BITTERSWEET SYMPHONY
My box of Japanese snacks is getting light.
I had budgeted $100 to buy snacks for the office, and another $150 for myself. The last traces of the office snacks (cheese and almond Doritos, ramune corn puffs) were gone by the start of the second week of my return.
My box is now down to some gum and watermelon hard candy. (I do have two bags of taco Doritos that I bought at the Costco in Chiba— I just need to reconfirm that they’re veg friendly.)
But all of my chocolates and my various vending-machine drinks are gone.
I expect that I’ll restock a bit up at Mitsuwa in November, but it just won’t be the same…
Monday, August 30, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
ICE ICE BABY
At the end of our street in Shibuya there was a kakigori stand. It was an elegant little box of a building, with dark wood paneling and a tropical feel.
Kakigori is a typical summer treat in Japan— ice is shaved from a block, and then covered in sweet syrups. Basically, it is the diamond to a Sno Cone's quartz...
We did not find the right time to stop and have a taste until the afternoon of our last day in town. It was 3:00 pm— lunch was enough of a memory and dinner sufficiently far off, and the temperature was skimming 100 degrees.
So we paused under one of the umbrellas in front of the stand and looked over the pictures of all the flavors. Grape, melon, sweet red bean, lemon, strawberry— it was quite a list.
Our choices made, we went around to the window and placed our orders with the lone man inside. He first filled a bowl halfway with ice, and then swirled a cloudy syrup of condensed milk over the top. The kids had ordered caramel, so that was the next syrup flavor to be drizzled over the ice.
He then added a second layer of ice, until a Fuji-esque mound teetered in the bowl. Another dressing of milk and caramel syrups, and he was done. He handed it through the window to Lana and Sebastian, who quickly found a table for two and began deconstructing it with their spoons.
I ordered a ramune-flavored ice— ramune is essentially lemon-lime soda, but with a longer finish than Sprite or 7-Up. I assumed there was no way I'd be able to polish it off, but 10 minutes later I was staring at an empty bowl, scraping the bottom with my spoon in vain...
At the end of our street in Shibuya there was a kakigori stand. It was an elegant little box of a building, with dark wood paneling and a tropical feel.
Kakigori is a typical summer treat in Japan— ice is shaved from a block, and then covered in sweet syrups. Basically, it is the diamond to a Sno Cone's quartz...
We did not find the right time to stop and have a taste until the afternoon of our last day in town. It was 3:00 pm— lunch was enough of a memory and dinner sufficiently far off, and the temperature was skimming 100 degrees.
So we paused under one of the umbrellas in front of the stand and looked over the pictures of all the flavors. Grape, melon, sweet red bean, lemon, strawberry— it was quite a list.
Our choices made, we went around to the window and placed our orders with the lone man inside. He first filled a bowl halfway with ice, and then swirled a cloudy syrup of condensed milk over the top. The kids had ordered caramel, so that was the next syrup flavor to be drizzled over the ice.
He then added a second layer of ice, until a Fuji-esque mound teetered in the bowl. Another dressing of milk and caramel syrups, and he was done. He handed it through the window to Lana and Sebastian, who quickly found a table for two and began deconstructing it with their spoons.
I ordered a ramune-flavored ice— ramune is essentially lemon-lime soda, but with a longer finish than Sprite or 7-Up. I assumed there was no way I'd be able to polish it off, but 10 minutes later I was staring at an empty bowl, scraping the bottom with my spoon in vain...
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
YOU SET THE SCENE
Shibuya was a scene, once upon a time.
The Shibuya-kei sound was made popular back in the early 90s by artists like Pizzicato Five, Cornelius, and Fantastic Plastic Machine. It was frothy, electronic, and fun.
The scene may be gone, but our weekly mansion was surrounded still by music stores big and small. If I were a gear head, I’m sure I would’ve been in heaven— as it stands, I was satisfied enough to take a picture in front of one particularly impressive guitar shop.
There were also a number of recording studios up and down our street. Every day we’d walk past the kids loading in or loading out, sucking down CC Lemons and smoking Mild Sevens, and I’d wonder what kind of noise they were making inside.
And every day we just kept on walking…
Shibuya was a scene, once upon a time.
The Shibuya-kei sound was made popular back in the early 90s by artists like Pizzicato Five, Cornelius, and Fantastic Plastic Machine. It was frothy, electronic, and fun.
The scene may be gone, but our weekly mansion was surrounded still by music stores big and small. If I were a gear head, I’m sure I would’ve been in heaven— as it stands, I was satisfied enough to take a picture in front of one particularly impressive guitar shop.
There were also a number of recording studios up and down our street. Every day we’d walk past the kids loading in or loading out, sucking down CC Lemons and smoking Mild Sevens, and I’d wonder what kind of noise they were making inside.
And every day we just kept on walking…
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
I WISH YOU COULD SWIM LIKE THE DOLPHINS CAN SWIM
The Shinagawa Prince Hotel has among its amenities a small aquarium and a couple of aqua stadiums. The hotel is right across the street from Shinagawa Station, where we met some old friends from our New York days.
After lunch at the Dean & Deluca in the station, we all walked over to the aquarium. It had the slightly musty feel of a 90s tourist attraction, which registered to me as charm. One of the main features was a glass tunnel that intersected the primary tank—we were lucky enough to be there for feeding time:
There was a 2:30 dolphin show in the main aqua stadium, and Lana, Sebastian, and I staked out our front-row splash-zone seats 30 minutes before it started. I bought two ponchos, in an effort to stay dry from top to bottom. Well, I flinched instinctively with the first impending splash, and tore the poncho covering my pants. I yelled too, ensuring myself a nice lingering taste of dolphin water.
I sat in wet pants through the seal show at the smaller aqua stadium, but I was dry by the time we hit the gift shop. And although I chewed a few pieces of Fits gum on the train ride home, I still tasted the briny salt all the way back to Shibuya.
I didn’t care a bit…
The Shinagawa Prince Hotel has among its amenities a small aquarium and a couple of aqua stadiums. The hotel is right across the street from Shinagawa Station, where we met some old friends from our New York days.
After lunch at the Dean & Deluca in the station, we all walked over to the aquarium. It had the slightly musty feel of a 90s tourist attraction, which registered to me as charm. One of the main features was a glass tunnel that intersected the primary tank—we were lucky enough to be there for feeding time:
There was a 2:30 dolphin show in the main aqua stadium, and Lana, Sebastian, and I staked out our front-row splash-zone seats 30 minutes before it started. I bought two ponchos, in an effort to stay dry from top to bottom. Well, I flinched instinctively with the first impending splash, and tore the poncho covering my pants. I yelled too, ensuring myself a nice lingering taste of dolphin water.
I sat in wet pants through the seal show at the smaller aqua stadium, but I was dry by the time we hit the gift shop. And although I chewed a few pieces of Fits gum on the train ride home, I still tasted the briny salt all the way back to Shibuya.
I didn’t care a bit…
Monday, August 16, 2010
ART LOVER
I first heard about the Bridgestone Museum back in college.
I was an English major, but a brief half semester with an alcoholic “Bible as Literature” professor once had me considering a switch to Art History. I dropped the class instead, and stayed the course.
So I put the Bridgestone on our itinerary for this trip, and in doing some research I discovered just how deep are the treads of my own ignorance: I never realized that Bridgestone Tire is a Japanese company. The founder’s name was Ishibashi, or “stone bridge”…
It’s a relatively small museum, located in the Bridgestone headquarters, amongst an accumulation of nondescript concrete midrises. We went on a quiet weekday morning, but word is that the foot traffic in the museum is rarely heavy.
The general focus of the collection is on Impressionism/Post-Impressionism, and many of the key players are represented by two or three paintings. The lack of a crowd allows for a leisurely pace—Lana told me somewhat breathlessly that I had spent 117 seconds looking at a Renoir. Which in 11-year-old art-museum time is like 3 hours…
The kids were eager to move on to the Pokemon Center, so we only clocked about an hour and a half total in the museum, but it was a morning well spent.
I first heard about the Bridgestone Museum back in college.
I was an English major, but a brief half semester with an alcoholic “Bible as Literature” professor once had me considering a switch to Art History. I dropped the class instead, and stayed the course.
So I put the Bridgestone on our itinerary for this trip, and in doing some research I discovered just how deep are the treads of my own ignorance: I never realized that Bridgestone Tire is a Japanese company. The founder’s name was Ishibashi, or “stone bridge”…
It’s a relatively small museum, located in the Bridgestone headquarters, amongst an accumulation of nondescript concrete midrises. We went on a quiet weekday morning, but word is that the foot traffic in the museum is rarely heavy.
The general focus of the collection is on Impressionism/Post-Impressionism, and many of the key players are represented by two or three paintings. The lack of a crowd allows for a leisurely pace—Lana told me somewhat breathlessly that I had spent 117 seconds looking at a Renoir. Which in 11-year-old art-museum time is like 3 hours…
The kids were eager to move on to the Pokemon Center, so we only clocked about an hour and a half total in the museum, but it was a morning well spent.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
MANSION ON THE HILL
In Shibuya we stayed six days in what the Japanese call a “weekly mansion.”
You and I would call it a one-bedroom apartment, but I submit that we'd suffer in the comparison.
Our place was on the 5th floor, and a small elevator with about a 600 lb capacity groaned as it shuttled us up and down.
The apartment itself-- excuse me, mansion-- was comfortable and sleek. There was a single full-size bed, and an appointment of futons for us to lay out on the floor each night. A 37” LCD was in the corner of the living room, and at the other end was a two-person leatherette couch.
The kitchen held a refrigerator the size of the kids, a range, a grill, and a microwave. The WC had a toilet with more buttons than I'm accustomed to seeing on a toilet-- the pictures made it pretty clear what the buttons did, but I was sufficiently happy just to flush.
Not to harp on toilets too much, but it is a common feature of Japanese toilets to have a small faucet on top of the tank that runs every time you flush. This is mainly because the WC is separate from the washroom.
Our washroom contained a small dual-use washer/dryer, and we put it through its paces every sweaty day.
Adjacent to the washroom was the shower room. I love Japanese shower rooms almost beyond reason. First, there is a deep tub for soaking; then, the remainder of the room is essentially a large shower. No concerns here about splashing water on the floor, and not a hint of claustrophobia.
My only disappointment was that Taeko and I could not steal the time to take a bath together...
In Shibuya we stayed six days in what the Japanese call a “weekly mansion.”
You and I would call it a one-bedroom apartment, but I submit that we'd suffer in the comparison.
Our place was on the 5th floor, and a small elevator with about a 600 lb capacity groaned as it shuttled us up and down.
The apartment itself-- excuse me, mansion-- was comfortable and sleek. There was a single full-size bed, and an appointment of futons for us to lay out on the floor each night. A 37” LCD was in the corner of the living room, and at the other end was a two-person leatherette couch.
The kitchen held a refrigerator the size of the kids, a range, a grill, and a microwave. The WC had a toilet with more buttons than I'm accustomed to seeing on a toilet-- the pictures made it pretty clear what the buttons did, but I was sufficiently happy just to flush.
Not to harp on toilets too much, but it is a common feature of Japanese toilets to have a small faucet on top of the tank that runs every time you flush. This is mainly because the WC is separate from the washroom.
Our washroom contained a small dual-use washer/dryer, and we put it through its paces every sweaty day.
Adjacent to the washroom was the shower room. I love Japanese shower rooms almost beyond reason. First, there is a deep tub for soaking; then, the remainder of the room is essentially a large shower. No concerns here about splashing water on the floor, and not a hint of claustrophobia.
My only disappointment was that Taeko and I could not steal the time to take a bath together...
Monday, August 09, 2010
WORKING FOR PEANUTS IS ALL VERY FINE
Yachimata in Chiba prefecture is proud of its peanuts.
One morning on the way to take the kids to see the latest Pokemon movie, our gracious hosts stopped at a roadside peanut farm/gift shop.
We milled about for a little while, and soon noticed that a table at the front of the shop was starting to fill up with small, clear cups of peanuts.
In all, about a dozen varieties were brought out, followed by peaked wedges of iced watermelon and cups of cold, simple tea. We were encouraged to sit down and sample.
There were nuts enrobed in white cheese, nuts drenched in dark chocolate, and nuts dusted with a mild, tangy chili powder (my favorite). We tried them all, and leveled our watermelons, and drained our cups of tea.
It didn't cost us a thing, and it might have been my favorite eating experience of the entire trip...
Yachimata in Chiba prefecture is proud of its peanuts.
One morning on the way to take the kids to see the latest Pokemon movie, our gracious hosts stopped at a roadside peanut farm/gift shop.
We milled about for a little while, and soon noticed that a table at the front of the shop was starting to fill up with small, clear cups of peanuts.
In all, about a dozen varieties were brought out, followed by peaked wedges of iced watermelon and cups of cold, simple tea. We were encouraged to sit down and sample.
There were nuts enrobed in white cheese, nuts drenched in dark chocolate, and nuts dusted with a mild, tangy chili powder (my favorite). We tried them all, and leveled our watermelons, and drained our cups of tea.
It didn't cost us a thing, and it might have been my favorite eating experience of the entire trip...
Thursday, August 05, 2010
GHIBLI
The Ghibli Museum was several stations from Shibuya, in Mitaka.
At Mitaka Station, we waited for a bus to take us to the museum. I hoped against hope that it would be a catbus, but it was not quite.
The line in front of the museum snaked in an orderly fashion, and was propelled forward by my constant prayers to escape the heat. After 15 minutes or so, we crossed the threshold and produced our advanced tickets—this got us both admission and tickets to a museum-only short film.
The film tickets were themselves made up of three cels from various Miyazaki movies. Lana and Sebastian got Spirited Away, and Taeko got Ponyo. No one could quite fix the source of mine—it was three nearly identical scenes of Miyazaki greenery.
The film we were going to see was called Mei and the Kittenbus, which is a 12-minute extension of Totoro.
But first we went up to the top floor so that the kids could spend some time on the catbus. Any potential self-consciousness about playing on a giant stuffed animal melted away pretty quickly. Lana crept inside the bus and stuck her head out the window, cooled by an imaginary wind. Sebastian leapt from the roof of the bus, not trying to fly, but flying.
We then walked outside, where a spiral staircase surrounded by a wrought-iron turret brought us to the roof of the museum. There was a small arbor there, where we met this fellow:
It was hot on his watch, but he didn’t seem to care. I stood sentry with him for a bit, gave him a little bow, and then headed back to the air conditioning.
We rushed down to catch the next viewing of Mei and the Kittenbus—the ushers told us we’d need to sit on the steps, but we found some empty bench space there in the Saturn Theater.
The movie was adorable—Sebastian next to me stomped his feet gleefully several times, and talked about it for days after. I was very happy just to spend more time in that world.
We toured the rest of the museum. There were many nice displays that spoke to the sheer mechanical effort of traditional animation. The final thing we looked at was truly amazing—a large wheel filled with figurines from Totoro in slightly different poses. The wheel spun quickly under a strobe light, and the figurines themselves became animated. I was dumbstruck. I want one.
The gift shop was sizable, and contained many items that were not available in the Tokyo toy stores. Sebastian got a pewter Nausicaa robot and Lana got a stuffed Teto; I picked up a t-shirt.
We took the bus back into town for lunch at Pancake Days. I ate a small stack of three fluffy pancakes with a perfect round scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side.
And days don’t come much better than that…
The Ghibli Museum was several stations from Shibuya, in Mitaka.
At Mitaka Station, we waited for a bus to take us to the museum. I hoped against hope that it would be a catbus, but it was not quite.
The line in front of the museum snaked in an orderly fashion, and was propelled forward by my constant prayers to escape the heat. After 15 minutes or so, we crossed the threshold and produced our advanced tickets—this got us both admission and tickets to a museum-only short film.
The film tickets were themselves made up of three cels from various Miyazaki movies. Lana and Sebastian got Spirited Away, and Taeko got Ponyo. No one could quite fix the source of mine—it was three nearly identical scenes of Miyazaki greenery.
The film we were going to see was called Mei and the Kittenbus, which is a 12-minute extension of Totoro.
But first we went up to the top floor so that the kids could spend some time on the catbus. Any potential self-consciousness about playing on a giant stuffed animal melted away pretty quickly. Lana crept inside the bus and stuck her head out the window, cooled by an imaginary wind. Sebastian leapt from the roof of the bus, not trying to fly, but flying.
We then walked outside, where a spiral staircase surrounded by a wrought-iron turret brought us to the roof of the museum. There was a small arbor there, where we met this fellow:
It was hot on his watch, but he didn’t seem to care. I stood sentry with him for a bit, gave him a little bow, and then headed back to the air conditioning.
We rushed down to catch the next viewing of Mei and the Kittenbus—the ushers told us we’d need to sit on the steps, but we found some empty bench space there in the Saturn Theater.
The movie was adorable—Sebastian next to me stomped his feet gleefully several times, and talked about it for days after. I was very happy just to spend more time in that world.
We toured the rest of the museum. There were many nice displays that spoke to the sheer mechanical effort of traditional animation. The final thing we looked at was truly amazing—a large wheel filled with figurines from Totoro in slightly different poses. The wheel spun quickly under a strobe light, and the figurines themselves became animated. I was dumbstruck. I want one.
The gift shop was sizable, and contained many items that were not available in the Tokyo toy stores. Sebastian got a pewter Nausicaa robot and Lana got a stuffed Teto; I picked up a t-shirt.
We took the bus back into town for lunch at Pancake Days. I ate a small stack of three fluffy pancakes with a perfect round scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side.
And days don’t come much better than that…
Wednesday, August 04, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
COMPACT
Walking around the Shibuya HMV shop, it's clear the world has changed. Four years ago, I was mesmerized by the Tower down the street. But now I don't really need CDs-- I'm happy to download, and bypass the extra cost that comes with the production and marketing of physical media.
So yeah, I bought a few CDs, but they're more like souvenirs-- of the trip, and of a time gone by...
Walking around the Shibuya HMV shop, it's clear the world has changed. Four years ago, I was mesmerized by the Tower down the street. But now I don't really need CDs-- I'm happy to download, and bypass the extra cost that comes with the production and marketing of physical media.
So yeah, I bought a few CDs, but they're more like souvenirs-- of the trip, and of a time gone by...
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
THERE GOES TOKYO
Spent today in Harajuku. These kids with their crazy fashions...
It was ungodly hot, so we ducked into every little shop on the slightest pretense. I almost bought a "Japan exclusive" pair of Converse for $150, but Taeko was quick to talk me out of it.
Spent a couple of hours in Kiddy Land, a 6-story toy store. I bought a nice selection of blind-box Be@rbricks, a very cool mini robot (Taeko wrinkled her nose at the $35 price tag, but come on: mini robot), and some sundries.
We ate freshly made crepes at a stand around the corner from the Condomania shop. I had the chocolate/fresh cream-- crepe, not condom. If I close my eyes wistfully, I can still taste it.
Visited the Johnny's Shop, to see if Taeko could score some Arashi swag. Turned out they mostly just sold 8 x 10s. A scarily massive number of 8 x 10s, all things considered.
Tomorrow: the Ghibli Museum, and the fulfillment of my years-long dream of meeting Totoro...
Spent today in Harajuku. These kids with their crazy fashions...
It was ungodly hot, so we ducked into every little shop on the slightest pretense. I almost bought a "Japan exclusive" pair of Converse for $150, but Taeko was quick to talk me out of it.
Spent a couple of hours in Kiddy Land, a 6-story toy store. I bought a nice selection of blind-box Be@rbricks, a very cool mini robot (Taeko wrinkled her nose at the $35 price tag, but come on: mini robot), and some sundries.
We ate freshly made crepes at a stand around the corner from the Condomania shop. I had the chocolate/fresh cream-- crepe, not condom. If I close my eyes wistfully, I can still taste it.
Visited the Johnny's Shop, to see if Taeko could score some Arashi swag. Turned out they mostly just sold 8 x 10s. A scarily massive number of 8 x 10s, all things considered.
Tomorrow: the Ghibli Museum, and the fulfillment of my years-long dream of meeting Totoro...
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Friday, July 09, 2010
HOPELESS UNBELIEVER
I finally got to the bottom of this...
The thing wot nicked from The Housemartins was the chorus of If You're Feeling Sinister.
I finally got to the bottom of this...
The thing wot nicked from The Housemartins was the chorus of If You're Feeling Sinister.
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
GOOD TIMES COME TO ME NOW
You ever have one of those nights where compulsion drives you to watch as many videos of Haysi Fantayzee's “Shiny Shiny” as you can dig up?
Well, last night was one of those.
I find the male Haysi particularly compelling. No matter the venue, he does the same bloody “I'm Walking, I'm Walking, Whee! I'm Stepping on the Tiny Ants” dance.
The 80s were the shit...
You ever have one of those nights where compulsion drives you to watch as many videos of Haysi Fantayzee's “Shiny Shiny” as you can dig up?
Well, last night was one of those.
I find the male Haysi particularly compelling. No matter the venue, he does the same bloody “I'm Walking, I'm Walking, Whee! I'm Stepping on the Tiny Ants” dance.
The 80s were the shit...
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
WWWW
Another summertime special here on the tongue.
95th caller to answer today's trivia question scores a pair of free tix to Summerfest out at the Coliseum, featuring Starship and the Speedwagon. Summerfest, brought to you by Burns Ford and AAA Siding!
So strap 'em on, race fans, 'cause here we go:
The Beatles sang significant parts of songs in at least three languages besides English. And we're not talking just balalaikas here, silly Russkies-- we're talking numerous words and phrases. Name at least three songs where those lovable moptoppers were speaking in at least three (sliced!) tongues.
The lines are open now. Remember, you gotta bean it to wean it, weiners!
Another summertime special here on the tongue.
95th caller to answer today's trivia question scores a pair of free tix to Summerfest out at the Coliseum, featuring Starship and the Speedwagon. Summerfest, brought to you by Burns Ford and AAA Siding!
So strap 'em on, race fans, 'cause here we go:
The Beatles sang significant parts of songs in at least three languages besides English. And we're not talking just balalaikas here, silly Russkies-- we're talking numerous words and phrases. Name at least three songs where those lovable moptoppers were speaking in at least three (sliced!) tongues.
The lines are open now. Remember, you gotta bean it to wean it, weiners!
Friday, June 25, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
UNDERSTANDS ME WHEN I'M FALLING DOWN
Name me a musical archeological dig that was ever more fruitful than the Velvet Underground's VU.
A dozen years after their implosion it was both an illustration of their enduring brilliance and a demonstration of how thoroughly Lou Reed could lose the essential plot.
For evidence, look no further than the VU version of She's My Best Friend and the solo version that showed up on Sally Can't Dance.
One will make you weep, and the other will make you cry...
Name me a musical archeological dig that was ever more fruitful than the Velvet Underground's VU.
A dozen years after their implosion it was both an illustration of their enduring brilliance and a demonstration of how thoroughly Lou Reed could lose the essential plot.
For evidence, look no further than the VU version of She's My Best Friend and the solo version that showed up on Sally Can't Dance.
One will make you weep, and the other will make you cry...
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
I'LL GIVE YOU A MAN WHO WANTS TO RULE THE WORLD
We watched The Spy Next Door for movie night this past weekend.
It's a Jackie Chan family film in which he plays a Chinese spy on loan to the CIA. He is deep undercover as a nebbishy suburban pen salesman. He's dating the divorcee next door, who has two kids and a step kid. The kids all hate Jackie Chan because he's such a square. Little do they know, amiright amiright?
Anyway, the truly surreal aspect of the movie is that it turns on the plot conceit of having the nerdy middle-school son attempt to download a “rare” concert by the early 80s British hardcore band GBH. You see, having this “rare” (and there are those pesky quotation marks again) concert is supposed to be currency with the mouth-breathing bullies who make our young protagonist's life a wedgie-tinged hell.
Well, it turns out that the GBH file is actually an encrypted Russian file, and not an early 80s British hardcore concert. So of course the bullies are enraged. Atomic wedgies ensue.
But here we get our first hint that Jackie Chan is something cool. He comes through for the nerdy boy and burns him a CD of the “rare” Iggy Pop/David Bowie Shanghai concert that all the middle-school bullies are mad for these days.
And how'd he get a hold of it?
He was there, motherfucker. He was there...
We watched The Spy Next Door for movie night this past weekend.
It's a Jackie Chan family film in which he plays a Chinese spy on loan to the CIA. He is deep undercover as a nebbishy suburban pen salesman. He's dating the divorcee next door, who has two kids and a step kid. The kids all hate Jackie Chan because he's such a square. Little do they know, amiright amiright?
Anyway, the truly surreal aspect of the movie is that it turns on the plot conceit of having the nerdy middle-school son attempt to download a “rare” concert by the early 80s British hardcore band GBH. You see, having this “rare” (and there are those pesky quotation marks again) concert is supposed to be currency with the mouth-breathing bullies who make our young protagonist's life a wedgie-tinged hell.
Well, it turns out that the GBH file is actually an encrypted Russian file, and not an early 80s British hardcore concert. So of course the bullies are enraged. Atomic wedgies ensue.
But here we get our first hint that Jackie Chan is something cool. He comes through for the nerdy boy and burns him a CD of the “rare” Iggy Pop/David Bowie Shanghai concert that all the middle-school bullies are mad for these days.
And how'd he get a hold of it?
He was there, motherfucker. He was there...
Friday, June 11, 2010
NEVER TOOK NO SHIT FROM NO ONE
There it was in my mailbox. A request from a long-ago friend to write a letter to the judge who is preparing to sentence him to prison.
Looks like it will be 12-18 months, and I suppose it's standard practice for lawyers to solicit letters speaking to the character of the accused, in an effort to draw the shorter end of that sentencing range.
So what to do? Well, if you have a stubborn Irish belief in the concept of redemption, you consider writing the letter.
Aw hell, who I am kidding? I wrote it at lunch today...
To Whom It May Concern:
I am writing this letter to speak briefly about my relationship with X.
X and I became friends when we were both 14 years old. X at that young age was distinguished by his expansive heart and his abundant generosity.
I had lost my father three years prior to becoming friends with X, and my family was in a financially vulnerable state. Unbidden, X would pay for the slices of pizza I sometimes couldn’t afford, or help cover the cost of movie tickets that my summer job would not allow.
I recall in particular the car stereo that had been given to him by an uncle who worked in the electronics business, which X gave to me as a gift when I was 14. This act of largesse was the essence of X: the basic impulse was noble and good, if a bit impractical (I was at that point a few years away from even having a driver’s license). The stereo sat on my bookshelf in its box untouched, a dusty symbol of the type of friend I hope everyone has been lucky enough to have at that age.
My conscience requires me to note that X and I have not been in close contact for over 20 years now. He has made me aware of his current situation, and it has taken me back to that 14-year-old boy. He was impetuous, impractical, and impish. He was generous, kind, and fiercely loyal to those he loved. Even separated as we are by years and miles and circumstances, I trust in my heart that X is still all of those things.
It is my hope that the resolution of the current situation will come with its necessary lessons, but allow X to keep intact the abiding spirit of my 14-year-old friend.
There it was in my mailbox. A request from a long-ago friend to write a letter to the judge who is preparing to sentence him to prison.
Looks like it will be 12-18 months, and I suppose it's standard practice for lawyers to solicit letters speaking to the character of the accused, in an effort to draw the shorter end of that sentencing range.
So what to do? Well, if you have a stubborn Irish belief in the concept of redemption, you consider writing the letter.
Aw hell, who I am kidding? I wrote it at lunch today...
To Whom It May Concern:
I am writing this letter to speak briefly about my relationship with X.
X and I became friends when we were both 14 years old. X at that young age was distinguished by his expansive heart and his abundant generosity.
I had lost my father three years prior to becoming friends with X, and my family was in a financially vulnerable state. Unbidden, X would pay for the slices of pizza I sometimes couldn’t afford, or help cover the cost of movie tickets that my summer job would not allow.
I recall in particular the car stereo that had been given to him by an uncle who worked in the electronics business, which X gave to me as a gift when I was 14. This act of largesse was the essence of X: the basic impulse was noble and good, if a bit impractical (I was at that point a few years away from even having a driver’s license). The stereo sat on my bookshelf in its box untouched, a dusty symbol of the type of friend I hope everyone has been lucky enough to have at that age.
My conscience requires me to note that X and I have not been in close contact for over 20 years now. He has made me aware of his current situation, and it has taken me back to that 14-year-old boy. He was impetuous, impractical, and impish. He was generous, kind, and fiercely loyal to those he loved. Even separated as we are by years and miles and circumstances, I trust in my heart that X is still all of those things.
It is my hope that the resolution of the current situation will come with its necessary lessons, but allow X to keep intact the abiding spirit of my 14-year-old friend.
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