In case you didn’t know.
I’ve moved.
See you there.
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Miyazaki’s final film, “Kaze Tachinu” (The Wind Rises) has apparently been screening at The Landmark for the past week with the run ending today. Panicked and bought a last minute ticket to see it last night.
I have a VHS of Totoro that I wore down as a kid rewinding and re-watching. From there to Mononoke Hime to Spirited Away I grew up watching Miyazaki films, so this one was a little bittersweet. It had all the hallmarks of a Miyazaki film…large open fields with random gusts of wind, people rushing through crowds after coming to a realization, whimsical forms of transportation, extreme hunger after leaving the theater…between the thoughtful story, the gorgeous animation and the amazing score, it was the right ending to the ride that has been Miyazaki’s career.
There was a lot of controversy in Japan as it follows the life of a military plane designer pre-WWII so while it’s clearly an anti-war/anti-militarism film, the main focus is the creation of a killing machine (manufactured by forced colonial labor and used in Axis campaigns). I was a little surprised at just how nationalist it was at points, but balanced with Miyazaki’s previous films it contextually didn’t feel unsettling.
Thank you, Miyazaki-san. Your work has been a textbook for life.
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Grandpa has finished boxing his meal to go.
Grandpa: So how many people are you going to Vegas with?
Sean: A little more than 10 of us I think.
Grandpa: Oh I hope you’re staying downtown to save a little money!
Sean: We’re staying on the strip but we’re fitting a bunch of people in the room. Probably sleeping on the floor.
Grandpa: Well that’s ok, you won’t be sleeping much anyway.
When I drop him off at home he offers me a bag of persimmons and a 2014 calendar of patriotic images he received in the mail.
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Been MIA as life has been a little insane. Moved back to KTown, turned 25, ended the season at TNC. BUT I’M BACK.
I forgot to eat dinner last night.
It wasn’t until I pushed into my apartment that my stomach kicked in and reminded me that I had eaten little more than a sandwich, a gin-tonic, and a Cafe Dulce iced coffee all day.
Last night was the final Tuesday Night Cafe show for the season. For those who don’t know, we organize a free multidisciplinary show every first and third Tuesday of the season running from April to October. The intention was to create a consistent Asian American arts scene, to bring young people into LA Little Tokyo, and to utilize the (at the time) new Union Center for the Arts.
15 seasons later, our founder Traci is stepping back to concentrate on building other programs within our larger organization, Tuesday Night Project. Last night was a waterfall of love for her and the space. I have never heard the name “traci” more in a 2 hour period of my life.
It was also a passing of the torch…I am privileged to take over the role starting today.
But what made last night amazing was as always…the people. I kept neglecting to grab The Park’s Finest we have posted to the side for staff, performers, and volunteers because when I wasn’t making sure stuff was going smooth I was running into old friends, meeting new people, and introducing folks to the space. It was a night of serious reflection for long time artists and members of the staff, yet through all the names people didn’t know and inside jokes they didn’t get, the people “got” it and stayed, laughed, and cried.
And CRIED!
I’ve had like 4 people tell me that they cried even though they walked into the courtyard with no more than a base understanding of what TNC was. And I’ve had folks beyond that ask how they can get involved!
It really reaffirmed for me that the most important thing for me to do is to make sure that no matter how many faces change, how many SNAFUs arise, no matter how the community shifts, that I have to, at the heart of it, keep our ship moving to the needs and vision that traci and her crew set out to focus on when they first hit the mic in 1999. To support artists, to bridge communities, and to put on a show that the audience can absorb, process, and build from.
The people will always “get it”.
April will come sooner than we think, and I really hope that you will put April 1st on your calendar as the first show of the 16th season. It will be the start of a fresh chapter with an old soul.
And I am going to go in on this breakfast sandwich.
Thank you to the staff, performers, audience members, and volunteers who made it happen. Special shout out to my friends who were able to make it out on a school night. It really really meant more than you can imagine.
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It’s still, 7 years after moving to LA, odd to think of myself as part of the JTown community. I remember sitting in my high school bedroom scouring blogs and webforums, looking for some semblance of community to latch onto.
Yet here I am reading this guest blog post on Angry Asian Man by my friend/mentor traci kato-kiriyama about Little Tokyo and Tuesday Night Cafe, feeling that sense of familiarity that comes with knowing the landscape, both physical and intangible.
“I think all the time about Los Angeles and the PEOPLE who brought me up and those, of all ages, who continue to raise me. I think of the undeniable power of art to bridge people at a totally necessary heart and spirit level. That, if I didn’t have art, I wouldn’t know how to survive and if I didn’t have community, I’d have no reason to. I think about all these wonderful people we’re surrounded by, who are passionate as much as they are grateful and forgiving of each other and themselves in order to stay in it… for the long haul.”
– traci kato-kiriyama, “Oldest-And-Still-Running-Blah-Blah-Blah…”
What is a community without the storytellers.
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I’ve spent a better part of the past 24 hours reading through Facebook statuses lamenting the ruling in the Zimmerman case, and all I can think about is how much I need to get off my phone. The ruling came down last night and my feed is still a solid stream of hoodies, anger, and through all that, a tiny glimmer of hope.
Between a late start this morning, breakfast, some family coordination and finally a writing meeting in the evening, I only managed to catch the end of an action in Boyle Heights organized by the East LA “Ni Una Mas/Not One More Coalition” formed in response to the case.
My family is originally from Boyle Heights, a neighborhood that has been a revolving door of ethnic groups for the past century but currently home to a sizable and lively Latin@ community. I took my favorite parking spot in JTown, walked to the train station, then caught the Gold Line east.
Sometimes I forget how close Little Tokyo is to East LA. How the streetcar used to bring folks to JTown, and how even today it’s a straight shot down First to cross the river and hit Little Tokyo. I think about how far we seem from each other, but how our actual physical distance alone reaffirms the nonexistence of ethnic communities as solitary beings, and how there is such hope for coalition building between us all.
I spent a little more time at Mariachi Plaza after the action was over. I walked to the other side of the station, taking in the dancing and wonderful smells of Sunday-night pupusas and tamales. The sun fell as I descended into the subway, taking with it the haunting pollution-purple hue of the Los Angeles sky.
We will keep building our communities, keep building our coalitions, and keep building our minds. We will work together so that there will be not one more.
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My favorite writing spot closes at 11PM and I usually get into a good rhythm at 10:55.
I’ll be long done with my tea, the crowd will have thinned out, and I will have overplayed whatever song I have chosen to write to, and the divine will pass through me and to my keyboard with 5 minutes left and the staff already cleaning the bathroom.
So I write as I pack to fool the staff into thinking I’m leaving and to fool myself into thinking that the staff actually buys the charade.
I’ll do the laptop dance where I stand up and start folding my power cable while typing between loops of the cord. When not typing I stare at the screen to proofread the last paragraph and make mental notes of what I want to write next.
Next, I do the stand and type. This makes the staff think I’m just making last minute adjustments…is what I say to myself as the staff gets more and more irritated that this guy bought a tea four hours ago and refuses to leave.
Oh did they announce that the cafe is closed? Twice? To me specifically? I can’t hear them over the headphones I’ve conveniently decided to turn the volume up on.
It’s already 11:01 as I get to the end of what I have so far (by this point they are, understandably, literally trying to sweep me out of the store), so I’ll just pick up my laptop and slowly close the clamshell as I type with one hand. I put my backpack on for extra effect, and also I look better with a backpack on anyhow. If I’m going to take up unwelcome space I should at least try to look decent doing so.
Finally, with a dull snap, I close my laptop and clean up the table. They’ve blacklisted me by the point. Or they would have blacklisted me by now if that was a thing.
Instead, I will be back next week to do it all again. Perhaps, this time I will choreograph new moves to keep the process going. Pehaps I should start tipping…
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Summer time! It’s summer time! Cold tea and pizza time!
I am amazed at the volume of out of towners who show up in JTown during the summer. Sitting on the steps of the old Higashi Temple waiting for a friend, I must have ruined at least 10-15 photos by people trying to document the ancient facade with their ancient digital cameras. No Instagramming today. All the smartphoners are on their bikes as part of CicLAvia.
I wonder, sometimes where they all come from. They can’t all be from out of town, I highly doubt that our three block radius is hitting the front page of the Lonely Planet guide anytime soon. Perhaps they are Westsiders cautiously venturing east of LA Brea. Perhaps they are commuters, curious about the Gold Line stop they always pass through. Perhaps they are daytrippers from OC, Santa Barbara, San Diego, looking for a bite to eat and a curiosity to pin on their Pinterest.
Regardless, they are here, and perhaps they will be back. Perhaps they will become regulars, perhaps they will not return. Perhaps they will be at a party and mention the bacon donut they got the other day at some cafe in Little Tokyo. Perhaps they will be at a party spitting game and suggest dinner at this Japanese place they discovered some odd Sunday months ago.
It is summer in the city, and the days are long in JTown. Out of towners and locals welcome.
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