scintillating comic imports

Today, in the mail, I received two items from the British Isles' finest comic artist, John Allison. Item the first! One Tea towel featuring everyone's favorite beasty, the Wendigo:

Item the second! A personally requested, hand drawn image of Desmond Fishman(!):


Hooray!

Bored games

I believe that I am a reasonably smart fellow. Not brilliant, but certainly not stupid. Basically, I think I do alright in the brain department. But, without fail, if I am to be made to feel like a dummy, all that is needed is for me to play a board game with a map of a world on it. The playing field could be our world, a fictional world, or a map of many worlds, it doesn't matter. Whether it's Risk, Stratego, Settlers of Cattan, or Twilight Imperium, I am a complete mess. I just can't grock the rules of these games. Unfortunately, all of my friends love them.

There is something about the strategy and copious rules associated with these games that flummox me. I invariably end up glassy eyed and confused, my mind glazed over. I have to ask what I'm doing each round, seeking help from my opponents. I end up just sitting there while my friends play for me and I don't learn how to follow the progress.

Can't we just play dominoes?

Mirakutei vs. Biwa AKA apples and oranges when the apples are in season and the oranges are under ripe AKA this is a total cop out post from facebook

I was asked on Facebook to compare my first impressions of Mirakutei (a new Japanese restaurant touting their Ramen) with my favorite, Biwa:


Okay, First impressions on Mirakutei (and keep in mind that they just opened) aren't strong. The bowl of Ramen I had was the "Mirakutei Original Ramen" which on the Japanese language menu said was a Tonkotsu ramen. I would personally call it a hybrid; the broth had some of the richness of a true Tonkotsu, but really is more of a Shoyu broth. The toppings were a spartan selection of lean chashyu, bean sprout, sliced negi, and bamboo shoot. The noodles were, as far as I could tell, descent fresh chukasoba made in a factory.

Overall the Mirakutei Original Ramen was a simple, clean bowl of noodles. Nothing flashy, nothing to gush over. I felt the portion, though not small, didn't fill me. I was disappointed by the skimpy portions of the toppings. the price is eight dollars.

As far as I could tell, the rest of the menu is primarily sushi. I didn't have any, but I've eaten at Hiroshi (Mirakutei's parent restaurant) several times and the sushi there is my gold standard by which I measure all other sushi. So I can assume it's good at Mirakutei.

ALL THAT BEING SAID:

Biwa is the better restaurant. The Biwa ramen is also a hybrid, albeit totally different than mirakutei, so I can't claim they make a truer ramen (and in all honesty, that claim would probably go to mirakutei, shoyu broth being the original and most common style). For just a few more dollars Biwa gives you about twice the ramen, six times the (better) chashyu, a shoyu egg, and a pile of sliced green onion. Not to mention the nightly bar menu (9-10) where the ramen is only $5(!)

I must recall that I hated Biwa when they first opened, so I'll be giving Mirakutei another chance in the future.

The big selling point for me is the vast menu beyond the ramen at Biwa. What they offer is real Japanese food, unlike any I've seen offered anywhere in the US. Biwa is the shit.

A bitter taste

I sometimes have a hard time accepting things as they are. I'll get an idea in my head of how things will turn out, and when I find it to not be that way it hurts. What is disappointment? Why is it a feeling that is felt? I find that in most cases, not all, but most cases disappointment comes from a self created idea of the way things are gonna be. Rarely is it external. Usually once I realize that I have deluded myself I can recognize it and move past it. This process can take as short as the moment it took to think it, or as long as months. These are learning experiences.

It can be easy to forget that the world is not about me.

Have booty, will shake

I'm not sure how I began dancing, what influenced me, why I felt the need. I think of myself as somewhat of a shy person. I try not to flaunt, make a spectacle, or show off too much, thinking it to be boorish. But that is precisely what dancing is. It's putting yourself out there on the dance floor and moving in all sorts of awkward, crass, and suggestive ways for all to see.

I love it.

I have always had a strong affinity for music, and long ago noticed that it takes much less from a song to make me nod my head or tap my toe than other people. I can't help it, I feel the same kind of exertion when trying to not move my body to a beat as one might feel while attempting not to visibly flinch at a buddy swiping at their face. It's animal, it's innate, a reflex. There is no resisting it.

I remember clearly the summer of 2002 as the beginning of my desire to dance. I had attended many concerts in those months and just couldn't not dance. Unfortunately I had no idea how to, and resorted to the only movement I was familiar with: Martial arts. I must have looked a fool out there, doing high speed tai chi to the beat, but it felt good. As I've said, I have always loved music, but never participated in it's creation; Dancing revealed to me a means for active participation. Unfortunately, I was Single-Whipping, Roll-Back-And-Pushing, and Snake-Creeps-Downing to the point that I was once called out, over the sound system, by the lead singer of a band for doing chopsocky on the dance floor.

So, I started watching other people dance, picked out what seemed right and excluded what looked bad. I recalled my friend in high school who was always dancing in the halls and doing, what seemed to me at the time, improbable steps. I asked him where he learned to dance and he replied "BET music videos." So I started paying attention to the pro dancers whenever I saw music videos. What's funny is that as I found my own style I realized I was dancing more like the women I saw on MTV and less like the men; I would shimmy and shake, bounce my butt, and shake my shoulders. Dancing in this way is just more fun I think.

Eventually I realized that being self-conscious of my dancing actually made me a better dancer. If I knew someone might be watching me, I didn't want to make too much a fool of myself and would really try to nail the steps and work on my timing. If I'm dancing alone in my house I'm sloppy and carefree. If I'm at a concert or a club, I want to be getting down harder than anyone else out there.

I am by no means a great dancer, at all, but I frequently get complimented by strangers for my moves. I think this is hilarious. I just don't think they expect to see such a plain, non-flashy looking dude shake his ass like Shakira.

I think everyone should feel free to dance, but shyness and a self held belief that they can't often holds people back. If you are reading this and you are afraid to dance, I encourage you to get out there and do it. After all, everyone else is doing it too, and who are they to pass judgment?

African Action

In my varied online perusals today I came across these two loosely related video clips. The first is wildly absurd, but equally awesome:


The next one is wonderful, but derives that wonder from a ridiculous source:


I think both of these videos are a hoot.

Kung fu anew

I'm recovering from what I see as roughly a one year lull in my martial arts practice. I'm going from attending one class a week, if even, to taking two classes and teaching one per week. Now, this is considerably less than the heyday of kung fu when I was going almost every day and practicing at home constantly; I was a kid then with little responsibility, I am a young adult now with still little responsibility, but now I have a demanding job. what can you do.

Anyway, I've really been feeling the kung fu lately. I think it's because of two things. Item the first: I have been going to Sean's new(ish) Monday night classes, which unlike the usual Sunday morning class he leads, this class he teaches, if you can see the distinction there. Sean was and is, a huge influence in my martial studies, and when I was younger he was my primary teacher for some time. So to be back in his class, hearing his instruction and following his direction, it takes my back to when I was first starting this journey. Item the second: I have been teaching my own class again. I took over a year off from teaching my Wednesday night classes for various reasons, but about two months ago I realized that it is something I need in my life. One of the best ways to learn something is by explaining it in detail to another person. That idea really rang true when I began teaching back in 2002; These days I feel like I'm shaking out the cobwebs as I instruct a student, reminding myself of all the skills and techniques that are now second nature to me, analyzing them anew, and concluding that I still have room to grow.

Nippon no more

Anyone who knows me is undoubtedly aware that I have long been planning to move to Japan. There are many reasons for this, notably my strong desire to become fluent in Japanese, a language I have spent years studying but have never fully got a handle on. I believe that total immersion would really supply what I've been missing in my studies. Other reasons include a strong desire to study martial arts in Japan, learn authentic Japanese cookery, and the importance of living somewhere else in a different culture and out of my comfort zone for a bit.

...

guh, I started writing this yesterday, and just don't have the will to relate the whole story. Basically, my goal has always been to apply to JET. Last year I completely screwed up the application, and never even sent it. This year, I rectified this by busting my ass and producing what I thought was one hell of an application packet. I found out yesterday that I was not accepted. I was not even invited in for an interview. This is surprising and highly disappointing. I had been told by many people familiar with the program that with my back ground and particular passion for Japan I was more or less a shoe-in. Not being accepted was always a possibility, but I thought that the rejection, if it came, would be after an interview. To not even qualify for an interview, and not know why, is incredibly hard to swallow.

If I had been going to Japan, I would have been leaving in August. Now I don't know what to do. It made me realize that I need to take a more active role in the direction of my life. I have been very fortunate to have the job that I have, but it is a passive and uncreative (though, admittedly stable) way to live my life.


Let's see what is next.

How to mince garlic

First, peel the garlic. Second, chop off the stem end. Third, split it in half length wise. The rest you see in the video

Ramen/Burger

Biwa is, if not my favorite, one of of my most enjoyed restaurants in Portland. It is in every way a super sexy establishment. The open kitchen with full wrap around bar, the amazing menu, the friendly staff, and their creative drinks all add up to a great experience.

I first went to Biwa soon after they opened several years ago. I had a strange anxiety about it at the time; For years and years I had aspired to open the first Ramen joint in Portland, and now there was Biwa. I was disappointed it couldn't be me, but also excited that there would finally be a legit Ramen shop in my home town.

I was sorely let down. The broth was okay, I guess: I bit salty, no depth, a little thin. Don't even get me started on the noodles. They had none of the characteristics of a classic chuka-soba. I was bummed out, this hit so far below my expectations. I had to later admit that it wasn't a bad bowl of noodles, it would've been quite tasty if not for the fact that it was trying to pass for ramen. I turned my back and didn't return for over two years.

After college I moved into the same neighborhood as Biwa, and one lonely October night I found myself sitting at their bar. I stayed away from the ramen offerings and dug deep into the Yakimono (literally "grilled stuff") menu. Holy cow! This was food of the type I had not had since I was last in Japan! Perfectly prepared pork belly, grilled garlic cloves, plump onigiri, and on and on. I sampled a glass of sweet potato Shōchū over ice, a pleasant drink somewhere between vodka and sweet sake. What a meal!

I went back several times before I attempted the ramen again. The improvement was remarkable. The noodles were perfect, and the chicken broth (one of two options) was rich and meaty. Finally, I sighed, a passable ramen in my hometown.

Sometime during my frequent trips I introduced my friend Tyson to Biwa, and soon after came our friend David. We gathered at the ramen bar like beasts at a watering hole, packing away bowl after bowl and countless skewers of grilled meat. Heaven.

I had heard rumor of a mythical burger, served only on the night of their opening anniversary. Then further rumor that they had expanded it to Friday late nights, and perhaps even every night. Some heard it was served only after ten o'clock, I heard eleven. Conjecture and speculation ruled. One night Tyson and David found themselves at Biwa without me (grrrrr) late at night. A small slip, carefully printed on blue stock, was presented to them. Late Night Menu, it read. And there, at the top: Biwa Burger.

With rage in my heart I listened to them recount each bite, describing the light brioche bun nestling the Wagyu beef chuck patty and thick cut chashyu slab; the full, deep green butter lettuce leaf caressed by the house made kimchi mayo. Soon enough my rage passed as I too was able to enjoy what is surely, and consistently the best burger I have ever had.

Because we are brash young men, seemingly unaware of our own mortality, we soon took our Biwa trips to its (il)logical conclusion. Ramen/Burger. Beginning at 9pm, Biwa has a special bar menu, which includes a dramatically reduced price on the Ramen. Then, at 11pm the burger is served. One summer night, the three of us entered Biwa, found a comfortable spot at the bar, and consumed our respective warm bowl. We retreated to a nearby Karaoke bar and rested for the next phase of our attack.

Upon our return, the maître d’ did a double take, and the cooks behind the bar raised eyebrows all around. We sat in the same stools and ordered with confidence: Three Biwa Burgers please! A frisson spread through the place. A bold applause rang from the back kitchen, our server clapped us heartily on the back, the grill cook reached over the bar to shake our hands. We were heroes.

We were very, very full heroes. This feat has been successfully attempted only a couple more times, but the legend of the Ramen/Burger Three still thrives in the Restaurant. I once walked into a bar near my house and was greeted with a chorus of "Ramen/Burger!" by a table of off-duty Biwa staff. One of my proudest moments of 2010.

In short: You owe yourself a trip to Biwa soon.

Glimpses

My hands clasp and embrace with opposing forces. working it's way underneath the small ring, my index finger smoothly lifts, popping the seal. Carefully, carefully I prize the lid so as not to stain my hands with the pungent smell. Six fat fishes.

Over my shoulder, his face framed in his upraised hands, themselves framed in the windshield. If not for his look of disgust, I would not be so outraged. My wool clad hand obscures him, middle finger raised.

Like sites in a gunners turret, my foam clad fists target on my good friends head. Our frenetic pace is seized by the sudden stillness of the standoff. In my peripheral, the uninitiated woman titters uncomfortably. We lunge simultaneously.

It's sort of red, with maybe swaths of a dark yellow/brown, but probably not. It's certainly not black, like we often say it is. Dozens of white, or perhaps they're blue, squares hover there, all layered upon each other, corners poking out, brighter in the middle. The monitor screen blinds me when, at last, I crack my eyelids.

My whole body moves the thin bead along the line where the wall intersects the plane of the door casing. The paint, a pleasant dark sage, glides off the bristles with a slight waver, forgivable at anything beyond this magnified concentration. My tongue emerges from the corner of my mouth.

A Flicker, Colaptes auratus, mulishly pecks at the broken crest of a telephone pole. It looks bored though.

She looks annoyed that I am standing there, shyly asking for a glass. When she returns, I correct this by grinning at her. Her crow's feet, laugh lines, and other wrinkles deepen in a genuine smile. The pint is frosty from their fridge.

Skills

I often dread the question, "what do you do?" because what the person means is "How do you make money?" I admit that this is not an entirely pointless question, particularly in this society, but it irks me that this is one of the first questions asked when meeting a new person. Now, the reason this annoys me so much is that most of the people I regularly interact with are in my age/socioeconomic group and people in my age/socioeconomic group do not make a living doing things they enjoy or choose to associate themselves with. This does not mean that I don't have friends who do not love their jobs, or are not proud of the good work they do, but I think most do not see themselves as Barista/House Painter/Child Care Provider/Online Tech Support/What-Have-You. That is what they do for money.

It would be neat if, when asked the dreaded question, people responded instead with Comic Artist/Bass Player/Quilter/Singer\Song Writer/What-Have-You. It would be even better if when people asked that question, that was the answer they were looking for.

Someone once asked me what I did to stay out of trouble. I knew exactly what they meant and was able to tell them about my fondness of cooking, and the new print I was working on, and my kung fu class. I feel this gave a more telling description of my character than heaving a sigh and saying I do home remodeling and general contracting work. It's not that I don't like my job, it's just not who I am. Unfortunately, whenever I've tried to use that phrase on others, they either assume I mean what they do for work, or think I'm implying that they are troublemakers.

What I'm getting at is, I wish the question were "What are your self selected skills?" Meaning what are the activities that you have invested your personal time into becoming better at? What are you best at? Why that activity?

Now if only someone would coin the phrase that asks that as simply as, "Whad'ya do?"

Return?

I am probably just dooming myself by writing these words, but I want to start writing in this space again. I originally set out in December of 2008 to write a post every day. Well, I did do that for a while, but things petered out and I didn't get nearly that close with (a still respectable) 135 posts in 2009. Then only 11 in all of 2010, and none so far this year. hmm...

I am intrigued by the "thing-a-day" concept, and have seen some pretty cool projects come out of it. I am currently five months into doing a silly thing on Facebook I call "Today's jimmity-jam" which has me posting a song I like everyday. Now this is actually much more difficult than it sounds, what with selecting a suitable song, finding it on youtube, and keeping track of them all so as not to have duplicates. Buuuuut, it's not very creative. I'm just sharing things that other creative people have done.

SO! I plan to write everyday! But, I do not consider myself I writer, so it's kind of a weird choice. I plan to start with writing and expand to some different projects like drawing, painting, cooking, martial arts things, and videos.

I hope to see y'all 'round here!