Fire All the Way

Good Morning, Mr. Echo.

Now, don't you feel better?

Today's Hokkaidō Fact

The inscription under the statue of William S. Clark in Sapporo is: "Boys be Ambitious".

Miles from Osaka

First there was Miles from India in which sitars and other instruments took on the works of Mr. Davis. Now there is this. Amazing and wonderful, in case you heard about it yesterday on PRI's The World. The basic story line, as I understand it, is that an elderly couple unable to children but then a peach rolls down the river with a boy inside.

As if that's not enough, though they don't allow embedding check out this wonderful marriage of My Fair Lady and South Pacific.

Basura. The Movie!

Musica de Sakamoto. Magnifico! ¿Pero dónde es el Ladrón de Basura?

Sittin' Around, Hangin' Out, Doin' Our Thang

Be sure to embiggen.

My Adventures in Japantown de San Jose

Now I can say that I've been to every Japantown in the United States, and I've been two 2/3rds of them during the course of less than 24 hours. This week, the San Francisco Chronicle ran a very offensive and biased article (and they wonder why the paper is on the verge of collapse) about our Japantown, one of my favorite parts of the city. It had statements on the order of "Collectively, however, the malls feel overstuffed and redundant." Overstuffed and redundant is a description that could be applied to Asia in general and Tokyo in particular, or at least to those of such a narrow world view.

Part of what I love about San Francisco's Japantown is that it feels like it is in something of a time warp, a glorious concrete fortress where I feel so safe and able to venture into its somewhat dated but cozy maze of malls, sushi joints, video stores, Sanrio joints, incense emporiums and overpriced stationary stores. I love walking down the stationary escalator at Soko Hardware and discovering great bargains and one of the best selections of drawer pulls and knobs in the city. Forget the Castro or Union Street, this is my idea of Main Street by the Bay.

Having explored the Japantown of my hometown and L.A's I did garner one bit of insight from the Chronicle article: There is a Japantown in San Jose, just north of San Jose State and downtown. San Jose is one of those places that I dismiss as being on the order of tofu, Muzak and wallpaper - possibly necessary but not worth taking time to give notice to. But every time I explore more, I am pleasantly surprised. Today's jaunt (in three digit heat!) proved that adage is well founded. There are no malls here, and the place has the village feel of many of the endless parade of Peninsula suburbs. I especially liked the abundance of ukulele related shops and posters. The stores were dusty with elderly proprietors standing guard suspiciously as I eyed their overpriced goods. I came away with only a DIY golden pavilion, that I look forward to assembling tomorrow morning after coffee, The Times and Bow's walk.
Now, I need to write a letter to the editor for the Chronicle to protest that offensive article that felt like ammunition to build some generic Santana Row style condo/Pottery Barn/IKEA combo at Geary and Fillmore.

On the Set

Sittin' Around, Hangin' Out, Doin' Our Thang

To learn more

www.reacjapan.com

or

Chamalyn where Mae claims the balloon couch I bought is one of only three on the face of the planet. (Oh, and be sure to watch your step as you return to 19th Street.)

I'm Becoming Henry Darger!

This evening after work I needed to nab some things in the land of Big Box Stores (sorry, I own a fuel efficient car and I vote), and afterward I could not resist driving to the other side of the 280 and stepping into DAISO. I spent barely $50, but my bounty was huge. This is not even 5% of it. And with barely anything priced over $3, they make it so hard to resist. Expect a really cool episode of Junk Thief TV in the near future.

My Day at the Hunky Buddha Pagaent

Last Sunday it was Easter and the Hunky Jesus Pagaent in Mission Dolores Park. This Sunday it was the Hunky Buddhist Pagaent on Post Street in Japantown. Well, it wasn't really, but the last big entry in today's Cherry Blossom Parade came at the end of its two hour duration with a bunch of grunting, chanting Japanese men in loin cloths. This was definitely a lot more fun and sexy and sweet at the same time than those dreadful fetish fairs down on Folsom Street and Dore Alley. And while the men at those festival in their harnesses resemble an array of Easter hams, the Cherry Blossom Parade featured various drummers, shrine hoisters, swordsmen and others who looked yummy in their loin cloths.

Add to all of that two parade grand marshals -- George Takei and Hello Kitty -- and it was a day that made me forgive the heat.

I attended with Bryce Digdug who gave a shout to George that was rewarded with the above wave from his convertible. When I leaned ahead to the right and let Bryce know that I could see a certain eight foot mouthless feline with a pink ribbon below her ear, Bryce nearly knocked me over with excitement.

Some other highlights:

* The kids of the bilingual (Japanese-English) Rosa Parks Academy in a big pirate ship singing "We Are Family". Bryce and I agree that we need to make a career shift and be the music/dance instructors at Rosa Parks and teach those kiddos some of our favorite hits from the 1970s and 1980s. Expect to see them singing "I Want Candy" and "I Eat Cannibals" at next year's parade.
* A seemingly endless contingent of people in anime costumes.
* Several contingents of buff drummers beating their instruments with full force with long sticks.
* Most of our gay or gay-positive local politicians. Mark Leno looked especially tan and happy, and I never realized he is Japanese.

During the parade, a very nice Japanese-American woman named Joanne chatted up Bryce and me and gave some helpful insights about the anime characters. At one point she said, "I want you two to know that I am completely accepting and tolerant of your people." After she left, I turned to Bryce and said, "Well, I certainly hope she wasn't implying that I'm Norwegian too."

Afterwards, we braved the crowds and heat of the "mall" and I got these bits of loveliness at the Kinokuniya Bookstore. My favorite clerk waited on me, and, as usual, she was wearing her gas mask. Expect to see these as part of the sets in an upcoming Junk Thief TV Episode.

In the meantime, here is a video review of the day's parade.

And Since We're Talking About J-Pop

This is my absolute favorite song by my favorite Japanese band -- Oh, Penelope! -- that I discovered in Hong Kong about 15 years ago. I just listen to this and hear an Asian re-interpretations of the Beatles and 1000 years of Western culture in a much purer light. It just makes me happy trying to imagine what on earth the lyrics are about.

Interactive Monday: More Mocks, Faux and Fakes

An article in today's Times about the Tokyo Tower turning 50 got me to wondering how many homages to the Eiffel Tower there are in the world. I've seen and driven under Torre el Reformador (above) in Guatemala City, and I understand that there is one in Paris, Texas.

Do any of you know of others?

This summer a couple with a Nebraska twang walking behind me blurted out "San Francisco is just like Buenos Aires." When I turned and sneered back at them silently, the woman nearly gasped. Maybe that doesn't happen in Omaha, or at lest Lincoln. If Buenos Aires is a faux Paris, I'm not sure what that would make San Francisco. I just know San Francisco in no way resembles Buenos Aires. We can't even bury our dictators, members of the Doors and elite here.

The Eiffel Tower was greeted with the same disdain the Transamerica Pyramid received three decades ago. Simply surviving, however, is not a guarantee of gaining credibility, let alone gravitas. The San Francisco Marriott, for example, will be considered as hideous in the next Millennium as when it opened in the 1980s and brought Far North Dallas Gauche Faux Deco Baroque to South of Market. The fact that all of the glasses in the penthouse bar broke during the 1989 earthquake proves that there truly are acts of an angry god of art. The building itself, however, will probably still be standing after "The Big One".

Much of my life I've thought I was a fake but feel I've matured into being more mock or is it mawkish? Perhaps I need to go back to Guatemala City, sit under the tower and soak in the proper waves of falsiness.

UPDATE: If you look closely at the clouds to the left of Torre el Reformador, doesn't there appear to be a cowboy hat?

And here is the tower of Paris, Tennessee, that is five feet shorter than the one in Texas.

UPDATE: Oh, and lest I forget, we have this lovely eight inch Eiffel Tower in the mini-Edwardian greenhouse right here at the Junkplex.

The Curious Appeal of Totalitarianism

What is it about once Fascist nations that appeals to me so often? Japan, Spain, Italy, Germany. Oh, and I also love France and la belle femme Madame Sarkozy, so that may squelch my theory. But French colonialists and royalists were not exactly pussycats.

Anyways, over the past couple of days I've been embroiled in the simultaneous Criterion releases of Mishima's Patriotism and Paul Schrader's Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters. The second disc of the latter has some really groovy extras. I've seen plenty of interviews in Japanese with Mr. M, but there is an intriguing BBC documentary packed with several interviews with him where he speaks where he speaks in English. Sitting in front of a small statue of Mercury, he speaks as if he's channeling Noel Coward and pronounces vulgar as VULL-garr. Why did I wait so long on these two? And why weren't they released as one set? Even more mystifying is why I waited so long to get Theo Bleckmann's Berlin. It's a really superb, dense, lengthy CD. Though released months ago, it's still not on iTunes and hard to track down in stores. I've loved little, strange Theo for quite some time. I have to admire someone whose collaborated with Laurie Anderson, John Zorn, the Estonian National Chorus and Phillip Glass among many others. This one time champion ice skater who does throat singing, robot voices for Speilberg and wacko new music/jazz, actually has a near sh0w tune voice on this album. Well, maybe a show where all the sets have Dr. Caligari angles, the lighting casts shades of green on everyone's skin, and there is an impending feeling of doom despite the cheery sound of pitch-perfect voices accompanied by cellos, a deftly precise piano and wailing faint scream in the distance. Hearing a man sing "Surabaya Johnny" seems to get at the essence of Brecht's words, perhaps words that Brecht might have felt in the person.

If you've not hear it, here is the link to the recent Terry Gross/Fresh Air interview with Theo. He's wonderfully fey and dark at the same time.

Speaking of once Fascist nations, would anyone like to go with me to Buenos Aires next July?

Hush, Hush Sweet Junk Thief

I wrapped up the silent film festival weekend with two completely unrelated films as the afternoon moved into early evening.

A restored print of Her Wild Oat discovered in the Czech Republic and starring Colleen Moore was a nice treat. I first discovered her nearly 40 years ago in middle school when I picked up her autobiography in the bargain bin. Though she was the top box office draw in 1926 and 1927, she is pretty much forgotten by non-silent movie fans. Ironically, Louise Brooks was relatively obscure at the time and considered a cheap Colleen Moore knock off. Colleen had the flapper thing going long before Louise went to Berlin to be Lulu. Perhaps because she retired fairly happily and spent the next 50 years happily married and sane hurt her reputation as a legend. Her persona was somewhere between Clara Bow and Mary Pickford. Speaking of which, the feature was preceded by a two minute techincolor screen test of Pickford having dropped the orphan-waif and looking vampish, seductive and ready to play Lulu. Her Wild Oat merged the hard working orphan with the gauche flapper with scenes at the Del Coronado Hotel that seemed the template for Some Like It Hot to ultimately copy.
Having such a light but touching comedy before Teinosuke Kinugasa's Jujiro was not the best build up for such an intensely dark film. I appreciated that it was not a film about samurais, geishas, martial arts or an Ozu family chamber drama. Its central theme of a younger brother declaring to his big sister "I will follow you to the end of the earth" carried greater resonance after the screen faded to black, and it was all so dark -- sets painted gray and filmed at night -- with plenty of rain, blood, ash, painted hussies, a greedy old madam and a host of villains with bad teeth.

As always, this festival is the best trip to a foreign land -- the first quarter of the 20th century -- and I come away wishing I'd seen even more in the series.

Daiso

It's very rare that Junk Thief endorses a product or a chain of stores, but he just has to say how wildly impressed he is with Daiso Japan. Sometimes even Junk Thief needs to head off to the 'burbs for some of the things in those dreaded big box stores, and having Daiso in Daly City sweetens the deal. Where else can you find super nifty paper goods, mosaic candle holders, a Spanish flag, Japanese doll furniture, gardening tools, $.99 premium Danish cookies and gorgeous wrapping paper all at one stop? Ichiban Kan is also a huge favorite, but Junk Thief is beginning to prefer Daiso more. However, does anyone know the correct pronunciation? Day so? Dah-ee-SO? Day-eye-so? Die so?

The Glories of Indirect Light

Junk Thief has never been a fan of direct sunlight and has been known to go into a coma when he is forced to be around unfiltered overhead light for any extended time. While Blanche Dubois favored her little Chinese lanterns, Junk Thief is more fond of those of the Japanese order and has been trying them out in certain parts of the Junkplex. This is the latest addition above JT's ever growing turntable shrine. The question now is whether or not this theme should be extended post-taxes on the long awaited hallway make over project that will include floor renovation (hired out), molding (by JT) and new lighting (hired out/JT). This Tokyo de San Francisco theme would give the Junkplex an aura of Sam Fuller's The House of Bamboo, and we'd just not be able to keep Bryce Digdug away.

By the way, the print on the lower left was a gift given to Junk Thief on his first visit to Vietnam in 1996, a customized block print of the return of the Mandarin scholar, a theme he saw re-enacted the night before at the Thang Long waterpuppet show. Oh, on the theme of worst names for restaurants, Thang Long us up there.

Precious Junk, Junk-Pop, J-Pop, and the Ken Doll

Junk Thief has had an obsession with J-pop, high Japanese culture and all things Tokyo since the late 1970s and owns the nearly complete catalogs of Y.M.O., Sakamoto's solo and film scores, Shonen Knife, Pizzicato Five, Puffy Ami Yumi and Oh Penelope. He's tended to lean towards J-Pop girl groups since the male singers are too often of the whining U.S. boy band genre. Junk Thief's love life has often resembled kabuki theater. And, of course, Junk Thief has often joined forces with Hello Kitty and Deery Lou to fight evil forces in the Universe. Sanrio characters are the only hope to bring justice to our trouble, terrorized world.

Junk Thief was aware of but not not that into Ken Hirai until lately, and he's been in very heavy rotation these days. You've got to an admire a 6 foot plus Japanese gay dude that looks like, well, the way he looks and who can do something as fun and goofy as Pop Star (above) and Fake Star (below) where he cavorts with a bunch of blonde super models as if he was actually into them. Don't listen to the lyrics too closely and you might mistake him for, well, you insert the American name. Fittingly, his first hit was Precious Junk. Is Junk Thief off base, or does this guy deserve to have his own version of the Ken Doll? Junk Thief would be first on line to order one.