From the Foreign Affairs Desk

Observations from the field:
1. Bling on your cellphone is an absolute must. There are sections in department stores dedicated to this purpose... I knew I brought my iPhone with me for a reason other than telling time.
2. Ordering Kosher meals on an Korean Airlines flight is a poor choice of meals, as Evan will attest: "It sounded like a good idea." (NOTE: Evan is not Jewish... more to come on this subject later)
3. Upon leaving the airport, you have a one in four chance of suffering from sudden illness that will compel you to get off the train you should have stayed on to get to your stated destination, thus resulting in the rude awakening that a vast majority of the population here do not understand you.
4. I cannot go more than four rounds on Tekken 4 without getting my ass handed to me by the adolescent sitting two stations down from me, however, my Gundam skills are hot, hot, hot. And I have a pilot card to prove it. Word.

There are a great many things to discuss, dear reader. I would like to review a few of the things that I have learned in the land of the rising sun. Foremost, is that the sun is hot. Very hot. And humid. If the humidity here was a sumo wrestler, it would be sitting directly on my head. Living in the lofty climate Los Angeles for a scant six months has thinned my blood just enough that a glaze of sweat is my new universal constant. Our saving grace is that half the time in our wandering about this megatropolis is spent in the byzantine labyrinth of buildings and shops that are gloriously cooled by an underground complex of Godzilla size ice cubes. Not really, buy that's what it feels like after coming in from outside. Then it's up, up, up, that's the name of the game here ladies and gentleman. I cannot emphasize this point enough. Though the skyline isn't dominated by a creshendo of steadily rising skyscrapers as we see in American cities like Chicago or New York, Tokyo is a consistent plateau of elegant, elaborate and downright eerie buildings.

Hand in hand with the layout of the city is it's inhabitants. The balance between order and chaos hangs on a thread. The massive intersections of Shibuya can only be described as metallic ballet, as five, six, sometimes seven streets come together in this seemingly infinite matrix of by-ways. But the average pedestrian is entirely left out of this equation of traffic control, as I firmly believe this city is the most walk and bike friendly place I have been to yet. So many people. So. Many. Fucking. People. My mind is boggled... in the best way possible. Yet my proximity alarm hasn't gone off once. Standing on the corner of what best be described as the largest crosswalk I have seen, surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands of people, I feel safe. All my experience of a traveler has been turned on it's head by the nature and means of this place. I can only describe it as this: take the winding side streets of Amsterdam, cover every square inch with the lights and signs of Las Vegas and then apply all of that to a city ten times the size of New York, and you basically have the look and feel of the busier city centers in Tokyo proper. The subway system is impeccable, though equally as complex. The people of Japan, as I am starting to see, have a distinct ability to multi-task in a way that I have never encountered. I say this since I fancy myself to be a person of the world, having lived in many cities... but nothing can convey the utterly overwhelming sensory overload I get when I step off the train platform and dive headfirst into another spectacular explosion of city life, here, the center of all things.

Last night, while Linda gleefully sorts through the vinyl and disc selections of RECOfan, Laura perusing vintage bass guitars, and Evan doing.... whatever it is Evan does.... I went for a walk. I didn't really care if I stood out completely with the word "Tourist" since my mouth was agape as I stared in awe at the layer upon layer of shops, eats, games and other infinite distractions that were at my fingertips. Or maybe it's the fact that I stand almost a foot taller than just about everyone here. Including Evan. But he's just runty, not Japanese. It just never ends, the sheer scale of it all here. A new level of amazement has been achieved. Five points for Buzon.

It raises the bar of what to expect out of a city, of how things should work in a place where space is a premium more cherished than gold bars. What drives the point home is that I write this from our hostel room, which is two bunk beds in a room approximately the size of my sister's walk-in closet.

So far so good. No injuries, no arrests. Good food and drink in the company of what can only be described as the most hospitable people on the face of the planet... regardless if they understand me or not.

"San biru!"

upcoming reports:
"The paradox of being a vegetarian in Japan"
"Evan is not Jewish, and I will remind him of that every day"
"Japan loves meat, hence, I love Japan"