The mountain gear I look for the most is: very light but durable protection for my limbs. That means gloves and boots that are as light and breathable, quick-drying as possible so my hands and feet don’t rot in sweat in the summer heat, while being durable enough not to fall apart scrambling over rocks in the Japanese alps.
Variable length argument lists (varargs) have been around since Java 5 (so quite a long while), yet I get the impression that many people either don’t know about this feature or their tools don’t support it. I ran into one of them working with Netty from Clojure and it wasn’t trivial at all how to use them through interop.
Using supplemental oxygen for high altitude climbs is common. I’ve even seen people use mini oxygen tanks on Mt Fuji. While it’s highly unlikely you’d need extra oxygen around that altitude (unless you go there with absolutely no training and the lung capacity of a goldfish), it can keep people alive and let them succeed above 8000m.
I don’t know who came up with the idea that climbing without supplemental oxygen is the only “fair means” to reach a summit (maybe Messner?), but I beg to differ. It is definitely a bigger achievement but that does not make using it cheating or doping.
This is about the title in most possible interpretations. For the years now I’ve been working in Japan, I noticed certain (really annoying) things about shit. This wasn’t much of a problem during university when most I’ve seen my Japanese fellows was when we were getting drunk together, but actually working at a company means I have to endure actual people around me most of the day. And their various smells.
I’ve got a sensitive nose, apparently. I can smell what the family in the next house are having for dinner with my window closed. There is one smell that I could never really pick up, and that is alcohol. Sadly, shit is not one such.
I mean it. I don’t mean it in the emo teen way of being unsatisfied with my body. It’s vexing that my body doesn’t work the way I want it to. And even if it’s got a relatively high uptime, just as with an ISP, if it goes down even just once a week, then that ISP is shit – and my uptime’s not that good.
This half a year is pretty busy for me. My passport is expiring, my Japanese driving licence is expiring, my trip home this December will be the last before my Hungarian driving licence expires next year, and my visa will have to be renewed as the new year starts as well. So much paperwork alone gives me more headaches than I’d like, but the bureaucratic procedures are often the least of the problem.
To add to the mix, I’m scheduled to visit Korea in a month on a business trip. Thing is, Hungarians need at least 6 months of validity remaining on our passports to enter the country without a visa. My current passport clearly doesn’t have that much left. Here starts my little story.
I’m a tolerant person when it comes to Japanese people interacting with foreigners (such as myself). I patiently answer their questions about where I’m from and why I’ve come to Japan (for the 9001st time even), I don’t complain about hello-harassment and I smile at the people who stare at me. I humbly reply to people complimenting my Japanese and help out people struggling to talk to me in English (despite them not knowing any).
Just the other day I had a hearty laugh with a co-worker when we were on our way to a meeting, and while I was waiting for him taking a piss at a park’s public toilet, some little girls happened to start practicing English just next to me (but never talking to me). My co-worker could hear them through the restroom doors and I think that was his first time witnessing what it’s like to be a foreigner outside of a “safe” environment (such as at work).
However, last week I got a text message that crossed the line.
I would like to take this opportunity to express my deepest despise and utmost scorn towards the two beloved guardians of the law who thought I had nothing better to do at 2.30am riding my bike home from work exhausted mentally and physically, than to have a good 20 minutes of “chat” with them. From my heart I wish them a bull’s bulging boner between their buttocks and beyond.
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