There's a storm a-brewing!

Typhoon No. 9 is about to hit Tokyo - but it's ok, because I have my snorkel, my floaties, my flippers and a nifty little swimming costume prepared.

Presumably, there were eight other typhoons this season, but they clearly weren't as bad-ass as this one, because this is the only one that caused my company to start issuing warning bulletins to us by email. If we don't receive any more bulletins, we can assume one of three things:

(1) that the danger has passed, and that we're all going to be ok;
(2) that the management don't want to alarm us, and to keep us working and make as much money out of us for as long as possible before we get blown away to the four edges of the world; or
(3) that the typhoon has already affected the internet servers for all of Japan (it happened not too long ago with an earthquake), all 'imminent impact' warning emails have failed, and we're all doomed, DOOMED I SAY!

Now I sit here blowing up my floaties - waiting, blowing, waiting, blowing...

A reprieve... of sorts

Let the birds sing and the angels rejoice - I get a one month break from work.

For once, the incompetence that so accurately characterises the bureaucratic behemoth that is the Japanese government has finally worked in my favour. The filing requirements for visa and work permit renewals are so deliciously convoluted that I won't be allowed to work for the next four weeks - which suits me fine. I have reading to catch up on, university classes to attend, furniture to wrestle with and negotiate to the ground from lofty Ikea shelves... and what's more, my plans for world domination aren't just going to implement themselves… (my minions are few, and rather recalcitrant, and aren't aware that they are, in fact, my minions)

I predict a gloriously hedonistic month ahead.

Internet Translations Is Bestest!!

I edit a certain Japanese law journal every year, and each year I get increasingly frustrated with the authors that contribute to the journal, I feel like a little part inside me dies each time... like my soul is slowly being drowned in a sea of grammatical errors and damn stupid spelling mistakes.

Some of the mistakes are forgivable - the authors are Japanese, and they are set the task of translating their own work into English, and then I turn it into real English and give their turn of phrase a certain poetic polish. SOME of their mistakes are forgivable. I have, however, pooled all my money and ordered a hit on one particular author, who I shall give the apt nom de plume - Mr. I - shall - beat - the - living - crap - out - of - you - if - ever - I - meet - you - face - to - face. The reason for my underlying hostility towards Mr. I - shall - beat - the - living - crap - out - of - you - if - ever - I - meet - you - face - to - face is that he doesn't even attempt to translate things into English. Instead, he runs them through some random machine translator on the Internet, and then sends me the end result (lazy bloody bastard bloody beat the bloody living crap out of his lazy bloody....). I've long suspected it, but after his email to me today, I'm positive.

Hello,

Very thank you for having my writing checked very in detail.
Only one being worrisome is that both of terms are intermingled.
I think that it is satisfactory individually even if it unifies into either.
I think that I would like you to unify into either if it was semantically satisfactory specially even if it does so.

Kind regards,

Mr. I-shall-beat-the-living-crap-out-of-you-if-ever-I-meet-you-face-to-face

And don't even getting me started on the plagiarism and complete lack of referencing...

Australian Idle

It'd be brilliant if I could say that the reason for my absence is that I got into a fist fight the other week with some members of the local Russian Mafia here in Tokyo, only to be beaten up and sold into white slavery, shipped across to Eastern Europe, and have only now just managed to return to Japan by escaping in a container on a freighter sailing through the pirate-infested Malacca Straits between Malaysia and Indonesia, bound for Yokohama port.

That, unfortunately, would be a slight exaggeration.

The pace of my life recently has reached the stage such that the word "busy" woefully fails to harness the essence of just how hectic my days have become. It's sometimes tempting to wish for more hours in the day, but if that were to happen, knowing me, I'd just find more things to cram it full with. Between the three jobs I'm currently trying to hold down, and studying for the upcoming exams, how the hell am I supposed to make any progress on my quest for world domination?!? At this rate, the best I can possibly hope to get by the end of the year is perhaps a pacific island or two, and not greater part of central Asia - as per my previous plan.

But grandiose megalomaniacal schemes aside, my profound busyness has had an equally profound impact on my rathole, sweet rathole (otherwise erroneously referred to by the local council's residential zoning section as an "apartment"). It's not that it's unhygienic, per se, just that it doesn't quite pass the threshold test for clean. Chaotic is perhaps a more apt description. This is mostly due to the piles upon piles of newspapers that I have adorning the floor of my rathole. You see, being the ever conscientious student that I am, (prior to having to work every day) I used to wake up at the crack of dawn to scan the newspapers in the dormitory reading room. Once I found an article related to law/politics, I'd go and photocopy it (at great expense to myself). The local guards took pity on me - much like someone would on a mangy, flea-ridden dog - and so, instead of throwing the newspapers out at the end of the day, they would put them aside for me. So as long as I surreptitiously make my way down to the guard's desk after the stroke of midnight, and without letting any of the students in the dorm know about it, I get to keep the newspapers. The plan then goes that I'll read the newspapers, cut out the articles, and organise it into my folders... it's this part of the plan where I keep running into trouble. And so, my room is an impenetrable fortress consisting of Reuters and Associated Press articles. It makes negotiating my way out of the room on my way to work in the morning an interesting Olympic-qualifying acrobatic event.

In other news, the road trip is still going ahead (albeit, in a somewhat modified form). Since I last wrote about it oh so many moons ago, in was cancelled - then it was back on - then it was off again - then on - then off - on - off - I did the hokey pokey, turned around, and now it's back on again. As of today, the itinerary is to drive from:

San Francisco -> LA -> Las Vegas -> Some chapel, drunk, to get married to some random chick with me dressed up like Elvis -> Nearby sleazy hotel -> Court (for an annulment) -> Grand Canyon -> Roswell (to see the aliens... the truth is out there... or at least it better be, because I'm doing a whole hell of a lot of driving just to get there) -> Houston -> Cancun, Mexico.

And if I bother to keep my eyes open while I'm driving, I'll probably manage see a whole lot more than just that.... but then, where would the fun be in that?