Lost in Translation will probably always be my favorite film. The movie was my first experience with “real” cinema. I remember my father always talking about this movie and laughing to himself at the table during dinners about this, particularly the scene where Murray’s character tries to take a shower. Along with this, Apocalypse Now, The Royal Tenenbaums, and The Squid and the Whale, these were my first real films outside the blockbuster franchises and shallow comedies I used to watch back in 7th grade. In a way this was a life changer for me and really opened the world of cinema to me freshman year of high school. I remember trying to talk to my friends about this film but they had no idea what the hell I was talking about.

This was one of those movies that I never wanted to see end because I was so enthralled with the characters and their situations. To my first love in cinema. “A ring a ding ding.”

5/5

Bobby

My friend, J, works with people in Japan a lot. She recently received the following email:

Hi all,

George and I questioned Gabe’s assistant’s woman about Howard’s order on the final day when it held the meeting in SF.

We heard that the answer depended in order input.

Therefore, I did not ask any specific requirements to you. I am also worry about whether it is acceptable of this issue.

We should find the solution though this is very regrettable lack of consensus between us. I also participate with the conference call.

Regards,

Tanaka

Apparently “Gabe’s assistant’s woman” is referring to J. She said that she is not offended by that so much as the fact that she wasn’t actually the one who imparted the erroneous information. Oh, and I am SO using “this is very regrettable lack of consensus between us” in my next email.

Francoise Hardy- Simple and beautiful

These days I’m trying a different approach to dressing and to style:

Simple, minimal, pure– these are the kinds of descriptions

I’m going for.

Also, I’ve noticed that I never blog about

inspirations from the past- I’m always caught up in what’s the now and

sort of forget that there are so many inspirations and icons from the past

that I can learn from.

Other current musings:

Beatles- Abbey Road

The Diana Mini Camera from Lomography

Scarlett as Charlotte in Lost in Translation

In other news:

I’m going home to New York City tomorrow for Thanksgiving Break.

And after that will be finals.

And after that will be my flight to Auckland, New Zealand.

If I don’t get a chance to do so,

I wish everyone a happy thanksgiving!!!

–

MJ

]]> http://laurette37.wordpress.com/2009/11/23/lost-in-translation/ Mon, 23 Nov 2009 16:00:13 +0000 laurette37 http://laurette37.wordpress.com/2009/11/23/lost-in-translation/

Il arrive parfois qu’on sente qu’on a des choses à dire, mais que celles-ci ne semblent pas décidées à sortir…

Depuis peu, j’ai la sensation d’évoluer dans un monde qui n’est plus le mien. La sensation d’être à côté de la plaque constamment, dans l’incapacité de remettre mes idées au clair. Même l’imagination semble avoir disparu. Certains me diront que le tout s’est évanoui dans la brume et les vapeurs de malt…

Je ne sais pas, j’ai peut-être perdu mon humour et mon auto-dérision qui auraient pu faire de moi quelqu’un d’inventif. J’aurais voulu raconter ici une histoire, mon allégorie de la caverne à moi. Mais l’inspiration a disparu dans les limbes de mon cervelet, laissant place à un trou béant.

C’est quand même fou, cette sensation de ne rien penser au fond. Comment la pensée pourrait-elle disparaitre ? Comment peut-on ne penser à rien ?

Je crois que je me suis embourbée… Je ressens comme une envie de m’extirper de ce monde d’habitudes et de non-sens. Je me rends compte que la routine et l’ennui m’effraient, qu’ils sont synonymes de platitude de l’existence pour moi.

Pourtant, beaucoup diraient que je mène une vie qui est loin d’être routinière. Je fais un travail avec des horaires interchangeables et décalés, j’ai plusieurs groupes d’amis que j’essaie de voir régulièrement ainsi que ma famille, j’ai plusieurs passe-temps et activités de loisirs dirons-nous… Comment la sensation néfaste de routine peut-elle s’installer dans tout ça ?

Parce que je fréquente toujours les mêmes lieux ? Parce que je ne nourris plus de passion pour mes loisirs…? Pourtant, il ne me semble pas que ce soit le cas. Ou alors, je me lasse rapidement. Et toujours cette impression de passer à côté de l’essentiel… En fait, tout ça me donne la sensation d’être dispersée et finalement, de ne rien faire à fond.

J’y vois une peur de l’échec en quelque sorte… Commencer quelque chose de façon tout à fait rapide pour ne pas l’achever de peur d’échouer au final. La peur d’oser aussi parfois. Oser créer, oser se mettre à l’oeuvre, oser risquer de prendre des claques… Autant de choses qui me semblent juste impossible pour le moment.

Voilà, c’était l’après-midi “cherchons à se comprendre”… Pourvu que ça ne dure pas :s

Os Happy End são uma banda japonesa de 1970-73 que procurava misturar western folk com melodias japonesas, composta por Haruomi Hosono, Takashi Matsumoto, Eiichi Ohtaki e Shigeru Suzuki.
Ouvi-os pela primeira vez na banda sonora do filme Lost in Translation de Sofia Coppola, onde vinha a música “Kaze Wo Atsumete” e entretanto um amigo trouxe-me do Japão o álbum original Kazemachi Roman (thanks Yoh!!!) Espero acrescentar mais alguns álbuns deles à minha colecção.

Deixo-vos um vídeo deles ao vivo, já velhinhos, a tocarem a Natsu Nandesu do álbum Kazemachi Roman que aconselho vivamente a ouvirem.

για σήμερα 2 κλιπ, αφού και τα 2 είναι στο soundtrack του lost in translation.

Baby when I saw you turning at the end of the street
I knew a time was gone and it took me like ages
Just to understand that I was afraid to be a simple guy
I tried my best to smile but deep inside my heart
I felt it was shouting like a crowd dancing
I guess I couldn’t live without the things that made my life what it is
Can’t you hear me calling oh yeah
Everybody’s dancing oh yeah
Tonight everything is over
I feel too young
I can’t lie on my bed without thinking I was wrong
But when this feeling calls this world becomes another
Nighttime won’t hold me in your arms again
I got a very good friend who says he can’t believe the love I give
Is not enough to end your fears
I guess I couldn’t live without the things that made my life what it is
Can’t you hear me calling oh yeah
Everybody’s dancing oh yeah
Tonight everything is over
I feel too young
Oh rainfalls and hard times coming they won’t leave me tonight
I wish I knew what I was doing
Just do let this spirit survive
Can’t you hear me calling oh yeah
I guess I couldn’t live without the things that made my life what it is
Can’t you hear me calling oh yeah
Everybody’s dancing oh yeah
Tonight everything is over
I feel too young

Close my eyes
Feel me now
I don’t know maybe you could not love me now
You will know, with her feet down to the ground
Over there, and I want true love to grow
You can’t hide, oh no, from the way I feel

Close my eyes
Feel me now
I don’t know, maybe you could not hurt me now
Here alone, when I feel down too
Over there, when I await true love for you
You can hide, oh now, the way I do
You can see, oh now, oh the way I do

(DEVIDAMENTE EDITADO. Ontem eu não tinha condições psicológicas pra revisar, mas agora acho que melhorou.)

E se virem pra procurar versão romanizada. O tio google existe pra isso.

凍る 針葉樹の間を
深く 駆け抜ける運命
望み 儚く抱き寄せ
燃える 嵐の渦へ

O destino corre para o fundo de uma floresta
E lá, as árvores congelam
Efemeramente, eu abraço o desejo
E sigo em direção ao olho de uma tempestade que queima

あぁ遠ざかる光
あぁ鼓動の叫びに

Aah, a luz ao longe
Aah, no grito da minha pulsação

切ないほどに君を想って
この腕が この胸が
大地を越えて心を越えて
大切な人のために・・・？

Por mais doloroso que seja, eu amo você
E estes braços e este peito
Irão atravessar a terra, e atravessar o meu espírito
Por aquela a quem prezo… ?

長いレールの彼方で誰が笑うというの？

Além do longo caminho de trilhos, quem será que estará sorrindo?

いつ許しあえるのか
いつ終わりが来るのか

Quando conseguiremos nos perdoar?
Quando virá o fim?

止められなくて逃れられない
幻想に操られ
手探りだけで走り続ける
この先が過ちであろうと

Manipulado por uma ilusão
Sem poder parar, sem poder fugir,
Eu continuarei correndo, tateando o caminho
Será que o destino estará logo adiante?

何が愛なのか？ 何が嘘なのか？
解らない―――無情な時間が迫る―――

O que é Amor? O que é Mentira?
Não sei – e um momento cruel se aproxima

今 しじまを切り裂き
今 奴らに降り立つ…あぁ
今 狙いを定めて
手をかける瞬間に

Agora, somos cortados pelo silêncio
Agora, por eles somos oprimidos, ah
Agora, escolhemos nosso alvo
No instante em que o tocamos com nossas mãos

切ないほどに君を想って
この腕が この胸が
凍えるほどに震えるほどに
君だけを 君だけを
春が来れば夜が明ければ
あの空へ あの場所で
faster than anyone
if I ran through the dark
本当に結ばれるだろうか？

Por mais doloroso que seja, eu amo você
E estes braços e este peito
Quanto mais se esfriam, quanto mais tremem,
Só (penso) em você, só em você
Se viesse a primavera, se a noite terminasse,
Para aquele céu, para aquele lugar,
faster than anyone
If I ran through the dark
Será que estaríamos realmente unidos?

何が愛なのか？ 何が嘘なのか？
解らない・・・ただ 君だけが恋しい

O que é Amor? O que é Mentira?
Não sei – apenas (sei) que te amo.

Japan – Tokyo, Kyoto, Shibuya – Travel Photography by Martin Worster , originally uploaded by MartinWorster.

Tokyo 2007 with Jose – what a trip…

I fell in love with this movie right around the same time I fell in love with poetry, a connection that I can’t imagine being a coincidence. Compared to the typical multiplex fare, this is a different kind of movie altogether, and it must be watched in a different way altogether if you want to see it for what it is. It was also a gateway film for me, and since seeing it, the way I watch movies has never been the same.

I know a lot of people who love this film, for a variety of reasons: It’s a Valentine to friendship, to meaningful human connection; to the city of Tokyo; to the beauty of color and light, and to the singular way in which a skilled filmmaker like Sofia Coppola can capture it. And I know those who hate it, because it is slow, or because, supposedly, “nothing happens.”

But there is plenty that happens; it just happens at a different speed than what many moviegoers are used to. I love that Coppola begins this movie with a series of seemingly-random images,an aesthetic trick she returns to several times, as if to alert us to the fact that this is a film we must see in a different way, a story that is told as much through the poetry of images and light, of small gestures and what is never said aloud. It requires us to adjust our eyes, our minds, and our expectations.

And what we find when we do that is a story of rich meaning and deep feeling. This is far from a cold or emotionally distant film; it is a hot-blooded, utterly available film about feelings of loss and lack of connection, about human intimacy and compassion, about little gestures of grace that have lasting, resounding impact. The story is written across Bill Murray’s face, and his remains one of my very favorite performances of the decade– though it is a symbiotic one that wouldn’t have worked were it not for the fine, richly layered work by Scarlett Johansson.

What it isn’t is a film about how to have a healthy marriage. The characters do not always make wise decisions. But it isn’t meant to be a moral treatise. It’s a film that simply observes, and invites us to look on with it, to see things for what they are and to make our own judgments about them.

Let it also be said that, whether one loves or hates this movie, few will call into question how flawlessly and evocatively it captures the sensation of jet lag and disorientation– a sign that this is nothing if not an accomplished film from a consummate filmmaker, one in which sophistication and artistry contain within them something deeply and wonderfully human.

#6. Punch-drunk Love (Anderson, 2002)
#8. Gosford Park (Altman, 2002)

Ok, so this was a “Voice Exercise” I had to write for English 105.  It had to start with “I can’t call my brother anymore because recently I discovered he transformed into broccoli.”  and include the name of a Tibetan city, an ingredient found in Twinkies and the phrase “Lazy Susan.”

Feedback is greatly appreciated.

“I can’t call my brother anymore because recently I discovered he transformed into broccoli.”  I had to hold the phone away from my ear Jillian was laughing so loudly.  I patiently waited for her to catch her breath—which took a grand total of 5 minutes.  A new record.

“No, really,” she giggled.  “Why can’t you call your brother and ask where the spare key is?” I took a deep breath, resituating myself on the couch.  I put the phone on speaker, not wanting to cradle it between my shoulder and my neck for what I knew was about to be one of the longest phone conversations in the history of our friendship.

“Get comfortable,” I instructed.

“This should be good.”  I could hear the smirk in her voice.

“Ok, so here’s the thing.”

“Oh God,” she deadpanned.  “The last time you started a story like that I discovered why you should never again be left alone with a Lazy Susan, water balloons, and those elastic exercise bands.”  I grinned, remembering the look on my roommate’s face when the onslaught of Jell-O filled balloons hit her as she walked through the front door.  Good times, good times.

“Well, this is going to top that,” I promised.  “This really is one for the books. This is even better than the time we took the office chairs from the display in Wal-Mart and camped out in front of the big screen TVs when Slumdog Millionaire came out on DVD then rode them through the aisles singing Jai Ho at the top of our lungs.  And it’s way better than when my biology lab group stuffed the sinks and turned the floor into a giant Slip-N-Slide.  And—”

“Stop stalling and tell me already!” She demanded.

“Ok so here’s the thing,”

“You already said that!”

“Stop interrupting,” I snapped.  “Do you want to hear the story?”  She didn’t respond.  “Well?”

“You told me to stop interrupting.” Again, I could hear the smirk.  I rolled my eyes and decided to ignore her smug comment.

“Well my brother went on this self-finding, soul searching, Enlightenment reaching trip to Lhasa—in Tibet.  I guess there’s this big temple there that’s a historic monument or something like that.  There’s all these murals and a bunch of monks.  It’s supposed to be very spiritual.  Anyway, he decides that he’s going to get in touch with a Guru over there and piece together this Enlightenment thing he was rattling about a few months ago.”

“Aren’t you guys Catholic?” She asked, sounding confused.  “Enlightenment is a Buddhist belief.”

“I know that.  But he thought it sounded cool.  You know how he can be.”  She hummed in agreement, no doubt remembering the time he thought it would be cool to jump his mini-bike across the wash in our old neighborhood.  He wound up breaking his wrist in three places and knocking one of his front teeth out.  “So he decides to head to Tibet to reach Enlightenment.”

“Why not India? That makes more sense.”

“I told you to stop interrupting.  And I don’t know! Why does he do anything he does? It’s a mystery of the ages.  So, he catches a flight out a few months ago and reaches the temple.  According to this Guru who contacted me, he told him that the only way he could reach Enlightenment was to be at peace with himself.  And the only way to do that is to look deep inside yourself, discover your innermost fear, and conquer it.”

“Ok. With you so far.”

“Well, this Guru only speaks Tibetan, there was a translator.”

“If the Guru only speaks Tibetan then how’d he tell you all this?” Jill asked, incredulity seeping through her voice.

“Translator.  The Guru contacted me but I had to talk to the translator.  Anyway, the translator my brother was working with was a complete moron who translated wrong and told my brother he had to become what he feared the most.”

“Your brother fears broccoli? How do you fear a vegetable? It’s a healthy green thing with a fuzzy top that you eat.  How can you fear something that you eat?” She cried.

“Um, there was this thing a few years ago at Thanksgiving with a fortune teller and stories about being poisoned by something that looked green and delicious and my aunt’s cheesy broccoli dish, which used to be his favourite until that carnival—it was—just don’t worry about it,” I said finally.

“Wait, fortune teller? Carnival? Cheesy broccoli?” She asked.  Her voice went up an octave with every question.

“Another story for another day,” I assured her.  “Anyway, so I guess my brother went into this trance for like 2 weeks and when the Guru went to check on him one morning, he was a piece of broccoli.”  There was a long silence on the other end of the line.    “Hello?”

“You’re so full of it!” She exclaimed.  “That has to be one of your better stories.  A little on the odd side though.  You haven’t been drinking coffee again, have you?” I glanced down at the half empty mug in my hands, guiltily setting it on the side table next to me.

“No,” I lied.

“Again, you’re so full of it.” She laughed.

“I am not! I swear to you, my brother turned into a piece of broccoli in Lhasa!”  I cried.  More silence.

“I want proof,” she said finally.

“Proof?”

“Yes, proof.”

“Fine.  Come on over and I’ll show you.”  I reached over and snatched my phone off the table, pressing the end button.  Grudgingly, I pushed myself up off the couch and wandered into the kitchen.  There was a good chance she wouldn’t believe me—say that I bought the broccoli before she came over, or pulled it out of my fridge after hanging up on her.

But I had the letter that came with the large FedEx package two days ago, along with the vegetable that used to be my brother.  I guess, in the most abstract of senses there was, he still was my brother.

Just in vegetable form.

I glared at the green thing sitting on the kitchen counter.  “You’re such an idiot!” I threw my hands up in the air and paced across all three feet of my kitchen.  “Of all the stupid stunts you could have pulled, this really tops the list.”  I stared at it, almost expecting some wise-ass comment.  But vegetables don’t talk; which I was thankful for.  This whole thing was weird enough as it was.  I didn’t want to deal with a piece of broccoli that could talk to me.

I sighed, pulling the note out of the kitchen drawer directly beneath it—him.  I scanned over it for what must have been the hundredth time in the last two days.

Dear Miss James,

Enclosed you will find your brother.  As you can see, he is still a piece of broccoli.  We are terribly sorry for this mishap. Hopefully your brother will reach Enlightenment soon and end this—unfortunate occurrence.  Rest assured that he will not rot in his vegetable form in the process.  We have taken care to preserve him with sorbic acid; the same ingredient used in perishables such as wine, carbonated drinks, pickles, and Twinkies.

Once again, we are terribly sorry for your brother’s current state.

Respectfully yours,

Guru Gampo & Skechy the Translator

I’m an open book
written in an ancient language
that few men understand.

But all I’m trying to say is,
“Please come take my hand.”

The hills rise above the dark mist
A net of stars nestled in a city below
My rugged vision passes over
the obscure weeds bordering the highway

My breath will turn to dust in the passages of time
My lover shall lose his distance and pass over by my side
Like all roads that must meet in this vastness of eternity
The stripes of crossings being walked upon merge discreetly

Tunnels of gray illusions can blind me
The watch and walls seem to enslave me
But awareness clears the horizon lying ahead
As I realise I am the pawn…and I am the player

The salty sands of Morocco beckon
The spirit that animates you and I
Though the hearts we are wearing look in different directions
My mind has lost the sanity of separation

My jaw holds silence as stiffly as the windows
That rattle as the bus meanders the oft-beaten way
Through impositions of stone and tar and strange faces
Sporadic trees laboring sweet flowers in the harshness

I lend some space to my weary mood
Just gazing at the glistening moon
Endlessly..stirring ripples of ‘you’ness
I sense is grander than my solitudinal existence
I can’t define…
…like a timeless ritual my heart engaged in secretly
While my mind seems to be lost in translation

With the day that’s in it*, here are five jokes that defy translation…

French joke #1: the Liffey swim

So this Cavan man is up in Dublin for the big World Cup soccer match and he’s crossing one of the new bridges over the Liffey when he notices a French tourist in the water.

The poor man is obviously drowning and is yelling “Au secours! au secours!”

Cavan man leans over and yells: “Ye dozy fecker – instead of learning French, yez should have learned how to swim!”

French joke #2:  It gets worse

Q: What do you call a Frenchman wearing sandals?

A: Philippe Philoppe.

French joke #3: Company policy

Not so much a joke as a true story. A friend used to work in a certain Canadian multinational in Dublin. She says it was company policy to post all notices in bilingual format, English and French.

Eventually the staff got really lazy. So if somebody needed to email a notice to all workers, they’d save time by doing something like this:

English: “Please disregard the fire alarm today. Technicians are working on the system and there will be a lot of audible tests.”

French: “La même chose.”

French joke #4: (rude)

Two howaya sluts walk into Brown Thomas (the department store in Dublin),  stroll up to the perfume counter and pick up a sample bottle. Sharon sprays it on her wrist and smells it: “Dat’s quite nice innit, don’t you tink Jacinta?”

“Yeah, what’s it called?”

“Viens a moi.”

“VIENS A MOI, what the fook does that mean?”

At this stage the assistant offers some help. “Viens a moi, ladies, is French for ‘come to me’.”

Sharon takes another sniff and offers her wrist to Jacinta again, saying, “That doesn’t smell like come to me, does that smell like come to you?’

French joke #5

It is a little known fact that for many years the French navy had a motto, the mere mention of which would excite its hot-blooded members to combat and conquest.

In English it can be roughly rendered “To the water; it is time”.

In the original French, however, it reads: “A l’eau; c’est l’heure”.
(you may need to say that one out loud)

Footnotes

( * It’s the big match in Dublin today. Ireland against France in the first of two World Cup qualifier play-offs. Do we stand a chance? On paper, probably not. France are finally hitting their form at last. Then again, Ireland manager Giovanni Trappatoni may have a cunning plan at last).

‘Lost in Translation‘ … or …rather  lost in reality? I still wonder. Thlirring … whoops … thrilling  to some extent. Some encounters – in movies or in life – tend to leave us lost. But there is a good side to feeling lost, as then one discovers what is truly meaningful – both in translations and in life situations.

So this week, finally, I’m back to teaching. It had been a week and a half since I had taught the 5th graders and about 2 weeks since I had seen the 6th graders. Many of the students are still wearing SARS masks and yesterday with the 4th graders, I saw several of these masks on the floor. The students will take them off, play with them, drop them on the floor and then forget about them. Once the students remember, they’ll put the mask back on their face. This seems rather counter productive to the purpose of the mask. The day before when I was with the 5th graders, one of my students,who is the poster child for ADHD,took his mask off, wrapped his pen in it and then proceeded to “play” stab another student with it. I felt that I had to remove the mask-clab pen from his hand and the only word that can describe my feelings about holding this germ-infested mask in my hand is “icky.” ADHD kid then proceeded to take the mask and pen back after I put them on the side table and put the mask back on. I really feel that the masks are unnecessary and are probably only helping to spread disease more than preventing disease among the fourth and fifth graders. Also, when I’m teaching English I need the students to speak and it’s hard to hear them, or to tell who’s speaking or who is not, when they’re all wearing those stupid masks.

So far this week my classes have been going really well and I’ve been really enjoying them. While the 6th graders are far less likely to participate and have just entered that “too cool” mode, I think they’re my favorite grade. The behavioral problems that I have with the younger grades, such as fighting in the classroom, running around the classroom, etc, are nonexistant in the 6th grade. I had one 6th grade class today and I’ll have 5 tomorrow.

The hardest part about this grade is working on the lessons. My co-teacher for the 4th & 5th grades, Sophy, has great English and we can communicate really easily and quickly. My co-teacher for the 6th grade does not have good English (this person is an English teacher) and communicating is very difficult. Also, I’ve mimicked my teaching methods after Sophy, and they are very very different from the 6th grade teacher’s. Sophy is younger and uses more interactive methods to teach, making the class slightly more student-centered. The 6th grade teacher’s classes are more teacher-centered; this teacher talks more than the students and the students adopt a more passive role. Also, I feel as though this teacher can be too strict: maintaining order in a classroom is undoubtedly important, but punishing students over something petty or stupid is a waste of everyone’s time and just makes the kids less willing to learn.

Despite this, I feel as though I’m becoming a better teacher and developing my own teaching style. I’m getting more confident and comfortable with the students and with my lessons.

Outside of school things are going well, too. I spent most of last weekend in my own neighborhood for once. On Friday night I was still feeling sick and I met my friend for dinner and went back home around 5. The next night, I met up with a few other girls from my neighborhood for dinner, made a lot of new friends, and then went out for drinks. Or, more correctly, I watched them drink because at that point I was still on medication. That night we made plans to meet up the next day and go shopping in Seoul. We met at 1pm and took the subway into Seoul, to Myeong Dong. There are several Western stores there (Forever 21) and lots of vendors. I picked up some clothing, jackets and a purse. After that, we went to see The Time Traveler’s Wife. I was happy when I heard all three of the girls I went with sobbing towards the end, because my face was pretty tear stained and I would’ve been embarassed if we got out of the movie theaters and I was the only one with red, puffy eyes. It’s a good movie, but they drag out the sad scenes.

Before shopping we got Vietnamese food at a restaurant there and it was absolutely delicious. When I come back to the US it will be weird eating non-Asian food and not having chopsticks readily available. While I couldn’t use chopsticks at all when I got off of the plane a month and a half ago, I’m now pretty awesome at them and prefer to use them. I eat a lot less when I’m using chopsticks and slower. When I get back, I’ll have to get a few pairs and only make chopstick-friendly food.

Today after work I’m meeting my friend Jin for dinner. Afterwards, Casey, my friend in Seoul, is visiting me! She has been in Seoul studying abroad since July and I saw her my second weekend in Korea. She’s always a good time, so I’m excited to see her.

It’s about 11:20 here, and I don’t have any more classes. Yesterday I prepared most of my lessons for next week, so until I find out which 6th grade lesson I have to prepare for, I have nothing I have to do, but I have to stay at my job until 4:40. I don’t have anything I have to (or really can) do. That’s weird. For the past four years I was in college. I usually took challenging courses and I did well in all of them, so I was always working hard. For four years I always had a paper over my head or something I had to get done before the end of the semester. Now, I don’t have anything I have to do after I leave work. I’m working full-time (40 hours a week) but I spent more time every week in classes or doing school work throughout most of college. Comparatively speaking, this is so easy. I’m challenged when I’m in my classes or preparing lessons, but then after I finish that, I have guilt-free free time. It’s very weird and I’m just beginning to comprehend that and enjoy that. And for that reason, I recommend that any of my friends who have their bachelor’s degrees and no strong commitments do what I’m doing for a year. I’m having such a great time and I get to actually fully enjoy it, without being bogged down with a ridiculous amount of work. And the things I do have to do, I can do at a more relaxed pace and the finished product is usually better than it would be if I were overburdened or over-busy. I really like my lesson plans and I really like the person I am when I’m teaching.

I don’t have any strings attaching me to anything. I will one day, but at the moment I’m revelling in my string-free existence.

credit: Megan L. Nell

“No, I insist.”

I say this three different ways:

1. No, I insist.
2. No, really, I insist.
3. Doitforchristssake.

I’ll explain how this works.  Each is situational.

No, I insist.

My momma didn’t raise no fool.  Well, obviously she did.  This blog’s archives are all the proof of that you need.  But at least she taught me how to be a gentleman and I remember those lessons pretty regularly.

If you are near an open door, or the sidewalk is narrowing, or there’s an empty seat at the bar and you are not — or at least don’t appear to be, if we’ve never met — a hemorrhoidal asshat, “No, I insist” is how I let you know that it would be my pleasure to be nice to you.

No, really, I insist.

The tension is growing, here.  I’ve already told you that it was okay to walk first or sit down.  But maybe the gesture caught you off guard.  Maybe you are dumbfounded that I, unlike most strangers, opened my mouth and didn’t hit on you, insult you or just scream unexpected-crazy about how THE PURPLE LADY ALWAYS TUESDAYS WHEN I CHEESE, or something.  Or, better yet, maybe I’m saying this because you said “No, I insist” back to me.  In that case, brilliant.  We’re all getting along and living Rodney King’s dream.  However, no, really, I insist.

Doitforchristssake.

I think you know what this means.  This is reserved for a special class of people: those unable to take hints.  There are subsets of this class: really, really old people; parents with strollers that carry 37+ babies at a time like some sort of Fetal Utitilty Vehicle, but who just can’t seem to decide if they want to go right, left, forward or turn around and then make me miss the light; morons.

Luckily for them, if I am saying this, it is almost always internally; you know, using my thinking voice.  My eyes are like Shakira’s hips, though: they don’t lie, so you can be sure that I am trying to send eye-lasers at them like Cyclops.

If we are at this stage, you are dwindling my hope for humanity.  I am thisclose to spearing you or giving you a stiff-arm to the forehead and feeling great about it.  As a rapper might say, I’m a patient man, but I’m not a patient, man.  I do not have time to sit in the waiting room that is your indecision and read the outdated magazines, that are your facial expressions, while you struggle with the epic choice of “should I stay, or should I go.”

Just doitforchristssake.  I have places to be.

[Note: this post may appear in short form on telephone poles, street lights and storefronts near you.]

I remember not rushing off to the movies theater to see Sofia Coppola’s Lost In Translation when it came out in 2003. Probably because I was in Asia at the time. But later I did see it. My initial reaction was that the film was dark and depressing. It was like witnessing a collision of automobiles at an intersection only instead of cars – Love and Life collided with Lost and Lonely.

I’ve since watched this film a few more times. Maybe to see if my understanding of the film had changed because of my own experiences in Japan, as well as my connections to Japanese culture via many Japanese TV drama series that I’ve seen.

Of course when you make a long-haul flight like that  going to Japan from New York or from San Francisco, you will have that kind of physical/mental disorientation that can’t be avoided.

Then factor in the language barrier, with the possibility of insomnia, and it can be daunting. Staying in a hotel like The Park Hyatt in Tokyo in a room high above the streets  can only add to one’s sense of isolation.

Bob Harris commented: Sure we have neon in the states too, only there, I can read the signs.

Of course, Tokyo is not the only city on the planet, where your senses undergo an assault from blazing neon.  Nor are skyscraper hotels, karaoke clubs, strip clubs, and strobe lighted discos unique to Japan.  But these are what Coppola presented to us on screen.

But Coppola also presented plenty of feelings for you to connect with by thinking about what you are seeing.  Both Bill Murray’s portrayal of Bob Harris

- an actor being paid an enormous sum of money to do a commercial for a Japanese whiskey, and Scarlett Johannson’s Charlotte -

a young married woman left to her own devices while her photographer husband went off to work in Japan, gave us a visual perspective, which had to be digested mentally, of what it is to be isolated, lonely, and in an alienating environment.

Let’s see, I’ve been to Japan more than a few times; loved riding those bullet trains. But the country is more than just great trains that arrive on time.  My own experiences were different to a degree. Early in the film, we have Murray as Harris a crowded elevator.

He is head and shoulders above all the Japanese men in the elevator.  I too am quite tall, and experienced that sense of my size being quite different.

But walking in the streets in Shinjuku, I often felt invisible. I mean that despite my size, most Japanese in Tokyo, didn’t find me unusual enough to warrant them paying me any attention at all. I was just another foreigner in their city.

However outside of Tokyo. Things were different. In Nikko, I was surrounded by a pack of about 20 7th graders all eager to talk to the gaijin – in short they wanted to practice their English. On my way to Miyajima to see the historic and beautiful Torii Gate in the sea, an elderly Japanese woman spoke to me in Japanese asking me if Miyajima was my destination,  in  Osaka local people spoke to me on the trains, and in Kyoto, a few Japanese people asked me directly in English if I was lost, or needed directions to somewhere.

The country is a visual feast. Oh sure, the cities have their issues of blocky, ugly city buildings chock-a- block with the more traditional buildings that you could see within the cities in parks, shrines, temples, and gardens that are just wonderful.

Mt. Fuji II by Jeremy Barlow

In fact one of my favorites artists – Jeremy Barlow – has done  a wonderful series of paintings set in Japan. I offer these as contrast to the Japan that Coppola showed us. It’s not that Coppola’s view is wrong, or that Barlow’s view is right.

Himuro Pond, Kinkakuji Temple, Kyoto

They represent just two perspectives of the same place. And Coppola knew that as well. She had Charlotte visit some temples and gardens as a break from the kinetic Tokyo that we saw in the Shinjuku or Roppongi street scenes in the the film.

Gion Corner Kyoto by Jeremy Barlow

Barlow’s works seemingly are much more respectful of Japan’s beauty than was Coppola’s film. Maybe I mistook Coppola’s intentions, but as one of the film’s taglines line said, “Friendship needs no translation.” Which is fine as a concept, but in the film, this concept was represented only between the characters of Bob and Charlotte.

Shukkeien Garden Hiroshima by Jeremy Barlow

And that’s how I feel about Barlow’s Japanese paintings. There’s no culture clash in these artworks. Nor may we say that there’s a lot of painterly flourishes in them either.

Kyoto Geisha by Jeremy Barlow

Barlow’s work’s both clarify and explain Japan as far as the artist’s perception. There’s no mistaking the admiration and awe.

Torii Gate Miyajima by Jeremy Barlow

Just as there’s no mistaking that I enjoy Barlow’s paintings.

Esilarante: è già stato smentito. Ma la vicenda, a noi italiani, dovrebbe riempirci di orgoglio: è evidente che il nostro Presidente SB abbia fatto scuola oltralpe.

Sentado, con moi boa compañía, tomando un refresco, sen querer miro atrás e vexome ainda por primeira vez aquí en Santiago. Senón luns, mércores (non logro recordar con exactitude) vexome montado nun urbano por unha cidade que non conozo a primeira hora da mañá. Hai luz si, ainda si, os días ainda non se volveron máis pequenos, pero en realidade a luz non é suficiente para que a miña mente poida ver con claridade o que estou facendo aquí. Collo o urbano equivocado de feito, cara San Marcos, na vez de collelo cara o Hórreo. O feito de verme rodeado de tanta xente que non conozo fai que o futuro sexa un nó dun cordel sen puntas, un nó que non podo desfacer. Chego á parada e baixo do urbano, dirixome ó instituto e entro, non chego a primeira hora, senón á segunda; entro en clase e só hai sitios na última fila. Última fila, si… Pero tanta xente desconocida, un horror, un agobio, un momento de soidade dentro dun sitio con tanta xente, soidade brutal, de feito preferiría que a clase estivese baleira para poder relaxarme. Nun momento tan pesado para min decido presentarme ós meus compañeiros de mesa, Alberto e Manuel, por esta orde, que xa se conocían de antes. Falamos escasos 3 minutos e volvo a estar só. Nada interesante ata o recreo, os recreo é moi largo; sóbranme os recreos. Quero irme… Entonces simplemente penso: “Que mente primitiva tiña e que mente primitiva sigo tendo” – e dou un novo trago ó meu refresco.

Frengly is a relatively new translation website, and is vastly more convenient to use than BabelFish. For one, it recognizes the source language on its own. No spoon feeding there. Also, all language tabs are present on the main page itself, so fewer clicks required (hey don’t blame me: we all are programmed to be lazy, even while on the computer). It looks clean and neat too. And to top it all, Frengly supports many more languages, unlike Babel Fish.

Hindi is one of them.

So I got about translating random sentences in an attempt to see how  much of it gets lost in translation. My friends joined me in the fun it turned out to be. The results were hilarious!  Here are a few results we got:

Holy crap! पवित्र बकवास!
The root cause of the problem is that you suck. समस्या के मूल कारण यह है कि तुम चूसते
Dude, get a life. दोस्त, एक जीवन मिलता है.
Laughing My Ass Off! (LMAO) मेरे गधे हँस रहे बंद!
Howdy Partner कैसे हो साथी
You boob, I am screwed तुम उल्लू , मैं मुसीबत में हूँ
This is really messed up यह सच में गड़बड़ कर दी है
Sick slut! बीमार कुलटा!
Yo mama’s so fat, when she jumped in joy, she got stuck. यो माँ बहुत मोटा है, जब वह खुशी में कूद गया, वो फंस गया
George Bush cant pronounce nuclear. जॉर्ज झाड़ी खिचड़ी भाषा उच्चारण परमाणु

Have fun wasting your next half hour!