Sunday, December 19, 2004

New Photos!

My body is back from Asia, but my circadian rhythms are still in the far east. I flew into LAX early Saturday morning and slept in until 7 pm, and the result is that I'm still wide awake (it's now 08:00 a.m., Sunday December 19). Cold foolishness. I'm about to crash hard. But before I do, I'll post the fruit of last night's labor: instead of unpacking, I spent the night posting the photos (my first digital shots EVER!) from HK and Shanghai to my photoblog. Check out my Buzznet photoblog. The top five galleries on the right (the ones labeled "December 2004", duh) are all new.

Friday, November 26, 2004

Offline in Hong Kong

I'll be in a relative state of absence for three weeks. And by that I mean that I'll be in Hong Kong and Shanghai with limited internet access. So take care of America for me while I'm gone. And by taking care of America, I mean overthrowing the president. Got it? Good. I'll expect a full report upon my return.

Thursday, November 04, 2004

A dream deferred...

I awoke this morning shocked at the tenacity of social conservatives and awed at the vast ignorance of issues evident throughout this country. I am disappointed, but not devastated; rather, I am steeled for the fight that lies ahead, and hopeful for the bright future on the horizon. John Kerry was not my candidate of choice; he merely happened to fit into the catch-all category of “anyone but Bush” that I so vigorously supported. I foresee a better alternative waiting for us in the distance.

The situation in the United States is bad now, and it’s about to get worse. Over the next four years, the Bush administration will complete the impossible structure it has begun to build:

• It will continue to rape the environment. Drilling will most likely commence in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, the only remaining five per cent of Alaska’s north slope that is not already open to oil exploration.

• Civil rights and liberties will continue to erode. The most Orwellian provisions of the Patriot Act will probably not be allowed to “sunset” in late 2005, and we may even see Patriot Act II resurrected in a different form. Our government will be permitted to spy on our email and tap our phones without a warrant, and the death penalty will almost certainly be expanded. The Neocons in power will continue to ignore the Geneva Convention while the rest of the world continues to protest.

• The tax cuts for the wealthiest Americans will most likely be made permanent, further dissolving the middle class at its edges; the populations of the homeless and those families living below the poverty line will swell even more than in these past few years, while millionaires grow fatter.

• Social Security funds will continue to deplete. If Bush and his anti-government cabal continue to bankrupt our federal government to line the pockets of big business, there will be little left for the Baby Boomers to retire upon, let alone future generations.

• In all likelihood, Bush will appoint between one and three Supreme Court Justices, who serve for life. Chances are that his first appointment, at least, will be a strict constructionist, a gesture to appease his Evangelical base.

• And of course, Bush will probably continue with his Neoconservative internationalist policy, perhaps justly believing that he now has a mandate for it. Their avowed agenda is simple: to remake the rest of the world in the image of the U.S., by military force if necessary. Some would call it democratization; to others it is simply imperialism under a new name. Whatever it is ultimately labeled by future generations, it is highly likely to increase, along with the bitter enmity towards our nation that it engenders.

But there is a silver lining to this immense cloud. Had Kerry won yesterday he would have had a difficult time dismantling this fascist and destructive framework that Bush has erected in the last three and a half years. With the Republican Congress strengthened, he would have been forced to compromise on some issues and build upon a faulty foundation. To build a truly strong and promising future, the Neoconservative architecture that has been erected must be completely razed, and therein lies the rub. While the situation will necessarily worsen in the next half-decade or so, I believe that this increases the chance that in the long term, the Bush policies will self-destruct (I can only hope that America doesn't go down with them), and if they persevere, progressives may be able to come out on the other side intact.

The near future will be a tough time for this country. The world will grow up around us. China's gross domestic product will surpass that of the United States by 2014¹. (According to the Employment Policy Foundation, it will be the first time since before WW I that the U.S. has not had the world's largest GDP.) As the U.S. divides itself between red and blue states, Europe will be drawing itself together. Already the E.U. is the world's largest exporter and controls the world's largest internal market. While the Neoconservatives ban stem cell research and their Evangelical constituency bans high school health textbooks mentioning condoms, Europeans have taken the lead in many industries including banking, aerospace, insurance, construction and chemicals². They will continue to advance.

When America finally sees the empty shell that is the house that Bush built, the pendulum will necessarily swing in the opposite direction, and a new foundation can be poured. Who knows? Maybe I can actually throw my wholehearted support behind the next Democratic presidential candidate.

I suppose my purpose in writing this was to convince progressives, myself included, not to lose heart. Slowly but surely, this country has historically crawled (at times it was dragged, kicking and screaming) towards the Left. Look at how the U.S. has changed over the last hundred years: the eight-hour workday; five-day work weeks; the abolition of child labor; Social Security and unemployment insurance; a graduated income tax; and suffrage for women. All these important reforms began the 20th century as planks of the 1908 Socialist Party platform, and were reviled by those in power. Sometimes we must take one step backward before we take two forward, just so we realize how bad the alternative can be. I’m hoping that in four years, we can progress forward again.

In the meantime, we should get some rest. Go on vacation. Acquire some perspective on life and get over our weltschmertz. Travel to another country and show the people we encounter that not all Americans are wearing blinders. Then come back and continue to fight: walk in protests, voice our dissent, tutor children, write letters to the editor of our local paper, and if we’re thinking about buying a new car, maybe we could consider a hybrid. Get involved and stay there. Think globally while acting locally. Most of all, we need to talk to Bush supporters. They’re not the enemy. Many of them are simply old-fashioned fiscal Republicans who don’t know that Neoconservative isn’t the same thing as Conservative; they aren’t aware that their party has been hijacked. A lot of them are still scared after 9/11 and they just don’t realize that, to paraphrase Thoreau, Bush is clipping at the branches of evil instead of hacking at the roots: rather than eliminating the causes of terrorism he’s fueling the fire. Which is, of course, exactly what the Neocons want: more fear, more military buildup, a bigger defense budget, and more wars to fight. It’ll take awhile, but the people will grow tired of it eventually. The storm clouds will clear. And then it will be our turn to take a few steps haltingly forward into the light, and start construction on the house of our dreams.

Xopher

“Hold on, be strong”. -- Outkast



¹ Based on purchasing power parity (PPP)
² According to Jeremy Rifkin, president of the Foundation on Economic Trends, a Washington-based think tank.

Sunday, October 31, 2004

VOTE OR DIE

Please stand up and vote on Tuesday. This promises to be the most important election not only within our lifetime, but in generations. It is highly likely that our next president will appoint at least one Supreme Court Justice, potentially shaping the policy of our government for years to come.

Right now, disenfranchised people all over the globe are struggling for the right to self-determination, a right many of us take for granted. Our forebears fought and sometimes died to secure for us the right to choose our leaders. Don't squander this precious gift.

Here in California, polls open at 7 A.M. and close at 8 P.M. If you don't know where your polling is, click here:

www.MyPollingPlace.com

Also, know your rights:

1. As long as you are in line by the time the polls close, you have the right to
cast your vote.

2. You also have the right to cast your absentee ballot in any precinct in the
county in which you are registered.

3. If you are not listed on the registration rolls, you still have the right to
cast a provisional ballot.

Thursday, October 14, 2004

Adventures in Absinthe




L'absinthe by Edgar Degas 1876

I first tried this magical elixir while in Prague in the fall of 2000. My mate Mack and I descended into an underground pub and sat down at a long wooden table; he ordered a brew (the beer in The Czech Republic is second to none) and I asked for an absinthe. Although we both ended up buying multiple bottles at the end of the week and bringing them back to Paris with us, I suspect on this first occasion he wanted me to play the role of the guinea pig. The burly Czech waitress asked me if I'd ever tried absinthe before and when I replied with a negative she gave me a crafty, knowing look and shuffled back to the bar, stopping at a table full of German tourists along the way to report what the stupid American had just ordered. I imagine she must have said something like, "Get ready for a good show." A very cruel race, these Eastern Europeans.

Now, I must make it clear that though I'd never actually sampled it, I'd read about the ritual of drinking absinthe in books by Hemingway and Sartre and I was expecting to be served with the same ceremony. Their characters would typically receive a tumbler with some absinthe in the bottom, a sugar cube, a slotted absinthe spoon, and a pitcher of water. One would balance the spoon across the rim of the glass, place the sugar cube upon it, and then pour the water through both the sugar and the spoon. As the sugar water makes contact with the clear emerald liquid, the oils within it are emulsified and the bitter wormwood-derived liquor swirls into a milky, opalescent concoction. One would then sip the resulting mixture like a cocktail and proceed with a discussion on Existentialism or the end of The Age of Revolutions or something else equally cultured. This, I later learned, is "the French method" for imbibing absinthe: it is very refined and, with all the accoutrements, has the artful appeal of a Japanese tea ceremony...it also has very little in common with "the Czech method," to which I was about to be introduced.

Our Teutonic barmaid/tormentor (let's call her "Conan") brought me a whiskey glass filled with about 3 or 4 shots of the green fairy. She looked at me and inquired in her broken English whether or not I knew "how to dreenk." I glanced from her to the bartender, to the other waitress, to the tableful of Germans, and to my friend Mack -- all of whom smiled back at me expectantly -- but nowhere did I spy the intricately carved spoon and ewer of water that I expected. Confused, I shook my head. She grunted, broke into a broad grin, and put a cube of sugar onto an (gasp!) ordinary, rather sad-looking spoon: this she dunked into the absinthe to soak the sugar. She then produced a lighter from her pocket, gave me the spoon, and lit it on fire.

The green sugar burned an alternately blue and invisible flame like a bunsen burner. The cube bubbled and crackled, and caramelized and melted, all while encased in the azure flame at the end of my spoon. The room fell silent as the flame shimmered higher and brighter. It was beautiful, and all else around me seemed to dim. For a thrilling moment my idyllic notions of turn-of-the-century Parisian cafes returned. Then the flame guttered and died; the waitress grabbed my wrist and forcefully guided the spoonful of smoldering melted sugar into the glass, stirring it vigorously. "Now SHOUP!" she bellowed, while gesturing with her gigantic ham-fist towards her face, as if she were taking a shot. I think I might have giggled and muttered some lame excuse about wanting to sip it (like those oh-so-refined French!) to savor the taste. I don't really remember what I said. All I remember is that she weighed more, and had more testosterone, than Mack and me combined.

"NO! HAHAHA! SHOOOOOOOUUP!" She pushed the glass into my face and threw my head back. I gulped: I felt like I'd just swallowed a glassful of magma. I felt rivulets of molten rock percolating down into my esophagus and spreading into my gut. I had to look down to make sure my torso wasn't engulfed in licorice flames. Then the real pain kicked in. I couldn't catch my breath – I could only exhale ethanol fumes; my sinus cavities burned like I'd just snorted a line of anise-flavored wasabi; tears shot from my eyes like twin squirtguns. Have you ever seen that old Looney Tunes cartoon in which Bugs Bunny drinks the mad scientist's potion and turns green, then red, then plaid, then polka-dotted? That's what happened to my skin. The barmaid gave me good-natured slap on the back; it felt like a punch from a linebacker. The waitresses, the bartender, and the Germans all roared with laughter, and I knew then why the word schadenfreude is Germanic in origin. After wiping my tears off his face, Mack (good ol' American Mack) scooped me up and ushered me outside to the cheers and toasts of our new German and Czech friends. Eastern Europeans...such a cruel race.

Thursday, September 09, 2004

"A source of light comedy to me..."

----------------- Bulletin Message -----------------
From: GEORGE W. BUSH
Date: Jul 14, 2004 02:05 PM

DO YOU SEE ANY PLANE WRECKAGE ANYWHERE? I DON'T

[There was a photo here of the Pentagon crash site taken September 14, 2001. It was a cropped image showing only the point of entry.  I later found the uncropped image on the Defense Department's website: there is a very large pile of scrap metal to the left of the collapsed section...conveniently left out of the original image.  -- Xopher]

PS: --- The PENTAGON was NOT hit by an airplane! Look at the Photos! It was hit by a missle, There is a clean hole straight through the Pentagon !

( Looks like a perfect HOLE, not the type of damage caused by a HUGE 757 commercial airplane with wings !!! )

ALSO, there is NO PLANE DEBRIS at the Pentagon site !!! NO BROKEN WINGS, NO LARGE PLANE WRECKAGE to be seen anywhere.

Cover up, Lies and deception in the White House.

The Top Ranking Republicans are secretly involved in the Occult, they are decendants from ANGLO-SAXON Scottish Occult Blood Rites.

( Hitler was put into power by the THULE SOCIETY of EUROPE. ( Illuminati )

The Skull & Bones secret society in YALE, is a BRANCH of the THULE SOCIETY in the USA. )

GW BUSH is a member of the Skull & Bones Society. ( THULE BRANCH -YALE )

Cheney is a BEAST-MAN, a DEMON from hell.

Thanks for your political webpage, tell the people!

HITLER and the connection with THULE SOCIETY ( Illuminati Branch )

http://www.sumeria.net/politics/nazioccult.html

GW BUSH is a MEMBER of THE SKULL and BONES, USA Branch of the
Bavarian Illuminati.

VOTE OUT BUSH in 2004 !!! Keep the faith !

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Xopher
Date: Jul 15, 2004 10:17 AM

This post is completely false. Though much of it was destroyed in the initial
impact, there was plane debris at the site. Just because you cannot see it in one photo doesn't mean it wasn't there. Also, don't forget that this plane crashed during rush hour near one of the most congested freeways in the United States. There were hundreds, if not thousands of witnesses who saw the airliner going down. For further information on this ridiculous conspiracy theory, check out The Urban Legends Reference Pages

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: GEORGE W. BUSH
Date: Jul 15, 2004 01:24 PM

believe what you want

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Xopher
Date: Jul 15, 2004 04:15 PM

Truth is not about believing what you want. It's about educating yourself:
viewing the issue from all angles, gaining as wide a perspective as possible, and weighing all the evidence regardless of whether it reinforces your political agenda or not. The Republicans believed what they wanted: this is why our country is embroiled in Iraq. They also believe what they want about the condition of the environment, the results of the Florida election, and countless other scandals the administration has taken part in. I encourage you to stay above their level. When a blatant lie such as this is spread by those on the Left, it only causes Republicans and Independents alike to dismiss all of our legitimate complaints about the government as lies and baseless accusations. Both black boxes from Flight 77 were recovered in the wreckage of the Pentagon and the remains of all but one passenger from that flight were found at the crash site. Are you familiar with the scientific principle of Occam's Razor which states that, all things being equal, the simplest explanation is most often the correct one?

Here is a collection of eyewitness accounts from newspapers immediately following the tragedy, including that of an AP reporter, who saw Flight 77 fly into the Pentagon.

Were these thousands of people hypnotized by our government into seeing an airplane that "did not even exist" (according to Thierry Meyssan, the French author who initially propagated this conspiracy theory)? You will not find a more skeptical person than me, especially when it comes to what the U.S. government has been doing in the past four years. Robust doubt is a healthy attribute, but it works both ways. If we're going to change the world for the better, starting with replacing Dubya and his insane posse in November, we need to embrace the truth and not alienate ourselves on the fringes of logic where no one, especially those whose minds we want to change the most, will even bother to listen to what we have to say.

Xopher

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: GEORGE W. BUSH
Date: Jul 19, 2004 12:18 AM

you believe the newpapers and not your own eyes?

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Xopher
Date: Jul 19, 2004 11:43 AM

Your response is a non sequitur. What are you talking about? If by "believe my own eyes" you mean to ask whether I see any plane wreckage in that photograph you sent out, then my response is that I don't. That photo, however, was obviously taken after the clean-up and repair work had begun on the Pentagon in earnest. The recognizable parts of the airliner had already been moved off the lawn to make room for the construction vehicles. In fact, they were probably the first things removed from the scene in order to perform a thorough test for forensic evidence. If you looked at any other early photos of the Pentagon crash site besides that one, you can actually see plane debris. Did you even read my messages? Did you go to the URL I sent you with other pictures? How can you look at that one photograph and come to the determination that because there is no plane wreckage visible, no plane hit the Pentagon? If you want me to take you seriously you'll have to respond with more than one sentence, because I'm starting to believe that you're insane.

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: GEORGE W. BUSH
Date: Jul 20, 2004 09:48 AM

THIS COUNTRY IS INSANE,
YOU DON'T KNOW WHO/WHAT TO BELIEVE,
THIS IS WHAT'S WRONG WITH THE COUNTRY,
OK SO MAYBE THAT INFO I WAS GIVEN ABOUT THE PENTAGON IS BUNK...SORRY,
BUT YOU MISSED THE POINT,
THE POINT IS THERE NO POINT,
911 IS A BUNCH OF LIES,
AND IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT I SAY,
THE US IS BEING TAKEN OVER BY CRIMINALS AND THEFTS, MURDERERS,
EVEN IF I WERE TO SAY THAT MICKEY MOUSE BOMBED THE PENTAGON IT WOUND BE CLOSER
TO THE TRUTH THAN WHAT WE ARE GIVEN BY THE NEWS,
I WILL EXAMINE MY INFO BEFORE I POST STUFF,
THERE SHOULDN'T BE ANY QUESTIONS ABOUT 911 OR THE PENTAGON BUT THERE IS...THAT'S
THE PROBLEM

[I didn't reply to this.  Once he started ranting about Mickey Mouse
my eyes glazed over and all his capital letters just ran together into
a grey smear.  I actually stared at my screen and wondered if
sanitariums have internet access...that would be the most likely
explanation for this foolishness.  But how about Cheney being a BEAST-MAN, a DEMON from hell?  HA HA HA!  Even a broken clock is right twice a day!  Anyway, he just recently reopened our dialogue with another bulletin board post.  What follows
is our most recent exchange.  -- Xopher]

----------------- Bulletin Message -----------------
From: GEORGE W. BUSH
Date: Sep 5, 2004 09:52 AM
SUBJECT: if you didn´t believe the pentagon missile thing check this

look at this:

http://www.ebaumsworld.com/pentagon.html

[Due to complaints about the many inaccuracies in the video, ebaumsworld has stopped hosting it. You can still view it at thememoryhole.com. --Xopher]

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Xopher
Date: Sep 6, 2004 12:02 AM

You knew I'd be writing, didn't you?

Look, I first heard these conspiracy theories over two years ago when
I was living in London.  The English were eating this stuff up at the
time (this animation was hosted on a .uk web URL) because a French
citizen named Thierry Meyssan had just written a book about it that
was getting a lot of attention in the European press.  In response, I
did a lot of research on the topic.  These Pentagon conspiracy books
and videos, slick though some of them may be, conveniently examine
only the documents and photographs that reinforce their perspective.
They don't weigh all the evidence.  They don't even weigh most of it. 
The end result can be quite convincing for the uneducated. 

There are many aspects of this video that can be picked apart.  One is
the fact that AA 77 didn't "immediately [clear] 395" and then crash
into the Pentagon: it actually flew parallel to the highway and cleared Washington Blvd, which can be seen even in the map portion of the video.  Another point is that whatever crashed into the Pentagon hit it between 09:35 and 09:45 on 9/11, not "8.38am". Sloppiness or bad research? The video quotes someone named Patterson who claims the plane looked small, like it held 8-12 people. For every "Patterson", there are hundreds, if not thousands of people who claim the plane was big and that it looked like a 757. Why don't we hear from them in this video? I also don't like the fact that "W" likes to highlight random parts of the crash site in red and pretend that he or she is showing us the actual entry point. Come to think of it, I don't like the fact that he calls himself "W".  A real journalist with something real to report would give us a real name.  If this were true, why hide behind a pseudonym? Likewise one of the authorities he/she quotes is "Cassiopeia". Who the hell is that and do we have any reason to trust their opinions? Because in the end, that's all these "facts" are, subjective opinions.

Recognize this photo?

It's the original, uncropped version of the one you sent out in your previous post on this topic. Look on the left side. Do you see that large pile of scrap metal behind the men in white jumpsuits? I'm not saying that they are parts of the plane found by the clean-up crew inside the building, but they COULD be. I just find it interesting that this area of the photo was omitted from the one that you sent (with the subject line "DO YOU SEE ANY PLANE WRECKAGE ANYWHERE? I DON'T").

The bottom line is this: I don't know exactly what happened that day at the Pentagon.  I can, however, examine the issue from all angles, read all the relevant data, and decide what I THINK happened.  And then I move on.  If someone, anyone, can actually show me something that will convince me it was a missile or a fighter jet or a Global Hawk or a fucking TIE Fighter that crashed into the Pentagon that day, I await them with open arms and an open mind.  In the meantime, I'll find the story with the most evidence to be the most credible. 

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: GEORGE W. BUSH
Date: Sep 6, 2004 08:58 AM

i know what happened...

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Xopher
Date: Sep 6, 2004 12:05 PM

You do? Cool. Please show the rest of us some irrefutable evidence so
that we can know what happened, too.

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: GEORGE W. BUSH
Date: Sep 6, 2004 11:13 PM

come on guy open your eyes, ears, and mind

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Xopher
Sep 7, 2004 11:01 PM

My eyes, ears, and mind are all wide open: you have shown me doctored photos and shoddily-researched web animations; you have had me listen to rumors, speculations, and outright lies; my mind is still waiting to be convinced. Believe me, I want to be. One of my father's friends was killed in the Pentagon disaster. And I despise the White House cabal so much that I would revel in anger and giddy feelings of political revenge if the Bush administration were found to be guilty of bombing the Pentagon, or of covering up a sinister plot, or even of failing to notify the public that a Global Hawk or fighter jet crashed into the Pentagon minutes before or after AA 77. I initially researched this topic BECAUSE I wanted to believe it. I was, however, disappointed. I do not believe in unscientific, unproven theories. I believe that it's POSSIBLE that there was a cover-up involved with 9/11, just as I believe that it's POSSIBLE that there is intelligent life outside our solar system. But I have not seen any credible evidence that would prove it. I will not take anything on faith. And no matter how much I want to believe something, if it disagrees with empirical evidence, it is wrong. That's all there is to it. So again, I challenge you: if you can find some real proof, something that appeals to logic and reason, not faith and eager speculation, then, please, edify me.

Xopher

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: GEORGE W. BUSH
Date: Sep 8, 2004 10:30 AM

this sounds like a personal problem,
the evidence is there,
your just choosing not to ear it,

----------------- Original Message -----------------
Sep 8, 2004 10:01 PM
From: Xopher

If logic, reason, and sanity are personal problems, then I am guilty as charged. This dialogue has devolved from a mature discussion into jejune repetition. Or perhaps I foolishly believed it was the former when it never actually was. I won't make that mistake with you again; nor will I waste any more time seriously considering your groundless beliefs, incoherent arguments, and sophistic accusations. From now on your messages and posts will be nothing but a source of light comedy to me...sort of like "ALF" or "Small Wonder": funny, but not "HA HA" funny. More of a groaning funny. I expect you know what I mean. No hard feelings, I hope?

Please keep the laughs coming,

Xopher

----------------- Original Message -----------------
Sep 9, 2004 01:58 PM
From: GEORGE W. BUSH

YOU IGNORANT FOOL...FUCK YOU...TENS OF THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE SHARE MY BELIEFS...YOU ARE ONE WHO EATS PROPAGANDA CEREAL FOR BREAKFAST...I HOPE YOUR HAPPY WITH THE LIFE YOU HAVE CHOSEN...IGNORANT AMERICAN FOOL...BYE...BITCH!!!

----------------- Original Message -----------------
Sep 9, 2004 09:37 PM
From: Xopher

Ha ha ha! That was pretty good, but I think you can do better. I really enjoyed the ranting mad scientist angle you're going for. The broken caps lock button adds to the kooky persona, but I fear the bad grammar is a bit trite, don't you? I mean, mad scientists are loony but they're usually depicted as blue blooded smartypants. It's just a thought.

"Propaganda cereal for breakfast," however: that's definitely a keeper! The "fuck you" is a nice touch, but I think the final "bitch" after the ellipsis seems a bit extraneous.

And adding that bitter comment to one of my photos! Sneaky! Heh heh! You get extra points for that one!

I am confused about one thing, though. Why did you delete me from your list of friends? It would be easier for us to continue our correspondence if I was still on your list; plus I wouldn't have to miss out on any of your entertaining bulletin board posts! If you could just add me again, that would be great.

Propaganda cereal -- HAH! That's classic! I better not think about that one while I'm drinking milk!

Xopher

Saturday, July 10, 2004

Tofu Ninja!

www.tofufest.org

Three words:

Tofu.
Eating.
Contest.

Think you can mow your way through several pounds of tofu in a few minutes, joining the glorious ranks of champion eaters like Kobayashi, Shinto, and the upstart Sonya Thomas? I dare you to try. Most likely I'll be exorcising demons on Saturday, but on Sunday, the day of the big competition, I'm all about Tofu. I'm not saying that I'll compete, but because I live a mere 2 blocks from the festival grounds, if I overindulge it would be easy for someone to wheelbarrow me home. It's something to think about.

Wednesday, May 05, 2004

Hard and Rich in Little Tokyo

Like that moose in Parappa the Rapper, I don't have TIME. I know I'm not on AIM anymore, and when I finally did get on last night I got kicked off a few seconds later. I apologize to my friends in Iceland and Hong Kong for not typing my reply fast enough. My brand new internet connection is confounding me already. I'm back from San Francisco. I have moved into a loft in Lil' Tokyo. I love it. Mitsuwa is my local supermarket, where I can get Pocky "G". It's "Hard & Rich". Like me, baby. I also started a new freelance gig last week in Century City. Lots of hours so I'm never home to enjoy all the extra space I now have. Maybe when I get all my shit cleared out of the middle of the floor I'll host a little festival to celebrate. I've got enough alcohol sitting in my new bar to poison a small African village. Some of it belongs to Kristine, but she'll be the co-emcee so it's not like I'll be abusing her alcohol without her knowledge. Maybe I'll just let her be the main host...and I'll be the special guest star. Maybe I'll hold my little bacchanal on the same night as the MySpace Los Angeles party and we'll compete to see who draws the bigger crowd. Does the Hollywood Athletic Club have a pool and jacuzzi? I didn't think so.

Sunday, April 18, 2004

Triumphant Return

I am back in the bosom of southern California. I dig San Francisco. In it, one actually feels like an urbanite. It reminded me of what a real city is made of, and while the public transportation doesn't hold a candle to NYC, London or Paris, it's got L.A. beat. Los Angeles is simply sprawl -- except for obvious exceptions (downtown, a few old neighborhoods) it is row after row of concrete apartment buildings, mini-marts, strip malls, burger joints, and gas stations. The latter being particularly appropriate since L.A. is the birthplace and citadel of the car culture. The architecture in San Francisco is a grand collection of styles from Queen Anne to Colonial Revival -- reflecting the early 20th century styles following the earthquake and great fire. L.A.'s got...well, strip malls and Post-War cheapness.

Anyhow, for what it's worth, I'm home.

Monday, March 22, 2004

Snapping Foe Toes

Schoolwork got you down?! I'm posting up a flock of pictures from the past few years into galleries on

my buzznet photoblog.

It's easier than MySpace, and just as free! Snap into it!

Sunday, March 07, 2004

Apartment of Darkness

Corporate Housing is unfiltered evil. The company for which I am freelancing has set me up in an apartment complex about 5 miles up the 101 from the studio. The previous occupant of my pain cave, I am positive, owned a cat. I know this because there are areas in the apartment where the unmistakable odor of feline urine lurks still, like an invisible ghost, mocking me. I’ve tried attacking two different areas in the living room with Febreeze and a sponge, my T-shirt wrapped around my head like a shadour, to no avail: the pungent odor won’t go away. I scream at the cream stucco walls and shake my fists. My madness verges on that of Lady Macbeth. “Out, damned spot, OUT!” I shout as I scour, wide-eyed and trembling. My quote of Joyce’s final line from Araby for my headline proved telling – my eyes now truly burn with anguish and anger...and the ammonia stench of cat piss. And that is only the beginning of my irritation.

As I’m only in the bay area for two months, it makes sense to move into a furnished apartment. But why must these flats always be so insipid? Even their names, like Oakwood or The Highlands, ring of banality. I realize that no two people exist who have the same taste in furnishings, but why not just make the apartment plain and spartan? Why make it the wet dream of a bourgeois octogenarian? My milk-and-water abode is adorned with gaudy gold-framed mirrors and derivative Impressionist prints of women in straw hats and gingham dresses gathering flowers in an English Garden. I cringe at the large brass lamps, and the teal bathroom rugs and toilet lid covers make me squeal in disgust. The fake pothos in the glazed basket by the fireplace clouds my mind. I gnash my teeth at the mocha towels, salmon and ecru place mats, blond cabinets and dressers, and mauve napkin rings. A home, even a temporary one, should be one’s refuge from the vicissitudes of the world and the mundane drudgery of workaday life. When I come home from work, however, I find not relief but madness. Every morning and every night I enter the land of desperation and frenzy. As I try in vain to prepare a simple meal for breakfast or dinner, my mind reels at the jade overstuffed love seats with taupe flower-printed pillows. In the dark of the night I awake from cursed dreams of lilac pewter ware and cinnamon teapots, screaming and clutching my dusty rose and celery bedspread. The horror! The horror!

Wednesday, March 03, 2004

Send help

No, I'm not M.I.A.

I'm a P.O.W. I'm in the Guantanamo Bay of VFX Studios -- no contact with the outside world allowed. My desk faces the wall in a huge room and there are a bunch of other people behind me. With my headphones on all day it's easy for supervisors, interrogators, etc., to sneak up behind me and ask me what I'm doing...thus, no internet time. I work from 8:30 to 18:30, which may not seem like a lot, but after my sojourn in the free world when I was accustomed to waking up at the crack of noon every day, it's torturous. And after pushing pixels for 9 hours the last thing I want to do when I get home is plug in the laptop. I just want to sit here and take in the smell of cat piss. But that's a story for another day. Because holy christ it's 12:23 -- past lights out! I'll get 3 days in solitary if I'm caught up this late.

Thursday, February 19, 2004

Adieu L.A.

This weekend I take my leave of the City of Angels and strike out for the City of...Franciscos. I'm coming out of retirement and going back into Visual Effects. No longer will every night be a Friday night, and everyday a Saturday; no longer will I be able to drive downtown for my Chano's fix; no longer will I be retireded. I have 2 days to pack everything I'll need for the next two months and then I'm off. It's a rather sudden decision, I know, but some of life's best adventures often result from spur-of-the-moment choices such as this. I wish I had time for a Coming-Out-Of-Retirement Party. Perhaps I'll just wait the two months until I retire once more, returning triumphantly to Hollywood in my grand chariot ('92 Honda Accord) and have an even bigger bacchanal then. It will be a true occasion for rejoicing, and rejoicings call for drunken orgies, do they not?

Why am I coming out of retirement? Because the circle is not yet complete. When I was a senior in the Film program at Berkeley I applied for an internship at Industrial Light + Magic, George Lucas' effects company in San Rafael. I didn't get it, and I ended up interning as a storyboard artist for an independent film studio in SF. At the time I had no idea that a career in the VFX industry awaited me post-graduation. Now, almost ten years later, I'm going back up north to work for the first studio to which I ever applied. This cycle of my life will have reached its denouement. The epilogue will echo the prologue, and I will be finished with visual effects, poetically speaking. Then I can cast off the shackles of digital artistry forever and the real retirement shall begin. Let freedom ring.

Tuesday, February 17, 2004

Why I'm not working

"They deem me mad because I will not
sell my days for gold;
And I deem them mad because they
think my days have a price."

"How narrow is the vision that exalts
the busyness of the ant above the singing
of the grasshopper."

"When my cup is empty I resign myself
to its emptiness; but when it is half full
I resent its half-fulness."

"How can you sing if your mouth be
filled with food?
"How shall your hand be raised in bless-
ing if it is filled with gold?"

~Kahlil Gibran

Monday, February 09, 2004

Press the Meet

I'm in a very good mood due to transcripts of Bush's appearance on Meet the Press yesterday. It's good to know that Junior's command of the English language is as scandalously weak as ever. This exchange (cut and pasted from The Washington Post) is my favorite:

Russert: "You said ‘the Iraqi regime is a threat of unique urgency, Saddam Hussein is a threat that we must deal with as quickly as possible.' You gave the clear sense that this was an immediate threat that must be dealt with."

Bush: "I think […] I called it a grave and gathering threat. I don't want to get into a word contest, but what I do want to share with you is my sentiment at the time. There was no doubt in my mind that Saddam Hussein was a danger to America."

Russert: "In what way?"

Bush: "Well, because he had the capacity to have a weapon, make a weapon. We thought he had weapons. The international community thought he had weapons, that he had the capacity to make a weapon, and then let that weapon fall into the hands of a shadowy terrorist network."

What is he SAYING? I need a English translation, please. As far as I can tell, he seems to be recalling that he THOUGHT Saddam had weapons, therefore his sentiment at that time was that Iraq was an immediate threat to the United States. Well, he was wrong. And not only is he unrepentant about that misconception that's led to over 500 American deaths, thousands of casualties, a $500-billion-plus U.S.D. deficit, and for the first time, a palpable Al Qaeda presence in Iraq, but he's STILL trying to make it appear that he was right. And is he actually calling Tim Russert a liar? Just because the administration's new favorite phrase is "gathering threat" doesn't make it retroactive. Obviously he doesn't want to get into a word contest because he would lose. His spin doctors are in the O.R. and are working overtime, but according to polls, the public has been waking up in the past week. Dick Cheney and my mother appear to be the only two Americans left who believe Saddam played a part in the 9/11 attacks, since Bush and Rumsfeld have both been forced to retract statements promoting this mad hypothesis. The fact is quickly becoming apparent, however, that Al Qaeda was never in Iraq...until the U.S. recently allowed them in.

I can't WAIT for Kerry (or ANYBODY!) to debate this illiterate fool. I might actually re-subscribe to cable for a chance to be ringside at that event: the war hero vs. the only president in U.S. history to enter office with a criminal record.

Wednesday, January 28, 2004

Doggy Daycare

I babysat Jessy's Maltepoo puppy yesterday. Marley was a little more "poo" than "malte": really fucking cute but really fucking incontinent. I would take him outside and stand there as he sniffed and looked around for two hours (magnetically attracting all females within a 2-block radius), and then as soon as we come back into my apartment kid immediately squats, trembles, and decorates my rug. I built a penitentiary for him in my kitchen but he cries when he's left alone so I had to hang out in the pen with him. I got them cute-cellmate-who-pisses-on-the-floor jailhouse blues. I was actually going to custom tailor a diaper for him out of a small plastic bag but as I was looking at it trying to figure out where to cut the holes he pissed again; I was forced to abandon my preventative efforts for corrective measures and haz mat cleanup. Also, what's up with cute puppy stinkypoo? I had no idea that a baby animal the size of a football was capable of emitting such foul odors. Hell hath no fury like the aroma of Marley's ass. I involuntarily gagged several times, and cleaning up poo is a difficult endeavor when one is dry-retching uncontrollably. It wasn't all misery, though. When I figured out puppy industry rule number four thousand and eighty -- that you can't take your eyes off of them even for ONE SECOND -- I was able to make a dive for his ass wielding a Ziplock bag and catch his carpet art like a touchdown pass. I did dance an endzone jig after that victory, but I didn't spike the ball. I was so pooped myself last night by the time Jessy picked Marley up I was thinking about cancelling dinner plans on the west side with my friend Jon. My ravenous hunger outweighed my exhaustion, however, and I hit the road. We had planned on soul food at Aunt Kizzy's Back Porch in the Marina, but arrived too late and were banished to a forgettable NY Pizza joint. (Wrong guess, Julie! By that time we were both too hungry to drive back to Venice for a few slices of Abbott's superior pie.) As we sat down I sensed a disturbance in the force and squinted: "Do you smell ass?" I asked Jon. "I swear I can smell dog shit." It was very faint, and he didn't know whether he smelled it for real or because I suggested it. I couldn't see any brown stains on the bottoms of my shoes, inside my zippered hoodie or on my lap (the latter two being known Marley haunts), but I was still suspicious. I never located the source of my unease and as the night wore on, it evaporated...either that or my olfactory sense became inured to it. In either case, all yesterday's linen is in the washing machine right now, and my kicks are in the sink.

Conclusion: while I'm undoubtedly a Marley fan, my love for puppies in general -- at least for the time being -- is reserved for those who have been properly house-trained.

Monday, January 26, 2004

What Bush doesn't want you to know

The Oreo Cookie idea for ending world hunger, improving the education of our country's children, and covering the cost of our healthcare. Who can argue with logic, reason, and common sense?

Click here -- it's more important than ice cream

Saturday, January 24, 2004

New York Stories

My first day in the city I walked from Times Square to the Met through Central Park. I'm lucky I didn't bust any bones slipping on all that ice. I ruminated on the Modern art, the Greek sculpture hall and the Micronesian/Melanesian exhibits. On my way back, I collected some karma by helping two old ladies across some streets. Much later on, just for kicks, Julie and I decided to peep a strip club off Times Square. Dirty, stupid, and nasty: as it turns out there were no kicks to be had and we returned to the W for drinks at the bar.

My second day I walked south to Union Square. Want to hear something foolish? Even though it was below freezing there was a farmer's market right there on the north side of the square. Who are they fooling? That shit ain't fresh. But I bought an organic chocolate chip cookie, a ginger snap, and a brownie. Then I went to that Coffee Shop and ate some of that pao de queijo and meatloaf while I did a crossword. Then that night I got the blue cheek (see "Blue Man Shoes" journal entry) and the red face from getting all liquored up at the W bar. Again.

The next day was Chinese New Year. Gung Hei Fat Choi, everybody. I took the N R train to Chinatown, where I asked two separate street vendors in my broken Cantonese where I could get some legit won ton mien, and they both pointed me to the same joint: Sun Say Kai on the corner of Baxter and Walker. It's one of those tiny honey-colored restaurants with ducks and pork legs hanging in the window, and where you have to share your table with strangers. I had the siu ahp won ton mien with the chow mien noodles thrown in for good measure, and it was no joke. While I sucked my duck bones a few lion dancers showed up at the door, along with their coterie of benevolent society members. There was much banging of cymbals, drums and gongs while the proprietor of Sun Say Kai brought out the symbolic cabbage head and oranges. After paying my $4.00 bill I bundled back up and headed back out into the streaming sunlight. I followed the mythical dancing beasts to Grand Harmony restaurant on Mott Street, between Canal and Hester. While the revelers shot off countless firecrackers and confetti cannons and the elder parade organizers snapped at the younger uniformed ones for smoking while they held back the spectators with broom handles, I snapped off a roll of B&W 120mm film with my Holga.

Afterwards I walked back up Broadway to the W, stopping again at Coffee Shop for a hot toddy (the drink, not the bartender). The wind was so strong that the snow was falling horizontally, north to south down the canyon of Broadway. Appropriately enough, everyone was getting Chinese eyes, squinting through the biting flakes. When I emerged again into the cold with a belly full of whiskey, the snow had stopped and the setting sun had turned the sky a smoky shade of pink. It's amazing what a little whiskey can do for your day.

That night I returned to Mott Street to dine with Julie, Steve, Mack, and Jin Ah at Joe's Ginger. I can't recommend this place enough. I've had better Shanghainese rice cakes, but the crab and pork stuffed dumplings simply cannot be beat. Yeah, they're even better than Din Tai Fung. That's right, I said it: as far as I'm concerned, these are the best Taiwanese-style dumplings in the Western Hemisphere. You think you got a contender? Bring it on. We'll have a dumpling kumite showdown, and my money's on Joe. And then after that, we hit up the bar at the W again, like the boozers you know we are.

Don't Step On My Blue Man Shoes

On January 21, I walked to Coffee Shop on Union Square for lunch. I love that joint. The waitresses and bartenders are hot, and the food and atmosphere remind me of my local gourmet diners in L.A. -- the 101 Coffee Shop and Fred 62.

That night, after dining on tapas at Azafran in south Tribeca, Julie took me to see the Blue Man Group at the Astor Place Theater on Lafayette Street. We shuffled around between parked cars in the cold outside the theater for a few minutes before the show to get our heads right. Our seats were the first row in the mezzanine, and as I took my place a kid in a black t-shirt approached me and asked how tall I was. When I replied, he asked me to follow him to the rear of the upper level. As other guests (including Julie) moved past us, he delivered what sounded like a well-rehearsed speech.

He told me that he needed to find someone for a job, and depending on how I answered a few questions I may be the one to fill it. Question number one regarded the size of my shoe (10) and number two was whether or not I was claustrophobic (no). He informed me that in about an hour and a half, the Blue Men would enter the audience for the second time, looking for someone. I would be chosen. He quickly ran through the entire routine, dictating exactly what would happen to me while I was on and off stage, assuring me that contrary to appearances, I would never be in any danger. I was growing nervous and more than a bit paranoid, but how could one resist an opportunity such as this? I accepted. After changing into some shapeless black sneakers and assuring my man that I wouldn't cover up the blue T-shirt I was wearing with a jacket, I returned to my seat and told Julie what was going down. And then I waited. And was entertained. No, I was more than entertained -- I was enthralled. I laughed out loud and gasped and yelled and interacted.

The first time I met Julie was at The Blue Man Complex Rock tour last summer at the Shrine in downtown L.A. It featured the Blue Man Group jamming with rock musicians, and though it was good, it was nothing compared to this show in Lower Manhattan. After approximately an hour and a half, I felt a presence next to me. Sure enough, while the audience was distracted by something onstage, one of the Blue Men had silently wandered up to my seat like a curious insect. With his inquisitive alien head cock, he stared down at me and offered his hand. I took it. I think he may have raised my arms as the spotlight operator and a cameraman focused on me, to give the audience a chance to give me a cheer. I was then whisked up the steps to the back of the mezzanine and then down the stairs at the back of the theater. We bounded up the center aisle and his two indigo cohorts helped me up onto the stage. From then on, the experience was an adrenaline-pumped blur. The blue-skinned entertainers helped me into a white jumpsuit and, looking into my face with that adult-baby gaze, one of them marked my cheek with a blue dot. I was then fitted with a spray-painted motorcycle helmet ("with the blast shield down I can't see a thing") and my world went dark. They then guided me backstage where events got even wackier, but nothing was ever out of control. I think I'll skip what happens next. I don't want to ruin the show for those who haven't seen it, nor do I want to spoil the magic for those who have. But within five minutes I was back onstage, my head emerging from a solid block of orange Jell-O (I was now holding the dark helmet) while my body unfolded from a small black box. My white jumpsuit was now covered with blue paint and I stood in triumph next to a large white canvas splashed with blue prints of a familiar-looking body. I never really had time to be nervous -- the bright lights kept me from seeing the audience. But I could hear their reaction and was thrilled.

After the show I was so elated by the experience that Julie and I walked halfway to the subway line before I realized I was still wearing those atrocious black trainers. On the way back to the Astor Place several people who'd seen the show smiled at me or patted me on the back. "Good job!" one of them said as I walked through the doors. "I didn't do anything," I thought, "I was merely the tool of the artist: a prop. I was a paintbrush". I approached one of the Blue Men in the lobby and said, "I have Blue Man Shoes". He verbally directed me (they CAN speak!) to the girl with whom I needed to make the footwear exchange. Eventually Julie and I made it back to the W on Times Square. As we walked into our room I glanced at myself in the mirror. I'd brushed most of the remaining flecks of orange Jell-O from my face and hair, but I still bore the mark of a blue smear of paint across my left cheek. Like a child home after a night of trick-or-treating, I had the urge to leave it there. But realizing that out of context it looked like a sloppy mascara job, I washed my face before going downstairs to the bar. My brush with destiny as a blue paintbrush was over.

Tuesday, January 20, 2004

Yesterday I flew into Jamaica...

...Queens, that is. After arguing with my mini-cab drivers about the cost of a trip to the JFK Comfort Inn I was dropped off at my ghetto-ass destination at 03:00 in the morning. Last night, however, I spent at the W off Times Square. That joint is butter. I don't think I've ever stayed in a nicer hotel. While I did bring my laptop, the cost for utilizing the broadband in my room is $15/24hrs, so I'm now at an internet cafe where I can take care of all my spam deletion and bill paying needs in a half hour for $1. I won't be on much this week, but I hope I'll have some stories to share when I return to the wesside on Friday. Until then, MyFriends, I bid you adieu and I hope that you're warmer and cozier than I am.

Yours,

XopherInNYC

Friday, January 09, 2004

Big Fish

I felt like I wanted to cry but I didn't. As with many of Tim Burton's films, I found his latest offering lacking in emotional resonance. It was a bit too predictable, and a bit too simple for my palate. I wished for more of an arc in the main character, more depth of character in general, and just some good old fashioned melodramatic punch. Every once in while I like to get punched in the belly by a film: I want my heartstrings to get yanked, and I want to leave the theater a quivering mess. Tim Burton just can't do that for me. His films are visually driven, which I can definitely dig...but why not make stunning eye-candy that also touches the heart. On the Burton scale, I would say this film rated better than Planet of the Apes and Sleepy Hollow, but not quite as magically touching as Edward Scissorhands or as funny as Pee Wee's Big Adventure. Ouch, I can't finish this review because I'm too hungry.

Sunday, January 04, 2004

The Da Vinci Code

I just finished reading this book last night. While I found it predictable and formulaic at times, for the most part it was really difficult to put down. It was the closest thing to a modern Sherlock Holmes story that I think I've read. As a matter of fact, I can think of a few parallels to A Study In Scarlet: a murder; an overarching mystery framing many smaller puzzles; and most notably, a fascinating disclosure of secret societies and religions. A few years ago I started doing a lot of research on the origins of Christianity -- I still have a lot of unread books on the topic. I also started retyping and cataloging all my old art history notes -- I think I made it into the high Middle Ages before my ardor for that undertaking wilted. After reading this book I feel like kick-starting both of those projects. Anybody have any ideas on how much of the religious and historical theories behind Dan Brown's novel were fiction, if any?

Sunday, January 04, 2004

"Sunday morning I'm waking up
Can't even focus on a coffee cup
Don't even know who's bed I'm in
Where do I start
Where do I begin"

My cough sounds to me like a death rattle. It tears my eyes and works out my abdomen. After a week in NYC I need a vacation from my vacation. I'm beginning to tire of the guest room in my parents' house, and now that the holidays are over my friends here in VA are returning to work. I'm the only one still at play, and I'm ready for my return to the Best Coast tomorrow.

My last few days have been a blur. The Da Vinci Code, the train ride from Penn Station, east coast Chinese food. Scrabble at Dave's house (I don't care what his cracker-ass 1968 Random House dictionary says -- bo is a Japanese fighting staff and a weta is a giant grasshopper from New Zealand). Before that it was walking all over Manhattan: The Brooklyn Bridge, Lever House, Seagram's Tower, The RCA Building, Rockefeller Plaza, the Central Library, a coffee shop on Union Square, The G.E. Building, The Chrysler Building, The Empire State Building, Grand Central Station, El Greco at The Met. My TJ friend Kerry is now an architectural historian, so my perambulations around the city were accompanied by her knowledgeable commentary. Back at Mack's crib in Jersey City we introduced her to the evil addiction of Halo. Great Korean food. Shitty Thai food: my som tham was like American cole slaw and my Panang curry was as mild as Wonderbread. Watching the fireworks over Brooklyn and the harbour on New Year's Eve. Sleeping on a couch in a two bedroom apartment filled with five old friends. Being forced to have my picture taken in a snaking line at the Empire State Building.

Now, for one last day I'm back in Vienna, VA. My father just left for the airport, my mother and sister are at a funeral, and my dog is using me for my ball-throwing talents. My eyes are tearing, my stomach muscles are tight, and my throat feels like it's filled with gravel. And I can't even focus on my tea cup.