Skye, Hilary and I were invited to a trip to Hokkaido that was, to be diplomatic about it, the social equivalent of the Challenger meeting the Titanic with the Exxon Valdez keeping score.
Dawn says to me, I’d love to get a tattoo in Japan. Let me call my friend, I say, he does tattoos. Several hours and one ritual bowl of sake later, and she’s got a much more permanent souvenir of Japan.
The dynamic duo of Dawn and Scott are in Tokyo for a short, short time, so I’ll be cramming as much time into hanging with them and not you. Sorry. (Well, not really. They’re cool. You, I barely know from those glue-sniffing hookers that stalk my apartment building.)
Here’s lots of photos, taking them to places that were new to me not so long ago. Click on the photos and scroll to the bottom of the galleries to see the newest ones.
It was going to be a grand ol’ time.
Saturday afternoon could barely contain itself, holding back the pee of joy at the coming Saturday night. The grand dame of the week, the one everbody wants and gets away.
Not much going on worth mentioning, so I’ll point you all in the direction of some more interesting stuff.
So the SF Chronicle, that paper that San Franciscans like to say, “If it gets reported in the New York Times, you’ll see it in the Chron three days later,” has taken yet another stab at Understanding Tokyo.
I was with the guy up until he started scrambling for examples to back his bizarre theory that stereotypes about Tokyo are somehow more true than stereotypes of other places.
Got one word for ya, Mr. Jeff Yang, and it starts with Bull and ends with “what kind of pot are they growing in Humboldt these days and can you send some my way if it’ll make me see what you’re seeing.”