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My Jounal Has Moved.
Apr. 10th, 2008 | 08:00 pm
See it here: feeblethemighty.blogspot.com
I've moved my journal from LiveJournal to Blogger so i can edit my blog and check my email without having to type my password in twice. Lazy, i know. Plus, it's a bit more user friendly. And, if you have a gmail account, you can login and comment on my entries. If you feel like it.
I've moved my journal from LiveJournal to Blogger so i can edit my blog and check my email without having to type my password in twice. Lazy, i know. Plus, it's a bit more user friendly. And, if you have a gmail account, you can login and comment on my entries. If you feel like it.
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gather 'round the storytime circle and let me spin you a yarn
Apr. 9th, 2008 | 08:41 pm
This is a story about a veterinarian who lived in this very town of Naganuma many, many years ago. So many years ago, that the mode of transportation du jour was on horseback. One can see why a veterinarian might easily make a living back then. He made his living travelling to different farms and houses tending to their sick horses and cattle. Himself riding his own horse.
Then one day as he was riding on his horse to someone's house, the horses rear legs suddenly went limp. At this point, he was in the middle of nowhere, at least 3 miles from anyone's house so he had to get this horse up and running again. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not figure it out. So he did what any professional does when they get frustrated.
He kicked the horse. Hard.
Then the horse jumped up, back to normal. Completely fine.
The man was dumbfounded, but as he rode his horse the last three miles to his destination, an idea struck him. Hard.
He began to experiment. If he found a horse that was sick, he would just boot the thing in the back as hard as he could. And apparently it worked. He moved on to different animals, trying out different striking methods and refining his targets. Then when he was tending to someone's animal, the owners thought he might as well treat them too since he was there.
And it worked.
People started coming to him from miles around just to get punched in the back. He continued to refine his skills to the point where he could apply the same amount of pressure without even touching his patient. That's right. He could somehow focus his energy onto a person's back and adjust their spinal column this way.
This guy is still alive and he runs a little clinic in Sapporo. He's apparently trained a few other people in his techniques. He can also read people's backs and can tell what is ailing you by the position of your vertebrae. Once, he walked up to a patient and told him that there is something wrong with his heart and he should go see his real doctor. A week later, the patient died of a heart attack. This guy's also recently become a Christian. A Mennonite, to be exact. So he treats Mennonites for free.
And i'm going to get a treatment from him tomorrow. 'Cause i want to see this for myself. And it's free.
Then one day as he was riding on his horse to someone's house, the horses rear legs suddenly went limp. At this point, he was in the middle of nowhere, at least 3 miles from anyone's house so he had to get this horse up and running again. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not figure it out. So he did what any professional does when they get frustrated.
He kicked the horse. Hard.
Then the horse jumped up, back to normal. Completely fine.
The man was dumbfounded, but as he rode his horse the last three miles to his destination, an idea struck him. Hard.
He began to experiment. If he found a horse that was sick, he would just boot the thing in the back as hard as he could. And apparently it worked. He moved on to different animals, trying out different striking methods and refining his targets. Then when he was tending to someone's animal, the owners thought he might as well treat them too since he was there.
And it worked.
People started coming to him from miles around just to get punched in the back. He continued to refine his skills to the point where he could apply the same amount of pressure without even touching his patient. That's right. He could somehow focus his energy onto a person's back and adjust their spinal column this way.
This guy is still alive and he runs a little clinic in Sapporo. He's apparently trained a few other people in his techniques. He can also read people's backs and can tell what is ailing you by the position of your vertebrae. Once, he walked up to a patient and told him that there is something wrong with his heart and he should go see his real doctor. A week later, the patient died of a heart attack. This guy's also recently become a Christian. A Mennonite, to be exact. So he treats Mennonites for free.
And i'm going to get a treatment from him tomorrow. 'Cause i want to see this for myself. And it's free.
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intermission: a well composed picture
Apr. 8th, 2008 | 07:47 pm
We actually ate some of these brightly coloured weeds at supper today. Once you cover them in tempura and some sauce of unknown description, they're pretty good.
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Tampopo didn't let me down
Apr. 6th, 2008 | 01:37 pm
For those unfamiliar with the movie Tampopo, it's a Japanese "noodle western" about a woman (named, quite appropriately, Tampopo) who is trying to run her own ramen noodle shop. It's also the movie that gave me a massive craving to go to one of these ramen noodle shops and it's also partly responsible for my decision to go to Japan. Now, i can finally say that i've been to one of these shops. And it was totally worth the trip. Holy crap. So tasty, so good.
This is the shop we went to. Not entirely sure what the sign means, but the little dragon sitting on a cloud slurping ramen noodles was enough to get the idea. We entered through the sliding door on the right. The actual part where you sit down is kinda further off to the right of the picture. I tried to get a picture of it, but it was too dark outside and the windows were so steamed up, you couldn't see inside.
Once inside, we ordered our food off of this menu. Well, Ray did. Generally since ramen shops have a very limited menu (only 6 items at this one and two add rice options) and a specialty, people already know what they want before they come in. Ray and his two sons explained the options to me as we drove. I picked the kim chee ramen which on the menu is the one with 750 under it.
Then the cook got to work. This guy made a pretty good show of it. Splashing water and sauce over the pan as he threw ingredients in. Fire flaring up. He was fast too. About 4 minutes after we ordered, all four of us had our food. This is the Japanese traditional equivalent to our fast food joints or greasy spoon restaurants. This ramen shop was locally owned so the kitchen was a little messier than a chain shop would be which only added to the whole ambiance and overall appeal of the experience.
Watching our food being prepared. That's Ray on the far left with his sons, Yohe and Kazu. There was a bookshelf on one wall of the shop that was filled with Japanese comic books that you could read while you wait. If you know your kanji, that is. I know the kanji for "book" and "tree". That's about it. So, now i can tell if a building is a bookstore.
Finally! It arrives in all it's fat glistening glory. Just looking at this picture makes me want more. Good god was it ever good. Probably not so good for the body, but definitely good for the soul. You may not be able to tell from this picture, but this is a big bowl of soup. I could probably fit my face in the bowl. I couldn't finish all of it, but i wanted to. I remember eating the last little bit of broth i could muster and watching another patron getting their food and i was jealous that they get to experience this from the beginning. Fresh sprouts and green onions piled on top of their slice of pork...
Mmmm....
Mmmm....
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Has anyone read this movie?
Apr. 3rd, 2008 | 08:45 pm
Good morning everybody, sit down and shut up. It's time to think. Got your coffee? Good. Cause it's going to be a long day. We are going to make a big blockbuster movie. With explosions and computer graphics and a hot girl. We've already paid for two million dollars worth of explosions, another two million worth of computer graphics and two thousand on breast implants. They've already started making computer models of a white Corvette and a Harrier jet. They're quite slick. We just need some context for them. Some people maybe. Characters. Possibly involved in a "story." Got it? Start thinking. Wilson! Are you reading? Don't give me that head shaky no crap. I can see that book in front of your face. Give it here. And get your fingers to your temples and start thinking like everyone else. Look at Johnson over here. See that vein popping out a quarter inch from his forehead? That's an extra quarter mil on his next paycheck. What is this book? Jumper? Ha! Sounds real exciting, Wilson. Can't wait for the sequel, Jump Roper. Johnson thinks it's funny. Where do you get this crap from, Wilson? Your mother's basement? What? This Jumper guy can teleport? Pppfff. That's not realistic at all. Unless he explodes when he teleports. Does he explode when he teleports? No? He should. Say, this Jumper book doesn't sound so bad anymore. What else happens in it? What? I'm not going to read this. Too many words in those word sentence things. Tell me what happens. Did i hear you correctly? His dad's a drunk and he's looking for his mom? Awwww. What a tough life. Does he wear black and listen to Linkin Park, too? 'Cause actually i hear that's what the kids are into these days. I bet his life would be tougher if there was some secret government agency set up to rid the world of these teleporting people. A secret government agency with tazers! And! A mission from God. If we throw in some religious jargon, we'll get some free press from the Christians who try to ban it. Perfect. Man, this kid could do whatever the hell he wants to and he'd never be caught. What teenager in our target group wouldn't want that? What? No, dummy. They're for my wife.
No, really, the book is awesome and the movie is complete and utter Hollywood wank. In the book, David Rice is actually a dynamic character who just wants to be a normal kid with a special ability, but whose good intentions are twisted by his own actions. In the movie, David Rice is living the dream. Being able to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants with no conseqence because of his teleporting ability. Oh, wait, sorry. He has to answer to Samuel L. Jackson's bleached hair and high tech cattle prod thing. But that just means he has to fight him, not change his ways at all.
I bought the book with this movie cover on it and it painfully obvious that they have no respect for the writer of the book whatsoever. Nor the original ideas that they took and bastardized for the movie. The book cover says, "Jumper from the director of the Bourne Identity." It made me ill. So i took care of it.
Ahhh. Much better.
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Ukuleles are difficult to find when you're Hard Off
Apr. 2nd, 2008 | 09:14 pm
On Tuesday, i went with Aki and her son Kazu to deliver their daikon radishes, potatoes and eggs to some customers in Sapporo. It wasn't a big job, they only had 13 drop-off points most of which were to individuals who wanted a carton of eggs and a single daikon radish, but it took up the entire afternoon. We took our time, stopping off at a few different shops along the way and getting other side jobs done. We even had lunch in the car. Two tasty rice balls, stuffed with mushrooms, seaweed and tiny fish wrapped in seaweed and packaged in a traditional lunch food paper.
I had fun quickly switching between these two pictures on my camera.
One thing Kazu likes to do is point out the differences between Japan and Canada. Especially the funny English in some of the signs. Almost every sign in Sapporo had some sort of English on it so theres always a good chance of finding a gem. Kazu is about 13 years old. He grew up attending public school in the States somewhere so his English is pretty much perfect and he can enjoy these signs as much as any English speaker. He made sure i saw this one on the side of a concrete factory:
Oops! Concrete Basics for Life
One of Ray's favorites was a store called Hard Off. I didn't even want to venture a guess as to what that store would be for, but on our Sapporo delivery trip we visited a few of these Hard Off stores.
A big thing in Japan, or at least in Hokkaido, are recycle shops. Think of them as kind of a high end pawn shop or Value Village where they actually give you money for your stuff and display them as neatly as any department store. Stores such as Oki Doki and Second Street take anything and everything. In the "Off" line of stores there's Off House, for your home appliances and clothing, Book Off, for books, Hobby Off, for collectible figurines and such, and Hard Off, for your music and home entertainment desires. However, because these shops are so popular, the prices are higher than what you might find at a Value Village.
The reason we went to Hard Off was to find a ukulele for me to play because i stupidly left mine on the bannister at Curt's house right as we left for the airport. Baka. Apparently, my other brother Tim had impressed them enough with his ukulele that Ray and Aki were counting on me to play for a few people at their Mochi making party on April 26th. When i told Ray the day i arrived in Hokkaido, he and Aki were already scheming the next day as to how i could get a new one. This was before asking me about all this, of course, but i couldn't say no.
Turns out, out of the three Hard Offs we visited, only one had ukuleles but they were new, expensive and didn't have tuning gears. Aki was surprised, she had seen ukuleles in droves during her previous visit. I suggested that perhaps it's ukulele season.
I had fun quickly switching between these two pictures on my camera.
One thing Kazu likes to do is point out the differences between Japan and Canada. Especially the funny English in some of the signs. Almost every sign in Sapporo had some sort of English on it so theres always a good chance of finding a gem. Kazu is about 13 years old. He grew up attending public school in the States somewhere so his English is pretty much perfect and he can enjoy these signs as much as any English speaker. He made sure i saw this one on the side of a concrete factory:
Oops! Concrete Basics for Life
One of Ray's favorites was a store called Hard Off. I didn't even want to venture a guess as to what that store would be for, but on our Sapporo delivery trip we visited a few of these Hard Off stores.
A big thing in Japan, or at least in Hokkaido, are recycle shops. Think of them as kind of a high end pawn shop or Value Village where they actually give you money for your stuff and display them as neatly as any department store. Stores such as Oki Doki and Second Street take anything and everything. In the "Off" line of stores there's Off House, for your home appliances and clothing, Book Off, for books, Hobby Off, for collectible figurines and such, and Hard Off, for your music and home entertainment desires. However, because these shops are so popular, the prices are higher than what you might find at a Value Village.
The reason we went to Hard Off was to find a ukulele for me to play because i stupidly left mine on the bannister at Curt's house right as we left for the airport. Baka. Apparently, my other brother Tim had impressed them enough with his ukulele that Ray and Aki were counting on me to play for a few people at their Mochi making party on April 26th. When i told Ray the day i arrived in Hokkaido, he and Aki were already scheming the next day as to how i could get a new one. This was before asking me about all this, of course, but i couldn't say no.
Turns out, out of the three Hard Offs we visited, only one had ukuleles but they were new, expensive and didn't have tuning gears. Aki was surprised, she had seen ukuleles in droves during her previous visit. I suggested that perhaps it's ukulele season.
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shoes and bathing naked in public
Mar. 29th, 2008 | 09:28 am
Yesterday Ray and Aki and family took me to "onsen" which is a traditional Japanese hot springs slash bath house. I remember talking on the phone with Tim and the first thing he told me about was this particular cultural experience. He gave me a few pointers like proper use of the onsen wash cloth and warned me that everybody in onsen walk around naked and that i shouldn't be surprised to see a woman in the men's change area handing out cloths or something. Luckily, there wasn't a woman in the change area when we went.
There seemed to be a lot of unwritten rules when going to the bathhouse and i was very nervous that i would make some sort of henious cultural error, being very aware of the people around me and mentally translating anyone and everyone's Japanese dialogue into observations on my lack of knowledge. I felt like everything i did was an embarrasement to myself and the people around me. Thankfully, Ray was there to quietly give me tips and guide me through the process. Though a lot of his tips amounted to "just make it look like you know what you're doing."
I'd heard about the Japanese tradition of cleaning onself before bathing, but i never knew how ritualistic it was. Unlike in Canada, where most people give themselves a 15 second squirt of water before entering a pool, showering took up about 15 minutes of our time there. The walls of the bathing area had showering stations complete with showering wands, soap, shampoo, a stool and water basin for your washcloth. Before sitting down, Ray said to spray off the little stool "to make it look like you know what you're doing." You then spend a good amount of time making sure every part of your body is thouroughly cleaned and scrubbed with your soapy washcloth. Then only after you've made sure there is no soapy residue left on your body and your cloth is clean can you enter the hot tub. But both Ray and Tim warned me not to get the washcloth wet while soaking in the tub but to fold it up and place it on my head.
Since i hadn't had a bath or shower since arriving in Japan, it turned out to be a very relaxing and cleansing experience. It made me wonder if onsen had it's roots in some sort of spiritual aspect, eg. cleansing one's body and spirit. They're very respectful of their bodies here and very considerate to others. They even have toilet sandals that you're supposed to put on as you enter the washroom.
Which brings me to the topic of shoes.
When we entered the onsen building, we walked up to a bunch of lockers lined up along the wall with raised carpet platform about a foot off the ground. As a person who has a penchant for climbing up on things, i automatically stood up on this platform. Right away Ray yelled at me, "Marlon! Get down!" as if someone was shooting at me or something. He explained to me that anytime there is a raised platform, usually with carpet, it is not for shoes. Ever. It is to be kept clean and separate from the outdoors. He also told me that when entering someone elses house, they will have a pair of guest slippers for you to wear and when you go to the washroom, you need to change from the guest slippers into the toilet slippers and back again. He said it's quite embarrasing to accidentally leave the toilet ones on after exiting the washroom because they have "toilet" written on them, quite plainly, in English.
Anyways, it's time to go check on the chickens. Water them, gather eggs, etc.
There seemed to be a lot of unwritten rules when going to the bathhouse and i was very nervous that i would make some sort of henious cultural error, being very aware of the people around me and mentally translating anyone and everyone's Japanese dialogue into observations on my lack of knowledge. I felt like everything i did was an embarrasement to myself and the people around me. Thankfully, Ray was there to quietly give me tips and guide me through the process. Though a lot of his tips amounted to "just make it look like you know what you're doing."
I'd heard about the Japanese tradition of cleaning onself before bathing, but i never knew how ritualistic it was. Unlike in Canada, where most people give themselves a 15 second squirt of water before entering a pool, showering took up about 15 minutes of our time there. The walls of the bathing area had showering stations complete with showering wands, soap, shampoo, a stool and water basin for your washcloth. Before sitting down, Ray said to spray off the little stool "to make it look like you know what you're doing." You then spend a good amount of time making sure every part of your body is thouroughly cleaned and scrubbed with your soapy washcloth. Then only after you've made sure there is no soapy residue left on your body and your cloth is clean can you enter the hot tub. But both Ray and Tim warned me not to get the washcloth wet while soaking in the tub but to fold it up and place it on my head.
Since i hadn't had a bath or shower since arriving in Japan, it turned out to be a very relaxing and cleansing experience. It made me wonder if onsen had it's roots in some sort of spiritual aspect, eg. cleansing one's body and spirit. They're very respectful of their bodies here and very considerate to others. They even have toilet sandals that you're supposed to put on as you enter the washroom.
Which brings me to the topic of shoes.
When we entered the onsen building, we walked up to a bunch of lockers lined up along the wall with raised carpet platform about a foot off the ground. As a person who has a penchant for climbing up on things, i automatically stood up on this platform. Right away Ray yelled at me, "Marlon! Get down!" as if someone was shooting at me or something. He explained to me that anytime there is a raised platform, usually with carpet, it is not for shoes. Ever. It is to be kept clean and separate from the outdoors. He also told me that when entering someone elses house, they will have a pair of guest slippers for you to wear and when you go to the washroom, you need to change from the guest slippers into the toilet slippers and back again. He said it's quite embarrasing to accidentally leave the toilet ones on after exiting the washroom because they have "toilet" written on them, quite plainly, in English.
Anyways, it's time to go check on the chickens. Water them, gather eggs, etc.
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Life in a metal tube of recycled air, 35,000 feet above the ground
Mar. 28th, 2008 | 11:58 am
current location: Menno Village
When the flight attendant walked up to me with her tray of drinks on my flight from Tokyo Haneda Airport to Sapporo, my North American mouth craved a cold, refreshing beverage. I was so tired. I'd been up essentially for 40 hours straight not counting the tiny naps i had on the plane and my mouth was so dry. The flight attendant said something in Japanese, obviously asking what i wanted, and i pointed to a plastic pitcher filled with iced tea. She had a few obvious drinks like a box of orange juice, but i thought i could use a little inculturalization. She poured me a little cup of it and as soon as it hit my lips something wasn't right. It wasn't cold at all. It wasn't tea at all.
It was a cup of hot chicken noodle broth. And it was delicious.
It took me a while to get used to it, my mouth still in the mood for something cold and wet and sweet, but i think this is my new favorite airplane drink. It was then that i finally learned that i can't judge a juice by it's packaging. When i was waiting for my plane in Tokyo Haneda, i bought a green bottle of green tea from a vending machine. At least, i assumed it was green tea because of it's green packaging and green liquid. Turns out i was right, but it's not sweetened like the ones in Canada are. It's pretty bitter. But refreshing nonetheless.
Anyways, apparently I'm already supposed to take care of the chickens by myself this weekend. Should be an entertaining time.
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Airport Security
Mar. 26th, 2008 | 10:02 am
current location: Vancouver Airport
current audio: The soother sounds of boarding calls
I think i may have dozed off a little on the plane. I missed about thirty minutes of the movie Juno. That's the most sleep i've had in the past 24 hours. I would be exhausted, but my hunger seems to be overriding whatever emergency sleep mechanisms are in place. It seems Vancouver terminal is in some sort of construction limbo so there's hardly anywhere to sit down and enjoy a meal.
Man, i'm so glad i found this internet terminal. I didn't write down the number for the place i'm staying at in Japan so i was thinking about getting it off my email the whole flight. I simultaneously love and hate that sitting in front of this little box can make me happy. My trip suddenly felt very lonely when i got on the plane. The guy beside me couldn't stop fiddling with his cell phone, even though you're not supposed to use them on the plane. It felt even lonlier when i got off the plane into this huge terminal that takes 10 minutes to walk from one gate to another. But as soon as i checked my email and found out that Curt and I are indeed going to be at Folkfest again this year, i couldn't be happier.
This will be an interesting experience travelling alone. I know if i just loosen up and act normal, i could probably be meeting new people all over the place. But there's just something about airports and airport security that makes me nervous. It's like a feedback loop. I start to get nervous because maybe there's something in my bag that i didn't know was there and they'll hassle me. Then my just being nervous makes me nervous because then i'll look suspicious and so on.
Until the airplane's nose tilts up and the wings sink and settle comfortably on a cushion of air. That part always feels good. Like going over small hills in a car in fast succession. That tingly stomach feeling. You know the one.
Anyways, i've only got 2 minutes remaining on this here computer. I guess i'm off to see the world.
Not without snagging a sandwich first.
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Mental note: mental notes don't remember by themselves
Mar. 26th, 2008 | 01:53 am
current location: Curt's
current audio: My laundry in the dryer
It's 2am. My flight leaves in 6 hours.
Crap.
This trip still hasn't hit me with it's reality yet. When i took Dave to the airport on Saturday, he said it didn't hit him really until he started making a playlist on his mp3 player an hour before i picked him up. I haven't done that yet. Maybe it'll hit me then. Or maybe while my brother and i are in a heated match of Sega Rally in the airport arcade i'll just zone out, my foot slipping off the pedal and i'll just be staring blankly into the screen as he overtakes me and hits the finish. I don't know. Perhaps it won't even hit me until i'm on my flight back home in June.
Today was made up of equal parts productivity and forgetfulness, a pinch of time constraints and garnished with a little Hoegaarden, some Amaretto and Coke and a satisfying round of Zombie Plague. My brother Tim said it would be a good idea to buy myself some rubber boots since they don't have them in my size in Japan. I was going to get some, but remembered that Ray (the guy who runs the farm i'm going to be working at) never mentioned it. So, i'm taking my chances. Tim also said that a hat is a good idea and i made a mental note to get one today. Never did get one of those, but i haven't heard of a hat shortage in Japan recently.
The one thing i forgot that really made me made mad was cinnamon buns. Not just any cinnamon buns. You know which ones i'm talking about. Yes, Tall Grass Bakery cinnamon buns. The BEST cinnamon buns. You see, apparently this guy Ray lived in Winnipeg many years ago and actually started Tall Grass Bakery. So, he contacts me at one point and asks if it would be possible for me to bring some cinnamon buns from there because he misses the place. I tell him i'll try and i make a mental note to get some the morning that i leave. Little did i realize that Tall Grass doesn't open until 7am, by which time i'll have checked my luggage in already and even if i went back to get some, i couldn't take it anyways because of the crazy strict security.
Sigh. Aw, well. I feel bad, but it's probably not even that big a deal.
Ray also asked if i could take a picture of the place because he hasn't seen it in a while, so i thought i could still do that at least. Curse my mental noting. Wait, i suppose it's already cursed.
Back to packing.
Crap.
This trip still hasn't hit me with it's reality yet. When i took Dave to the airport on Saturday, he said it didn't hit him really until he started making a playlist on his mp3 player an hour before i picked him up. I haven't done that yet. Maybe it'll hit me then. Or maybe while my brother and i are in a heated match of Sega Rally in the airport arcade i'll just zone out, my foot slipping off the pedal and i'll just be staring blankly into the screen as he overtakes me and hits the finish. I don't know. Perhaps it won't even hit me until i'm on my flight back home in June.
Today was made up of equal parts productivity and forgetfulness, a pinch of time constraints and garnished with a little Hoegaarden, some Amaretto and Coke and a satisfying round of Zombie Plague. My brother Tim said it would be a good idea to buy myself some rubber boots since they don't have them in my size in Japan. I was going to get some, but remembered that Ray (the guy who runs the farm i'm going to be working at) never mentioned it. So, i'm taking my chances. Tim also said that a hat is a good idea and i made a mental note to get one today. Never did get one of those, but i haven't heard of a hat shortage in Japan recently.
The one thing i forgot that really made me made mad was cinnamon buns. Not just any cinnamon buns. You know which ones i'm talking about. Yes, Tall Grass Bakery cinnamon buns. The BEST cinnamon buns. You see, apparently this guy Ray lived in Winnipeg many years ago and actually started Tall Grass Bakery. So, he contacts me at one point and asks if it would be possible for me to bring some cinnamon buns from there because he misses the place. I tell him i'll try and i make a mental note to get some the morning that i leave. Little did i realize that Tall Grass doesn't open until 7am, by which time i'll have checked my luggage in already and even if i went back to get some, i couldn't take it anyways because of the crazy strict security.
Sigh. Aw, well. I feel bad, but it's probably not even that big a deal.
Ray also asked if i could take a picture of the place because he hasn't seen it in a while, so i thought i could still do that at least. Curse my mental noting. Wait, i suppose it's already cursed.
Back to packing.
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On Ventures Ad Nauseum or: Japan Begins!
Mar. 20th, 2008 | 05:38 pm
current audio: Crystal Skulls - Blocked Numbers
It's the last day of work at Bucc's. Feels so bizzare right now. Things still haven't really hit me yet, even though life is getting hectic trying to schedule friends in beside moving everything out of my apartment. I know it's my last day at work, i'm excited, but ultimately i feel my brain is thinking "you're going to have a few drinks tonight, pass out and when you wake up, everything is going to be the same and you're going to go back to work the next day."
No, brain. No.
On Wednesday morning, when my flight leaves at 8am from Winnipeg International Airport, my apartment will not be mine anymore, i won't be going back to work and, most importantly, i'll be on my way to a whole 'nother continent with whole other customs and food and routines and languages. I'll be eating my meals on the floor, sitting cross-legged with chopsticks, taking baths after taking showers, sliding doors, harvesting rice on an organic farm, working outside, getting my hands dirty, possibly even taking care of various animals. Life will be completely and utterly flipped for three months.
Better get used to it, brain. Besides it's good for you.
I don't think i've ever been so excited for gardening. Never thought i even had the capacity to be excited for gardening. Or if i did, i didn't think it would happen until i'm at least thirty-five years old. Spring has a way of making me grumpy when i'm stuck working indoors all day when the weather's nice. So working outside will be a very welcome change. I guess that's mainly why i'm excited. 'Cause weeding was never my favorite pastime.
No, brain. No.
On Wednesday morning, when my flight leaves at 8am from Winnipeg International Airport, my apartment will not be mine anymore, i won't be going back to work and, most importantly, i'll be on my way to a whole 'nother continent with whole other customs and food and routines and languages. I'll be eating my meals on the floor, sitting cross-legged with chopsticks, taking baths after taking showers, sliding doors, harvesting rice on an organic farm, working outside, getting my hands dirty, possibly even taking care of various animals. Life will be completely and utterly flipped for three months.
Better get used to it, brain. Besides it's good for you.
I don't think i've ever been so excited for gardening. Never thought i even had the capacity to be excited for gardening. Or if i did, i didn't think it would happen until i'm at least thirty-five years old. Spring has a way of making me grumpy when i'm stuck working indoors all day when the weather's nice. So working outside will be a very welcome change. I guess that's mainly why i'm excited. 'Cause weeding was never my favorite pastime.
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Man Fashions Knife out of Shit, Kills Dog, Uses Ribcage as Makeshift Sled
Nov. 20th, 2007 | 12:21 pm
current audio: Boats! - Intercontenental Champion
I didn't believe it when Roberta told me this story a few days ago at work. She told me it was part of a sort of lecture about different cultures that was videotaped and uploaded onto some website. Curious, I followed her directions to a website called ted.com. I'm still not sure what the objective of the site is officially, but it seems to just be a collection of talks or informal lectures from experts in their respective fields for the sole purpose of sharing ideas. After watching the video that Roberta was talking about, which was by a man from National Geographic who explores human culture (or the ethnosphere as he called it), I was hooked.
I watched another talk from a neurologist who explored the functions of the brain by researching people with selective brain damage or conditions such as phantom limb. He also researched people with synesthesia, which is where a person is able to smell a sound or a see a certain musical tone as a colour. This condition, this intermingling of different areas of the brain is more prevalent in artists, he said, and could be the reason why we can understand metaphors and abstract thinking. Fascinating stuff.
It doesn't seem like the talks have a overarching theme, either. It kinda makes the whole thing seem like the Wikipedia of the YouTube world. A sort of intellectual time waster. I guess I'm just happy to find a video site that is entertaining, yet interesting enough to talk about the next day.
I watched another talk from a neurologist who explored the functions of the brain by researching people with selective brain damage or conditions such as phantom limb. He also researched people with synesthesia, which is where a person is able to smell a sound or a see a certain musical tone as a colour. This condition, this intermingling of different areas of the brain is more prevalent in artists, he said, and could be the reason why we can understand metaphors and abstract thinking. Fascinating stuff.
It doesn't seem like the talks have a overarching theme, either. It kinda makes the whole thing seem like the Wikipedia of the YouTube world. A sort of intellectual time waster. I guess I'm just happy to find a video site that is entertaining, yet interesting enough to talk about the next day.
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Germs Are and Will Always Be Part of Your Complete Breakfast
Nov. 15th, 2007 | 04:45 pm
current audio: Caribou - Andorra
My mother was a health nut. When my brothers and I were young, she militantly made us wash our hands before a meal. Even before we used the computer. She had a subscription to Prevention magazine and she would bring up relevant topics from it while engaged in a typical family dinner. When I got a cold, she would shake her head with a knowing smile and tell me--making sure my brothers were within earshot--that I should have heeded her advice. Then, she would make sure that I washed my hands twice as often to make sure my brothers did not get infected. Especially after rubbing my eyes or wiping a line of snot on the back of my hand.
It makes sense. It's her motherly instinct to make sure her sons don't get sick and die. But, I had always thought she was a little too germ conscience. It's just a little cold, right? Everyone gets one eventually. Why bother trying to delay the inevitable?
Even though my brothers and I thought she was going a little overboard, we would still wash our hands before meals, usually after reaching a certain quota of whining. Looking back on it, though, I think she was fighting an equal and opposite force: a child's instincts towards curiousity, exploration and a certain penchant for getting really, really dirty. Perhaps children's immune systems just up and say "hey kid, we're bored. Go lick dirt." It might cause sickness, stomach cramps and the like, but you'll be all the better for it after.
Thus, germs are good for you. They make you fitter, happier, possibly even more productive. Right?
I took the Food Handler's Safety course today and the instructor told us of one particular adventure she had in health inspecting where a bakery actually had pigeons flying around in the production area. When she asked why nothing had been done about it, the workers promptly set about killing the pigeons right in front of her.
There are limits to everything, people.
It makes sense. It's her motherly instinct to make sure her sons don't get sick and die. But, I had always thought she was a little too germ conscience. It's just a little cold, right? Everyone gets one eventually. Why bother trying to delay the inevitable?
Even though my brothers and I thought she was going a little overboard, we would still wash our hands before meals, usually after reaching a certain quota of whining. Looking back on it, though, I think she was fighting an equal and opposite force: a child's instincts towards curiousity, exploration and a certain penchant for getting really, really dirty. Perhaps children's immune systems just up and say "hey kid, we're bored. Go lick dirt." It might cause sickness, stomach cramps and the like, but you'll be all the better for it after.
Thus, germs are good for you. They make you fitter, happier, possibly even more productive. Right?
I took the Food Handler's Safety course today and the instructor told us of one particular adventure she had in health inspecting where a bakery actually had pigeons flying around in the production area. When she asked why nothing had been done about it, the workers promptly set about killing the pigeons right in front of her.
There are limits to everything, people.
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Placebo Overdose
Nov. 13th, 2007 | 02:56 am
current audio: Pepe Deluxe - Spare Time Machine
Saw two stupendous shows at Winnipeg's own Royal Albert Arms this month.
Thursday the first of November brought Electro Quarterstaff. Electro Quarterstaff, in turn, came three guitars strong (and one bass...er...wide?) and delivered some wicked guitarmonies to the Albert. The Albert--bless it's misguided-but-well-meaning pillar--then wrapped the whole deal up in a nice numbing blanket of beer that grew thicker and warmer as the night drew on. The name of the opening band escapes me for the moment, but it was a local drum and bass duo ala Death From Above and I think I enjoyed them slightly more than Electro. They had a similar style, but seemed tighter and more coherent. Though, that could be because by the time Electro Quarterstaff hit the stage, my blanket of beer was already three or four layers thick and their sound muddied into a very loud and frantic drone.
This is not to say the show was not enjoyable, the pounding of the double-kicks was so intense, I ended up closing my eyes just to let the rhythm hit my chest. An odd thing to do at a metal show, sure. Especially since the last metal-esque show I saw at the Albert was the Fucking Champs and I kicked it in the pit.
Last Monday Caribou came to the Albert. I was set on going to this show no matter what, but I was delighted to hear that it was going to be at the Albert because the Albert will only kick ass for another month before being released into the wilds of new ownership, renovation and probable sterility and impotency. I needed to get the most out of the Albert before it loses it's drive.
Anyways, I was pumped for the show. Caribou's new album is a delightful throwback to 60s era psychedelia which could have stirred some latent desire to do drugs because I really wanted to smoke up before the show.
Turns out I didn't need to.
Like his show last year, frontman Dan Snaith brought with him his entourage (which this time seemed to consist of three indie-rock hobbits, the bassist looking almost identical to Pippin) and a video projector to make sure your senses are properly bombarded on all applicable AV fronts. But they chose to forgo the cute little animations of crows and cowboys of last year for a more simplistic and effective approach of bright colours and patterns that flashed and swirled in time with the music. The songs they played were identical to their recorded counterparts. I guess the DVD that supplied the visuals also supplied some instruments and vocals that were on the album that could not be duplicated with a four-man band.
But even though Caribou was missing some of the immediacy and imperfections I enjoy about seeing a band live, the show was pure gravy. Bars of colour flashed to the drums. They never missed a beat. People danced. I couldn't stop staring at the bright shininess of blues, whites and reds. My mouth must have gone slack because my eyes and ears were too busy trying to keep up with all the stimulus. Everything was perfect.
Heh. I just think it's funny that the last two Albert shows I've been at--and quite possibly the last two shows I'll ever go to--probably made me look like a total stoner when I never touch the stuff.
Thanks, the Albert. Look what you've done. Now I'm going to start saying stupid things like "music is my drug" and "bright shininess". Ah, but they were good times. I'll be sad to see you go.
Thursday the first of November brought Electro Quarterstaff. Electro Quarterstaff, in turn, came three guitars strong (and one bass...er...wide?) and delivered some wicked guitarmonies to the Albert. The Albert--bless it's misguided-but-well-meaning pillar--then wrapped the whole deal up in a nice numbing blanket of beer that grew thicker and warmer as the night drew on. The name of the opening band escapes me for the moment, but it was a local drum and bass duo ala Death From Above and I think I enjoyed them slightly more than Electro. They had a similar style, but seemed tighter and more coherent. Though, that could be because by the time Electro Quarterstaff hit the stage, my blanket of beer was already three or four layers thick and their sound muddied into a very loud and frantic drone.
This is not to say the show was not enjoyable, the pounding of the double-kicks was so intense, I ended up closing my eyes just to let the rhythm hit my chest. An odd thing to do at a metal show, sure. Especially since the last metal-esque show I saw at the Albert was the Fucking Champs and I kicked it in the pit.
Last Monday Caribou came to the Albert. I was set on going to this show no matter what, but I was delighted to hear that it was going to be at the Albert because the Albert will only kick ass for another month before being released into the wilds of new ownership, renovation and probable sterility and impotency. I needed to get the most out of the Albert before it loses it's drive.
Anyways, I was pumped for the show. Caribou's new album is a delightful throwback to 60s era psychedelia which could have stirred some latent desire to do drugs because I really wanted to smoke up before the show.
Turns out I didn't need to.
Like his show last year, frontman Dan Snaith brought with him his entourage (which this time seemed to consist of three indie-rock hobbits, the bassist looking almost identical to Pippin) and a video projector to make sure your senses are properly bombarded on all applicable AV fronts. But they chose to forgo the cute little animations of crows and cowboys of last year for a more simplistic and effective approach of bright colours and patterns that flashed and swirled in time with the music. The songs they played were identical to their recorded counterparts. I guess the DVD that supplied the visuals also supplied some instruments and vocals that were on the album that could not be duplicated with a four-man band.
But even though Caribou was missing some of the immediacy and imperfections I enjoy about seeing a band live, the show was pure gravy. Bars of colour flashed to the drums. They never missed a beat. People danced. I couldn't stop staring at the bright shininess of blues, whites and reds. My mouth must have gone slack because my eyes and ears were too busy trying to keep up with all the stimulus. Everything was perfect.
Heh. I just think it's funny that the last two Albert shows I've been at--and quite possibly the last two shows I'll ever go to--probably made me look like a total stoner when I never touch the stuff.
Thanks, the Albert. Look what you've done. Now I'm going to start saying stupid things like "music is my drug" and "bright shininess". Ah, but they were good times. I'll be sad to see you go.
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Gak!
Nov. 9th, 2007 | 12:00 am
current audio: The Octopus Project - Hello, Avalanche
How'd this happen? How did i end up on this site and acting as if i'm going to write a journal entry? How long has it been? A year? No. Lies. Half that.
Now that you're here, what are you going to do, Marlon? You going to finish this entry? Like so many of your dead projects? Besides, it's been said that people who journal are much more likely to have anxiety problems or something. Science says so. Or did science say that people who have anxiety write journals? Science always seems to change it's mind.
Screw science, that flippant jerk, i can conduct my own experiment on journals and the effects on my own person. I learned the scientific method in grade 8, this should be easy. Let's see...
Well. That was an interesting experiment. Though, there are seven steps to the scientific method. I forget what it is. But, it was fun and I suppose we might be seeing more of each other, journal. But not too much more.
I'm off to the Toad.
Now that you're here, what are you going to do, Marlon? You going to finish this entry? Like so many of your dead projects? Besides, it's been said that people who journal are much more likely to have anxiety problems or something. Science says so. Or did science say that people who have anxiety write journals? Science always seems to change it's mind.
Screw science, that flippant jerk, i can conduct my own experiment on journals and the effects on my own person. I learned the scientific method in grade 8, this should be easy. Let's see...
Objective: To observe and record the physiological and emotional effects of writing on Marlon's human brain. Not writing on Marlon's brain but the act of writing on Marlon's brain. Er...you know what it means.
Hypothesis: Marlon will sporadically and unevenly write entries, thusly making data gathering a rather difficult hoop-jumping affair and a test of the core beliefs/practices of science itself. Possibly resulting in the degradation of scientists' reputations around the world and the need for a new scientific method.
Equipment: Marlon's Brain, delicious Orange-Carrot flavoured Sobe beverages and Winamp.
Procedure: Mix equipment in a small apartment. Chill and enjoy.
Observation: Marlon has written one entry. No physiological differences can be seen at this point, i.e. he has not sporadically lost any hair nor grown a full beard. Seems to be getting some sort of satisfaction at the simple notion that he is in fact writing something. Anything.
Conclusion: Science cannot help him grow a beard.
Well. That was an interesting experiment. Though, there are seven steps to the scientific method. I forget what it is. But, it was fun and I suppose we might be seeing more of each other, journal. But not too much more.
I'm off to the Toad.
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New guitar mode is go!
Apr. 6th, 2007 | 02:45 am
current audio: Talkdemonic
Check what i got last Friday!
Just imagine this guitar without a whammy bar and a kind of dark mahogany color. Then imagine it sounds like pure gold. Even before I lay my magical fingers on it's shiny, shiny fretboard.
Just imagine this guitar without a whammy bar and a kind of dark mahogany color. Then imagine it sounds like pure gold. Even before I lay my magical fingers on it's shiny, shiny fretboard.
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Clouded Judgement Day: Unintentional Allusions?
Apr. 6th, 2007 | 01:57 am
Two things:
Over the course of a long day of work, my glasses tend to get coated in a sort of oily sheen from all of the vapour that comes from cooking meals. It's a gradual process which ever-so-slightly fogs my vision. Because it's so gradual, I usually don't notice and I actually get used to the clouded vision. By the end of the night, I'm so used to it that if I happen to peek out the side of my glasses, the pale pinks of the spices on the shelf become bright reds. Or the dull orange brown floor tiles of the kitchen seem so much more vibrant...and dirty. Then the good mopping job I just finished turns out to be shite and I realize that I didn't wipe half the counters of the kitchen because they looked clean at the time. Sigh. If I've had a bad day, sometimes, just sometimes, I leave the glasses on. Don't tell anyone, though.
I had a pretty sweet snoozebutton dream today. A lucid dream, in fact. In it, a flaming meteor about twice the size of an average exercise ball came out of the clouds far off in the distance at my room where I was watching it through the window. The dream was so vivid that as stood there and watched it crash through my apartment, I thought, "This is not a dream because there is no way that something this real could happen in a dream."
Over the course of a long day of work, my glasses tend to get coated in a sort of oily sheen from all of the vapour that comes from cooking meals. It's a gradual process which ever-so-slightly fogs my vision. Because it's so gradual, I usually don't notice and I actually get used to the clouded vision. By the end of the night, I'm so used to it that if I happen to peek out the side of my glasses, the pale pinks of the spices on the shelf become bright reds. Or the dull orange brown floor tiles of the kitchen seem so much more vibrant...and dirty. Then the good mopping job I just finished turns out to be shite and I realize that I didn't wipe half the counters of the kitchen because they looked clean at the time. Sigh. If I've had a bad day, sometimes, just sometimes, I leave the glasses on. Don't tell anyone, though.
I had a pretty sweet snoozebutton dream today. A lucid dream, in fact. In it, a flaming meteor about twice the size of an average exercise ball came out of the clouds far off in the distance at my room where I was watching it through the window. The dream was so vivid that as stood there and watched it crash through my apartment, I thought, "This is not a dream because there is no way that something this real could happen in a dream."
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A Love Letter to Cornelius
Feb. 1st, 2007 | 03:34 am
current location: Winnipeg (of course)
current audio: Cornelius - Sensuous
Oh, Cornelius. You were my first musical love. After listening to your second album "Point", I bought your first album "Fanstasma" without even listening to it first! That's how confident I was in my love for you. But, oh how you've let me down with your lastest. I've waited for five long years for a new release by you and what have you brought me? Sensuous. Oh, how you've let me down. Oh, how. Let me try to count the ways:
First, Sensuous(your latest musical effort), is far too much like Point. Yes, I did enjoy your minimal approach to song writing on Point, using only a few sentances as the lyrics for your songs. Such as singing the words "point of view" for an entire song, which is then punctuated by the mathematically placed plucks of your guitar. It was brilliant then, but even the most brilliant light can become dull if one stares at it too long. Then you become blind and that just makes me all cranky.
Second...well, okay. Maybe that's it. Perhaps your musical ideas just haven't evolved with my musical tastes. That must be it. You chose to go all sensitive on me just when I began to think that metal was cool again. There we go. That's the problem right there. You're just not metal enough. Jeez, Cornelius. Why can't you be Electro Quarterstaff covering Megaman? That's fucking awesome right there.
Oh, Cornelius. I'm sorry. It's not you, it's me. I just don't know what I want in terms of music right now. I still want to be friends. To be honest, I'm listening to your new album right now and I kinda enjoy the songs Gum and Music. But I'm drunk so that might be a phase. If being drunk is a phase.
First, Sensuous(your latest musical effort), is far too much like Point. Yes, I did enjoy your minimal approach to song writing on Point, using only a few sentances as the lyrics for your songs. Such as singing the words "point of view" for an entire song, which is then punctuated by the mathematically placed plucks of your guitar. It was brilliant then, but even the most brilliant light can become dull if one stares at it too long. Then you become blind and that just makes me all cranky.
Second...well, okay. Maybe that's it. Perhaps your musical ideas just haven't evolved with my musical tastes. That must be it. You chose to go all sensitive on me just when I began to think that metal was cool again. There we go. That's the problem right there. You're just not metal enough. Jeez, Cornelius. Why can't you be Electro Quarterstaff covering Megaman? That's fucking awesome right there.
Oh, Cornelius. I'm sorry. It's not you, it's me. I just don't know what I want in terms of music right now. I still want to be friends. To be honest, I'm listening to your new album right now and I kinda enjoy the songs Gum and Music. But I'm drunk so that might be a phase. If being drunk is a phase.
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(press any key)
Nov. 5th, 2006 | 03:19 am
current audio: TV on the Radio - Return to Cookie Mountain
Typing 40 words a minute
But my brain thinks 37
And every 3 words
I stop and consider what I wrote
Even though everything makes sense
And what comes may end up being
Something other that what I intended,
But it needs to be here
But my brain thinks 37
And every 3 words
I stop and consider what I wrote
Even though everything makes sense
And what comes may end up being
Something other that what I intended,
But it needs to be here
On this ____ square
To be a-live is not in the mind
Held up in gray matters not
Moving or caring for anything
Other than it’s perverted self
To be a-live is being in extra,
Terrestrial matters
On this ____ square
Thrown from twitching electrons
That speak in tongues
Into switching electrodes
That speak circles and lines
A far cry from fame
And a far flight from the same
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as promised...
Oct. 30th, 2006 | 03:45 am
current location: A temperate room in Winnipeg.
current audio: Yo La Tengo - I'm Not Afraid of You and I Will Beat Your Ass
Here are some pictures of my monitor toting journey from yesterday.
I was a bit inebriated so i got a little carried away with the "arty" monitor shots. But, my journey was not for naught. The monitor is in full working order. I don't know who would just toss such a useful item.
I was a bit inebriated so i got a little carried away with the "arty" monitor shots. But, my journey was not for naught. The monitor is in full working order. I don't know who would just toss such a useful item.