Stucco is big in Japan (guest written by Stucco)

So, in the world of Stucco, "normal" is a very skewed baseline, but yesterday featured a deviation from that adjusted standard that was amusing. In San Francisco yesterday, at Pier 39 (or thereabouts) I was sitting on the edge of a flowerbox, minding my own whatnot, and noticing the considerable obesity of the average tourist (not that I was helping this average), when out of nowhere (well, somewhere I'm sure, but I hadn't noticed specifically where) I spy two Japanese women. Okay- I'm assuming japanese. Realisticially, they may have been Chinese, Phillipino, Korean, Vietnamese, Laotian, or Cambodian. I'm by no means an authority on spot-identifying someone's ancestry, but I THINK they were Japanese.
So these "Japanese" women were taking pictures (stereotype, anyone?) and I felt as though I might have been in the way- as though they were trying to take pictures of the flowerboxes or such. I looked away to try and locate the rest of my familial posse, and when I noticed the "Japanese" women again, there was only a "Japanese" woman left- one was gone, which I presumed meant that one had ducked into a kitchy shop for her perfunctory 3 San Fran t-shirts for $10.
Well, that presumption was all wrong, as teh next thing I know, the missing "Japanese" woman turned up sneakily behind me, leaning forward to be seen in a picture being taken by the non-missing "Japanese" woman who was still weilding the camera. In fact, I was squarely in the picture, which I immediately assumed I was wrecking, and I stood up to get the hell out of the way. What an ass I had been making these "Japanese" women labor so furiously to get a picture of a flowerbox. Not so! No sooner had I stood up than the pleading began. I think I got as far as "Here- I'll mo..." when I was interrupted in stereo. The sneaking lurker starts in with "No no no" and the one with the camera saying "Together", then the assorted "please" almost in harmony. Who the hell am I to deny a traveler their hard won freak show pictures? I sat back down and was immortalized by strangers.
Then, I began to wonder why. There were ponderously bulky and pasty white Americans everywhere, so apart from my possibly advantageous selection of scenery (vis a vis, the flowerbox), why would I have merited extra effort? Then I thought perhaps I thought it might have been my Chuck Taylor high-tops, because they are a dying breed and transcend cultural lines. That didn't seem to be it either. In the end, I'm left to believe it was my handlebar moustache. That was, and is, about the only thing I find here that is not adopted by the locals (which I take as an affirmation). So that's my best guess. Feel free to speculate wildy in the comments. Schmoopie said it's simply because I'm so dashingly handsome, but she's starved of Latte, and babbling. Plus, we already know her particular flaws of character and judgement, as she was foolhardy enough to marry me.

Cheers from the inexplicably sunny San Fran (where I'm now sporting a sunburn!)

-Stucco (in for Schmoopie, who is running blocking for my mother)