Night or day which comes first? I dunno but here are a few shots from last night before we wake up for Hamburg.

And off the bus we head and wait a minute, I remember this hotel, how can one forget the circle of critters when looking down from the lobby.

And look, they even included a life like roadie!

So they call this town Hamburg, so silly when people think there is some association between a cities name and what it sounds like. Or perhaps this this truly is the birthplace of the hamburger, Wait, look, there are some prehistoric hamburgers in their early stages of life! Yumm!

This place is cool! All good and a great for a wander and food and beer and friends, roadies like Hamburg.

Dave Rat

Typically roadie busses involve a few hang out areas, a bunk section and toilet. Occasionally a shower shows up invariably wit a little sign that says "do not use the shower." Well, imagine our glee when the bus company brought over their newest latest and greatest! A bus with a queen bed suite in the back and a bath tub. Oh, just think of the possibilities as we all line up for the sloshy tub after a hard days work, truly a handy concept. Here we can observe roadie Bill partaking in testing the tubbing delights.

**** Highlight of the Day ****

Yes, it is back, the long lost but not forgotten section! Look what we found! You just have to watch the You Tube video before scrolling down any further, I promise, it is worth it.

No!!!

Not yet!!

Watch the You Tube Video first!!

Then scroll!!

OK, now look. Hellooooooooo!

Meet roadie Manny the Rigger. Legendary would be fitting. Notice the half eaten habanero pepper in his hand combined with the calm cool collected "about to explode" look on his face. Roadies like hot peppers, even habanero's I ate one, Scotty ate one, Chris Warren ate one, Daniel? Well, not so much, he ate a few tiny bits of one. Some roadies like hot peppers more than others. Habanero peppers are hot, but not when compared to molten lava.

Oh look! A cute little baby PA system, how adorable!

End of Munich part #1,

Dave Rat

The first of the shows on this three week run. The picture below pretty much sums up the way I feel. A big clustery mess of everything traveling in different direction, no where to relax and other than clinging to my passport, I really am not overly concerned about where myself or anything else ends up.

Oh great, here comes the bus to pick us up as I ponder the translation.

I realize that some gigs are better than others and if this whole "doing sound" sound thing does not pan for me, I guess there is always the green pant option of driving a micro-dozer to dream about.

And speaking of green, come take a look at my cubicle office where I will spend the day toiling away.

Uh oh, looks like once again those noisy neighbors are going to have another party. Oh well, since I can't beat 'em, I guess I will join 'em!

And darn it, I forgot to bring my camera for show time but hey, there is always tomorrow and the next day and the next and then a bunch of next's after that and then I will be home again. Sad to see this tour end like I was sad to say bye bye to my two little pals that I dropped off at sleep away camp, four forever days ago.

Off to make some noise, for a change,

Dave Rat

So we say bye bye to Japan and hey look! Japan is saying bye bye to us with this specially constructed waving robot!

I can't remember the whole ordeal anymore but it went something to the effect of, 9:30 am lobby call, 12:30 flight from Osaka to Tokyo, hour long shuttle bus ride from one Tokyo airport to the other one, 2 hours of hanging out and then a 9 hour flight to LAX, 40 minute town car ride to North Hollywood, an hour drive to Oxnard, unload my bags and some stuff I grabbed from my unfinished moving and off to pick up my daughters, the little energy balls they are. While immersed in this meandering trek, I thought to myself "boy, it sure would be nice to have a cold beer." And look, a beer machine!

Having one of those at home would be dangerous.

Oh, and back to the pattern of tear apart the house, make a mess, clean it up and tear apart something else. Oh the joy!

Also, I will be diving in to trying to catch up on answering comments, I may be a bit slow but at least I am forgetful.

Dave Rat

Ok, though most people may find the next two photos boring at best, there are quite a few bloggery friends that should enjoy them enough to make up the difference. After many requests, not perfect shots but close enough if you look close, here is JF's pedal board for all you 6 stringers filled with curiosity.

I must admit though that though I have reluctantly and imperfectly acquiesced to providing a snapshot of JF's pedals, it is important to note that it is not the brand or mixture of tools that a carpenter uses, it is the timing, finesse and inspiration that create what is so desirable. For one who creates beautiful things, the tools are merely a convenience or preference. It is the images in the mind, made real by touch where the magic is born. All else is purely a facsimile.

Artist occur in all aspects of life and I was fortunate enough to cross paths with Yoshi.

Yoshi is a master of repair of the human body. Strange as it may be to some and comfortable as it may be to others, Yoshi is fluent in the not so westernly accepted art of acupuncture and acupressure.

Have you ever seen those questionable hair club for men ads with before and after pictures? Or the highly doubtful loose weight with a shaky rubber band around the waist or eat all you want diet. Or even the much more believable breast implant or lip injection advertisements? Well, not being one to feel left out, I figure I may as well give my own version. Accept this one is neither an illusion nor based in personal beautification. Utilitarian at best. Speaking of beautiful, Robin is beautiful and thank you! OK, this is Dave pre-Yoshi

As you may notice, there is a bit of a sway perhaps? And post Yoshi

And I had been to a chiropractor and I had no desire to take the waste-of-time pain killers that a standard US hack doc would have prescribed, and given my schedule, physical therapy as the true solution, was not an immediate option. In less than an hour, I walk away with an ache rather than limp, awesome! Thank you Yoshi!!!

So speaking of unexpected discoveries, look what I found. Though I did not have a choice to find it as it was the only option. Check out the old school Japanese toilet, it's a squatter!

And while linking thoughts and thinking of old school, here is the real deal wasabi root and shark skin paddle used to make the paste the real way.

Possibly you ponder what is the difference between real wasabi and the faux wasabi we get state-side. What you seek is a sharp flavor, fast that fades quickly. Similar it tastes but more importantly it is fun to partake in the authenticity.

As far as the gig well, the Osakans rule, and the venue is a bit smaller but similar to the Tokyo Dome. All good!

Dave Rat

Continuing...

Back to Tsukiji, the Tokyo fish market and what would a fish market be without ice? Most likely stinky and empty so they have this big old conveyer belt machine where giant ice blocks are sent up to drop down and be pulverized. Bring your own bucket.

Though sparse, other necessities were evident and I am not sure what all that stuff is but I do know an edamame when I see one

What I did not know is what they make those little green guacamole balls out of that are sitting on sushi plates. Shhhh, for those who don't know Sushi that well, here is some advice: You will find a small green guacamole ball on your sushi plate. The really cool thing to do is just pop that whole delicious morsel right in your mouth really fast, first thing, mmmm, yummy! But hurry because that stuff is in high demand and someone else may get yours if you aren't quick.

So turns out that even though that green stuff looks like guacamole, and tastes of so yummy by the spoonful, it is actually called wasabi and looks like this

before being turned to paste. The old school way is to rub it on shark's skin but now a days they have metal grinders. What I also did not know is that nearly all the wasabi outside of Japan is fake because the real deal is too expensive.

Though the market does not smell, it is a bit messy and at the end of the day when it's time to run the numbers and do some calculations, I can see where the abacus would hold up a bit better in this environment that battery powered calculator.

Off to lunch and 9 am as all this fish walking made us hungry. Roadie James, Chef Assist Julius and Raymond our friend and tour guide of the market you can see and Scott, and Wayno you cant. Raymond is the one who hooked us up and has friends and relatives at a few shops in the market which is why the next round of sushi was some of the best Toro tuna I have ever had, so good I forgot take a picture.

And a short Youtube version for those that like visual motion.

**** End Fish Market Adventure ****

OK, now back to being jet lagged.

Dave Rat

Forth time to Japan in less than a year. Jet lag hits me hard this time. Usually I deny it's incapacitating grip but instead I just give in and rest my back and indulge in being horizontal. I could care less what the time is when I sleep or rise. Exhaustion from my marathon run at home during the tour break sets in. Nap after nap, computing at all hours and the 24 hour local quick market has fishy rice balls and water that sustain my hunger. A full night and day and night and day before a midnight load-in forces some reality into my mix. At some point while living this bleary timeless state the phone rings and it could be 6am or pm and it makes no difference.

"Lobby call in 3 minutes, the van is already here, we are headed to the fish market, hurry up" Lampi Scott's voice, I am pretty sure, is coming from the phone. Well, it's all news to me and I was out the door before I even bothered to ponder where or why I was going. The fish market we did, shopping with Wayno the Chef, in the seafood equivalent of New York's Wall Street. Passing through the gates, we are informed that we have entered a no-man's land where city laws no longer apply. The police don't enter except to haul out the occasional body from a miss step off off a high place or other questionable demise. The fish mongers rule this land and whatever you do, don't get run over by a cart.

Turns out there are two types of carts, old and new and one type gives you a bigger owie than the other when failing to move from it's path, though it is tough to figure out which is which. The old one was born in centuries past while the new one is nothing like anything I have ever seen. A rotating turret with a motor inside and a steering wheel and thinner round wheel brake on top. The powered front wheel can turn so sharp that it can nearly go backwards and turns inside less than its own length.

Isle after isle of any and every species of ocean life, now food, endlessly fills this massive warehouse and most surprising is what is not seen, the smell of fish and that fact that it is practically non existent. Amazingly, barely hint of scent of the fish as far as the eye can see, all perfectly iced or dry iced

and messes scrubbed clean into the constant flow of fresh water steams disappearing into rough gutters and away.

The king of fish here is the tuna. Massive multi hundred pound swimmers flash frozen on the boats to what I am told is the optimum 60 degrees below zero storing temperature. Earlier than the 6:30 am it is now, the booth buyer was earlier out bidding up to 10's of thousands of dollars for prime specimens. Check out the modern giant band saw slicing whole tuna

Followed by the old school method of hacking out the bones with a hand sharpened axe like knife

to be thawed, sliced, packaged and delivered to fill the daily orders from the endless multitude of restaurant's demand.

**** Ponderings ****

As we wander the endless labyrinth created by one species to consume a myriad of others, the potential to be aghast highlights the human hypocrisy of needing and enjoying to eat. Yet so many turn a blind eye to the foundations by which our polished food is acquired. Whether it be plants or animals, each person decides to draw their personal line of edible acceptability but it makes little difference as everything is interconnected. It is just a matter of which illusion we choose to present ourselves as reality. Is it better to eat the critter or hack down it's habitat to create a field to grow vagatarian crops leaving the critter with an extinguishing fate, and what do they feed those plants we eat anyway? Not unlike the self and society censored parallels where humans publicly gloss over their underlying desires and act in patterns of sexual interaction while pretending to ignore the necessity and natural humanly allure, not unlike an amazing meal on a hungry stomach. Then I ponder the true and unavoidable cause of global warming to be caused by both sex and food. As clearly as we humans are creators of the unraveling predicament, we as a species have the power to halt man made global warming merely by convincing all humans to simultaneously refrain from sex or food and the problem would soon be enough as we extiguish ourselve. It does not take a rocket scientist to see that we as individuals and a race are incapable of treading upon this planet so softly as not to impact it. A quandary indeed unsolvable, given the acceptable choices. Then it becomes clear that trying our best as a species to attempt to slow down the eventual and unavoidable reality is really the only sensible option. How hard, how much and at what rate becomes a personal choice with global ramifications for each to decide and rally for or attempt to dictate. In the mean time, I am quite hungry and there is a fresh Sushi meal in my near future I predict.

**** End Ponderings ****

To Be Continued...

Dave Rat

Japan Airlines flight number whatever bound for Tokyo. My back hurts, my body is crooked and I went to a chiropractor on the way to the airport. Must have pulled a muscle and it knotted up like a twisted rubber band does when let loose in someone's hair. Have ya ever done that or had that happen where someone would twist up a rubber band and let it go in the small hair behind your neck? Ouch! I seem to have acquired a bit of a hitch in my get-a-long which is just what I need right now.

So I immediately pass out on the plane and wake up hour after takeoff to discover I am sitting next to a mid meal Japanese businessman who is a few drinks into the wind. Handing me the menu, "oh, which one do you order? Japanese meal o American meal?" he asks while perfectly combining al R's and L's in into a hybrid that makes me smile. "Well," still trying to hack through the haze, "Um, which on is that?" as I point at his food. While the presence of small rubbery flower shapes, chopsticks and bowls of brightly colored mystery globes clearly gave it away, he nearly shouts "Japanese meal!" Well, then that is what I will have then. Engulfed in excitement he yells down the isle for the flight attendant, orderes my meal and then proceeds to partake in what appeared to be some sort of joke telling session with her that suspiciously felt like it was at my expense.

"To drink?, um water, please," still trying to form words awaking from one of those slumbers that leave your arms feeling like lead. "Water? why water, no wine? why no wine?" he stares, loud and curious as can be. Ummmmm, well, how about a wine please. "Ahhhh yes, Cab Syllah, velly good!" And so it went, with him asking me each time I ate something if I liked it. I could only come up with two answers able to break the language barrier without insult; "yes, good" if I liked it and "hmmm, so-so" when it was beyond the realms of edibility. He loved "good" but really loved "so-so" and so once again he calls the flight attendant over followed by more laughing, a bunch of sounds I don't understand mixed in with the occasional "so-so" followed by more laughing. Wine and more wine and more laughing and I soon figured out that whenever he did not understand something he would invariably look forward as if think intently and nod his head and say yes, yes, ah yes. Then I realized that he barely had understood anything I had said the whole time except "yes" and "so-so."

His English was very limited and very hard to understand and yet still light years more advanced than my Japanese which is primarily relegated to names of Americanized sushi items, "hello" and "thank you." But that did not stop us from chatting away and in the middle of a jumbled question I hear what sounds familiar but not English. So I ask if he speaks Spanish, in Spanish and that is when the fun really began. Turns out he is a car parts distributor for Latin America and he can rock the Spanish. Though I may not have the syntax all down, I fair pretty well as well. So there we go, a common language all good as we both get yelled at several times to hush down. Too much fun and say hello to my plane ride friend Tsuchiya!

Landing at the airport, turns out that all that wine has left me a bit less chipper than the average bear but not so bleary to miss this after Leif pointed at it. Check it out, up there under the C-Clamped webbing is a birds nest with little birdy chicks in it. The webbing and triangular roped off area is to prevent poo bombs from taking out unsuspecting travelers. Cool stuff, I like the awkward mesh of different speiceis looking out for each other.

Next stop, hotel and the 'day of landing production meeting' where a bunch of delirious western roadies attempt to discuss things we pretend are important through interpreters with a sharp team of Japanese perfectionists that tend to be damn good at what they do.

Dave Rat