love is for the middle class

"This is Alfred. He hasn't long to live."

...Or so I was told, upon receipt of my first potted plant. My neighbor was moving, and parting out what was left of the unkempt garden she'd amassed on the porch.

Fixed and the City: "el fin"

Four months in the making, "Fixed and the City" is a lot of things. It's the digital marriage of Panaracer rubber, asphalt, and sound. A moving picture mixtape. A single-speed mission statement. A dedication. A memoir. The difference between simple ownership, and unabashed love. It's less about the "scene," and more about a day in the life; fixed gears on this little concrete canvas of ours.

Oh, and it's about thirty minutes long.
Crack open a cold one, and turn the volume up.

Sorry to keep you waiting.





* Since this is just a weak sample, to hit the full version and/or download the torrent, follow this linkage to Vuze.com. And if those two clicks somehow end up giving you fits, blast me an email so I can set you up with my best Indonesian call center impersonation.

4 8 15 16 23 42 hike

Eh, my little Cybershot was going on 3 years old, the electronic store was having their 1 year anniversary with 15% more bonus points, I just added song number 5023 to my iTunes library, the Headset project hit 28 gigs of raw footage, and I spent 1 hour and 46 minutes doing the dishes last night.

Figured all the numerically logical signs in my universe were hinting towards a camera upgrade.

le old movie

I think I would be entirely remiss for coming here and not posting a photo of le tower. Or one of Frampton.

Or both:

Back in a few days with photos of delicious crepes, and a smug stereotypical wisecrack or two at the expense of Frenchie.

lost in anxiety

Very special thanks again to Ms. Tamesada for her patience, timely rhythm, and steady camera hand. Got almost everything on the first or second take. Thanks also to Frampton who graciously took time from his busy globetrotting schedule to appear for a very brief cameo.

Enjoy.

Take my blanket and go

Seems like everybody loves lists. Year-end/beginning lists especially. Be it a bittersweet retrospective, or pathetically optimistic, it's hard to not enjoy a well-conceived and organized list. So, per certain new year's expectations, here is mine, in all its haphazardly compiled glory:

* milk
* eggs
* pop tarts
* ukulele
* cake or death
* Paris
* air guitar
* hot
* kill monsters in the rain
* hump catting
* bear blasting
* ...what the hell?

Ah, I just remembered. I hate lists.
Here's a better idea.

I'm sure by now most of you should be familiar with my smallish gnome friend, Frampton. If not, no big deal--just flash back to my painfully crap** writing of yesteryear, and kindly read about his humble beginnings, before continuing.
While that post fails to actually provide any real information on Frampton, rest assured there isn't actually much to say. A charming gift from my sister, he has since become a strange extension of myself--a kitschy snapshot stand-in, conveniently pausing for photographs at timely major milestones in my life.
So, here he is--in 2007:




** This is not to say the writing is no longer crap, just that it used to be more crap.

This year, I went as "Ambivalence"

News In Briefs:
WYWS Edition
* If you'll notice, there's now a survey on the left hand side of the page. It's actually of the utmost importance, so if you'd be so kind as to donate two finger clicks, I'd be much obliged. Through your faithful voting, bets will be won, dreams will be crushed, and large amounts of unmarked yen notes will be passed from gloved hand to gloved hand in silver Haliburton briefcases.
Cast your vote wisely.

* In other non-sushi related news, a gauntlet has been cast down across the internets. If you have a Facebook account, and aren't already part of the group, I invite you to join in on the celebration of manliness. Warm up those follicles--"whoo vhants ah mustache ride?"

* Oh. And happy Halloween. This afternoon, following their pumpkin carving disaster, I was dragged into the first grade classroom for an impromptu discussion on this silly holiday of yours.
So to spite the teacher who decided that entertaining her class was more important than my gchat session, I taught them how to scream "anarchy!" while wrapping her house in toilet paper. Don't forget to hit the rain gutters kids!


Rice harvest this week.
Seasons like reasons, five years in the making, I've seen them all, and I'm running out.

Too 'le tired' for any meaty complaints

Okayama addresses are totally whack. Tell a taxi driver that you need to get to 1-16-3 Yamato Cho, and he'll give you an empty stare. Say 'pronto' and he'll kick your dumb gaijin ass to the curb. But tell him that you need to go to "the ugly beige brick building underneath the bullet train tracks at the end of that one street that with those peach trees and that little noodle shop that's always closed on Mondays" and he'll have the pedal to the floor like a drug-running wheelman from the J-Fuzz. I only mention this because some J-noob unwittingly asked for my address the other day, with intention of actually finding my apartment. Actual addresses are cryptic puzzles left to be cracked by the friendly Post Office workers and that bastard NHK man when you owe him money. For the rest of the nooby foreigners and Asian mortals, points of reference are wisely used instead. Thinking about dropping by my swinging pad for a drink or a game of CaC? Grab a pen and paper--this one's a doozy:

Apt. #205
Okayama City, Japan
Down the street from 711 by Undou Kouen, used Honda scooter dealership
Behind fenced-off parking lot where that old lady throws her dishwater
Small transformer station under bullet train tracks
Right at the river whose fish you would never want to eat
New building between transformer and coffee can shrine, second floor.

Good luck poop-heads. You'll probably need it.



* The forthcoming video update faced an untimely and crippling setback last night when I lost an entire evening's worth of editing. If you were out collecting the morning paper around 8 or 9 am yesterday, you may have heard the resounding echoes of me cursing. But sit tight. It's still coming.

Frampton comes alive

My summer journey starts in a few hours. But before I squish the air out of these crappy space-saving packmate bags, and heave them into my bloated suitcase, I thought I'd introduce you to a friend of mine. Now, before you get to judging him for his slightly uncouth appearance and questionable taste in carry-ons, I'd like you to know that not only does he tote a basket of daisy-shaped hand grenades, he also stows books on arm wrestling, and surface-to-air-missile repair manuals behind the flame-thrower in his hat. So cut him a little slack ok? He's my undercover midget--my new traveling buddy. It's no wonder that we hit it off so quickly. I'm not all about horticulture or toenail clippings like he is or anything, but we both like Taking Back Sunday, both get annoyed easily, both like the beach, both love massive BK whoppers, and both enjoy making fun of wannabe rappers.

Anyway, as beacons of linguistic perfection, my boy Frampton and I are going to Japan this weekend, and will be back sometime in August. As often as I have computer access, my hope is to post thoughts and photographs of our constant travels and zany shenanigans here. So check back frequently, and feel free to leave grammatically correct comments. It's open posting here. Just watch your spelling and those homonymns--Frampton isn't anywhere near as forgiving as I am.
So, happy trails. I'll hopefully be hearing from you.


"Remember when we found your sister's records...I was just living in the moment, and the moment was all about you..."