This was obviously the Song of the Year that I forgot.
Brahman and Ego-Wrappin: Sure Shot
I was about to recommend Bad Science for book of the year, but it came out in 2008. I read a ton of books this year, but I don't think they came out this year. I am partway through both The Big Short and Packing for Mars. Let's go with those.
In replacement for Wave of the Year, I will go with wrecking a large Brazilian guy for an 11-0 win in the first BJJ competition held in Heian Jingu.
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Monday, January 10, 2011
Saturday, January 8, 2011
End of the Year
I was in Florida for the holidays with 900 family members so I didn't get a chance to do an end of the year list. The thing is, living in Japan, I am never sure if the things I am exposed to in a year sync up with the American year. Also my memory doesn't conform to a year. I should make a list in real time. Nevertheless.
Songs of the Year
I don't have my ear to the underground anymore, so these are pretty mainstream.
Just a Band- Ha-He
Internet meme, but it couldn't be any better.
Cee Lo Green- Fuck You
I have been critical of Cee Lo in the past, but he killed it with this new album.
La Roux- Bulletproof
When it comes to pop music, I have made my case known: I am a sucker for a good chorus.
That being said, I still haven't listened to the new Big Boi or the Roots or anything else good.
Show of the Year
I went to a lot of good shows this year but none beat Superchunk at the Metro. Surreal seeing them again after 16 years, with their kids and in my neighborhood for an outrageous price.
Wave of the Year
I had no good waves this year, however I spent the morning before my wedding surfing with a bunch of friends, so that was cool.
Movie of the Year
What movies were this year? I am going to go with---
Exit Through the Gift Shop
This movie is so good and also has the best title of all time
Inception
Has a movie ever looked this good and been this good? Peerless.
Toy Story 3
I saw it in Japanese and it still ripped my heart out.
I saw The Social Network, Ghost Writer and The Town on planes so I need to call a do over on them.
Book of the Year
I don't know. I read a bunch. Born to Run was written like a magazine article, but it sticks out in my mind.
TV of the Year
Treme. Hands down. No contest. Eat lunch at Lil' Dizzy's Cafe.
Call me crazy.
Songs of the Year
I don't have my ear to the underground anymore, so these are pretty mainstream.
Just a Band- Ha-He
Internet meme, but it couldn't be any better.
Cee Lo Green- Fuck You
I have been critical of Cee Lo in the past, but he killed it with this new album.
La Roux- Bulletproof
When it comes to pop music, I have made my case known: I am a sucker for a good chorus.
That being said, I still haven't listened to the new Big Boi or the Roots or anything else good.
Show of the Year
I went to a lot of good shows this year but none beat Superchunk at the Metro. Surreal seeing them again after 16 years, with their kids and in my neighborhood for an outrageous price.
Wave of the Year
I had no good waves this year, however I spent the morning before my wedding surfing with a bunch of friends, so that was cool.
Movie of the Year
What movies were this year? I am going to go with---
Exit Through the Gift Shop
This movie is so good and also has the best title of all time
Inception
Has a movie ever looked this good and been this good? Peerless.
Toy Story 3
I saw it in Japanese and it still ripped my heart out.
I saw The Social Network, Ghost Writer and The Town on planes so I need to call a do over on them.
Book of the Year
I don't know. I read a bunch. Born to Run was written like a magazine article, but it sticks out in my mind.
TV of the Year
Treme. Hands down. No contest. Eat lunch at Lil' Dizzy's Cafe.
Call me crazy.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
A Diplomat in Japan
I just finished reading Sir Ernest Satow's A Diplomat in Japan. It is not a breathtaking piece of literature, but a highly informative, if slightly skewed, window into the fall of the bakufu in Japan. His is certainly an exceptional story, coming to Japan in 1862 as a student translator with the British legation. He ended up mastering the language and being present at the most critical moment in the making of modern Japan.
Satow's view of the world is certainly as a man of privilege and power. He isn't insufferable but could surely be termed a man of his times. However, he isn't a blathering racist or an uptight pawn of the empire. He is a member of the elite, interacting with other elites in fairly extraordinary circumstances. The book was a good companion piece to the insanely popular NHK historical drama Ryoma Den, which I have been watching, pretty much, of my own free will. Although Satow only mentions Ryoma once, and that by his hilarious pseudonym, Saidani Umetaro, characters from the drama suck as Kido and Saigo show up frequently and as actual humans.
My real interest in the book was twofold. First, seeing the area that I live in and indeed the Japan of that time through Satow's eyes was incredible. The moment he crossed the mountains from Uji to Fushimi and caught sight of the Kyoto that he was forbidden to enter certainly made me ache for a time machine. One of my favorite things about the area that I live in is it isn't too hard to picture what he saw. I could probably set out this weekend and find the hill.
But at last we reached the summit, and gained a magnificent view of the great plain below, in the centre of which lies the mysterious and jealously guarded Kioto, like a Japanese Mecca, in which it was death for the heathen foreigner to set his foot. pg. 266
Second, wait, Let me pause before going into this reasoning to say that I am very skeptical of picking out little things in history, connecting them to the present and declaring that they are representative of any national character. Nevertheless there are chords that stretch through a culture and things in the past that have made or present will still be able to be seen in our future in a way that tomes like Gunfighter Nation illuminate for us. These kind of anecdotes dot the narrative laid down and one can only picture Satow coming on these scenes anew and not being able to see them manifest in our present.
For the idea then entertained by every Japanese was that the ford of the stream was too great for a boat to live in it, and that a bridge was impossible. As it has since been successfully bridged, the probability is that this belief was purposely inculcated. pg. 234
For anyone who has lost hours in modern Japan having explained to them how something completely feasible is utterly impossible, I think this will ring true.
It seemed curious...that the common people should be ready to obey him, but the Japanese...had a great appetite for being governed, and were ready to submit to anyone who claimed authority over them. pg 357.
Controversial. Possibly racialist. Up for debate? I should point out that he is referring to the "lower classes" here, not the samurai who, as befits the origin of their name, would submit to being governed, but would also kill to not be governed. Marinate on it.
A wretched being, who had been to the Untied States and had picked up a few words of low English was put... to wait on me, as if I was so ignorant of Japanese as to need an interpreter. It was explained that he was the only one of the clan who understood European manners. pg. 277
There is a lot going on here. I rather enjoy Satow's arrogance in this respect. He began his training in classical Chinese and was charged with translating documents from the Mikado and the Shogun. So, some samurai's throw a guy in front of him who speaks some sailors English in an attempt to communicate. I won't pin this one on the Japanese, this happens to me frequently in America when older gentleman who used to serve in the Navy gleefully give me their repertoire of Japanese. Classical it ain't. This passage also illustrates a trend I saw a good deal of as an exchange student and then as a friend of exchange students in the US. Often, new speakers of a language pick up the speaking habits of their cohort. And why wouldn't they? My Japanese is certainly shaped by playing football and spending a lot of time in fighting gyms. The only issue I have is when people aren't cognizant of this phenomenon and assume that a limited understanding on their part shapes the whole on the other. This is a bit of a stretch in the discussion, but the teacher next to me just asked, "Foreign people who come to Japan really like Japanese food don't they?" My completely non-entertaining response was that people who chose to visit Japan had an inherit bias to liking Japanese food, being willing to try new foods, and saying nice things as they were in another country. Swinging back to the original point, often, especially in my line of work, a person who has some foreign contact, whatever that might mean, is put in charge of handling you as you are foreign and can't interact on the same level with Japanese people. It doesn't matter if you are a professional in a world of professionals and the person placed in charge of you was a hard drinking working holiday visa college drop-out.
What the Kaga people feared was that this would lead to its being taken away from them by the Tycoon's government... But they did not venture to say this openly, and alleged therefore various other excuses, such as the inhabitants were not accustomed to see foreigners... pg. 248
Do I need to elaborate on this one? If you have ever tried to rent an apartment, or get a credit card or change your car title or buy an iPhone in Japan you will get a taste of this. You definitely will if you work in the bureaucracy. I have said before that Japan is the biggest nation of excuse makers I can think of. But, to some extent, they have had to be as responsibility is a hot potato time bomb that one has to distribute quickly and then back slowly away from until it is safe to start running.
Satow's view of the world is certainly as a man of privilege and power. He isn't insufferable but could surely be termed a man of his times. However, he isn't a blathering racist or an uptight pawn of the empire. He is a member of the elite, interacting with other elites in fairly extraordinary circumstances. The book was a good companion piece to the insanely popular NHK historical drama Ryoma Den, which I have been watching, pretty much, of my own free will. Although Satow only mentions Ryoma once, and that by his hilarious pseudonym, Saidani Umetaro, characters from the drama suck as Kido and Saigo show up frequently and as actual humans.
My real interest in the book was twofold. First, seeing the area that I live in and indeed the Japan of that time through Satow's eyes was incredible. The moment he crossed the mountains from Uji to Fushimi and caught sight of the Kyoto that he was forbidden to enter certainly made me ache for a time machine. One of my favorite things about the area that I live in is it isn't too hard to picture what he saw. I could probably set out this weekend and find the hill.
But at last we reached the summit, and gained a magnificent view of the great plain below, in the centre of which lies the mysterious and jealously guarded Kioto, like a Japanese Mecca, in which it was death for the heathen foreigner to set his foot. pg. 266
Second, wait, Let me pause before going into this reasoning to say that I am very skeptical of picking out little things in history, connecting them to the present and declaring that they are representative of any national character. Nevertheless there are chords that stretch through a culture and things in the past that have made or present will still be able to be seen in our future in a way that tomes like Gunfighter Nation illuminate for us. These kind of anecdotes dot the narrative laid down and one can only picture Satow coming on these scenes anew and not being able to see them manifest in our present.
For the idea then entertained by every Japanese was that the ford of the stream was too great for a boat to live in it, and that a bridge was impossible. As it has since been successfully bridged, the probability is that this belief was purposely inculcated. pg. 234
For anyone who has lost hours in modern Japan having explained to them how something completely feasible is utterly impossible, I think this will ring true.
It seemed curious...that the common people should be ready to obey him, but the Japanese...had a great appetite for being governed, and were ready to submit to anyone who claimed authority over them. pg 357.
Controversial. Possibly racialist. Up for debate? I should point out that he is referring to the "lower classes" here, not the samurai who, as befits the origin of their name, would submit to being governed, but would also kill to not be governed. Marinate on it.
A wretched being, who had been to the Untied States and had picked up a few words of low English was put... to wait on me, as if I was so ignorant of Japanese as to need an interpreter. It was explained that he was the only one of the clan who understood European manners. pg. 277
There is a lot going on here. I rather enjoy Satow's arrogance in this respect. He began his training in classical Chinese and was charged with translating documents from the Mikado and the Shogun. So, some samurai's throw a guy in front of him who speaks some sailors English in an attempt to communicate. I won't pin this one on the Japanese, this happens to me frequently in America when older gentleman who used to serve in the Navy gleefully give me their repertoire of Japanese. Classical it ain't. This passage also illustrates a trend I saw a good deal of as an exchange student and then as a friend of exchange students in the US. Often, new speakers of a language pick up the speaking habits of their cohort. And why wouldn't they? My Japanese is certainly shaped by playing football and spending a lot of time in fighting gyms. The only issue I have is when people aren't cognizant of this phenomenon and assume that a limited understanding on their part shapes the whole on the other. This is a bit of a stretch in the discussion, but the teacher next to me just asked, "Foreign people who come to Japan really like Japanese food don't they?" My completely non-entertaining response was that people who chose to visit Japan had an inherit bias to liking Japanese food, being willing to try new foods, and saying nice things as they were in another country. Swinging back to the original point, often, especially in my line of work, a person who has some foreign contact, whatever that might mean, is put in charge of handling you as you are foreign and can't interact on the same level with Japanese people. It doesn't matter if you are a professional in a world of professionals and the person placed in charge of you was a hard drinking working holiday visa college drop-out.
What the Kaga people feared was that this would lead to its being taken away from them by the Tycoon's government... But they did not venture to say this openly, and alleged therefore various other excuses, such as the inhabitants were not accustomed to see foreigners... pg. 248
Do I need to elaborate on this one? If you have ever tried to rent an apartment, or get a credit card or change your car title or buy an iPhone in Japan you will get a taste of this. You definitely will if you work in the bureaucracy. I have said before that Japan is the biggest nation of excuse makers I can think of. But, to some extent, they have had to be as responsibility is a hot potato time bomb that one has to distribute quickly and then back slowly away from until it is safe to start running.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Ohara:Jakkoin
I have become quite the promoter of Ohara as of late. There is no real cause other than it is quite accessible by bus from near my house. I will move on to another location soon. However, after my initial visit, and my hike I was talked into going back when company came to town. This was fine with me as I wanted to cover some temples which I hadn't visited initially.
This time my goal was Jakkoin, a small temple to the west of Ohara that features prominently in the last part of The Tale of the Heike.
As I mentioned about my hike, if you do go to Ohara, go early in the morning. The farms are lovelier and the people seem more receptive. Everyone is up working in the morning.
The picture above is looking back down the valley to Kyoto and the mountains rising to the left are the ones I hiked last week.
Many houses in the mountains north of Kyoto tend to have this type of roof as they get heavy snows in the winter. Ohara still has lots of terraced agriculture. As lovely as I may claim it to be, it tends to stink like a farm. This is just a big square of fetid sludge.
Jakkoin itself is actually a Buddhist nunnery built in the 594 by Prince Shotoku. It is a small complex but, as you can see, incredibly beautiful. This is the main entrance way.
The main hall was burnt down by an arsonist in 1999. Some people are ridiculous. I had to wait to get this picture as an old man was posing in front of the gate and making his wife get shots of him in various configurations. He never offered to take her photo. Some people are ridiculous.
Before the gate, just off the stone stairwell is a garden that has been in the same location for a thousand years. Marinate on that for a second. I don't know how many other people that day knew of its significance. This is where, according to The Tale of the Heike, emperor Go-Shirakawa sat and waited for Kenreimon'in and composed the following poem:
The cherry tree leans
Over the quiet depths
Of the pool
While fallen petals float
On the silent ripples
This is supposed to echo the Heike defeat at Dan no Ura and the bodies lost at sea, which included Kenreimon's son who was drowned in the arms of his grandmother. There is a little wooden structure and a bench next to the garden. I sat there and no one else came, although I could here some mounting the steps. Unfortunately a monk was running a leaf blower somewhere behind the bamboo. You would think a temple could use brooms or rakes. It dampened the scene.
Nevertheless, this is that pool and the cherry tree's descendant remains.
That is the reconstructed main hall. It is alright. The grounds are strikingly self contained. I mean small. I was yelled at in bad English by a priest for stepping on a board in my shoes when no sign was written anywhere. I responded, "You can say it in Japanese." As I really wasn't sure what he was getting at at first. That and the leaf blower darkened my mood slightly.
This bell was a gift from Toyotomi Hideyoshi.
This is the pine tree that was mentioned in The Tale of the Heike. It was badly damaged in the fire and later died. What a terrible waste. It is almost a supernatural belief to think that because the tree was alive and was also alive when famous events a thousand years ago took place that it being there provides you with any kind of connection to the age. Still.
The bell that rings at the end of The Tale of the Heike was the bell of the Jakkoin.
The burned remnants of the Buddha from inside the old hall were on special display for 300 yen in a separate building. The remains were far more striking than any new statue. Photography was prohibited but the same old man manged to snap a shot while his wife was telling him, "The sign outside says 'no photography.'" Those rule breaking foreigners...Wait a second. I didn't take a picture, but it was a very touching display. Probably the most striking Buddha image I have seen. And living in Kyoto, I have seen my share.
Ohara is known for its flowers. Look, some tulips.
This time my goal was Jakkoin, a small temple to the west of Ohara that features prominently in the last part of The Tale of the Heike.
As I mentioned about my hike, if you do go to Ohara, go early in the morning. The farms are lovelier and the people seem more receptive. Everyone is up working in the morning.
The picture above is looking back down the valley to Kyoto and the mountains rising to the left are the ones I hiked last week.
Many houses in the mountains north of Kyoto tend to have this type of roof as they get heavy snows in the winter. Ohara still has lots of terraced agriculture. As lovely as I may claim it to be, it tends to stink like a farm. This is just a big square of fetid sludge.
Jakkoin itself is actually a Buddhist nunnery built in the 594 by Prince Shotoku. It is a small complex but, as you can see, incredibly beautiful. This is the main entrance way.
The main hall was burnt down by an arsonist in 1999. Some people are ridiculous. I had to wait to get this picture as an old man was posing in front of the gate and making his wife get shots of him in various configurations. He never offered to take her photo. Some people are ridiculous.
Before the gate, just off the stone stairwell is a garden that has been in the same location for a thousand years. Marinate on that for a second. I don't know how many other people that day knew of its significance. This is where, according to The Tale of the Heike, emperor Go-Shirakawa sat and waited for Kenreimon'in and composed the following poem:
The cherry tree leans
Over the quiet depths
Of the pool
While fallen petals float
On the silent ripples
This is supposed to echo the Heike defeat at Dan no Ura and the bodies lost at sea, which included Kenreimon's son who was drowned in the arms of his grandmother. There is a little wooden structure and a bench next to the garden. I sat there and no one else came, although I could here some mounting the steps. Unfortunately a monk was running a leaf blower somewhere behind the bamboo. You would think a temple could use brooms or rakes. It dampened the scene.
Nevertheless, this is that pool and the cherry tree's descendant remains.
That is the reconstructed main hall. It is alright. The grounds are strikingly self contained. I mean small. I was yelled at in bad English by a priest for stepping on a board in my shoes when no sign was written anywhere. I responded, "You can say it in Japanese." As I really wasn't sure what he was getting at at first. That and the leaf blower darkened my mood slightly.
This bell was a gift from Toyotomi Hideyoshi.
This is the pine tree that was mentioned in The Tale of the Heike. It was badly damaged in the fire and later died. What a terrible waste. It is almost a supernatural belief to think that because the tree was alive and was also alive when famous events a thousand years ago took place that it being there provides you with any kind of connection to the age. Still.
The bell that rings at the end of The Tale of the Heike was the bell of the Jakkoin.
The burned remnants of the Buddha from inside the old hall were on special display for 300 yen in a separate building. The remains were far more striking than any new statue. Photography was prohibited but the same old man manged to snap a shot while his wife was telling him, "The sign outside says 'no photography.'" Those rule breaking foreigners...Wait a second. I didn't take a picture, but it was a very touching display. Probably the most striking Buddha image I have seen. And living in Kyoto, I have seen my share.
Ohara is known for its flowers. Look, some tulips.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Eve of Destruction
You might be thinking that I should be writing about the greatest tragedy to strike my home since rich people figured out it existed. You might be right. You probably are right. There are a few factors at play for me. First, as usual, there is nothing I can do about it. I can't even be there. Second, and I don't know how to phrase this without sounding like I am making psychic claims or being a pompous ass, but for me it had already happened. It was always going to happen. That doesn't mean that I came out of the Gulf covered in oil last August. Or that the Dolphins feeding out by the pier were already suffocated and dead. Or even that all of the fish markets were closed and everyone was out of work. I just mean that when you know that something is inevitable you are not surprised when it happens because you have always been thinking about it happening. A point that Nichols Nassim Taleb makes that I find appropriate is, and I am going by memory here, that it isn't about figuring the percentages of something happening, it is about how much damage they will inflict when they do happen. That is why I don't support oil and I don't support nuclear energy. I realize that it confers all the golden grace of walking the middle path to say that these things have their place. I would change that slightly and say "had." We should have moved beyond these outdated systems and on to something else by now. To me solar is the only real answer we have. Passive and active solar. Wind where we can. Tides if the technology gets there and geo-thermal in the limited places where it works.
As I said before, all of this is one giant externality. If the spill in the Gulf was internalized, who could afford gas? I don't think it is semantics to say that lost jobs and unrented hotel rooms are the price of gas. Not to mention an aesthetic Sand County Almanac argument that I would make that this has also, possibly, destroyed the uniqueness that I love about my home. Of course everyone was trying as hard as they could to destroy it in the first place anyway.
I have never understood the freight train nature of a society that compels everyone to want to stay on the straight path. I am completely happy to look at the situation and say "Sail boats and solar cars from here on out." But that is me. I would be happier that way anyway. What I really can't comprehend is the way some can look at this as just the cost of doing business and something that we can get past. Since I majored in this stuff in college, which was now a decade ago by the way, it was already known that oil would only get harder and harder to get to and harvest. That drilling would get more and more expensive until it cost more to get it out then could be made by selling it. It was also predicted by some, and I agreed, that that wouldn't stop the system from trying to perpetuate itself. That is what is going on here. The international oil community is the same thing as Japanese whalers. The purpose and the age have moved on but the system will seek to maintain. It will do so by claiming that because it existed it has to exist. This isn't a cheap tautology. It is costing all of us, whether that is monetary or psychological It will surely cost many physically as well.
Our current President and political structure has no inclination, disposition or will to discuss these issues in any real way. They will go by to get by and insist that what has been must be. As I said before, as long as the people in charge only have to buy tickets to the Bahamas instead of Destin, the problem is just one of management. I will never have that luxury as you can't really change the directions home.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
How to Stay Alive in the Woods
Of course we all know that the real answer is to develop a civilization over hundreds of year until we have pavement and HBO. Nevertheless I checked the Bradford Angier book of the same name out of the Higashi Osaka library (highly recommended) a few weeks ago. It is one of the most oddly written books I have ever come across.
"Both slingshots and bows and arrows are so familiar that, inasmuch as we will be limited in any event by the materials at hand, there will be no need to do more probably than to suggest them as survival weapons."
"We have boiled the noonday kettle, you and I, and now it is the halfway time when we should head back to camp."
This book, originally published in 1956 as "Living of the Land" also features a chapter entitled "What About Frogs?" Indeed.
"Both slingshots and bows and arrows are so familiar that, inasmuch as we will be limited in any event by the materials at hand, there will be no need to do more probably than to suggest them as survival weapons."
"We have boiled the noonday kettle, you and I, and now it is the halfway time when we should head back to camp."
This book, originally published in 1956 as "Living of the Land" also features a chapter entitled "What About Frogs?" Indeed.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
I'll Sleep When I'm Dead
Actually I am sleeping until 3pm every afternoon as the school won't let me come back to work until Saturday as I might have Gaikoku Flu. Yesterday I finished reading I'll Sleep When I'm Dead , the biography of Warren Zevon by his ex-wife Crystal Zevon.
Somewhere between him trying to make his wife have sex with his girlfriend while their newborn daughter cries in the next room and him forcing a groupie to have an abortion I began to question my love for him as an artist. Insert Ezra Pound equation. In the end, he probably does enough to make his excesses somewhat palatable. I think I am most empathetic and understanding with artists not being able to fit into the conventional world. There is that. Then there is being a narcissist and a drain on society. The life of an addict. It made me go back and rethink whether his talent actually justified the people around him's tolerance. I started to compare him to other artists. Is he a better songwriter than Blake Schwarzenbach, Ben Folds, Lance Hahn, Joe Strummer or Bob Mould? (that is a very random sampling) No. I think he isn't. But....then again, the age and time and place are a little different. I went back and watched some clips and he definately was quite a talent.
(A note on the Excitable Boy clip: I started out laughing at what everyone looked like and then realized how great they were playing and felt kind of bad.)
I base my thoughts around punk rock the way scientists base their worldview on evolution so it is no surprise that I will fall back on it here and say that part of Zevon's issues was the scene he was in. His friends were Jackson Brown and Bonnie Raitt and Don Henley, so he saw himself as rejected by the industry even though he was on the cover of Rolling Stone and constantly on Letterman. I think J. Robbins or Bobby Sullivan are every bit the songwriters Zevon was, but who knows what bank account they are digging into now. But, what does a corrupt industry really owe you anyway? And that is another place where the book makes me slightly ill. Rock and roll is just another power structure where sucking up to money helps your path to success. Fuck it. The way music is depicted as being made and the odd ways that money are thrown at it and the politics invovled makes you see music legends for what they really are; non-threatening chums.
Nevertheless, it is a book worth the read and you will feel for Warren and those around him and you will reconsider his music, which is the most important part anyway.
Somewhere between him trying to make his wife have sex with his girlfriend while their newborn daughter cries in the next room and him forcing a groupie to have an abortion I began to question my love for him as an artist. Insert Ezra Pound equation. In the end, he probably does enough to make his excesses somewhat palatable. I think I am most empathetic and understanding with artists not being able to fit into the conventional world. There is that. Then there is being a narcissist and a drain on society. The life of an addict. It made me go back and rethink whether his talent actually justified the people around him's tolerance. I started to compare him to other artists. Is he a better songwriter than Blake Schwarzenbach, Ben Folds, Lance Hahn, Joe Strummer or Bob Mould? (that is a very random sampling) No. I think he isn't. But....then again, the age and time and place are a little different. I went back and watched some clips and he definately was quite a talent.
(A note on the Excitable Boy clip: I started out laughing at what everyone looked like and then realized how great they were playing and felt kind of bad.)
I base my thoughts around punk rock the way scientists base their worldview on evolution so it is no surprise that I will fall back on it here and say that part of Zevon's issues was the scene he was in. His friends were Jackson Brown and Bonnie Raitt and Don Henley, so he saw himself as rejected by the industry even though he was on the cover of Rolling Stone and constantly on Letterman. I think J. Robbins or Bobby Sullivan are every bit the songwriters Zevon was, but who knows what bank account they are digging into now. But, what does a corrupt industry really owe you anyway? And that is another place where the book makes me slightly ill. Rock and roll is just another power structure where sucking up to money helps your path to success. Fuck it. The way music is depicted as being made and the odd ways that money are thrown at it and the politics invovled makes you see music legends for what they really are; non-threatening chums.
Nevertheless, it is a book worth the read and you will feel for Warren and those around him and you will reconsider his music, which is the most important part anyway.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Studs Terkel Dies
That really sucks. The end.
P.S. At least he won about 10 rounds of life by the socrecards, so he's got that at least.
P.S. At least he won about 10 rounds of life by the socrecards, so he's got that at least.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Bankrupt Books
This sucks so much ass. Yohan inc. owned Random Walk, my favorite bookstore in Japan and one of the best things about living in Kyoto. Random Walk is such a very,very good bookstore. They had an excellent selection and an atmosphere that felt like they cared about books. They are still open, and still have some good books left, at a 20% markdown. Unfortunately they also feel like a bargain shop now too.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Books; Read Them.
I have been meaning to make a list of books that I have read recently.
Let's see.
Starship Troopers- Robert Heinlein: People complain about this book's fascist biases. I guess so, but I enjoyed it. Of course it was pro-military in odd ways, but it was also dumb in odd ways and interesting in odd ways. A very quick read.
Spartan- Valerio Massimo Manfredi: This was laying around a friend's house. It had its interesting moments but it really devolved into boringness. Part of it might have been an awkward translation, which made the tone hard to come through.
Spook Country- William Gibson: I didn't like William Gibson when I first read Neromancer. Now He is one of my favorite writers. His sense of place and descriptions and use of the physical world is the best out there, in my opinion. This is a very, very good novel.
A Widow For One Year- John Irving: John Irving is like the Cameron Crowe of novelists. I go in thinking that it will be moderate but I am surprised by how much I am effected. A solid novel. Standard Irving, childhood to adulthood with a lot going on in between. Well worth the read.
Wide Sargasso Sea- Jean Rhys: As I don't read any Bronte stuff I kind of missed all of the important references in this one. Nevertheless it was amazingly well written and I enjoyed it very much. The descriptions of life in the Caribbean seemed like something that is missing from literature. Maybe it is just my limited reading. My lack of Bronte interest made the ending a little muddled for me, but I found it profitable just the same.
All The King's Men- Robert Penn Warren: I set this one down for a bit and then came back to it. A change in moods I guess. Never has a better book been written by man. Truly great. I won't say without peer but it is up there with Trainspotting, As I lay Dying, WIseblood and the rest of the giants. I won't dwell on it, but I really feel that, sentence by sentence, it is the most skillfully written novel I have ever come across. It never loses its speed, it never starts to come apart. It is never not completely sharp.
Let's see.
Starship Troopers- Robert Heinlein: People complain about this book's fascist biases. I guess so, but I enjoyed it. Of course it was pro-military in odd ways, but it was also dumb in odd ways and interesting in odd ways. A very quick read.
Spartan- Valerio Massimo Manfredi: This was laying around a friend's house. It had its interesting moments but it really devolved into boringness. Part of it might have been an awkward translation, which made the tone hard to come through.
Spook Country- William Gibson: I didn't like William Gibson when I first read Neromancer. Now He is one of my favorite writers. His sense of place and descriptions and use of the physical world is the best out there, in my opinion. This is a very, very good novel.
A Widow For One Year- John Irving: John Irving is like the Cameron Crowe of novelists. I go in thinking that it will be moderate but I am surprised by how much I am effected. A solid novel. Standard Irving, childhood to adulthood with a lot going on in between. Well worth the read.
Wide Sargasso Sea- Jean Rhys: As I don't read any Bronte stuff I kind of missed all of the important references in this one. Nevertheless it was amazingly well written and I enjoyed it very much. The descriptions of life in the Caribbean seemed like something that is missing from literature. Maybe it is just my limited reading. My lack of Bronte interest made the ending a little muddled for me, but I found it profitable just the same.
All The King's Men- Robert Penn Warren: I set this one down for a bit and then came back to it. A change in moods I guess. Never has a better book been written by man. Truly great. I won't say without peer but it is up there with Trainspotting, As I lay Dying, WIseblood and the rest of the giants. I won't dwell on it, but I really feel that, sentence by sentence, it is the most skillfully written novel I have ever come across. It never loses its speed, it never starts to come apart. It is never not completely sharp.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Speaking of Garbage...
I learned that my financial straights are more challenging than those of Magellan. Cursed by my own ignorance, hoodwinked, bamboozled I turn to the old, familiar territory.
For your reading pleasure:
The History Of One Tough Motherfucker
For your reading pleasure:
The History Of One Tough Motherfucker
| | |
| he came to the door one night wet thin beaten and terrorized a white cross-eyed tailless cat I took him in and fed him and he stayed grew to trust me until a friend drove up the driveway and ran him over I took what was left to a vet who said,"not much chance…give him these pills…his backbone is crushed, but is was crushed before and somehow mended, if he lives he'll never walk, look at these x-rays, he's been shot, look here, the pellets are still there…also, he once had a tail, somebody cut it off…" I took the cat back, it was a hot summer, one of the hottest in decades, I put him on the bathroom floor, gave him water and pills, he wouldn't eat, he wouldn't touch the water, I dipped my finger into it and wet his mouth and I talked to him, I didn't go any- where, I put in a lot of bathroom time and talked to him and gently touched him and he looked back at me with those pale blue crossed eyes and as the days went by he made his first move dragging himself forward by his front legs (the rear ones wouldn't work) he made it to the litter box crawled over and in, it was like the trumpet of possible victory blowing in that bathroom and into the city, I related to that cat-I'd had it bad, not that bad but bad enough one morning he got up, stood up, fell back down and just looked at me. "you can make it," I said to him. he kept trying, getting up falling down, finally he walked a few steps, he was like a drunk, the rear legs just didn't want to do it and he fell again, rested, then got up. you know the rest: now he's better than ever, cross-eyed almost toothless, but the grace is back, and that look in his eyes never left… and now sometimes I'm interviewed, they want to hear about life and literature and I get drunk and hold up my cross-eyed, shot, runover de-tailed cat and I say,"look, look at this!" but they don't understand, they say something like,"you say you've been influenced by Celine?" "no," I hold the cat up,"by what happens, by things like this, by this, by this!" I shake the cat, hold him up in the smoky and drunken light, he's relaxed he knows… it's then that the interviews end although I am proud sometimes when I see the pictures later and there I am and there is the cat and we are photo- graphed together. he too knows it's bullshit but that somehow it all helps. Bukowski | |
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Books: Read Them
A ton of books have been left upstairs in my Machiya/ Freak shack/ Pile of Rubble. After I finished Into the Wild I embarked upon All the King's Men. I am a little surprised that I haven't read it yet as it is right up my (proverbial) alley. 100 pages in and it is already on the top 10 list. Quality. Very Quality.
I have found that the internet has no blockers on it here and am therefor chancing it and posting from school. I think they can live with it because I am a rad teacher and that is just the price they have to pay for me not slapping the shit out of their insolent children.
I have found that the internet has no blockers on it here and am therefor chancing it and posting from school. I think they can live with it because I am a rad teacher and that is just the price they have to pay for me not slapping the shit out of their insolent children.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Brooks Range Style
Last week I finished reading The Prestige, which was an exceptional book. I bought it in Shinjuku for the bus. The book store had a very limited selection. For some reason it had an awful cover, but it was cheap. It was quite a surprise how good it was. Very well done. Very strange ending.
Now I am finally reading Into The Wild as someone left it in my house. It is even more unsettling than The Prestige. I am a bit disturbed by how much I completely associate with a lot of what Chris McCandless was feeling. He was a lot more motivated and confident and bright than I am. That is probably what keeps me alive. A good deal of what he was doing was quite admirable. Just a few small mistakes and it turns a great adventure into a death spiral. Strange what a cultural touchstone he has turned into however.
Now I am finally reading Into The Wild as someone left it in my house. It is even more unsettling than The Prestige. I am a bit disturbed by how much I completely associate with a lot of what Chris McCandless was feeling. He was a lot more motivated and confident and bright than I am. That is probably what keeps me alive. A good deal of what he was doing was quite admirable. Just a few small mistakes and it turns a great adventure into a death spiral. Strange what a cultural touchstone he has turned into however.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Your Poem for the Day
Here is a poem from that David sent on another conversation. I would be interested in opinions as I think it is pretty much.....how do you put it.....right.
Boys don't want to be princes.
Boys want to be shepherds who slay dragons,
maybe someone gives you half a kingdom and a princess,
but that's just what comes of being a shepherd boy
and slaying a dragon. Or a giant. And you don't really
even have to be a shepherd. Just not a prince.
In stories, even princes don't want to be princes,
disguising themselves as beggars or as shepherd boys,
leaving the kingdom for another kingdom,
princehood only of use once the ogre's dead, the tasks are done,
and the reluctant king, her father, needing to be convinced.
Boys do not dream of princesses who will come for them.
Boys would prefer not to be princes,
and many boys would happily kiss the village girls,
out on the sheep-moors, of an evening,
over the princess, if she didn't come with the territory.
Princesses sometimes disguise themselves as well,
to escape the kings' advances, make themselves ugly,
soot and cinders and donkey girls,
with only their dead mothers' ghosts to aid them,
a voice from a dried tree or from a pumpkin patch.
And then they undisguise, when their time is upon them,
gleam and shine in all their finery. Being princesses.
Girls are secretly princesses.
None of them know that one day, in their turn,
Boys and girls will find themselves become bad kings
or wicked stepmothers,
aged woodcutters, ancient shepherds, mad crones and wise-women,
to stand in shadows, see with cunning eyes:
The girl, still waiting calmly for her prince.
The boy, lost in the night, out on the moors.
Boys and Girls Together
by Neil Gaiman
Boys don't want to be princes.
Boys want to be shepherds who slay dragons,
maybe someone gives you half a kingdom and a princess,
but that's just what comes of being a shepherd boy
and slaying a dragon. Or a giant. And you don't really
even have to be a shepherd. Just not a prince.
In stories, even princes don't want to be princes,
disguising themselves as beggars or as shepherd boys,
leaving the kingdom for another kingdom,
princehood only of use once the ogre's dead, the tasks are done,
and the reluctant king, her father, needing to be convinced.
Boys do not dream of princesses who will come for them.
Boys would prefer not to be princes,
and many boys would happily kiss the village girls,
out on the sheep-moors, of an evening,
over the princess, if she didn't come with the territory.
Princesses sometimes disguise themselves as well,
to escape the kings' advances, make themselves ugly,
soot and cinders and donkey girls,
with only their dead mothers' ghosts to aid them,
a voice from a dried tree or from a pumpkin patch.
And then they undisguise, when their time is upon them,
gleam and shine in all their finery. Being princesses.
Girls are secretly princesses.
None of them know that one day, in their turn,
Boys and girls will find themselves become bad kings
or wicked stepmothers,
aged woodcutters, ancient shepherds, mad crones and wise-women,
to stand in shadows, see with cunning eyes:
The girl, still waiting calmly for her prince.
The boy, lost in the night, out on the moors.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
New Words
Since I am rereading the first nine Master and Commanders I am trying to take down and look up words I don't know. Here is today's list. If you already knew them, please tell me. David.....David, I'm looking at you here. Mom, you too.
Rodomontade.
Farinaceous.
Widdershins.
Parturient.
Atrip.
Mooncalves.
Enemata. (of course. now i see.)
Fascines.
Tormina.
Roborative.
Paturient and Tormina were kind of easy to guess at. I didn't get Enemata. I guess my brain isn't programmed like that. But I know someone's whose is, and I am programmed to kill him on sight. Read these books!
If I haven't convinced you to read these books yet, here is an excerpt from HMS Surprise pg. 265 in the Harper Collins edition:
'It is clear you have been a great while at sea, to call those sandy-haired coarse-featured pimply short-necked thick-fingered vulgar-minded lubricious blockheads by such a name. Nymphs, forsooth. If they were nymphs, they must have had their being in a tolerably rank and stagnant pool: the wench on my left had an ill breath, and turning for relief I found her sister had worse; and the upper garment of neither was free from reproach. Worse lay below, I make no doubt. "La, sister," cries the one to the other, breathing across me- vile teeth; and "La, sister," cries the other. I have no notion of two sisters wearing the same clothes, the same flaunting meretricious gawds, the same tortured Gorgon curls low over their brutish criminal foreheads; it bespeaks a superfetation of vulgarity, both innate and studiously acquired. And when I think that their teeming loins will people the East...'
Rodomontade.
Farinaceous.
Widdershins.
Parturient.
Atrip.
Mooncalves.
Enemata. (of course. now i see.)
Fascines.
Tormina.
Roborative.
Paturient and Tormina were kind of easy to guess at. I didn't get Enemata. I guess my brain isn't programmed like that. But I know someone's whose is, and I am programmed to kill him on sight. Read these books!
If I haven't convinced you to read these books yet, here is an excerpt from HMS Surprise pg. 265 in the Harper Collins edition:
'It is clear you have been a great while at sea, to call those sandy-haired coarse-featured pimply short-necked thick-fingered vulgar-minded lubricious blockheads by such a name. Nymphs, forsooth. If they were nymphs, they must have had their being in a tolerably rank and stagnant pool: the wench on my left had an ill breath, and turning for relief I found her sister had worse; and the upper garment of neither was free from reproach. Worse lay below, I make no doubt. "La, sister," cries the one to the other, breathing across me- vile teeth; and "La, sister," cries the other. I have no notion of two sisters wearing the same clothes, the same flaunting meretricious gawds, the same tortured Gorgon curls low over their brutish criminal foreheads; it bespeaks a superfetation of vulgarity, both innate and studiously acquired. And when I think that their teeming loins will people the East...'
Monday, January 14, 2008
Friends Write In!
Since I have this site to keep up with you guys-as I can't remember birthdays or how to email-it makes me very happy that people send me stuff.
Jen in A-Town let's us know that Genarlow Wilson will get a chance at going to college. I am very happy for him and hope things work out. He can't get his two years back, but neither can the rest of us I guess.
David has new stuff on his blog. If you care about smart talented people, read it. If you don't, join the rest of the world.
And Summer sends us some pure Summerness:
Jen in A-Town let's us know that Genarlow Wilson will get a chance at going to college. I am very happy for him and hope things work out. He can't get his two years back, but neither can the rest of us I guess.
David has new stuff on his blog. If you care about smart talented people, read it. If you don't, join the rest of the world.
And Summer sends us some pure Summerness:
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