ur doing it wrong

ur doin it wrong

I was just going to Tumbl this at first, but the more I looked  at it, the more it fascinated me. For reasons that I won’t bore anybody with right now, I was roaming around on the Japan Science and Technology Agency homepage (really, there was a good reason), and I saw a tiny link in the corner for the Failure Knowledge Database. Intriguing, no? Curious as to whether this was an official, Diet-mandated version of Failblog or simply a directory maintained of every occasion throughout history when a Japanese scientist got served, I had to check it out.

Honestly, I wasn’t that far off – it’s pretty much a directory of various technology- and engineering-related fuckups – mostly Japanese, but not exclusively so – with detailed analyses of what went wrong, how it was handled, and what we can all learn from this.

“When we look at the recent high incidence of a diverse variety of failure in Japan, we could be forgiven for thinking that we are witnessing failure on parade,” write the authors of the site in a charmingly loopy introduction, before launching into a description of how it’s possible to cross-link all the various causes and outcomes of failure to better understand and prevent future catastrophes.

That kind of self-awareness is pretty commendable, right? Let’s air our dirty laundry and all that. But not very interesting, right? Wrong.

Each case report gets its own charming little pictograph that depicts just what happened in a cartoonishly abstracted, and inimitably Japanese, style. For instance, “Mass Food Poisoning Caused by Snow Brand Dairy Products“:

Which appears to be illustrating some Cronenberg-esque fable in which unsuspecting milk drinkers have their bowels devoured by malevolent termites lurking in the container.

Some of them have storytelling titles with the tone of cautionary tales, something out of Struwwelpeter, like “Crashing disaster on a construction site – the accident which originated from the inappropriate use of safety belt“:

While others are elegantly blunt – “A construction worker was run over by the tire roller“:

From time to time, their narrative reach exceeds their grasp, highlighting the importance of simplicity in the disaster-cartooning medium:

Now if you guessed here that a train conductor is sternly telling the construction foreman that bringing coffee for dead people may be the sort of thing that’s perfectly acceptable in China – but NOT in Japan… you’d be close, but wrong. Apparently this is shorthand for “The foreigner (illegal worker) overturned at the construction site and he received the weight of the frame scaffold, and he died.” Huh.

However, the site isn’t simply given over to Buster Keaton-stunt-gone-wrong construction site mishaps and chemical contamination incidents (which are rather blandly illustrated with a metal barrel and/or a chemical symbol, although I guess there’s only so much you can do with “Leakage from a crack of a heat exchanger due to corrosion and abrasion at a manufacturing plant of crude copper phthalocyanine blue“).

In fact, there are some that are quite recognizable, even to those of us from outside the risk-management biz. Such as

and

In these cases, both the simple renditions and the dry-as-sawdust technical descriptions of the disasters have an strangely chilling effect; it was weird reading about 9-11 purely from a reductionist what-went-wrong-and-lessons-learned perspective, with an odd Cliffs’ Notes history of Afghanistan appended towards the end as background, as if this was all excerpted from an engineering textbook from the year 2105.

All in all, it’s a very odd site, but not from the sense of being pointless – just in the sense of being an unorthodox combination of tragedy and whimsy that one wouldn’t expect from a technician-oriented data resource.

I don’t know how much traffic this site gets, but I find it comforting that it exists. I just picture a group of frustrated Japanese engineers and architects sitting far underground in their concrete bunker, endlessly toiling away at their failure reports and constantly hoping against hope that the benighted will one day take heed before it’s too late…

planetofapes_liberty

OK, so I’ve returned to rainy NYC, and it seems like the fun’s over for now – at least until I save up enough for my trip to Peru and Bolivia. :)

I was thinking of putting together some sort of lessons-learned, pithy insights kind of post, but my brain really can’t handle that right now, even after receiving steady infusions of yerba mate throughout the day, and I suppose that will have to wait until my pithiness centers have reactivated.

And so what oh what shall become of AoBN?
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Last night abroad, and I’m sipping a pisco sour in a courtyard in Santiago to unwind…

I made my final border crossing back into Chile yesterday, via a road so shoddy and neglected that it seemed like it was deliberately designed to make you feel like you’re doing something ultra-shady just by taking it.

Chile, you say? Ah'm afraid you can't get theah from heah...

Chile, you say? Ah'm afraid you can't get theah from heah...

Of course, the fact that I had seven keys of coke sitting in a backpack in the back seat didn’t help. (Dear Chilean Customs officials: joking – please, no body cavity searches tomorrow.)

The Argentinean passport control folks were so surprised to see me, they processed my paperwork wrong – prompting the Chilean passport control guy to make fun of them and essentially call them a bunch of rubes. Oh, will you two never stop in your squabbling?

But I’ve become well-practiced in the border crossing protocol – in fact, it’s probably the area in which I’ve picked up my most useful “applied Spanish”. All told, El Jefe and I have danced back and forth across the Chile-Argentina border six times, amassing an impressive collection of stamps on our transit documents.

So many memories...

So many memories...

And so it was with some sadness that El Jefe was retired today, after 15 days of valiant service. Of course, my rental car agent Captain Hard-Ass was somehow able to spot a “new dent” on my thoroughly dented and scratched pickup, and that set me back an extra $100. But it’s only fair – after driving more than 4000 km on roads that were alternately made of dirt, gravel, boulders, shards of petrified wood, and even – once in a rare, blessed while – asphalt, I’m sure El Jefe has been thoroughly befucked in ways that will only become apparent in a week or so, and I’m probably getting off the hook easy.  I hope he gets a little rest before they rent him out again.

As for me, I’m going to finish getting loaded and eat some ceviche. Ciao y hasta luego…

Really, I hate to bitch. No. Wait. That’s not true. I love to bitch. But I hate to bitch in a vacuum, without talking about cool positive stuff too.

Truth be told, I knew full well what I was getting myself into with this itinerary (minus the massive outbreak of electronic fail), and so I took care to protect my mental well-being by bracketing the Hell Drive with plenty of Nature-y Awesomeness.

Before I left for the Great Northward Voyage, I spent the entire day chilling at the beautiful but seemingly ignored Tierra del Fuego National Park, where I think I saw less than 50 other visitors over the course of the entire day. This is a shame, since the park is absolutely beautiful.


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The fundamental problem with going to Tierra del Fuego, of course, was that somehow I had to get back from it. This left me in a pickle, as I hate to backtrack – especially considering how punishing Ruta 40 had been to El Jefe’s suspension.

But then I thought – this has been a trip of Extremes. The Highest-Altitude Geyser. The Southernmost City. The Driest Desert. So why not go for a new Extreme? Let’s call it the Dullest Fucking Drive in History.

<rant>
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That’s what it is right now. I mean, the mercury’s certainly been lower at other points of my trip, but I don’t think I’ve had to deal with such malicious, skin-flaying wind yet, and that’s making all the difference. So right now I’m huddling pathetically in a pub. It’s kind of embarassing, really – I mean, I’m from New England, not San Diego. Sigh.

So I was going to finally get around to doing that post about my week in the desert, but I’m really not that motivated right now – it’s just too much of a time-jump right now, and I’ve still got a ton of catching up in my pen-and-ink book to do and I’m just not feeling like doing the time warp right now.

And besides, that’s so early October. Now I’m doing Cold Weather Fun.

Like glaciers!

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And so I have arrived in Ushuaia, the “southernmost city in the world”, and a mere 1000km from Antarctica (and as close as I’ll get to Big Whitey this time around).

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So I’ve spent the last three days or so about as far off the grid as it’s possible to be, zigzagging back and forth between Chilean and Argentinean Patagonia, and trying to think of how I can best capture how insanely varied and beautiful the scenery is from day to day. I think the best summary I can come up with this: it’s as if I somehow crashed Roger Rabbit-style into some sort of commercial dimension, and I’m now living full-time in the world of beer and truck commercials. Here, all the mountains are Rocky and Snow-Capped.

We use only the coldest, cleanest mountain spring water...

We use only the coldest, cleanest mountain spring water...

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Hi, everybody. This is my truck, El Jefe:

And this is Patagonia:

I think the two will be fast friends, don’t you?

I’m not going to get around to putting up my second archived post, just ’cause this last one took longer than expected. But I’d like to repudiate my previous bitchiness about Santiago. I’ve had a very nice afternoon here, hiking on this mountainside trail right in the freakin’ middle of the city, and I’m currently enjoying a couple of local microbrews in this artsy little bar where they’re apparently making a film. Oh, and I’m going to be watching the Obama-McCain debate tonight at an expat party in this bar downtown, so I don’t have to feel the total pain of political withdrawal.

My only standing complaint about Chile now is the empanadas. Whereas Argentinean empanadas are gracefully-made, perfectly-spiced little flavor grenades, the Chilean empanadas I’ve had so far are nothing more than oversized doughy pillowcases full of fail. This may change, but that’s my opinion so far. On the other hand, the ceviche here is killer, and I’m a sucker for a good pisco sour, so I guess it all balances out…