Last year when I went to the U.S., I had the unexpected fortune of encountering a customs officer who actually treated me like a living object. I even told her so.

“This is my first time being treated like a person, you know. Going through these customs control thingies.”, says I.
“Oh… I’m sorry?”, says she, with a guilty grin.

Most of my trips to the states, I’ve over-thought this situation quite a bit. I’ve reasoned erroneously that these guys probably have a lot of tired and annoyed people going through, so I should at least make an effort and smile. That smile has put me inside rooms with mexicans and other dirty peoples (note the sarcasm, by the way) for 3-4 hours at a time. That smile, to me a way to say, “I know you’re just doing your job, but I don’t hate on you for it,” was to them a sign of suspicion.

So a few years ago I had enough. I knew I was going to be treated like excrement glaced with vomit, so I gave them exact, precise honesty. Frowning, grunting out replies, staring at them fully expecting the treatment I was surely going to be having, and I had it every time but that one time last year. And amusingly, I’ve not been questioned extensively or brought to any rooms with mexicans since.

Then came ESTA. Going to a country which is a part of the Schenger agreement (I think that’s the one) lets you, without a visa, enter the country for up to 90 days. Except someone in the states decided this was awfully unsafe, so they put up ESTA, a web site with seemingly no meaning whatsoever* , where you are asked questions you will be asked again, later.

(* except to deny you entry BEFORE you fly all the way over there, which I guess is a good thing — I’ve heard of people being sent all the way back home)

Regardless, what are these questions then, you might ask? Anyone who’s gone to the states has no doubt (whilst giggling quietly to themselves) answered these absolutely ridiculous questions.

I mean… good thing I said No to all of those, right! Phew. Just look at (B), for example. If I was — and to any U.S. officials swinging by to see why the ESTA content are being published on my blog, I might assert that I am not — planning on “engaging in criminal or immoral activities”, I’m sure I’d be tempted for at least a second to answer Yes, honest as I am.

The big dump of excrement in my eye though is that this ridiculous form underwent a change as of March this year.

It now charges you $14 per application.

So not only am I forced to waste my time on the above bullshit, but I’m charged to do so.

Game software copy protection goes far back beyond that, of course, and in contrast, GCP (I invented this acronym, probably) can be justified a bit more. Music is something that we, on a nearly instinctual level, love to share with each other, be that by playing together or listening together or simply showing each other the kind of stuff that makes us feel certain ways. Music is such an integral part of the human society that’s been with us for as long as we’ve had hands to play with or mouths to sing with. The industrialization thereof is perhaps the most critical error of ours. Games on the other hand may have been with us for a long time (Go for example dates back to the 4th century BC), but it’s not as intimately associated with sharing as music. That said, game piracy of course thrives just as any other software piracy does, and the game developers seek new methods to battle the piracy.

Most recently, Ubisoft, the makers of titles such as Assassin’s Creed, have decided to take this a step further, thus evolving the DRM. Rock Paper Shotgun has an article on the subject of how Ubisoft not only restricts the player from starting the game without doing an online check to verify the game has not been pirated, but it even throws the player out of the game if their internet connection at any point in time drops offline, while playing.

I actually think that’s pretty awesome. I mean, the balls required to do that? Not to speak of, the conviction that their players will be loyal to the point of ridicule, that they buy the game anyway. Reminds me of Metallica.

“The characteristics of foreigner criminals visiting Japan.” (“来日外国人犯罪の特徴”)
A handbook “sponsored by the Shizuoka-Ken Head Police Station, the Shizuoka-Ken Association for the Prevention of Crime”

Link to Zone81 blog where this masterpiece is printed in its entirety (though without Japanese you won’t get much out of it — the pictures are fun to look at though).

I’ve been looking around a lot for some form of confirmation on this one, but my Japanese sort of fails me. What I did find was almost as bad though. Practically every prefecture in Japan has a [prefecturename].go.jp (government dot japan) page which lists “visiting foreigner criminals/crime in Japan”, divided into racial heritage with cute little diagrams and such.

Before I came to Japan, I knew it would be one of the few places on earth that I could go to and be “mistreated” for being a white male. Not a lot of places where you can get that these days. I knew, and I came here anyway, because I am fascinated by the Japanese language, the people who speak it, their culture, and how they came to be as isolated and “we vs them” as they appear from the outside (and from the inside as well, to a great extent). If I had wanted good treatment and smiley faces and chirpy birds, Japan would not have been on my list of places to go.

Some days pass and all I am greeted with is friendliness, openness, a willingness to accept each other as brothers across the world, and such floweriness. Today, as I came home from my test-ride to my potentially new school (was timing it to see when I had to get up in the morning) an old lady walked across the street as I was buying a coke from a … uh … jidouhanbaiki (the fuck is that in English?). I looked at her and she looked at me for a sec, and then she nodded and smiled and I nodded and smiled back. I realized that the Japanese are big on greetings. Even if you don’t know a person, you might nod to them if you end up inadvertently trampling into their bubble — such as looking at them while they happen to be looking at you. I tend to turn my head away and do my thing in those cases, but I think a Japanese might have nodded or something to acknowledge the other’s presence.

Then other days I am baffled by the blatant racism and ignorance that permeates this place. Such as the above “handbook”. I think part of the problem is that 20% of Japan’s population are all above 65 years of age. Old people tend to forget about equality and understanding cultural differences and such things. Sadly.