Do you sleep?
Lisa Loeb is in for Paula Zahn on CNN. I didn't know she had any qualifications as a newscaster.
20 September 2005
The boys in the trees
I don't remember how it came up in conversation, but I mentioned "You Belong to Me," and this guy who must have been all of 23 was like, "Oh, yeah, the Jennifer Lopez song."
And I thought, Oh, no.
That's just so unjust. At first I was hoping that Lopez had done that whole retro thing that all the boy bands are doing and covered the Jo Stafford song. No, I don't want to see Stafford abused, either, but there's something especially repellant about someone like Lopez--whose entire singing career is built on frantic, unconvincing assertions that she's still down with the regular folk--denaturing something of Carly Simon's.
Perspective: when I was in college, the whole Riot Grrl thing was all over the news. You know, you'd have these white-bread women singing, like,
The great thing about Carly, in retrospect, is that she approached her spoiled-brat neuroses without a trace of self-pity. Yes, she sang all solemnly about how empty her life felt despite all the parties and expensive romantic jaunts and stuff, but you never got the sense that she was pissy at the world about it. Who cares if she recycled the same half-dozen melodies for ten years and missed half the notes she sang?
Speaking of missing notes all the time: Madge. Are you excited about her new album? I am. I just hope it doesn't suck. The title is promising--whenever she remembers she's a neo-disco chick and stops trying to address the Darkness in our Materialistic Souls and crap like that, she still has it. I seem to be the only life-long Madonna fan, BTW, who doesn't think Ray of Light was the second coming. I'm sorry, crooning about how your new baby is wonderful because she was the latest, greatest step in your program of self-discovery is way creepy.
Have you noticed that my posts are scatty this week? Sorry. Atsushi's coming home for the weekend on Saturday. As he reminded me on the phone last night, exactly one year ago I was visiting him in Kyushu for the first time since his transfer. The first several months were tough, but we're in our groove. I still get fidgety right before I know I'm going to see him, though, so, you know, you get randomness.
And I thought, Oh, no.
That's just so unjust. At first I was hoping that Lopez had done that whole retro thing that all the boy bands are doing and covered the Jo Stafford song. No, I don't want to see Stafford abused, either, but there's something especially repellant about someone like Lopez--whose entire singing career is built on frantic, unconvincing assertions that she's still down with the regular folk--denaturing something of Carly Simon's.
Perspective: when I was in college, the whole Riot Grrl thing was all over the news. You know, you'd have these white-bread women singing, like,
I go to Brown on Daddy's dime
But I'm totally oppressed
[skronky guitar noise]
It's an act of true sedition
When I shriek about my breasts
[skronky guitar noise]
The great thing about Carly, in retrospect, is that she approached her spoiled-brat neuroses without a trace of self-pity. Yes, she sang all solemnly about how empty her life felt despite all the parties and expensive romantic jaunts and stuff, but you never got the sense that she was pissy at the world about it. Who cares if she recycled the same half-dozen melodies for ten years and missed half the notes she sang?
Speaking of missing notes all the time: Madge. Are you excited about her new album? I am. I just hope it doesn't suck. The title is promising--whenever she remembers she's a neo-disco chick and stops trying to address the Darkness in our Materialistic Souls and crap like that, she still has it. I seem to be the only life-long Madonna fan, BTW, who doesn't think Ray of Light was the second coming. I'm sorry, crooning about how your new baby is wonderful because she was the latest, greatest step in your program of self-discovery is way creepy.
Have you noticed that my posts are scatty this week? Sorry. Atsushi's coming home for the weekend on Saturday. As he reminded me on the phone last night, exactly one year ago I was visiting him in Kyushu for the first time since his transfer. The first several months were tough, but we're in our groove. I still get fidgety right before I know I'm going to see him, though, so, you know, you get randomness.
19 September 2005
You look at me with those brown eyes
I was in kind of a funk last night. I worked yesterday, and it was a satisfying but draining day. And even though it's officially a three-day weekend, Atsushi's bank has his department in today, so he couldn't come up to Tokyo. He's been working late all the time and not getting enough sleep, and I'm powerless to do anything about it except sound devoted during our ten-minute phone conversation each night. So I went out to one of my hangouts, where the guys behind the bar have all known me for years, to mellow out a little.
They started drawing my vodka as soon as I stepped in the door, and I reached into my bag for my coin purse. It wasn't there. So I rummaged around a little. Then I took my Discman and CD case and handkerchief and water purifying straw and space blanket out, and it still wasn't there. My coin purse is frequently a topic of conversation, because the big joke among the bar guys is that I always pay with exact change. (Don't ask me why, but in this math-skill-obsessed country, paying with exact change is uncommon. Given that the smallest paper bill denomination is ¥1000, the equivalent of US $9 or so, you'd think people would do whatever possible to minimize the number of coins they carry, but they don't.) So they were standing there expecting me to give my usual exact ¥600, and then the bar master started chortling, "Sean-chan, that's the coin purse your honey gave you for your birthday two years ago. The one you never let out of your sight. You don't mean to say you forgot it. We're going to have to tell your boyfriend. We're going to have to report you to Hermès for this one--it's accessory abuse!" Objectively speaking, I guess it was kind of funny--when you walk into a gay bar, naturally, everyone glances over at you, and I'm sure I looked pretty weird yanking things out of my little camera bag and getting increasingly frustrated. All I had to do was get out my wallet for a ¥1000 bill and be done with it, after all.
The thing was, the master was right: it's hokey to say, but having my coin purse with me makes me feel as if Atsushi were close by. It was as if I'd been neglectful and forgotten to bring him along; I was even more unsociable than usual the whole night.
I feel better now, though--not just because I've gotten a grip on myself, but because Atsushi and I will have ready-made in-joke material for tonight's phone call: Instapundit was not only kind enough to give me another link but also kind enough to use it to the end of giving CNN's Aaron Brown a good cuffing. It makes me so happy.
I don't think it's possible to convey just HOW MUCH Aaron Brown annoys me. It's possible that in private life, he's generous and humble and easy-going; but he has to be the most oozingly self-righteous journo on the planet in his professional life. (Once he and Jane Arraf were on a split screen together, and it was like the irresistible smug force meeting the immovable smirky object. I thought they might merge into some vortex of condescension and suck in the whole universe or something.) CNN is the only English-language news source on our cable subscription--not that I miss BBC World, or anything--so I usually grit my teeth and watch to keep from feeling entirely cut off from televised news. I have my limits, though, and Atsushi knows from long experience that when Brown comes on the air, I can be expected to mutter curses at the TV until I just can't take anymore and have to switch back to NHK. It's part of our domestic routine by this point. Suffice it to say, I am delighted to be of modest assistance in deflating that gasbag.
They started drawing my vodka as soon as I stepped in the door, and I reached into my bag for my coin purse. It wasn't there. So I rummaged around a little. Then I took my Discman and CD case and handkerchief and water purifying straw and space blanket out, and it still wasn't there. My coin purse is frequently a topic of conversation, because the big joke among the bar guys is that I always pay with exact change. (Don't ask me why, but in this math-skill-obsessed country, paying with exact change is uncommon. Given that the smallest paper bill denomination is ¥1000, the equivalent of US $9 or so, you'd think people would do whatever possible to minimize the number of coins they carry, but they don't.) So they were standing there expecting me to give my usual exact ¥600, and then the bar master started chortling, "Sean-chan, that's the coin purse your honey gave you for your birthday two years ago. The one you never let out of your sight. You don't mean to say you forgot it. We're going to have to tell your boyfriend. We're going to have to report you to Hermès for this one--it's accessory abuse!" Objectively speaking, I guess it was kind of funny--when you walk into a gay bar, naturally, everyone glances over at you, and I'm sure I looked pretty weird yanking things out of my little camera bag and getting increasingly frustrated. All I had to do was get out my wallet for a ¥1000 bill and be done with it, after all.
The thing was, the master was right: it's hokey to say, but having my coin purse with me makes me feel as if Atsushi were close by. It was as if I'd been neglectful and forgotten to bring him along; I was even more unsociable than usual the whole night.
I feel better now, though--not just because I've gotten a grip on myself, but because Atsushi and I will have ready-made in-joke material for tonight's phone call: Instapundit was not only kind enough to give me another link but also kind enough to use it to the end of giving CNN's Aaron Brown a good cuffing. It makes me so happy.
I don't think it's possible to convey just HOW MUCH Aaron Brown annoys me. It's possible that in private life, he's generous and humble and easy-going; but he has to be the most oozingly self-righteous journo on the planet in his professional life. (Once he and Jane Arraf were on a split screen together, and it was like the irresistible smug force meeting the immovable smirky object. I thought they might merge into some vortex of condescension and suck in the whole universe or something.) CNN is the only English-language news source on our cable subscription--not that I miss BBC World, or anything--so I usually grit my teeth and watch to keep from feeling entirely cut off from televised news. I have my limits, though, and Atsushi knows from long experience that when Brown comes on the air, I can be expected to mutter curses at the TV until I just can't take anymore and have to switch back to NHK. It's part of our domestic routine by this point. Suffice it to say, I am delighted to be of modest assistance in deflating that gasbag.
2 September 2005
Breakaway
Irma Thomas made it out of New Orleans--great news. (Thanks, Dean.) No, celebrities are of no greater intrinsic worth than any other human beings, but Thomas is beloved by many in her city (and plenty elsewhere). If she's able to perform over the next few weeks, it ought to be good for morale.