Separation Anxiety

I miss Baby. Nothing against Toyotas or anything, it's just that I'm worried that the bodyshop guys are harvesting Baby for fresh parts and then replacing them with substandard ones. The first car I drove -- legally -- was a Toyota Corolla. I'd get it up to 80km on the highway and it would shimmy. This one's a little different, but there's something unsettling about driving an automatic. It's like piloting a glider, I feel like I'm sailing. The engine doesn't compress nearly as quickly or as strongly as a manual, and well I've grown accustomed to compression braking.

Yesterday I was fitted for contacts (again) and after some nagging I went for a wax. One problem -- Trey went to Miami for the weekend so I was forced to get my bits done by someone new. I went to a place about a block away from the gay bar where I saw Rabbi Weinstein, and met a delightful little Iranian woman who hemmed and hawed when I asked her for a Brazilian. She said that she could do a bikini wax for 50 bucks. I said okay, and that was probably a mistake. She was a little nervous and later admitted that she didn't have many male customers. She told me that she was going to leave strip because a bikini wax only takes care of what the bathing suit doesn't. Well, she left a strip the size of Tulsa Runway #1 and if you've ever been to Tulsa - you'll know what I mean.

On the way downtown, Ali nearly shit her pants because, while walking on the concourse of the football stadium we came across a five car show n' shine. You might laugh, but it was for a niche market and Ali recognized it right away. I thought it was just five dudes trying to get free parking until Ali said, "Look closer, you big dork. They're all Skylines -- and they're all right-side drive. Eeeeeee!"

My head would have snapped around, but for the excruciating whiplash from last week's shunt. I spun on my heel and quickly scanned for the charcoal Skyline that frequents Ali's shop. Absent. How about the white one that was traded in for the charcoal one? Absent. Too bad, but the good side to that is that there are more and more Skylines popping up around town. The Skyline is (one of) Hank's dream car(s). Allegedly, Nissan made them so fast that they could outrun Japanese police cars, and were thus banned in Japan unless they were modified to limit horsepower. I'm not so sure about that story, but they have nice grunt.

I told Ali to ask the guys if she could try one on, but then I remembered that she is a two-footer. Left foot for brake and right foot for gas. That passes in racing, and in certain off-roading situations, but my mum always taught me that two-footing is dangerous on the street and I'd have to agree. I had to pull her away from the cars before she developed an unhealthy attraction, much like the one she has for Haley Joel Osment.

Another weekend and another one of Ali's friends returns to Japan. This friend knew more about me than I thought, because Ali told her everything when they went to Mexico together. When we finally met, she said I looked like Waldo from the Where's Waldo series, on account of my new summer do. She's gone now, and Bobby's back. The boat looks good in the harbour, but I have yet to take a closer look at it. No eagles yet, but in a few days there should be one or two. Ali's sister also went back to Japan a few weeks ago. I'm so glad she left before the shunt, because I'd never hear the end of it if I had to drive her around in a Corolla. In the end, her sister was not so much of a princess afterall. We got to know each other better and accept one another for who we are. She really relaxed after that. Maybe Ali said something. This summer has started with a little bit of a speed bump, but as long as I get my Jeep back before the 4th of July, I'll be happy.

A Banner Weekend

I watched a few movies since my last abbreviated post, including Female Prisoner #701: Scorpion which I figured would be a good one, and a Japanese copy of The Bourne Identity. Maybe I'll discuss these movies in a later post, but this is more a post about my killer weekend.

Ali's best friend from highschool had planned to visit from Osaka on a 4-day vacation and so I cheerfully volunteered to collect Julie from from the airport and that's when everything went Pete Tong. The main artery between the downtown core and the airport is notoriously congested due to the excessive number of stoplights, or is it the lack of turn lanes? Either way, traffic in this street is always an adventure.

Julie's not even in the country for an hour before she gets a faceful of GMC Sierra - sans airbag. Three cars in front of me decided to inexplicably stop short in the centre lane. I was checking my mirrors and missed the GMC's brake lights. Julie started shrieking something in Japanese which was my cue to slam on the brakes. Well, I didn't have enough room to stop, and shunted the GMC up front into the second car in the queue, which then shunted the first car in the queue. Julie and Ali were okay, I was okay, the driver in front of me was okay so we pulled over to exchange information. This was my first accident, and I wasn't exactly sure what I was supposed to do. Thankfully, the driver in front of me walked me through everything. The other two drivers were fine as well, but my nerves were shot - especially since Julie's vacation, and Baby's front were now ruined.

I was able to continue the journey in the Jeep which was a good sign, leaving bits of headlight and halogen lamp all along the route. Apparently this is acceptable, which I'm glad for. Ali made me a nice cup of tea to help me relax, and Julie regaled me with gifts which, since I had already lost so much face, I accepted. The rest of the day was kinda weird. I felt really bad about being able to walk around town after what had happened. That was Saturday morning - Saturday afternoon I was accused of being a purse snatcher, but before all that escalated, Ali sorted it. I went to sleep Saturday night dreading that I might wake up with a stiff back from the accident, but surprisingly neither I, nor Ali nor Julie had any problems. Sunday was karma I guess because a bird shit on me, but thanks to my bucket hat, there was minimal collateral damage. Julie and Ali were able to have their vacation together which was important, and I was left to deal with the insurance company.

I took the day off work today to take the Jeep into the inspection garage, and they told me it would cost about $5000.00 to fix, and that the damage was purely cosmetic. I'm glad about that, and I'm also very happy that none of the other drivers have filed injury claims. I'm most worried about the driver in front of me due to his age and his size but he said he was okay. The whole insurance claim process has been quite painless so far, I watched Spain score a penalty kick against Tunisia as I sipped a coffee and an information officer told me what to expect next. It was all quite reassuring.

The insurance company told me that the work should take 7 working days, but the body shop told me that Baby wouldn't be better until the end of next week. So until then, I have an automatic transmission Toyota Corolla at my disposal in case I have to run errands. Either way, it could be worse and I'm glad its not.

Blog This

Blogger eats poo. It's been quite a while since I updated my blog, so last night I started an entry and got almost to the end of it when a pop up from Blogger notified me that my entry may be lost when I try to save it. Sure enough, it disapeared when I tried to spell check it. It wasn't a huge entry and I could probably re-write if I wanted to, but there's no point. The past is the past. But the present is the present, and presently Blogger eats poo.

Cocksuckers.

Topless for Mrs. Henderson, and for Summer Maybe

Three films in one! What more could you ask for? Well, a lot but my brain can only do so much.

A few weeks ago, Ali and I watched Mrs. Henderson Presents... starring Dame Judy Dench, Bob Hoskins and Christopher Guest, one of those dudes from Take That, Will Young I think, oh and that Mavis from Coronation Street a.k.a. Thelma Barlow. The story follows as such, Mrs. Henderson (Dench) loses her husband and can't decide what to do with all the money her husband left her. After some advice from a friend (Barlow), Mrs. Henderson decided to re-open a derelict theatre in London in the early 1930s. She can't run it herself, so she hires Vivian van Damm (Hoskins) to run it for her. van Damm says that he has to have 100% creative control which I think is a pretty good idea.

So the house opens with a fairly talented cast, as chosen by van Damm and Bertie (Young). I guess the cast wasn't that talented because the show flops, and van Damm scrambles to make sure that Henderson doesn't lose her investment. van Damm decides that the shows are going to run continuously, like nothing ever seen in London. Henderson, or it could have been the dancers, decides that the girls will perform topless. Afterall, that's the way they do it in Paris, and for some people like Mrs. Henderson, Paris is only a short flight away. There's a bit of a problem with Lord Cromer (Guest), who's in charge of deciding for all of England what is decent and what is not. He happens to be a friend of Henderson, so she sees nothing wrong with going straight to Cromer and getting him to approve the wardrobe change. So it unfolds, the cast members are rescreened and are judged on looks only, not acting or dancing talent. The ones judged to be more attractive are pulled out of the show and are instructed to pose nude as tableaus in the show. They can't move, or say anything but apparently there's a loophole in the decency laws which allows a person to pose nude as a living statue.

Mrs. Henderson and van Damm make really bad first impressions on one another, but it might be because Henderson is attracted to van Damm. Apparently he led her on (I can't see how) or made her appear foolish, because when van Damm's wife shows up to a cocktail party, Henderson storms out vowing never to return to the theatre. An aside - it was so obviously a cocktail party, but Henderson wouldn't call it that because as she put it, cocktail parties are so passé.

Henderson can't help herself. She cares about the dancers and can't bear to be away from her girls. She disguises herself rather badly and sneaks into the show to see what van Damm has been doing. Of course, she sticks out like a sore thumb and Vivian makes a fool out of her. She comes back dressed as a dancing bear, and completely fools van Damm. Things are sorted out and Henderson comes back to the house. Eventually, the public safety officials try to shut the theatre on account of the air raids, but theatre patrons are outraged and protest in the streets. Henderson convinces the Home Guard that the safest place for these people would probably be inside the theatre. And so the show went on.

At some point, Henderson explains why she chose to have nude dancers. Her own son, killed in the First World War, had apparently never seen a real, live, naked woman before, and she wanted to make sure that other soldiers didn't die without seeing one. How considerate of her. I'm not sure that explanation was needed for the film, but as it is based on real events, maybe it has some relevance. The theatre never closed during the war which is cool I guess. Henderson died a few years after and left the house to van Damm. Watching this film, I wondered how much of a role it played on the London theatre scene at the time. My gran was in London, and was the same age as the dancers, and probably could have worked in the theatres if she wanted to, but she didn't and more importantly, she never mentioned this plucky little theatre that didn't quit. My gran has her fair share of secrets, so maybe she did have jobs more interesting than the ones she claims - working on the buses and in the bomb factories. Maybe, just maybe...

This is an excellent film, and I regret not seeing it in the cinema when I could have. It might have been the Rolls Royce that Henderson drove everywhere, but it was probably more than that. The entire period - 1930s to early 40s is one of my favourites thanks to David Suchet and his Hercule Poirot portrayals. It's not easy to pull off a period piece because you know there's always going to be someone looking for mistakes. I can't say there weren't any mistakes in this film because I'm not one of the people who goes around looking for mistakes. The fact that film crews are up to the challenge of recreating sets and stuff is what I like most about these films.

The next film is Wolf Creek starring nobody with a household name, at least in my household, save one. John Jarratt previously of the best miniseries ever, because it plays in the 1930s and 40s, Tanamera - Lion of Singapore. Eeeeeee! Jarratt plays Mick Taylor, the bad guy. I thought I'd seen Jarratt before, but I'll admit I didn't know he was in Tanamera until I searched his name on imdb, but it you ever get a chance to see that series, do so. The film also starred Nathan Phillips as Ben, the Australian partygoer who hooks up with two unsuspecting English girls, played by Cassandra Magrath and Kestie Morassi as Liz and Kristy respectively.

Two of my former co-workers had just seen Hostel, and couldn't stop talking about how scary it was. One of my other former co-workers from New Zealand invited them to watch Wolf Creek. She said that when she watched it, she couldn't sleep for two days. The first two rented it and came back to work and had all kinds of questions about the real Wolfe Creek, and said the movie was so scary that they had a hard time sleeping. I was still under the impression that Wolf Creek took place in a hostel because its about the disappearance of some backpackers like in Hostel (I guess, I've never seen that one). Phooey. Yup.

I grabbed this one on Friday night because I needed a reason not to do my homework, and I promised Ali that I would stop the movie if it ever got scary. It starts out with Ben buying a used car which can only be described as a heap, and his mission is to travel from Broome to Wolf Creek by sundown the next night with 2 friends. Nursing big hangovers, the friends are kicking themselves because they are running late, but Ben is jazzed that he got a car for so cheap. They set out on a very realistic road trip. No slamming shooters in the back seat, no smoking of the marijuana, no eating of the White Castle hamburgers, just sleeping and general boredom. The triggers came back. Seeing Liz with her head propped up against the window with a pillow brought back memories of Quincy, California. Living my own nightmare as I watched these three drive unknowingly towards Quincy, umm I mean Wolf Creek, the scariness factors relies heavily on tension. Just stretches of highway and bluesy music on the soundtrack, but I was already on the edge of my seat waiting for their transmission to give out and sit helplessly as slack-jawed locals looked on as though they'd never seen a car before. Oh wait, that was California. In the movie, the trio drives to Emu Creek and fills the petrol tank. The only slightly scary part is when the three dudes inside the cafe try to pick a fight with Ben. So far not scary.

The beater makes its way to the Wolf Creek crater, where the three hapless youngsters go on a hike. With Kristy as accomplice, Ben makes a play for Liz. Oh, to be young (and stupid) again. You don't realize how much you've changed until you see other people doing what you did when you were a kid. It reminds you that you're not a kid anymore and you just end up wondering 'When the fuck did that happen?' So far, not scary. The superfriends make it back to the car only to find that the car won't start. Ooo, ooo. A little scary. No wait, I mean a little funny. Stupid Ben asks if the car is in gear. Stupid Ben. The car is clearly an automatic transmission as evidenced by the copious amounts of interior shots while driving down the highway. Stupid Ben. And it wasn't scary also because I knew that was going to happen. My co-workers mentioned it.

Okay, I don't know how it works in the Outback, but in California and Mexico the rule is - Unless you called for the tow truck, don't accept a tow from a truck that just shows up. Mick Taylor, not the Rolling Stones' guitarist, but the evil Outback monster drives up and offers to tow the kids to his camp. The tow scene was a little unrealistic. Take it from an offroader - in reality when the towing vehicle turns a corner, the winch doesn't turn with it, but rather maintains a straight line equal to the shortest distance between the two vehicles, assuming no slack. Clearly in the movie, Mick is turning corners and continuing on without waiting for the towed vehicle to coast up and also make the turn. Conceivably, this action would force the towed vehicle to cut corners, hitting ditches, boulders and roos. In reality, the towing vehicle should make the turn slightly, and wait for the towed vehicle to catch up. Then the winch should be restrung and the whole process should begin again.

Eventually, the two vehicles reach the camp, and everyone gets to know a little bit about Mick around the campfire. Then the three travelers drink rain water off the top. Stupids! Rule #2 of accepting tows from freaky tow truck drivers. Don't drink the rainwater. Drink whatever the freak drinks, but only if you have to. Next scene opens with Liz zip strapped in a toolshed. She rather easily gets out and hears Kristy being tortured by Mick in the workshop. She then sees that the beater has been stripped of its engine and that Ben is nowhere. She sneaks inside the workshop and again rather easily wrangles a gun. She shoots Taylor in the next, and snags the keys to his truck. Stupidly, she doesn't cut the guy's throat instead bizarrely choosing to give him love taps with the rifle butt. Okay, Rule #3 - Sisters before Misters. Liz + Kristy = 2/3 which is a pass in most books, so they should have just got the hell out of there. Nooooo! As the girls are trying to get Mick's truck out of the compound, he comes out with a shotgun, obviously invigorated by Liz' love taps. He takes two shots, you see two shells eject from the gun. Thanks to Enzo, even Ali knows that that particular shotgun can carry three shots. For some reason, possibly to make the movie last longer, Mick doesn't take the third shot. The girls get the hell out of there, but immediately realize they don't know where to go. They are chased by Mick to the edge of a cliff, and the girls wreck the truck to make it look like they drove over the edge.

Stupidly, the girls go back to the camp to look for Ben. As per rule #3, the tension now moves to anger. I just wanna punch Liz because she makes Kristy wait in the bushes while she loots Mick's cache and watches home movies. She goes back to the garage to fetch a car. She chooses, perhaps because its the only choice, the car nearest the exit. Of course, Mick is waiting in the back seat and stabs her through the back. In the special features, you see how they really do the shot. They actually dress a hog's torso in a shirt and film in close the knife coming through. So many tricks. He then gives Liz a home remedy spinal tap, which is maybe the sickest part of the whole movie, but still really not sick at all. Kristy reckons Liz isn't coming back so she takes off. Using the sun, she figures out which way is north and hightails it down the road. Stupidly, she runs on the black. Silly girl, run on the white. It's cooler. She manages to find a car coming toward her, and just when you think its Mick and Kristy won't know until its too late, you breathe easy because its just a friendly stupid old man. Rule #1 of picking up bloodied, bare-footed young ladies on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere: Let her in, but keep driving. Don't stop to open the boot to get her a cup of tea and a blanket, stupid. The girl is obviously in distress, and needs to get to a hospital. The old man doesn't even have time to close the boot before he gets one straight through the eye. Mick had been watching, and races down the highway in a right-side drive Monza (I think). Kristy jumps in the front seat of the old man's car and drives off, seemingly forgetting to remove the parking brake. Taylor easily catches up to her, but goof that he is, Kristy barges him into a ditch. I started to think maybe she had some wheelman potential, but it was too late. Mick pulls out his rifle and scope, and takes one shot at the tyres. Kristy goes careening off the verge. Mick shoots her close range not once, but twice. Something that Liz should have done back at the workshop. Now Mick has a dilemma. Three bodies, two cars. The best, pedestrian solution would be to make it look like a fiery collision. He might have done it with a single vehicle, I don't remember.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Ben comes to and realizes, like the dude before him, his goodies are about to become a dog's supper. Maybe this is the gross part that my ex co-workers were talking about, but I don't get it. Maybe its because I've seen worse things that actually happened, but the fact that Ben gazes upon the mutilated torso of a shop DUMMY fails to scare me. Ali of course, is under the covers trying not to watch. Ben summons the strength to easily pull himself out of a crucifix position, and escape. He trundles across the desert until the sun is eclipsed. He waits for morning and is eventually rescued by some very smart Swedish tourists who bundle him into the back of their Volkswagen van and take him to hospital.

The epilogue leaves the viewer to wonder if Mick Taylor ever existed. While the movie is based on true events, its written by someone who heard about the story from the point of view of the only surviving backpacker, Ben. Liz and Kristy were never found, and investigators found it hard to believe Ben's story. Taylor walks off into the sunset and fades out. So is Ben really a victim? I guess only the real Ben will ever know.

The third movie I saw started right after I finished watching the special features on Wolf Creek. I might have mentioned this film before, but Teddy Chan's Wan 9 Zhao 5 is a gem. I can't find this film on disc or video, and get laughed out of the local video store every time I ask for movies by Jordan, so I just wait for it to play on the local multilingual station. The film also stars Moses Chan, Farini Cheung, Nelson Cheung, Valerie Chow, Kar Sin Pak and Chow Yu Yau. Apart from a brief appearance in Chungking Express, I haven't seen Valerie Chow in other films, but I'm glad she got more screen time in this movie. She ain't hard to look at.

This film has to be one of the first ones I watched since I discovered that I can watch Cantonese movies without paying for cable. It's been played at least twice more since then and is the sixth film by United Filmmakers' Organization which came to its demise in 2002. I had never wanted to visit Hong Kong until I saw this film. Others I saw shortly after reinforced my plan to visit HK one day, perhaps too late now. Any film I had seen prior to that featuring HK always showed the icky parts and the seedy side of life. Wan 9 Zhao 5 or Twenty Something in English showed neither the seedy side, nor the extravagant side of HK, but rather a fair middle ground.

The film centers around a not-so-tightly knit group of friends that spend their days doing their various jobs and their nights hanging out in a club called Berlin. Several couples are formed in the group. Some of the friends leave town, ending the relationship, or somebody's girlfriend comes back from overseas or whatever, but the pairings in the group move so fast that at one point I lost track. One of the guys hooks up with a girl who is apparently part of the group, but she's never seen in the film again after they leave the club. Some friends are jealous and try to break up other couples, all the while some couples are trying to establish a future together. It's all quite dizzying, but I think that after all is said and done, only one couple ends up marrying, even though they had enough trouble of their own. I guess the point of the story is that the past is the past and there's no point in worrying about it. One of the friends dies accidentally during a hookup and everyone else realizes that its not fun anymore. Everyone kinda goes their separate ways as we do in life, but reunites a few months later at the wedding of the only surviving couple. No hard feelings. So good to see you. What have you been up to lately? Love your dress. Nice day for a wedding. They've all grown up and see that after all that has happened, they're all still friends.

I guess what I like so much about this film is that it reminds me a lot about many of my friends who hung out in clubs when we were younger. As for my friends who were too busy working or hanging out in libraries, well... We're all friends and we respect each other for who we are. Some of us chose to hang out in clubs, some of us chose not to. Most of us are still here, and that's fine. We don't get together as often as we'd like, but when we do its all good.

This weekend was a holiday and after much encouragement from Ali, I decided against my own instincts to take Baby's top off. Km. 5401, I found out the hard way that removing the hard top from a Jeep TJ is a two man job, something the owner's manual doesn't exactly want you to know. Kuso! I have to say that I'm very disappointed with some of the service I've had from Chrysler this weekend, reminiscent of events in Quincy, California. Everybody at Chrysler get so dumb so quick. I'm never going to take the hard top off again. The feelings of sickening dread are feelings I don't need. The realization that Baby may never be 100% again is also something I care not to think about. I bought Ali some flowers because my day had been so shitty and took her for a drive along the beach. I seemed okay, but after I dropped Ali at her apartment I began to worry again. I couldn't sleep, so I got up and quickly formulated a plan to get the top back on the Jeep. Luckily for me, the next day it worked. One of my neighbours, an old queen who is ever so helpful with car care, and a true friend, showed me how to cut and polish out most of the scratches resulting from the botched roof removal. Fastening it on however was a nightmare. One fuck up after another. By the end, I had purchased a new Torx driver, and hunted all over town for a specialty nut. No luck, but I guess 5 out of 6 ain't bad. Can't do anything more about it until Wednesday anyway, and by then I'll be too busy with my new job. I might be able to work something out, but that would require unusually quick traffic. Who knows? I have done it before.

Ali called her mum and told her about me. Her mum was mum, silent to be precise. This was interpreted as shock, but that is not always the case. I've had it where the silence is not shock, but rather a loss of words. In this case, however I think her mother is shocked. Which is good news because now I've got to like the younger sister and work extra hard to impress upon her that there's no reason for her mother to be shocked.

Like Rats on a Sinking Ship

I saw a really good movie at the weekend, Mrs. Henderson Presents..., but I'm not going to write about that today. Other developments have presented themselves which deserve attention.

I handed in my notice on Tuesday. I would have done so on Monday, but my boss, the coolest boss on the planet because he lets me drink beer at my desk was not in that day. There was no anger, in fact when I told him that I had to speak with him he asked me if I was pregnant. Ha ha ha. There was no panic, unlike the last place I worked. I came into work one morning and saw moving men carrying away the setees and desks and computers. Automatically, and not so prematurely I dropped my lunch bag and started ripping as much copper wire out of the walls as I could carry. My boss was too busy shouting on his handphone at creditors that he didn't have time to marshall me.

This little adventure started precisely 4 months ago, and despite my glowing appraisal here, the honeymoon ended quickly. It wouldn't be so bad I guess if I knew that I had a job in two months time. But every week, another designer leaves the studio. The revolving door is a little demoralizing, and I knew I was in trouble when the boss came to me and we had the following conversation:

[Boss puts hand on my shoulder] Dax, my man. Errr, you speak Chinese right?

Me: Ummm, yeah.

Him: Okay, good. You're now in charge of the studio and Asian. I think there's capacity, and you can fill in now until we get someone new.

[end scene]

I kinda wanted to be cheeky and ask for a pay rise, but I had signed a contract to be compensated a certain amount so I didn't bother pushing the issue. And I also felt bad about it because the reason there was a vacancy in Finance is due to the personal tragedy of a former coworker. The kid from the Midwest I invited to see Los tres entierros de Melquiades Estrada had some business back home that he needed to sort out and that meant that he was quitting.

Well, its been awhile and the boss said that he was going to bring in a new fish to look after media, but there's been no sign of a new hire and I asked him about it. He said that no one has taken the job yet. Okay, the kid from the Midwest and his coworker were already overworked before he quit and in the interim, his coworker is being tasked with more. Personally, I don't think she's nearly as busy as she claims, but I'm not going to challenge it.

I can roll up my sleeves and buckle down just like anyone else, but my boss has made no mention of extending my contract, and not only do I have to think about what's good for me these days, I have to think about what's best for Ali too. So, with that in mind, my recruiter (his assistant actually) brought me to an opportunity in the resource industry like my last steady job. I'll have to take *gulp* public transit to get there, but it'll be a step up and better dosh. The truth is, I haven't exactly been happy with my own performance at the current place, and the constant turnover in the studio, aka the cool people, doesn't really lend itself to being comfortable. Sissy warned me that I was going to have to deal with a lot of prima donnas (and she would know), but I'm okay with that as long as the prima donna bitches know what the fuck they are doing. That's unfortunately too much to ask given that each one of them has their own agenda, so these individuals are getting on my nerves.

Ali is going back to Japan soon, and her sister is going with her. Her sister came for a visit a few days ago, and the two of them will go back so Ali can get her visa renewed. Her sister is a real princess, and unfortunately for me, she hasn't quite figured out that I'm not the chauffeur. I've always felt that Ali is quite a down to earth young woman, and so I was shocked to see how different her sister was. Ali explained that her little sister had a different set of rules growing up. Nothing was too expensive, nothing was too much to ask and so she grew accustomed to having a (daddy's) chauffeur available at all times. Now, I am a fairly accomplished wheel man, and I enjoy a good drive as much as the next guy but I'm no chauffeur. Bitch has two hands, she can open her own damn door. She doesn't have to challenge the routes I take - I'm not a taxi driver trying to make an extra dollar AND she's never been here before so how can she really tell? She's just naggy. You said you wanted to go to the Vuitton boutique, I'm taking you there. That's where we're going now shutthefuckup. No, you're right. This isn't Shinjuku, so why are you trying to give me directions? Ali, can you tell your sister to calm down? She's making me nervous.

The thing about the chauffeur, and the fact that Ali is a pedophile have really caused me to wonder what else she hasn't been telling me. It was a nice, slightly breezy day on Sunday so I decided that it was time to take Ali to the nude beach and let her see what all the fuss was about. We spent about twenty minutes there, and when it got too cold for Ali (19 degrees Celsius), we went back to the car. She was pretty quiet on the way home, so I asked her why she was so thoughtful. She proclaimed that she didn't want to go to the nude beach anymore, and that when her sister would arrive the next day, I was to deny all knowledge of such a place. I was confused. Ali had spent weeks talking about going to the beach and now that she had seen it she wasn't ever going back.

"Why don't you want to go back?"

"I don't want to see shabong, I want to see shikeen."

"Fair enough, we'll come back another day when there are more people."

"Where can I see young shikeen?"

"Huh? There were some fairly young guys there. What do you mean?"

"I wanna see young shikeen, maybe 17 year old guys."

"17?? Ummm. Honey, strictly speaking that's against the law and you can go to prison. Why do you want to see 17 year olds?"

"They are more kawaii."

"You mean their faces?"

"Yeah, yeah..."

"So why do we have to go to a nude beach?"

"I wanna see shikeen. Today there was only shabong. Not kawaii. I'm not going to jail. It's okay, I'm a woman. Anyway, you're the perv."

And that's how I discovered that I might be dating a pedophile.

It's been pretty busy lately. I was up until 3 a.m. this morning doing homework and I've got finals in a few weeks. That, and a new job starting soon and a house guest that must be driven everywhere. At four dollars a gallon, I think I might have to say something soon. Now if you'll excuse me I have a party to go to.

Shaka Shaka Shaka sssssssssssss......

That was the sound my bicycle made yesterday afternoon after I picked it up from the bike shop. The tyres were very flat, and I'm so smart that I don't even know how to operate the air pump on my bike. So I took the bike down to the shop in Durban and the kid with a fauxhawk showed me how to use the air pump, and then he used the shop's pump to inflate the tyres. I guess he put a wee bit too much air in the front tyre because I got halfway home, to the casino in fact, and as I circled back around for Ali, the tyre punctured. To be precise, the inner tube punctured, but I might have to buy a new tread as well.

The weather is turning out nicely these days, and I've noticed that Bertram is a little confused. I saw him circling the other day, being harried by seagulls but no doubt he was looking for his roost, or the mast on the yacht. Bert is a bald eagle who perches on the high mast of the yacht (when its here), but Bobby is still somewhere down the coast. It serves a dual purpose I guess, Bert gets a place to sit and lord over the entire inlet, and I (we) get a built in security system. It could be unrelated, but I like to think that the presence of a great big eagle keeps the squatters from making themselves at home on the boat. As a way to encourage this, I have been rowing out and throwing the occasional dead rat over the topside. And I guess Bert has been at the Fraternal Order of Eagles, Aerie No. 47 where I sometimes vote, telling his friends because there's more of them:

In the voice of my new professor, a Cambridge man

Bert: You know, its the most extraordinary thing, Edward! I don't know how it happened, but I was soaring in the harbour the other day and there were dead rats all over the place!

Edward (another eagle): Really? You don't say, Bertie! Have you had more than your usual double gin martini?

B: Absolutely, old chap. I can show you if you like. You know? The rat population is exploding in this city. Isn't that why you brought your family here?

E: Yes, yes. I know about the exploding rat population and all that business, but what were they doing in the harbour?

B: Oh, excuse me. Waiter! Another dry gin martini. Another whiskey, Eddie?

E: Actually, if you don't mind I'll take a Copenhagen. A double.

B: Anyway, I have the most fantastic arrangement. I like to take a run down to the harbour now and then when the weather is fine and look for anything to eat. Those damn seagulls just don't understand. I'm not interested in eating their babies.

E: Oh, yes. Those damn seagulls.

B: Anyway, there's a boat that I use to survey the harbour, and the human that owns the boat throws me rats once or twice a month. Can you believe that?

E: I say, Bertie. You do have it well. They don't usually behave that way.

B: I know, I know. Usually, they just stop and stare. I do a few loops, an occasional dive and then I'm off. But this one feeds me nice fat, juicy rats. They're dead though.

E: Oh, that's a shame. Nothing like live prey squirming in your talons. The harbour you say......?

End scene

And that's how I imagine it happened. From one eagle to another at the club. The club where I sometimes vote. The last time I voted there, I believe I voted in a Federal election for something called the Naked Garden Party. They sounded like a fun bunch. Shame they weren't elected to Parliament. The way I figure, all political parties are going to Roger me, so I vote for the one most likely to cuddle afterward.

A few days later, after I saw Bertie circling, there was a news story about the growing eagle population in the city, not the area, the city. We've already got coyotes in city parks, and now we have an estimated 300 eagles nesting in the city. I'd like to see the sample data on that one, I think the sample was skewed a bit because the number can't be more than 60, not that I'm a member of the Audubon Society or anything. I've got more important things to do than count birds. But seriously, what a way to spin a story about the unprecedented rodent population here. 'Hey Mr. Reporter, why don't you do a story about all them there rats?'(kid points to rats skulking near a popular fast food restaurant) - Media Disconnect - 'Great idea! You've got rats, but look at all those EEEEEEEAGLES! I can lead with this, thanks kid! I owe you.' Reporter scurries off, not unlike a rat.

All this nice weather is really making it difficult for me to do my school work, and its not conducive to watching films. What with Ali wanting to go to the nude beach and check out all the junk. I don't think she realizes that photos are not welcome at the beach. We rented another Juzo Itami film last week. Ososhiki or The Funeral stars the two main characters from Tampopo, but that's pretty much where the similarities end. This was actually the second time I'd seen this film, and apparently totally forgot almost everything about it including the fact that I totally hated it. According to things I've read about this film, the nuances are very, very subtle in this film but its allegedly a comedy. I didn't laugh and neither did Ali. I nodded off, but she said she liked it, and understood it but couldn't really explain the meaning.

I can't recommend this film, unless you want to see funeral sex. Not the kind of funeral sex that played at the Sick and Twisted film festival (Good times, good times *wipes tear from eye*), but sex between two living people at a funeral. Apart from that, and the country house (Eeeee!), this film can stay on the shelf, especially if you hate reading subtitles. A little harsh? Maybe I'm just pissed that I can't get back those two hours and use them to catch up on my readings.

I got a post card from Orange Peel, who by now is on a plane somewhere coming home, but at the time was in Australia. The post card, of course was tasteless, but worthy of a good laugh, and I'd expect nothing else from OP. As May creeps up, I'm trying to get back into shape, which was the whole point of the bicycle thing I mentioned at the top. Ali knows this and wants to help because, like I said, she wants to check out the nude beach. This is her idea of help, or more accurately encouragement. I woke up one morning and found a note that Ali had left the night before: 'Moja Moja Dax, Go to Trey. kthxbai' My limited knowledge of Japanese actually helped me out here but what she meant to say is 'Dax, You are hairy. Please go see Trey (and get a wax). Okay, thanks. Bye.' I guess its about time.

A final note for anyone who cares: Regarding the contest for a trip for two to France, the draw was on April 20, and not a peep from the contest organizers. I figured the results would be published since the contest rules made it quite clear that the organizers would be able to use our names and phone numbers. I couldn't find the results anywhere, and the organizers' website was suspiciously inoperative. A phone number was posted on the page so I called it. Turns out, I won - second prize or so the so, so nice lady on the other end of the line said. She told me to wait for the waiver to come in the post next week, but if you ask me it was all a little too easy. Maybe I was the second caller. Perhaps if I had called earlier, I'd have won and I'd be on a plane to France right now. But I'm not, and that's okay because summer is here. And if that means that I have to drive around with all the windows down because my Jeep smells of KFC, then it will be done.

Nausicaa of the Valley of the Winds

I know, I know. I keep saying I don't get anime movies, but I keep watching them. Perhaps I'm looking for a reason to be wrong. I mentioned earlier that Ali recommended Neko ongaeshi, but I was wrong. She actually recommended Kaze no tani no Nausicaa or Nausicaa of the Valley of the Winds by Hayao Miyazaki. Ali pronounced it completely different so when she spelled it for me as I searched through the shop database, I realized that I had heard of this character. I knew I was on to something when the store clerk said she had seen it, but couldn't remember if it was in. I'll say it right now - don't bother with the deluxe set. Again, its just storyboarding which is kinda cool but its not worth the extra dosh.

So this is another movie that allegedly makes Ali cry. She said that she had seen it as an in-flight movie once and she and her friend ended up sobbing through the rest of the flight. I waited and waited, but she never cried when we watched it together. This movie was really good. No stupid dragonball "plot" to follow, a real sci-fi plot about kingdom vs. kingdom and their fight for survival against creeping desert tides. This movie is different from Totoro in that it doesn't happen in more or less current times. It kinda reminded me of Star Wars and the Sand People and Tatouine and all that George Lucas material. So who copied whom? Well, maybe no one. The plot has concerns similar to what some tribes in Africa are facing but I think the social message stops there. Allegedly, this film was initially banned in parts of Europe because environmental groups felt the film portrayed environmental damage a little too realistically. WTF??

It's been a while since I actually saw the film so I might not remember the whole thing, but its about a princess, Nausicaa, who is determined to lead her people out of occupation by another kingdom. The second kingdom is occupying Nausicaa's territory because they have a long vendetta against a third kingdom and Nausicaa's kingom is simply in the way. The kingdom is being slowly enveloped by a forest of decay, inhabited by various fauna. One, an easily-enraged hermit crab/tank animal called an ohmu is the prey of choice. Nausicaa's people depend on this animal for weapons and other material, but the second kingdom knows that it can decimate adversaries by directing the ohmu's rage toward other regions. It turns out Nausicaa had a tiny ohmu as a pet when she was a kid and that one remembers her and doesn't betray her. In the end, Nausicaa and her people are freed from the clutches of the second kingsom and the ohmu live happily in the Forest of Decay.

So maybe you've noticed that my movie description was a wee bit short. That's because I really want to talk about something else. It looks like the plan to summer in London has gone to shit. Anatole, the guy who set the whole thing up for us has disappeared off the map as he sometimes does, but he'll be back up soon. He always finds a way. In view of this development, Ali and I (mostly me) have been trying to eat our way to Paris. There was a contest going whereby contestants were invited to dine at any four of a series of restaurants (we did five), and enter for a chance to win a trip for 2 to France. I've already told you about the first restaurant here but the other four follow. To protect innocent restaurant staff who may have been having a slightly off night from a critic who is constantly reminded that he is hard to please, I will refrain from naming the restaurants:

Restaurant #2: Seafood cuisine, contemporary decor, always smells nice when you walk by during Sunday brunch. It turns out that this restaurant is right around the corner from Ali's workplace. I wanted to make a reservation for two, but Ali was working late and I was hungry. She told me to go and eat, so I did. I walked in and was quickly relieved to learn that reservations were not necessary. Score. I did have to sit at the bar for what turned out to be five minutes, but that's cool. I ordered a Campari soda. Before I could take a sip, the hostess sat me at my table and brought my drinky-poo. The bread came shortly and warm. I seem to remember that it was served with a choice of butter or tapenade. I cannot let this pass without saying that my tapenade is much better than what this joint was serving. Unfazed, I glanced at the menu. A choice of any one of a list of tapas for $4.00. I was intrigued by the pissaladière. I guess if I had thought about it for half a sec, I could have derived the etymology of this word to be rooted in the Italian word pizza - cuz that's what it was - three sad, soggy, thin crust mini slices of pizza. I know this can be done better, which is the only reason why I point it out. The dish was actually pretty tasty, but it didn't look so hot. Second course - kaki. Ali's got me on this oyster kick, and since I've never had pan-seared oysters, I thought I'd have them now. Hands down, the second best cooked oyster dish I've ever had - Oysters Rockefeller on Anna's birthday, 1997 take the blue ribbon. Third course, allegedly the chef's trademark dish - bouillabaisse. Well, it was unremarkable. Scallops, clams, mussels, whitefish, but there was nothing special about this dish. I drank water like there was no tomorrow, but for some reason I left the restaurant with cottonmouth. I guess I was on the verge of dehydration because I was really feeling that apératif. I skipped dessert because this whole experiment was an exercise in timing - a failed exercise but an exercise nonetheless. I rushed outside and guess who was waiting with Baby? Alison. In the freezing fucking cold. She had been waiting for about five minutes because she noticed my Jeep parked outside and decided not to go home. Two stamps.

Restaurant #3: Regional French cuisine, slightly gaudy, period decor meant to resemble Paris, ALWAYS packed after a certain hour. The contest deadline was bearing down on us, and the sun was setting later now so I decided to take Ali to a nice French place downtown. First I had to guarantee that I could get a proper parking space. No problem there. We started with the obligatory Kirs. I had a Kir maison. Of course, Ali had a Kir Royale. After explaining what the difference is between the two selections, Ali cut the waiter off and insisted, "I want champagne!"

Okay, so we were trying to do this on the cheap, because all we really wanted was the stamp for the contest. I ordered the table d'hôte only because I couldn't read the board properly and confused the ou with au. I thought I could have the entire table rather than 1 of each of 3 choices. On previous visits, I enjoyed the cassoulet. A nice little white bean stew with duck sausage and other yummy goodies. A little on the salty side, but such a fine example of how the French can make something as pedestrian as beans taste so good. This time round I had the palourdes or clams with bacon (ham) and maybe onion as a first course. So simple, and so good. For about a week after, Ali kept saying "I want bacon. Kari kari (crispy) bacon". I shared with Ali and for the main course I had the jarret d'agneau or lamb shank with a side of fries, foregoing the halibut because I had eaten it elsewhere the day before. The fries -- We're not talking Mickey D's here folks. They call them French fries for a reason. I normally take my lamb in the Greek style. Each time I have lamb, I think of my friend Leonidas (and his beautiful wife) and the way he used to prepare lamb in his restaurant. It is the archetype by which I judge all other lamb, somewhat unfairly, except my own. It was pretty damn close I tell you. Allowing for the fact that it was a shank instead of a rack, the dish was almost the same on points except for the sauce. The sauce was some kind of French we-can-make-a-sauce-out-of-anything type deal which may have included rutabaga purée. I can't be sure, but there was definitely some kind of root vegetable in the sauce. Ali, sadly, played it safe and ordered the thon cru façon japonaise. Essentially a deep fried maki roll with seared tuna on top, this dish was the cat's ass. I'm not sure I'm using that expression correctly, but I mean to say that it was guuuuuuuud. I was disappointed to see that Ali would not finish her plate, more concerned with her figure than her health, but she did alright. For dessert, I had pavé de chocolat. Okay, last time I was in Paris, pavé meant steak. Stupidly not knowing that the entire French language had changed over the past nine years, I asked the waiter what he was going to serve. "Oh, a pavé is halfway between a truffle and a mousse". Alrighty then. Make haste, man. We were treated to an architecture of chocolate pavé slices topped with raspberry gelato. Ali had no problem helping me on this one. We paid the bill, and left. Three stamps.

Restaurant #4: Contemporary west coast cuisine, whitewash walls hung with small mirrors with wood accent decor. Partly because the first choice was closed, partly due to panic, partly because I eschew reading now in favour of skimming, but we ended up going to a restaurant that wasn't part of the contest. It turned out to be the best of the five(!) and deserving of its reputation. This is a place that I have avoided for so many years because I hate going to the "in" spots. It's well on the pricey side, but believe me you feel good paying money in this place. Again, no problems getting a reservation and we managed to get a parking spot right in front of the building. By the time we got there, I knew we weren't going to get a stamp, but my strong sense of agency behoved me to keep the reservation. I started with a Campari soda - the best Campari soda I've ever paid for. I'm certain it was close to a double. In any event, they were cautious with the soda which I really appreciated. While we looked over the menu, the bread boy brought us two selections of bread - organic corn bread with sultana raisins and oatmeal bread, both with hand-churned (don't laugh) butter. The butter was rock solid, but the bread was so good. The corn bread almost rivaled mum's corn bread. I must have choked down the bread because the bread boy brought more, no chip. As we sat and looked over the menu, I could hear the owner/chef de cuisine talking to some customers. He has a very characteristic voice, like only a few others I've met. I told Ali who he was, and she couldn't believe that a restauranteur would speak to the clientèle. Ali and I both wanted to try the oysters as a first course, but we weren't sure about portions. Instead, I ordered them, and the oh-so-cool staff allowed us to share. We were served two of the largest oysters I've ever seen. About the same size as the ones Bobby used to eat when we were little and I thought he was weird. Back then, I only ate smoked oysters. In fact, I never ate any other type until I met Alphonse. The oysters came in a spinach sauce that was really yummy, like pesto but not pesto. For the main I had beef and mashed potatoes (I think) in a beautiful demi-glace, and Ali had the halibut. And even though I knew it would happen, I was weirded out when it actually did happen. I actually flinched and moved to avoid him, but as we were about to dig in, a quiet, bespectacled man with a heavy nasal voice leaned in and said softly (though from how he said it I think he wanted to say it louder), "Enjoy your dinner. Would you care for some pepper?" Befuddled, I just turned to Ali and asked her if she wanted pepper. She declined. He walked away. We laughed, but I was genuinely moved to see that this guy was still running his restaurant and not letting the hype get to him. Later, bread boy came back with a slab of corn bread wrapped in plastic. All ready to remind him that I had eaten sufficient quantities of bread and actually had a stomach ache, probably due to eating the keratin coating on shrimp in my paella earlier in the day, he quickly composed himself and offered the bread to us as a thank-you, which is totally different than a suck-up, okay? He explained that he would just end up taking it home with him and that he had more to give us if we wanted it. I didn't want to be a boor so I declined, but he insisted on the corn bread saying that it really was so good that they wanted to share it with their customers. Again, moved, I accepted and waited for the bill. And waited. And waited. We skipped dessert because it didn't appear that there was anything special and I had a sore stomach. The only let down of the night was that there was a bit of a situation with another customer's credit card which meant that we couldn't get our bill in a timely fashion. No stamps, but I am definitely coming back to this place and I'm bringing friends.

Restaurant #5: We were now in the home stretch of the competition and had spied the location of #5 while at #4. Determined, I went the day and got a similar parking space. I plugged the meter and sauntered into the joint, convinced that a party of one doesn't need a reservation. Besides, I was almost certain this particular place was all sizzle and no steak. I opened the door and saw four or five tables stacked with wine glasses. Fucking poncey wine tasters. The waiter greeted me at door. "Are you closed?" "Yes. Private party". Cocksuckers.

I turned and left, kicking myself for all the money I'd put in the meter. I quickly assessed the situation and decided that the next closest place was just down a piece, across the street from the place where the old lady had the fainting spell. I hunted for parking and finally was able to grab a spot in front of an upscale gym just down the block from the restaurant. Pasta and burgers place, modern pubby atmosphere, free jazz on Wednesdays. Again, no reservations. The hostess caught me off guard. I was trying to figure out if she was one of the women a farewell party I vaguely remembered from the previous Friday. She wasn't, but I faltered long enough for her to notice. I started with a very nice Manhattan on the rocks, and then ordered the spaghetti bolognese. Totally not impressed. I couldn't taste any onion or garlic and the meat was pretty fatty. And it wasn't spaghetti, it was spaghettini. I decided to give them another shot, so I ordered dessert. The hostess told me the tart of the day was strawberry. I'd never heard of a tart of the day, so I was already impressed. I said something about how I was maybe a little disappointed that the tart was not pear. She copped a classic face, tapped me on the arm and said, "Omigod! It WAS pear on Sunday". I saw on the dessert menu that they had profiteroles. After receiving assurances that these profiteroles were not simply éclairs by another name, I ordered that, or at least I thought I had, and a Harvey's. She poured me a double which impressed me, so much so that I promptly knocked it over before I could taste it. I ended up getting a couple sips of Harvey's in the end. Probably for the best. I noshed on my profiterole, remarking to myself that it definitely wasn't an éclair and that it was really good but it didn't have the cream she promised. Turns out that in our conversation about dessert, the hostess had convinced me to try the fondant instead of the profiterole. Oh well, I liked it anyway. I definitely noticed the music in this place. Sade every second song from Promise. I didn't mind, and actually told the hostess so. She gushed, admitting that Sade is totally the best. Maybe I was dehydrated that night too, but the Manhattan was hitting me hard. I paid the bill and left. I want to go back to that place for the jazz, sometime closer to summer. Four stamps.

I carefully made my way home and prepared to mail away my contest entry. On the phone I told Ali about my new discovery. Apparently everyone has heard of fondant except me. I feverishly made my way to the bank and took care of some business there and then ran across eight lanes to a post box to mail my entry. Done, done and done.

So lately, I've been playing catch up on a lot of things, and my homework is showing it. After a short trip to the hospital last week, I've decided to take it easy for the next little while. I received an e-mail alerting me of a film festival coming up, featuring an appearance by Reckless Eric this weekend. Now, I'd really like to hear what that guy has to say, but I've got to draw the line somewhere.

Meet the Parent

Last weekend I decided that maybe it was time for Ali to meet my dad. We went over to my dad's girlfriend's place and were promptly met by the dog. Stupid dog. Obviously when a dog barks for no apparent reason, a responsible owner will open the window upstairs and shout at the dog to shut up. We were standing under the eaves so there was no way for Dad to see us, but I could see his arm flailing out the window at the dog that doesn't know better.

"Bob?"

"Who's there?"

Normally, most dads would know their kids if their kids actually called them Dad. Bart Simpson calls his dad Homer voluntarily, but my dad has a rule. I have to call him Bob. I forget the reason why, that's just the way it is.

"Hi Bob! It's Dax."

"You drove? It's Shabat."

At this point I realized it probably wasn't the best day to wear my "I [magen David] Shiksas" t-shirt, but it matched so well with my 2nd-year-med-school-dropout scrubs.

"I brought someone to meet you."

[to the kid brother]"Go open the door, your brother's here to visit you", which is so totally not what I said but that's what Bob heard. The kid didn't answer the door, so Bob came down. He's looking more and more like Tevi every day.

"You should call before you come", yeah like he'd answer the phone on Shabat.

"We stopped by the store to see your girlfriend. She said it would be okay if we came over to take photos of the tree house. Oh, this is Ali."

"Hello."

"Humpf!" (or something similar) as he turned and walked away. Maybe it was the t-shirt, maybe we interrupted a really good session of Age of Empires, maybe Bob's just sore these days, or maybe its the whole med school thing but that was pretty much all he said to Ali and that's pretty much all he ever will say.

Surprise! Grandma came from China, and now she's here to look after Bob looking after the kid and make sure there are no more woodcutting incidents. And there we were, three people standing in the kitchen - one who can't speak English and doesn't really have anything good to say about Japanese people, one who doesn't speak Mandarin and is super nervous anyway, and me. My Mandarin's not so hot these days, and I had to fumble through anything past accepting a cup of tea, but we managed. We waited for the pause to get just long enough to signal an end to the conversation and we snuck out the back door into the garden.

The kid was already up the tree opening the shutters on his tree house. Fucking tree mansion, more like. This made the tree house Bob built when I was a kid look like a shack. For starters, the new tree house had a roof. Mine didn't, and without a roof there was no need for windows. The new tree house has a second floor, and a wrap around balcony. And the whole thing was made with solid materials (except for the ladder, which isn't really part of the tree house, kinda like tyres aren't really part of a car), and fully wired. The kid has his own entertainment centre up there. He's like 9, so its nothing fancy but I was impressed. We asked whether the floors were heated or if Bob had installed central heating. As usual, the kid didn't appreciate our sense of humour. Six or seven photos later and it was a wrap.

We thanked Grandma for the tea, took care not to run over the stupid dog and drove as fast as we could away from there. I felt bad for Grandma, she had never seen Baby before and at first insisted that I had simply stolen Sissy's Jeep - but when we were leaving she came out and waved us off. She's only been back for a few weeks, and already she's looking for excuses to get out of the house away from Bob.

And so it happens every spring - birthdays galore. Next week is the birthday party for my aunt. We're gonna go, and maybe Ali will have a better experience meeting the rest of that side of the family. Maybe.

Anime, You Say?

There's so much I want to put on this thing, but so little time and each bit is unrelated to the other, and none of it is really related to movies. So I'll write a straight up, no nonsense entry about movies, or at least I'll try. Last week, Sunday night to be exact I watched Tonari no Totoro by Hayao Miyazaki. As I've explained before, I don't understand the genre of anime, but I watched this for a few reasons. The first being that the video shop is running out of Japanese movies for Ali and me to watch unless she wants to watch samurai films. The second reason is that Ali said I had to watch it, and the third reason being that the guy who wrote Totoro also wrote the 2003 Best Animated Feature with Spirited Away. I haven't seen that one, and I may not see it on account of I've seen enough Japanimation thanks to Bobby and his Saturday morning cartoons back in the... way back when. These films aren't technically what I consider Japanimation, but they're close enough. After some assurance from Ali that there was no cartoonudity in Totoro, we rented the new deluxe DVD version. Don't bother. The second DVD is just storyboards for the film with dialogue laid over top. Save the money and get the single DVD. If you're interested, Ali also recommends Neko no ongaeshi, or in English The Cat Returns. Hmmmm, Dr. Seuss? Mebbe, dunno.

Any skepticism of Totoro was quickly erased by the opening landscape. It was so realistic. Imagine if I had an HDTV... The movie is pretty short, about an hour. Ali thought that it was part of a series, and after watching this one I wanted to see the others. Well, there is no series, or there was no series. The film came out in 1988 and might possibly have been ahead of its time or on the vanguard for all that Pokemon/Sailor Moon tripe that soon followed.

Totoro is about a family that moves to an old house in the country. I like to think its Tohoku, but it could be anywhere. In any event, its close enough by bus to an urban area with a college/university. The father is a lecturer and the mother is in hospital. Allegedly, this is partly after Miyazaki's childhood. The two daughters, Mei and Satsuki have fun exploring their new home and getting over the rumours that the place is haunted. Mei copies everything that big sister Satsuki does, and while Satsuki is off at school, Mei finds a tunnel in a hedge. She follows it and discovers Totoro. Totoro is a big friendly troll who travels around Japan on a big cosmic ten-legged cat bus. Mei tries to explain to her sister and father about Totoro, but they don't believe her. She eventually convinces Satsuki, and the two dance around the magic camphor tree.

The mother is scheduled to come home from the hospital, but complications cause her to stay longer. Mei decides that she is going to go to the hospital and give her mum some of the food they had planned to eat at her welcome home dinner. Mei goes missing, and the town frantically searches for her. I started to wonder what kind of cartoon shows kids going missing, and at this point I can't remember how they find her (it was last week afterall), but she comes home safe and sound. We never see the mother come home from the hospital, but it is implied in the closing credits where they show stills of the family together in the new house.

For some reason, Ali cried over this movie and that's what makes it the best anime movie I've ever seen. At first I thought she was crying because we watched a woman collapse earlier in the day. Neither of us did anything, but Orange Peel saved the day. J called an ambulance, but OP was there for the very important social work needed to deal with a shock. Like a pro, or like someone whose talked quite a few friends down from a bad trip, OP calmly told the daughter to relax and wait for the ambulance. A third guy who didn't stick around long actually caught the woman from falling on the floor. At first I thought she was having a seizure, which is why I didn't approach. Apart from cramming a wallet in the mouth and turning the head to the side, I was always told to let seizures happen when and where they must - not that I'm a first aid guru. Well, it wasn't a seizure and OP sure let me and J know how she felt about our hesitation. The ambulance came and the crew checked out the woman who was fine now. They knew her, and apparently the same thing had happened to her a few days before. I saw where this was going, but I guess I was more upset by the daughter's reaction. None of us had any appetite now, so we left the restaurant, and I'll probably never go there again. I went there in search of a dairyless carbonara I heard tell of at Blue Lotus, but I passed on it. J had it instead, and said it was pretty good with his warm(!) beer. I did a bit of research on this place before going. My old boss told me that she knew it and that I would like it. "Very European", she said. Yeah, if European means loud and crammed in somebody's basement. It shows how much she knows - I didn't like it, and the service was pretty disorganized.

But that wasn't what made Ali cry. It turns out she had a touch of home sickness accompanied by a bit of a realization that she could never be a kid again, but she didn't know how to explain it and she would never admit that she missed her kid sister.

Kilometre 4355

I've been a wee bit distracted lately, which might help explain the accident. My boss has been sending me offensive e-mails, thinking that as long as he leaves out the punctuation he can later argue context. I don't care how many happy faces you forget to put at the end of "eat shit and die", context is pretty solid. There's that, the fact that I had to remember that I couldn't use my regular parking stall, the new scratch in Baby's paint thanks to my neighbours and their new Jeep Liberty they've had for less than a WEEK. I've been busy watching movies and I've been fluish lately too, so maybe that's got something to do with it.
It was raining, visibility was sketchy and yes Enzo, maybe I will get some new wiper blades. It was dark, and I had AC/DC playing on the stereo loud because well, there's just no other way. Leaving the car park at campus, Baby spied a white C230 Kompressor. The Kompressor turned left at the three way stop, and we turned right, I guess in hindsight Baby might have been a little upset. On the lead up to the bridge, the part where we drive past all the luxury car dealerships, the armory and the brewery, a cute little silver Kompressor tucked in behind us. White halogens screaming in my rearview mirror, I figured that meant she was far enough behind me on account of I was higher than the Kompressor and normally I wouldn't see her halogens if she was too close. Besides, I had to worry more about what was in front of me and not behind. We had a green, and the sweeping right hand turn merges with other bridge lanes. Cautioning Baby not to fish-tail, we stayed close to the raised bike lane. The one thing about loud music is that it interferes with the other things you need to hear like ambulances and stuff, but in my case I couldn't hear the shifting well. I short shifted, and I revved high probably making Baby a little more pissy. Okay Baby, I'm turning Bonn Scott off. You win.
After the bridge, I turned right on Waterfront expecting a clear run past the dog park, the marina and the casino. But nooOOoo. I hit every light red on the way home, and then it happened. I was trolling for a parking space, and due to bad positioning and confused visitors I decided to park in one of the service stalls. That's technically a no-no and it normally comes with a free, furious finger-wagging from the caretaker. I guess I was bewildered by the anger of a visitor who thought it was ridiculous that we, the owners should want to clean the car park, but as she walked away I tapped the clutch just for a sec and Baby crept backward into the corner of the concrete wall. We actually bounced off the wall, and now I'm all whiplashy. All I can say is Thank You Jeep for continuing to mount spare tyres on the tailgate. When I went to look at the damage, I had visions of a whopping great dent in the metalwork like what Bobby did when he decided that it was time for Sissy's Jeep to make friends with a doorknob. I thought I understood that, but really the spare tyre should have wedged in and prevented the dent from taking place. Hmmm, I shall speak with Sissy about that. Maybe when Bobby gets back from Oregon, he will have some explaining. I read recently that many car manufacturers are doing away with spare tyres to make better use of space, but I'm glad Jeep still uses them and I hope they continue. I checked the concrete wall, no damage on a visual inspection. I checked Baby's back end. Nothing. Now the only evidence rests on the closed circuit camera tapes, and nobody watches those do they? Off to work!

10 Francs for Something Special??

This was the question asked of me as a young strapping lad by a fur-coat clad gent lurking in a shadowy road in the old section of Tours. Yes, the very same night (we) Wilson had the unfortunate incident with the more than slightly sunburned English mountaineer. Um, hello! OK, maybe it was our fault that even at 14 we had soundly developed twisted senses of humour, but it wasn't our fault that the hotel walls were paper thin and that our internal clocks hadn't adjusted to the 9 hour time difference. Hey! Even if the clock on the wall said 03:08, our bodies felt like it was still 18:08, and we were gonna goof off as 14 year olds are known to do. More on what I remember of that night in a future post.

But you can keep your precious 10 francs, because I'll give you something special for free! I've been kinda busy lately but a while back I took a break from studying to come up for air and I found this at Yongfook. I intended to post it up as a sign that I haven't walked away from this blogging thing and all, but completely forgot about it as the exam loomed until Lola commented that she always thought me a tree-hugger. OK sure, a tree hugger with right wing tendencies I be, but more appropriately a randomly generated computer test had this to say about me:

Reserved Artist

I'm working on the spontaneity, but perhaps some computer somewhere knows me better than I'll ever know.

Is that Pounds or Dollars?

People used to laugh when I said that I knew a guy... It was my answer for everything, but its true. Ali only had to mention it once that she wants to go to London - done done and done. One e-mail later and a guy I know has got a 4-bedroom house in London lined up for three months in summer. Of course, it helped that I mentioned whom Ali's dad is. "Alright, I can bring it down to 1500 clams a week, mate. But that's the goin' rate. I've got to make a living, sonny". Now the only question is of passports. Which one should I use, and will it still be valid come July?

Ali and I hit a Wimpy's on Monday night. She'd never been and I wanted something absolutely fatty. I made it up to her the next night though. I learned a few things this week. Like, its really hard to remove blood from a carpet but more importantly Hollywood remakes of foreign films really suck. Especially when they're remakes of mediocre foreign films. Last summer, when I worked in the dungeon I saw Shall We Dance? starring Richard Gere, and Jennifer Lopez. The dungeon was the best place to watch movies because there was no natural light at all. No windows, nada luz. We used to watch movies on our lunch hours over two days. When I saw that movie, I asked myself why they bothered. I learned that it was a remake of the Japanese film by the same name made about eight years previous. That was a fact I seemed to forget come Monday. Ali was fairly non-committal when we were at the video shop, so I grabbed the Japanese version because I remember when it came out it got a lot of press and a certain someone couldn't stop talking about all the famous people in it. I was skeptical, and I should have been.

The first problem with this movie, or should I say the Hollywood version, is that its a straight scene-for-scene rip off of the Japanese film. A little updating or a little variation in the story doesn't cost a lot and it really doesn't hurt. I guess Hollywood isn't concerned that it has quite a few hacks working in the big studios. I was so bored that I fell asleep. It's really not interesting when you know exactly what happens next. The saving grace of the original is that the main character Sugiyama is played by Kôji Yakusho, the same guy who plays the gangster host in Tampopo. The story doesn't really go anywhere, and the lukewarm non-romance between Sugiyama and the prima donna doesn't add to the plot. So why did they decide to remake this film? Good question.

I corrected the Wimpy's thing Tuesday by taking Ali out for dinner. She digs the spontaneity, so while I waited at the shop I bought a bottle of wine for later. It turns out Ali doesn't drink wine or beer because they're both so strong. And yet she downs G&Ts like water. I've got to figure that out. But after a glass of merlot we tried our luck at the second restaurant opened by some local talent who happens to have his own cooking show and has allegedly appeared on Iron Chef (the actual show, not the new version). I'm not sure if he won or lost. Either way, he's laughing all the way to the bank. Now it must be said that his cuisine is pretty good. I might pay 16 bucks for a hamburger because they are just that good, but there is absolutely no way I'm going to stand in line for it. Like Alphonse used to say, "Whatever Dax, I don't do line ups". Another valuable lesson I learned from him. That's part of the spontaneous experience - you can't make reservations. It's pointless, especially when there is a perfectly good French restaurant three doors down - empty. We walked in and were spoiled pretty well. Ali said that this was the nicest restaurant she had visited while in my city. I could have told what she's missing, but I just let it go. My ex was also amazed at the places I would take her, but I guess that's not saying much because her previous dates consisted of being taken to fast food restaurants and the back seats of Lincoln Town Cars. No malice, I speak the truth. At least Ali wasn't so overcome by the splendor that she started to bawl like someone else. If only those other places existed today. In another life I guess.

We started with some hors d'oeuvres. Ali had dungeness crab cakes with avocado and asparagus. I would have had the same, but my tummy only likes asparagus the way Enzo makes. Instead, I had escargots in a basil cream sauce on croquettes with a mesclun salad. Both choices were different, no better or worse than what I usually have. For the main course and for a kick Ali had the beef stew. It happens to be her favourite, or so she says and I had the chicken and fries. There's a KFC across the street from this particular French restaurant, but the Colonel has got nothing on this chef. The chicken breast was seasoned and done perfectly. The skin was justcrispy enough, but the flesh itself was very tender. The vegetables were a delightful mix of carrots and snow peas, and the side of Belgian fries weren't salted to shit and mushy. Almost the best fries I've ever eaten. The chicken was dressed with a strong mushroom gravy and accompanied by morels. At first I didn't understand what all the fuss is over morels. In Ali's shop, they are on offer for $399.90/kg or a more manageable $39.99/100 grams. It's just fungus, people! I half expected a symphony in my mouth when I saw them on my plate, but it didn't happen. Ali told me to drink some water to get the taste of pastis off my tongue and try again. Ahhh. I understood. The flavour is very delicate, and texture plays a big part but I still won't pay $40.00 for shrooms.

The beef stew should not have been called beef stew. Beef stew should bow before this dish and proclaim itself unworthy of even being considered similar to this dish. Button mushrooms, pearl onions, maybe potatoes, tender white(!) beets and hunks of steak all swimming happily in a bowl of the best demi-glace you will ever find. We filled our boots pretty quickly, so much so that Ali tried to send her plate back half finished. Ah, tut tut. Let's see if they'll put that in a to-go dish. Splendid. The waiter came back with dessert menus. The dishes were fairly straight forward and we passed anyway because we were so full.

Perhaps the only let down of the night occurred when the waiter returned my credit card and asked me if I was from Quebec. I froze, and the pen dropped from my hand. It sounded like a thousand pens crashing to the floor or something. Ali braced herself. Wot?? Really! I mean what impudence! I beg your pardon! Do I sound like my mouth is full of marbles when I speak French? Well, I'll have you know... but before I could spring up and show him just how dangerous the dull edge of a credit card can be, he clarified himself by saying that he only asked because my credit card is backed by a Canadian bank. Touché. I regained my composure and picked up the pen.

Before we left, the waiter gave us a card which entitles us to win a trip to France if we dine at 3 other participating French restaurants - within the next 3 weeks. A challenge I cannot refuse. Ali went home without the leftovers, which I ostensibly kept to have for lunch the next day. But they just looked too good, and I ate them with the remaining half bottle of merlot. I felt so good about this place, I even encouraged my former boss to try it. Me so nice. It's in her neighbourhood. She said she'd walked by a few times but had never popped in. Too bad for her.

So I Did Something About It

A couple of weeks ago I got an e-mail from my ISP advising me of a "preferred" customer sale at a certain consumer electronics company that uses a big yellow price tag as its logo. I planned on going, I even did my research and I knew exactly what I wanted to buy. I waited until the weekend and cased the joint so that I knew exactly where what I wanted to buy was and I knew which brand and model I wanted. Later that week, a friend of mine who at the moment just so happens to be sunning herself on a South American cruise and will be receiving her belated Christmas bonus next month (an all expense-paid trip to the Dominican Republic), asked me to get together and study for the final exam. I hesitated. I knew there was a reason why I couldn't get together with her on the day, but I couldn't figure out what it was. I realized later that it was because of the sale. It all worked out in the end, we had a study session and I zipped over to the sale and got what I wanted - sort of. I ended up getting a better model for a little more money and was pleased as punch when I walked out of the store. Even though I got hosed on the additional memory card purchase (hosed in the sense that I hadn't budgeted for the card, but actually got a good deal on it) I went home and started tinkering with my new digital camera. Nothing fancy, just a Samsung 5 megapixel for a hobby photog. The thing is, I'm crap at taking pictures. I took a few good ones, most of which Ali made me promise to delete and then when I wanted to upload the photos to my hard drive, the camera software didn't install properly and my drive wouldn't recognize the USB cable. I didn't have time for this, I had an exam to study for and I wasn't about to shlep back to the store for advice. Instead, I asked one of the IT guys at work for some help. I had already uninstalled and reinstalled the camera driver like 3 times on my own, so on Monday morning when the IT guy said "Just buy a card reader. You can get 'em for about 30 bucks", I felt really stupid. I didn't buy a card reader, partly because I wasn't going back to the store until after the exam and I might as well get some help from them at the same time, and partly because Samsung said I didn't need one. Fast forward to last Wednesday: Ali and I went to the store and explained the situation. They told us to bring the camera back and speak to one of their tech guys. Heck, I'd already paid for parking and I'd be damned if I was going to pay twice. Time for my elephant brain to come up with a solution. How to get from the store to my flat and back again before the end of the hour of parking I had paid for. Three seconds later, the solution was clear. So we sped back to my flat and grabbed the camera and the USB cable. When we got back to the store we were ignored for a good ten minutes but then finally we got to speak to a tech. I figured they'd have the software so I didn't bring mine. Big mistake. I told the tech everything I had done and he was so patient with me and my stupid questions that I figured I just had to be patient like him. So after work the next day, I reinstalled everything from scratch and voila, the camera driver decided to co-operate.

So that brings me to this: Dax Watches Movies now includes photos - something I swore I would never do on this blog. And I start it off with this - a photo of the most-traveled mapbook in the world. I was given this booklet by Lola as a prize for the best songlist submitted. Now that I've enjoyed it, in a stunning example of linear thinking, I've decided to send it back to Malaysia to someone who really wanted it, and had a really good song list as well. Besides, Lainie is quite proud to stalk Lola. Now that the mapbook is in the post, I can only hope that Lainie passes it on when she's done with it, but no official arrangements have been made.

It's been a big day for a couple of other reasons as well. The biggest, I guess is that Ali met Sissy and Enzo for the first time today. After a dog shift (06:30 - 14:30 on a Saturday), we trekked out to Sissy's for dinner. I got Baby all ready for the big day. I washed her good this afternoon, but evidently not good enough. There were spots on the passenger window. Enzo explained that it was because I was washing the Jeep incorrectly and that I should do it as I had seen my neighbour do to his Lincoln this morning. Wash one side, rinse. Wash the bonnet, rinse. Wash the other side, rinse. Wash the boot, rinse. Wash the roof, rinse. Wash the rims and tyres, rinse. Fair enough. Somewhere along the journey, Baby hit 4000 km. I think it was just as we pulled into Sissy's driveway and then left again because we had arrived too early. I had my camera with me and should have taken a photo, but I missed the moment. Come on 5000!

We came back a half hour later and started with wine, and I thought I was going to get into some trouble here, but it worked out. We had barbecued pork, roast pork, pasta with onions and ham which I'm going to have to try and make later, and roasted vegetables. As an added bonus, Dionisio (Enzo's baby brother) handed around some nice cheeses. Ali nearly shit herself. She loves cheese and these two offerings, aged Fontina and Sardo, were so good. For dessert, we had Baci ice cream (eeeee!) with brandy on top. Everybody so nice! Ali had been afraid to meet Enzo because she knew he's a hunter and that he has rifles in the house. A little later, I asked Ali if she wanted to see the guns. She said yes, and it turns out she has a bit of a blood lust. Maybe more than a bit.

Dionisio took some photos of Ali aiming a few rifles. I thought he had a digital camera, so I didn't bother taking any photos with mine. I wish I had, because he had a film camera. As Enzo helped her aim the guns (from the wrong end of the barrel!), I blocked Ali's finger from the trigger because well, this is how you end up on the front page. She really scored some points with Enzo when she looked down the sights and said, "You make a good target". After a few more rifles, I asked Ali if she was scared. She said, "Actually, I'm a little excited". As it is, she now has a standing invitation from Enzo to go shooting any time. I think somebody has to explain the concept of recoil first.

So apart from a few cutting questions, and a few more to suss her out a bit, Enzo and Sissy were really easy on her. For her part, Ali really liked the kinfolk. On the way home, I told her that it was probably more important to be honest than to be polite on this question, but she didn't change her answer and convinced me that she wasn't just being polite. She started to get drowsy at about 6:30 so we left at 8:00. We hit the city by 8:30 and were back downtown by 8:40. Ali was home in time to get enough sleep and start another dog shift tomorrow. Another first for Baby (and for me I suppose) was that I ran my first red. Nothing deliberate, like a paparazzo or anything. I was just following the guy in front through and forgot to check what colour the light was. It turned red as he entered the intersection and was clearly red when Baby entered. I didn't accelerate to clear the intersection, but I did keep an eye on the cross traffic. It was easy because it was one way. It was early enough that none of them had begun to advance, but I did get few angry horns. I decided that I should probably grab a coffee and get home as quickly and as safely as possible. I did it.

Persimmons... yum

Whew! I'm all better and recharged after that exam. As usual, I never know for sure if I'll pass. I just say to myself "I might pass". Seriously, these exams are done so that nobody knows for sure. If you know you've passed when you leave the exam, you've done something wrong somewhere.

Some other things were bothering me for the past couple of weeks, but they have sorted themselves out. Alison is back from Mexico, and she brought be some tequila reposado. If there's 3 things I learned in Mexico, they are as follows:
#1) Do NOT squeeze lime, lick salt and shoot tequila. The salt will aggravate the hangover if you get one. Instead, inhale deeply and hold breath. Squeeze lime and "shoot" tequila (no salt). Swallow together and exhale. Repeat, repeat, repeat. This gives a rush and enhances the citrus taste and the rechauffement of the alcohol. What else are you supposed to do when you're crammed in the back of an Unimog bombing down the Carretera Panamericana? Smile as you and your friends are waved through the army checkpoint.

#2) Do NOT drink the more widely available brands of tequila. Chances are the stuff you are buying is meant to have a long shelf life and is 50% preservatives. If you drink these brands, you will definitely have a hangover. In fact, the guy told us that natural tequila gives no hangover at all, and that a true Mexican would never drink Cuervo. Instead, try to drink smaller, less commercial brands. Yeah, its tough. I know.

#3) There are three types of tequila - mixing tequila, shooting tequila and sipping tequila. The mixing tequila is meant to be mixed for a reason - because it tastes like shit. This is the type of tequila one will typically get when they go to the local and ask for a shooter. Paradoxically, one will not typically get shooting tequila when asking for a shooter. One will have to ask for it by name, or frequent a local where the bartender knows their chops. Shooting tequila tends to be smoother and have a better taste than mixing tequila. Sipping tequila or tequila reposado is the best tequila money can buy. It's (almost) clear in colour and marked 100% agave on the label. I can't say if that is an industry control, but my bottle does have the mark, and I would hope that other reposados have as well. In the very least, it will be marked as tequila reposado. Would I shoot reposado? Maybe, but it's just so nice to sip, and it comes in a wee bottle big enough for 2 or 3 shots only.

I've taken dinner to Alison at work a few times, and that's why she gave me the tequila, packed in a bag with a Japanese dinner and a bag of truffles. I left the office one afternoon enjoying my iPod when all of a sudden somebody started whacking me with an umbrella. It was Ali. She had meant to meet me at work with the food, but we just missed each other so she ran after me down the block and hit me with a kidney shot to get my attention. It was scrummy. The truffles lasted me close to two weeks. Turns out Ali eats chocolate truffles every day. So I always end up wondering how she can be on a diet and stay so thin if she eats cheese and chocolate every day. That's some diet.

Bobby has decided to take the yacht on a trip to Oregon. Whatever. I probably shouldn't have mentioned it on my blog because now he figures I'm wasting the boat and that he can make more use of it by squatting on it for however long he wants. I shlepped all the Bombay off the boat because I paid for it and wished him a good trip. Secretly I am jealous. I mean really. Who's he kidding? It's not like he's going to mix the drinks himself, and I'm the only one who knows how to make his umetinis the way he likes. But when Bobby wants to slum it, he really goes for it.

He's decided to go to Oregon now because it's snowing here. Fuck. February was kinda nice for a winter month. Not a drop of snow all winter until Feb. 25th. 2 months bloody late! That day I went to an exam prep class and then went for sushi with some friends. I drove because I'm just that nice but the sushi was some serious business. The saba was about three times the size it is at other places and I got to eat it all to myself because most people don't like it. The House maki was huge - about 5 inches across. There was no way it could be held with chopsticks. It had to be eaten in stages.

Alison and I went to an izakaya on Wednesday and ate ourselves daft. I started with a greyhound and then an ume cooler and topped the night off with a large format Sapporo. I had to keep my head because I was doing some qualitative research for another blogger here. I had to find out how they prepared their hottate. Not what was in it, but actually how they did it. It wasn't easy, I tell you. Our regular chef had the night off so I had to ingratiate myself with the new guy. Turns out he used to grab a quick lunch at Kakihara's shop, so it wasn't impossible. I was temporarily distracted by courses of fried chicken, hottate, ika and hot onigiri, but I finally got an answer out of him. I don't think the answer was going to help Blue Lotus, but Ali clarified what I really wanted to know and I was more than happy to pass on the information. One last dish, and Ali decided to pull out all the stops. She ordered mintaiko - sauteed udon noodles dressed with spicy cod roe. It didn't look too good, but it was absolute heaven on the tastebuds. Maybe it would be better with a smaller gauge noodle, but even the thick udon didn't take anything away from it.

But on Tuesday, I went to pick up Ali at work since she was finishing her shift at the same time. As I waited, the paparazzo showed up again and the dude actually said hello to me. What nerve, like he actually knows me. He sauntered on his way, apparently there as a private citizen but maybe also because there is a great big warning on the front of the shop that says no photography is permitted. I decided not to tell Ali because I didn't want her to get upset and because the dude had been pretty passive. I made a unilateral decision and took Ali down to the old Indy circuit and taught her how to drive a manual shift. It was getting dark and it eventually started to rain, but she got the hang of it. She stalled Baby four or five times, and got flustered a bit because she didn't have a lot of time to get used to the gear tree. She kept missing third, and didn't really have a good chance to use it but we had fun in first and second. She's not ready for the road or anything, but at least its one more thing she can do. We were tooting around the remains of the circuit (backward): down the finish straight, turn left into the pits and accelerate down to the hairpin. Turn left again onto the finish straight and repeat. I don't think we went any faster than 40 km/h, but then an undercover unit arrived to question Shopping Cart Dude. The old track is wide open and is used as a shortcut by cyclists and pedestrians. We were careful to manoeuvre around Shopping Cart Dude and thought nothing of it until we saw red and blue flashes coming from a dark coloured car. I have been very careful to teach Ali how to identify an undercover police unit, but we never saw this one arrive. I hastily told Ali to stop the Jeep and get out. We switched places because she didn't have her license and we were technically trespassing under tort law, and left the track.

We went back to my place and watched March Comes in Like a Lion or Sangatsu no raion, a little gem I videotaped about 14 years ago. It stars Cho Bang-ho as Haruo, the amnesiac brother and Yoshiko Yura as Ice, the seriously messed up sister. This is not a film that a lot of people will want to watch, the subject matter is very delicate bordering on taboo. But it's just a movie right? I taped it off a programme that used to show highlights of the local film festival on a weekly basis. This is the only Japanese film I taped and that's why I asked Ali to watch it. I'm not sure what happened to this film at its release, but I don't think it played too widely on the international circuit. It's a pretty powerful film, stacked with pregnant pauses but the audio is messed up. The strangely chosen Andean music plays loudly, but the dialogue plays at normal levels. Growing up, Ice develops an unhealthy attraction to her older brother, and when he is injured in a motorcycle accident she decides to take advantage of his amnesia and well, you know. She invents a character for herself which I guess helps her as much as possible, but he slowly gets his memory back and realizes that his girlfriend is his seester. She realizes that the fantasy just isn't going to work, right at about the time the movie ends. I'm not sure why the film is named thus, but I can guess it's not really material to the story. Alison and I walked to work the next morning. It started to snow (fuck) - I guess March doesn't want to come in like a lamb.

After waking to a snowfall this morning, I shlepped to work in my trainers because it was Friday (bad move), and had a pretty easy day at the office. So easy that my boss decided to give me more work for next week. Sure... let the other contractor leave early because she has nothing to do, but make me stay and pack a load of shit on my desk because other more experienced staff can't keep up. Deep breath, smile! I met up with K-Bear after work to catch things up, and the fucker told me all about his holiday in LA. Hmmm, coincidence? Did he happen to go to LA for a holiday at the exact same time the Oscars were held? I don't believe so. He didn't actually attend the ceremonies and I don't think he intended to, but he did get to a few parties. One day...