So you’re heading down the interstate with a car full of hungry bellies and the endless neon lights of dozens of eateries are setting your retinas ablaze. Where do you stop to satiate the beast within? You no longer have to leave it up to your tired exhausted brain…with this helpful chart we’ll get you to the right calorie laden table in no time. Now the only decision you’ll need to make is whether or not to get the chocolate lava cake à la mode or not, but we know the answer to that America…don’t we?

Head over to Top Cultured to see the Chain Restaurant Flowchart, be sure to see our other flowcharts as well:

Fast Food
Cereal
Beer
Freezer Aisle
Candy
Produce Aisle

So, for the most part the first story is finished being written and I have already started outlining Part 2, which in my opinion is starting to look much better and will feature more crazy action than the first story because it will feature  40+ backloggers all going nuts (well,some of them). I might as well explain this comic while I’m writing all this to to give evryone the heads up. The Backlog comic was created by my mad love for comics and my crazy desire to write with restrictions (meaning I work well when people give me something to work with). I was in the middle of writing a comic I had been doing for a very long time and had completely done I all I could with it so I got out of touch with writing.

In the middle of last year a friend of mine told me of a backlogging site for video games I was interested but, busy and forgot about it multiple times. Luckily, he wouldn’t shut up about it, so one night while surfing the web on my new monitor I had just got for Christmas and while browsing the web I remembered the site Backloggery.com. It wasn’t bad, not that spectacular but, it was fun, it wasn’t until I met the more popular members that my backlogging career really took off. It was fun getting to know the Backloggers, there was Minty who was the first person who I added to the friends list (not including my real life friend) and Sobou and Derkomai who added me to their list of friends very quickly. Going to the Try and Drum streams is where most of my Backlogger friends and I met up.  For a time, I showed up at everyone’s streams just talking to random people when a topic that I had any knowledge in would pop up. There were also times when I would just have a stream on and just watch so I decided that if wasn’t talking I might as well keep my hands busy so I picked up my pen and began to write whatever was on my mind.

Instead of writing stories I mostly just wrote down ideas while people were talking in chats and I would hear stuff while Try and Drum were streaming that sounded pretty funny and I would write it down and put my own spin on it, there were also times where I heard something funny and then after a while it just sounded dumb. One night after I left one of Hojo’s streams (my friend in real life) I got home and turned on my computer logged in to the stream and noticed a man by the name of eltipejoloco who had apparently mistaken Hojo for me but, I also noticed he had a channel with a ghetto setup, it was just me and one other person(not to sure) but, I stuck around for a bit before leaving to go to sleep. I noticed he was showing up for some other streams and before I knew it he was on the backloggery site and had a really cool looking banner, I asked if he had made it and said yes, it wasn’t long when I decided to friend him and I even got to be a mod on his channel. One day during a Backlog stream Derkomai starts to ramble about some backlog drawing I decided to check it out and it looked awesome and I was kinda upset that I went early that night but, I was even more upset when I found out that I was going to be in it but my friends(who have known me for years by the way) couldn’t describe me to Loco(apparently, tall guy with Brown hairand a five a’ clock shadow is just to crazy to remember). Eventually, I showed up in a drawings and I loved how they turned out.

During this time, I just got laid off and was unemployed but, I still had a budget for comics and I still had a pile of them from when I was busy working so I decided I should start getting them put away before I got buried in them. I don’t remember exactly what happened but, I decided to write another comic(probably because I had a stack of comics that had been in a pile because I was working so much) but, I had the itch to write another comic but, I didn’t know where to start from I knew I liked Super-Heroes but, there are so damn many and how would I make them unique? I looked to the backlog for help but, before I even asked anyone I knew what I was going to do, get The backloggers and make them super-heroes in a comic book. Luckily, Everyone was very excited about this project which made me more happy to write it and before long I had a huge list of people going and someone(I forget who) asked, “who is going to draw it?” I wasn’t sure because I never really drew my old stuff I just write it so incase I wanted to make it a comic I would have something. Someone mentioned Loco, I thought ” no way, this guy has better things to do” and sure enough Loco pops in and says “sure” and that would be the first time I ever had to work with an artist on anything.

Well, there you go the origin of the Backloggery comic book, Surprisingly there was a few things I left out that I just felt weren’t important but, anyway on to the last thing. I have tried asking people if they wanted to be in the comic message me however, no one does and I have to go and get them myself so, plans for after Part 2 I already have the Two main characters in mind and if I see random cool people on Backloggery I will ask them too so yes, I will now be hunting people down for the comic. Now I shall go, I think I have written enough and hopefully people wanna read this(BECAUSE I POURED MY HEART AND SOUL INTO THIS ONE).

Later

Following directions is hard. Unless the directions are something like Be awesome! or Buy this shiny object! I am usually distracted, bored, or otherwise completely disinterested. Do not judge me. I know this is why message boards were created. They were for losery people to get on and ask their dumb questions anonymously. So I’ve taken the liberty of listing the manufacturer’s warnings/directions while (typo – should be for) taking Ambien and now you can know that you are not the only one with such creative thoughts. Well, only the italicized parts are from the manufacturer/drug pimp.

Be careful when driving, flying, operating heavy machinery or performing any task that requires alertness until you are sure of the effects of Ambien on you during normal waking hours. Note that emailing falls in the category of what requires alertness. If you get the bright idea to send out a mass email one night about a friend who’s selling a Dooney & Bourke purse, don’t try to comfort yourself the next morning when you see the out-of-office replies from former bosses and professors by saying your computer has a virus. Your own dumb Ambiened-ass is the virus and you just need to live with that embarrassment.

Ah luvs Ambien

Inform your doctor if you are pregnant, could become pregnant or are breast-feeding before taking Ambien. Inform your doctor if you are slutty. Wait – never mind, I’m sure half of your county already knows and your doctor has this highlighted in your chart. If you are breastfeeding but have not recently given birth, you are probably part of Salma Hayek’s cult of rogue breastfeeders. If you’ve just been molesting your dog during your Ambien haze, SICK. Talk to someone about this. Preferably in a public online forum so I can make fun of you.

Not my usual morning blend, but these are DELICIOUS!

Side effects that are less serious and do not require the stoppage of Ambien include daytime drowsiness, dizziness, weakness, headache, amnesia, forgetfulness, abnormal dreams, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, muscle pain and blurred vision. Diarrhea ALONE would make me quit this bitch no matter how delicious the sleep was. Anyone who knows me knows that I take anti-diarrheal medication prophylactically at the mere HINT of an angry bowel. I’m not going to risk getting into a vicious sleep-coma/constipation cycle or worse: sleeping through some epic bowel explosion because Tom would NOT be there with me through that. His ass would leave me high and dry, or rather down and out in shit city. Trust that he would be checked into the nearest HoJo.

Please excuse my life.

Older adults should use caution while walking when using Ambien. The effects of Ambien may be stronger in older adults. I can’t wait to be an “older adult” and take Ambien. A free pass for no walking and more nappy times? LOVE IT!

Contact a doctor immediately if you begin to have worsening sleep problems, depression, thoughts of suicide, decreased inhibitions, no fear of danger, aggression agitation, confusion, hallucinations or loss of personality. No fear of danger or loss of personality?! No fucking way am I reporting that side effect to my doctor if that happens. I’m riding that shit to the top bitches!

Wallpaper High Quality 1280×1024

Download

http://www.mediafire.com/?dyytdzknetn

The Trooper at Seatac Parkade

Although I didn’t need to be in Seattle until late on December 20th I set off early to account for delays. Little did I know. It was after the ferry ride and drive down to the border, while I was waiting out the Peace Arch that things started to go pear-shaped. I had just crawled past the last U-turn before the border when I phoned my daughter to check how things were going. That’s when I learned that US Airways had overbooked from State College to Philadelphia; they were not able to get on the plane; and there was no other flight out that evening. Options were being pointedly discussed with the airline.

Twenty minutes later and well through the border into Washington State and down I-5, they called to let me know that they (she and her son and her boyfriend and his son) would drive to Pittsburgh that night where a US Airways flight would take them out to Seattle in the morning. The airline would put them up in a hotel and issue additional flight vouchers as compensation. They would arrive at Seatac mid-morning on the 21st. All was back on schedule if just a day late.
As time would be tight in the morning and rather than turn around and go back through the border wait, I decided to carry on driving down to Seatac and get a hotel. It was now too late to cancel the hotel in Vancouver, but I wrote that off for the sake of maintaining a relatively good mood, and carried on.

To make the black December evening even more interesting, the “Iffy” weather very quickly turned to a full-blown howling blizzard that could not be recreated in the movies. For the first time, I had to find, turn on and use the 4-wheel drive function of my 1993 Isuzu Trooper and its all season tires, no chains. A whiteout ensued on I-5 through which I could vaguely see the growing outlines of vehicles by the side of the road. Everything was slip sliding and soon the freeway was reduced to one lane in each direction. No snowploughs were out. At Mount Vernon previous broken up ice under the new snow made driving hilariously dangerous, traction non-existent, and the Trooper was bouncing sideways off the washboard underneath. By the time I got to Lynwood (about an hour north of Seatac and several tractor trailers on their sides) I had to accede to the cold and fear and get off the highway. I checked into the Courtyard Marriott, comforted by the thought that Sarah and her crew were safely at a hotel in Pittsburgh. I ate my supper at the amazing Buca di Beppo and the hotel was a perfect haven.

On the morning of December 21st I awoke to about a foot or so of fresh snow and it was still coming down. However it was daylight and I had driven in it the night before so I was fairly confident I could get to Seatac Airport. Over in Pittsburgh my daughter et al had got up early and gone to the airport only to find that all flights to Seattle had been cancelled due to the weather. Discussions were taking place with the airline. After some time it was decided that US Airways could fly her and my grandson to Las Vegas where flights were still leaving for Seattle. Things were back on track. So after retrieving my vehicle from the snow and ice, and knowing it would likely take me a couple of hours to drive through downtown Seattle given the weather, I left the safety of the Lynwood Marriott for Seatac to wait.

It was an eerie drive that Sunday morning as the roads were treacherous and there was hardly anyone risking I-5 at an early hour. It was so solitary that at one point a friend phoned me to ask if I had just driven over the Tacoma Narrows bridge, as she was sure it was me she had seen from KOMO’s Chopper Five weather helicopter. She was right. The helicopter had been flying above me as at that point as I think I was one of few things moving they could film.

On arrival, Seatac Airport was like a Stephen King movie at the end bit where we are entering the Heart of Darkness. With most if not all flights in and out cancelled, thousands of ticket holders of various shapes and ethnic origin were milling around looking for something productive to do other than wait and get angrier. It got progressively worse the longer people milled around with no news and no new flight times on the horizon. Finally, and seeming to sense something tangibly dangerous, Alaska Airlines got on the intercom and told their ticket holders to go home and wait as none of their flights would be arriving or leaving that day and the airport could not accommodate them. None of the other airlines was so bold, but the acknowledgement did seem to relieve the pressure somewhat even if no-one appeared to be giving in and leaving.

Meanwhile, at Pittsburgh, my daughter and grandson had had their tickets and flight vouchers stolen and were busily trying to get them reprinted before their flight took off for Vegas in a few minutes. It was only after logical deduction about who could have done it, and threats of exposure to a worker at the airport cafeteria, that her boyfriend got their tickets back and they were able to catch their flight at the last minute.
I learned this when my daughter phoned me (collect) on her arrival in Vegas to find that:
• All flights from Vegas to Seattle were cancelled for the day at least.
• Her luggage with all her clothes, toiletries and Christmas presents, was missing.
• Her cell phone charger was in her luggage and her phone battery was now dead.
• She had no money, no credit card, no flight out, and US Airlines was refusing to provide her with another hotel. Their limit apparently was one hotel per screw up and she already had that in Pittsburgh.
• In essence she was standing dishevelled at the Los Vegas airport with her four-year old with no money and no luggage; no place to stay, or anything to eat. You may wish to understand here that she has strong feelings about capitalism and gambling and Vegas is the antithesis of anywhere she might ever want to be. Conversley my grandson was fascinated and trying to play with the slot machines.

The only thing open to me was to find a hotel for myself near Seatac, check in, and arrange a hotel for them in Vegas until they could get a flight to Seattle. That is when I learned that phone companies won’t send collect calls to cell phones without a credit card to charge to, so each approximately two minute check-in call ended up costing me close to $25. All the hotels close to Seatac were fully booked with people holding airline tickets and nowhere to go. The closest place I could find that had any space left was the Howard Johnson at Tukwila. Remember that the roads were still feet deep and treacherous with snow and it was still coming down. I made my way to the Hojo, drove over a 2 foot snow bank to get to the parking lot, booked in, got on line and got them a room at the Flamingo. Then I transferred some cash to her account so that she could take the transporter from the airport to the hotel. Phone call: On arrival at the Flamingo she was told that she needed to produce a physical credit card or they would require a few hundred dollars deposit. So now she was in the lobby of the hotel, unable to go to a room, no luggage, no phone, with a hungry and tired four year-old who had been very good so far but was quickly going downhill at all the upheaval and the sight of his mama’s crumbling courage. The hotel said the only solution was to fax me a copy of an agreement that I could sign and fax back with a photocopy of my credit card and driver’s licence, authorizing charges to the room. I ascertained the fax number of the Hojo, advised the receptionist there that I was waiting for a very important fax and could she let me know when it came, and settled in my room to wait for a few minutes.

Not hearing anything I went back to the reception desk (remember I am trudging through feet of snow each time as the Hojo at Tukwila is in essence a very cheap motel that is long overdue for renovation). I draw her attention to the fact that the fax is sitting there on the fax machine. I ask to have it and sign it which confuses her. Nevertheless I do this and provide her with the number at the Flamingo to fax it back to. Meanwhile, more hopeful travellers are coming in out of the storm and requesting rooms. She is having trouble with the deluge of work being the sole person actually working at the motel desk, and says she will send the fax as soon as she is finished checking in the next customer. I go back to my room and after ten minutes phone the lobby of the Flamingo, where of course the fax has not been received. I don my winter clothes and boots again and go back to the lobby where the fax is sitting where I left it.

I say in a very loud voice and in a very un-Canadian way words to the effect of would you please stop what you are doing and send this. It is an emergency. I need you to do it now. And I can feel an edge of unrelenting urgency and wonder if they will have me arrested and put me in an American jail and my family will be abandoned in Nevada and I will never get out of Washington State. She commits to doing this and I must return to my room remembering that I do not bear arms but that may not apply to the receptionist or other staff of the “hotel”. My daughter finally calls. The fax has arrived. They are in their room at The Flamingo and she has access to the hotel including food and a phone. We can all eat and sleep and, if all is well with the world, they will fly into Seatac the following morning and I can pick them up and we can go home.

There was no restaurant or cafe associated with the motel. In the evening, I had to go out to purchase supper from an unheated supermarket that was full of second-rate very expensive produce and I was the only non-Hispanic person in it. This is not any type of comment, just an observation that someone appeared to be taking full advantage of the disadvantaged. It would have been a rip-off here in Canada apart from the cheese and wine which I purchased. Neither my motel room nor front desk had a wine opener so I had to go back out. I bought two, one of which I donated to the hotel on return. So if you ever stay there don’t let them tell you they don’t have a wine opener. Either that or the lady at the front desk took it home.

It snowed all night at Tukwila. I know this because my room was immediately next to the motel office where people were stamping in and out all night and having their smoke break outside my door. In the room the heater was one of those big insanely loud air conditioner things that had to keep cutting in every ten minutes as the unit wasn’t insulated and the temperature dropped dramatically within seconds of the clanking cutting out. It was so noisy I had to double the comforter over on my bed and shut the damn thing off.

Then I had to resort to lies so that I could sleep. I told myself that in the morning I would get up and there would be a garage across the street that had chains to fit my vehicle. I would purchase the chains and a mechanic would be available to install them straight away at reasonable cost and I could drive safely to meet the plane. When I awoke I realized this was a lie but thanked myself profusely for thinking it up and proceeded with the day. I skipped the lobby breakfast of cold cereal or bagel you had to toast with a crowd standing around waiting (who didn’t appear to know whose bagel was whose anymore and could have lead to a stand-off) or an apple with bruises or grey-looking coffee with powdered milk in a Styrofoam cup. Rather than give the motel any stars I designated it a Black Hole and sought out the day.

To top it off, US Airways had decided to fly them into Vancouver, Canada instead of SeaTac, scheduled to arrive at about Noon. So I had to get from Tukwila, this time through the Seattle Monday morning rush hour traffic in multi-lane roads of alternating black ice and mounds of snow between lanes. It was brutal again around Mount Vernon where the ice under the new snow acted like a washboard threatening to jolt my teeth out. And of course, it did not escape me that I could have waited in Canada all along and that last untaken U-turn became all that meaningful. So I make it to the Peace Arch in one piece where Canada border agents, despite my gesturing frantically to the contrary, decide to operate the window on my passenger side, which is broken and usually will not go up again. Remember it is still sub zero and I have to get to Vancouver. When I remonstrated with them they decided to pull me over and search (ransack) the Trooper.

After about half an hour of searching by at least four uniformed persons and meaningful looks “Please stay in the waiting room lady and this can be done all the faster” they manage to get the window back up and I finally get to drive away with the inside of the Trooper all pulled about and my grandson’s car seat not buckled in anymore, and it quickly becomes apparent they haven’t shut the engine hood properly so its bouncing up and down and threatening to fly up and break the windshield so I have to pull over into a quasi snow bank to get off the road to close it properly. Meanwhile the sun is starting to shine.

Amazingly, I get to Vancouver airport before their flight arrives and it takes about an hour for them to get through Customs. No pesky baggage to collect though as they have still lost track of that. We take off to catch the three o’clock ferry and they tell us “no promises” to get on, but we do. We are the next to last car on. It’s late coming in (with no explanation) and we don’t leave until nearly four… but we are starting to relax as we are on the home stretch. The sun comes out as we cruise through the Islands to home.

Things revert. We get to Vancouver Island and the road into town is at a standstill with multiple crashes on black ice the whole 20 km. We crawl into town at 5 kph and see five accident scenes on the way that restrict the highway to one lane and all that entails. Have to get some groceries so that’s another stop and we arrive at about 8 pm to find my street is nearly, but not quite impassable, but we are home.

In case you are wondering about the lost baggage: They delivered my daughter’s luggage two weeks later, the day before she left to return home. During that time we had to replace her clothing and her cell phone charger, but became well acquainted through daily visits and phone calls with Tiffany at Horizon Air who made it her personal quest to find and return Sarah’s luggage after U.S. Airways gave up and refused to look anymore. Thank you Tiffany.

Takahiro Hojo Photos 92

Takahiro Hojo Photos 89

Takahiro Hojo Photo 89

And now, the furtherance of the Milwaukee’s Best Ice sponsored epoch: 

        Mere seconds had passed since the Pagano objective revealed itself when my phone started a-buzzing.  I had two text messages, one from JDMiller4Life, and the other from my sister Angie.  JD was telling us to get over to Brixx stat, as there was some manner of happy hour situation and we needed to be on it.  Angie wanted to meet up and get her shirt, as Sarah carried the extras with her in a sack.  I typed in response “On the way” and “Brixx,” respectively, and we set off.

        Brixx isn’t a normal starting line for the great marathon that is Parade Day, but it’s not half as lame as some places.  During the course of the day we’d hear stories about people who opened up their days at bars (acceptable), bar/restaurants (less acceptable), restaurants (barely acceptable), and Dunkin Donuts (unacceptable – as the phrase America Runs on Dunkin’ may be the reason for all the fat ass kids torpidly wandering the streets and sitting in front of television sets, watching commercials for artery-clogging garbage like Dunkin’ Donuts).  We, however, had technically started in the kitchen, before breakfast, and that was the most acceptable of all.  It was beyond acceptable.  It was exemplary.  The way they started at the HoJo may be the only thing better, and that was starting on the previous day and not stopping for rest, sleep, food, or general complaints from the authorities until the parade was well over and it was time for Sunday brunch. 

        JD and his roommate Big Rob were rocking the house in a very cramped way when we arrived at Brixx and spotted them through the front window.  They were pressed up against the glass like a pair of socks in the washer, faces smushed against the pane, beers in hand a foot away from their mouths.  Behind them was seemingly the entire order of Hiberians in the middle of a heated jigging competition with the Knights of Pythias, all marching later, all crowded into the same room.  The line to get in was four across and four dozen deep, so we stood and waited and watched as our friends inside uncomfortably attempted to get beers to mouths, but with limited success.

        I met Sarah through JD at a party at Marywood, where they both were juniors (or sophomores, or freshmen, I have no idea).  I had been out of school a few years, contemplating going back or taking that job working with a drill, a shovel, and a dream in a quarry just north of Halifax, which would’ve been a bastard of a commute. JD and I used to act in plays together – terrible, hackneyed plays with puns in the titles and no asses in the seats.

        It was Fat Tuesday, and from time to time I’d find myself at JD’s apartment, playing the beer pong and drinking the absinthe.  This was before one of his roommates convinced himself he was a samurai and one of the whores Sarah lived with would begin a new plague with her rancid vagina that is still killing livestock in the Pacific Northwest.  Sarah lived in an apartment down the way, and happened to be at this party.  I’d like to say that I instantly knew she was the pants face for me, but it’s not true.  The next day I could remember talking to a girl for a while, and that she was pretty cute, but particulars escaped me as I’d gotten blackout drunk, vomited on my car, and woke up face down half naked on the bathroom floor.  So while my appeal to her is obvious, it was only after extended phone conversations about her French horn playing and my never having visited Buffalo that we got together.  Kismet, ladies and gentlemen.

        Despite no one exiting the bar, more bodies were ushered in until we finally made it through the doors ourselves, where we stopped dead at a massive wall of humanity.  People kept moving and darting around, snaking in lines through the crowd, but no space ever opened up.  We stood on the edge and peered in, as though gaping at a giant, lethal machine that was likely to take a leg or worse if we got too close to it. 

        JD and Big Rob were in there getting tossed around, and from time to time I’d spot 4Life’s Red Sox hat bob up in the crowd.  Waitresses with trays of drinks would float by, somehow managing to stay upright and clothed, and I was impressed by their lack of mishaps until Big Rob finally reached our group, said hi, and was blasted in the chest by a falling beer.  The waitress sort of apologized, and promptly disappeared into the crowd.  It was then we decided to leave.

Holy Freeholy!  Bar Numero Uno was a nightmare!  How do we progress from here?  What does San Diego have to do with the future episodes of this wicked pisser tale?  Confusing indeed and so it will continue in the next account of Scranton and Parade Day, likely entitled Smell Your Way to HoJo’s!

Mets win! A great game. There was some tense moments but a win is a win. Pelfrey and the bullpen had its problems but the lineup had just enough in them to bailed them out. So on that note, on to busting some packs. Unfortunately I have only two 1988 Donruss lying around and so the card of the game is…

This was an easy pick. HoJo, the Mets hitting coach, is the only card that is remotely related to the 2009 Mets. The Mets have one of the best lineup in the National League and can score a ton of runs but scoring in the clutch (and scoring late in the game) seems to be a problem. Still a fitting card for a game in which the Mets score nine runs.

After my quite long speech on the environment in my previous post, I stumbled on an interesting anime that has quite the same theme. Shangri-la, an anime which is an adaptation of  Ikegami Eiichi’s novel which has the same title has a unique theme to it.

Set to a future world, where Japan has turned into heaven of forestry, it is now a vital country that can absorb carbon dioxide immensely. The global world is in the runaway of the global warming and the United Nation has agreed to introduce a special tax called carbon tax. Carbon tax is a tax that is levied to a country which rates vary depending on how much carbon dioxide is produced in that particular country.

I’ve been watching the first episode of this anime, so the story is a bit blurry. The episode starts with the appearance of the main heroine of the anime, Kuniko Hojo, who is being released of her captivity in the federal prison. I still don’t know what did she do so that she is sent to jail. However, a lot of prisoner were chanting her name when she shout “Today, Kuniko Hojo is released”.

Later to be known, she is actually a designated leader of the Metal-age, an anti-government resistance group. She also carries a boomerang-like weapon that can cut through alloy, such as tanks and stuff. As a middle-schooler girl, Kuniko Hojo is a high-spirited girl and is called “Kaze” or “Wind” which her friend, Momoko, quoted “She is the wind. She never stand still”.

So, after her released to the outerworld, we get to see a lot of Tokyo landscapes that has turned into sea of forests. Then, the first episode is seperated into several scenes which introduce us a couple of factions which might play a key role of this anime. In conclusion, I think this anime has a very high potential to be an interesting anime. However, looking at the maker of this anime which is GONZO, we might have to pray hard to hope the best for this anime to be interesting.

The Metal Age

Kuniko Hojo is a designated leader for an anti-government rebel group named The Metal Age. She is a high-spirited girl and always accompany by her three friends: Mi-Ko – a plump transexual, Momoko – also a transexual, and Takehiko – one of the lead members of the Metal Age. She is a carefree girl and she is reluctant to be the leader of the Metal Age. She is called “Kaze” by Momoko for her high-spirited attitude. Kuniko Hojo also has a high flexibility and quick in the battlefield. Her weapon is a boomerang that can split a tank in a half.

The Military

In this scene, we are introduce to a man named Kunihito Kusanagi, the major of the 10th Antiaircraft Artillery Corps who insistedly hunts down for the Metal-age. Kunihito is an honest and put justice at the highest place. He also disgusted by the military action who can do what they want without regarding human rights. However, his low ranked made him inferior against his superior. In the first episode, he encountered Kuniko Hojo and found out that he has the same sword as Kuniko Hojo’s. Is there any connection between them? The question remains a mystery in the first episode.

The Royal Faction

Mikuni, a girl from the monarch class who has different eye colors (left and blue). She is always carried by a huge luxurius carriage which is pulled by a giant bull. She seems not to be allowed outside the carriage when she goes out since she is ill when exposed by the sunlight. She is also lived in a city called Atlas, which is a city that are intended for the privileged and the fortunate. She always seems to be guarded by a loyal servant named Sayoko, who are very devoted to protect Mikuni. She has a cold and sadist demeanor and later to be found out that she is a former autopsist. Also, Mikuni also has the same kind of sword as Kunihito Kusanagi and Kuniko Hojo. (BTW, I found out that the name of the three characters that have these sword have the phrase “Kuni” on their name).

Ishida Finance

Being the leader of a huge Carbon business industry, Karin Ishida is a jenius girl who successfully develop a system named MEDUSA. The MEDUSA system is a forecasting system to count the rate of carbon dioxide in a particular region. She can bring down the carbon rate in a country radically and an instance with this system. Karin Ishida, however, is a girl that still needs love by her parents and she is trying to impress them by gaining profit for the company. She often feels lonely and chat with her teddy bear to cheer herself up.

Tokyo Tower in the Shangri-la landscapes.

Japan has turned into a seabed of forestry

Kuniko Hojo - The leader of the Metal Age

Mikuni - A high class monarch girl

Mikuni always carried by a giant carriage when she travel

Karin Ishida - A genius girl who develop the MEDUSA system.

Kunihito Kusanagi - A Major of the 10th Antiaircraft Artillery Corps

This is what powers my column

Yes, folks, it’s that time again. I can’t really give you any top secret, behind-the-scenes stories from the making of this Bar Exam, because I put all the juice in the article. Nothing to see here, move along. Go directly to my story and read it.

Wait a second, there is one interesting tidbit for ya. I took the photo for the background of my Twitter page in the lobby of the Downtown LV Howard Johnson hotel on my first trip to the Florida Cafe.

my Twitter background/Downtown LV HoJo

]]> http://takahirohojo.wordpress.com/2009/02/26/takahiro-hojo-photo-85/ Thu, 26 Feb 2009 13:56:26 +0000 Takahiro Hojo http://takahirohojo.wordpress.com/2009/02/26/takahiro-hojo-photo-85/

Takahiro Hojo Photo 85

Takahiro Hojo Photo 85

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Takahiro Hojo Photo 84

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Takahiro Hojo Photo 83

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Takahiro Hojo Photo 82

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Takahiro Hojo 81

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Takahiro Hojo 80

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Takahiro Hojo 78

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Takahiro Hojo 77