I looked a lot for poverty when I was on Tokyo. And I couldn't find it. So I searched for it online. You know how it is, when you look for something in real life and you can't find it, you try to find it online. Anyway, the Internet said there is poverty in Japan. And finally, on the penultimate day, I found homeless people. In the strangest place too - right under the Tokyo Metropolitan Building. Which says a lot about my lack of intelligence, because that's where they should be. Right under that double phallic symbol of government ostentatiousness, that's where they all were with their carts and bags all wrapped up in tarp. What a great sense of irony the Japanese poor have. So anyway, I was glad to see them. And before you take me for some sick sadist, think about my earlier posts. The Japanese have elegantly solved so many problems that plague India. So I'm always looking for solutions and ideas to copy. But it looks like even the great Japanese do not have a solution for poverty. Which makes me feel a little better about the grave injustice we're meting out to the poor in India, because hey, it's a hard problem. Makes me a little happier. Well anyway, I know what you're going to say at this point. That there isn't any poverty in Scandinavia. But I haven't been to any of the Scandinavian countries. I barely got done with Japan here, ok. So give the guy a break.
If at this point you can't tell that I just got done watching a Woody Allen movie, then you are, well, then you don't know me well enough.
See the big problem with the Internet is that sometimes it's not there. And the questions are there. And by the time you get to the Internet those questions aren't with you any more. You know what I'm saying. Like every time I'm on an airplane, I see these exit doors. And on them, in big red letters, they've explained how to open them. Now I don't know if you've seen any of those movies where the protagonist opens the door of a flying aircraft and it begins to depressurise. But I have. So every time I look at those doors, I wonder if someone could open them mid-flight. Not a terrorist; I'm not afraid of terrorists. I'm afraid of stupid people and temporary insanity. It could be me. It could be you. It could be anybody. Don't you have that moment sometimes when you're standing on the balcony and you're thinking, 'what if I had some crazy fit and I jumped off'. And the next moment you're thinking, 'hey, why would I jump off. I have a happy life. I wanna live'. And the whole thing leaves you scared. Not scared of heights like me. Scared of your own mind. Well anyway, I don't wanna go up to an air hostess and ask her creepy questions like this. It's not polite. Also they might flag me for being a loony and handcuff me when I disembark from the airplane. You know, some cops standing their with handcuffs trying to be polite and tough at the same time.
So this a note to self to read about this whole airplane emergency exit business once and for all and get my mind at rest. If there can be such a thing as a restful mind. And I don't understand why you're reading my private notes to myself. It's kind of creepy, you know. You should see a therapist. It'd be good for you.
If at this point you can't tell that I just got done watching a Woody Allen movie, then you are, well, then you don't know me well enough.
See the big problem with the Internet is that sometimes it's not there. And the questions are there. And by the time you get to the Internet those questions aren't with you any more. You know what I'm saying. Like every time I'm on an airplane, I see these exit doors. And on them, in big red letters, they've explained how to open them. Now I don't know if you've seen any of those movies where the protagonist opens the door of a flying aircraft and it begins to depressurise. But I have. So every time I look at those doors, I wonder if someone could open them mid-flight. Not a terrorist; I'm not afraid of terrorists. I'm afraid of stupid people and temporary insanity. It could be me. It could be you. It could be anybody. Don't you have that moment sometimes when you're standing on the balcony and you're thinking, 'what if I had some crazy fit and I jumped off'. And the next moment you're thinking, 'hey, why would I jump off. I have a happy life. I wanna live'. And the whole thing leaves you scared. Not scared of heights like me. Scared of your own mind. Well anyway, I don't wanna go up to an air hostess and ask her creepy questions like this. It's not polite. Also they might flag me for being a loony and handcuff me when I disembark from the airplane. You know, some cops standing their with handcuffs trying to be polite and tough at the same time.
So this a note to self to read about this whole airplane emergency exit business once and for all and get my mind at rest. If there can be such a thing as a restful mind. And I don't understand why you're reading my private notes to myself. It's kind of creepy, you know. You should see a therapist. It'd be good for you.