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  07.23.03
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There has been a lot of talk lately in Tokyo
blogging circles about mobile blogging, i.e.,
posting pictures and text to the Internet
using your mobile camera-phone. This has
become known as 'moblogging'.
It's become so popular that there was even
a local conference held on the subject while I was away in
Canada.
Some people think that it's going to revolutionize
online publishing and blogging in general,
while others seem to feel that it's just
going to produce more crap for us to wade
through online.
Well, whatever happens with moblogging and
camera-phones in the long run, I think that
people will be constantly finding new and surprising uses for the technology.
 07.20.03
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I had a funny thought the other day, and
I can't seem to get it out of my head, so,
I thought I'd share it with you. It's kind
of a hypothetical question, inspired, initially,
by musing on the relationship between 'image'
and 'reality'.
Here it goes: Lets say a man were to make
a pair of tight-fitting shorts out of flesh-coloured
rubber that were identical to his own groin
area (i.e., penis, pubic hair, the whole
bit). Also lets say that these shorts were
totally indistinguishable from the real thing,
so that when he wore them he looked naked.
My question is, if he were to wear these
shorts in public could he/should he be charged
with indecent exposure?
Technically, he is clothed, but he would
seem to be violating the spirit of the law.
Are people offended by nudity, or just the
image of nudity? Is there a difference?
What do you think?
 07.17.03
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You may not know this, but the service on
board Air Canada planes is infamous. They're
sloppy, inattentive, and occasionally just
plain mean. Maybe it's because they have
a domestic monopoly, but whatever the reason,
it's really starting to get out of hand.
I've noticed that there's a certain consistency
in the makeup of the flight staff. Pretty
much every Air Canada plane that I've ever
been on has had the following crew: One pinched-faced,
Margaret-Thatcher-like head flight attendant
in her early fifties; one gay steward in
his late thirties or early forties; one beautiful,
young, novice flight attendant in her twenties;
and four or five overworked and dour-faced
women in their mid-forties.
On my way back to Japan a few days ago I
got stuck with another classic Air Canada
crew. They had a particularly nasty head
flight attendant by the name of Betty. Although
in her early fifties, she kept her hair long
and wore it up in a tight little bun. Her
glasses, which had a thin gold neck chain
on them, sat low on her nose, and she would
tilt her head down and peer over the top
of them as she spoke to you in a condescending
voice.
I sat in an aisle seat. As the plane was
making its way down the runway prior to takeoff,
they showed the safety feature movie, and
all of the flight attendants took their preassigned
places in the aisle. One of the dour-faced
stewardesses, I think her name was Margaret,
stood beside me.
Betty seemed to have it out for Margaret.
She stood right behind her, almost touching,
with her glasses perched on the end of her
nose, whispering criticisms in Margaret's
ear. Margaret stood there, her back to Betty,
looking straight ahead with a clenched jaw
and fists at her side, trying to remain calm.
At one point, Betty was giving her shit for
not having her jacket on. Margaret said,
through clenched teeth, "It's way at
the back of the plane."
Betty started to harp on something else for
a moment, but then returned to the Jacket
issue. "I'll take your place, you go
get it," she said, and stood there looking
official while Margaret begrudgingly went
to get the jacket.
When she returned, Margaret had the jacket
on and immediately resumed her place with
her back to Betty. Betty, in wide-eyed mock
defense, leaned toward Margaret and said,
"They're not MY regulations. I didn't
write the rules." Then she smugly walked
away and took a position a bit further down
plane, just out of ear shot.
At this point I looked up at Margaret and
said, "Wow, pretty strict, eh?"
Margaret looked down at me, and with slow,
articulate mouth movements said, "She's
a fucking bitch."
"What?!?", I burst out laughing.
"You can't say that kind of thing
to
me! That's too funny!"
With anger still in her face she said,
"And
I'm not the only one on this crew who
thinks
so."
It turned out to be a long flight, for both
me and Margaret. So now you know.
 07.11.03
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Addition: July 13
The following post was actually put online
a few days ago, but my site host had some
technical problems and lost it. They then
put up an older cached version of Hunkabutta.
So here it is again. Sorry for the delay.
I just got off the plane and am now back
home in Tokyo.
More Japan pics soon.
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It's 1:00 a.m. and I'm sitting here in my
father-in-law's small living room, surrounded
by countless collectibles and knickknacks,
putting together Hunkabutta and thinking
about my vacation, which is rapidly coming
to an end. I'll be going back to Japan on
Sunday.
It's been good here, I love B.C. and I really
needed the rest, but I'll be glad to get
back to the big sushi, Tokyo.
Somehow, on family vacations, you never seem
to get as much time to relax as you expect.
There's always one more auntie to visit,
one more birthday party to go to, or one
more dinner with the grandparents. But hey,
that's all fine, getting to know the in-laws
and hanging out with the parents are enjoyable
past-times. It's just that before I go on
vacation I always have these naive leisure
fantasies.
I envision myself doing things like walking
for hours on the beach alone, or spending
entire afternoons drinking coffee and reading
novels in sunny outdoor cafes, or learning
20 new songs on the guitar. In reality, Karen
and I are too busy rushing from place to
place, social function to social function,
to stop and do anything more time consuming
than to change a dirty diaper.
Anyhow, it's time to turn the light off in
the living room and head to bed. It's probably
going to be a busy last two days.
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