The Shining Path of Least Resistance

Dalat's Architectural Bulldada monument Hang Nga Villa/ "Crazy House"

2010-07-26T18:34:00.012+09:00

On a two week tour of Vietnam, a lush green land known more for ancient temples, teeming cities, and lost battlefields we found an amazing monument of architectural bulldada in the hill station town of Dalat- the Hang Nga Villa, known locally as "Crazy House."

The villa shares a neighborhood with other homes of Vietnam's high and mighty, including the Summer Palace of the last Emperor Bao Dai (who abdicated in 1945) where the wife and I had our picture taken in the official reception room beneath a crossed pair of elephant tusks. Crazy House, on approach, resembles the entrance to an old-school Disneyland attraction, the Treehouse of the Swiss Family Robinson. Covered in tropical vines, a massive faux-wood stump lifts our of the slope, peppered with strange porthole windows and canopies, lined with snaking tunnel passageways, all functional as you can see the bobbing heads of sightseers walking through them. Inside the ticket booth was the grande dame herself, the designer and creator Dr. Dang Viet Nga, a real Madame X who reminded me immediately of the old woman bathhouse owner in the Japanese anime horror film Swept Away. I had hoped for an informal interview with her but here she was selling tickets (20000 Dong - $1)to a line of tourists, giving me no chance to explain my purpose.

Dalat was built by the French in the 1890s as a summer hill station retreat from the lowland heat and it remains home to hundreds of vacation villas of the rich and well-connected of Vietnam. Dr. Nga is no exception as she is the daughter of one of Vietnam's post 1975 red Presidents (Pres. Tranh, 1981-1988), which explains why she was able to construct Crazy House in the first place. In 1990, with her wealth and training as an architect she began to build a massive organic natural dreamscape hotel and villa with a Hogwarts-like main dining hall and over a dozen theme bedrooms.

Twenty years later the project is almost finished. We walked through the narrow passageways through the rooms decorated with honey-sucking bears, giant gourds, ants and kangaroos, all made of reinforced concrete, but made to look like they were carved from a giant hollowed out tree. At one juncture we walked over a thin arching pathway bridge that a chubby and tipsy foreigner might easily fall off of. And it ended in a still-under-construction drop off into mid air! It's something I appreciate about Asia, the low threshold of safety.

The rooms can be rented out for $25-35 a night and spending an evening here would probably feel like a slumber party in Hobbittown or Dr. Seuss's Solla Sollew. Back at the main office, lined with letters from amazed visitors and crinkled news clippings Dr. Nga was nowhere to be found, having surrendered the ticket booth to another minion. I settled for leaving some SubGenius material in the lobby and then retired to the garden for a picnic lunch of local baguettes, cheese, ham with a bottle the Dalat red wine beneath a giant concrete mushroom which I decorated with a Dobbshead sticker for the occasion.

Hang Nga Villa, 03 Huynh Thuc Khang St., Quarter 4, Dalat, Vietnam
As Dalat was full of wifi, we should not be surprised that Crazy House
has a dysfunctional website here

More pics below:

This is China (T.I.C.) #1

2009-05-15T10:11:00.001+09:00

[Like other fine diarists on alt.slack who post snippets both profound
and mundane from their everyday activities and observations, I will
now do the same from my vantage point and listening post here in
Shanghai, China)

*We were out walking the wife and I, when I saw a well dressed peddler
with a trendy bag holding up an item for some passer-by. It sparked
and crackled a blue electric flash. "It looks like a taser." I told
the wife. It was a cheaper electric shock prod the guy was hawking
and he wanted 200 RMB ($26). I mentioned to the wife that we did have
a burglary attempt. She talked the guy down to 50, and we got a
recharger for it too. I just told her not to use it on me if I come
home at 200 am, drunk

*Shanghai is catching up with the rest of the world. I'm so proud
when I see stuff like this.
http://shanghai.craigslist.com.cn/cas/1170067309.html

*As I may have mentioned before McDonalds and KFC deliver 24/7. There
is one teacher at my school who will order a large coke or two only,
just for the ice.

*My school is an International Division attached to an ancient Chinese
High School the campus of which served at the Japanese internment camp
for Allied civilians in WWII (latee 42-45). The recently deceased sci
fi writer JG Ballard was imprisoned here with his family and
immortalized the camp in the novel and film "Empire of the Sun."
Yesterday I was biking home to my dorm for lunch when I saw two
elderly White people with a guide standing by the administration
building. I introduced myself and discovered, yes, he was a former
camp resident, visiting for the first time in 60 years. he had been
born in Shanghai, the son of the British harbor master. I escorted
him up two floors to show him his old room, with him pointing out
little details on the way "The Abraham family were in this room, all
15 of them.""The American merchant seamen were held in the theatre
over there." "I found bullets from the 1938 fighting here and a
Japanese guard cracked me on the back and took them from me." I told
him we are trying to get the administration to place plaques on the
buildings but they seem to shy away from this period. As I teach
history this is as good as it gets in my profession. We exchanged
information and he promised to answer all my questions when he got
back to Doncaster.

*Shanghai is holding the World Expo 2010, the current version of the
old World's Fair, but while the world will be here in force with
exhibition halls and corporate displays, it looks like funding was
never appropriated for a USA Exhibition and as a result it looks like
the Americans are not coming.

*I realized that the best way to introduce the CoS to China would be
to set up an actual storefront shop and sell nothing but Dobbshead
goods, cup, towels and geegaws while trying convince the Chinese this
is a major brand, like Gucci or Coach. It may be pink but the money
is green (or red, with Mao's face on every bill).

*Paid 90 cents for a screener pirate DVD from Russia of Star Trek.
Uhura putting the moves on Spock seemed a bit of a stretch.

SPLR, Khan of All-Shanghai

Response to call for Powerpoints for Shanghai X-Day

2009-05-10T09:50:00.000+09:00

rules the world OK powerpoint, the response has been dismal. Even a
appeal to Dr. Gone to produce a presentation for his False Dobbstown
in Malaysia has fallen flat. While I still hope for more
submissions, I have no choice but to make up for it by creating THE
LONGEST SUBGENIUS RECRUITMENT Powerpoint on the planet. It will go on
forever and include all SubGenius material, written and multimedia
ever, a magnum opus that will rival the Gutenberg Bible.

Dr.Dark's and all others will be uploaded into the file section of the
asia subgenius yahoo group

Now where did I leave that Powerpoint for Dummies book... it's here
somewhere...

SPLR Khan of All-Shanghai

Announcing 1st Shanghai X-Day Drill and Missionary Powerpoint Festival

2009-04-25T22:22:00.000+09:00

As this is my first X-day in Shanghai as Khan I am going to build an X-Day Drill
in full faith that if I do so, they will come.

I've decided on a slightly different format. A nightclub, a table with four
mikes, a live internet radio/TV feed and a large screen with a projector,
connected to a battered laptop with a Dobbshead sticker. My inspiration? Every
year there is a massive Shanghai Literary festival with a whole slew of foreign
authors coming through to wow the expats and the English-literate Chinese. See
site here
http://tinyurl.com/colc68

I am making an call to all SubGenii everywhere for academic papers in the form
of that great weapon known to every salesman and primary school teacher, the
Powerpoint presentation. The research can be factual or bogus, but it must be
fantically religiously defended irregardless. Authors have the option of having
their paper/ppt presented by a scantily clad Chinese university student. If you
can attend personally, we'll find you a straw mat to sleep on in the Great Hall
of the People.

Ppts will remain the property of author, but given the number of pirate DVDs on
the street here, that may prove to be a moot point.

I am thinking of papers/powerpoints on the following topics:

To Get Rich is Glorious: Thirty years of Patrio-Psychotic Anarcho Materialism in
China (I'll probably do this one)

New methods in Hapafropuzipulops cultivation: report from the X'tang plateau

Fu Manchu: Mountebank or Scourge?

Breakthroughs in North Korean model rocketry

Yeti sightings 1949-2009

Stang in China 1986-with surprise appearances by his old production partners

SubGenius art for the masses - Dobbsian Socialist Realism

or damn near anything else. The subtext of all ppts should be outreach and
recruitment of Chinese subgenii and money-paying bobbies.

We'll have music, a few rants, a showing of Arise! and then will whip through
powerpoint after powerpoint until the spectators pass out, riot, or go home.

For more information contact me,
The Shining Path of Least Resistance, Khan of All-Shanghai
shinpath@yahoo.com

Shanghai Obamarama

2009-01-09T00:16:00.005+09:00

[This first appeared on our new group http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Asia_SubGenius/
Please visit]

Being a historian by profession and on-again, off-again Democratic
Party ward heeler for my own megalomania, I made it down to
Shanghai's famouse Bund waterfront (with the view of the spacy Pearl
TV tower and Jetsonny skyscrapers you have all seen) to rub shoulders
with over 200 local swells and wannabes, drink $10 cocktails and
watch the Inauguration hoopla. In the warm-up the best part was
seeing Lord Voldemort-Cheney wheeled out in a wheelchair for the
ceremony (the official report said he had thrown out is back lifting
moving boxes! As if!). Our new Emperor looked fit, rested and ready
but he still inherits the Empire, such as it as. And while I was
moved momentarily by the fine words of his speechwriters (OK his too)
my reverie was broken by a man and woman just behind me having a
brief punch up which I had to help break up. Can't we all just get
along? Obviously not.

I had a dream where Wednesday comes along and Obama announces from
the comfort of his Oval Office Lay-zee Boy lounge chair that he has
no intention of doing jack as President as it will interfere with his
plans to play billiards and video games all day.

As this is China and the Central Committee still runs the show
despite Chinese Betty Crocker commercials on TV, this story ran a few
hours ago.

http://news. yahoo.com/ s/ap/20090121/ ap_on_re_ as/as_inaugurati on_china_
obama
Chinese translation cuts out parts of Obama speech
By ANITA CHANG, Associated Press Writer Anita Chang, Associated Press
Writer

BEIJING â€“ The official Chinese translation of President Barack
Obama's inauguration speech was missing his references to communism
and dissent, while a live broadcast on state television Wednesday
quickly cut away to the anchor when the topic was mentioned.

At one point, Obama said earlier generations "faced down communism
and fascism not just with missiles and tanks, but with sturdy
alliances and enduring convictions. " He later addressed "those who
cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of
dissent â€” know that you are on the wrong side of history."

The Chinese translation of the speech, credited to the Web site of
the official China Daily newspaper, was missing the word "communism"
in the first sentence. The paragraph with the sentence on dissent had
been removed entirely.

The censored version was carried by the state-run Xinhua News Agency
and posted on popular online portals Sina and Sohu. Another portal,
Netease, used a version without the paragraph mentioning communism,
but retaining the part about dissent.

The news channel of state broadcaster China Central Television
broadcast the speech live early Wednesday local time, but appeared
caught off-guard by the statement about facing down communism.

The translator had no sooner said "fascism and communism" when the
audio faded out from Obama's speech and cameras cut back to the
studio anchor, who seemed flustered for a second before turning to
ask an expert what challenges the president faces in turning around
the U.S. economy.

Wang Jianhong, deputy director of the CCTV general editing
department, said he did not stay up to watch the inauguration
broadcast but suggested the transition was a normal part of the
program.

"There are breakaways even when broadcasting China's own meetings,"
he said. "Americans might care a lot about the presidential
inauguration, but Chinese may not be very interested."

No one in the editing department of the China Daily Web site was
immediately available to answer questions.

China has previously altered the words of U.S. officials. A 2004
speech in Shanghai by former Vice President Dick Cheney was broadcast
live on state-run television at the insistence of U.S. officials, but
the Chinese transcript of the remarks deleted references to political
freedom.

In 2003, the memoirs of then-Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton were pulled
from publication in China after the government-backed publisher
removed references to the 1989 Tiananmen Square democracy protests
and altered Clinton's comments about human rights activist Harry Wu.

My friends the secessionist terrorists

2008-10-09T13:42:00.006+09:00

I couldn't help but notice that the latest themes in the US Presidential race are Barack Obama's links to 60-70s era leftist "terrorists" and Sarah Palin's, well, conjugal link, to a domestic secessionist political party (Alaska Independence Party). I feel it is time to come clean then, because I have links to BOTH.

In the 70s, during a stage of what I like to call my 'political nomadism' I was a, well, how shall I put this, a anarcho-surrealist direct action syndicalist soviet sympathizer.

I hung out at lefto-commie bookstore at my Southern California University with slackers who could not graduate after 7 years and generally made leftist mischief on campus, participating in a campus Fungus Festival (free dope and mushrooms), a takeover of the Dean's office over, of all things, free daycare, a confrontation with the Chilean Honorable Consul (we wouldn't let him out of the parking lot), and, finally on the night of the failed Carter Desert 1 Iranian hostage rescue mission, we stayed up all night, watching the news until President Carter came on at 3 am and then spray-painted the campus with various annoying slogans. It was fun, you had to have been there. Really.

Then, I moved on... I caught a ride in a VW van with a crazed Mexican Frieda Kahlo clone to the Bay Area (home of the Bay Aryans) where I got a job with the clipboard wing of the Sierra Club going door to door against an unpopular water diversion project called the Peripheral Canal that would send most Northern California's water...to LA. May not sound like much to you but...when we went door to door on this issue we discovered that about 35% of the people who gave us money (we had a $75 a night quota) started ranting at us "and I don't care if you split the state, too!"

Four of us took notes and came to the conclusion that, well, we couldn't win an election with these numbers, but 35% was a significant fundraising base. This is in the year 1981, OK?

Eventually there were 7 of us. Former canvassers with some local connections (a 6th generation Californian, another in with a local supervisor, a recycler, a pill-popper, a river rafter, a Skull and Bonesman and others who were bored with nothing to lose) and together we formed, let me try to explain this clearly, a regional secessionist faction of the California State Democratic Party. We called ourselves Democrats for Alta California and bought a post office box in the suburb of Fremont (named after the famed 1840-50 bushwacker and yahoo).

We were a laugh riot at the 1982 State Democratic Convention. No one had heard of us before and no one, especially the Southern Californians, knew what to make of us. We dominated the “Environmental Caucus” but when we suddenly learned that we had a majority of votes, and we could name our caucus chair, we didn’t know what to do or who to nominate. We pointed at some other guy, who then went rogue and embarrassed the State Assembly Chairperson Willy Brown (later mayor of SF) in front of the collected press corps. We ran amuck until our resolution on stopping water exports to Southern California closed the whole convention when the nasty Southern Californians called a quorum vote, and finding not enough delegates on floor at the end of day, closed the convention.

The group broke up out of its own inertia, but within our ranks there were SERIOUS NORTHERN CALIFORNIAN NATIONALISTS. People who wanted to pull Northern California, Oregon (Lemuria) and Nenslo-Seattle out of the United States forever. People who had read Berkeley novelist Ernest Callenbach's pulp fiction ECOTOPA. People like me who would like to come back to Alta California and grow medical for a living. Legally. But back then I realized to make it happen we would have to arm ourselves, and start taking out WATER PIPELINES. We would have to form a militia (our model was a Lebanese leftist militia called Mouribatoun who wore PINK camo fatigues) and die in needless battles.

Instead we blew it off and drove back through the Sacramento River Delta in Datsun pick up trucks on high dangerous canal berms so we could get back to Berkeley and watch replays of the Cal-Stanford game. You know, "the play," where Cal won by throwing 5 laterals and scoring a touchdown in the middle of the celebrating Stanford band.

So what is my point? My point is terror IS ONLY A TACTIC. Everyone does it.
The Americans did counter-terror in Vietnam – it was called the Phoenix Program. In the 70s we had hot, cool, well dressed, armed, intelligent Marxist/Anarcho direct action squads with names like the Weather Underground, Brigate Rosse, Baader-Meinhofs, Angry Brigade, Symbionese Liberation Army, Black Liberation Army, and others who messed up the heads of THE MAN until they were all hunted down, rounded up and killed one by one. They were more like the turn of the century anarchist bombers, the bearded guys in hats and cloaks who threw round bombs shaped like bowling balls with long sputtering fuses, who had names like Ravachol and shouted slogans like “There are no innocent bourgeois!!” More recently in Oregon a little group of Earth First! types ran around bombing and burning construction sites and other bad-for-environment sites before they were all rounded up, tried and given 20 year sentences.

Or in the case of Bill Ayers and Bernadine Dohrn, repented and got tenured university posts. See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bill_Ayers for his impressive resume. What pisses me off is that Mom-From-Hell Sarah Palin bringing up his name AS IF he is still out bombing on weekends for fun, like some member of ‘60s dinosaur rock band If you renounce the tactic, turn yourself in, and are then acquitted of any charges, then become a fine-upstanding citizen in academia and education, you are rehabilitated, right? NOT IN AMERICA. “Palling around with terrorists?” The US Army is doing that now in Iraq – they are paying, PAYING, former Iraqi insurgents and Al Q types to switch sides and guard their own neighborhoods. This involves hanging out with the commanders, drinking tea, shooting the breeze and whipping out the Benjamins.

If the 8 year old Barack Obama tried to stick his head in the door of any meeting of the Weather Underground back in the 60s it would have been slammed and he would have been told to go bed. For his own good. His Whitebread mom while may have consorted with Kenyans and Indonesians but fortunately ignored these armed hippies.

Actually what Obama should do is call a news conference, say Bill Ayers will be there, but then only one guy comes out to meet the press-Jeff Bridges in costume and character as “The Dude” from the Big Lebowski.

You want terror? REAL TERROR? Reread the history of the French Revolution. Robespierre, that crazy cut-up, defined it thusly: “Terror’ is nothing more than “PROMPT, SEVERE, INFLEXIBLE JUSTICE.” Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

I like to tell my friends here in “Red” China, where I now make my home, that my secret dream is to see America split up into 8 or 9 little countries, just like the former Yugoslavia or USSR. All on its own due to internal contradictions, without any help from yours truly. Then we could not make war or mischief on the rest of the world like we do now.

Oh, by the way I approve of this message.
Shining Path of Least Resistance

For fun go to
www.akip.org
www.buzzflash.com
www.dailykos.com
www.exiledonline.com

Vote early, vote often and praise "BOB."

Interned in Shanghai

2008-08-22T15:53:00.002+09:00

I moved onto campus at SHSID yesterday, into a new “dormitory” apartment, and was met at the door by the Chinese building super, “George,” who smiled and watched as I trundled everything up to the third floor in the sweltering Shanghai heat, supervised by my lovely wife and assisted by our three year old, Dario. The school, founded in 1865, is as large as a university campus, and wears its fame proudly, counting 80 government leaders (including the just retired PRC Vice President) and 20 generals among its graduates. I discovered yesterday that this is the site of the 1943-45 Allied civilian internment camp where the Japanese held those foreigners who did not leave in time. It is where “Shanghai Jim,” the noted English science fiction writer J.G.Ballard watched American fighter bombers raid the nearby airfields and later drop precioujs food canisters, as recounted in his autobiography Empire of the Sun, and made flesh by the Hollywood film of the same name. He returned to the camp yesterday by way but of his signature, inscribed in my personal copy of Terminal Beach.

Alone, I slept with the Olympics on TV all night, half-expected to encounter ghosts of long-expired internees, but none came. Ghosts are usually spirits of people who die swiftly and unexpectingly, without realizing it, and who then try to contact the living because they do not know they are dead. Those inmates who expired before liberation slowly wasted away from scanty rations doled out by the Korean guards in Japanese uniform and from the disease caused by such malnutrition, so it was no surprise for them. Happily, most survived and left Shanghai before the second wave, this time Mao and his Red Army, swept in and took the city for good. Perhaps their grandchildren may have returned to the present day city to enjoy the shower of champagne and riches. Today I’ll check in at the office and inquire which buildings, if there are any left, pre-date the war and were witness to the shuffling queues and glinting bayonets.

Fifty? Fifty.

2008-08-21T19:29:00.002+09:00

"Turned" fifty on Monday. Actually, in Asia, I'm 51 and my 50th was
last year. Lingling took me to an opulent Roman-style sauna and bath
that has you walking around in PJs, enjoying a dinner buffet and a
Vegas style floor show before you retire to a private room for a bit
of relaxation. You finish off in chaise lounge chairs with a foot massage.
Total for two, 60 dollars American.

Oh what a lovely war!

2008-08-13T12:32:00.004+09:00

Used to be, in the old days, nations would
put down their spears, swords, and shields,
call a truce and go off to the Olympic
Games for a week or two of peaceful sport
before heading back to the battlefield.

This year Georgia, a country of swarthy
people in a region next to Turkey called
the Caucausus, waited until most of the
world's leaders were in Beijing and most
of the world was sitting down watching the
Olympic Opening Ceremony to open an offensive
on a Russian protectorate called South
Ossetia. Not a good idea, as they have learned
since last Friday.

To read an irreverent, politically incorrect yet
hilarious, incisive and spot-on account of this
little adventure, run, do not walk, to the lair
of the War Nerd, who continues to broadcast from
the Exile website, the home of a now-banned
English language newspaper in Moscow, Putinland.
Enjoy.

http://tinyurl.com/69cp3f

Back For Good

2008-08-09T13:07:00.004+09:00

That was the inscription on a t-shirt in the Shanghai crowd this week and
it summed things up for me all at once. Back for good after ten years of
trying. New job starts on August 20 when I move into a dormitory (at age 50!)
with my fellow teachers. Very, very scary. Must learn to stay schtum. "Bob" will have to come later...much later.

The Olympics are of course using up what little oxygen there is here in the Chinese
atmosphere. At high noon yesterday, President Hu Jintao was televised live receiving
a line, a long line, of world leaders and their wives/female escorts for a photo op before
the welcome luncheon. President Bush and First Lady Laura had to wait their turn after
President Bongo of Gabon. Prime Minister Putin looked grumpy, only because I found out
later that the Republic of Georgia had decided to use the Olympics to start a war on Russia's
south border. The opening ceremony did not disappoint - high tech mass spectacle a la
Cirque de Soleil then the parade of world athletes. I had to explain to my geographically
challenged wife and in-laws where places like the Cayman Islands were and what their
claim to fame was (off-shore banking). Finally the Head Bureaucrat opened the games,
the flame was lit, and the pageant was over.

Shanghai gets a small share of Olympic soccer, but people are waiting for what happens
when the circus is over. Gas prices will go up, there is no doubt, and the Shanghai
stock market continues to tank. Food prices have leveled off after a spike this Spring,
but at least they finished the Carrefour in our neighborhood. Still haven't decided what
I am going to do for my 50th birthday on Aug 18th. An austerity budget managed by
my lovely wife reminds me that the fat days blowing yen in Japan are over forever.

Getting my front row seats for the End of the World

2008-05-10T09:08:00.005+09:00

It is almost a done deal but it does actually appear that I will be
moving the hearth and home and taking up a new post in Shanghai
China this August.

Nineteen years of La Dolce Vita in Japan will come to a close, probably
witha boozy Sayonara party sometime in mid-July. Rev Aeon has been
annointed Pope of all-Japan and hopefully he can do a much much better
job thanI have done as a missionary for the Church of the SubGenius
(swear loyalty to him here at www.myspace.com/popeaeon ) I
always joked that I would leave Japan when they pried it off of my
cold dead fingers but now it looks like China will get that honor.

Just thinking about the move well, it moved me to get drunk and
legless at the Kinki Brewers annual Golden Week BBQ. Someone
showed me a bottle of shochu and told me that the sensation
was like floating down a river so I said what the hell and
went for it. Consider some of the factors of my new station.

Shanghai is the home of the teeming masses. You can get on the
subway and walk into a gaggle of country immigrants with all
their possessions in rice sacks on the floor, ready to go through
your pockets if you let your guard down for an instant.

Shanghai figures prominently in Al Gore's An Inconvenient Truth,
where a rise insea levels floods the whole city, including our apartment.

While the city functions as China's Monaco, a playground for their
Nouveau Riche,the spectre of mob violence always seems to simmer
under the surface.

I will be taking a 60% pay cut from my salary in Japan and I will be
paid in US dollars which fell 4% this year alone against the now
strong Chinese Yuan.

We are moving into a tiny dormitory on campus, 25 sq. meters. We
have an apartment but it is 2.5 hours away by public transportation
which is full of those country immigrants I mentioned earlier.

Food price inflation has hit China, pork doubled in price from last
year and overall food index 8% last month.

Weird viruses keep popping up in China, the land of SARS, like one in
neighboring Anhui province that goes after kids. Did I mention
we have a 3 year old?

The Tibet uprising began in Shanghai in late March when Icelandic
moppet-head Bjork performed there, sang a last unapproved
song called Independenceand then screamed "Tibet!" which
no one understood until she was long gone.

We were in China and heard the first reports of some kind of kerfluffle
up in the Himalayas. Then we were watching the news on state TV
a few days later and all of a sudden they show footage of Tibetans
attacking Chinese, mobs led by monks attacking a Bank of China branch,
shots of Lhasa with smoke rising from numerous fires. "This...looks a
little out of the ordinary..."I thought.

I asked my wife what the commentary was saying. She said it was to the
effect of "We will smash them, they cannot win, this is a foreign plot...,
etc,"We got a call from my wife's uncle, a Chinese living in Lhasa. He had
moved there to start a business and get away from the gambling
dens in Shanghai where he had lost a bundle. He said he had seen
five people get killed below his window. From all accounts after
one big demonstration with police had run back and barricaded
themselves in their station houses and let everyone run amuck for a day.
Spontaneous ethnic cleansing and the local settling of
scores had been the result.

So my only hope is to recruit fellow Subs in Shanghai, form a protective
posse and wait for the mobs. Should be fun. But as Khan of all Shanghai
I plan to make sure there are Chinese instructions
on the ramps of at least 2-3 Pleasure Saucers.

I love that old line from the US Navy of putting one's self "in harm's way."
Watch this space.

James Fallows in Shanghai

2008-03-11T10:40:00.002+09:00

On Sunday, as part of the 2008 Shanghai International Literary Festival, I was able to go hear Atlantic Monthly columnist, author and blogger James Fallows speak on the Iraq War, the 2008 US Presidential campaign, and China to an audience of mostly Western foreigners. The venue was an opulent establishment called, quite rightly, the Glamour Bar, which sits astride the famous Bund water front of Shanghai with a front row view of the space age Pudong financial district skyline.

Fallows said that the next President , be it Clinton, Obama, or McCain, will have to make an impossible decision on Iraq, whether to stay or to go, both of which are no-winners for the many reasons most Americans are already aware of. Presidents only get to make these impossible decisions, Fallows noted, because “that’s why they are President. If the decisions were easy, somebody else already would have made them.” His new book, Blind Into Baghdad, essentially predicted all of the events which sadly took place in that country. The other ‘winner’ of the conflict, after Iran, was China, who was able to deflect the then rising Neo-Con move to paint her as the next looming American adversary.

His own insights on the campaign, on the American press and its treatment of the Big Three candidates, on the fratricide between the two Democrats, were all interesting, insider stuff, (among the points he made was that the American electorate has been divided into competing ‘fact universes’ where one group only believes certain facts and news sources and distrusts all others, think Limbaugh ‘dittoheads’ and Al Gore ‘global warmers’) but all the more so as Fallows has been living in China since 2006. Cable news and the Internet have permitted him to stay connected to events at home in a way that would have been pure science fiction 10 years ago. The influential drudge Report would have been a mimeographed newsletter put out by a crank and read by no one. In Japan in 1991 I myself had to follow the first Gulf War on a now long-lost shortwave radio

This segued into his formal remarks on China. We Westerners who live here, he said, have a hard time explaining the nature of Chinese control to people back home who still think China is still a place like East Germany where they check everything at the border and run mirrors under your car. It used to be like that when Fallows first got into China in the mid-80s under the (almost comical) sponsorship of the International Esperanto society. They had minders and they were followed and watched but all of that is gone now. The control is still there but it subtle and superbly refined and it permits far more than it controls, something North Korea and Cuba have yet to learn.

I like to remind people who question ‘human rights’ in China that you have the freedom, for example, to be a gay person, that ‘banned’ movies, even ones from Eastern Europe recounting the overthrow of Stalinism there, are freely available in street markets, and that you can openly criticize the Communist Party in conversations (you just can’t organize against it). The crushing of the Tienanmen Square Demonstrations in 1989 coupled with the rise of the Chinese economy had a two fold effect – it gave the government and the army the confidence that they could control the heights of society while at the same it showed the populace that if they agreed to this and did not openly resist it, they would be rewarded with the opportunity to get rich. Quickly. Which many, perhaps 200 million if you believe the current estimate of the size of the middle class, have done.

If you are reading this on Blogspot.com, that website is blocked in China. Using a stupid human trick, I can get around this and make a post, but the Great Firewall- the system of Internet policing the Chinese have devised with the open assistance of Google, Yahoo, Microsoft and Sun Microsystems is effective for most Chinese, who are sometimes unaware the Firewall is even there. Tibetan and Taiwanese Independence are the number one No-Nos, followed by pornography, but other big chunks of news and information get through in a way the government feels, perhaps rightly so, is harmless to their rule. The numerous small internet cafes have been replaced by giant dark halls with rows and rows of terminals that resemble something out of the science fiction movie The Matrix, easier to monitor and shut off if necessary. They are used as a second private room by mostly young people who go there to chat, play multi-player on-line games like World of Warcraft or the stock market, and watch cable and satellite TV.

I freely admit to buying pirated DVDs on the street here, but I look for the older and more obscure films I might never other wise see and I found a gem, a 4 hour documentary by the Italian director Antonini for RAI TV on China from 1972. The film is nothing but long episodes of Chinese reality, seen close up, of the masses going about their daily lives in their collective society then frozen in binding slogans of the Great Cultural Revolution. The film was later denounced by the Chinese who had permitted its making for unknown reasons, as the Italian commentary is the sympathetic travelogue you would expect from European leftists from that era.

My Chinese in-laws, with whom I don't share a common language, watched it with me with great interest as they lived through this period and it is their life then that appears. The People are seen marching and singing together, commuting in the back of trucks, hoes on the shoulders like rifles, raking, scrubbing, and engaging in Criticism/Self-Criticism. My father-in-law was a Military Policeman in the Peoples Liberation Army and my mother-in-law worked in a state textile factory here in Shanghai, which was the crucible of the Revolution. A ‘Peoples Committee’ ran the city for two months in 1966, having run off the Mayor in a dunce cap, and they actually tried to change the street lights so that Red meant ‘go’ and Green meant ‘stop.’ Today, happily, it is a locally produced GM car or a Rolls Royce stops at red and goes on green. I call my in-laws Old Believers, but more in the past tense, as they have adapted to the new changes quite well, in the same way Shanghai people have traditionally adopted and enjoyed Western introduced customs, fads and products.

The Chinese government can still produce old-style Communist rhetoric and denunciations, as it did when denounce, of all people, the goofy Icelandic singer Bjork, performing in an packed auditorium of young trendies here, sang an ‘unapproved’ song called ‘Declare Independence’ and shouted “Tibet!” at the end. She of course won’t be invited back, and perhaps payment of royalties will be delayed. I had no trouble, however, bringing in the Dalai Lama’s bestseller ‘How to Practice: The Way to a Meaningful Life,” and I even read it on public transport here. The local press also gets into the act. Headlines this week accused Uighur Moslem ‘terrorists’ from the far West of China of trying to bring down an airliner flying to Beijing this week. A young girl from that region, possibly trying to impress her boyfriend with a suicide attempt, was caught in the toilet with a flammable liquid. A bigger story was the planned opening of a Disneyland in Pudong. On TV the news stories of the heroic Army soldiers helping grannies across the street quickly jumps to a commercial for a new washday miracle or a must-have mp3 player before the latest racy soap opera or ‘Supergirl’ reality show kicks off. If you want Communism these days, you can still find it in Pyongyang.

As Fallows noted in his concluding remarks, people in the West who ask if China is ‘opening up’ or ‘becoming more democratic’ learn, once they are here, that these are not the questions on the minds of Chinese these days. He suggested what Westerners back home, especially news writers and policy makers, should do, is not fear or ignore China, but to learn to pay attention to events here without fear or preconceived notions. That’s still hard to do but it is becoming more and more possible thanks to information, trade and the one-to-one meetings between Chinese individuals and Westerners, both in China and in the West, where Chinese in greater and greater numbers are traveling to, both as students and regular, middle class tourists.

Shanghai Sea Slack

2008-03-10T21:52:00.001+09:00

If Slack is somewhere between hysteria and lethargy, between intensely intricate and sleepless joy of 'work' and the equally intense lethargy you experience when you lay out in a room full of feather pillows, 'mood' music and an endless stack of post-WWII comic books, it can also lie in that motion between two points, A and B, that the normals call 'travel.' My slackful commute is between two Asian megacities, Osaka Japan, where I work and live 9-10 months of the year, and Shanghai China where my wife, a native there, and I own an apartment where we have parked the in-laws and where we plan to live when we do finally move.

I'm lucky enough that the two cities are served by an ocean going ferry line which allows me and my family to escape the misery of air travel with its lines, searches, x-rays, metal detectors, profiling, delays, fuel surcharges, rattling aircraft, drunk pilots... One ship, one line, no delays and I can even bring a ray gun in my carry on although I might have to explain that it is an old movie prop perhaps. The good ship Hao Suzhou makes its way through the Inland Sea between the main islands of Honshu and Shikoku, a stone soup of little depopulated fishing islands and quarries, with villages that are best known to westerners who have seen that Bond movie where James gets a little plastic surgery and is dressed up as the tallest, ugliest japanese fisherman in history. Then its through the narrows at Shimoniseki, a straight less than a mile apart, and out to the open sea where for the whole next day you have an interrupted, 360 degree view of the flat ocean, reminding you that, yes, this silly planet that the Xists will eventually bid for at auction, is mostly water, a second atmosphere where King Neptune still hides, along with Aquaman, the whales, and the stuff you flushed down the bog last week.

Nine times out of ten the seas are as smooth as a public park pond, although this trip some heavy swells have 1st-timers running for the bags the crew have set out for the seasick. The boat rarely fills up as it makes its money mostly on cargo, and the passengers are usually Chinese, with the rest Japanese, either elderly or college age travelers, with a handful of western backpackers on their way to the Great Wall, Xian, or Tibet. Depending on my mood I either leave them in peace or banter with them about all things Chinese over duty free beer dispensed from Kirin vending machines, an appliance unknown outside of Japan. I tell them to get up early the last morning for the approach up the Yangtze, that fantastic sights await. Invariably, the next sunrise I suit up with the extra layer of foul weather gear I've brought; watch cap, gloves, windbreaker, but they are asnug in their bunks and I have the foredeck all to myself.

The great Yangtze river runs brown 20 miles out to open sea, like the Amazon, the great rusty silt of Asia filling up the undersea canyons, a mighty force of nature. Container ships line up for their approach, but we have priority and we settle into the sea lane. The air tingles with unseen energy, the captain visible in the flying bridge conversing with shore, and before long landfall is made, the mainland to port and the giant delta islands to starboard, and we begin our passage past every sea craft known to man; tugs, dredges, tankers, coastal lighters, delta ferries, Chinese navy frigates and subchasers, container behemoths too big for the Panama canal and my favorites, the mid-sized barges, the pickup trucks of the waters, with a single cabin/wheelhouse where the crew can usually be seen cooking, washing, or swinging lazily in hammocks, the hold filled with lumber, balast, giant gunny sacks filled with Dobbs knows what or perfect pyramids of coal with destinations spray-painted in white kanji characters.

The rudder pulls to port and we leave the Yangtze and turn past an old English-style lighthouse into the Shanghai River, the Huangpu where on both banks the switched on Chinese economy hums 24/7. Shipyards welders clamber over new craft of all kinds, giant cranes load and unload containers like so many Lego blocks, drydocks offer services for those in need of overhaul and the air is heavy with the smells of paint and oil, not for the faint-hearted. Ship names like 'City of Parnassus,' 'Golden Voyage,' 'Rapid Enterprise,' 'Baltic Maiden,' recall the day when a champagne bottle shattered bubbles on their bows and they slid into the channel amid cheers and confetti. The immense shipyard overhead crane at the Hudong works reminds me that my apartment likes just out of sight and that I'll soon be home. The skyscapers of Pudong come into sight, the space-age ones you may have seen, the Jin Mao tower and the Pearl TV spire, then the massive Huangpu bridge and finally the waiting dock next to the new Cruise Ship terminal on the North Bund. The crew sets to work, hausers with lead plumblines thrown to shore and secured and the liner is winched slowly landward, the end of the voyage. On the right stands the old Bund, nostalgic with its line of Gotham City-like buildings all from the 1890s-1930s, preserved and refurbished, reminding us that Shanghai was created by foreigners and that after a revolutionary hiatus, they have been allowed to return and reclaim their niche as investor, traders, and fortune-seekers.

China, at last, done over a leisurely two days. I've done it so many times I have a frequent passenger card, good for a 1/2 passage every 4 trips. The only delays is the quarantine authorities who interview the captain and officers over cigarettes and tea in the karaoke lounge for a hour before a mobile gangway/staircase rattles into position and we step onto shore to regain our land legs. Slack seas indeed.

Cameron Diaz - Agent of the Shining Path!

2007-07-01T21:22:00.000+09:00

I am going to take full credit for this stunning development.

"Diaz Apologizes for Bag Faux-Pas June 25, 2007

Cameron Diaz has issued an apology after insulting locals on a visit to Peru by carrying a bag emblazoned with a communist slogan.

The actress was visiting the Inca city of Machu Picchu on Friday wearing an olive green bag with a red star and the words "Serve the People" written in Chinese. The message was seen by many as a reference to Chinese Communist leader Mao Zedong. Zedong's Maoist Shining Path insurgency fought the Peruvian government in the 1980s and early 1990s, killing almost 70,000 people.

Human rights activists described the actress' bag as "inappropriate." However Diaz has now apologized for her ignorance.

She says, "I sincerely apologize to anyone I may have inadvertently offended. The bag was a purchase I made as a tourist in China and I did not realize the potentially hurtful nature of the slogan printed on it.

"I'm sorry for any people's pain and suffering and it was certainly never my intention to reopen what I now know is a painful wound in this country's history."

The only SubGenius at a Hare Krishna funeral

2007-02-27T17:54:00.000+09:00

My father died two weeks ago-he rolled off of his bed and expired on
the floor at the age of 84, locked in the giant house where he had
lived alone for the past 20 years like Howard Hughes,
trapped by mounds of old papers, magazines, expired health food
supplements and dirty laundry. My mother and brother broke in the
door and found him a day later. I got the call in Japan and caught a
flight home two days later to deal with the physical and the legal
mess he had left behind.

As the historian in the family I got the job of writing the obituary
which was published in the San Diego Union Tribune on Sunday Feb. 18
"A pioneering Mexican-American aerospace engineer" it glosses,
who "worked as a reliability engineer and Senior Lab Head for such
projects as the Atlas missile, the DC-10, and the
F-16." Dad was one for the books. There was one sentence
that was deleted at the insistence of my mother and younger brother:
"[His] lifelong quest for spiritual enlightenment took him from the
Methodism of his family through Transcendental Meditation to
the International Society for Krnsa Consciousness."

Yeah, dad got into the krishnoids seriously from about 1975-1985,
probably after buying a flower and getting a phamplet from a
street missionary.

My younger brother's old bedroom was turned into a Krishna altar room
with a raised granite platform surronded on three walls by an ornate
painted mural complete with sacred cows and a dancing blue Lord Krsna,
who suspiciously resembled my father's favorite pop singer, Michael
Jackson. Dad threw vegetarian parties for his new Krsna friends and
chanted with them but when it came time to change into orange robes
and sign over his worldly possessions he balked. I found an official
letter from the Grand Poobah of the San Diego Krishnoids introducing
Dad as an active member and asking for other Krishnoids anywhere in
the world to render him all assistance. But sometime in 1986 my
father retreated into a pattern of clinical paranoia and depression
which centered around his delusions that "the Bad People' were
breaking into his house to either steal things or move them around, or
they were bombarding him with microwaves or stealing his savings on
the internet. Bummer. The Krsna people went the way of all his other
friends and in the end only my Mom (who he had divorced in 1977) came
around to check he had food and to guard the house while he left for a
few hours for errands or trips to the doctor.

It would have been nice to throw him a full fledged funeral with
chanting Krsna devotees and flowers and do whatever rituals they do,
but in the end it was the Neptune society and a simple cremation. As
a SubGenius I would have loved to have honored him by carrying out any
bizarre cultish wishes he had for his funeral, but as there were none
we had to make them up. In the end my brother and I were in agreement
- just take his ashes back to his home country, Mexico, and scatter
them there. We found an exquisitely beautiful place, an unihabited
corner of Sonora province on the NW corner of the Sea of Cortez across
from Baja California, 30 miles south of the last town, El Golfo, a
place that appears blank on all maps with no habitation, roads or
landmarks of any kind. We drove along the beach past a dead whale
skeleton, and camped on the deserted point overnight before performing
the last act at sunrise the next morning. We placed the ashes in an
chinese style urn his mother, an amateur potter, had made, his
favorite. After a few words, first by my brother and then by me,
(where I recalled that one of his Atlas rockets had boosted the
Pioneer10 satelite out of the solar system) we poured out the contents of the
urn. With no wind we ended up making a grey sand painting with his
ashes on the white sand dune we had chosen. It was all quite
beautiful and appropriate. My brother marked the point on his hand
held GPS and then we got back in the 4WD and drove north.

There are still two boxes of hardcover Krsna books I want to give
back to them. Maybe some Krsna Grand Poobah would like to buy the
house so that the altar room would not have to be painted over and
remodeled.

At the end of the day I was sitting around with my San Diego SubG
friend, the Mayor of South Park, and he told me his favorite story about the
Krishnoids. He used to live near the Pacific Beach temple where the
Krisna kids would play with the neighbor kids. Whenever McDonalds had
a sale on burgers, he would buy a couple of big bags and give them
away to the veggie Krishna kids, who descended on him like locusts,
grabbing the contraband and gobbling them up well out of the view of their
parents. Good times.

USA 2 Mexico 0, one fan leaves the stadium forever

2007-02-09T07:10:00.000+09:00

I was able to pull an ESPN2 feed on my
computer 8 minutes into the friendly
between the USA Mens National Team and
the Mexico selection and for the rest of
the match it was a real emotional roller
coaster. In the back of my mind I thought
about my father and how we would argue
about my support for the USA (him, Mexico
to the death) if we were to watch the
match together. Then the USA scored 52
minutes into the second half on a corner
from glamor boy Landon Donovan that spun
in the air perfectly like Darth Vader's
Death Star before finding Jimmy Conrad's
head and hurtling into the net. 'Chinga
tu Madre!' an obscene way of saying
'In your face!' but that's what came out.
And my shouts could be heard across the
Pacific when Donovan added the insurance goal
in extra time.

Over 50,000 humbled Mexican fans left the
stadium in Phoenix, on the American side,
but apparently my father's soul was walking
with them, one last time. A few minutes
later my brother called from San Diego to tell
me that he had found my father on the floor
of this bedroom, passed on. I'll be flying to
Southern California today to deal with the
messy aftermath and see what I can do for his
legacy. He did not die a happy man, he had
issues, but he felt he deserved better from
America and maybe he did. Roger Robles Serrano,
1922-2007, Rest in Peace.

R.I.P. Ryszard Kapuscinski and L.M. Boyd

2007-01-28T23:10:00.000+09:00

Two of my favorite journalists/reporters of all time died within a few
days of each other this past week. One, Ryszard Kapuscinski, was
monumental and significant, and the other, L.M.Boyd, was, by the nature
of his material, rather trivial.

Ryszard, a Pole, passed away in mid-stride at 74 from a heart attack
in Warsaw Poland. In 1957 he became the African correspondent for
the Polish News Service PAP, eventually becoming that service's only
foreign correspondent. His dispatches eventually became whole books
on such subjects as diverse as the fall of Emperor Haile Sellasie of Ethiopia,
the Angolan Civil War, the Shah of Iran and the end of Communism in
Eastern Europe. As his writings were often for a controlled audience, his
style was often neutral but it gave the reader plenty of opportunities to read
between the lines and notice that he was really writing about the situation
in his home country Poland in the years before 1989. His books are available
in English and his shorter stories can be found in the London journal Granta.
A master story teller, he'll be missed, although I understand one more work
at the publishers and coming out next year.

The other writer, L.M.Boyd, who passed away at age 79 in Seattle, did a little
trivia column that appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle under the title 'Grab Bag.' There was a whimsical character to this list of 20-30 factoids, little nuggets
of information like the following:

" 'Fathom what's fathomable, and revere the rest.' That's not exactly what Goethe said. But pretty close. ... Larvae of all true wasps are flesh eaters. ... Giraffes, too, get kidney stones ..."

"Nose length of the female flight attendant averages 2.18 inches. The Federal Aviation Administration has determined that, but I don't know why."

"Q. What's the largest cell in the human body? A. The female egg cell. Smallest, the male sperm cell."

In his last Grab Bag column, Mr. Boyd informed his readers that the term "so long" came "from British soldiers. Who got it from the Malays, who say 'salong.' Who borrowed it from the Middle Easterners, who say 'salaam.' "

Anyway it was required reading on a Sunday after you had digested the Chron
and it usually contained the only information you might keep with you for the rest of
your life, rendering all that other news in the paper, well, trivial

Novo Anno Padroni, No Al Suono de Bastoni!

2007-01-09T10:40:00.000+09:00

I greet you all in this the new year where I can safely predict,
without a shadow of a doubt, that this lap around the sun will
be a pretty historic one, you watch. The Rev. Pat Robertson,
that respectible reflection of Jim Jones, has told his God-fearing
flock that nuclear or bio-terror will cause megadeaths in the
U.S.A "in the second half of the year," giving everyone time to
stock up on duct tape while maxing out their credit cards in
contributions to his church. The North Koreans, feeling ignored
AGAIN, will push the button on another nuclear test. "Remember,
this is only a test." I downloaded an animated .gif file of Saddam
going through the trapdoor and when you watch it in a continuous
loop you start to feel better about your life. "You think you
have problems, look at me WHOOPS!" What the Americans
should have done was set him up in Tikrit as their puppet, on
the condition he beat the Sunnis into shape to cut a deal. Hey,
my eternal hosts the Japanese did it with the Last Emperor Pu
Yi in Manchuria. Too late and now, thanks to one little Nokia
camera phone (that now belongs in amuseum), the War really
really really really is lost. Today, there's a new report of a 2nd
cellphone sequence that shows the dead Saddam WITH HIS
THROAT CUT.   There's always room for more deathporn, people.

Of course, if the war is lost try telling that to George II, who
now wants to muddle through the blood and mud  until Jan 2009
so he can hand the football over to a new Quarterback at the
conclusion of a tied 4th Quarter for "Sudden Death Overtime."
Then he's hitting the showers and going to Disneyland.   At this
moment, who should conveniently pass away but President
Gerald Ford.  The news and blog commentary on his role as a
Republican healer after Watergate, of his conduct as genuine leader
who consulted experts and Representatives from both sides of
the House and Senate and who even encouraged dissent, was
so thick with irony and nudges towards the current President
you could cut it into little squares and sell them as Pet Rocks for
4.95 each.

So let's cue the key word on this week's Pentagon Powerpoint
presentation - THE SURGE.   The idea is that 20,000 - 40,000
more U.S. combat troops (along with some Kurdish Peshmerga
militia masquerading as Iraqi Army units) will somehow bring
security to Baghdad so that we can finally start handing out
minimum wage jobs to unemployed Iraqis is prima facie absurd.
The muttering beneath the "Sir Yes Sirs!" of our Generals is
vintage 1970. Oh, I support the troops. I support them so much
that I am willing to go out on a limb here. Our fledgling
democracy might be served and even be strengthened, in the
long run, by a swift temporary military coup d'etat, led by some
good looking and dynamic Lieutenant Coronels, that throws out
Bush and Cheney and the Generals, salutes then lowers the flag
in the Green Zone before pulling out of Baghdad (cue cheering
privates going home) , then gallops off into the sunset after
handing the keys to the Oval Office to Speaker Nancy Pelosi.
There, I said it. If that's sedition, then, 'bring it on.'
You can find me in my cave bunker hideout in the
hills of Nara.

In closing I'll tell you the title for this post - it's from a street
graffitto an old friend, Steve Turchen, translated for me as we
walked down the medeval streets of Padova, Italy in the late
70s when the whole country was going apeshit:
"Happy New Year Bosses - but to the sound of Clubs."

A San Francisco Democrat

2006-12-22T13:16:00.000+09:00

The following piece was a submission to
the Japan Democrats Abroad newsletter. My
friends know me as a political nomad and that
is obvious from the tone here where I proudly
proclaim my loyalty to urban street mob politics
(threatening Nancy Pelosi with demonstrations
outside her office if she screws up as Speaker)
Enjoy.

A San Francisco Democrat

A few years ago I was giving advice to some enthusiastic newborn politicos in Shanghai who were starting up the Democrats Abroad branch there. “Decide what kind of Democrat you are” was at the top of the list. Be you a Blue Dog, a DLCer, or a Progressive Caucus member, self definition is important as it provides you with an anchor when the winds of policy and political fortune blow in every direction. Applying this maxim to myself I can say that I am a ‘San Francisco Democrat.” Eight years of residence in that festive city iced it for me forever.
My ballot arrived this year with only two choices; Congressperson for District 8 (perhaps the Bluest bit of California) and Senator. Two names were obvious; Nancy Pelosi and Dianne Feinstein. I immediately ticked the box for the first Female Speaker of the House of Representatives. Dianne was a different story. Her heavy handed rule of San Francisco as Mayor in the 1980s still rankles me to this day. She lost my vote this year when she gave a long speech of praise for Condoleeza Rice at the confirmation hearings for the new Secretary of State. Dianne’s election was 100% assured (no big name Republican was running) so I had no problem ticking the box for her Green Party opponent. Relax, we do this all the time.
While Republicans have painted Ms. Speaker Pelosi as a ‘San Francisco Democrat,’ there is a big disconnect between SF voters and our representatives in the foggy city by the bay. We are often as leftist as we are liberal and our blood flows Sierra Club Green. But once our elected officials arrive in Washington they take the centrist path perfected today by their sister and 2008 front-runner Senator Hillary Clinton. Not a word passes from their lips that has not been sanitized for mainstream ears at least twice by their alert aides. To find an actual SF Democrat in office you have to go across the bay to Berkeley/Oakland to Ron Dellums’ old district, currently occupied by the only representative to vote against the War in Afghanistan, the brave Barbara Lee. Still we San Franciscans are happy to have our big name women Democrats representing us as we hurry to Rainbow Grocery in our beat-up Volvos for another load of granola and tofu burger. ‘Think Globally, Act Locally’ reads the bumper sticker.
My old ballot used to have real races, supervisors and city propositions like Nuclear-free zones and free medical care at General Hospital. I gave it up when I was reminded I could be taxed in-state although the clerk at the Registrar of Voters in San Francisco City Hall shrugged when I asked about it the last time I was in town. When I came out of the office my wife, a first time visitor, breathlessly ran up to me to tell me that she had just witnessed a lesbian wedding in one of the ornate alcoves of the rotunda. We were staying with my good friend and political conscience Robert, whose home in the Bernal Heights provides me with my everlasting local address. A radical trade-union activist with Inland Boatmen’s Union, he never fails to remind me that many our party’s policies are often no different in practice from the Republicans we despise. I often find myself often agreeing with him. Many of our conversations take place on the sidewalk at some boisterous political demonstration or union picket line he has invited me to. Inevitably, the crowd will start chanting loud enough so that the bosses or officials behind the police lines can hear us -“THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!’
These are anxious days for us Democrats as the expectations for our new Speaker and Committee chairs is high. Like a toddler spilling food all over the table and floor Ms. Pelosi has been quite clumsy in her early days in almost-power. It’s 1993 all over again and we all remember Bill Clinton’s first awkward year in office. But the stakes are so much higher now and we don’t have a year to waste. One hundred days of action have been promised. We San Francisco Democrats have a new responsibility as it is our representative who is wielding the gavel. If Ms.Pelosi fails and betrays our trust she could swiftly be shamed by a left-wing challenger in a future Democratic primary for her seat. My Bernal Heights precinct, where I cast my vote in person in 2004, split 50-50 between John Kerry and (a true SF Democrat) Dennis Kucinich in the presidential warm-up vote. You go girl, but don’t forget us because we know where your office is downtown. Happy New Year.

Kim Jong-Il and Bush - Halloween Round 5

2006-11-01T04:13:00.000+09:00

"Good news, everyone! The North Koreans are going back to the 6-Party Talks!"
Fans of the Simpsons spin-off Futurama will recognize the voice here of Dr. Farnsworth announcing some horrible mission for the delivery team. You have to credit Kim Jong-Il's timing once again, seven days before the U.S. mid-term elections. He seems to operate on a time line that demands he does something to get on the front pages every three weeks. This also proves he could give a rat's ass about Republicans or Democrats-they are all the same to him. "Really Kim, the Democrats are nicer, they sent that lovely Mrs. Albright to see you" "Yeah, right, I keep her picture next to Prime Minister Koizumi's -NOW SHOW ME THE MONEY!! President Bush wasted no time in immediately trumpeting the righteousness of doing things his way. But all these talks are doing is trying to return to the point were they were in September of 2005 where the North had agreed to stop its nuke program in return for fuel, economic aid and full diplomatic relations. They had already initialed the document. Isn't that what everyone wanted? So what went wrong then?

Someone at the top forgot to tell the U. S. Treasury Dept to put the brakes on the international banking sanctions they had ready to go against the North. So FOUR DAYS LATER, after we had a deal with the North, these extremely nasty sanctions designed to cut North Korea off from the international banking system went into effect. When the North Koreans asked what the hell was going on the Bush administration said the whole thing was "a coincidence." The Americans said this, really, with a straight face. Kim went, well ballistic, and walked away from the deal. Treasury's sanctions were to punish the DPRK for money laundering in Macau of drug and smuggling profits (cigs and ivory too) and for counterfeiting Benjamin notes. Sure, all that is bad, bad, bad, but if your real goal is to stop a North Korean A- or H-Bomb test you decide your priorities and eliminate 'coincidences.'

Now we have a North Korea with one bomb test notched on its pistol handle. To be fair, the sanctions were beginning to bite. The Swiss announcement of a freeze on the millions of Dollars the NKs have stashed there had them running to the withdrawal window at Credit Suisse and pulling their kids from those discrete private schools. But once again the North can hold its population hostage and the South caves, in refusing to stop the two big momey projects they have already built: the factory zone at Kaesong and the Diamond Mountain tourist complex. China, while happy to make statements rebuking the North for foreign consumption, kept the border open. They also told Kim he would have to go back to the 6-party talks because the bonehead Americans still won't go one on one. FINE, said Kim Jong-Il yesterday. But his boys will come into the conference room with a swagger. Who knows, they might even do a sychronized military dance with flash cards.

Kim Jong-Il may look like a pipsqueak but his dad, the charismatic Stalin clone and instigator of the 1950 invasion of the South, Kim Il-Sung, was not. Together they sat and watched CNN during the 1989-1991 collapse of Hard Line Communism in Eastern Europe and the USSR and took notes. These were very simple: Number One-Don't get propped against a wall and shot like the Ceaucescus of Romania (very bad for the legacy thing). Update that - or go on trial like Saddam. TWO-If and when your populace does revolt, make sure your military is loyaler than loyal and will follow orders (thank you Deng Hsiao-Ping for Tianamen Square). And last, THREE-Get that nuke. It will be there just in case number two takes place some day or a future South Korean, Japanese, or American leader decides to call you out at High Noon and you have to go for your guns. Dad is gone, although he is still officially the first dead person to still be the Head of State of sovereign country. He would be proud that junior pulled it off (he always worried about that boy).

The 6-party talks will end quickly again if the Americans don't go off in a side room, go one on one with the Kim team, and offer something up front for the nuclear disarmament of the North. Big stuff, like diplomatic recognition, aid, and a couple of armored Cadillac S.U.V.s. The trouble is Bush, Cheney, and Condi instead may do something completely stupid and demand a complete surrender, depending how the mid-term elections go- they might as well be talking to the Northern Irish Protestants. For the millionth time, all the North wants to be treated as a real country. Just like they were when they were a team member of a big happy evil empire that spread from East Berlin to the DMZ (O.K. nobody was really happy, unless they had jeans and a U-2 album). But they really do want an American Embassy in Pyongyang. They want container ships coming in for their fledgling free-trade zones. Kim Jong-Il wants Netflix and maybe, just one Starbucks. The counterfeit $100s are just an expression of his frustration at not being taken seriously. Like your fourteen year old who's locked in his room, playing Doom III upstairs. Be warned, and still, a little afraid.

P.S. Lingling wants to go with me on a package tour to the DPRK - don't laugh, it's for real - visit www.koryotours.com

I Lunghi Giorni della Vendetta

2006-10-26T00:37:00.000+09:00

If revenge is a dish best served cold, then it should also be served slowly, over several long enjoyable courses,leisurely picking the bones of your enemies over several days or weeks. The above title, taken from a 1968 spaghetti western, translates from the Italian to “Long Days of Revenge,” and it sums my feelings perfectly these days. Every morning I turn on CNN or BBC and I’m greeting by another story of corrupt, war-mongering American Conservative operatives and Republican Party politicians slowly marinating in a stew of blood and scandal. For progressives our grievances and grudges against the Right go back long before the stolen 2000 election (my first political campaign work was handing out leaflets in California for Edmund G. Brown Sr. in his ill-fated gubernatorial race against Ronald Reagan) – so vengeance is indeed sweet. It now simply requires an “X” in a box, a push of a pin, or a pulling of a lever in free and fair election in less than two weeks time
Before I indulge in any gloating over the current status of the War in Iraq, I’ll state for the record that once this unnecessary conflict began, I said out loud that I hoped it went right – that victory would be swift and that reconstruction of the damage and the creation of a fledgling democracy in that land would succeed in much the same way the American occupation of Japan in 1945-52 accomplished most of its goals. My only published academic piece is on the writing of the Japanese Constitution by a mostly “New Deal” oriented group of U.S. military and civilians in February 1946 and I had hoped to compare two successful progressive liberations from tyranny.
Instead it was a catastrophic example of the old “Murphy’s Law” – if anything could go wrong it did so. Everything Bush, Rumsfeld, Proconsul Bremer and the frat-boy Republican appointees in the Green Zone touched literally turned to untreated Baghdad sewage. My favorite moment among many was the one day the Americans and the interim puppet government, without consultations, unveiled a new Iraqi flag – a mostly White field with two Blue stripes and a Yellow Crescent – angry Iraqis quickly made crude copies so that they could burn them in street rallies. It was immediately withdrawn and never seen again.
This last month of October 2006 brings back so many memories and parallels from the February 1968 Tet offensive in Vietnam – the month that the American public turned against that war. While this War has had any number of gripping pictures and images, Tet 68 had that one seminal segment when a South Vietnamese general summarily executed a Viet Cong operative – the footage showed a stream of blood shooting out of the man’s head like a fountain – I saw it myself over dinner with my parents and my brother. It was then and there that the American people realized that they had been lied to by their government.
This current generation of Americans has been much slower to realize the same facts but they had collectively experienced the terror and loss of a September 11th 2001, an event which this Administration and its supporters then cruelly and cynically manipulated to their own selfish ends. Their great works were to produce a reduction of Americans’ Civil Rights at home, a loss of respect for our Democracy worldwide, Torture with a capital T, and a bloody, evil war with Arabian scripts that rivals the blackest days of the French atrocities of 1956-62 in Algeria. Sorry, maybe that’s too much history and geography for most Americans, but it isn’t for me.
What bothers me the most is the clear lack of shame by any of the Bushites but that should not be surprising coming from their dysfunctional, C-plus in college, ‘recovered’ alcoholic President who could not even admit he had made any mistakes in the War on Terror until just a few weeks ago. The entire premise that you could even a ‘War’ on ‘Terror’ is prima facie absurd. Terror is a tactic, declaring war on it is like declaring war on people going door-to-door with clipboards. No, no shame, no reflection, only school boy arguments like “Clinton didn’t resign,” along with disgustingly embarrassing pleadings to American people to please, please, please let us stay in power. The Democrats are the party of bin Laden, they’ll Cut and Run, they’ll endanger you, your children and your S.U.V., ad nauseam. The very idea that there are voters out there who will fall for this argument for the fourth election in a row sickens me. May they not be a majority this time, please God. (It should be noted, that yes, I am sincerely invoking his name here this once, just don’t expect to see me in church this Sunday)
The backbone of the American democracy is the whole systems of oversight, of checks and balances that keeps one group from gaining absolute power. The political fallout from 9-11 upset this and for the past six years we in America have had a One-Party state with an emasculated, sheepish opposition similar to what exists in the Russian Duma today. And look at what a One-Party state has accomplished in such short time. Record deficits, tax cuts for the rich, government by lobbyists, drift and destruction for the environment and global warming and a war, which at last tally, may total a bill of perhaps two trillion dollars. In easier terms every minute in Iraq is costing us $380,000. A minute.
I will confess I was ignorant of how bad things had gotten in Congress until I read a great piece in Rolling Stone by Matt Taibbi (I hope you’re watching Hunter Thompson on the corruption and death of bipartisanism and coherent law-making there. Link here: http://tinyurl.com/yezcor . The entire expose is delicious in its detail and in the sheer weight of the crimes revealed. My comment of the lack of shame of the Repugs was illustrated by the letter convicted former San Diego (my hometown) Congressman Randy “Duke” Cunningham, a former U.S. Navy fighter pilot, wrote from prison to the reporter who exposed his blatant corruption – here is the damming excerpt.

“Each time you print it hurts my family And now I have lost them Along with Everything I have worked for during my 64 years of life," Cunningham wrote. "I am human not an Animal to keep whiping [sic]. I made some decissions [sic] Ill be sorry for the rest of my life… As truth will come out and you will find out how liablest [sic] you have & will be. Not once did you list the positives. Education Man of the Year...hospital funding, jobs, Hiway [sic] funding, border security, Megans law my bill, Tuna Dolfin [sic] my bill...and every time you wanted an expert on the wars who did you call. No you write About how I died."

This man, who can barely spell, let alone write coherent English, was the Republican Congressional leadership’s choice to chair, CHAIR, the House Subcommittee on Human Intelligence Analysis and Counterintelligence! The Mark Foley scandal and the subsequent cover-up by that venal ball of human fat that is House Speaker Dennis Hastert, in the same manner that the Vatican hid their pedophile priests, was the icing on the cake. And we Americans are supposed to be holding up our version of Democracy as an example to the rest of the world? Here the British have us beat hands down. A government that behaved like this would suffer a loss in a vote of confidence, sweeping resignations, and a spanking at the polls. And it’s a tragedy that a decent man like Tony Blair will forever have his legacy shattered by his failure to see through his cowboy partner George W. Bush.

Have I missed anything? Katrina – FEMA gate deserves more than a mention, but in the popular parlance ‘that’s so last year.” North Korea did what? Afghanistan, doesn’t that Borat guy come from there? No, I am done, and all that’s left to do is grind more long knives for the throat-cutting. If you have read this far through this long-pent up rant, thank you. Get out the vote, find friends on Election Night and watch slaughter unfold. Then celebrate, preferably with champagne as our friends the French do But if the election is stolen like before, be ready to take to the streets. That shouldn’t happen. For once I’ll put my trust in the American people. The truth has been revealed to them in so many ways that they cannot fail to do the right thing and throw the rascals out. Tar and feathers anyone?

Ms. Wong's Wild Ride

2006-08-19T10:41:00.000+09:00

When I was young I looked forward to our annual trip to the original Disneyland in Anaheim California, when we would have a free run of the park without tickets on General Dynamics Night. Back then the Matterhorn was considered the true “E” ticket ride, but I held out for a smaller venue located behind Cinderella’s Castle. This was “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride,” an attraction adapted from the now almost forgotten Children’s classic “The Wind in the Willows.” After a 45 minute wait you were strapped into a Model T horseless carriage and then zoomed through a maze of teetering obstacles; teapots, bookshelves, English potting sheds, before you careened out onto a road for more sideswiping action before the finale down a train tunnel and a screaming meeting with the light of an oncoming express train. The whole ride was over in 2 minutes but the adrenaline rush stayed well into Frontierland and Fantasyland.

I got a chance to relive this sensation when on Monday here in Shanghai at 10 am my wife Lingling announced to me and her parents that she was going to rent a car. Today. She had only recently received her driver’s license after passing the obligatory driving school course. But we were planning on some automobile
outing in the near future, like a family trip to one of Shanghai’s canalled ‘water towns.’ No, she wanted the car to run some office errands and to basically show off that she could drive. So before I could even organize my affairs and check that my insurance and last will were in order she arrived with her father from Shanghai Avis with a black VW Santana sedan.

We piled in and set off. We drove about 3 minutes to the
Gate of our compound, which Lingling approached at an oblique angle. Passing through we heard a loud bump and a grinding sound – “What the *%#$@?! was that!!” A little too loudly for Lingling’s liking because she immediately invited me to stay home. She had actually hit a metal post and scratched the wheel well, much to the amusement of the gate guard. We then turned into traffic.

A land full of Chinese drivers, all zooming down the YangGuo ring road, oblivious to each other, in out of lanes, no signals, here a giant dump truck carrying sludge, there a luxury Mercedes carrying a high official off to work. There is that great feeling, for a passenger, of the car being slightly adrift in the ocean. You get this
when the driver isn’t really in full control. But her dad was in the front seat giving loud directions while I was in the back with Grandma and Dario. I hoped the other drivers could see the “New Driver” sticker we placed on the window. We heard honks immediately, as Lingling had failed to turn off her left signal. I smiled at them and pointed to the sticker.

We were on a four lane highway, which required lane changes, but Lingling would slow down when it was time to change, when logic demanded one should speed up instead. Every time she tried to change the next speeding car would honk and she would retreat. No urging from me helped. “It’s O.K. if I drive slowly!” Sure, if you are driving in an empty parking lot. I just closed my eyes and grit my teeth. I remember that slogan I saw once on a Mexican long distance bus. “Dios permir mi regresan.”God permits my return.

Lingling had gotten a car with a stick shift, to prove she could drive with one. I made a mental note to keep track of how many times she stalled. I lost track after about seven. Stalling is wonderful. You try to start up at a green light and the engine conks out and the car shivers and there you are, dead in the water as traffic backs up behind how. Skilled drivers can start and accelerate simultaneously but Lingling was not one of these fine F-1 pilots. It would take about four minutes before we were underway again, all the time me praying that that no one please rear end us.

After a scenic drive over the Nanpu River bridge, complete with another slow motion lane change on the circular bridge approach, we actually reached a destination. All we had to do was park. Ahh, the lost art of parallel parking. Lingling made one approach into the slot, tried to straighten out once, and left it at a 37 degree angle with the rear of the car hanging out into the next spot. I didn’t care. I dashed off to a convenience store to get a drink and restore some chemical balance. I was alive!

We had made arrangements to meet more members of the extended family at a restaurant in a dense quarter of Lu Wan district. Dad tried to direct us down a lane filled with hand carts and street stalls and even Lingling refused. She slowly tried to edge back into traffic, watching only the cars. I watched in silent horror as a woman on our right walked into the traffic to pass a stationary trash dumpster, and Lingling actually began to, well, push her along with the car. “LINGLING YOU ARE HITTING THAT WOMAN!” The lady in question turned around, Lingling stopped, rolled down the window and apologized profusely. Here it comes, she wants some money in compensation, but amazingly she asked for none. She had, after all walked into traffic without looking but…oh at least no one was hurt.

We drove around the next day and Lingling only once nearly took the car into a retaining wall on one of her go-slow lane change attempts. But we all had to agree with her that she’d done well for her first solo driving attempt. And she had, at least by local standards. Avis didn’t notice the scratch and beside she had paid extra for collision insurance. It is the avowed goal of every nouveau richein Shanghai to have their own car, but Lingling says she doesn’t want one just yet. Hopefully by the time she does onboard computers and large rubber bumpers will take all of the excitement out of Chinese driving and you can just punch in your destination, close your eyes, and relax.

More Sex Please, We're Chinese

2006-08-15T12:43:00.000+09:00

Ten years ago, I was on my first date with an open-minded young lady
Beijing, who asked me over drinks with a straight face "What do you think
of Chinese sex?" Unsure at the time if it was a come-on I diplomatically
answered, "Well, there is an awful lot of you Chinese, so you must know
what you are doing." The torrid affair that followed underlined for me
personally that after 50 years of Maoist Puritanism mainland China has
been undergoing its own sexual revolution. Today young singles in Chinese
cities use their cell phones to hook up for one-night stands while pink salon
bordellos and gay bars are permitted to operate freely. MTV dance numbers with
costumes that would make Janet Jackson smile compete with racier talk shows
where interviewees kiss and tell from behind feathered carnival masks. Today Mao might be forced to accept this version of ‘People’s Liberation’ – after all, he kept whole
harems of bright-eyed peasant girls for his own enjoyment.

It was only natural that this unstoppable force would quickly get
under the covers with China's commercial and business boom. With Chinese
factories now producing 95% of the world's sex toys and gadgets the market, both for
export and internal sales is enormous. Residents here in China all remember the
shock, surprise and smirks that greeted the appearance of vibrators, dildos, and anal
plugs in their local pharmacy about five years ago, complete with a white smocked, middle-aged sex health therapist, ready to explain their merits with a straight face.

It is only proper that Shanghai, the city most open to new trends, should be
the venue for the 3rd International Adult Toys and reproductive Health Exhibition-ADCEXPO (held August 11-13 at the International Exhibition Center in Hongqiao). I made my way there last Saturday with the lovely wife and we were greeted at the door by a pair of Chinese cheerleaders, complete with short white skirts and tops and blue pom poms. Nearly 100 exhibitors had set up shop in traditional trade show booths. On display was the whole spectrum of Chinese and foreign sexual paraphernalia available
legally in the country. And taking up up one corner was an exhibit of 250 items from Professor Liu Dalin's China Sex Culture Museum. There was plenty to see for one's 30 RMB admissions.

Companies with names like Girl's Whisper Sexy Underwear Co, Ltd and Shenzen Oddity Adult Toy Limited displayed their wares, with the emphasis on your standard battery powered vibrator with all the bells and whistles. One even moaned from little voice chip. One stiff plastic member "Angry Penis - Imitating Human Bionic Structure" might scare off buyers. Another latex female ass and vagina had all Chinese markings so my wife translated the model name as "BIG FAT SISTER." Not necessarily incestuous, a ‘big brother or sister’ often refers to your senior or older work or school mate in Asia. The female company reps, glamorously but conservatively dressed, handed out catalogs and praised their products, again with that same straight face. How do they do it?

Determined not to come home empty handed I bought a bargain box of 36 “Secret Agent 007” condoms for a mere 10 RMB while the wife flitted off and returned with two sets of skimpy lingerie for 120 Kuai. The Chinese executives were too busy making real deals (“O.K., that’s two container loads of “Angry Penis” for Changsha, payment on delivery next week.”) but I managed to casually chat up some of the foreign representatives. The scholarly gentlemen from the Alexander Institute, a producer of erotic sex therapy DVDs ( www.lovingsex.com ) designed to spice up sex-slumping married couples, complained he had not yet received official clearance to sell his products. The DVDs from his Chinese competitor a few booths down, he said “contain no sex at all, just crashing waves on beaches and trains going in tunnels.” I had to agree. The most explicit depiction of actual activity at this fair was on some of the condom boxes (Is this a 3-some here on one?). The authorities want to hold a firm line against pornography but everything else seems to be permitted these days. In this respect China is no different from some Catholic countries in Europe and South America. However, porn is here, just under the table. My wife’s friend, who runs a DVD shop, sells pirates of American porn with one best seller the 1972 classic “The Devil in Miss Jones.”

Another interesting exhibit displayed full-sized sex dolls from Japan. These aren’t the simple inflatable models, but custom-made, life-like, full bodied models, correct down to the last detail with a price to match, nearly $5000 each. I had heard of some American models, resembling mannequins, going for twice that amount. Over at the dazzling High Tech Novelties display I met Mr. Martin Tucker, an industry pioneer (You
can see pictures of his hard working assembly lines, which produce for the world market, at www.htnchina.com ) He told me about his search for inflatable dolls in Tokyo 30 years ago, when it was all whispers and late night meetings, like he was buying Uranium or something. The Japanese, I told him, call an inflatable doll, a “Dutch Wife” for some odd reason. We both agreed the Japanese were quite odd. They produce some of the most imaginative pornography in the world but they still censor the naughty-bits for the domestic audience with a circle of digitalization (the witness protection program, I call it), a modern application of a now obsolete law from the turn of the century.

The last event of the day was a fashion show of sado-masochistic costumes by the aptly named S&M house of Hong Kong. A hundred rabid Chinese men pushed up against the runway and had to be pushed back by some very loud and angry bouncers.
The show, with some masked dominatrix models showing off leather bustiers and whips, without any collared gimps or slaves, left me wondering how do you explain S & M to the Chinese? ‘Well, you see, some people feel guilty enough to want to be punished’…maybe they might lose me when I get to the concept of ‘power exchange.”
I could only stand a few minutes of the hot, sweaty jostling of the crowd as cameras snapped in the vain hope of catching some unexposed female flesh.

One former communist country does get it, however: there was a booth for next year’s EROS exhibition to be held next June 7-10 2007 in Moscow Russia www.eros-expo.ru . In addition to the usual trade show exhibits, this show will include “a Miss Erotica contest, Body Art Festival, a Naked World Art salon with sculpture, art, graphics and photography, and a Night Clubs show programs fair.” As for China, they just aren’t ready for all that yet, but perhaps next year’s ADCEXPO in Shanghai will have some new surprises. Tune in again next year.

Classical Shanghai

2006-08-11T11:09:00.000+09:00

A day after the cello concert I was wandering in the malls
of Nanjing Road and found this woman in a gossamer dress
playing an enormous harp with eight pedals in a Bulgari
bag and jewelry boutique. She graciously let me snap this
shot, which may prove in the end to be the picture of the
summer.

La Dolce Vita a Shanghai

2006-08-11T09:43:00.000+09:00

(My earlier post "Osaka Nudo Gekijo" will be reposted in it's entirety when I return to Japan in mid-September)

I once again took the good ship Xin Jian Zhen to Shanghai on July 25, skirting the north coast of Cheju island to avoid Typhoon #5, and arrived to a reunion with my wife Lingling and my son Dario, now 1 year and 8 months old.

Like everywhere else Shanghai is broiling in tarmac-melting temperatures, thanks to everything Al Gore said (so it's all his fault). I hope you are coping, but we are staying cool bye eating cheap watermelon (which Dario likes to smash on the floor when we are not looking) and by hanging out on Saturdays at the Purple Mountain Hotel rooftop pool party in Pudong district. The roof deck of our Zendai Gardens Aparmtnet gets some nice breezes in the evening and offers us a decent urban sunset.
But we hope to enjoy the real thing when we both get down to Thailand for a week on August 20.

On August 6 we met up with a friend of a friend in town, Will Runyon, at the glamourous Glamour Bar on the Bund for an afternoon of concert cello in sumptuous surroundings in honor of Lingling's Birthday. We then went off to a regal seafood dinner at a palacial restaurant full of tanks of delicious and probably endangered underwater species, including sturgeon, wrasses, shark/sharkfin and, yes, waterbugs.
You can view the whole album here:
http://pg.photos.yahoo.com/ph/shinpath/album?.dir=d646scd

Shanghai continues to expand and amaze. Thanks to the efforts of a few preservationists, enough of the old architercture and row house districts are being saved, but only just. Country people continue to pour in, 3 million last year alone. I spent a broiling afternoon people watching around Shanghai
Railway Station, where these masses squat in the sun, their meager baggage and possessions wrapped in rice sacks and rope, either waiting to leave or for their local connection to arrive. 100 million on the move at anyone time, so they say. I wish them well.

I found a gripping book about another great migration here, the one at home along
the Mexican-American border. The Devil's Highway by Luis Alberto Urrea reads like an account of the Titanic, but this time all of the passengers were Mexican migrants from Veracruz. The true account tells how a group of 30 were led
by an inexperienced 'coyote' into the desert of SW Arizona, the 'devil's highway,' got lost, and then one by one,how half of them slowly died from thirst and exposure to the sun. Urrea finds sympathy for the Border Patrol, who tried to rescue the survivors with all of their resources, and scorn for both the American and Mexican governments who let the traffic continue unabated. I learned about how the coyote gangs recruit,manipulate, and often abandon their human cargos, in much the same way that the snake heads in China do. It brought back memories of waiting in the desert in the town of Sonoita, only we were getting clearance to go south. I'm sending a copy to my father.

The Battle against Anti-Slack or The Neighbor has Karoshii

2006-06-24T08:18:00.000+09:00

The house I rent in our slightly run-down East
Osaka neighborhood with a quaint 'shotengai'
(shopping street) with little food stands, groceries,
and kim-chee shops is owned by a rich couple
who live in traditional merchant's house behind
a wooden wall which conceals their Japanese garden.
We found our house through the daughter-in-law, a
dedicated 'education mother' who actually moved
to Australia over a year ago just so she could send
her three sons to international school on the Gold
Coast. I was asked to proofread her pleadings to
the director of the school to admit her 'clever'
sons and apparently that and the advanced fees did
the job.

The father and son of our landlord was the success
story - he was a managing engineer for a high-profile
Japanese overseas development project (think something
like the Three Gorges Dam) in Asia. He had been living
in that country for three years, seeing the family only
once or twice a year, and working under deadlines and
the pressure that such a project demands. Early this
year something went wrong, a deadline was missed, he
was blamed and he quite simply cracked up. Quit or
dismissed or given leave I'm not sure. Anyway he is
back at the parents place around the corner, refusing
even to talk to his wife or sons in Australia.

Anyway the wife (and my wife too) have asked me
repeatedly to go over there and try and coax him out
and do something together, anything, like go for a
walk or a drink or a bike ride, anything. I e-mailed
him an invitation and he declined with a typical
Japanese apology. Finally, after repeated urgings
from both wives, I went over and rang the bell at the
gate of the family compound. To my surprise he actually
came out into the garden and opened the door. He looked
thin and drawn, like a Katrina survivor, but he smiled
and thanked me for coming over. He said no, he couldn't
come out. I invited him to do something, anything, that
I was here if he wanted to talk. He said sure, but I
knew he wouldn't. He closed the gate and went back to
his bad trip. The Beast really had him in its claws and
nothing I said or offered was going to release him from
it.

I later heard he had agreed to go to Australia in July.
This was a big improvement but it will be make or break
time as the wife had hinted at a divorce if he didn't come.
I wish I could fly him out to X-Day instead. Only that
could save him (or put him out of his misery) at this point
in time. The conspiracy of Work is nefarious and many faceted.
I sicked out on Friday, got on my bike and checked out my
favorite places in Osaka, got a haircut, ate at a grilled
skewered meat palace, checked out the brothel district, and
felt all the better for it. More slack!

My big chance lost forever!

2006-04-12T22:57:00.000+09:00

I got a call today from the talent agency that sent me out to Tokushima on Shikoku Island to work one day as an extra in a movie about German WWI Prisoners of War in Japan last November. This time they said a client wanted me to act on Osaka local TV as a foreign security guard in a comedy skit. 40 minutes 9000 yen but it was this Friday, when I have to work and meet my friend Bob Carasik from San Francisco. Me, comedy, on TV, a chance lost forever! The world will never know....

The battle against Oblovmism!

2006-03-27T23:16:00.000+09:00

I returned from my tumultous solo trip to California on March 2 with a full agenda in front of me:
1. finish my barely disguised autobiographical short story
2. write a political manifesto advocating the formation of a regional Northern California nationalist politcal party (25 years in the making)
3. work on a business plan for producing and marketing minature SubGenius action figures
4. prepare class plans for another term
5. write a gob of letters
6. and contribute to this blog often

The return of my wife and 1 year and three month old son two days later from Shanghai eclipsed those plans, at least on the surface. "If you have kids, they get all of your Slack," these words from the scriptures of the Church of the SubGenius, certainly ring true. However I discovered that when I did have free time, usually at 6 am or after everyone else was asleep at 11 p.m. the dreaded scourge of OBLOMOVISM had struck again.

Ilya Oblomov was a 19th century Russian nobleman in a novel by Ivan Goncharov. Basically, this guy had lots of plans and good intensions; he was going to educate the serfs on his estates and inplement reforms and go to Western Europe with his friend Schultz but he just couldn't get off his sofa [see picture]. If you look at my sofa you can see a big rut on the left armrest where my head has been. Lenin even complained about the Oblovism of the Russian intelligentsia which I'm sure delayed the revolution for at east 20 years.

And after 17 years here in Japan, at times I am inclined to refer to myself as the Oblomov of Osaka. Oblovism does resemble a kind of lethargic pre-slack - one half of the following equation "A sub-genius has only two kinds of energy, lethargic and hysterical." So, by getting off my couch and writing this entry, I can feel myself shaking off the cobwebs and I can now run around tearing out my hair in sheer panic that I have to go back to work next week.
There's also Lingling to remind me that Dario's diaper needs to be changed. I recommend the actual book, in classic sections everywhere, and I promise to shoot some excerpts into furture log-entries. Cheers!

Arrevederchi San Francisco!

2006-02-22T12:30:00.000+09:00

It is now Feb 22, twelve days since the football match that saw the United States of America flog Japan 3-2, and a night after the game that went until dawn that I won't soon forget, like something where you meet Mr.Future and Mr. Past like in Dickens' Christmas story. In the days after the game, as I dusted myself as I always do and take inventory of what was kept and what was hurled overboard like so much nautical flotsam, I think I learned something more about what makes me tick. Notes have been taken, but, oh so much life has been lived, starting with life on two wheels.

The weather was unseasonably beautiful, warm, clear, hardly any fog and only two days of rain the nearly 3 weeks I was here. I took marvelous bicycle rides, starting with my ancient Cannondale stickered up for one last week of glory and then riding my new bike, the Norco that I have christend "Homage to Canada." I would usually ride all afternoon, either up O'Shaugnessy to the Haight or West to the ocean, sometimes straight south to the 'Top of the Hill' (Mission Blvd) in Daly City. On these rides I saw little local nuggets precious to me; The Native Sons Building, Pon's Restaurant, the Mission Rock, the Osaka Friendship Monument, and many, many more. Even the last ride today down Shotwell, the sun bleeding green off of the Bernal Ht.s hill behind Robert's. All much too lovely for words. And all because of Global Warming!

I avoided Museums this trip but everything else was fair game; two movies at the theatre, more rented, Republican cabaret (the Dick 'N Dubya show), two appearances on KPFA FM radio, one live studio vocals for a pick-up band, a true artist returned home. And one dinner with Andre experience, in this case Breton crepes with famed artistes Michael Peppe and Hal Robins. In Robert's spacious kitchen I produced some great dishes; lentils, pasta, mixed grilled shrimp, and a king curry. Food shopping in the Latino Mission was a treat; I even discovered a Mexican cut of meat, a ragged flank steak called an arachela that fired up great with tortillas. I'd love to cook again in this city...

My mind expanded in this surreal city. I considered many options for life; moving back, sending my son to school here, being part of the diversity, getting into recovery, writing, seeing Lingling work here, reviving the N. California regional autonomist party, selling miniature Japanese plastic action figures... Then my friend Bob Carasik suggested buying a house... in Fresno. Oh, yeah that housing market...

I'd like to thank my friends Robert Irminger for hosting my adventure in his beautiful home and garden, Bob Carasik and his wife Mary Droyvage and daughter Nora, see you in Japan in April, Steve, Teresa, and Liam Lautze, I would have liked to have spent more time in the East Bay this trip. Thanks to all the SubGenii - perhaps I will join you at a future Burning Man. Heart (a few loose possessions) and soul once again left behind in San Francisco.

article : Otakus of Den Den town

2006-02-22T12:16:00.000+09:00

I'm posting this and the Tobita article (which will appear in the Kansai time Out this spring). Some wierdness is buried in the tourist copy, dig it up if you can.
Sven

Den Den town remorphs
Sven A. Serrano

Haven’t been to Osaka’s DenDen town for awhile? You may be surprised as the discount home electronics district has a whole new look. The big chain outlets for TVs, stereos, and air conditioners like Ninomiya and Joshin have downsized as cut-throat competition from out side the district has funneled customers north to Bic Camera in Namba and Yodobashi in Umeda. Same for the big computer places like Sofmap. Small computer shops selling motherboards and components moved in, but after a few years they had their own shake-out as profit margins fell below 5%. The result was a lot of ready-to-rent space, both in the big five story places and in the small shops too. So let’s go and meet the new neighbors.
Most people enter via the Ebisubashi subway station, which puts you in the middle of the electro-district, but I always start at Nipponbashi and walk south on Sakaisuji, parallel the Kuromon food market. Right there at the corner are two excellent old school camera stores Tokiwa Camera and Kunitate Camera, both full of traditional, 35mm Konicas, Nikons, Leicas and Hassleblads. Past the shiny remodeled 1925 Free Methodist church on the right hand side there is a small shop, Marui Kuni (tel. 06-6641-7621)　, which specialized in genuine Japanese nostalgia, mainly copies of old Meiji-era prints, 1905 battleships, old postcards of Osaka, and even picture frames festooned with unique matchboxes from ‘30s Osaka drinkeries long-gone. Mr. Tada, the friendly proprietor, will show you some original ukioye prints in this back studio.
A few doors down is the Shanghai XTD (tel. 06-6646-1390) complex, a seven floor China-mall in Osaka. Up from the ground floor furniture, clothes and curios, you’ll find a Chinese book and music store with all the Mando-pop and Canto-pop stars displayed. Higher up you’ll find a faithful Chinese supermarket with lamb and rabbit meat, fresh Shanghai hairy crabs, and over 15 kinds of xiao long bao dumplings. A casual buffet restaurant (888 yen for lunch, 1280 yen for dinner), a spa, a branch of the LAOX duty free electronics shop, a formal restaurant and a karaoke bar fill the upper floors. Don’t leave empty handed!
When you cross Nansan-dori you enter Den Den town proper. Duty-free electronics shops are still here, like Eisan Duty Free (06-6630-1056), which has been remodeled into an opulent showroom. The staff, who in the past spoke English, Spanish, or Portuguese, now answer your questions in Chinese. Outside you will see your first street vendor hawking pirated DVDs of new movies and manga series for 1000 yen each. These bottom-feeders only appeared a year ago and now they’re everywhere. Remember, any time you buy one of these copies, a Hollywood executive sheds a tear.
Now, staying on the right side of Sakai-suji, you come to a row of manga comic book chain mega-stores. Two must-sees are Comic KingsKing (tel.06-4396-8980, http://c-king-net), with a mural of cute gothic Lolita moppets in front and Mandarake (tel.06-6645-0772, http://mandarake.co.jp). The comics come in a rainbow of sizes, formats, and varieties: new, used, vintage collectors, box-sets, self-published fan comics (dojinshi) with all the accessory spin-offs. I especially like the section of anime music CDs, a big-money genre in its own right. Cue music -“Gigantor, the space-age robot!.”
Next door is another pillar of the new Den-den town, the plastic action figure store. Capsule Toy-Shop Super Position (06-6647-0676, ) displays whole populations of minature and doll-sized figurines of every manga and cartoon character ever created. Your best bet is to look for the racks with hand-labeled ‘factory-outlet’ clear bags of captive figures – they sell for as little as 100 yen. I bought six of these minature fetishes as gifts. I spoke briefly with Takeshi Sekine, the manager, who told me that Dragonball Z figures are his number #1 best seller. “Foreign customers? Chinese are the biggest group, they really like anime figures,” he observed. As for the changes in Den Den town he admits “We’re following Akihabara.” Again, Tokyo leads all trends it seems. In front are rows and rows of the bubble-gum style vending machines, dispensing clear plastic capsules with more figures. Standing in their little dioramas, they are little worlds within universes you can fit on a shelf
If you have young children with you, you can skip past Nobunaga Shoten porn supermarket, although this place looks innocently like a regular bookstore on the first floor (the featured photo book this month were shots by famed photographer Kishin Shinoyama of girls and their pets, called Kissin My Puppy). You should take them south on the left side of the street to the Hobix toy and model complex, and then another block to Super Kids Land.
Pass under the pedestrian bridge and at the next light and make a decision. Straight gets you the traditional small DIY computers places, CD and DVD stores, adult AV shops and the odd place selling used retro Famicon games. On your right you’ll see a giant metallic wasp looking down out you from a high rise. Turn right and walk two short blocks past some used places selling sodai gomi appliances and you’ll reach Ota-Road (Otaku-road, get it?)
Otakus were supposed be home shut-ins with all their computer games and toys but on this street they get a social life. Here, alongside computer potpourris and plastic figure places where sellers can rent glass cases and sell off their treasured collections for big yen (real revenge of the nerds), is the land of the Cosplay café. There are six at last count, with names like Raspberry Dream, MoeMoe, Café Doll, and Candy Panic, all discretely placed in second and third floor walk-ups. In Candy Panic a little Miss Muffet in a French maid’s outfit opens the door, bows, and greets me with a string of honorifics “You are most welcome, honored sir, how can I humbly be of service?” She looks just like one of the plastic figures I have in my bag. The café is all frilly and kid-like with white walls and shiny formica diner tables, where smiling single Otaku guys sit dreamily. At 500 yen the coffee is OK too. What the hostess bar is to the salaryman, the cosplay café is to the otaku, a place where they can truly relax and quietly indulge themselves. A full listing and map to these establishments can be found at www.otamap.com
If you need a break and a cosplay café isn’t really your thing, then go back down Sakaisuji south a bit and either Holly’s café, a decent Tully’s coffee clone, or Savoia (tel. 06-6631-6673) a good sit-down/take-out pizza place will satisfy you. Savoia has the best crust of any cheaper pizza place I’ve tried in the Kansai, and instead of a take-out slice, they offer a ‘roll pizza’ for a 100 yen. Great value but be careful, it can drip oil out of the bottom. So that’s Den-den these days. Like so many other industries in Japan it has re-invented itself and found new goods and services to fit unexpected markets and customers. Come back in a year and who knows, you may find animitronic robots staffing the shops and cafes.

On the Eve of Battle.

2006-02-10T07:24:00.000+09:00

These are heady, fantastic days, bicycling over urban mountains and forests in Glen Park District, found rock outcroppings pushingpedals up O'Shaungnessy St. while reveling in the natural beauty of Twin Peaks. Then I biked down past Laguna Honda, Woodside, 6th Avenue, skirted a corner of Golden Gate Park and then past Kezar Stadium. I walked into the pub of the same name, Bremen-Stuttgart was on the big screen and two ex-London cabbies, one here in SF, the other from Fiji! Did we share some stories, loudly and with much insults,ther over Stellas at 3 in the afternoon! Shed End and Neil were invited to tonights Mad Dog in the Fog welcome reception, to which I am going in a few minutes with my regalia, flags and scarves. Tonight we drink as friends, tomorrow all business. Later on dinner at Little Henry's, then possible this evening midnight a Meat Beat Manifesto music at Mezzanine and THEN I go over to KPFA in Berkeley to asppear as on on-air personality on the SubGenius Radio Minstry.

Last night one of those nights when you are forced to be an artist. I sang vocals for a pickup band in a rehearsal space at 2 am with Carasik, my mainman Fred Crini, and a young lady named Angela we met at Lush (at a Death Sentence Panda show) who is trying to learn drums and base. It was a moment of pure self expression and bad/not-so bad Musique. Only here, only now, and only to me it seems. Boooshakallakalka!

Heim in Kalifornian Vaterland!

2006-02-07T05:01:00.000+09:00

It's like I never left. You return to a place you lived in for a decade nearly 17 years ago and it's like you never left in so many ways. I write this in my good friend Robert Irminger's place, the always -open San Francisco socialist guestroom at 246 Precita on Bernal Heights with a labor history library, a cat for company and a cup of coca tea from Bolivia for a stimulant. Robert was just down there for President Evo Morales inauguration, that union delegate jet-setter! I have my mountain street bike here, humped over land and sea in a bike bag and I'm zipping around the city like a native Critical Masser, down to Montgomery Street this morning, then a tour around my old Asian Tenderloin nieghborhood, down Ellis to Market past droves of homeless lining up for relief and food. U.N. Plaza was stunning in its civic lines, tourists and statues, Chinese women doing wu shu dancing, then up Valenica for a lunch stop; veg burrito for 4.50, Italian mineral water 1.98 from Luccas, devoured in the lush back yard garden.

Social whirl fun my usual sailor on leave energy bowling everyone over, out for dinner first night with Robert,Bob Carasik, Mary Droyvage, daughter (starting university) Nora Carasik and old old not-seen-in-fifteen-years friend from Bloomington Indiana John Nelson. We had Ethipian food, big circle of spongy bread.
Then visit to our bookstores, Modern Times and Dog Eared Books. Books, novels and tomes bulge from the shelves of 'The Athens of the West!' Oh to return here and live a successful writer... Saturday we two go out for a giant breakfast at Carasik's suggestion but Bob and John sleep in. I somehow force air into my bike tires and take to horse, zipping past Precita Park to visit Bob's neighboring residance at 309 Montcalm. There I hang out with John Nelson on the patio and talk about old friends like Jim Hurd, Colin Carter and the self-martyred Steve Millen, to whom John has dedicated a tattoo "So long Stevie."

Afternoon is a load of laundry then Fred drops in and the three of us enjoy a weekend scotch up on the upper staircase balcomy of the building, soaking up a gleaming warm winter San Francisco sun. Before long I'm on my bike to Berkeley, kicked off the first carriage, in a pa system order (3rd one on this trip.} I get off in Fruitvale, delay 30 min, then my new bikelight breaks into a 6 piences. Evenutually I find Steve and Teresa's place and we have a hug and finish up cooking for the potluck.
Then its off to a Berkeley house party, great food and people, including an associate of Prof Richard Stites, whom I last saw in Helsinki in 1978! The fellow Georgetown professor Amy calls him and we catch up after all these years. I get a nightcap at the the Latin American club and leave my Go Nippon scarf behind. On Sunday I enjoy Yerba Buena gardens and park before catching a movie, "Syriana," Clooney and Soderburgh with a "Traffic" take on middle east oil intrigue. I get back in time with chips and beer for the Superbowl with Robert but not before I get rung up for too much at Safeway! God proves his hate for the Seahawks and they bumble numerous chances to score as the Steelers win the Stupid Bowl. Now I can concentrate on getting out the fans for the US Japan soccer supporters welcome and drink-off at Mad Dog in the Fog on Thursday.

Cinquecento, the 500 yen End-Up

2006-01-26T09:34:00.000+09:00

Every town has a bar where people end up at the end of the evening.
In San Francisco the bar is called "The End Up." In Osaka, Japan
this honor has rotated between The Shanghai, Glens, Rakan and now it
goes to a place called B-Boy Trip, where the action starts aroung 5 am
and goes until noon. But since I am advanced in my years and incapable
of going that late/early, my end up is a novel establishment called
Cinquecento (500 in Italian).

This is a marvelous place, a small street level shop with one, U-shaped
bar which allows you to sit across from other patrons, and a glass door
in front. This is rare as most places are in high-rises in Japan, but here
you can peek in and get an idea of the crowd. It's packed after midnight when
bar hostesses get off work and the last-train crowd has packed up and gone.
The bar's original theme was 500 yen martinis of all kinds, but this has
been adapted to swank cocktails. I cannot bring myself to order a beer here,
as there are other places for that. I lean towards Manhattans or that poisonous
concoction known as an Old-Fashioned. The 500 yen price means you can have four
drinks for 2000 yen, a nice round number and buying a round is easier. Also,
a fatal fact for me, this place lets me run a tab, thus ensuring my continued
patronage.

On Monday there was a to-do celebrating the end of university term, starting at the Canopy Bar in Umeda, with a good number of the usual suspects. I insisted on going to the Owl's Nest the Canadian Bar (as Canada had just voted out the Liberals) but it was empty except for us. I did find a pair of mukluks hanging on the coat rack, which I waved around like a happy anthropologist. Then on to Blarney Stone, where we met an interesting Egyptian journalist, some foreigners working for J. corporations, and a lady named Michiko. I then mounted my bike, hit the bank, and made my way to CQ. There at the end of the bar was one of my favorite people in the world, Sachiko, an accomplished DJ I had not seen in a long time. We actually met at Burning Man in 2001 but lost each quickly(her camp was at 1100 am and mine was at 430pm, miles apart). Another young lady, in her cups staggered over to greet me but I could not place her in my mental catalog by then. Rusty, the original manager was there, and I toasted him. I must have toasted everyone, in fact. The Cinquecento is my personal rubber room, and, as usual, all memory of actually leaving the establishment was rubbed out. I awoke the next day, refreshed, minus 3500 yen. It is almost like an out-of-body experience, flight and teleportation achieved chemically. And, as this is Japan, you are always welcomed back to the establishment. Cheers!

Down down in Den-Den town

2006-01-16T12:47:00.000+09:00

Kansai Time Out has approved my latest article for publication (an account of the Tobita Shinchi red-light district) and has given me the green light for a second piece. This one will be on the changing face of Osaka's electronics district Den-Den town. Den comes from Denki, or electricity. Ten years ago the place was dominated by the big electronics outlets; Joshin, Ninomiya, and others. This was back when computers had three different Japan-only operating systems. Then came DOS-V, cheap IBM clones, the coming and going of Aum Shinrikyo's computer outlet, and then the rise of DIY computer part stores. Prices fell and the big electronics places downsized. So what has now come into to fill the store space. Giant comic book and action-figure department stores in the former 5 story electronic outlet spaces, CosPlay stores and cafes, Robot shops, and wall-to-wall porn palaces. It should be interesting. I've already been to a CosPlay cafe, where little girl munchkins mince around serving you coffee in french maid outfits. Only in Japan. I've got a week off after term ends to do it, then I'll fly on Air Canada to San Francisco on Feb. 3

Ebisu Moneypit Video

2006-01-12T06:57:00.000+09:00

O.K. this should work. Thanks YouTube.com

Video of SubGenius at Ebisu festival

Another New Year, another Dobbshead in the money pit

2006-01-09T09:42:00.000+09:00

Yes, it's another New Year here in Osaka, Japan and it's time
to merge two religious practices together; Shinto money worship and
Church of the SubGenius money worship (in fact, is there any
religion that doesn't worship money?). Every year for three days,
locals in Osaka march down to the Imamiya Ebisu Jinja shrine to
give offerings to the lucky money god Ebisu, who is one of the
seven Chinese Dieties of Good Fortune. Businesses like to display
a lucky money rake (as in raking it in) decorated with lucky bamboo
leaves and little Ebisu tschockes. First they toss last year's rake
into a sacred garbage pit, then march over to a giant walled-in swimming
pool size offering pit where millions of yen are thrown, make a prayer, then
have this year's lucky money raked blessed by a sacred temple maiden.
The Police are out in force to manage the traffic, which gets maniacal
at times. Where I enter the picture is at the money pit. I elbow my way
in to the retaining wall, groove for a few minutes on the sounds of cascading
coins and fluttering paper cash, before throwing in my offering of a hundred
sixteen yen (equals ONE DOLLAR - ONE DOLLAR FOR SALVATION!!!) taped to a
sacred Dobbshead. Then I watch Dobbs smile as he is pelted with money,
as you can see in the picture. Hopefully it translates into a one day spike
in SubGenius catalog sales, but for me, the slack is undescribable. I try to
hang onto the wall as long as I can before the surging crowd pushes me on, through
the shrine complex and past the lovely shrine maidens. Latching SubGenius rituals, both real and imaginary, onto existing religious practices is your best entertainment value. Hell, the Romans did it for 800 years and then the Catholics outdid them. I'll post a video for 'yall, see comments.

Bleeding for your team.

2005-12-05T15:20:00.000+09:00

John Newcombe coached the Australia Davis Cup
tennis team and he said "Blue," (he always called
everybody 'Blue'), Blue, if you play for Australia
and you don't win, you better come home covered in blood."

To have and to have not

2005-11-30T20:22:00.000+09:00

"Football teams are extraordinarily inventive in the ways they find to cause their supporters sorrow. They lead at Wembley and then throw it away; they go to the top of the First Division and then stop dead; they draw the difficult away game and lose the home replay; they beat Liverpool one week and lose to Scunthorpe the next; they seduce you, half-way through the season, into believing that they are promotion candidates and they go the other way...always, when you think you have anticipated the worst that can happen, they come up with something new."
Nick Hornby writing in Fever Pitch

I asked Aussie Matt, who will be at the match on Saturday, how he views it "For you, it's pretty much easy come, easy go, if we win great, if not...?" "Yeah, pretty much," he grinned, obviously still rejoicing over Australia's World Cup Qualification. I sigh, like I do with a student who doesn't get the assignment.
"Right." I should be like him, expect a win, enjoy the moment, if not, find other diversions. But I know that what I really want is so close that I can taste it and I close my eyes and I see it, a Latin-type stadium and street explosion, supporters
celebrating, cars honking horns and waving our manly pink colors, restaurant owners in Nagai pouring us free sake, then a all-singing subway ride and surface march to Minami, over the Dotonbori Bridge, victory pints at the Pig and Murphys, taking liberties with the local libertines all through the night.

And then it could all go wrong on Saturday, like a space shuttle burning up in the atmosphere and leaving blackened chunks of sizzling debris scattered across the landscape.

No mid-table mediocrity for us, it is either death or glory. Nagai Stadium sold out today and the clock is ticking.

Gut-wrenched

2005-11-28T08:08:00.000+09:00

In the 50s Japanese department stores would display large TVs and let customers and window shoppers watch professional wrestling. Big crowds formed to watch the famed Rikidozan whup some long haired American and return pride to the recently defeated Japanese. It was hardly the same experience when I strode into the Bic Camera store to try to stand and watch a satellite broadcast of Cerezo Osaka away at Yokohama, but after I succeeded in finding a tiny set with the game on, two more interested Osakans joined me for the roller coaster ride. A few feet on another set Osaka Gamba played their half of the unfolding J-League end-of-season drama. Once again we were outplayed by the opposition, hardly the stuff of champions. Yet after a scoreless 1st half, the second began optimistically as Morishima stole a botched Yokohama clearance and we were ahead 1-0. On the other channel Gamba were losing their last home match of the season to their Nabisco Cup nemesis JEF United 2-1. If we won and Kashima, losing 2-1 to Shimizu held, then the championship could only go either of the two Osaka clubs. Time stood still as keeperYoshida saved one, hen two solid Yokohama shots. The opponents, playing like the former chamoions they are, earned corner kick and corner kick, but again we held. Then 45:00 and four minutes of extra time. Nail biting. I thought "Why aren't we playing more keep away, how about just one pass back to the goal?" Then a Yokohama rush, all thier attackers are in the box, the ball sppurts free and one - two shots, uncleared, then a third short range shot- IT GOES IN. Uno a uno. Glory missed by minutes, but Gamba loses, Kashima ties and we are in first place clear by one measly point. Had we won it would have clinched the yuusho for either us or Gamba. Now we have a dogpile! Three teams are tied for third two points back and stumbling Gamba are second. So next Saturday at home only a win will insure the championship. It will be a long week to think about what might have been and next Saturday will be the longest day. Why do I care? I'll try and explain in the next post.

Nausea

2005-11-25T07:28:00.000+09:00

I was refused permission from the Mrs to attend the Wednesday match and it was just as well; a nice afternoon in the park with the baby, playing in the sandbox and on the swings was certainly better for my long term health than watching Cerezo take it on the chin from another mid-table upstart. Peter filled me in from the match with his cel and from what I heard made me glad I wasn't there to watch the wheels nearly come off completely. Oita hit the post in the first minute and while the Pink Wolves (yes, that is what we call them!) did get an early goal on a five man rush it was our opponents who dominated play throughout, eventually earning an equalizer in the 81st minute. Then, by all accounts, they should have beaten us outright (and ended Cerezo's epic 13 game unbeaten streak) when a long shot beat Yoshida, went off of the post (again) and came out for an easy Oita tap in. A very late flag went up from a nervous linesman, the kind of call that makes you wonder who is pulling the strings. Japanese coruption is corporate and football is no exception. Watching on replays I shrugged but I knew it tainted our fine efforts. And had we lost we would have been in good company.

Everyone else coughed up points including 1st place Gamba who lost again, this time to 14th place Omiya Ardija. This meant the two Osaka teams were now even on 57 points with two matches left, Gamba only retaining first on goal differential. ARGGHHHHHHH!!! And the three rivals below us could still catch us if they put together 2 victories in the last 2 weeks. Cerezo are away to Yokohama Marinos, a usual contender who are out of it this year, think the Liverpool of Japan. Gamba play at home to JEF United, 5th place with 53 points and winner over them in the Nabisco Cup. The full color spread in the next days Japanese sports paper painted Cerezo in heroic colors, with no mention of the disallowed goal and possible corrupt call. The North Koreans couldn't have done better. And on the 3rd page a giant picture of Gamba players being confronted by their own away supporters. They caption said "ready to explode". So if Gamba were to lose at home on Saturday and cough up the championship it looks like we can get our first real riots here in Osaka. Lovely. At least someone cares.

And this morning Georgie Best passes away in Blighty. C'est la vie.

Cerezo in a Battle Royale

2005-11-23T06:52:00.000+09:00

Out of all of my addictions, my zeal for the south Osaka Japan-League football team, Cerezo Osaka, a team that wears a shocking pink and blue uniform and has a fight song stolen from a Grahame Greene novel defies description at times. But as we go to press, my long suffering squad of Japanese socceroos find themselves in 2nd place, one point out of first, just behind our same city rivals with 3 games to go. I cannot attend today's crucial home match but to atone I am actually considering going down to pray at the local shrine for the team's success on the field.

Required background can be found here
http://www.wldcup.com/Asia/jleague/cerezo.html

Our last match on Sunday was one to savor, a 2-0 victory over Kawasaki Frontale. A quorum of our usual foreign supporters were there, finding our perch in the upper terraces. My esteemed scholar friend Damien Flanagan also came out for his first J-league match and was suitably impressed. A goaless 1st half had us wondering if our record 13 game unbeaten streak was at last at an end, but suddenly our veterans produced a two goal burst in 4 minutes and from then on it was a beery coast to victory. The stuff of dreams, indeed.

Chinese tourist rejects

2005-10-19T23:11:00.000+09:00

Well, the in-laws finally left. Corrupted by Communism, they refused to go out and see the sights of beautiful Kansai, preferring instead to stay at home with the grandkid or gawk around our delightfully run-down shotengai neighborhood. Grandma Wong got homesick and they left after 2 weeks, instead of staying for the applied for four. Oh well, back to the troika of Mom, Dad, and junior, which for the time being is the natural state of affairs. Huzza!

It takes a village

2005-09-25T15:37:00.000+09:00

Well, the village moved in today. Lingling, Dario and Grandma and Grandpa Wang arrived off of the boat from Shanghai this morning with a ton of luggage and 50 kg of rice. Lingling was furious that Japan Customs confiscated all of her preserved meat. So I think we have enough room for all five of us here for the next 4 weeks. It's the in-laws first time out of China so I am looking forward to hearing their translated impressions.

American me

2005-09-14T20:05:00.000+09:00

17 years living abroad...so what keeps me "American?" My British friends would immediately point to that nasal accent, well that never leaves, unless I decide to speak with a Finnish tilt, stressing the first syllable of every m-fing word. No thanks. There's channel 722, the Fox Network on satelite, but I'm only up to season 2 of "That '70s Show." Really, the only two things that really bind American together are what TV shows we watch and what products we buy (thank God for that COSTCO outlet in Sonoda!) And whether we vote our states Blue or Red, those of us who do vote. Sure, there's my work for Democrats Abroad, but that is just a front for money laundering (just kidding, people).

No, what keeps me going is getting my hands on a recent copy of the New Yorker every week at one of my university libraries. I devour everything starting first with the cartoons, then the feature articles, followed by the tiniest details of the shows on off-Broadway, down to those full page explanations that are part of the pharmaceutical advertisements: "Sleep medicines may cause a special type of memory loss or 'amnesia.' This is usually not a problem because most people fall asleep after taking the medicine.' Trippy. I can then pretend I have my finger on the pulse of the country.

My favorite cartoon from this week, Aug. 29, has a knight on horseback, pulling a large wagon and speaking to a princess standing at the door of the castle
"I couldn't find fresh dragon, so I got frozen.'

In search of bad English T-shirts in Ame-mura

2005-09-12T08:52:00.000+09:00

Got out of the house around 1 pm and jumped on my bicycle, riding up Sennichimae Blvd over the hill past Tsuruhashi area and Uehonmachi then down the hill to Namba and our old neighborhood. Turned right and went south into Den Den town, the electronics district to check trends and prices and to look for old 168pin SDRAM memory chips.
A lot of shoppers out, probably skipping their duty as citizens to vote in today's general election. Neat gadgets abounded, mini DVD players with screens for 12000 yen, burners for 6000-some shops were gone from cutthroat competition, and a whole lot more manga, porn, action figure and cosplay establishments had taken their place. Dawdled until 3pm then headed up to American Village (Ame-mura), the Harajuku of Osaka, to search for the slippery and elusive bad English T-shirt slogan.

Here's what I retrieved after about an hour of hanging out inside the explosion of colors and fashion in that trendy part of town:

"A lie is told to its feelings"
"Lack of Regard - This Horse Rules the Yard"
"Be nice I've been sick"
"Glitter Cordless"
(on a hottie) "My mouth is filled pleasure of supremacy"

I give these passing grades but I look for those shirt slogans that convey a secret message to me only, such as the one I saw on the day after the November 2004 Bush-Kerry election debacle -
"Losers are always wrong."

These are all going into the book I am planning to write. Watch this space.

My blurb plagarized with permission

2005-09-09T14:56:00.000+09:00

same ad copy, tarted up with graphics on alt.slack
friend's site:

Kooksites

click ad link at the top of the page

Waist deep in the Big Muddy

2005-09-08T14:09:00.000+09:00

Turns out, as usual, I'm a day late and a dollar short with this
money making idea. Someone already has it up on E-Bay.

DR.VOODOO'S GENUINE NEW ORLEANS FLOOD WATER.
You can now own 2 ounces of the water that destroyed
the city, a souvenir you will treasure! Packed in
a clear but unbreakable lucite vial, the same type the
crack dealers use, this real sample of the very same
water pumped outta the city comes complete with
a genuine certificate of authenticity and a chemical
analysis, listing real E.Coli bacteria, oil, decaying
human flesh, rum, sewage, toxic chemicals and other
trace elements. Amaze your friends but do not open
the vial unless you are planning to use it in a voodoo
curse or to poison your local, state or federal public
official. $25 postpaid includes Biohazard shipping costs,
vial, display stand, certificate and manual. 10% of all
proceeds go to Katrina relief. Accept no substitutes.
Y'all git some 'fore it's all gone!