Filmstrips

Last night I had dinner with Kit and John. We ate in an Italian restaurant in the east village. I thought I had been there before with Pia and Guillemette, but I couldn't be certain. Then, we had sat in the garden. Last night it was far too cold for that.

At some point in the night our conversation turned to filmstrips. John told stories of the Mormon filmstrips he watched as a child. I remembered the thrill and sense of responsibility I had when given the task to advance the frame at each *beep*.

At one point, the waitress came by to refill our water glasses. John looked up and asked, "Do you remember filmstrips?"

"No," she said. Then walked away.

American Idol

Last night I dreamt I made it to the American Idol finals where I performed a Sam Cooke song.

Peter Grimes at the Met

Last night I attended a performance of Peter Grimes at the Met. It was magnificent. I had never before connected with Britten's work in such a way, and now I want to revisit the recordings I own.

The evening started late; before the show, a man appeared on stage with a microphone. The crowd groaned, fearing a substitution. The man put us as ease immediately. He said he came to apologize for the delay. That afternoon's final dress rehearsal of Tristan und Isolde had run late. He thanked us for our understanding, and promised to try to make up some of the time during the intermissions.

It wasn't the only delay. At the start of the third act, a small round of applause was suddenly cut short. The conductor had not yet started his approach to the podium. We waited. People strained to look into the pit. We waited a bit longer. The silence gave way to murmurings until finally he arrived. Applause greeted him. Then, another figure was seen entering the pit and scurrying to the front. The conductor waited as the first violinist took his seat. He leaned in to say a few words and the audience laughed. The conductor rose his arms and the audience breathed in in anticipation.

The companion of the woman to my right missed all of this. He left after the first act. The woman confided to me that he didn't like it. "He likes more pleasant melodies," she said. But she was more determined. "If I can sit through Wozzek, I can sit through this!"

Begging for chilis

Monday night Yw came over to make dinner out of her Thai cookbook Hot Sour Salty Sweet (not to be confused with Top Chef host Padme's Tangy, Tart, Hot & Sweet). We shopped for ingredients in Chinatown, but when we unpacked we had forgotten the bird chilis.

I told Yw I'd check at the Korean deli on the corner. I remembered seeing them there in the past, but when I asked they said they had only jalapenos. I went to the deli across the street; same story. I walked to the Japanese grocery store; only jalapenos. Walking back to the house, I passed Kittichai. I stopped in and asked the Maitre d' whether their kitchen could spare some chilis. He told me to wait and he'd ask.

A woman appeared and said they had eight different types of chilis and asked what I needed. I told her and she asked me to wait a moment. Five minutes later she came out with a small bag of them. I thanked them profusely and they told me I now had to bring them some of the dinner. I laughed and said we couldn't compete with their kitchen.

Our dinner was fantastic.

Die Walkure

Two Saturdays ago I met Yw for brunch and then we donned our helmets and took the train to the Metropolitan Opera for its production of Die Walkure. As we climbed the stairs to our seats, spontaneous applause broke out. A woman sitting in the row before us lamented that we were not sitting with her. The woman beside us complimented us on our choice of accessories.

Later, the woman in front of us offered chocolate covered macadamia nuts to the couple beside us. The woman said they were from Stop and Shop. She offered some to us; they were delicious. They exhibited a familiarity that prompted me to ask if they knew each other. The woman beside us said they were both season ticket subscribers and had developed a friendship over the years. Zita, she pointed to the woman before us, had missed just one performance from a subscription in the 13-odd-years they had been coming. She said that on that night, there was a terrible snow storm. Zita and her husband had dressed, got into their car to drive in from New Jersey, and then had been turned away at the freeway. The state police had shut it due to the weather.

The production was exhilarating. From the level of singing, the staging, and the set direction, the total affect was completely engrossing. it was perhaps the best I had seen at the Met.

The future is yours

This evening, after a Chinese takeout dinner, I reached for a fortune cookie. Teru said the fortune didn't count unless you had eaten the cookie. I ate half and looked at my fortune. It read "Your present plans." On the other side was a single word: "Milk." I tried to unfold the paper, but discovered it had been neatly cut in half. Kavita told me my fortune was open-ended. "isn't that great?" she asked. I laughed and said it was.

Happy Chinese New Year!

Fonts for change

Last week I had lunch with Guillemette. She was in town to cover the campaign up to and through super Tuesday as well as do research for a new book. She suggested we have brunch at Coffee Shop. She wanted American food.

Midway through brunch, two women sat next to us. Their conversation drifted from fashion to politics and back again. They talked about McCain, they talked about Romney. Soon, they began to talk about Obama. One woman said she wasn't sure if she would vote for him. She said she thought the font he used for his "Change" sign was the same font as that of Chanel. She thought that was bad form.

Later, Guillemette apologized for being distracted. She said she couldn't stop listening to the conversation at the table next to ours. She told me that her readers in France had asked her to write about how Americans make their decisions when voting in elections. She said she should write about fonts.

Favorite albums of 2007

I love year-end lists. And so here's my own. I wish I could write about music in a better way. In no particular order:

Radiohead, In Rainbows
The true followup to OK Computer, this is the album I wish Hail to the Theif had been. And the initial download release reminded me of going to midnight sale CD releases in college to buy an album as soon as I could. It's amazing that that they managed to suddenly reawaken that excitement of being one of the first to hear an album along with the rest of the world, rather than finding a leak online weeks before the official date. And of course, wanting the vinyl, I shelled out for the discbox.

Okkervil River, The Stage Names
Something like an indie rock version of Jackson Browne's Running on Empty, this album bemoans the life of an indie rocker and turns the lens on itself. Commenting on the various pressures and ennui of being in a "mid-level band," Okkervil River manages not only to update Jackson Browne's portrait of being in a band in the aughts, but also puts themselves in a direct historical path, showing how the more some things change the more they stay the same. I love the Beach Boys' quote at the end. So apt.

Rhymefest, The Man in the Mirror
Mark Ronson and the "Best Kept Secret" remix Michael Jackson's discography and let Rhymefest do his thing in tribute to the King of Pop. Amazingly, the album actually benefits from its skits, which, with tricky editing, take the form of studio chatter between Rhymefest and Michael Jackson as they make the album. Maybe it's because I'm a fan of MJ, but I find myself coming back to this. There seems to be such joy in the creation of it, which never ceases to put a smile on my face.

Burial, Untrue
I'm not even completely clear on what dubstep is, but the dark murky soundscape of this album and the skittering beats offer themselves as the children of Massive Attack and the cousin once or twice removed of Dizzee Rascal. A fitful late night descent into a dancing darkness. Or something like that.

Kanye West, Graduation
How does he do it? I'm amazed at the level of quality he's been able to sustain in the hip hop arena. I'm not even sure what to say about this other than it's more of what you've come to know and expect of Kanye while managing to exceed and rise above it. How else would he continue to be so fresh?

Jens Lekman, Night Falls on Kortedala
If Okkervil River were channeling the spirit of Jackson Browne, Jens Lekman is like a Swedish Van Morrison. But instead of becoming subsumed by his 60s and 70s R&B and AM radio influences, he filters them through a sweet Swedish precision. Almost too precious by half, there's something infectious in the seemingly simple way he plays with and through his influences. It's music by a lover of music.

Bettye Lavette, The Scene of the Crime
In a year when Sharon Jones released her third soul excercise in 60s revivalism, and Amy Winehouse borrowed Jones' band to put her own brand of funk on it, I found myself returning to Bettye Lavette's Muscles Shoals-like album, recorded with the Drive-By Truckers. While not as raw as her previous outing (the fantastic I've Got My Own Hell To Raise,), the fuller sound brings a new warmth to the proceedings and the band does great work supporting Lavette's voice, growls, and phrasing. As a side note, she'll be playing February 8th in New York as part of Lincoln Center's American Songbook presents series. And, in a move that I have long wanted and hope will become the norm, the LP comes with a free coupon to download the music as an mp3.

Blonde Redhead, 23
Airy, lush production propels this album foward in an almost hypnotic state. An autumnal dream-pop album, I assauged a few dark late nights with this small gem.

Bjork, Volta
While perhaps not her best album, it's Bjork! And while some songs seemed to meander to the point of almost becoming lost, others reaffirmed Bjork as one of the most distinct voices in contemporary music.


Notable reissues:
Betty Davis, Betty Davis
Betty Davis, They Say I'm Different
Her first two albums serve thick powerful slabs of 70s funk. Married to Miles Davis (for a time) she turned him onto Jimi Hendrix and psychadelic rock, influencing Bitches Brew, in the process. The first album features Sly and the Family Stone's rhythm session and backing vocals from the Pointer Sisters. I read someone somewhere call her the Janis Joplin of funk, an apt comparison.


Book about music:
Alex Ross, The Rest is Noise: Listening to the 20th century.
A breathless tour through the landscapes of 20th century music. At times I felt as though I was running to keep up, almost always I wanted to rush out and buy the music Ross discusses so that I could listen along. By charting the development of 20th century music it helped my understanding of how music is, and makes me want to learn music theory, the better to understand the structures of the music itself.

Back to the present

I've decided not to continue back-blogging my trip in Japan. I find there's something missing when I go back to fill in the gaps. The stories are there, but they seem flat on the page, disconnected from experience. I'll no doubt tell some of the stories in the weeks to come as they seep back into my consciousness, but for the time being, I'll be back in the present, as the title attests.

(Not so) alone in Kyoto

I arrived in Kyoto on the shinkansen from Okayama. I had rearranged my tickets and arrived in town earlier than I had planned. At the ryokan there was no one to meet me. While I waited I called my friend from a payphone, dropping 100 yen coins in by the handful. She said she was free that night and we made arrangements to meet. She said she'd find me at the hotel.

I spent the afternoon walking around the area near my ryokan. I had booked a place near the Kawaramachi street and the river. The main shopping area was a few minutes walk north, and the Gion was just to the west. I wandered the old quarter of Gion and made my way to the Yasaka shrine, passing the Minamaza kabuki theater and various shops along the way. I remembered the last time I had come, almost exactly a year to the day.

As the hour of my appointment drew near, I went back to the ryokan to bathe. The guidebook had remarked upon its wooden bath and I was eager to try it out. Unfortunately, I was too early for a bath and had to settle for a shower.

My friend walked with me by the canal in search of a restaurant. When we finally found it, we discovered it was under renovation. Later, she would tell me that the inside of the restaurant looked like the bath house in Spirited Away and I lamented the fact that it was closed. We walked along the street and chose a pan-Asian restaurant overlooking the river. The waiter sat us and we ordered a set meal.

I joked that the restaurant was apropos since we were pan-Asian ourselves. She was Japanese, living in Japan, and I was Chinese-American living in New York having just arrived from Taiwan. The food was tasty, each dish originating from a different Asian country, but with a Japanese spin. We chatted and caught each other up on our lives. I mentioned that I had visited Kurashiki and she told me her husband was from near there. Okayama to be specific. She told me that the Okayama accent was harsher than the Kyoto one and joked that she felt he was always yelling at her. I had met her sister in New York and asked how she was. She told me that I'd have the chance to ask her myself at dinner a few days later.

After dinner we went to an Irish bar near the Pontocho-dori. The bar was sparsely populated and we drank our beers in quiet surroundings. Soon, my friend had to leave to attend to her kids. We made tentative plans for dinner on the day after and I promised to call to confirm.

The next day broke clearly and I decided on a whim to tour some temples in the northeastern part of the city. I bought a bus pass and took off for Kinkaku-ji. Almost the entire temple is covered in gold leaf, the temple gleams as it rests above a small pond. The temple was inundated with school groups and I enjoyed watching the schoolchildren take photos of each other almost as much as I enjoyed the temple itself. I had remembered Hello Kitty charms being sold at one of the stands, and was happy to find they were still being sold there. I bought a few and continued on to the zen temple of Ryoan-ji to visit the rock garden.

By the time I left Ryoan-ji it was getting on towards noon. I went to visit my friend and her sister at work to make plans for dinner the next night. We decided to meet at the Yakasa shrine and then I went to buy tickets to that evening's kabuki performance.

At the theater, I was surprised to find that the show started at 4.20pm. I asked if there were any later show and was told that the 4.20 show ended at 10.20. I shrugged and bought a ticket near the last row. I went home to bathe and then returned to the theater for the performance.

The audience was more subdued in the beginning than I had expected, but as the night wore on they became more and more vocal, calling out their favorite actors' names. At the intermission, I found I was one of the few people who had forgot to bring a bento box. Almost everyone brought a plastic bag out from under their seat and dug into their dinner. I walked around the theatre looking for food. By the time I made it to most counters, the selection was limited.

Back in the theater, I quickly ate my sushi. I had wasted most of the intermissions debating over bento boxes, and halfway throgh my meal the lights dimmed. I sat with my dinner half-finished, entranced by the final play of the evening.