Last night Jake and I had some delicious okonomiyaki, and were inspired to speculate as to possible new fillings. His idea was to throw some crack rocks in, call it “cokonomiyaki.”
I about died laughing, then suggested that pot-filled “tokonomiyaki” might be less narcotic.
We then saw this car:
…in the parking lot of a local Italian restaurant. That’s right, a Ferrari 360 Modena. It even had Himeji plates.
Quite a night.
A couple days ago was the Mac’s 20th birthday. Via Daring Fireball (easily my favorite Mac web column) I discovered that Andy Hertzfeld is publishing a passel of linked anecdotes about the development of the first Macintosh.
Mr. Hertzfeld was one of the key figures in the story of the Mac, and he relates that story with an innocence and intellectual delight that is inspiring. He reminds me of my old acquaintance DeL Hutchins—both effortlessly brilliant, and about the nicest guys you’ll ever meet.
My favorite story so far is this one. I would’ve cried, too.
The mysterious smell of caramel and woodsmoke drifted through the air this morning on my way to Yoka High School. A dusting of frost covered the asphalt. It reflected the sun so brightly I almost couldn’t see.
I don’t much like winter, but sometimes, sometimes it’s lovely.
My brother Mark points out a site (with Flash trailer) for Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children, Square-Enix’s direct-to-DVD FFVII sequel.
Pointed out by Clarissa we have Steamboy, a Victorian-era steam-powered adventure from Katsuhiro Otomo. (A few years back, Otomo directed a little thing called “Akira.”)
The release of Advent Children is “Summer,” while Steamboy (the most expensive anime ever) comes out sometime in July. Allah willing, I’ll be able to catch both of them before I leave Japan.
I said the Yoka Wao tea party deserved an entry of its own, so here goes. Yoka Wao, for those of you who aren’t disgusting Takarazuka nerds, is an A-list actress in the Takarazuka Opera Company. She was the star of the production I saw with Bianca and Maeva, and has since become something of an obsession with the latter. For my part, I appreciate the good looks and style of the Takarasienne in question, but am not quite the fan(girl?) that Maeva is.
Thanks to the connections of everybody’s favorite French-Canadian, however, Julia and I were invited to an event featuring Ms. Wao; an invitation that we quickly accepted.
None of us knew what to expect from the event itself, although we were passingly familiar with Ms. Wao’s oeuvre. The term “tea party” suggested a smallish, intimate gathering, a chance to hang out with the actress, ask some questions, and generally hobnob.
And I guess it was intimate, insofar as not all of the greater Tokyo population was in attendance. Still, the gathering filled a huge, opulent hall. I say “opulent,” and it was, in an old-lady sort of way, which suited the audience. The three of us twentysomethings were easily a decade younger than the average attendee. We were also foreign. Men were a tiny minority. Did I, a young American man, feel out of place in this hall of old Japanese ladies?
No, because fanatics can smell their own. While I may not be much of a Takarazuka dork, I am still basically a dork, and that means I can relate to dorkhood in its many forms. One of my lovely escorts (I have forgotten whether it was M or J) pointed out that the mood was not unlike a Star Trek convention, and the comparison is apt.
Yoka Wao talked about recent shows as well as upcoming ones, and answered a few questions from the audience. My question (submitted on the official scrap of paper) was “Why are there so few male fans?” It did not pass the screening process.
Then, in carefully-choreographed sequence, all two thousand of us shook hands with Ms. Wao. I reckoned that everybody else would be saying “Arigatou gozaimasu” or something similarly banal, and while I can arigatou with the best of them, I decided on something different. While scooting along the hand-shaking platform briskly (each handshake lasted no more than a second) I managed to get out (in English) “Your Pierre was wonderful.” This, of course, referred to her role in Pierre the Mercenary.
She replied with “Thank you,” in English, and I’d like to think that among all the ridiculous PR events she’ll attend in her life, she’ll remember my face.
I’ll sure remember hers.
Maeva called last night. We got tickets to the L’Arc-en-Ciel concert in Osaka this summer.
That’s right. Tickets to L’Arc.
That’s all I have to say about that.
By the grace of Jake, I’ve been able to log some hours with Prince of Persia: the Sands of Time. It’s a follow up to the classic PC game, and plays something like Ico, my favorite video game of all time.
If Ico were a ninja with a scimitar who could run up walls and control time.
So now I’m no longer sure what my favorite video game of all time is. My life is a sea of ambivalence.
Also, those who know me know I need this t-shirt.
Somehow (I am not sure how) I discovered the website for a new Appleseed movie. Appleseed, Masamune Shirow’s other brilliant cyberpunk epic. It comes out in April, which is roughly the same time that the sequel to Ghost in the Shell hits theaters. Edit: Here’s the trailer for Innocence.
If memory serves, that is.
It’s enough to make this one-time otaku cry. Oh, sure, you want to get me out of the big city? Just play the fanboy card; I’ll fold every time.
I was ready to stop zooming across the Japanese geography. But the bizarre convergence that’s characterized this winter holiday zone wasn’t quite through with me yet, so early Saturday morning I was on the bullet train bound for Tokyo.
(more…)This is a bit belated, but I’m out of town and regular internet access until this coming Monday night, Japan time.
In other news, the Tokyo Apple Store is some kind of heaven. It’s like home, but with more computers. And free internet access from their phalanx of gorgeous 20” iMacs.
Dear Apple, I love you. Sincerely, Paul.