The Post-Apocalyptic Techno Poem

I really, really enjoyed this film. It argues well for the notion that more omnibus films should be made in the west. (Plenty of omnibus films are made in Asia already; in Japan there are usually three or four released a year.)

My favorite segments (in chronological order):
Bastille by Isabel Coixet.
Tour Eiffel by Sylvain Chomet.
Place des fêtes by Oliver Schmitz.
Père-Lachaise by Wes Craven.
Faubourg Saint-Denis by Tom Tykwer.
14e arrondissement by Alexander Payne.

( My absolute favorite segment, 14e arrondissment, requires some spoiling. Read on at your own discretion. )

Anyway, I really loved this film.

Bonus favorite sequences:
* During Porte de Choisy, by Christopher Doyle, one of the characters switched into Chinese and I understood every word. I even understood well enough to spot the verbal pun that was being made and to comment on it before the characters in the film did. (This caused my viewing partner, A., to claim that she hates me that much more now.)
* During Quartier de la Madeleine, by Vincenzo Natali, A. and I experienced a simultaneous irrepressible desire to laugh the minute Elijah Wood appeared onscreen. We also both immediately acknowledged that we shouldn't be laughing at him, because he's not really that funny, but that we just couldn't help it--there's just something so adorably laughable about him.

I joined some friends for 80s night at the local bowling alley this evening. In between games, drinks, and impromptu boogie sessions there were a number of free passes up for grabs.

The first two went to the proud owners of strikes; the last was left for some undefined thing. At one point the DJ declared that he wasn't sure what to do with it, whereupon I turned to him, made eye contact, and pointed at myself with both hands - in the classic "right here!" gesture. He laughed and said he'd think about it.

At the end of the night we were packing up to leave, and guess who was flagged down to receive a free pass for being awesome?

Uh-huh.

Anyone want to go bowling?

This was the most exquisite performance of the piece that I have ever seen. The conductor directed it with the utmost deliberation and care, and the performers displayed incredible precision in their playing--giving the piece tension and subtly in its tone, rhythm, and volume. For perhaps the first time, I heard every nuance of that marvelous piece. I heard it the way it was meant to be played.

I've always considered The Planets my favorite piece of classical music, and the opportunity to hear it played by a world-class orchestra at the peak of their performance reinforced that.

One further thing about the piece was brought home to me last night. I've seen it several times, in several different places, and I own a fine recording of it. Therefore, I know it well.

The little Japanese boys sitting behind me, ranging in age from perhaps seven to twelve, had never seen it before. Observing their excitement and wonder, and sometimes shock, when a particular instrument would suddenly sweep into the melody, gave me a chance to experience it through their eyes and almost hear it for the first time again.

As we were leaving, one little boy exclaimed to his father, zenzen wakaranakatta kedo, sugeiyo! ("I didn't understand at all, but it was awesome!") When I heard this piece for the first time... some fifteen or so years ago... I felt much the same way.

So, I underwent yet another shoe crisis this afternoon. I stubbed my toe on a bit of uneven sidewalk and tore my crocs. Consequently, I developed painful new blisters on the tops of my feet.

Joy.

However, there was a department party this evening--a birthday party, in fact--and that totally rocked. I taught a whole group of my peers the basic hula step, played balloon ball, watched crazy youtube clips, drank rumtastiques, conversated, did the twist, and presided over a number of bubble duels.

I was also rather free with my thunder.

I can safely say that I am a member of the sexiest department on campus, and, with plans in the works to establish myself as a founder of one of the world's foremost death metal Motown groups, I think that my illustrious future is fairly assured at this point.

Heh.

Dinner at foxxydancr's house this evening was awesome. Included in the evening's schedule were three helpings of delicious linguine in clam sauce, to-die-for cherry-chocolate cookie, and much beer. We also enjoyed the greatest crisis of modernity, jesus struck by lightning, and the above titular linguistic biff of mine that came about when I tried to determine which (now disbanded) visual-kei band I thought was more goofy: Lareine or Malice Mizer.

It's a tough call, granted, but I think the award has to go to Malice Mizer in the end. Synthesized harpsichords, yo. 'Nuff said.

Through desire to meet up with a very dear friend, I found myself in the strange world of the American Studies Association annual conference. A number of mind-bending delights awaited me; including the observation of distinguished faculty in the act of getting down to "Whoop! There It Is!" in the Marriott ballroom, and the amusing (though somewhat disheartening) application of the popularity game - graduate school style - in situations both serious and sparring. Regardless, the opportunity to spend a couple nights in the company of the fabulous A. is well worth any expenditure on my part, and I'm happy to say that our first evening together was rapture - with sinful Italian food, a little bit of funk, Gackt's magnum, and a deliciously dangerous Manhattan thrown into the mix of giggling, goofing, and gallivanting.

(I was asked at one point to define the gendering of a Manhattan cocktail, however, and that really threw me for a loop. I'm sorry to admit that, as an unserious academic, I've never bothered to ponder the gender-neutrality [or lack thereof] of alcoholic beverages. But then, again, I'm 丈夫 and tend to do what I want because of that. I've been known to drink my bourbon straight - much to the astonishment of some male friends. I've also been known to drink fuzzy navels and dance around in my pink, rose-print underwear - not to the astonishment of my male friends.)

In browsing through the ASA events listing, I found two back-to-back panels that dealt with issues related to East Asian and Asian nations as they intersected broader issues of American hegemony, colonialism, racial dynamics, politics, and sexuality, etc.

Of particular interest to my was a paper that examined the largely-forgotten "Miss Nagasaki" beauty contest of 1946, which was the brainchild of American servicemen stationed in post-war Nagasaki and which was dubbed, by servicemen newspapers, as the "Miss Atom Bomb" beauty contest. Naturally, the local women of Nagasaki - who had been brutally disfigured by the bomb - were not part of this contest. This use of bomb terminology served to legitimate and normalize the act of dropping the bomb, by implying that the Japanese of Nagasaki were so okay with the situation as to have named their contest after it. Most interestingly, the deployment of the term "Miss Atom Bomb" in place of "Miss Nagasaki" was so pervasive that it dominated accounts of the event even in Japanese history books until the mid 1990s. Thus, this legitimation of the bombing of Nagasaki was perpetuated (in the minds of other Japanese) for quite a long time after the actual event, marginalizing the citizens of Nagasaki and their experience in the process.

Now, granted, the American motivations for "taming" the terminology of the bomb often had little to do with legitimation and a lot to do with their own fears of life during the cold war era, but it is - nevertheless - a particularly ugly example of American imperialism at work.

I was blown away by this presentation.

There's some stuff that's been going on recently with my grandmother that has flat out sucked. And how could it not, right? She's dying, after all. At any rate, due to various circumstances I was compelled to give up my bed to my mother and my aunt, and I ended up spending the night at my friend, R.'s, house (rather than sleep on a couch across from J.).

Thank god for that.

When I came in at 11pm, drained from the ordeal of watching my relatives weep (and weeping myself) over that horrible old cunt (sorry, but she was... I mean, I love my grandmother, but she was a horrible old cunt), R. and her friend S. were already dozing off. I elected to try dozing off with them, although I was somewhat wired in spite of all the draining.

( We made jokes back and forth for a couple of minutes before the following exchange unfolded... )