Travel Diary of a Fat Man
I got the house but not the deed
I got the horn but not the reed
I got the cards but not the luck
I got the wheel but not the truck
But heh I’m big in Japan, I’m big in Japan, I’m big in Japan.
Tom Waits, Big in Japan
Mr. Schwarzenegger goes to Washington
or the End of Days?
In a landslide of Californian votes, riding atop the fallen bodies of Lawrence Flint, a well-known pornographer, and the boy-who-never-grew-up-but-ended-up-a-security-guard-who-punched-an-avid-if-annoying-fan, Mr. Garry Coleman, was the 'condom full of walnuts' himself, Arnie. Or Governor Schwarzenegger to you and me. He's grown large 'n' crazed. What lovely timing for me to take a soujorn from the Western world for a spell. I'm watching this guy make a speech while at the airport lounge in Sydney and it's like; click,whirrrr, engage SMILE MODE. ' Hello everybody,' (smile widens) 'I TERMINATed my opposition Davis. I will now say HASTA LA VISTA to all taxes for everbody. Hang on, I now go to the loo. But I'LL BE BACK!' I don't know what he plans to do exactly, but in a wall of cliches, I don't care. You know...he will eventually be digging into 'Kindergarden Cop' and 'Jingle all the Way' quotes. That's when you know you're screwed.
The flight across was a cramped, dehydrating affair that promised me 'Finding Nemo'. There was no Nemo to find, being replaced by 'Bruce Almighty'. C'est la vie.
Later on Day one...
Touch down in Japan.
About two and a half hours after that....
I'm at Fussa, where my grandparents live. It's hicksville in comparison to Tokyo but is about thirty years ahead of Melbourne with holographic pirates who...hang on. That's just some dream I had. There is, in all seriousness though, a roaming band of stray chickens that cluck around the local parks. According to my grandpaents they were part of some school science thing and they are now free to roam in Fussa.
Did bugger all. Bought some comics.
Off to Shinjuku. Called a cab to take me to the station. The cabbie, in closing the boot, does himself some damage. Blood is pouring out of his head. Now, for a man who may need some medical attention in the form of eight, perhaps nine stiches, his face is a mask of serenity. Offers of a handkerchief to stop the flow of blood are met with a polite refusal. We arrive at the station and the guy even helps with the luggage, tissues still clinging to the side of his head. Should I have tipped him? Oh, and here's another cool thing, the doors open and close automatically in taxis. It's not the work of poltergeists as I previously believed.
Found an internet cafe. The buttons are in weird places and so had to change from English to Japanese a few times. More later.
It's not how far you travel, but how well.
Haze, A.k.a. Fatman