Pumpkin Psych 101
I love Halloween...
I remember as a little kid dressing up in all sort of cool costumes only to have my mom insist that I wear a coat! The cool factor of my costume went plummeting. Luckily, those were the days when kids could actually go out at night by themselves without a care. So that coat quickly came off and thrown into a bush to be picked up later.
Carving pumpkins was a special delight. Knives and the chance to perform a lobotomy was great fun for a little boy! I would take great care and hope that my jack o' lantern would survive the night. It would be great relief the following morning that jack did not succumb to the boot of a testosterone laden teen. After Halloween, we would leave my sister's and my creations out for awhile and I would watch in fascination as the faces would slowly droop.
To this day, my jack o' lanterns tend to have sort of a growling expression. And, as I carved the kids' pumpkins to their specifications, I wondered, "Do the expressions mean anything?" Is what one carves into an inanimate object an extension of one's personality?
Brandon's Jack had a big toothy grin, while Soraya's had a scary frown. Now Soraya claimed that she noticed that Brandon's had a smile and she wanted hers to be different. However, for some reason I'm not buying it. Big sister has never been shy about enforcing her will upon her poor little brother.
Soraya has always been the more serious of the two. While both are amazing and wonderful children, she has definitely been the one taking life much more seriously. I remember when my friends Shawn and Joe first met Soraya. She was very insistent with them on how one was to play with her dolls.
Brandon? Well, let's just say that this kid takes computer games seriously and that's about it. He is all about fun. But maybe that's just a little boy thing. He always has a grin, even when things aren't going so great.
Both awesome kids...but what
do those pumpkins mean?
Hmmm...pumpkin psychology...
Men In Rubber Suits
So my childhood was not just filled with odd Japanese cartoons. It also included some rather bizarre and silly live action imports from the island country as well.
I give you Ultraman...
Yeah, yeah, yeah, the special effects were on par with the old Godzilla films. Some poor shlep in a rubber costume sweating his poor behind off. The actor was probably thinking that he wasted all those years at Juilliard only to be prancing around in a silly silver and red costume in the middle of micro-sized models of tanks, cars, and cities. But to a little kid around 6-years-old, the effects looked awesome!
So a little background on rubber-boy here, he originates from Nebula M78, where ever the Hell that is. As Ultraman was taking a monster back to the Monster Graveyard, he collided with a space ship being piloted by Hiyata of the Science Patrol. The crash should have killed Hiyata, but Ultraman fused his life force with Hiyata. From that day forward, Hiyata would be able to become Ultraman with the use of the Beta Capsule...which looked like a fancy flashlight.
Now this stuff was Ultra-cool to a little boy who dreamed of space travel and heroic deeds beyond the stars. I saw nothing strange that the Science Patrol who were Earth's protectors from the invasion of giant monsters drove around in a Chevrolet Corvair. Now there's kick-ass, 1963 high-tech transportation!
All I could imagine was flying about the cosmos driving away all the baddies raining down from the heavens above. Who were the villians? As you can see from the following image, they were just about as believable as Ultraman himself.
Yet another poor soul toiling his way in a rubber costume under hot camera lights. I look at the images and wonder if there was any ventilation at all in these costumes? How many actors gave their lives for this Emmy-caliber drama?
And for all the high cheese content in all these sci-fi adventures, I loved them. Once again why little kids are not allowed to vote. Apparently I was not alone in my love for Ultraman. Here is a list of sequels to the original Ultraman and the years they debuted:
- Ultra Seven (1967)
- Return of Ultraman (1971)
- Ultraman Ace (1972)
- Ultraman Taro (1973)
- Ultraman Leo (1974)
- Ultraman 80 (1980)
- Ultraman Tiga (1996)
And on and on it went, right up to Ultraman Max in 2005 and Ultraman Mebius in 2006. Geez...who is watching all these episodes?!!! 40 years this franchise has been on the air and it is still going strong. Forget the X-Files, Law and Order, CSI...Japan has spoken and they want guys running around in rubber suits!
Dirty Little Secrets
So I discovered a song that I really liked. The song is called
Holding Me Back by Buddahead. Buddahead is actually a person, not a band. His real name is Raman Kia. Kia is a native Iranian who is now transplanted in New York.
Holding Me Back is a very cool song that I immediately went into my collection in my iPod.
If you're curious about this guy, go to www.buddaheadmusic.com. Yup, I might actually purchase his entire album. Very cool stuff.
But, this is not really what I am here to rant about. Where I discovered Mr. Head's song was during the ending credits of (blushes in humiliation)
Dog The Bounty Hunter.
Okay...I said it...it's out...I watch
Dog The Bounty Hunter...occasionally...
Now before you start snickering and wondering if maybe I am sporting a mullet, I said occasionally. That is maybe once or twice a month! When people ask me what I watch on television, a bounty hunter from Hawaii is not the first thought on my mind...honestly...
Hold it...I know you are about to expound about your hours of watching PBS and Masterpiece Theater. But think c'mon now, be honest, I know there are some T.V. skeletons in your closet. Do you need that lunch hour Oprah fix? Maybe you love the WWE. Or how about watching
Dancing With The Stars? Is it endless hours on QVC looking out for that deal on Chia Pets?
Yeah, we all have them. And usually they start out as an innocent distraction. I started watching Dog while in temporary housing in Santa Cruz. There was not much channel selection in my temporary apartment, so I came upon Dog while surfing through the endless expanse of video tripe. Admittedly, this was not high art. But what does one expect while sitting in shorts and tees, in front of the idiot box while sipping a beer?
You look at Dog and his crew and you know that these guys are probably nice enough, but are also probably angry drunks. You know the type...they drink way too much at your parties and end up picking fights with half the population in attendance. You cringe because you invite them to your shin-digs as there's a small part of you that actually likes them, but you know you are playing with dynamite.
What's really amusing is that these guys are the good guys! It is quite comical watching this team of bounty hunters scurry around in their bullet proof vests, pepper spray holstered to their hips cleaning up Hawaii one bond jumper at a time.
Well there it is. That's my secret...my dirty little secret...Neil the Puppy Dog Bounty Hunter...
We're Doomed
Now I'm one to generally believe there are no bad kids, and although I have seen many do absolutely zany and horrible things in my stores, I will always ask, "Where are the parents?" Admittedly, kids tend to err on the side of wacky, but usually there is an innocence about their behavior.
One needs to remember that there are reasons why children don't have voting rights...why they cannot operate an auto until they are 16 (although I question that age!) We won't get into what stupid things I did as a kid, although I do recall something about tennis balls, gas and matches...
A great example would be my genius kid Brandon. A couple of years ago I was cooking in the kitchen. Out of nowhere appears Brandon exclaiming, "Look Neil, I'm a spaceman!!!" I look down and to my horror he has a clear plastic grocery bag over his head! You know, the type that warns that this bag is not a toy.
Now, actually, I do consider Brandon quite bright. He can figure things out quickly, yet here he was pulling that plastic bag tightly over his head. Oblivious of the consequences of his space exploration in our kitchen.
This is the nature of kids...this is one of their methodologies for learning. They do live experiments oblivious of the consequences, all to further kid science.
So let's zoom back to Neil's store...I am constantly asking children not to play on the escalator, not to stick their little fingers into the moving rails, not to climb onto mannequins and displays. Yet, it never ceases to amaze me when their parents look at me like I have offended little Johnny.
The most recent display of parents not understanding their role in child development is when I asked this little girl to stop pulling on the rails of the escalator. Now one would think how is this little game could be dangerous, however, those little digits have a magical way of wedging themselves into places that they should not be.
As I smiled at her and walked away, I heard her mother say to her daughter, "They don't want you playing on the escalators..."
THEY don't want you?!!! Hey lady! Ever hear about parental responsibility and correcting little Suzy right then and there?! How about, "You, my child, should not play on the escalators!"
I have a similar reaction when I hear parents trying to reason with their three-year-old who is screaming at the top of his lungs. Parents...please listen to me...there are reasons why there are no children invited to moderate presidential debates. Their reasoning skills are zero...nada...nil!!!
Children experiment, they play. These are methods for learning. It is up to the so-called adults to direct the children to act appropriately. Not only because in certain social situations, running up the escalator can be considered rude, but it can also be very dangerous.
Yet so many times I have seen adults doing equally wacky and dangerous things. I cannot remember how many times I have asked adults not to take their children in their strollers on the escalator, only to be greeted with a sigh of disgust! Did I realize how much of an inconvenience it was to take the escalator? I have actually had customers yell at me when I ask them to take the elevator.
It is apparent they have never witnessed a stroller getting stuck at the top and while the parent struggles with it, he almost knocks over the senior citizen behind him. Or when it gets stuck at the bottom and the poor baby almost gets launched from his stroller.
The best part about all of this is that if any of them get hurt, little Bobby or his parents, I am sure they will take us to court stating that we presented an unsafe environment. The parents will take no personal responsibility.
I believe that the children are our future...however their teachers seem to be on shaky ground.
Disco-Fever
Many people would be surprised to find out that Lance Armstrong is probably not my favorite bicycle racer. Although I did cheer for him to win le Tour each year and I do admire his story, my personal fave is a
domestique named Michael Barry. That would be him leading a couple of Disco-boys up a climb.
A quick lesson in bike racing.
Domestique roughly translated means "servant". These are the guys who go back to the team car and get food and water for everyone on the team. These are the guys who will give up their bike if the leader's bike fails him. Lance Armstrong could not have won a single Tour de France without his trusty domestiques.
I have always admired those who really value the team. I admire this trait in all types of situations. In America it's all about me. Show ME the money! It's MY house! Give ME the ball!
Michael Barry is definitely not about me. He is about the Discovery (formerly U.S. Postal) team. He is the ultimate team mate. He sacrifices himself so that others can win. I have never read that Barry ever complains about his role on the team. Actually, if you read his personal journal
Inside The Postal Bus you will get a glimpse of how much he sacrifices for his team and how much he
believes in the team.
Barry has never outwardly complained that he has never had the chance to ride the Tour De France for Disco or Postal. Barry has the talent, as he has proven it many times over, yet year after year, he has been left off the Tour squad. Yet, he has only written glowing things about his team in his on-line journal...ever the team man.
Now you may wonder how I can admire a sport personality who shaves his legs, has no upper body power and is generally in the scrawny category. Besides the sub 10 percent body fat and the amazing aerobic abilities, I love that he is tough! Tough you ask? Check out the picture to the right!
That photo is from the 2002 Vuelta a Espana. That would be the Tour of Spain to we Americans. Barry had just crashed and been dragged about 50 feet by a follow motorcycle. Is that a look of "What the Hell just happened to me?!"
Amazingly he did not break any bones in this gruesome crash. And being any normal domestique, what did Michael Barry do? He got back on his bike, horribly injured, and soldiered on.
Check out the photo to the left! If you enlarge it you will see the horrible road rash across his forearm. Ouch...that is going to really sting in the shower! Talk about a mobile mash unit!
What is really cool is that he completed that stage of the Vuelta!
Why? To prove that he was not a quitter. That his team mates could depend on him to finish the job, even if it meant suffering like very few ever suffered.
There he is again soldiering slowly towards the finish, shorts torn to shreds, butt hanging out and blood streaming down his arm. This guy is nails.
So why is Neil going on and on about this cyclist? A bicycle racer from Canada? Alas, my favorite Disco-boy will be leaving the team after this season. Like everthing in life, things change. Michael Barry has found a new home at T-Mobile. Hopefully he will get his chance to ride le Tour with the boys in magenta.
I'm saddened because as Barry himself called Discovery it is the Yankees of cycling. And even if one does find one's self rooting for the Yankees, it's the players that make the team. It's nice to have someone you actually admire on the big budget team.
I think I am a little sad because another thing that I'm familiar with is slipping away. Time moves on. It's wonderful to have change and new experiences, but there's something to be said about being able to grasp on to something from the past.
Good luck to my favorite Canadian-Disco-boy...
A Fabulous Day
I love Fall...
I always have loved the changing seasons. Spring is fabulous, but I adore Fall. And our little secret here in the Bay Area is that Fall is some of the best times at the ocean. The fog no longer haunts our shorelines and gives way to glorious sunshine.
Soraya was going with her friend to the school carnival and I decided Brandon and I would give Andrea a little down time. The two boys headed to the beach.
One thing about living in San Jose is our close proximity to the beach. Okay, we could be closer by actually living in Capitola or Santa Cruz, but did you know that the Santa Cruz area is more expensive to live in than San Francisco?...neither did I! Over 20,000 workers make the daily commute to the Silicon Valley over the pass each day. But I digress, I love the fact that it only takes a little over half an hour to have our toes curling in the sand.
So there B-boy-deluxe and I were, running through the chilly surf. The day was spectacular as there was barely a cloud in the sky. Pelicans grazed the surface of the ocean searching for delicious fish to pluck from the sea. Surfers, black in their wetsuits, road the waves as they pummeled the shoreline. Beautiful.
Now there was one thing that was not so beautiful. There were not too many people on this beach, but of the men in their 30's-40's all of them were soft around the middle. And the bad thing about swimwear, much like lycra, accentuates any roll one might possess. Egads it was a bad scene at the beach, when it came to the older men. The younger guys, without an ounce of fat on them, made us geezers look really bad!
To make things even worse for yours truly was I was playing with scrawny boy himself. To put it into perspective, Brandon does not even make it into his age's weight percentile! He is light as a feather. We worry that people will think that we do not feed him. However if one were to see him scarfing down the Quarter Pounder and fries later... Yep, B was making me look really bad. Thus, I needed to kick water all over him. Yeah...that'll teach him to be sooo skinny!
Brandon and I spent the afternoon running in the waters of the Pacific as the sun sparkled off it's waves. I watched in disgust as he made a million flies zoom away as he threw a rock at some drying kelp on the beach. He was brave as the waves pounded his legs, nearly knocking him over. Don't worry Andrea, I was right next to him.
A truly fabulous day with my favorite boy in all the world...
Later, we sighed in contentment as we ate our burgers on the floor of my office. Brandon had asked if we could eat our lunch in my office. Kids... I asked him if we had a great day and he replied with a smile and a hug.
Yeah...I Held My Glove To My Face
I clicked quickly to another station as the radio in my car announced that my Oakland Athletics had been swept by the Detroit Tigers. In two games they were utterly dominated, in two others they had teased me. They led me to believe that the sweet smell of victory was in the air.
It was not to be...
Baseball is my favorite of all the American sports. Yes, I love the Chicago Bears and I do get excited when the Lakers played beyond their talent in last year's playoffs. I even root for the Sharks, although it is primarily through looking at the results on-line. But nothing beats baseball.
As I posted before (check out Moe, Romulans And Soccer), I was good in two sports, soccer and baseball. They were the two sports my parents signed me up for. Fall was the time for soccer, but Spring and early Summer it was baseball.
You will see many grown men wax poetic when speaking about baseball. I loved in
Field Of Dreams when Ray Liotta's character, Shoeless Joe Jackson, reminisces about baseball, "Man, I did love this game. I'd have played for food money. It was the game... The sounds, the smells. Did you ever hold a ball or glove to your face?"
Yeah, I remember holding my glove to my face. Inhaling deeply the scent of the soft leather that was made subtle by the leather lotion my dad gave me. He taught me how to make my stiff glove perfect. I remember the smell of the grass as we played in the warm afternoon sun. How the dust permeated my nostrils when diving for a grounder towards my position at second base. I remember one of the parents offering me $10 if I got a hit in the ninth inning of the championship game. The last game of my Little League career.
Yeah...I held my glove to my face.
There was a scene in
City Slickers where many of the men were sitting around discussing baseball and Helen Slater's character complains that she didn't understand what the big deal was about baseball. Phil, Daniel Stern, responds that when his dad and he were not getting along, that they always had baseball. That they could always discuss baseball.
I have become closer to my father as I have matured and although we discuss many things, it always seems that we can always find our way to the A's. I still remember my dad rolling the television into the kitchen so we could watch the A's take on the Giants in the 1989 World Series.
The A's...whether it was the prospect of a new ballpark in Fremont or whether Huston Street was a good closer...we always had something to talk about.
If there is one team that Brandon was concerned about, it was the Oakland A's. I have never been one to push my kids into sports, rather I prefer to encourage. However, for whatever reason, he seemed to have locked onto the Oakland Athletics. For B-boy-deluxe, it was never just the A's. Very deliberately, he would ask if the Oakland Athletics are on television.
We would actually sit on the couch and watch for several innings as the players flashed about the diamond. Munching on Goldfish we would watch as the Big Hurt would take tremendous swings sending the ball hurtling towards the left field bleachers. Brandon would ask how many "points" did the Oakland A's have. I would correct him and tell him, "It's runs Brandon...they're called runs."
So I quickly switched the radio station. With sadness I realized the A's had ended their great season of 2006. Time moves on. My dad, Brandon and I would need to wait until the new flowers of Spring begin to appear for our beloved Oakland A's to again hit the field. I can't wait!
The Smell Of Death
"Tin Tin Market here I come..." I thought to myself as I pulled into the parking lot. I needed to find a Japanese dish called Kamaboko, fish cake, for the udon that I was cooking for everyone. Andrea is particularly fond of this item and it is not regularly available at your local Safeway.
As the automatic door swung open I was greeted by the musty-fishy smell of Tin Tin Market. Tin Tin is an Asian food store. If you have never been in a
true Asian grocery, you do not know the distinct aroma they possess. I quickly grimaced as the intense scent filled my sinuses and enveloped my being. Andrea calls it the smell of fish death...
"Egads," I thought to myself as my nose wrinkled in disgust, "We're supposed to eat this stuff?!"
Now the thing about authentic Asian markets is that there is a genuine lack of niceties. It is all about function and logic. There are no little ladies handing out samples on a toothpick. There is no Starbucks to purchase one's Venti-Soy-No Whip-Toffee Nut-Latte. Just shelves, racks, bunkers and other various storage units of food, fresh, frozen and assorted states of being. All presented in a dingy light ready for the eager customers.
The fish department?...yes, that is where the lovely scent emanates from. There are rows upon rows of frozen delicacies from the sea. And no market is truly Asian without the tanks of live products. Be careful about looking in them, you may not like what you see. I have witnessed abalone, sea bass, clams, dungeness crab, king crab, snow crab, mussels, turtles and lobster. All alive and ready to be filleted, boiled and eaten. Definitely not for the weak of heart.
But I wasn't there for the
live fish. I was looking for Kamaboko. Kamaboko is fish cake. And many times it has an atomic pink coloring surrounding it. Now I need to ask, have the brothers back in the Homeland ever see a fish look this pink?!!! Oh yeah, that's natural.
Yet here I was picking up a pack of the cake. Interesting what passes for "cakes". Bundt cake. Fish Cake. Urinal Cake. Hmmm...and if you ever have bitten into one, Kamaboko tastes sort of like a sea-going eraser.
I grabbed a "loaf" and headed to the cashier. I presented my Kamaboko and my debit card, the cashier looked at me sternly, "Five dollars minimum for debit..." Once again, these stores are not about niceties. It's about function and logic. I grumbled as I headed back into the malaise of pickles, sauces and noodles. Finally, Kamaboko, mochi ice cream and tasty little jelly treats in hand I made it through the cash line.
Tossing the Asian treats into my car I headed out...another exciting adventure accomplished...dear Lord I need a life...
Moe, Romulans And Soccer
Before I start droning on about soccer, I must ask the question. What is up with Asian kids and the haircuts?! I think that were allowed one of two haircuts.
The first being the spiked look. Not short enough that it's really the cool looking spikes, nope we look like porcupines on steroids. Sort of a Sonic the Hedgehog, but definitely not as cool.
The other, which I had many instances of, is the infamous bowl haircut. We all looked like little versions of Moe Howard...you know, the mean one of the Three Stooges. I remember many days sitting on the stool in our family room as my mom dutifully cut away at my locks, only to see a mirror image of me on television poking poor Curly's eyes!
Now my mom thought she was making me stylish by adding pseudo-cool sideburns to my do and all she did was make me look like a Romulan...maybe a Vulcan at best. Mom...just shave my eyebrows into little points and I'm there! Check out the soccer picture of me...notice the little pointy sideburns? I think dorks are a product of their upbringing not their genes...
God bless the stylest at Chez Le Mom's!!!
So, back to soccer. The picture, if you're wondering, is of me in October of 1972. Now no one was going to mistake me for Pele, however, I did make it onto the competitive squad. I'm not bragging, just sort of referencing. As a matter of fact, I was only good in soccer and baseball. Football?...definitely too scrawny. Basketball?...oh yeah, I like shoving my nose in the sweaty armpits of the other guys. Nope...soccer for me. I loved soccer, I was good and it was fun. It was like a ballet as I could see all the parts flowing into one "graceful" movement.
Fast forward to Saturday, October 7, 2006.
As I sat for almost three hours watching Soraya and Brandon play soccer, I was cheering, encouraging and shouting...er...feedback of their play. I want them to have fun. I want them to enjoy being on a team. For goodness sakes, I want their pointy butts out of the house and running around!
But there are times, when I wonder if I am expecting too much of their soccer abilities? Am I turning into one of those horrible parents one reads about. The one's who make the coaches and referees cringe? I don't think I'm reliving my soccer days through them...but I do pause to ponder.
Is it wrong to holler, "Brandon pay attention!" when your boy is picking the grass, oblivious of what is happening in the game? Or is it bad when I encourage Soraya to be aggressive in the game?
Admittedly, I do get frustrated when I see the other boys trying their hardest and Brandon is busy joking around on the pitch. I am filled with mixed emotions when Brandon complains that the other boys don't pass to him. Hey buddy, don't goof off so much and maybe they will!
What do I say to Soraya when I see her not trying her hardest? I know she doesn't love her team. Her last team was fabulous. Yet, I was taught that one tried one's hardest regardless of the situation. But there are times after the game she barely is breaking a sweat.
So many questions...*sighs*...they truly
are fabulous kids...maybe they just need to take up badminton...
Monday...
Ahhh Mondays...after a weekend of soccer, honey-do's, two-wheeled fun (yay, Neil got out on his bike this weekend) and other various stuff, it's back to work. So here I sit at my computer, stopping to sip Peet's finest, wondering what the day ahead has in store for me.
A little side moment. I prefer Peet's over Starbucks. Why? It's the smaller guy trying to compete with the mothership. Now you may say, "Isn't that hypocritical, as you work for the mega-retailer now that has bought out tons of storied businesses?"
Yeah, well I like Peets...
This is a time of change in retail. October is the official start of the, collective groan, holiday season. You can feel it in the air. There is a distinct chill that wasn't there a few weeks ago. Although Northern California will still hit 80's, at night, a nice cup of hot chocolate is not so out of line.
Now, before you all roll your eyes in disgust and state how you remember when the holidays did not start until after Thanksgiving, understand...IT'S YOUR FAULT!!! This is what I love about retail. It is very democratic and the customer votes with her money. (Okay guys, before you get your panties in a bunch, the main money comes from women...) The customer has stated that she wants Christmas now.
Some of you have asked how can I stand the holiday season. I actually love it. I may groan a bit from the long hours, but to me this is a magical time of the year. I believe in the spirit of Christmas, or whatever one may believe in. I believe in giving...in family...in friends...
I think it's the kid in me that loves the wonder. Nothing is better than seeing the amazement in a young child's eyes at this time of year. They believe that magic does happen. The warmth, the scent cinnamon and spice filling the air.
So what if the holidays arrive a little early? If it can remind us of something good...is that bad?
Yesh!!!
Yesh!!! I'm back!!!
Thanks to http://muttscomics.com
Rain Rain Go Away
Generally I am a positive person in my day to day activities. I think it takes that kind of attitude to survive and succeed in the retail industry. However, people have a hard time realizing that even we "everything's coming up roses"-type folks have off days. Days when we can't crack a smile. Where all the evil juju's on this blue planet line up to kick us in the groin.
I think having a case of the blahs, the blues or the blecks is harder on citizens of the good ship Lollipop. It's like we are addicted to good feelings and when a day comes like this we are totally drained. Almost panicked as all our energy is sapped from our being.
Well...today would be one of those days...
I believe one is allowed only 24 hours to feel sorry for one's self, then he or she must take action. So I am taking one of my few respites from being positive. For the following hours I am going to be cranky, unenergetic and generally no fun to be around.
There, I've said it...
Mouse...Hashimoto Mouse
We have already documented my childhood affinity for one
Speed Racer. But as I recall there were other not so glamorous cartoons that tickled my fancy.
Everybody sing!:
Who lives down in deepest part of Africa?
Who's the one that brought the jungle fame?
Who's the King of Animals in Africa?
Kimba the white lion is his name!
Yep, Kimba the white lion...now some argue that the Lion King was based loosely on Japan's export
Kimba The White Lion. Hmmm Kimba and Simba, well at least Simba was an orphan and Kimba was n...what? He was?! Well, at least only Kimba had a mystical baboon friend. Simba did too? Did Kimba's uncle betray him as well?! Oh good, it was only a unscrupulous aunt...
Well, one thing I do know, from looking at him, Kimba probably has no problem discovering his sensitive side. And what's with those eyes?!!! They look kind of glassy to me! I think Kimba needs to submit to a urine test to get to the bottom of those eyes!
Marine Boy...distant cousin of Speed me thinks. This strapping young lad lived under the sea. Now I must congratulate the gang back at Japan Tele-Cartoons. This is definitely a wacky cartoon!
- Marine Boy jets through the oceans via propellers in the heels of his shoes.
- His main weapon is a sonic boomerang...er...have you ever tried to throw something under water?!
- He has a mermaid friend whose hair stays just right to cover up stuff that would throw this show instantly to Cartoon Network's late night Adult Swim.
- Marine Boy is able to stay under water for long periods of time because he chews oxygum. I sure hope it was sugar-free. We don't want our undersea representative with cavities.
Marine Boy made sure that our oceans were safe...uh...just take away the bottle of rum from the captain of a few oil tankers and that would probably suffice...
Now we come to one of my faves. Why? I don't know. I think it's because in some small way this cartoon comes closest to representing past Japanese life. Although some would argue that it stereotypes Japanese, hey, at least their eyes are not like saucers! I also like it because the main heroes are smart! I give you...
Hashimoto-san!
Yeah, yeah, yeah...they have that slanty eye thing going on. However it was created by Japanese-born animator, Bob Kuwahara, so I gotta cut it some slack.
Hashimoto-san was the first cartoon to cast a positive light on Japanese. Hashimoto, the rodent patriarch, although reserved, was a judo champion and a definite family man.
How come an American cartoon company, Terrytoons, seemed to have the most flattering picture of Japanese?
No Time Like The Present
I have been asked several times, where do I find the time to continually post on this blog. I complain about not having enough time in my life, yet there is a consistent stream of nonsense being posted here in this little corner of cyberspace.
Hmmm...I think it begins with the fact that I find doing this a bit relaxing. There is something a tiny bit creative trying to find something marginally interesting to write and finding images that may relate somewhat to the topic at hand...see clocks?...time?...get it? Okay, let's do one collective groan!
This a continuation of some of the short stories I used to write. For those of you who are curious about them, they seem to have been lost with the transitions of my computers. Yes, I am bummed about that situation as I was particularly proud of my story titled
Echoes On Market Street. If I can ever find it (maybe I had a half a brain cell and put it to disk) I might post it here.
Anyhow, back to the topic at hand. The other reason I think I can post so frequently is my B.A. is actually coming in handy!
See Mom?...Dad?...I am actually using my college Journalism degree! I'm posting useless dribble on the Internet for all of five people to read. Okay, that estimation of five may be stretching it. Hmmm cost of college per readership...er...maybe not the most productive use of my degree.
Is It Art?...
Well, as most of you can see, there has been a major overhaul of LoneCactus' Soap Box Moments. And as you can also see there are still some bugs to overcome. Primarily why is the date miles away from the post?...and why is their a Grand Canyon type gap between my posts and the sidebar?
If anyone out there is good with HTML, I would appreciate a little help...
Why San Francisco? Because I absolutely adore that city.
I hope you like my new format...I would appreciate any input, as I had to write...er...copy much of the code myself. Yes, it took some time to get it this far. So the question, is digital art, art?...
