a problem with trolling and flaming. Some bright spark at Blizzard has decided that the solution to the problem posed by John Gabriel's Greater Internet Fuckwad Theory is to remove the veil of anonymity: they are going to require that everyone post under their real, full names.

Think about that: everyone who posts a question in the tech support forum. Everyone who posts a bug report. Everyone on a roleplaying forum organizing an event. Everyone chiming in on Customer Feedback. Is going to have to reveal their real, full, legal names.

In other words: Blizzard is "fighting" forum trolls by giving them the means to FOLLOW YOU OUT OF THE GODDAMN FORUM.

People who will be hurt by this change, or forced to leave the community and be silenced:

Female players with obviously female identified names, who will be opening themselves to potential harassment from sexist jerks.

Trans individuals whose legal names do not reflect their chosen gender, who will be opening themselves to potential harassment from transphobic jerks.

People with ethnically distinct names, (all the Goldsteins, Jamals, Abduls, Julios, and Yangs out there) who will be opening themselves to potential harassment from racist jerks.

ANYONE with a name unique enough to allow someone to track them down, either to another site like facebook, or to their physical address. (At one point this included me. For a while the top result for a google search of my name was a local newspaper article talking about my involvement in a hometown event. It was a small town, and was the only person with my last name in the phonebook at the time. It would have been very, very easy to find me if someone had been so inclined.) A really dedicated troll could work from a more common name by using bits of personal data gleaned from offhand remarks to narrow it down (mentioned they just attended a Jonathan Coulton concert: what city was JoCo performing in that weekend? And so on.)

Anyone "internet famous" (webcartoonists, YouTubers, bloggers, even real-world celebrities) who does not want their creepy fanbase following them around outside their own blog.

Anyone applying for a job who doesn't want the first thing an employer sees when googling their name to be their in-depth post on the proper way to roleplay a tauren plagueshifter.

Anyone who has had problems with stalking, abusive relationships, or rape in their pasts who is hiding from an abuser and doesn't want them to follow them into the forums.

People NOT harmed by this decision:

Straight white cisgendered men who are completely open to everyone they know about their gaming habits, have a secure job in a gaming related field, have absolutely no unpleasant/crazy exes or relatives or acquaintances, and also are named "John Smith."

***********************************

A good link roundup here.

bookblather posted a book meme that looked like fun, figured I'd give it a whirl.

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 4-7 sentences on your LJ along with these instructions.
5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.
6. Tag five people. Tag yer own darn self. I'm sleepy!

"Nearest book," in my case, is, em.... Look, I am currently currently experiencing a boom stage in the book population cycle. So when you say "nearest," I start to ask things like "by nearest, do you mean the book at the TOP of the towering stack, or the one at eye-level?"

I'll go with the "close eyes, stick a hand out, start groping, hope you do not trigger a massive bibliographic avalanche" method of selection.

( Lessee, here.... *fumble fumble* )

A week or so ago I woke up in the middle of the night and ran to my desk to write this poem. I waited this long to post it because... well... it is a children's clapping rhyme about a clone uprising.

I worry me sometimes.

Bought myself two DVD box sets with my Christmas money and have been bouncing happily back and forth between the two of them all weekend. Spice and Wolf is a little rough going at times due to some of the plotlines revolving fairly heavily around economics, but I always get sucked back in due to the characters being just so damn awesome.

*************************

Lawrence: "Math."

Holo: "Math math! Math?"

Lawrence: "Math, math math math. Math math; math."

Me: "I am somewhat confused by this no doubt riveting story about currency speculation..."

Holo: *is smart and awesome*

Lawrence: *is not threatened by the awesome*

Holo: *sly flirtation*

Lawrence: *flustered attempt at responding in kind*

Me: "....SQUEEEE!"

Lawrence: "Math!"

***************************

Mathematics may not be my favourite subject, but damn do I love Chemistry. *smirk*

Seriously, Spice and Wolf is quite possibly the most grown-up romance I've seen in anime. (I assume it's a romance, they're just friends and business partners at the point I've gotten to, but the sexual tension is pretty darn tense)

There's none of the "I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU wait I actually totes love you" stuff we're all sick of. (It was old when Rumiko Takahashi did it the first three times, and I'm even more tired of it now.) Holo and Lawrence LIKE each other before they start to LIKE-LIKE each other. They snark, and sometimes argue, but they also tease and flirt and just talk (about, well, math, mostly, but still) and their relationship is progressing slowly and steadily from acquaintanceship to friendship to something more. Like a REAL relationship! Between sane people!

And even though Holo has animal ears and a tail and is occasionally naked, she never comes across as creepy moe fodder. Maybe because of how she behaves and carries herself. Holo is an ancient harvest goddess, and she acts it.

Creepy Moe Catgirl: "Oh, gee, I have no idea of the effect my nudity has on the male observer! Nyo! Oops, clumsy me, I fell over into a compromising position! Nya!"

Non-Creepy Wolf Woman: "Pfft, I know exactly what effect my being naked has on you, I  just don't give a damn because that's your problem. Though I am amused by your discomfort."

And Lawrence is pretty cool himself. More mature-looking than your typical anime lead, with greyish hair colouring and stubble. More mature emotionally, too. He has a job, skills, goals. He teaches Holo about economics and currency, and often, since she's got a few centuries of observation of humanity on him, she totally schools him. They really feel like equal partners thus far, and I wuvs them so.

My other box set is Baccano!, and that's confusing-yet-awesome in a whole different way. Think anime as directed by Quentin Tarantino.

**************************************************************
Non-Linear Plotline: *IS NON LINEAR!*

Seventeen characters introduced in opening credits: "HI!"

Non-Linear Plotline: "IT'S 1711!"

Non-Linear Plotline: "NO WAIT IT'S 1932!"

Non-Linear Plotline: "NOW IT'S 1931!"

Non-Linear Plotline: "YOINK! 1930!"

Seventeen characters introduced in opening credits: "WE HAVE GUNS!"

Gratuitous Violence: *IS GRATUITOUS!*

Me: "I think my brain has whiplash and I think I like it!"
*************************************************************

So fun. So cool. So jazz. And it has the single most awesome episode titles I have ever seen in my whole life EVER. I mean, "Episode One: The Vice President Doesn't Say Anything about the Possibility of Him Being the Main Character." Awesome! Can you top that? No you cannot.

So I think I chose well for my post-holiday purchases, and with their help I am recovering nicely from what was actually a fairly dismal New Year's. May the 2010 uphill curve continue.

My sister was rummaging in her trick or treat bag today. My sister is theoretically too old to trick or treat, but she is smaller than me and cuter than me and has little or no shame. At least where free candy is concerned. Darn her. Anyway, she was going through the last of her candy and stuff when she discovered that the "and stuff" included a fundy Christian comic mini pamphlet. You know, repent or go to Hell, you adorable little heathen.

Now that is a scary Halloween trick.

She was mostly amused. Little worried she might have been singled out for some reason. Her fellow treaters better have gotten 'em too, or that's blatant discrimination against goth zombie nurses and she'll totally sue.

I was amused too, but also annoyed. Not so much at the proselytizing, actually. I kinda feel bad for most of the local Mormons and such, doggedly trying to hand out free bibles by the train stations and smiling wearily and wishing me a nice day when I turn them down. You just want to give them a consoling pat and a mug of warm tea, you know? There, there, I'm sure you'll save someone from everlasting hellfire tomorrow!

What offends me isn't so much the religion. It's the damn BAD COMICS.

On my shelf is the complete Vertigo edition of Osamu Tezuka's Buddha. It's gorgeous and epic and funny and heartbreaking and humane and so damn bloody UNFAIR. Because Siddharta Gautama Buddha got Osamu Tezuka, Manga no Kami-sama, God of Manga, the father of sequential art in East Asia, doing comics based on his life and teachings. What did poor Jesus get? Jack. Freaking. Chick.

I don't consider myself a Christian, except culturally. You know, celebrates Christmas and Easter, but doesn't attend church and hasn't been baptized or saved. I'm basically agnostic in my beliefs. Well, with lingering touches of neo-paganism left over from an adolescent Wiccan period. But while I haven't taken Jesus as my personal saviour, I have a certain amount of affection and admiration for the guy. And he deserves better than crummy, stiff art, BAD plotting and storytelling, and cold, humourless, angry writing. The man punned, for God's sake. (I mean, literally, he punned for the sake of his God.) Jesus had a sense of humour, and he was a damn GOOD storyteller. He'd hate this ugly, angry, smug little book.

Well, no, I guess he'd love it even though it's ugly and angry and forgive whoever drew it because he's the Nazz and that is how he rolls but STILL.

So, here's a few comics in which Jesus appears which do not suck. Because it is possible, darn it.

Dean Rankine's HOLY COW! Christian Comics. The anti-Chick. Dean Rankine appears to be a smart and sane member of the faithful, and he can draw. His zany, cartoony art style reminds me a bit of the little illustrations in Klutz Press books. These little mini-comics are hilarious and thoughtful. Jesus appears in them as a grinning hippy figure in sandals and colourful t-shirts, which apparently some people have found sacreligious but I find ridiculously a propos. And the comics have delightfully clickable titles like "Jesus meets Oprah" and "Psalm 23 and the Vampire Death Squad."

Externality and The Book of Merl, by Daniel Merlin Goodbrey. Jesus makes appearances in these two fun flash-based hypercomics. The Book of Merl was Goodbrey's attempt at improvising his own holy book, in comic form, and a little stick figure Jesus makes a cameo. It's a nice little acknowlegement of the debt the creator feels he owes Christianity as to the shaping of his morals.

...In Externality, Jesus battles a NINJA.

Saint Young Men, by Nakamura Hikaru. Jesus and Buddha take some time off from Heaven and kick it on Earth for a while, sharing a cheap bachelor pad in Japan. It's like the Odd Couple! With saviours! I dearly love this one for so many reasons. Mostly because my particular sense of humour is always tickled by the juxtaposition of the fantastic and the mundane. But also because both Jesus of Nazareth and Siddharta Gautama Buddha went through so much crap on this Earth, and It's NICE to think of the two of them getting to come back and relax and be ordinary and go to Tokyo Disneyland.

The thing those comics all have in common, sadly, is that conservative Christian fundamentalists probably hate them. But I like 'em. And Jesus loves 'em. But then, Jesus loves everybody, so I'm told.

I've made a new journal for a project that's been itching me for a while.

madpoetist, the collected poetry of a time-travelling mad scientist.

There's only one entry up so far, and I'm not sure where this is headed. Could be terrible. Should be fun. We'll see, anyway.

If nothing else, the persona I've chosen can go back and rewrite anything I hate. Time traveller, hello!

I've been on a classic Trek kick lately, watching some old favourites and reveling in their Spock eyebrow-quirking McCoy cranky-pantsing Kirk space-babe-seducing goodness. And I was watching Journey to Babel, because Spock's parents ROCK, when I was struck by a profound contrast between fantasy and reality.

See, in that episode, Kirk gets stabbed in the gut when the bad dude brings a knife to a fistfight. And Spock donates like all his blood for his dad's life saving operation. And maybe an hour later, Kirk and Spock are both totally clamoring to get out of bed and get back to work.

Kirk: Honestly, I'm fine! It's just a scratch! Who really needs TWO kidneys? I've always thought that two was excessive anyway. And that other organ that just fell out, I don't know what it's called but I'm sure it's not important, just put it on ice and I'll deal with it later.

Spock: Indeed. As for myself, unlike humans I am fairly certain we Vulcans do not truly require blood. I can perform my duties perfectly adequately on the 250 millilitres remaining to me plus a pot of strong tea.

McCoy: God help me, if I have to SEDATE THE STUPID OUT OF YOU, I will.

Kirk and Spock were both being That Guy, you know? The one who never admits he's sick. The one who sneaks out of the hospital through the second story ward window using his own IV as a rope. That Guy is everywhere in fiction. Starfleet consists almost entirely of That Guy. I don't think any man in any anime I've watched has ever stayed in the hospital long enough to actually be released.

I have never actually met That Guy.

I don't deny he could exist, I've just never met one personally.

I have only met This Guy.



I was in fact raised by This Guy. In fact, the particular This Guy who raised me is sick right now, and moping around convinced he's dying. (My mother, by the way, finds the above sketch hysterical.)

Me: I just find it so interesting that nearly all the men in fiction are so stoic in the face of illness, and most of the men in real life are... not.

Dad: (moans something in the background about what he wants on his tombstone.)

Mom: Maybe the men writing Star Trek were using Kirk to fantasize about who they wish they could be.

Dad: (mumbles something vague about a tunnel and a warm white light.)

Me: Actually, this episode was written by D.C. Fontana, a woman.

Dad: (coughs and hacks wretchedly)

Mom: ...Well, maybe she was doing a bit of fantasizing, herself. Was she married?

Dad: (groans)