Night of the Klaw!!!

Well I've got a big mugcup of coffee here to try and sober me up for this little tête-à-tête. I’ve just come from a free evening of all you can drink at a crab restaurant. It was a traditional style Japanese restaurant where the numerous food portions were incredibly tasty, but so small that they’d leave a starving alley cat in the same condition.

It is the end of the school year pretty soon, and while everyone is busy there’s still time for a break up party. That business is one of the reasons why I’ve been slack with the blog. But really, I don't have to blame an excess of work. I can think of numerous excuses to avoid my responsibilities. So anyway, one of the schools I go to asked if I could go to dinner with them tonight. Sometimes I’m busy on Wednesday night with another class, but tonight that was fortunately cancelled. So I said, “OK.”

I was glad I went. Some of the teachers are retiring or moving on to marriage and/or children, so I won’t see them anymore. The conversation was fun, and the food was delicious. Many and various dishes of crab both raw and cooked were served in tiny portions. I haven’t eaten as much raw crab since I went down on that Lithuanian stewardess. I’ll leave that story there. Dessert was a frozen quarter of apple. How weird is that. Frozen apple. It’s apple, but it’s frozen. I couldn’t eat the peel. I tried but it seemed mightily resistant to my efforts. Maybe because of some kind of super power from being frozen. Who knows?

And the abso-fucking-lutely best part was that the school footed the bill. I’d say, “Your tax dollars at work”, but:
(a) You probably don't pay tax in Japan, and
(b) It’s a private school.

A lot of other things have been happening, but I want to work out how to post pictures to Blogger before I write about them. This is because I’ve got some good pictures to go with the words. Makes sense really. However the evil triumvirate of Blogger, Picasso 2 and Hello resist my feeble efforts at understanding. I seem to be pressing all the right buttons, but nothing appears on the blog. Oh well.

The Movie Maven

Alexander
Saw Alexander on Sunday, and really can’t see what all the complaints are about. Is the movie going to change your life? Unlikely. Did it bore me shitless? No, not at all. I really quite liked it. With only two major battles in almost 3 hours, is not an action-heavy kind of epic. If you’re going along for that you’ll be sorely disappointed. However the battles that are shown are really well depicted. There’s an earthquake happening now. Finished. The Indian one is especially humorous in an elephanty kind of way. It made me want to run home and start playing Age of Empires II. Go snuffy! Go the trample!

The movie is very talky. Who would have thought that gay old Alexander had so much philosophizing to do while he brought enlightenment to the world by the sword? But I've got a lot of respect for the warrior-kings of yore. At least they had the courage of their convictions.

The film is pretty brutal. Alexander and his posse show both the physical and emotional scars of their campaigns. It’s also very arty in an Oliver Stone way. If you don’t know what I mean then rent Natural Born Killers and you’ll get the idea. Or better yet you could watch Alexander.

For those who like experimental films with $150 million dollar budgets.

On the subject of movies...
The IMDB Message Boards can be host to a bit of a flame war. Sometimes the Administrator has to bite some arse to quell a firestorm. But Howie Long must have been doing the biting on this message board for Kingdom of Heaven.

Also check out The Fantastic Four preview to see more of that scrumptious Ioan Gruffudd.

And Batman Begins soon.

Sleepy I be.

Drowning...Just Drowning

Snowed under by various things.

Had a great long weekend.
Am still freezing.
Have not watched a single movie.
Have not finished a single Film Forensic.
Have too many work related things yet to complete in the next week, but as I have a completely booked social calender for the coming weekend, I am left with zero hours for any of it. Best move "Invent time machine" a little higher up the "Things To Do" list.
Have kept to the new fitness regime, but any gains have been squandered by not even coming close on the dietry regime.

See you in the imaginary future where I have more than 15 mins to devote to my time wasting pasttimes.

Are you ready for pain?

Are you ready for suffering?

If so then I suggest you bypass Captain Freedom’s Aerobic Workout. It’s for pussies. Real men do… Power Yoga.

Attended a Power Yoga class at the gym on the weekend. Never having done any kind of yoga, let alone the power kind, I thought it was going to be some kind of stretching class followed by the sipping of Rosehip tea. The pintsize and particularly fierce looking Tinkerbell instructing the class put an end to that misconception.

This woman was half my size, and although she didn’t look obviously muscular, she was obviously toned. Not that intimidating you’d think. Well you’d be wrong.

I think her other job must be as a physical trainer for the SAS. Either that or she is a dominatrix. After lulling us in with a kind attitude by asking if this was anyone’s first time, only do what you can, if it hurts stop, blah, blah, blah… she then proceeded to bark us into submission.

Power Yoga is a deadly art, but only on the practitioner. For the observer I’m sure it’s fuckin’ hilarious. Especially when one sees a 36 year old, slightly overweight gentleman attempting to achieve positions which all have names that would make a schoolboy snicker. Doubly hilarious when the correct position of the moonlighting dominatrix is compared with what the aforementioned gentleman is doing. Her “plank” position (a straight-arm pushup-like position) was as rigid as a, well, plank I guess. Mine, I mean this gentleman’s plank, looked like it had a big saggy bow with some water-caused swelling around the middle.

After 45 odd minutes of agony it was all over. I was covered in sweat and felt like I’d spent the afternoon alone in the confessional with a Catholic priest -spiritually elated but physically misused. The really amazing thing was that this state of pain and exhaustion was achieved without any free weights, machines, ropes, whips or chains. Just by trying to support your own body weight in the different positions.

I would’ve thought that at my age I was capable of supporting myself. I was wrong.

The Movie Maven

Hornblower: The Series
All 8 Hornblower episodes have now been watched. While each episode is a story in itself there is some continuity from episode to episode, so I recommend watching them in order. And recommend them I do. I like a show that knows its mark, and Hornblower hits it dead center.

Hornblower is set in the Napoleonic Wars, and is a jingoistic romp about a fictional English navel officer. Based on the books of C. S. Forester it delivers a little action tempered with a lot of character. While the characters seem to be straight from the templates of an RPG, and the plots little more than ripping yarns, I was drawn in all the same. This is because the actors utilize the sheer recognizability of the characters to shape strong performances.

The characters show growth over the 8 episodes, and the principal actors really convince. Standouts are the two leads – Ioan Gruffudd as Horatio Hornblower and Robert Lindsay as Sir Edward Pellew. They have a good master/apprentice, father/son relationship on screen, and I believed that they had the mindset of men from a time that is alien to us now. Their presence in all shows also brought a sense of continuity to the series. Kudos also goes to Andrew Grieve for his helming and other major crewmembers for their acting. They also contributed to the strength of each episode.

The effects are OK, but there were obviously budgetary restrictions on them. But while navel battles are part of Hornblower, I didn’t pay the overnight rental charge to see them. Like all good drama, I watched it for the characters. It is doubtful that another will be made, though I’d enlist for another mission. Ioan Gruffudd is moving on to bigger things. Having starred in King Arthur as Lancelot, we’ll soon see him as Mr. Fantastic in The Fantastic Four. There are even whispers that he could play a certain famous British secret agent.

Hornblower is for those who like a solid period piece.

Continuing the week that was, was busy.

I don’t know if it was the alcohol or the excitement of Armageddon, but I forgot to explain why the week that was busy, was busy.

Mari and I decided to take action on our complete slackness, and so we joined the local gym. This was her suggestion, and I was pretty surprised as her ideal down time is coffee, cigarettes and a book/DVD. Having already resolved to do something after the shock from the moving experience I was pretty happy to take up regular physical activity again, (I’ve already done the sex-life joke, so you can insert it yourself here if the mood takes you. Pharrnh!).

We went to check out the local gym. Most sports clubs in Japan do not cater for casual membership. You have to join. Also they are not on the cheap. I think a comparable cost in Australia would be paying full price for a movie twice a week. However there are no tight-arse Tuesday memberships at the gym. You can, however, choose to limit your access time – night only membership, weekend only membership – and thus save money.

But you get what you pay for. The gym had a pool, wet and dry saunas, the latest machines, and the changing rooms look more like beauty salons. The men’s changing rooms have showers, hot baths, dressing tables, hair dryers, and for an additional charge the use of a tanning machine.

The machines were pretty high-tech. They have digital readouts that tell the weight lifted, the power generated by the lift, the number of reps done in the current set, and even if the action is too big or too small. Basically everything except lift the bloody weights for you. Also they have a memory stick-like slot. What for you ask?

Well your individual training program is put onto a sturdy key-shaped memory stick. You never have to remember your current settings for a machine, just put it in the slot and there they are. In the gym there are also ATM-like machines that unfortunately don’t dispense money, but can remind you of the details of your program, let the gym instructors leave messages for you, or let you leave messages for other members.

Joining the gym was an exercise in paperwork. Not only were there the financial details, but also a questionnaire that asks about your lifestyle and medical history. As it was all kanji it was beyond me. Recognizing a similar lack of understanding as with my high school math exams I solved this problem the same way. I cheated off the person next to me. In this case it was Mari.

The results from the questionnaire where mailed to our place a couple of days later. While there is a lot of gobbledygook, there is only one important stat. A cute weather-themed character represents your general physical condition.

Good news if you get big-eyed beaming sun in a clear blue sky.

I received a sad, rainy cloud that advised me that I should quit smoking, especially if I become pregnant.

On a bright note, Mari received a sad stormy cloud. Fortunately I can’t even cheat correctly. So that means I beat her in the test, doesn’t it?

In addition to the paper quiz came a free doctor’s examination involving a blood test and being hooked up to Dr. Frankenstein’s machine. Unfortunately one can’t eat for four hours before the examination, or it will skew the results. While this was only four hours, it was torture. I think it must have been that I couldn’t have food that I wanted it so much. Every ramen store I passed seemed to be taunting me to come in. I do, however, have a sneaking suspicion that ramen contributed to my sad cloud. Also Valentine’s Day approaches, so the smell of chocolate was overpowering in the department stores.

I’m booked in to get a program on the 14th, so until then I’ve been given a beginner’s program. It involved 10 minutes warm-up on the bike, some stretching, and what I thought were insulting small weights. That was until I finished them for the first time and went home. Completely zonked, yet surprising hungry, I ate a second dinner of coffee and Pringles and crashed into futon. Oh yes, this is going to be a big success.

I’ve been 3 times now. While the original pain hasn't lessened, it has moved to a different part of my body after each visit. This suggests the pain may be a living entity, and is just trying to find the coziest part of me in which to dwell. Right now it’s under my armpits, so I figure it won’t be there long.

Yesterday was the first time to use the pool. I haven’t done laps since I went to Australia for Miss Alix’s wedding. At that time I could swim a kilometer and leap out of the water feeling refreshed. Ah, quit thinking about the good old days you drippy git. Yesterday I was out of breath after 100 meters and my arms had been replaced with lead pipes. Not muscular lead pipes, but thin white bread-boy ones. I consoled myself with 10 minutes in the Jacuzzi with a couple of Japanese Tinkerbells.

Now that’s what I call exercise.

The week that was, was busy

Sneaking in under the wire of my at least once a week blogging promise, tonight's blog is brought to you by De Bortoli and New Corona Light.

I had been paying my rent at Nakano via an automatic bank deposit into my landlord’s account. I had to cancel this myself. My bank and her bank are the same, and it is a nationwide bank. I went to the Ichigaya branch, which is not one minute from my company. The kind lady who greeted me when I entered looked at the information printed on the outside of my bankbook and advised me that I should go to the Saginomiya branch. Saginomiya is about 40 minutes train away, and so I politely declined to do so. She next took my bankbook and went behind the counter. On her return she suggested that I go to the Nakano branch, which was where I originally authorized the automatic deduction. Nakano is closer (about 30 minutes), but I again felt that that was not an option. After all, I was in this branch now.

Finally I found out the problem. They can’t access the details of automatic deposits that were done at another branch via computer. She had first assumed that I had authorized the deposit at Saginomiya, as this was the branch at which I had opened the account. When she found out that I had actually done that at Nakano that was her next suggestion. She said if I knew the bank details of the automatic deposit (especially my landlord’s bank account), she could do it here. Otherwise I had to get the information from the Nakano branch. I instead suggested that she contact the Nakano branch and get the details. Two faxes later the problem was solved. Thinking back on it I got out of that one very lightly.

Bureaucracy 0 winston 1

The Road Not Taken
I pay into the national health insurance scheme. Although it’s a national scheme, it is administered at the local level. I have no idea why. Thus, the move to Yokohama necessitated me to alter my details with them. I haven’t had to do this with my previous moves, for when I was on the JET Program it was taken care of by them, and when I left Saginomiya and moved to Nakano I remained in the same area.

Well a couple of months ago I went to the ward office for Tama Plaza to register my change of address from Nakano. It was a pretty painless process, but while I was there it would have been nice if someone had mentioned that I had to walk two counters down to change my insurance details, too.

Thus after recently going to the dentist here in Tama, I got a letter from the Nakano city office saying that I owed them the money for the visit as I shouldn’t have used my card as I don’t live there anymore. They also suggested that I update my health insurance details. Fair enough.

I determined to go to the ward office again to update my details. I thought that I remembered where it was, so I took the train a few stations down the line to Aobadai. When I got off the train I was convinced that I had the correct station as I remembered the bakery at the station. I set off walking, but even though I’d only been here once before I decided to take a different way.

Well I was pretty wrong on all accounts. After 15 minutes walking I realized that I didn’t have a clue where I was. I like walking, but have often had this trouble in the past. I start walking in a new area and get completely lost and have to retrace my steps. I remember the first night I visited my brother in Newcastle. I set off on what was billed as a "half hour walk". An hour later I had to admit to myself that I had to return the way I had come. On my return journey I discovered that at one point I had been a block from my destination, and could have easily cut the walk in half. Valuable local information should I return to visit my brother in the house he no longer lives in.

I returned to the station and emailed Mari. She confirmed that I was indeed at the wrong station.

Robert Frost is full of shit. Pass it on.

So after taking the train to Ichigao, the correct station, I walked the 5 minutes to the ward office. There the very nice lady informed me that everything would be OK once they found out how much I’ve earned. This info will come from Nakano ward office sometime soon.

Now I’ve received a sealed letter from Nakano. I have to take this to the ward office at Ichigao if I want the money back from the dentist visit. Why Nakano can't send this straight to Ichigao, I cannot understand. Also they won’t give me cash money, but they will deposit it in my bank account if I give them the details. I’ll be doing this maybe Monday. The logic is… irrepressible!

Bureaucracy 1 winston 1

Come sail your ships around me
One of the great things about having all my stuff with me again is access to my CDs. Last night for the first time in a long time I put on the boatman’s call.
Mari asked, “Who’s that?”
I answered, “Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds.”
She said, “He sounds like a guy singing at karaoke who isn’t really trying.”
Told Nick.

The Movie Maven bids you welcome
I've decided to outsource the reviews of my week's viewings over to The Movie Maven. Incredulous wanted the job, but his test review was mostly a rant. The Movie Maven has promised spoiler-free, quality-free reviews.

House of Flying Daggers
If I'd watched House of Flying Daggers last year, it would have battled Van Helsing for the worst movie seen in 2004 (Now that’s a fight I’d like to see - wire fu Zhang Ziyi vs. the wolfed-out VH! Down you sad fan boy, down). The two films suffer similar problems. Where Van Helsing tried for too much entertainment and forgot the other aspects of a film, House of Flying Daggers tries to be capital "A" Art, and forgets to be entertaining.

The film focuses on its two hours of glorious visuals. Oh God, those beautifully composed shots! The juxtaposition of colors! I wonder why the unending beauty of the world they inhabit doesn’t distract the characters.

It’s because they have nary a thought between them. The characters don’t have recognizably human motivations, they are just puppets for the scenery. I've liked the three leads in other films, but here they don’t convince that they are real people. They are used just for their visual impact. Usually attractive, they are instead dressed up like gaudy Christmas baubles. And like Christmas baubles they are hollow inside.

Characterizations are minimally presented, as is script, plot and all other aspects of cinema. What takes their place are some wirework and a story that can't survive its own plot twists. The director's previous work, Hero, was a good movie that would have been great under the firm hand of a more economical editor. House of Flying Daggers takes the weaknesses of Hero and wallows in them. However no amount of editing can save it.

It is for those who like style over substance.

Phantom of the Opera
Lavish and loud, I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. I’m not a fan of musicals, but the melodrama of Phantom of the Opera got me in. I can’t say anymore without compromising my integrity.

It is for those who like… musicals.

And back at reality central
Armageddon is on TV. Is this the greatest fucking movie ever, or what?