Showdown in Little America

The Bucho and I were invited to do a demo at the US Embassy compound this afternoon... but we had to show up before 9. How all this was planned so poorly, I have no idea. When I saw the lines to get in (the compound was open for the day to the general public for an early Fourth of July festival), I kind of realized why. We were subjected to security screenings when we came in at 8:45, of course, but nothing major. The Japanese nationals who elected to come and see a little piece of Americana after the gates were opened at 11 were put through the wringer. For a brief moment, I thought I was in the airport. Get the picture?

The US Embassy workers' compound is technically US soil, so everything is American. The road signs ("SLOW! Children playing") the lawns, and especially today, the BBQ, threw us both for a loop. I thought it was kind of cool, albeit weird as hell without going through jet lag first, to see this little USofA in the middle of Tokyo, but the bucho was seriously appalled. He was so turned off by the whole thing that getting the demo over with and going home was priority one... but not until after hitting every BBQ stand on the strip! Chicken, pork, gyros, the list goes on. I'm glad we waited until after the demo to eat, otherwise we would have had a hard time swinging.

The only down side to having a Fourth of July block party in the middle of Tokyo is the heat. Fluffy doesn't tan, he burns. I got home this afternoon in time to made Sugawara sensei's aikido class, but had trouble when my gi started to seriously grind off layers of much needed skin. If we get invited next year, screw the sword, I'm bringing sunscreen. Hopefully pics to come.

A Follow Up to Don LaFontaine

The Man Himself

One of my passions in life is watching and collecting movies on DVD. I rarely see films in the theaters anymore (mainly because I live in Japan where a ticket costs the equivalent of about $18). Even though seeing a film in the theater is fun, watching a DVD in the comfort of your own home is more appealing I think, and most people would tell you that the best part of seeing films in the theater would be the trailers anyway. (That means "previews" if you're not hip to film lingo... "Previews" used to "trail" the feature up until blockbusters started being made, and for some damn reason, the term "trailer" stuck.) I've wondered for years who that guy is that does the voiceovers for trailers, but before I can get back to my computer and Google him, I always forget. But not today! His name is Don LaFontaine, and he is THE MAN.

Additional Media Coverage

About three weeks ago, a journalist from Israel came to Hombu to interview Doshu... without an interpreter. I happened to walk in the dojo at the right (wrong?) time, just as Amir was about to crack. He had been looking around for someone, anyone who could speak Japanese and English to help out his reporter-friend. He ran up to me panting and asking for help with the interview, to which I reluctantly agreed.

I was escorted into the oval office of Hombu where the journalist was patiently waiting, and after about a five minutes, Doshu came striding in. Of course the first question had to be about aikido philosophy... Asking the question is easy, translating Doshu's answers into English.... that's a whole new ball game for me. The Ueshiba family is notorious for speaking in riddles (most Japanese people had no idea what the heck O'sensei used to lecture about), so needlesstosay, I was sweating bullets. Everything went fine though, despite a brief ten seconds of tension when Doshu cut off the reporter to ask very sternly just where this interview would be rearing its ugly head. He eventually granted permission for pictures to be taken during his seven o'clock practice; a few of which I managed to get a hold of. To take advantage of the photo-op, Amir and I practiced together at the back of the dojo.I like this one (above) even though my main man Namba sensei is staring at my butt.

Doshu is in this picture. Can you find him? Think of it like "Where's Waldo?" Hint: If you can't read Japanese, it might be difficult.

Why I Hate Pop Culture in the 21st Century

The term "retro" has always applied to me. I've enjoyed quite a few (a lot but certainly not all) pop phenomena up until the mid-nineties. I'm a die hard Police fan; I love the Talking Heads; was really into cartoons growing up (just recently got Voltron on DVD and started reliving my childhood.... yeah yeah, I know, "it's barely over, douche bag."); watched Bruce Lee movies and even listened to Nirvana despite being too young to appreciate them. Hey, let's face it, I'm a generation Y guy.

But what I've come to realize lately is the fact that so many of my fellow generation Yers are stuck in the 60s, 70s and/or 80s. The mid-nineties were great, but once the new millennium came around, pop culture up and died on us. Here's but a bland taste of the proof I offer to all you readers (all two of you): Britany Spears and Lindsay Lohan. Who in the name of Jesus H. Tap Dancing Christ ARE these people? I log on to CNN.com or MSNBC to see what the summer blockbusters are shaping up to be, but what do I get instead? An article about whoever the fuck Lindsay Lohan is getting drunk over Memorial Day weekend and wrecked her Mercedes. I ask again: WHO THE FUCK IS LINDSAY LOHAN?! I read in the article that she's around 20 years old. She's SUPPOSED TO BE CRASHING HER CAR! SHE'S 20 FREAKING YEARS OLD! But again I ask, WHO IS SHE and WHY WOULD ANYONE GIVE A SHIT ABOUT HER?! Maybe being over here in Japan equates to being lost on a desert island, but at least I've heard of Britany Spears.

My one saving grace at a time like this:

"You took me over, take a LOOK at MEEE!" The absolute best performance of "Next to You." The Old Grey Whistle Test was a program in the UK for up and coming bands in the mid-70s. I saw an interview with Stewart Copeland once about this particular show. He said that Sting couldn't get his hairspray can unclogged and accidentally shot himself in the face, temporarily blinding him, just before they were about to go on stage. Sting confirmed Copeland's story in a separate interview and followed up by saying, "I couldn't see a thing! I said to Stewart, 'Hey, lend us your sunglasses!' But his head is just enormous, much bigger than mine - it would be, right? - so his sunglasses covered my entire damn face!" Excellent. Gotta love the Police. Sting could play bass, sing, and wear Stewart Copeland's gigantic shades all while coping with the searing pain of having hairspray burning its way through his corneas.