In spite of the weather this weekend I manage to drag myself to opposite ends of the island this weekend for two - TWO - concerts.
Friday brought the first (and more interesting of the two). A film screening followed by a short concert hosted by friends (of friends) Ian and Jade Marshal. I haven't seen them since I first met them in Toronto this past August (and it was a wonderful relief that they recognized me!).
The film? Clips of a documentary Ian is putting together about Peter Ivers. I entered knowing next to nothing about the man or the movement (honestly, it was the cast of characters on the guest list that intrigued me) and left probably knowing just as much.
After the film, Jeff Jensen, Doug Pressman and Co. played a few Peter Ivers originals, welcoming one or two guest singers on stage as well. I was told Doug had spent the last few days stressing about what he was going to wear. He finally borrowed a pair stretch-pants from Shari.
I can't remember her name but hot voice and great hair (though I've never been one for cowboy boots).
Jeff upstaged himself by pulling this kid up from the audience. I believe Jeff is saying something along the lines of "Well, now your shirt is off." This was followed by an interest in having him double-check that they were both still male.
As for the other concert... You really don't want to know. It was so much worse.
I’m sure you’ve heard the theory that smell is associated with memory, like how the scent of McDonald's reminds you of the three cat boxes you have to clean when you get home. My sense of smell is terrible so I guess my ears had to make up for my nose’s incompetence.
Beatles bring to mind my gym-side locker in Middle School and cafeteria lunches but mostly our family road trip to the Florida Keys. I remember my brother drawing ridiculous pictures of Ringo, my dad falling in a mud bank on the side of the road trying to climb a tree and a giant sculpture of a manatee holding a mailbox. All this just by starting up Sgt. Pepper’s.
Simon and Garfunkel are pure Arizona. 'El Condor Pasa' recreates driving through the Painted Desert while 'The Boxer' brings images of the train’s lounge car, ice caves, fire ants, and Winslow, Arizona.
Ani Difranco is synonymous with one name: Pam Sprecher. My best friend throughout my first few years of college, Difranco sets off memories of her dancing around the dorm at 3AM and the fact that she’s the only roommate I’ll probably ever have that stored pounds of pig intestines in the refrigerator for most of our Sophomore year.
College is also the first time I was introduced to They Might Be Giants so, naturally, hearing 'Birdhouse in Your Soul' conjures up images of the animation room, the Stop-Motion closet (er, I mean, room) and the frigid computer lab.
Equipment Room employee turned freelance animator (finally) Seann Corrigan introduced me to his sister’s band, the World Inferno Friendship Society just before our class headed up to the Ottawa Animation Festival in 2002. Now images of the capital building and hostel are mixed in with shouts of “Hey, Peter Lorre!”
Japan brought a wave of new music (well, new to me) so it’s interesting to see which artist invokes what recollection of my home away from home.
Josh Ritter? I get a vivid image of driving across the red bridge leading out of my town along with rows and rows of rice fields stretching from Kannari to Semine.
System of a Down? Brilliant for driving at 12:00 at night when you’re half asleep and it’s freezing in the car despite the fact that you have to heat turned all the way up.
Whenever I hear Leonard Nimoy’s rendition of ‘The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins’ I always think of Angela’s enormous house (it use to be a Post Office) in Hanayama and more specifically, of Jeff doing his strange wavy-arm dance.
I guess a lot of these memories are also associated with driving, since long trips give me time to listen to an album from start to finish.
Neko Case has been the most recent addition to this collection, carrying images of weekends in Brooklyn and fall in the Hamptons mixed with the back roads of Middletown.
An important point in closing: I wouldn't even call half of the music listed above my favorites by any means. But, I'll still throw on 'Fixing a Hole' when I want to think of warmer climates. Hey, it's better than Jimmy Buffet.
Between a tight deadline, helping Asterisk move to it’s new space and discovering that I not only needed a new tire but a new rim as well, I barely had time to see the Handsome Family, let alone blog. Well, in spite of the heat, this week promises to be a bit easier so let’s get started!
In a previous blog, I promised to post some of the audio I collected for my senior thesis, What is Animation? This is not that post, but I promise it will follow shortly. For now, you’ll just have to make do with a nostalgic entry.
As you know by now, dear reader, I taught English in Japan which, by the way, is a great way to squander two years of your life. I was what is called an ALT (Assistant Language Teacher) at Kannari Junior High (in fact, for those who can read katakana, they've actually labeled my apartment complex now on Google Maps: it's called Rainbow Heights (or haitsu reinbo) and is right next to the school soccer field). The textbook we worked from was the very popular (in Japanese English classes, that is) New Horizon books. When I left Japan, I managed to smuggle one of the books out with me.
This one’s for the san-nensei class (a.k.a - the 9th graders). Inside are loads of dialogue based lessons aimed at teaching the kids phrases like “How long have you…?” and “It’s difficult for me to…”
It also has several stories that the kids are encouraged to memorize and repeat back to me for a grade at the end of the year. Most of them are stupid…
A few are horribly depressing…
And some are both…
In fact, there was only one story that ever caught my attention as being even remotely clever. Titled The Hole, it was found in the ni-nensei book (which, sadly, means I don’t have a copy of it) and told the story of a young man who discovers a hole in his backyard. No matter how much garbage he throws in the hole, it never fills up. As a result, it becomes a new town dump and in a matter of months, the small town has become a huge, immaculately clean city. Then the twist: one morning while outside working a stone falls from the sky - the same stone the man threw in the hole months ago to see how deep it was.
Apparently, this is a ‘well-known’ story. Or at least, that’s what my JTE (Japanese Teacher of English) Mutsuko-sensei told me. I’d never heard of it before. Since then though, the tale has popped up repeatedly in the most random and wonderful of places:
That’s one of the great things about learning new stuff: it helps you appreciate brilliance even more when you come across it.
