Last month I went to
the Tokyo Dome.
the Tokyo Dome.
I got an ice cream in the shape
of the Tokyo Dome.
It's called the "Big Egg".
Huh?
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Bathrooms (TP and Tech)
People in different countries talk differently. They wear different styles of clothing. They have different cultural traditions. And, they have vastly differing styles of toilet paper.
American varieties tend to be square and quilted, unless you're in a public toilet where they go all tissue-paper-thin on a huge roll. German TP is rectangular and recycled. Some locations dispense individual sheets. Others have more stretch and give to them, or feel more fibrous. In Shanghai, you're lucky if the bathroom you're in features toilet paper at all. Or a toilet.
Once you've figured out the paper situation, the next stumper is: how to flush? In Japan you'll be boggled by the variety of controls. Which one flushes? (more on this soon) In Shanghai I once encountered a tiled trough that ran under multiple stalls with a regular flush of water from a big PVC pipe. Ewwww. In America, the flushing mechanism is either a metal lever or a a small knob-like aparatus that is either twisted (most common) or pushed. Recent innovations in water-saving low-flush toilets mean that some send a gentle SWOOSH of water circling through, while others use some kind of air-compression to fire a WHOOSH of water down the tubes.
In Europe, flushing mechanisms can be puzzling to an American. For one, they're most often attached to the wall behind the toilet, not the toilet itself. So: look to flush - wait, not there...look around...notice the flat panel on the wall behind the toilet. Maybe that? But, what do I...oh, push it. There's a large section that can be pushed, or a smaller one. What's the difference? Ah - water quantity. Those eco-Europeans!
Most toilets feature a reservoir of water, into which your business goes. The only exceptions I have seen to this were the toilets in Vienna, which invariably left your deposits in clear display on a ceramic "shelf" before they were flushed over the edge and down the drain by a rush of water. I remember hearing some comic point out that this allows the Teutons a thorough review of their movements, and reflected eloquently on their national character.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Bathrooms (construction)
Ahh, bathrooms. Sanctuary, haven, and totally nonstandardized amenity.
I remember staying in a European-style hotel in Colorado years ago, and being struck by the character of their public bathrooms: each stall was in fact a separate room, with finished drywall, a closing door, and a singular sense of isolation. I'm sure those stalls were larger than some Tokyo apartments. At the time I assumed it was an extravagance born of the grande luxe nature of that particular hotel.
For those of you who don't know, the American variety of standard public bathroom usually involves a series of metal interlocking modular stall walls, just tall enough and low enough to obstruct the view of others in the johns (but not so low that you can't check out your neighbors' shoes, a common female preoccupation). You would most commonly encounter these in airports. They certainly aren't very private, and in fact an occasional conversation can be overheard at work as two colleagues carry on a discussion they might've been having when they came in, or perhaps started up as they saw each other entering.
Fast forward a few years, and I'm working in Europe. Our office bathroom consists of two "rooms" in the style of the hotel I mentioned above. They are uniform in size, and finished to standard building specifications. There's even a light above each stall -- when you close and lock the door (using a full-on door & lock assembly, not just a sliding latch), it's pitch black unless that light is working.
To me this style of bathroom takes up a lot of space and feels very isolated. Then again, when I was back in the US I realized that our style of bathroom stalls are very exposed, and you can quite clearly hear what someone else is "up to" in the next stall. I haven't seen any handicapped-accessible stalls here in Europe, so that appears to be another major difference in standard construction. (I'm used to seeing the oversized, blue-labeled stall at the end of a line in the US.)
Next time: toilet technology, paper products
I remember staying in a European-style hotel in Colorado years ago, and being struck by the character of their public bathrooms: each stall was in fact a separate room, with finished drywall, a closing door, and a singular sense of isolation. I'm sure those stalls were larger than some Tokyo apartments. At the time I assumed it was an extravagance born of the grande luxe nature of that particular hotel.
For those of you who don't know, the American variety of standard public bathroom usually involves a series of metal interlocking modular stall walls, just tall enough and low enough to obstruct the view of others in the johns (but not so low that you can't check out your neighbors' shoes, a common female preoccupation). You would most commonly encounter these in airports. They certainly aren't very private, and in fact an occasional conversation can be overheard at work as two colleagues carry on a discussion they might've been having when they came in, or perhaps started up as they saw each other entering.
Fast forward a few years, and I'm working in Europe. Our office bathroom consists of two "rooms" in the style of the hotel I mentioned above. They are uniform in size, and finished to standard building specifications. There's even a light above each stall -- when you close and lock the door (using a full-on door & lock assembly, not just a sliding latch), it's pitch black unless that light is working.
To me this style of bathroom takes up a lot of space and feels very isolated. Then again, when I was back in the US I realized that our style of bathroom stalls are very exposed, and you can quite clearly hear what someone else is "up to" in the next stall. I haven't seen any handicapped-accessible stalls here in Europe, so that appears to be another major difference in standard construction. (I'm used to seeing the oversized, blue-labeled stall at the end of a line in the US.)
Next time: toilet technology, paper products
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Globalism, Shoes, and Cultural Identifiers
Whatever happened to the near-foolproof Euro Shoe Indicator? In the 80s and 90s, it was almost always possible to identify a non-American by the cut of their shoe, invariably some hand-tooled, suede, off-color, artisanal work of art vs. our homogenous Nikes and Hush Puppies. But nowadays with global trade, global travel, and global style trends, it's impossible to tell the Americans from the Europeans. Even Asians are in on the game, though stature and accessories tend to give them away more easily. (Insert memory of Missoni-bedecked, ridiculously incorrectly-sized Asians in Sydney here. Yuck.)
I enjoy hearing conversations in foreign languages and guessing the content. (family feud? business debate? sweet nothings?) And let's face it, whenever possible I enjoy eavesdropping. When I travel, my outer appearance (Asian) often leads others to assume I am actually Asian. (For those of you who don't know, I am a classic "banana" or as my bro and I like to say, "functionally white".) In Italy this results in terror -- "Does she speak English? Mine isn't very good..." ...until I open my mouth and out comes conversational Italian. Relief.
In European capitols there's usually a pause as various service providers wait to gauge what language comes out - French? English? Chinese? So far the only person I've caught red-handed was a perfectly turned-out, tourist Italian passing through my Mom's former Tuscan village-of-residence. This bella donna make a remark that included a reference to "Giapponesi", clearly meaning my mother and I who were seated on a bench in piazza at the time. I responded in Italian that we were actually Chinese-American, not Japanese...and a fellow traveler in her group, amused by her exposure, pointed out that we were Chinese-Americans who spoke Italian. Even as I enjoy exposing others' prejudices, I realize I have many of my own.
My adventure today included a delay at LHR due to equipment issues (this does not generally bother me; I would rather fly in a healthy plane than never make it to my destination, thank you). Over the course of de-planing, re-planing, and eventually making my way to Brussels, I began to be in various buses, passport lines, and trains with the same folks. I was very pleased to find that the slightly doughy, casually-dressed man with a British Isles accent (sorry friends - Scottish?) has started his day in Singapore and was headed to the south of France, while the gray-haired gentleman with (to me) accentless English had started his day in Toronto and was headed for Ghent. Them, plus the young hip couple who hailed from the Netherlands (I think; their speech was Germanic but definitely not German, and not verbally squishy enough to be Flemish). These days I find my visual cues sadly lacking in accuracy, but open your mouth and I'll be much closer to identifying your origins. Pleased to meet you!
I enjoy hearing conversations in foreign languages and guessing the content. (family feud? business debate? sweet nothings?) And let's face it, whenever possible I enjoy eavesdropping. When I travel, my outer appearance (Asian) often leads others to assume I am actually Asian. (For those of you who don't know, I am a classic "banana" or as my bro and I like to say, "functionally white".) In Italy this results in terror -- "Does she speak English? Mine isn't very good..." ...until I open my mouth and out comes conversational Italian. Relief.
In European capitols there's usually a pause as various service providers wait to gauge what language comes out - French? English? Chinese? So far the only person I've caught red-handed was a perfectly turned-out, tourist Italian passing through my Mom's former Tuscan village-of-residence. This bella donna make a remark that included a reference to "Giapponesi", clearly meaning my mother and I who were seated on a bench in piazza at the time. I responded in Italian that we were actually Chinese-American, not Japanese...and a fellow traveler in her group, amused by her exposure, pointed out that we were Chinese-Americans who spoke Italian. Even as I enjoy exposing others' prejudices, I realize I have many of my own.
My adventure today included a delay at LHR due to equipment issues (this does not generally bother me; I would rather fly in a healthy plane than never make it to my destination, thank you). Over the course of de-planing, re-planing, and eventually making my way to Brussels, I began to be in various buses, passport lines, and trains with the same folks. I was very pleased to find that the slightly doughy, casually-dressed man with a British Isles accent (sorry friends - Scottish?) has started his day in Singapore and was headed to the south of France, while the gray-haired gentleman with (to me) accentless English had started his day in Toronto and was headed for Ghent. Them, plus the young hip couple who hailed from the Netherlands (I think; their speech was Germanic but definitely not German, and not verbally squishy enough to be Flemish). These days I find my visual cues sadly lacking in accuracy, but open your mouth and I'll be much closer to identifying your origins. Pleased to meet you!
Monday, May 22, 2006
Adventures in Small Businessland
Last year my husband bought a small business, and since then we (like so many other small businesses) have been struggling to bring in new customers. This spring we decided to host a booth at a local home and garden show. It was quite an adventure for one former and one current cube-dweller.
The show took place both inside and around two enormous tents, on grass. For starters, this meant three days of sneezing. We had a 10' x 10' booth in which to display whatever we wanted. Being new to this business, we had a rather scattershot collection of binders, display examples, handouts, and splashy marketing signs. Over the course of the weekend we learned a lot about what attracts the attention of stroller-by (mainly: keep any messaging short and sweet).
What truly fascinated me was the variety of vendors, their stories, and their selling techniques.
In our aisle, there was the experienced real esatate agent. His marketing differentiator (aside form his expertise) was his pet dachshund (or rather dachshunds). One was featured in all his marketing materials, with a "streeeetch your options" tagline. The other he brought to the show for two days and she attracted and entranced any of a number of passer-by. He also had the world's largest jar of whole wheat pretzels. They had partially hydrogenated oils, so we declined.
There was a booth about a local retirement community, staffed by two women who were rarely there. They had a tri-fold display, not unlike standard elementary school science fair displays, with photographs of the facility, and a laptop. And a floral arragement. With dead flowers. Ow.
There was the tile guy who, when he started to get too old to install tiles, had invented a system that would first clean your tiles saintly bright, and then protect them from turning scungy again. He and his team had a tile display that they faithfully sprayed with some magical solution that somehow caused the treated and untreated tiles to differentiate themselves. Afterwards, they would wipe the wet tiles dry. Talk, spray, wipe. All weekend.
There were the two guys from San Francisco who had tired of corporate life, bought a small business, and moved to the burbs. They seemed to get a lot of interest, and to know what they were doing. Where did they learn it? Maybe it was just their corner booth (those sell for a premium).
And, our favorite, the Glengarry Glenn Ross mattress salesman. He was ready to sell. He was hungry to sell. He was big. He was sweaty. His competitor mattress salesman stopped by frequently to check on his business. "Did you get any leads? Did you sell any mattresses? How many presentations did you make?" Everyone in our aisle could give his pitch by the end of the weekend. He had one thing right though; when traffic was slow (and it often was), he would recline on one of the beds and type emails on his Treo.
Aside from our immediate neighbors there were the cookery demos, the "Ragin' Cajun" hot sauces, the "just add three ingredients" dips, the world's best chamois, lint brushes, invisible screens, tiles, doors, windows, mortgage brokers, leather purses, cellphone accessories, childrens' toys, dog trainers, jewelers, and my personal favorite...the tiki furniture folks.
We all showed up on Friday morning, unloaded our hybrids/trucks/trailers and set up our booths, smiled and demonstrated for three days, then broke down and drove away again on Sunday. What struck me was the amount of effort that goes in to these events, the amount of hope that comes with the entrepreneurs, and the strange transient quality of the entire arrangement. It was a tent city, a mobile market, a somewhat targeted salesroom for just three days. Some of the exhibitors went back to brick and mortar stores, others just moved on to the next show. The world of the Small Business owner is so different from a (comparatively) reliable corporate Dilbert job. More stressful, fewer rules, and just a question of whether or not you can reach your audience and get them to BUY BUY BUY.
The show took place both inside and around two enormous tents, on grass. For starters, this meant three days of sneezing. We had a 10' x 10' booth in which to display whatever we wanted. Being new to this business, we had a rather scattershot collection of binders, display examples, handouts, and splashy marketing signs. Over the course of the weekend we learned a lot about what attracts the attention of stroller-by (mainly: keep any messaging short and sweet).
What truly fascinated me was the variety of vendors, their stories, and their selling techniques.
In our aisle, there was the experienced real esatate agent. His marketing differentiator (aside form his expertise) was his pet dachshund (or rather dachshunds). One was featured in all his marketing materials, with a "streeeetch your options" tagline. The other he brought to the show for two days and she attracted and entranced any of a number of passer-by. He also had the world's largest jar of whole wheat pretzels. They had partially hydrogenated oils, so we declined.
There was a booth about a local retirement community, staffed by two women who were rarely there. They had a tri-fold display, not unlike standard elementary school science fair displays, with photographs of the facility, and a laptop. And a floral arragement. With dead flowers. Ow.
There was the tile guy who, when he started to get too old to install tiles, had invented a system that would first clean your tiles saintly bright, and then protect them from turning scungy again. He and his team had a tile display that they faithfully sprayed with some magical solution that somehow caused the treated and untreated tiles to differentiate themselves. Afterwards, they would wipe the wet tiles dry. Talk, spray, wipe. All weekend.
There were the two guys from San Francisco who had tired of corporate life, bought a small business, and moved to the burbs. They seemed to get a lot of interest, and to know what they were doing. Where did they learn it? Maybe it was just their corner booth (those sell for a premium).
And, our favorite, the Glengarry Glenn Ross mattress salesman. He was ready to sell. He was hungry to sell. He was big. He was sweaty. His competitor mattress salesman stopped by frequently to check on his business. "Did you get any leads? Did you sell any mattresses? How many presentations did you make?" Everyone in our aisle could give his pitch by the end of the weekend. He had one thing right though; when traffic was slow (and it often was), he would recline on one of the beds and type emails on his Treo.
Aside from our immediate neighbors there were the cookery demos, the "Ragin' Cajun" hot sauces, the "just add three ingredients" dips, the world's best chamois, lint brushes, invisible screens, tiles, doors, windows, mortgage brokers, leather purses, cellphone accessories, childrens' toys, dog trainers, jewelers, and my personal favorite...the tiki furniture folks.
We all showed up on Friday morning, unloaded our hybrids/trucks/trailers and set up our booths, smiled and demonstrated for three days, then broke down and drove away again on Sunday. What struck me was the amount of effort that goes in to these events, the amount of hope that comes with the entrepreneurs, and the strange transient quality of the entire arrangement. It was a tent city, a mobile market, a somewhat targeted salesroom for just three days. Some of the exhibitors went back to brick and mortar stores, others just moved on to the next show. The world of the Small Business owner is so different from a (comparatively) reliable corporate Dilbert job. More stressful, fewer rules, and just a question of whether or not you can reach your audience and get them to BUY BUY BUY.
A Frustrating Start
Well, I thought it would be easy to get a headshot of myself on to the site, but apparently I was wrong. This is getting a bit frustrating.
(Eight uploads later....and some surfing through Blogger Help...)
It appears to be a problem with Blogger tonight. Well, no cool profile update for me for now.
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