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...

Study? Nah, Sneak Preview

From the same folks who gave me free passes to House of Flying Daggers and The Aristocrats, I got passes to a sneak preview of Tommy Lee Jones' new film and among others, winner of Best Screenplay at Cannes for 2005, The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada. I picked up the passes last night, and had a bit of a dilemma. I have an exam to write in a few weeks, so I really should be studying for that, but I hit a brick wall last night, and ended up deciding to see the movie tonight. I couldn't take Alison with me because she's in Mexico, and she also sent me an e-mail saying she might not be coming back. That's life, I guess. Hasta la proxima... I asked one of my co-workers to go with me, and we both liked it.

I had a super shitty day at work. It began promisingly enough with El matador by Los Fabulosos Cadillacs on the iPod, but went straight down the toilet before 9:00. I almost quit because I don't need the money so much now and I'm not feeling the love these days. I guess I dropped a hint when I mentioned to my co-worker that I'd rather be in Mexico right now, so at the end of the day, the coolest boss in the world reached into the bar fridge we have tucked away in Finance and pulled me out a beer. And, he didn't protest when I drank it right in front of him. I don't think I'll be making a habit of it though. My co-worker and I shlepped up to the theatre in the freezing cold. You know its bad when someone from the Midwest shivers.

Tommy Lee directed the film and used his ranch to film a lot of the footage. He stars alongside "hometown" boy Barry Pepper, and I coulda won some swag if I had shouted out his real hometown at the right time, but I wasn't raised in a barn and there's no way you're gonna get me to shout from the back row of the balcony just for a fucking t-shirt. The movie also stars January Jones who is the reason why my co-worker agreed to come along in the first place. She plays Pepper's lonely housewife, and doesn't really play into the plot very much except that she shtupped the dead guy, the guy that Pepper's character killed. That dead guy, Melquiades is played by Julio Cedillo who is constantly looking over his shoulder for la Migra, and its too bad he only appears in retro scenes because I would have liked to know more about his character. Oh yeah, Dwight Yoakam plays a slimy (maybe its the moustache) sheriff-type character who gets his conscience back at the last minute and disappears about halfway through the film. Levon Helm appears as a blind man with a death wish living alone in the middle of the desert.

Now the saddest moment of the film, for me anyway was when the fake horse fell off the cliff. This was during the second burial of Melquiades. The first burial involved the sheriff burying Mel against the wishes of Tommy's character Pete. The third burial happens toward the end of the film, and its all a little weird. It ends up that either Mel lied to Pete, or Pete goes insane, or Mel just gave Pete the wrong impression. I settled for the last choice.

There were funny moments in the film, some pretty funny moments actually. The film is essentially the story of a man keeping his promise to his dead friend, despite certain illegalities. And, the best part of it is that he forces the killer to help. Mike, Pepper's character is a border officer, or one of la Migra and he accidentally shoots Mel because he is trigger happy and just a little on edge while masturbating in the desert, during which time a bullet comes dangerously close to his Hustler magazine. Mike returns fire, and shoots Mel who was really just trying to protect his goats and shoot a coyote. Pete is bound to honour his friend's request and starts his research. Quite easily, a little too easily if you ask me, the identity of Mel's killer is revealed and passed back to Peter. Maybe because it happens in a small town in Texas, kinda like the little town my cousin lived in for a few years with her husband, kinda in a way like Mike and his wife, but news travels fast in that town.

In the beginning, Mike catches some run away migrants and he cracks the woman one across the face really bad. She gets her revenge later, twice. While he is off in Mexico helping haul a corpse to Jimenez, he flees and does what any rational person would do in the desert, he slides into a cubby hole, and is promptly bitten by a vibora, or a rattlesnake. Plot hole here, folks. In my highly educated medical opinion, Mike should have died but its not exactly discernible how long he is stranded in the desert, so I guess I'll give the Tommy Lee the benefit of the doubt on that one. Another problem with continuity in the film is that at the time Mike is digging Mel's body out of his grave in Texas, Mike is wearing flip-flops. Then, when they leave Mel's hovel to go to Mexico, Pete takes the boots away from Mike. Now, these could have been Mel's boots, but I just can't be convinced that Mike has the same sized feet as Mel. That being said, I'm not going to go to imdb and add it into the goofs section. It's an error, but its just a wee one.

Then comes the revenge. After being bitten by an apparently less-venomous-than-others rattlesnake, Pete literally drags Mike across the Rio Grande to a small town where they can seek folk medicine. Well, the healer happens to be the same woman who had her face smashed by Mike. At first, she agrees to not let him die, and to remove the poison. She does it, textbook field medicine but you don't actually see her suck out the venom. Only, there is no anesthetic. Just a hot knife, a severely swollen foot and a wad of cloth or something for Mike to chomp down on. Now, some folks in the balcony got squeamish but not me. I just thought pleasantly about that time Alison brought her knives over. Actually, the grossest part of the film for me was when Pete tried to comb the hair of the corpse, above all other gross parts. So did the healer really get her revenge? I guess not, because later on, she takes a pot of fresh, hot coffee and pours it on Mike who sits up immediately and gets his face smashed by a coffee pot. Then he goes outside and peels corn, and waits for Pete who is in the process of getting his drunk ass dumped by his girlfriend long distance-style. I feel it hermano.

They shlep the corpse out to Tostón, and ask for Mel's wife. This is the part where you discover that Mel was either very lonely with an active imagination, or he was a liar. Elevia aka Rosa denies knowing Mel, as does anyone else in the town and they all deny knowledge of a place called Jimenez. On the way out to Tostón, they come across some hunters and Mike starts to cry as he sees them watching his wife's favourite soap opera. This is one of the funny moments, I don't remember the others right now. Just to let the film geeks know, if they don't already - the guy who wrote Three Burials, Guillermo Arriaga appears as one of the hunters. Just when you think Tommy Lee Jones is insane, he remembers the description Mel gave him of Jimenez, and he finds it - a derelict homestead that somehow resembles the building in the Polaroid Mel carried with him. Pete forces Mike to clean up the site and to dig a second grave for Mel's third burial.

Throughout this process Pete softens up toward Mike (but not too much) and lets him out of the cuffs for the last scene of the film. Pete plants the photo of Mel on a tree and tells Mike to beg forgiveness. Mike says he doesn't believe in God, so Pete goes all Yosemite Sam on him, scaring the crap out of Mike who gladly begs for forgiveness and actually apologizes to Mel. Pete leaves Mike at the homestead with a horse, the horse that Mel had given him, and rides off into the sunset. Final words from Mike indicate that he has grown to understand Pete's actions, and empathize (I think that's the right word) with him.

My co-worker told me after the film that he wasn't expecting to like the film, but that it turned out much better than expected. I also felt it was good. Apparently its a film about alienation and other things, but there's quite a bit of emo crap in there, too.

Make it Suntory Time

Alison is in Mexico, but the yacht is still here and the weather decided to take a nasty turn. It's freakin' freezing here right now and Ali's sipping margaritas on a beach in Puerto Vallarta.

As we all know, Tuesday was Valentine's Day and I did something that I've never done before - I bought flowers. Not roses - my new favourite gerberas. This also happens to be Ali's favourite and she loved them. Of course it didn't help Monday night when she told me that she picked up an extra shift and wouldn't be home on the day. I had to rush down to Durban and get the florist to change the delivery. It was close, but I managed it, unfortunately the flowers looked painfully tired when I saw them after work. She dropped another bomb on Monday night, too. I don't normally watch 24, but it was on so we watched it over a weak spaghetti con funghi. I admit it, I messed that one up. We watched a little 24, then Ali turned to me and said, "He's like Bruce Willis". I'm not a Kiefer fan, but those who are love Kiefer. I wonder how my co-workers are going to feel when I mention that Jack Bauer is just the new version of the guy from Die Hard. I imagine they won't be very happy.

The next evening, we had Veuve Clicquot, another nice champagne that Alphonse introduced me to. My French is pretty good or as Alison would say, "fucking amazing". But that doesn't mean that a person who doesn't speak French on a regular basis will understand what you are saying. As I may have said before, Alison has a really good sense of humour so when I read the label "Veueve Clicquot du Pontsardin Brut", Ali started to laugh her ass off. She had a straight face until I got to brut, which apparently sounded to her like a nasty burp. When she was done laughing, she patted me on the back and said "Bless you". I just kept repeating the word until she couldn't breathe from laughter. She hadn't even sipped the champagne yet. We had an otherwise quiet Valentine's. In return for the flowers I received a chocolate monkey and some soy and nori flavoured crackers. I triumphantly announced that I couldn't possibly eat the chocolate because I was on a diet, but ate the monkey after taking Ali home because I was so hungry. Al told me she chose the monkey because she liked that type of chocolate which she eats every day. Whu?? I thought she is/was on a diet. Well, if she can lose weight by eating chocolate every day, then I dropping South Beach.

On Wednesday, I received a call in which Ali tried to tell me she was in Orchard St., which she corrected again and again because apparently I had complained about her r's. She started with a total absence of r's replaced by an elongated preceding vowel, but after about the fourth time she had it perfectly. We went back to the 30-minute cake place on Thursday because she was leaving the next day and she couldn't stay out late. Again, we had to put up with people who insist upon taking flash photos in restaurants. That's what I like about Alison's workplace - there's a discreet yet highly visible warning not to use cameras in the shop and it come with an illustration so that EVERYBODY can read it. I had a disappointing hedgehog cake, and she had a "fucking amazing" triple chocolate mousse. That is if you believe white chocolate is chocolate. It's chocolate like saccharine is sugar. It tastes kinda like what its supposed to be but its not. White chocolate is made from cocoa butter, not cocoa bean solids like other chocolate, but whatever. Its called white chocolate and I'm just one person. I can't educate the whole world. My hedgehog cake was disappointing in that it was vanilla cake (I rationally expected chocolate) and it was very dry. Alison didn't eat very much of her triple chocolate mousse, and despite my protest of being on a diet, I was forced to eat the rest of it. A good two thirds of it - the two thirds of the wider part of the wedge. She practiced more r sounds, totally mocking me by saying that it is only possible for her to pronounce an "american" r if she does the same arm movements that I was doing. These are the same arm movements that game show models use when they're trying to make a stackable washer/dryer set seem appealing, and the same movements I used when giving Sissy a guided walking tour of historic Quincy, California. Hmmm, it took longer to read the brochure than it did to take the tour of all eight buildings. We had no choice - we were stuck in that shithole and I was trying to provide a little levity to the whole embarrassing ordeal.

Last night I saw Lost in Translation starring Bill Murray, and Scarlett Johansson with Giovanni Ribisi and music by Kevin Shields. I remember that back in 2003, Shields was shlepping around the BBC trying to promote his new album. The stuff they played was good, but the kind of stuff you forget if you're not listening. This was also the first Scarlett Johansson movie I've seen. Is she supposed to a babe or something? Yes, she's fetching but I just don't see the babe that everyone tells me about. It didn't help of course to see that she had the same bum and the EXACT same legs as my ex-girlfriend. The triggers are rare now, but once in a while...

If you haven't heard, the movie is written, produced and directed by Sofia Coppola and is about an aging actor who is in Tokyo to promote Suntory whiskey à la Sean Connery and his friendship with a newly wed, bored-out-of-her-skull wife who are both staying in the Park Hyatt hotel. I heard nice things about this hotel before I even considered watching Lost in Translation, but now I may even stay there on my next trip to Japan. Probably just for a night though, because I prefer the comfort offered at traditional Japanese inns. Murray's character Bob is stuck in Tokyo, kinda like I was stuck in Quincy and he decides to make a go of it and tries to have a little fun. Sure, but wouldn't it be more fun if you could do that with a girl half your age? So Bob and Charlotte party around Tokyo while Charlotte's husband is off taking photos of a band. They check out house parties, night clubs, strip clubs and karaoke bars where Charlotte sings my go to song Brass in Pocket. Pure coincidence, I assure you. I've been singing that song at karaoke since about 1998, four years before principal photography and five years before the movie came out. Eventually, Bob has to go back to his real life in the States and leaves Charlotte behind with a whispered message that wasn't in the script and was part of a whole improvised bit including a kiss. I guess only Bob and Charlotte will ever know what he said. That's how it ends - Bob gets to go back to his wife and kids as Charlotte is left in the streets of Tokyo pondering what to do with her future and a degree in Philosophy.

Bon Viaje

I learned some amazing stuff this weekend - in a way mind blowing. Alison is a closet Ozzy fan. She's got some rock ballad that Ozzy sings on her iPod, and then she's got an entire album of Ozzy singing live stored on there as well, but apparently she never listens to that. We were driving in the Jeep yesterday when War Pigs came on the stereo so I had to turn up the volume - not too much, but it behoved me. I told Alison it was Black Sabbath. Never heard of them. Ozzy Osbourne? Never heard of him either. And then she thought about it a little. Apparently Ozzy has a different name in Japanese. It sounds like his English name, but its so slightly different that it can be unrecognizable if you mess with the stress. I said his name a few times more and she finally recognized it.

She made me listen to her iPod, so I showed her some more popular stuff that Ozzy did with Sabbath. I whipped out the old guitar and played Iron Man even though its not my favourite, and I caught her bobbing her head. So the Jinx wasn't joking, it really is true. Then she started to play air guitar or something. It left me wondering what else she has on that iPod of hers.

The other thing I learned this weekend is that Ali is going to Mexico. A couple of weeks back, I showed her the yacht. We were walking on the waterfront on the way to work and I pointed it out. There she was, resplendent in all her glory, anchored in the bay -- because only suckers pay moorage. I row out a few times a year to check on it, hose off the bird poop, check for squatters - we have a bit of a problem with that here - make sure everything is ship shape and check the provisions. I don't use it nearly as much as I used to. I never was much of a mariner, but sometimes your parents won't listen. I guess I told Alison that nobody uses it, because she somehow got the idea that we're sailing it to Mexico the weekend after Valentine's Day. We'll have to talk about that. If only she could wait until summer, I might have a party or two. I was hoping to shmooze some financers for the film on the yacht, but of course it never came to that. Its just sitting there, majestic as always, but I can't necessarily sell it because It's not mine. It belongs to the family, its just in my care, hence the deck swabbing and supplying of Bombay Sapphire and olives.

3 Iron

Recently, I read an article in the New York Times about a Korean singer/actor who intends to take America by storm, and according to the article, has the entire philosophy of being Korean,hallyu behind him. Now there's nothing wrong with a little nationalism, but what I found amusing about the article is that there seemed to be a complete lack of recognition for other Asian stars who have developed fan bases in America. The singer/actor who goes by the name Rain and who sings a song with the same title (branding at its finest!), said that he wants to be the first Asian star to make it big in America. Well, he won't be the first depending on how you define "big", but if he means to be the first to hit #1 on the charts, he might have a point. But that just opens a whole new can of worms, I can just imagine the music geeks asking, "Which charts?"

It just so happens that I read about a Korean serial called Full House on another blog (a site I innocently thought was a site about battling stress) and about how much the blogger detests the romantic crap in the show. It was at about that time that I also read the article in NYT. I realized that this Rain dude was one of the stars of the show. Even though the Fstress hates Full House (in a loving kind of way), I kinda wanted to see it. I checked it out at imdb, but couldn't find any details. So... I went to the video shop to see if they knew anything, and left with something not so completely different.

One time at the video shop not so long ago, I saw a box cover with what looked like two guys trying to kiss with a woman standing between them. The title was 3 Iron. Mistaking it for a romcom, I read the description on the box cover and decided that it wasn't worth watching. I e-mailed a friend in Seoul about the film and she said that she had never heard of the film. That confirmed it, this film would have to wait. Well, so much for liner descriptions.

A few weeks ago, I started to hear a buzz about this movie. It played at Sundance or something and got some attention. Alison and I went out for indian and since the restaurant is two doors away from the video shop, we decided to pick up a movie. She let me choose, so I grabbed 3 Iron. We listened to the director's comments for the first few minutes while there was no dialogue. The director said that the movie was among other things, meant to show different types of architecture in Korea. Now that's my type of movie. Yumi would have liked it too, but though there were different types of architecture, there was nothing really mindblowing, just different types of cookie-cutter developments - some high density, some suburban.

As it happens, the two main characters don't say a word in the entire film until the last scene according to imdb, but I'm sure they are silent through the entire film. It turns out that this film (or its director) won a bunch of awards at the Venice Film Festival, and it was much deserved. There is some sadistic violence in the film, and apparently some nudity but I don't remember seeing any. It's a pretty good movie, even though the context is kinda lame. A dude who kinda reminds me of Hank, enters vacant homes and stays for as long as it takes him to get bored. He fixes stuff, or changes the way some things work in the house like clocks and scales. In one of the homes he thinks is vacant, he is discovered by an abused wife. He ditches the place, but goes back to stay with the wife, whose husband is away on a business trip. She decides to take off with the guy and they travel around staying in vacant homes. The plot is meant to show this guy as a master burglar, but he is caught not once, but three times at least. The first time, by the wife, the second time he is caught by a boxer who beats the snot out of him, and the third time they are caught by the relatives of the person whose flat they are squatting in. The tenant was discovered dead and when the relatives call, the burglar answers the phone but doesn't say anything. So naturally, the relatives come by to check up on grandpa and instead they find a strange man and woman eating jap che or something in the flat. The police come and are lead to a shallow grave where the tenant is buried, but the burglar is released because he never actually stole anything and the body was buried correctly. Well, he's let go but he's not set free. Instead, the senior officer takes a payoff and the prisoner is left in the hands of the woman's husband who starts to torture him with a 3-iron and some golf balls. The burglar is then committed to an asylum because well, for no specific reason, and the woman is released into the custody of her husband. And then the movie gets all philosophical.

Is he there, or is he not? Is someone standing behind you not there just because you can't see them? Is someone really living in your house when you're away just because you don't see them? After some cat and mouse with the asylum guard, the burglar escapes and begins mindfucking the people that (defended their property, did their job) crossed him in his game. She travels to the places she visited with the boyfriend, and I guess she decides what she really wants. He eventually finds his way back to the woman's home, and moves himself in. Everybody is happy. The husband is happy because he has his good little wife, and the wife is happy because she has her boyfriend, and the boyfriend is happy because he has his little game and his girlfriend too.

The Price of Fame

Some really freaky stuff happened Wednesday night on the way from Durban to the izakaya. I waited in Ali's shop for her to finish her shift, and noticed a guy chatting up the security guard for an especially long time, occasionally glancing over at me. The guy left just before Ali and I walked out of the store. He had parked his silver Mercedes right behind Baby and was standing out having a cigarette. He watched us approach and as I helped Ali into the Jeep, he rummaged in the boot of his car and got in the front seat. I could see through my rearview mirror that he was fixing a lens to a camera. He was a paparazzo, but how did he know that I would be at the shop? He was waiting there before I arrived. Did the security guard have something to do with that? Probably. I've seen the way that guy operates and its not good. But if the dude wanted photos of me, why didn't he take any of me when I was sitting at the table and he was standing right there? I quickly figured it out. He was waiting for Ali, he'd been there all day and wanted to get photos of the two of us together. He waited at his Mercedes outside, and started snapping as we drove away. The fucker was following us, the chase was on. I asked Ali if there was anything she wanted to tell me before I started breaking laws, and it turns out that back home Ali's family is kind of famous. Well bugger me! This guy was trying to get snaps for a scandal mag or something back in Tokyo, so I just took a deep breath and used my mad wheelman skills to lose this lens jockey. I ran a yellow light, and the fucker followed us through. Time to get serious. We tore down the road for about a half mile and turned down a one way street. Jeeps aren't racing machines, and we did our best to lose this guy, afterall Baby knows that a Mercedes is just a glitzy Jeep, and she wanted to show her flashy cousin that she also has some Daimler blood in her. The Mercedes stayed right on us, even following us down the one way. Buses coming straight at us across two lanes and Ali screaming her lungs out, Baby kept her cool and dove for the far third lane, cutting off a white Cadillac and dipped down an alleyway I didn't even know was there. The Mercedes was left boxed in by the Cad and blocking the two buses, honking and honking more.

That kind of makes me feel good about the fact that the movie is officially off. The creative vision started to get a muddled as K-Bear brought more and more people in, each wanting to change it here and there. That, I could live with but it all fell apart after it got really complicated. K-Bear wanted to put Trapeze Girl in the movie as the female lead, but up until he dropped that bombshell, I had the understanding that the female lead was a lock - no discussion. I had been in talks for almost a year with a certain BBC personality, having to concede to almost every demand which I was more than happy to do. She was looking to springboard to this side of the pond and we both thought this was the perfect opportunity. All that was left was an actual signed contract. Then K-Bear told me that Trapeze Girl had been "taking some acting lessons" and I just rolled my eyes because I knew what was coming next. Well, when I told my star at the BBC that she was going to have to audition against another actress, she said "I don't do auditions" and slammed down the phone or whatever it is you do with cell phones. So now nameless, the project is dead, and I'm left with about 3 hours of storyboards and about $50,000 in debt, most of which went up K-Bear's nose I might add.

No worries! I'm moving on to another project which will probably fall flat as well, but it's not a film so hopefully I won't have put up with more crap from K-Bear and friends.

My Own Private Izakaya

Monday was Baby's birthday. Call me what you want, but I'm a proud Daddy and my Baby is gonna get a party for her big day, even if she is a Jeep. According to the insurance papers, Baby turned 1 year old on Monday but she's really 3. We don't like to discuss the two years she spent neglected on the lot, serving as a target for incontinent sea gulls and racking up a whopping 24 kilometres, probably just driving around the dealership. She's now up to 3600, and has enjoyed covered parking for the past year, despite the occasional scratch thanks to some neighbours who refuse to park their great Mercury boat straight and who have the audacity to blame the scratches on their grandchildren who swing open the car doors caring not and thinking only of all the fun they will have at grandma and grandpa's house. I think not. I'm not saying anything, but even an idiot can correct a parking angle... They're my neighbours and they've made assurances, so I try to get along with them, but that doesn't mean that the dings will stop.

For Baby's birthday, we had chocolate caramel flan or something, and Chunky Monkey ice cream. It was scrummy, but technically I don't think it was a true flan. We didn't buy a gift for Baby, because that would be ridiculous but we went for a drive on Tuesday. Ali and I went to the north shore to check out Orange Peel's restaurant only OP was working in the dishpit that night and different people were working the front. She came out for a few minutes to tell me that I was a loser for having a party for Baby, and worked quick to come drink with us but we left before that. She fronted us the appies and the dessert, making us pay only for the house pad and the prawn rice. The appies were crab filled wonton which I ate 4 and Ali ate only 2, and the dessert was sticky rice with mango for Ali and deep fried bananas for me. OP is working like crazy to pay for a trip to Australia. I am secretly jealous, but I can only take one holiday at a time. Japan is next, Iriomote here I come! But also Ibaraki and maybe Hokkaido.

Wednesday I picked Ali up in Durban and went to a little place that I've been keeping secret for a few weeks now. It's not really secret, its been splashed all over the internet, but I haven't mentioned it before. There are three locations in my city and we always go to the same one because its close to home for Ali, plus we like one of the chefs. He's got this crazy do that reminds me of Kazushi Sakuraba. Of course I'm being facetious, but the staff are very welcoming and the food is always good. The dishes are small, meant to be like tapas but are very well priced. I told Ali about Sakuraba and was surprised that she knew him. Thinking I was talking to a closet wrestling fan, I told her why I liked Sakuraba. A smaller plucky Japanese fighter beat the crap out of a Brazilian legend and, despite my recollection, triumphed after about 2 hours of jumping, kicking and crazy ass punching. His debut performance at the PRIDE fights was so good, its a verb. Nowadays, Sakuraba has dropped the coif, and has put on weight to fight the bigger guys. Maybe when I get cable television again, I will watch more Sakuraba matches, but for now I can only copy his crazy style next time my neighbour scratches Baby.

When is a Pizza not a Pizza?

I finally had time to watch a movie this week. Hadaka no shima is a silent (no dialogue) film that I saw bits of when I was young, but never saw the whole thing until last night. I always thought that the black and white film was done in the 30s or 40s, but the wardrobe threw me. The clothes are definitely from the 50s at the earliest, as is the car driving through the village. It turns out that the film was done in 1960 according to imdb, but 1962 according to the video shop.

The video shop also considered the film to be subtitled even though its a silent film. Before shlepping all the way home to find out it was the wrong film, I went back into the shop to make sure that this was the right tape, where I overheard the following comments from a third person to whom I hadn't even addressed my question: "The Island? The Japanese one? Oh, Gimmeabreak! How many could there be?"
Assuming that I was not meant to hear these comments, I ignored them, but could easily have responded with something like this: "Give YOU a break? You're sitting on a stool in the back, not umm... working. How much more of a break do you want from me? It's okay, lash out. I feel your burden. You know more about film than most people because you go to film school, and supplement your tuition by sitting on stools in video shops earning close to minimum wage. You subject yourself, albeit indirectly, to stupid questions from customers stupid enough to shell out six bucks for a VHS rental and sometimes, especially on a Friday when all you want to do is chat with your co-workers about the ratio of gays to straights at the last party you attended, it can all be too much to take". But, since I never attended film school, and since I don't know you, I'll assume that I've caught you on a bad day and that my big ears weren't meant to hear your comments anyway and not say anything.

That was Friday, but now for Thursday. Alison had a day off and I wanted to do something fun. One problem, I had class that night. Alison and I went out to campus because she'd never been there before and she wanted to see the nudist beach. I wanted to show her the rose garden. Apparently this place is the shit, but I had no idea where it is, and had only seen it in films such as Pardes starring the great Amrish Puri, Mahima Chaudhry, and Shahrukh Khan, and in an independent short called Capture featuring Mikka Dargel, Brent Stait, Tobias Slezak and Tom Jones (a different one). The weather wouldn't cooperate and its February so we nixed the idea of the garden, and I only showed her how to get to the nudist beach I'd first visited at the age of seven. Good times, good times. Instead we went to Raku, or at least we tried. In another life, there was a restaurant in 10th Ave. at Sasamat called Raku, but now its called Wabi Sabi and is run by a different team. We started with an Asahi for me and an umetini for Ali. A new challenge! One I accept with some umbrage because it requires a flavoured vodka. Flavoured vodka is like, number 4 on my list of Things that Shouldn't Be. But I will get some and experiment with the following recipe: Vodka + Mandarin vodka + Cranberry juice + Lime cordial + Ume (plum) wine + plum pickles for garnish. It should take a few weeks to get down, but this drink is delish. I'll skip the garnish though. Then we had whitefish carpaccio with yuzu pepper, and experimented with a tuna sashimi pizza. I still have to figure out what yuzu is, but I would like to eat more of it. The whitefish had a strong taste which tasted a lot like basa and it probably was, but I'm no expert. The tuna sashimi pizza was not a pizza. At least not a piping hot great round pizza that one eats in wedges. It was a thin crust (read canape) pizza served in five pieces with an architecture of avocado, tomato, and tuna sashimi spotted with sweet mustard on top. No cheese or pepperoni here folks. I'm just saying not to expect a pizza pizza, but to expect something more akin to the hors d'oeuvres the caterer prepared for your most recent cocktail party. I asked Ali if she like hamachi sashimi and she said yes. Seeing that she hadn't eaten any of the carpaccio or the pizza, we ordered sashimi. Ali ate two pieces of her "favourite", and made me eat the rest because I hadn't eaten enough pitusa kurakaa or pizza crackers. I told her stories of an "uncle" who used to be a sushi chef and used to plate free hamachi for my family when we'd come to the restaurant. I didn't understand why people like hamachi so much - to me it tastes rather icky. I asked Ali why, and she said "aburaga notteru" which basically means "all the fat inside". Then she nudged my stomach and said it again adding "moto moto" which means "by nature." I swear, if Japanese can be this easy to learn, I should be fluent in no time. I'll be visiting Wabi Sabi again soon to try more. It really is a wabi sabi place.

So after we left the video shop with the correct movie, Alison made okonomiyaki which I've been wanting to try for a long time. I washed dishes and made 2 manhattans on the rocks (no junk for Ali), while we listened to Pizzicato 5. She made enough okonomiyaki for 6. She ate for 1, and I had to eat the rest. We sat down on the settee with our drinks and watched the riveting open scene of a man and woman shlepping pails of water -- silently. Hadaka no shima stars 4 people you've probably never heard of: Taiji Tonoyama, Nobuko Otawa, Shinji Tanaka and Masanori Horimoto. Some of the scenes drag, but there's a reason for that. When I first discovered this film, I had a hard time understanding it. At first I thought it was a true story of a family living on a small island, and that the camera was only there to observe. Why else would a film made in the era of talkies have no dialogue? This classic man vs. nature conflict allows the viewer to ponder, and to put oneself in the place of any one of the four characters. The film ended sooner than I expected, and we totally forgot about the strawberries Ali had brought. I drove her home because she had to work this morning, and munched on some leftover okonomiyaki. Oishi!