Upon finding out that I cook liver really well, my mom commissioned me to do so for my uncle Bill, who’s a huge fan of the stuff. Which on the one hand, happy to do. But you get to the point where a little bit of you goes “damn, you couldn’t have guessed?” Nobody goes “hey, Lance Armstrong, I didn’t know you could bike around lefthand turns so good!”

 

If I ever dual monitor I’m stacking them up

and having this for wallpaper.

 

MUSHROOM HUNTING

my broadcast’s loving will keep you up all night.

the link is to the right.

get up ons.

 

TODAY (TUESDAY). 11 EST. IRIA.

This broadcast is sponsored by Max.  We’re showing all six episodes of Iria: Zeiram the Animation, a bit of classic mid-80s sci fi anime.  It’s a show we both remember fondly, even if I don’t remember it too well.  What I do remember is that its titular characters are Iria, a female bounty hunter and Zeiram, an indestructable killer who seems most closely related to a fungus, if it’s comparable to anything remotely terrestrial.  Zeiram needs to absorb other life forms to stay alive and also to STEAL THEIR KNOWLEDGE.  The former is out for revenge against the latter for reasons I can’t recall, but I’m sure they were pretty good.

Get in on this one.  It’s a scarcely remembered classic that has the distinction of causing nostalgia even in people who haven’t seen the damn thing before.

Listen to the wizard.  The wizard’s brought you something good.

 

It’s business… it’s business tiiiime!

I can feel it in my bones.  You gonna watch this movie.

 

Three hours to go, my droogs.

link@right

 

Of Interest

Fans of the feed will recognize this as my wallpaper from a few shows back.

 

Your Latest Chunk

She drove the bicyclable distance between Ōta and Shibuya and maneuvered around the Shibuya Station area and found a place to eat takoyaki, the fried octopus dumplings with a plethora of garnishes best known for being found in Kansai but available like just about any food in the world probably was in Shibuya. It took a little more work to get to this than a burger shop whose homogenization would no doubt have gone ovebest known for being found in Kansai but available like just about any food in the world probably was in Shibuyr much better than the car rental’s. She couldn’t do a hamburger right now though, not here with all this noise and all this jet lag and all this Japan and twenty waking hours under her belt. She picked the place most crowded with locals, travel SOP from ever eating, mysteriously still hard bodied More, and ate squashed into a corner while a crew of construction workers on their way to the rear of the shop crushed through all the open spaces panning across disinterested octopus stuffed faces, oblivious in the manner of people with motives detached from the local zeitgeist to their unwelcomeness. They didn’t say much of anything and nobody talked to them. Maki kept her head down, soon the overalled squad of workers passed and everyone continued eating in peace. Noisy peace.

A messy line of fetal observations on this land where nature seemed so far only to exist in a tightly controlled decorative and unnatural form was laid out in Maki’s head. Too tired to sort them, no language penetrates the idea to solidify it. We’re not here to assemble tourist theses. So she just ate quickly and possibly loudly but she couldn’t hear over everyone else and she paid from a roll of 5000 yen banknotes because she had nothing smaller yet.

She couldn’t remember what the takoyaki tasted like. Something in the area of good, but otherwise blank.

For no good reason she decided to wander before going to her hotel. Shibuya egged potential wanderers on with enormous curiosities. The place was foreign in a way that Maki wasn’t prepared for. She’d been to Japan, but not the Japan of Shibuya. What she knew seemed like the Japan of old films now, a fantasy zone maintained for tourists and the old. This place, this Shibuya, wasn’t foreign in the simple sense of being a part of a foreign land. It had come from the future to sell things to the past.

 

Thirst commuted to Sunday night, 10 PM EST.  I promise this movie is good enough to make up for Blacula.  For whatever Cannes is worth to you, it won the Jury Prize this year.

It’s Park so there’ll be blood, but it’s also more of a love story than a horror story, as I understand it.  Which isn’t to say that it isn’t quite a lot of horror story.  When Park puts out his take on a genre he seems to do it to the very greatest possible extent.  Thirst scoops up all the assumptions of your basic Dracula movie about characters, relationships and the world the story takes place in and changes them into something recognizable but distant.  I can’t stress enough.  If you can take it, this is a guy whose work needs to be in your life.

 

27 minutes to showtime!

I’ve got my bedsheet cape and plastic fangs.