Two weeks to go.

The weather has been horrible (relatively speaking) this past week. We saw the sun today for the first time in… well, I really can’t remember. It’s been snowing a bit each day, some more than others, but the accumulation rarely sticks around for long. The mountains have been faring well, however, and should the clouds ever clear enough such that they’re visible again, it’ll make for a nice scene.

Inspired by these incredible photos, I’ll be sharing some scenes of Tokyo from above this coming week. Some people might find such a landscape suffocating, but I found it to have a certain charm.

One thing I brought back with me from my time in Japan is the feeling that, every time my desk shudders, be it from a passing truck or my careless, bouncing knee, it must be an impending earthquake.

Oh, and I can stomach McDonald’s again… somehow.

November already? My, how time flies. Before long, it’ll be snowing once again.

In fact, I’ll probably be seeing a lot of snow this Winter. No, Nebraska’s not due for a miniature localized ice age. Rather, I’m moving up in the world. And by “up”, I mean “up in elevation.”

I’m moving to Colorado.

So, no more pictures of corn fields or amber waves of grain. You’ll have to settle for purple mountains’ majesty. It’s a real shame, I know.

Anyway, for the nitty gritty details (that I’m willing to provide, at least): I hope to be out there before the end of the year. I’ll be settling somewhere within commuting distance of Boulder. No, I don’t ski.

Now that I’ve laid the Anime Blog to rest, I have nowhere to geek out. Oh well. I guess I’ll just have to do it here.

I didn’t have much luck keeping up with this year’s Summer shows while in Japan. I found time to catch Honey & Clover every Thursday night, but that’s about it. Since returning home, I’ve had the opportunity to catch up with some of the shows I missed, but now that the Autumn season is upon us, it’s time to dive into the newer offerings.

Unfortunately, said newer offerings leave much to be desired, with only a few shows having caught my attention thus far. Of those, only one stands out: Paradise Kiss. Conveniently enough, Paradise Kiss replaced Honey & Clover in Fuji TV’s late night “NOITAMINA” time slot. So, if I were still in Japan, I wouldn’t even have had to adjust my schedule in order to catch the show every week.

Paradise Kiss eagerly embraces the culture of Harajuku, a Tokyo neighborhood popular among brand and fashioned-obsessed teenagers and young adults. While I didn’t spend much time exploring Harajuku, the neighborhood left a lasting impression on me nonetheless. It’s crowded, noisy, lively, and inexplicably weird - yet, strangely authentic. Shibuya was suffocating. Harajuku was… absorbing.

Alas, it’s not my scene personally, but it’s fun to observe from the sidelines - which is probably why I dig Paradise Kiss as much as I do. The show’s opening animation is Harajukufied from start to finish, and not only because the street scenes correspond to real life locations. Rather, it just feels like Harajuku. Glamour without pretension. Electric. Youthful.

Of course, it helps that the opening theme is a killer track. A friend describes it as “Shibuya shopping march music” - an absolutely brilliant description, really. They should pump it out the crosswalk loudspeakers at the intersection of Meiji-dori and Dogen-zaka. Gotta get those yankees moving.

The Madison County Courthouse in Winterset, Iowa was designed by Andrew Piquenard and constructed in 1876. Piquenard also designed the Iowa state capitol in Des Moines and the state capitol in neighboring Illinois.

And, yes, it’s that Madison County.

A strong cold front blasted through Nebraska overnight. Behind the front, an early season blizzard buried parts of the Dakotas in up to a foot of snow. It’s not cold enough for snow here - not yet, at least - but it’s been a raw day nonetheless. With each sunrise, the trees reveal a bit more color. Another week, and it’ll be one hundred percent Autumn.

In Japan, friends and coworkers would often ask me to describe Nebraska. I found that comparisons to Hokkaido worked best - minus the mountains, of course. In reality, however, only Eastern Nebraska resembles Hokkaido. The dry, barren ranchland of western Nebraska and the Sandhills of northern Nebraska, for example, have no Japanese equivalent whatsoever.

The scene in the photo looks like something out of a Hokkaido guidebook. But, alas, I discovered it a mere stone’s throw away from my house in Omaha. Can you believe over a million people call this tiny corner of Nebraska home?

Having come from Japan, I find myself impressed with how big everything is here at home. The landscape, the cars on the road, the people… gigantic. My “cozy” bedroom is cozy no more. It’s practically a concert hall!

Geez, it’s cold in Nebraska.

For all basic purposes, Autumn begins in Japan on the first day of September. After all, that’s when “Autumn” food and drinks hit the store shelves and “Autumn” menus show up in restaurants.

I was almost fooled.

Today’s forecast high temperature: 34 degrees C (93F). Yup… still Summer.

Upper floor, second apartment from the left. Feel free to visit.

I thought I could make it two months without a haircut, but my hair had different plans. So, I paid a visit to the barber today.

Actually, I paid a visit to a salon. That’s what it billed itself as, at least. Best I could tell, it was just a barber shop with a silly French name. As I would soon learn, however, the service was more than the spinning red, white, and blue pole outside would have you expect.

Peering in the window, the stylists appeared young and aloof, so I figured they’d be delighted to cut my crazy foreign hair. I waltzed in the door, confident and prepared, ready to amaze them with my pidgin Japanese… and promptly found myself completely and utterly lost before the “Irrashimase!” had finished reverberating throughout the room.

“Hajimemashte?” the receptionist asked. Why, yes, this is my first visit. OK, then… time for the dreaded information card. As is typical in Japan, they needed to know everything about me but my shoe size before they could continue. I coughed up my name, address, and telephone number, and proceeded to stare dumbfounded at the remaining mess of numbers and kanji, hoping the receptionist would swoop in and rescue me. And that she did. With a quick, “Daijoubu desu ka?” the card was gone, and I was told to have a seat. In retrospect, seeing as I wouldn’t be a repeat customer, I should have had some fun with the card. Name: Captain Starshine. Address: 3-2-1 Ramalamadingdong-2-chome, Uchikuchi-ku, Ichinisan-shi, Hokutono-ken, Japan. Unfortunately, my brain don’t no work that fast.

Before long, a stylist appeared and ushered me toward the chair of fate. Before my ass hit the leather, he asked what I wanted done. Or, I assume that’s what he asked, as my brain wasn’t quite in “Japanese” gear. It was English loan words to the rescue, as I pointed to the top of my head with a “shorto,” and then the side of my head with a “motto shorto.” This seemed to satisfy him, and he immediately removed my glasses and got to work.

First came the shampoo massage. Yes, massage. Never in my life have I had my head lathered in such an expert and thorough fashion. The massage continued through the rinse. Hell, it continued through the toweling, only pausing briefly as he carefully dried the inside of my ears and my eyes. Then, out came the scissors.

Typically, I keep my hair so short that scissors are unnecessary. A razor with the proper guide attachments gets the job done in a matter of minutes, but the stylist was intent on shaping my hair with nothing but a pair of scissors. Obviously, this took some time, but it was worth it. Without my glasses, I had a difficult time charting his progress as he worked his way about my head. Still, I could feel the attention to detail as he snipped away.

After fifteen minutes of concentrated cutting, he returned my glasses to my head, whipped out a giant mirror, and asked, “Daijoubu desu ka?” I answered in the affirmative, and off came the glasses once again for shampoo massage part deux. Can’t have any loose hair floating around, after all.

After that came the straight razor and electric razor for cleaning up the edges. Then came some sort of oil, carefully massaged into my scalp. The next thing I knew, he was massaging my shoulders. Then my back. Then my temples. Then my head again. Back to my shoulders. Back to my head. The whole thing seemed so silly for some reason - so much that I had to bite my lip to keep from cracking up. Still, with him banging on my head like a taiko drum, I couldn’t help but smile like a dork.

Following the performance, he asked if I wanted a shave. Having already shaved that morning, I waved him off. Did I want it styled? Nope. I’m a wash and wear kind of guy. “Zenzen daijoubu,” I said with a thumbs up.

And that was it.

Of course, such service comes at a price: 3,800 yen ($34 USD). Whatever. It’s a one time experience… even if they did give me a point card on the way out.

Oh, and how does my hair look, you might ask? Not bad, really. It’s a bit longer than usual, but better too long than too short. It’s perhaps a little “high and tight” - such is the Japanese style - so I look a bit like a military guy. Of course, this means that, when walking the street, people will no longer just think I’m out to rob them, but that I’m looking to rape their daughters as well. Oh well. Such is life.

At least I don’t look like Ringo Starr anymore.

Japanese baseball is about as boring as American baseball. Actually, it’s worse. The crowd is fascinating to watch, however. The atmosphere is more like a college football game, with organized cheering sections, songs for individual players, flag waving, and no lack of drunken revelry.

This guy’s team may have lost, but he was still cheering after the final out. As was his cohort. That’s some serious dedication.

I rode out Typhoon 11 in Atami, a small resort town on the eastern side of the Izu Peninsula. Throughout the day, the storm was forecast to make landfall to my west, but I expected a dramatic, last minute turn to the east, bringing the intense northeastern eyewall directly overhead. Fortunately, intuition and patience paid off, as the storm behaved almost exactly as I expected. The center crossed the Izu Peninsula just south of Atami, placing the city in eyewall conditions for a solid two to three hours. Maximum sustained winds were probably around 100 mph, with gusts in the 120-130 mph range. Basically, the wind reached a threshold at which walking was nearly impossible.

Here is some horrible shaky-cam video from about an hour before the strongest winds arrived. When things got really out of hand, I was stuck outside doing a report. My producer and I had to take shelter behind a building for about a half hour, lest we get our heads ripped off by flying debris.

Since everything is built out of reinforced concrete here, damage was light to moderate. In Atami, damage was primarily limited to downed trees, mutilated fences, and flooded roadways. Unfortunately, the storm claimed one life.

Meet the Hop Coasters. These guys were playing outside Shinjuku Station on Saturday afternoon. They were actually quite good.

Once they realized I was shooting photos, they actually started mugging for the camera. Perhaps I should buy their CD to show my appreciation.

I finally found a place more dangerous (for my wallet, that is) than Akihabara: Yodobashi Camera’s flagship store near Shinjuku Station. Scattered amongst several buildings, Yodobashi sells every electronic appliance, widget, and doo-dad you can think of. The camera store alone stands eight stories tall - with a separate two story building across the street selling nothing but film… stocked in coolers. Thankfully, photo gear is expensive, so I escaped without buying anything more than the circular polarizer I had originally set out for.

Visibility was good for a change, so I took in the view from atop the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building and the massive Takashimaya Times Square shopping mall.

After having my feet trampled one too many times by the throngs of weekend shoppers, I boogied underground to the subway in search of quieter surroundings. And that’s exactly what I found in Jinbocho, a small neighborhood north of the Imperial Palace known for having a high concentration of used bookstores. As Akihabara is to anime fans, Jinbocho is to bookworms.

Sadly, Yomiko Readman was nowhere to be found.

After getting my fill of books, I strolled north in search of Suidobashi Station. Right outside the station sits the Tokyo Dome stadium and amusement park, where hordes of fans were arriving for the evening’s game between the Yomiuri Giants and Cincinnati Reds - er, I mean, Hiroshima Carp. I squeezed my way through the crowd and hopped a train bound for nearby Akihabara. No day in Tokyo is complete without a stop in Akihabara, it seems.

There, I grabbed dinner, avoided opening my wallet, and continued on to Asakusa, a neighborhood I had been meaning to visit for weeks. The sun had dipped behind buildings by the time I arrived, leaving little time for photography. I strolled around Sensoji Temple and finished the day with a boat ride down the Sumida River to Tokyo Port.

And on the seventh day… I rested.

Sunsets don’t last very long here. One minute, you’re staring at blue sky, and the next, flashing neon is the only light to guide your way.

Speaking of flashing neon, I was thinking of hitting Akihabara tonight in search of a 52mm circular polarizer, but Robin and I have been invited to dinner by the Chairman and CEO of the company - at his home, of all places. Obviously, Akihabara can wait.

Today marks the midpoint of my trip. Unfortunately, work’s been keeping me busy, so I haven’t had much chance to explore the past week or so. By the time I get home, I have just enough energy to grab a bite to eat and that’s it.

I might be making a trip to Hokkaido in the next week or two. After a month in the city, I could use the fresh air.

I arrived at Tokyo Big Sight around noon - a bit earlier than planned. There was a crowd, of course, but I was relieved to find no line to enter the convention space. Unfortunately, the lack of a line outside meant one thing and one thing only: those who had lined up previously were already inside. Passing through the entrance, I found myself in the midst of an otaku mosh pit.

Initially, I just moved forward with the crowd, eventually finding myself in the East Hall. Conveniently, this is where most of the tables selling print doujinshi were located. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, so I merely perused the aisles, occasionally stopping to thumb through a book here and there if the crowd allowed. After 15 minutes of being lost amongst the most pornographic of doujinshi (and, thus, being pushed and shoved by the most perverted of otaku), I fought my way back out to the concourse and joined the throngs headed for the West Hall.

There, I found mostly doujin games and music. While crowded, the West Hall offered more room to breathe compared to the East Hall, so I spent a bit more time exploring and soaking up the experience. Still, nothing caught me eye, so I continued upstairs to the industry booths. The atmosphere was much more lively there, with professionals hawking their wares. Of course, free swag was easy to come by - before long, I had a bag in each hand and enough tissue packs to soak up Tokyo Bay. I swung by the Aquaplus booth and made my first purchase of the day: a bag of mystery goodies. Clearly, there was much worth buying from the industry booths, but I was looking to conserve money, so I made my exit to the rooftop cosplay exhibition area for some photo taking.

It was hot. It was packed. Still, I wasn’t in costume, so I figured I had no room to complain. I worked my way through the crowd, occasionally pausing to snap photos of interesting cosplayers. Photographers outnumbered cosplayers by a significant margin, and with the hot sun beating down on me, I didn’t stick around for more than a half hour or so. As I returned to the air conditioned confines of the Big Sight, I received a text message from Yagami, a friend from the Megatokyo discussion forums, informing me he was due shortly at the convention site. I fought my way back to the main entrance and patiently waited for his arrival.

After a bit of phone tag, we managed to find each other. With the end of the convention a couple hours away at that point, we decided to make a quick attack to meet some people and make our desired purchases. Yagami has industry connections, so when I say “meet people,” I mean meet people. Our first stop was the booth belonging to Yoshitoshi ABe, creator of Haibane Renmei and character designer for Serial Experiments Lain. ABe-san was quiet, but friendly, and was kind enough to give us free copies of his newest book. He also entrusted Yagami with a copy to deliver to the booth of a friend - that friend being Range Murata, character designer for Last Exile and Blue Submarine No. 6.

After meeting with Murata-san, we split up to make our purchases, agreeing to meet once again in an hour and head to Shinjuku for dinner. I returned to the East Hall and bought a few books, and before long, it was time to depart.

Of course, with the end of the event approaching, there was a mass exodus to the single train station serving Tokyo Big Sight. Thus, I finally got to spend some time standing in line. Everything moved along efficiently, however, and after a short time, we boarded a packed train and set off for Shinjuku. There, we chatted between slurps of ramen, and called it a day.

I’ve always wanted to experience Comic Market at least once, and I can’t say I’m disappointed. Oddly enough, having seen the event played out numerous times in anime and manga series devoted to otaku life (such as Comic Party or Genshiken), everything had an uncanny familiarity. My expectations were fulfilled in every way.

We just had a major earthquake here. From initial reports, it looked to be centered near Sendai, 300 km to our north. News is still filtering in, but as violent and persistent as the motion was here in Chiba, I imagine it was a significant event.

Update: Earthquake report here. Looks like a 7.2, centered very close to Sendai.

In Tokyo, traffic laws were made to be broken.

After what seemed like an endless string of hot and sunny days, unsettled weather has returned to the Kanto Plain. The clouds do a lot to keep the temperature down during the day, although the associated increase in humidity is a bit of a drag. This morning, I woke up to the sound of light rain tapping on my window. I always enjoy rain, but I pray it clears out this evening. I need to hang my laundry out to dry.

I have a busy weekend ahead of me - well, a busy Sunday, at least. I’m not sure what I’ll be doing Saturday, but come Sunday, I’ll be paying a visit to Comic Market 68. Unlike anime and manga fan conventions in the United States, Comic Market (or Comiket, for short) is little more than a giant flea market where doujinshi artists gather to share and sell their work. Even though I don’t intend to buy much (if anything at all), I’ve always wanted to attend. You can learn more about Comiket here.

Like many of my coworkers, Sayuri-san speaks English well enough to carry on a conversation with either myself or Robin. But, like most everyone, she’s unnecessarily apologetic for her “lack” of ability. To be honest, I’m the one who feels like a dork; I know much more Japanese than the average American, yet I’ve never studied the language seriously enough to feel comfortable conversing in it while I’m here. Sayuri-san shouldn’t apologize for her poor English. Rather, I should be apologizing for my poor Japanese!

Of course, even when I do speak in Japanese, I’m often met with blank stares (or startled looks). And I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve started speaking to someone in Japanese, only to receive an English response. The role reversal is really bizarre at times.

Obviously, earthquakes are a common occurrence here in Japan. Still, I’m surprised by the number that have occurred in the three weeks since I arrived. First, there was this quake, the strongest to rock Tokyo in 13 years. Since then, there have been numerous light to moderate tremors, including two this very weekend.

I suppose it’s best that the Earth relieve itself every so often, but I can’t help but wonder if something big is in the works. Tokyo is long overdue for a devastating earthquake, after all…

I’ve been here just a little over a week, and I’ve already been visited by the NHK man.

I had a sinking feeling that’s who it was as I stood up to answer the door. And, sure enough, there he stood. Once the initial shock of being faced with a foreigner wore off, he launched into his spiel. I understood what he was saying and knew exactly what he wanted, but I played dumb, hoping he’d just give up and leave me alone. Once he whipped out the English language pamphlet, however, there was no turning back. I grabbed my wallet, counted out 2,790 yen, signed my name on the dotted line, and sent him on his way. He’ll be back in two months, but I’ll be gone by then.

I suppose I could have raised a stink and slammed the door in his face, but he was far too polite to deserve such shoddy treatment. In the end, he’s just a guy trying to do his job.

And, of course, I’ve watched a lot of anime over the years that aired on NHK - for free - so, I figure I owe them something.

There’s only one word to describe Harajuku: suffocating.

Walking the streets of Harajuku and Shibuya, I felt like I had temporarily taken leave of Japan. It was actually too cosmopolitan for my tastes. Worse yet, the place was crawling with foreigners - and by foreigners, I mean the loud, annoying, working holiday sort, crawling from one bar to the next, in search of the most earthly of pleasures.

It’s not my scene, really. I feel far more comfortable wandering about my suburban neighborhood, even if I do stick out like a sore thumb. And I’m enough of a geek that I’d rather spend an evening in Akihabara than Shibuya or, worse yet, Roppongi. Perhaps I’m just getting old?

Upon returning from a day trip to Tokyo yesterday, I stumbled upon a matsuri in my own backyard. Apparently, the small park in which it was held is not long for this world - at least according to an advertising brochure I received from a nervous man working the crowd. The trees are coming down, and an apartment block is going up. I wonder if the developer organized the festival to advertise (or, for that matter, apologize)?

Yesterday’s trip took us to the Imperial Palace, Tokyo Tower, Ginza, and up to Akihabara. We passed on the Sumidagawa Fireworks on account of the ridiculous crowds; about a million people stream into eastern Tokyo and line the banks of the Sumida River to enjoy what is without a doubt the most exciting annual fireworks show in all of Japan. Unfortunately, this means that, if you expect to see anything, you have to arrive very, very early.

Robin and I plan a return to Tokyo this afternoon to visit the Meiji Shrine and nearby Harajuku. It’s Sunday, so the freaks and cosplayers should be out in full force.

Trash pickup is Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. The days were posted on a sign above the collection site - I just never looked closely enough to notice. Since I can only read a limited amount of kanji, my brain doesn’t immediately interpret the scratchings as useful information. It’s like some vandal savant came along and painted the streets with abstract art.

Apparently, I’m supposed to write my address on my trash bags before releasing them to the wild. That way, the garbage police can track me down and deport me for mistakenly placing a banana peel in the “unburnable” bag or a plastic bottle in the “small, sort of shiny but not quite, light colored plastic tray” bag. Unfortunately, I still haven’t nailed down my exact address (I’ve figured out bits and pieces), so I guess I’ll just sneak down to the collection site in the middle of the night, drop my bags, and run like hell.

I’ve also figured out the mechanics of my little washing machine (that is, I pushed a bunch of buttons and observed what happened in response - very scientific, I know). I’m on my third load now and have yet to destroy any clothes, so I suppose I’m in the clear.

On second thought, I’ll share my (not quite) typhoon experience tomorrow. I’m too tired tonight to bother with something so dull.

When I woke up bright and early this morning in Choshi, a small port in very rural Chiba-ken, I flipped on the television to the Fuji TV morning show. Apparently, I did so just in time for the entertainment segment, and was treated to a piece on a young female singer who just released a new single. I wasn’t paying close enough attention to catch her name, and even though I know most of the popular Japanese music artists, she didn’t look particularly familiar. My initial thought, however, was, “Wow, she has a nice voice!” (well… actually, my first thought was “Holy shit, she’s incredibly cute!”), so I made a mental note to investigate further once I was back in town.

Of course, I forgot about it completely.

When I arrived home this evening, tired, beat, and sweaty (the temperature was hovering near 100 degrees F when I left the office), I wanted nothing more than to eat something substantial for dinner. My neighborhood is actually a pretty quiet place, with only small shops and a limited number of restaurants in the area around the station. A quick glance at a map revealed what looked to be plenty of shopping around Tsudanuma Station, a short 4 minute train ride to my west. So I struck out in search of dinner.

Upon arriving in Tsudanuma, I was surprised to find much, much, much more than I expected. To say there’s shopping there is an understatement. Rather, there’s a giant six story mall, surrounded by roughly five blocks worth of shops and restaurants in every direction. By that time, I was feeling more hungry than adventurous, so I ducked into McDonald’s (I made a point to order entirely in Japanese, at least), swallowed a fish sandwich, and hit the street to explore. As I stepped outside, however, I was accosted by a familiar sound… my unknown singer from this morning.

With my memory jogged, I set out in search of a CD shop. Unfortunately, every time I thought I found one, it turned out to be a bookstore (a gaijin walking into a Japanese book store draws some funny looks). Bookstores everywhere, as far as the eye can see. It’s like I had wandered into some suburban counterpart to Tokyo’s Kanda-Jinbocho. Eventually, I tried the large shopping mall directly across the street from the station, searching through its two towers of six floors each, up and down escalators, finding everything under the sun but a CD shop.

Of course, I eventually found one as I reached the final floor (what, you thought I’d finish the story empty-handed?), and was welcomed by my mystery singer once again as I first walked in. Clearly, this girl is a sensation at the moment. I followed my ears to her display, grabbed a copy of the new single and her recently released “greatest hits” album (for good measure), and made my way to the cashier. I parted with my 3,799 yen (about $34 USD), made my way back to the station, and returned home. Craving something sweet, I ducked into the conbini at the end of my street, grabbed some sort of tiramisu/pudding concoction, a sandwich and banana for breakfast in the morning, and a bottle of green tea. Total trip time: an hour and a half.

Anyway, I suppose I should share the identity of my mystery singer: Oku Hanako. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I just finished importing both CDs to my iPod, so I’m going to pop my headphones in and chill for the first time in what seems like ages.

Robin and I set out for Ichikawa a few hours before sunset in search of the elusive matsuri. Upon arriving at Ichikawa Station, however, we found everything to be business as usual. Thankfully, we had observed what looked to be festival preparation just outside Motoyawata Station (one stop before Ichikawa), so we hopped back on the train and went back the way whence we came.

The locals were still in the process of setting things up when we arrived, but a rock band of sorts had taken advantage of the gathering crowd to strut their stuff. We explored the neighborhood for a bit, grabbed a bite to eat, and waited for the festivities to begin.

At 6 o’clock sharp, a bell rang and the pounding of the taiko drums commenced. A throng of yukata-clad little old ladies streamed into the courtyard in front of the station, circled the drum platform, and began to dance in near perfect unison. With time, other locals - young and old - joined the circle. The children were constantly one dance move behind the rest of the crowd, eliciting many smiles and much laughter.

It’s small, but it works.

There’s a six mat living space, a narrow galley kitchen, and a small bathroom. It’s probably about 200 square feet total. I can’t complain, really; if I’m going to be in Japan, I might as well live as the Japanese do.

I’m a few blocks away from Makuhari-Hongo station, in what appears to be a standard working class neighborhood. There’s an assortment of shops near the station, and a conbini on practically every corner. An expressway actually runs right by my building, but thanks to a fairly elaborate sound wall, there’s little noise.

The office is actually a few miles away in Makuhari New City, which is serviced by the JR Keiyo line. Makuhari-Hongo, however, is on the JR Sobu line, so I have to travel to and from the office via bus. I haven’t had much trouble navigating the transportation network thus far; as goofy as it may sound, I learned a lot from watching anime. When I took the train into Tokyo for the first time yesterday, I breezed through the station without trouble.

Anyway, I’ve spent the morning sorting my trash (unfortunately, I haven’t figured out the pick-up schedule yet), cleaning and organizing the apartment, and resting my aching feet. According to my taxi mate from last night, there’s a matsuri (summer festival) in Ichikawa this weekend, so I might check that out tonight if I feel bored. I’m not entirely sure where it’s located, but I suppose I could just ride to Ichikawa station, look for young girls dressed in yukata, and follow them from there.

I made the long train ride into Tokyo today, my ultimate destination being Akihabara. Electric Town. Mecca.

I didn’t do much more than walk, shop, walk, take photos, shop, walk, and walk some more (until my feet screamed). At some point, a significant earthquake occurred in Chiba, shaking the very ground on which I strolled. Somehow, I didn’t feel a thing.

Unfortunately, the earthquake shut down all of the train lines in and around Tokyo, leaving me - and thousands of others - stuck in Akihabara. As I loitered in front of the station, contemplating my dilemma, I made the acquaintance of an Australian fellow who happened to live in Ichikawa, a few stops before me in Makuhari-Hongo. With no idea how long train service would be out, we opted to split a taxi in order to get home. The total fare was 13,000 yen ($117 USD), so it’s fortunate that we bumped into each other.

I’ll share some more stories and photos tomorrow, but for now, I need a hot shower and a good night’s rest.

I’m here. The flight was remarkably pleasant, at least until the ninth hour or so. Considering I only got three hours of sleep the night before, I’m amazed I’m still functioning as well as I am. Darkness has fallen here in Chiba, however, so I’m sure I’ll be out cold soon enough. My thanks to “Tomoko” for the “free” wifi. It’s a weak signal, but it seems to be working fine for now.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to figure out how to get the air conditioner working (it’s very, very humid here), take a much needed shower, and then lay down on a flat surface for the first time in… hell, I don’t know how long. I’ll post photos of the apartment and the neighborhood once I get a chance to explore. For now, you’ll have to settle for the lovely view from the veranda.

I suppose everything is in order. Only the packing remains. Ugh.

I’ll be leaving Omaha midday tomorrow, with a very short layover in Minneapolis before my afternoon flight to Tokyo. I was lucky enough to snag the last aisle seat on the plane, and, last I checked, the seat directly beside me was unoccupied. In fact, of the few unsold seats on the flight, most are near me. Hopefully, I’ll have some room to stretch out.

I should arrive at Narita around 5:00 PM local time (some god-awful hour Omaha time), and will continue on to wherever I’m staying directly from the airport. As far as internet access is concerned, I don’t have any specific contingency plan. I should have access at the office, but outside of that, I’ll be dependent on coffee shops and unprotected wireless access points.

So, as we say in storm chasing, I’m out the door!

A few weeks ago, Google Maps quietly added satellite image support for Japan. Mapping support was lacking, however - until now.

The Weathernews Global Center is located here, at the Makuhari Techno Garden in Makuhari New City in Chiba City. Kaihin Makuhari Station is right next door, 40 minutes away from Tokyo Station on the JR Keiyo Line. I assume our lodging will be near the office, but can’t be certain.

Yet another hazy Summer evening here in eastern Nebraska. I actually had to make a steep climb up a mountain of dirt in order to get this shot. I was a little worried I’d lose my balance and pitch face first into the soybeans below.

The stupid things I’ll do for a photograph…

This is a one and a half minute exposure, looking out over the neighborhood. There must be something in the water.

Now that it’s been confirmed, I guess it’s time to share the news…

In just under three weeks, I’ll be traveling to Japan to begin a three month assignment chasing typhoons for Weathernews Inc.

Seriously.

What exactly I’ll be doing while over there has yet to be figured out (well, except for the “chasing typhoons” part), but it should primarily be content production: photography, videography, writing, and so on.

I’ll share more details as they become available.

Growing up in Texas, I came to regard fireworks as the sort of thing seen only on the most special of occasions. Why? Well, during the warm season, my corner of Texas - it’s a big state, after all - was a tinderbox of dry grassland, dead lawns, and goofy McMansions (in Mediterranean style, no less) with wood shingles. When a simple cigarette butt tossed from a moving pickup is enough to ignite the sort of conflagration that draws TV news choppers and every fire department within a hundred mile radius, there’s not much use for rocket’s red glare or bombs bursting in air. Of course, there’s no shortage of folks who nonetheless risk setting their backyards ablaze each 4th of July (Texas is a “red” state, after all), but, for the most part, the shooting off of fireworks is generally left to professionally-trained pyromaniacs.

Should you find yourself rolling into a town of virtually any size in Texas, you’ll no doubt find evidence of the state’s pervasive fireworks paranoia. Underneath the city limits sign, the out-of-date population sign, the youth curfew sign, the “Drug-Free Community” (if you say so) sign, and the “Home of the [insert local high school mascot, most likely some sort of very large cat]” sign, expect to find the “Possession of fireworks within city limits is punishable by $5,000 fine and a swift kick to the head” sign. So, if you’re still anxious to put an eye out with a Roman Candle, make sure you do so on unincorporated land. Note that rural fire and medical services often leave a little something to be desired.

Things are different here in Nebraska, however. For the most part, fireworks are available year round, although sales are “officially” limited to the week or so leading up to the 4th of July. And, since watching corn grow gets old by about the second week of June, you can bet folks of all ages take advantage of the firework-friendly environment. While this past New Year’s paled in comparison to the one I spent in a Honolulu highrise a few years back (clearly, the locals were stockpiling for the coming revolution), there were still loud reports from surrounding neighborhoods once the clock struck midnight… and 1AM… and 2AM… and 3:17AM, for that matter. With a view here at home that spans the entire Omaha metropolitan area, the ringing in of the new year was as colorful as it was annoying.

But what of the 4th of July? According to friends and family, it’s worse. Exponentially. And you know what? I believe them. Why? Because fireworks just went on sale today, and it already sounds like New Year’s. Perhaps they’re celebrating Custer’s Last Stand.

I’m really starting to enjoy living in this part of the country. Unfortunately, my job search takes me everywhere.

Oh, and to follow up on a previous post: we have birds.

Every Spring for the past 70 years, residents of Pella, Iowa have celebrated Tulip Time. The festival isn’t so much about tulips as it is celebrating the town’s rich Dutch heritage. Think of it as a county fair with windmills and wooden shoes.

This year’s festival attracted an estimated 150,000 visitors. Not too shabby for a small town in rural Iowa.

I shot a couple hundred photos yesterday, and plan to share my favorites over the next several days. I had much fun playing newspaper photographer.

People go ga-ga for Spring up here. If the day is warm and the sky is clear, they’ll be outside. Gardening, playing with the kids, chatting with neighbors, walking the dog - I’m not used to it, to be honest. People don’t go outside in Texas.

Of course, I joined in the fun by digging in the dirt all day. We’ll plant tomorrow. I’m curious to see how fertile the soil is here. There’s a giant field of alfalfa beyond the back fence that appeared practically overnight, so I have a feeling the garden will do great. Have to keep the rabbits out, though.

Unfortunately, my back doth protest from all the digging and lifting.

In some ways, I live at the edge of civilization, where concrete gives way to corn and soybeans. Of course, the land on which I now sit was once covered with corn and soybeans, and just as it came to change, so will that which greets me when I stare out the window. You can only sit at the edge for so long, civilization riding off into the sunset.

I believe I shot this back in September, before Winter descended and killed everything in sight. At the time, I deemed this shot the best of the set. Both offer a different perspective of the same scene, I suppose - and I don’t mean that in the literal sense.

We’ve had some warm days as of late, so I’m yearning for Spring. It’s been ages since it last snowed (although, coincidentally, we could see a dusting tonight), and some sort of green fuzz has appeared in a dormant field down the street, so I reckon the change of seasons is fast approaching. Being new to the cornbelt, I’m clueless when it comes to planting seasons, growing seasons, and so on. Regardless, I’m looking forward to watching the color of the landscape change as the days grow longer.

And I’m definitely looking forward to that first good crack of thunder…

The President was in town today. Meanwhile, the temperature soared to 62 degrees F by afternoon, just a couple of degrees shy of the daily record.

Feel free to make your own “hot air” jokes.

Still, patches of snow remain in spots the sun can’t reach. Winter’s far from over. Unfortunately, my thoughts are already turning to Spring. I remain a Texan at heart.

The first time I saw Papillion-La Vista High School, I couldn’t help but feel I had seen it somewhere before. But where? The question continued to nag me for months.

A few weeks back, I drove by the school (as I often do), and it finally occurred to me: George Washington Carver High School.

Director Alexander Payne is actually an Omaha native, and, excepting the recent Sideways, all of his films not only take place in Omaha, but were also filmed on location. Much of Election was filmed in the southern suburbs of Papillion, La Vista, and Bellevue (my home), and sitting down recently to watch the film for the first time in years, I was surprised by how much I recognized. I’ll never look at the American Family Inn the same way again.