It’s no secret that I am in love with this song. It’s simple, it’s cute, and it’s straight to the point.
When I found myself with a handful of extra time on my hands and an itchy camera finger, I quickly whipped the following cover of the Moldy Peaches’ song Anyone Else But You. I had a couple videography, film editing, and sound mixing experiments I had wanted to try, so why not put it all together? Yeah, it’s not perfect. Whatever. (And rendering anything on Windows Movie Maker turns florescent light into a tangerine colour.)
“Hey, Ana-sensei did you know that OO-sensei wanted to be a bus guide when she was young?”
The other students peered over their shoulders at OO-sensei who was blithely unaware of the little curious eyes. Little Shouhei beamed over the trivia that caused much side-way glances from each of the students. We all looked at each other while we ate our lunch, nodding at our shared general knowledge for possible future teacher heckling. It was like Fight Club. First rule of Kid Club is You do not talk about Kid Club. Poor OO-sensei.
The girl next to me nudged me with her shoulder, not wanting to let go of her chopsticks as she managed to simultaneously nudge me while inhaling her portion of jya- jya-men. “What did you want to be when you were like us, Ana-sensei? You’re very pretty. I bet you wanted to be a model.”
Wow. Two videos in one day! I am sure this is a record. Of course I am being fueled by love which is the only explanation I can think of to why I finished two silly videos in one day. (That or jet lag and insomnia.) This is for you guys, Kristine and Max Wood. Much love.
The following video contains footage from the wedding rehearsal day, the morning of the wedding, the hour before the wedding, and the impromptu singing of “Bohemian Rhapsody” from the wedding party.
My best friend, Kristine Owen, married Max Wood on August 21st, 2010. The wedding was set on Gabriola Island, a tiny picturesque island off the shore of Vancouver. There’s nothing more I can say except that I am extremely happy for her and that the two of them know how to throw a party.
How did Kristine and I meet? Let me show you what she had written down on her wedding page about our friendship. Why? Because I cannot write as well or as articulate as her; two, it’s already been written and I am lazy:
Ana, a.k.a “Anabanana”, “Nana”, “Anners”, “The Number Seven in Japanese” is “Sista from anotha motha”, best friend, co-conspirator, and number #1 partner-in-crime to Kristine. Their meeting in university is now the stuff of legend and folklore, and the memory of their numerous mischief-laden collaborations likely haunt many a East Asian Studies faculty member to this day. Kristine often claims that she is at a loss to explain how or why she ended up in JAPAN (of all places) for three years of her life, but if the blame can be placed on anyone, it is most likely Ana’s fault. A happy accident, for if it weren’t for Ana and her evil influence, Kristine’s life wouldn’t be as rich or as varied or as PLAIN FUN as it is today.
Ana is the girl who introduced Kristine to Japanese culture through “miruku” and the Chinese kanji character for “princess”; Ana is the girl who used to tear Kristine up with laughter when she’d forget how to count stairs or the number of plush Hello Kitties sitting ON the stairs after a few drinks at a house party; Ana is the girl who translated the infamous “Smelly Cat” song from the TV show Friends into Japanese so that Kristine could belt it out (to the chagrin of Ono-sensei) for a Japanese final presentation; Ana is the evil cohort who used to crash East Asian Studies graduate conferences with Kristine for the sole purpose of stealing sushi; Ana is the girl who used to set ancient Japanese haiku to modern commerical jingles and sing them (to the chagrin of Dr. Brown) in the hallways before class; Ana is the girl who always maintained a sense of humor in JAPAN 250, even when NOBODY ELSE thought it was funny when Kristine accidentally sent things flying off of her desk. Ana is the brave soul who dared to steal pork ribs right off of Kabata-sensei’s plate at that OTHER East Asian Studies conference she and Kristine crashed. Ana is the girl who’s been there for Kristine through triumphs and break-ups; Ana is the friend who visited Kristine in Japan not once, but TWICE. Ana has always been one of Kristine’s biggest inspirations and cheerleaders, and for that, Kristine has always felt extremely blessed to have such a wonderful BFF as Ana in her life.
Favorite memory from New Years, 2005: Strung out on brandy beans, malibu and pineapple, and falling out of our chairs lauging our @$$es off at that essay, “So You Want To Learn Japanese?” (Excerpt: “The Japanese writing system is broken down into three separate, complete, and insane, parts: Hiragana — all of which look completely different and bear absolutely no resemblance to each other whatsoever, Katakana — all look exactly the same, and it’s impossible, even for Japanese people, to tell them apart, and Kanji — letters that were stolen from China; roughly 4 million embodiments of your worst nightmares.”)
There are not a lot of people I can honestly say that I love who are not my sisters, but Kristine is like a sister to me. I love you Kristine. Seriously.
The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanely sensitive. To them… a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create — so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, their very breath is cut off… They must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency they are not really alive unless they are creating.
The tiny brown globes rested in a tiny mountain pile on top of steaming rice, almost appearing if they were steaming themselves. I leaned over and the pungent smell of ripe old age cheese seized my senses. Overwhelmed, I stumbled backwards, fingers grappling on the table to regain balance. I peered cautiously at the innocent ceramic bowl before me and then at the smiling, encouraging face of my host mother.
So this is natto, I thought to myself. I stirred the sticky mounds. The pile mushed and gossamer strings stretched, sticky on the chopsticks.
Looks and smells like a pile of steaming crap. Eww.
– circa. 2001-2002
Do you like natto on rice the most?
I do not like them, mom-the-host
I do not like natto on rice the most.
Would you like them here or there?
I would not like them here or there.
I would not like them anywhere.
I do not like natto on rice the most.
I loathe natto on rice the most.
Would you share them with a lark?
Would you like them with a Marc?
I would share them with a lark.
Nor will I like them with a Marc.
He hates them, mom-the-host
Like me, he hates natto on rice the most.
Not with a lark.
Not with a Marc.
I would not eat them here or there.
I would not eat them anywhere.
I do not like natto on rice the most.
I loathe natto on rice the most.
The second part of the Trio’s Atami trip involved spending time at the beach, wading around in rocks while we tried to catch tiny speedy crabs. We also ate udon and soba at a nearby restaurant before we walked around MOA or The Museum of Art, founded by religious leader Mokichi Okada.
Did I mention that a Beijing Olympic Silver Medalist was my neighbour for the past two months? Check out the video.
