Parasites belong in the guts of someone (or something) other than me. 130 different species living in a bodily container that usually holds chocolate parfaits and Kung Pao chicken is not something I want to see outside the walls of my stomach. But sensible people rarely listen to me, and they proceeded to create a museum dedicated to parasites.

The Meguro Parasite Museum in Tokyo is a short, fifteen minute uphill walk from the subway stop. How many neighborhoods in Tokyo have this type of museum? Only one. So on Tuesday afternoon, I bought a map (just for reference) and pointed to my stomach several times as I walked down the street asking for directions, trying to create some cultural middle ground.

The official name “Kiseichuu Hakubutsukan” might mean 30 foot tapeworm because that’s one of the main attractions upstairs on the second floor. There are actually five parasite museums in the world. This one boasts the longest of the tapeworms.

Parasites and museums are usually not spoken of in the same sentence, so I wasn’t surprised when I approached the nondescript, two-story brownstone. Its lack of architectural dimensions actually soothed me. I couldn’t imagine a Frank Gehry-like monstrosity housing a dedicated presentation of parasites.

As I stepped through the front door, I looked forward to the number of times I would say “Gross” and “That’s ” disgusting – my expectations soon met my reality.

The first floor consists of a general overview of parasites while the second floor focuses on the parasite life cycle, showcasing 300 actual specimens. Walking up the stairs, one thought badgered me: Do I really need to see a few hundred parasites? I think after two or three I had a pretty good idea.

On the second floor, I found maps pinpointing areas all across Japan where specific types of tapeworms are found. Drawers and free standing displays educate the tourist. This is one place where tourists are encouraged to ask lots of questions.

Not surprisingly, I was the only one there on that Tuesday afternoon. A guide suddenly appeared from some back room and gave me a private tour, escorting me to several long, shiny white tables where more tapeworms and parasitic creatures existed. There is not enough room for all the exhibits, she explained. Lucky me.

While being granted twenty more minutes for the privilege of observing more preserved parasites and experiencing my guide’s unbridled parasitic enthusiasm made me wish the day would never end, what I enjoyed most was the gift shop. Even in a tiny museum like this, a reserved chunk of space existed to shill souvenirs.

Counter and glass case held all parasite souvenir essentials. Japanese culture loves to turn almost anything (beer foam, poop) into a cute rendition of its former self; a representative that allows a certain kind of intimate relationship that no one would ever acknowledge or desire otherwise.

The mascot is very similar to a mutated butterfly with exaggerated ears. They call it Diplozoon. It’s part of the motif for cell phone straps, key chains, pens, postcards, rulers, and stickers. There’s even an amber sealed parasite key chain. If that doesn’t get you excited, they offer t-shirts and jewelry with embossed rainbow colored tapeworms.

As I left the museum, I shook hands with my guide and asked if the museum ever gets busy. When do people show up? I wanted to know. She looked at me, smiled wistfully, and said, mostly before lunch.

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Where’s Waldo in Vancouver?
Courtesy Carolyn Coles [creative commons]

Being a child of the eighties, I have particularly fond memories of a goofy, lanky guy in a striped, red shirt; glasses; and a funky beanie. Those of you who also grew up in the eighties no doubt felt much like I did when – as you strolled with confidence into your school library, you found that your nemesis had already checked out the only version of Where’s Waldo? The humanity! The audacity of that little twerp who took your favorite find-it book — who prevented you from avoiding intellectually stimulating activities in place of mindlessly looking among a culturally homogeneous scene to find that one stand-out, the sore thumb, the man we all knew and loved — Waldo.

Here’s Waldo!
Courtesy atp_tyreseus [creative commons]

Waldo is back. And better than ever. He’s taking Web 2.0 by storm, all while helping raise awareness of Geography. And the ultimate example of this is Waldo’s new appearance in an undisclosed location in Vancouver, British Columbia. In order to find this iconic Poindexter you should – nay, you must – navigate post-haste to Vancouver, Canada in Google Earth and browse around until you find dreamy glasses and a googlie-eyed (no pun intended) smile shining back at you from the roof of a building. NOTE: Waldo is not yet appearing on the regular online version of Google Maps, it should take a few months to propagate there, so you will need Google Earth.

In fact, I’ll up the ante: The first person to send me the coordinates of Waldo (no cheating) wins a free signed print of Neverland Ranch. It’s a little reward for being a Bearings reader. Let the race begin!

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Our last view of the SS Independence — taken from the Golden Gate Bridge, being towed like a broken soul, on its way to be broken down on the beaches of Alang, India.

As an aside: I contacted three different news organizations a full week before the ship was to be leaving. Not a single one covered the story. The San Francisco Chronicle eventually covered the story today. Others interested in the SS Indy across the country contacted news organizations, but as of today only the Chronicle has written a brief summary of its departure.

With its socially/environmentally destructive “recycling”, historical drama, and suspicious-to-say-the-least corporate background, it could have easily been a Pulitzer-prize-winning feature. Unfortunately, our nation’s news media seems to be too beholden to killer bee and terrorist alert stories these days. Either that, or they have a vested interest in the public’s perception of Norwegian Cruise Lines. Readers: You decide.

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??

A friend of mine from Oregon recently sent me a short directive.? She said that I should go to maps.google.com.? “Why?” I said, “I already have a?GPS device.”?

“Just do it.” She said.?

Well, one must never deny?an appeal to “just do it,” so I made my way to Google Maps post-haste.

“Ok, now click on?’Get Driving Directions.’ Then?type in New York as your point of origin and Paris, France as your?destination.”?She said.

I was still confused, and most definitely not quite amused.

Then she said to scroll down to?prompt #23.

?

?

“But I don’t have my fins!” I exclaimed.

Sure enough, it’s another case of Google Maps wigging out, quite literally.? In another case, a bug (an earWIG, ironically) got caught in the scanning process.? When one typed in the coordinates of: 48.857635,10.20529 a giant killer alien (or an ultra-large scanned bug) showed up on the satellite.? Google has since fixed the problem now all that remains as evidence is an off-color square in a giant swathe of German farmland.

This case?of purportedly “swimming?across the atlantic” seems to me to?be the first of many of Google’s intentional bugs to delight its users.??And, if so, I applaud Google.? It’s an ingenuous marketing effort on their part. Word is already flying among the ears and wigs of MySpace. A truly viral campaign that really started with a bug — maybe even an intentional one at that.?

Then again, it could be another bored Google worker with too much time on his hands…. those lucky bums and their $400-share stock options…

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