The curry bowl is crashing onto my poor stomach

Right now I am sitting at my laptop nearly doubled over in agony.

Two-and-a-half hours ago I made curry rice for the first time in my life. It is a dish that I grew up eating, and in fact is one that I often requested for my birthday dinner. I like it a lot. That being said, there are limits to how much I can like it.

Tonight I made two go of rice, or two uncooked cups. This amounts to about five cups once cooked. In addition to that I made a large frying pan full of curry, filled with two chicken breasts, a cut-up potato, and a large chopped carrot. This resulted in a good amount of truly delicious food, which I subsequently ate while watching two episodes of House, MD. Each episode takes forty-five minutes to watch, which tells you about how long I was eating. I also had a large glass of milk.

I am now suffering the consequences of my actions. I can’t even take a deep breath.

To say I have a stomachache would be a gross understatement. Indeed, I can only describe the state of discomfort I am in by defaulting to the Japanese phrase for stomachache - onakawo kowashita (おなか壊した). Translated literally, this means “I broke my stomach”. The word “broke” here, though, is not just describing any breaking. This is different from a car breaking down or a relationship breaking apart. It is accidental, though not analogous to breaking a drinking glass. The closest description I can think of for it is the accidental toppling of a Jenga tower by pulling out the wrong block. You broke the tower. There is a very distinct difference in state from before you pulled the block as opposed to after. There is a tipping point. I passed that Jenga point in my bowl of curry with 6 spoonfuls yet to go.

I am going to bed. If I can walk that far...

Elvis Presley Really Dead At 73

Elvis Presley, known to many as the hip-gyrating rock and roller of their parents’ generation and also that guy in Forrest Gump, passed away in his sleep on Thursday at the Deep Lakes Nursing Home in Hugoton, Kansas. He was 73.

The rock music legend and idol of impersonators everywhere had dropped out of the public eye in the late seventies due to his doctors advice regarding a malignant tumor they found in his left lung. Mr. Presley received treatment at eh University of Minnesota Medical Center for four years, eventually kicking the cancer. By this time, however, Van Halen and other heavy metal groups had taken over the commercial music scene and Elvis decided to let his legacy live on rather then be like Michael Jordan and keep coming back into the unforgiving public eye. He was reported to have watched his own funeral in amusement, glad that so many people cared about his movies and musical performances, and often cited that his disappearance would likely go down in history as” the greatest act of show-business since Jimi Hendrix played the Star-Spangled Banner live with that bitchin’ white Mexican Fender copy.”

Presley was perhaps best known for stealing black music such as soul and R&B and turning it into something a white guy could jig to. His hip-wiggling performances, it is said, “reddened many a mother’s face and captured many a teenage girl’s heart.” While Elvis was certainly a heart-throb at the time, he did have trouble with alcoholism and in his later performing years gave concerts that were, according to Elvis historian Adrianne Gentling, “basically indecipherable gobblygook. He would do weird stuff like call down aliens from the stars and promote various baby formulas. It got pretty crazy when he was drunk on stage.”

Elvis’ music touched lives worldwide and can still be purchased at many music retailers such as Wal-Mart, iTunes, and your local used record store. Says music critic Damien Stoll of www.cheaptunereviews.com, “You listen to the music of Elvis and you get taken to a whole other world. For a rock musician, a lot of things considered ‘staples’ of the rock genre are absent. There’s no electric guitars, no double-bass work, no dazzling two-hand-tapping solos - none of that. It’s just a guy playing a mediocre acoustic guitar and making us picture him moving his hips. But despite all this, his influence is no doubt very evident in the work of the Beatles, Simon and Garfunkel, Buddy Holly, and Black Sabbath. Well, maybe not Sabbath.”

The famous entertainer moved into Deep Lakes Homes in 1990, after years of drug and alcohol use started taking their toll and dementia set it. He seemed to enjoy the retirement home a great deal, and most of the other old folks at the home agreed that Elvis was “a bit forgetful, but generally very pleasant and cracking jokes.” “He also really like to play Scrabble on Mondays, “ says long-time resident Elma Ponzani. The funeral will take place at First Memorial Funeral Home at 145 Marshall Ave. at 5:30 pm on Tuesday.


[If you're from The Onion and you liked this, I need a job. Call me]

Rethinking Good Games and Avoiding DRM

Two things I want to talk about today that stuck in my mind as I browsed the Internet.

The first comes from this article at TechRadar that talks about 3D graphics in video games and how they have not been a universally good thing for the gaming industry. While games like first-person shooters and racing simulations have of course benefitted, other genres like platforming games and, my favorite genre, the 2D vertical shooter, were, and still are, better in a 2D environment. The move to 3D, as the article argues, took the charm out of SEGA's Sonic series, and I would add to that the Castlevania series, Kirby series Metriod series and fighting games in general. Some of these, games, thankfully, now have found a more suitable gaming platform in the arena of portable gaming, as the DS and PSP are more suited to 2D gaming due to their technical limitations.

Granted, some game franchises really are better in 3D, such as the Zelda series. But I think Zelda is an example of a series that made the jump to 3D just to keep up with the technology. There was nothing wrong with Zelda in the early 2D games that were made. The jump to 3D enabled some cool things, sure, but Zelda was OK in 2D. Much like there is nothing wrong with the 2D fighting game genre. Sure, the graphics have switched over, but most games like Tekken and Virtua Fighter are still, for the most part, 3D fighters set on a 2D plane. Indeed, I think that most games wouldn't be significantly hurt if made in a 2D form. Devil May Cry 2D? God of War 2D? I don't see where these games would inherntly fail when placed in a 2D environment. They would be different, sure, but they would still contain the essence, if you will, of the series'.

In some cases, 3D has contributed to some horrible gaming experiences. Most of these failures are in the form of poorly implemented camera views. Every 3D game has to have a dynamic camera, and some games allow the gamer to have some control over the camera. Every game from the hugely popular Mario 64 and Tomb Raider series to games like Rainbow Cotton and Soul Fighter (both for the Sega Dreamcast) had serious camera issues that led to many a frustrated gamer. Camera issues are something that games like Starcraft, Gran Turismo, and Guitar Hero don't have to worry about.

All of the above example were given just to say that new technology does not necessarily make a better gaming experience. The PS3 and Xbox 360 can have the fastest processors in the world, but if a game developer can't write a good camera for a game, the flashiest graphics in the world will sit on the shelf. Game developers have to actually create good games, even if it means sacrificing eye candy for substance.

------------------------------------------

The second thing I wanted to talk about is downloading music. As of today, I will no longer download music from the iTunes store (gift cards being the only exception). I have also converted every single DRM-laden song I have into a open format, save for a few singles that are still protected. I did this mostly out of principle - I believe that there is no excuse anymore to support DRM-controlled content. Once I buy something, I do not want any corporation telling me what I can or cannot do with their product. This applies to hardware as well. (I'm looking at you again, Apple, with your new DRM-chipped Macbooks and limiting iPhone App Store.)

The iTunes decision also stems from my preference of the Amazon MP3 service (mentioned in this post) and also my love for the physical product. I like having CDs around that I can look and and browse the liner notes of. Another reason I prefer CDs is that, if I ever decide to sell it, I can actually get 4 or 5 dollars for a disc, lowering the net cost of owning the CD. Sure, it's cheaper in the short run if I download the music, but the tradeoff is that a) I can't look at the physical product and b) I can never resell it. I don't download music very often, and from now on, I'm only going to use Amazon.


_DZ

So says Arucard

え？　ア、ごめん。

月を見てた。

あまりにも良い夜だからな〜





_DZ

"You don't look Asian!" "I'm not." ...Am I?

Whenever I meet someone new at a party or other social function beside church, the conversation inevitably turns to where I'm from. For simplicity's sake I usually say Illinois or, more recently, Pennsylvania. At churches I usually say that I am from Japan, just because that's what they expect to hear from a missionary kid like me. But it always boils down to just one place, because the truth is really much more complicated. If I tell non-church people that I am from Tokyo I have to suffer their reaction of, “But you don't look Japanese!” If I answer Pennsylvania, they ask what I was doing there, and I say college, which was true. But really, I don't know where I'm from. I'm most comfortable in between places; I'm most comfortable being perpetually on the move - being a traveller. But that is not a good answer for someone who's expecting geographical coordinates.

Now that I've been in the States for the past three years, I don't get the question as often, but sometimes someone will still tell me, knowingly, “Japan must be really different from America, huh?” I usually just smile and nod and chuckle, because the truth is much more complicated. The truth is that Japan is nothing and everything like America at the same time. How can I explain that in a single-serving conversation? How can I explain that it's the minute differences in the culture that make living in Japan totally different? How can I sort my experiences out in my head objectively to see that some things I take for granted, take for 'normal,' are really everything but? If someone asks me what a typical day as a high-schooler in Japan was like, here is how I would answer:

“Well, I wake up in the morning about 7:00, because school starts at 8:25. I usually hit the snooze button until 7:15, at which time I wake up and get dressed. I reach into my closet and throw on a pair of faded jeans and a Weezer t-shirt. I tromp downstairs to the breakfast table, pour myself a bowl of Raisin Bran and some orange juice, and eat breakfast while listening to a morning show on the radio. After breakfast I quickly get my chores done, after which I put on my Adidas tennis shoes, grab my backpack filled with English, History, and Math textbooks, and go to the train station to catch a train for school. I listen to Guns 'n Roses on my iPod during my 20 minute commute. I get to school, say 'Hi” to a few friends, and go to my locker to put my books away. My girlfriend runs up and gives me a hug and a kiss, and I am off to first period Bible class.

The day progresses, taking me through English, Global Issues, Advanced Algebra, and Yearbook class, after which I have lunch in the school cafeteria, spaghetti. After lunch is Home Economics, Spanish, and Biology classes. School ends at 3:25, after which I have wrestling practice 'til 6pm. Practice ends, and I go to the local convenient store to buy a quick snack. I meet a friend there, and we go to a local McDonalds for a burger before I take the train home again, this time choosing the Goo Goo Dolls as my soundtrack for the train ride. I get home, play some Unreal Tournament 2004 online, and then eat cold dinner. Tonight my family had a pork roast. After dinner I play some more online, and then do some homework while IM'ing with five of my classmates about plans for our school's winter formal. I watch an episode of LOST that I downloaded, and around 11:30pm I go to bed, a full day having passed.”

How does that sound different form a day that any American teen would have? Sure maybe the “train commute” would be replaced by “car ride”, but that's really about it. Is that what people who expect me to delve into details about crazy Asians doing kung-fu in the streets and dodging dodge mental taxi drivers and punks on motorcycles want to hear? No. But it's the details, the boring details, that make life in Japan so vibrantly different from life in America. My story, with the details, would be really different.

I wake up at 7:15 and roll off a futon. My alarm clock has a Japanese character for the day of the week. My closet has two sliding paper doors and holds futon on the bottom shelf. The milk and OJ that I have for breakfast are packaged in liter cartons made from recycled paper. The DJs on the Armed Forces Network morning show are named Staff Sargent Peters and Airman First Class Rodriguez. My chores include things like separating colored glass bottles from clear glass bottles, because Japan recycles them differently. I have to sort aluminum and steel cans, and cut up milk cartons for recycling. I bike to the train station, and have to park my bike in an underground bicycle parking lot that has a monthly fee. Commuter trains arrive every two minutes or so, on the dot. While on the train I have to lower my backpack from my shoulders to the floor in order to accommodate more people in the jam-packed train car. As I swipe my train pass to get through the ticket wicket I see other kids who attend my school try to avoid paying, and then pretend they don't speak Japanese when they are caught. My Bible class includes Christian responses to other world religions such as Mormonism, Buddhism, Hinduism, and Shintoism. More than half of my classmates in any and all of my classes are Asian. In Spanish class I sit next to a girl who already speaks English, Japanese, and Korean fluently.

At lunch, which was served to me by Japanese lunch ladies, I sit with a bunch of guys and the conversation turns to whether 'halfs' (usually half-Asian half-white) girls are more attractive than pure Asian girls, with the final consensus split right down the middle. My girlfriend is pure Japanese so, of course, I am biased. My snack after wrestling practice is not Snickers and soda, but rather green tea and riceballs. The store sold Snickers, sure, but I wasn't interested. My friend and I walked to the local McDonalds (which has free WiFi), because it was within walking distance, much like every other business we frequent. There my friend asked my advice concerning a mutual friend who has started drinking – something easily started when alcohol is available in vending machines. The Japanese businessman sitting next to me on the train during the ride home reads a pornographic magazine. I play online games at speeds double that of what most gamers in the States are used to. Because of the nature of being in the city (Tokyo) and the density of the population, cable companies can afford to provide much better service to more people at a lower cost. MSN Messenger is the client of choice for my buddies, something nearly unheard of in AOL and AIM-dominated America. I fall asleep to the hum of a kerosene space-heater, because Japanese homes do not have central heating.

These are the details that make my life unique, but these are not the details in which I feel that the person opposite me is interested. So what do I do? I water my life down to something he or she can relate to, at the risk of he or she being disappointed. This makes these conversations easier for me because I can have a canned speech that I give to everyone. They wouldn't understand even if I told them, would they?

Netbooks are not Apple's design

Several weeks ago Apple, Inc. unveiled its hot new line of laptop computers to much rejoicing and hullabaloo. These were gorgeous machines with respectable spec sheets and for the first time the entire Apple notebook line had sturdy all-aluminum casing. Not all was well in the Mac community, however. There were some who had wanted Apple to release a notebook in the emerging 'netbook' market, and they were sorely disappointed.

Netbooks are an emerging market, a market so new in fact that my copy of OpenOffice still throws a red squiggle under the word. They are essentially a bare-bones laptop with a very small footprint - usually a 8 or 10 inch screen. They are meant for browsing the Internet and word processing and not much else. They aren't for gaming, storing your entire media library, or multi-tasking between seven different applications. They usually don't have webcams, CD drives, or other fancy-shmancy add-ons. They are also really cheap -usually under $500 - which is their main draw. Some would say that they have a low price point, but those people are idiots. A word of advice to them – there is no need to use the word 'price point' when 'price' conveys the exact same idea. You are not going to ask your friend what the price point of the new toaster he purchased was. No, you're going to ask him how much it cost, or how much he paid for it.

So these netbooks are really cheap and are apparently selling like hotcakes. Well, hotcakes with screens. And some “loyal” – I use that word lightly here – Apple fans think that Apple should produce a laptop for this market. (One could I suppose argue that they just wanted the Mac Air for cheaper.) They think that by releasing a sub-$800 laptop, that Apple would make a lot of money and gain new customers. This is a misguided wish for several reasons.

Reason 1: Apple is a respected brand that has always made higher-end consumer products. Their laptops typically are released at a price of around $1200 going all the way up to their Pro line of $3500 or so. Historically they make products for the artistic professionals – movie makers, photographers, designers, etc. The business world uses Windows and all the art is made on Macs. (This accounts the disproportionate amount of Macs you see in movies and TV shows.)

Reason 2: Apple puts a lot of work into designing their products, and it shows. People don't realize that making good design is usually expensive and requires a lot of hard work. Somebody has to pay for all of that gorgeous design that sets apart Macs from the rest of the computer world.

Reason 3: Most Mac users are extremely loyal. (Since 2002 I have owned five different Macs, and that was not because I needed them. I just liked having them around.) What this translates to is a very active second-hand Mac market. Macs have famously high resale value, which happened to be one of my considerations when buying my MacBook the weekend it was released. I bought my Mac for around $1500 three years ago and WILL be able to resell it for 700-800 dollars if I choose to sell it even now, almost three years later. When my mom needed a new laptop, I advised her to buy a used Aluminum PowerBook rather than a new MacBook because it was essentially the same machine, only $300 cheaper. Mac fans who whined about no $500 notebook failed to see that they already had one – the 12' G4 PowerBook. Sure it doesn't have the newest Mac OS or other nice features, but hey, it has a wireless and can run OS X, right? That's really all the average netbook user would need. For even cheaper you could buy a used iBook and still have OS X.

By releasing a netbook Apple would not only risk jeopardizing their respected professional brand, but they would also risk sabotaging their second-hand market that keeps enthusiasts abated until they decide to buy another new Apple machine. They would also risk having to release a machine that was not iconic in its design, like nearly every Apple machine has been. Way to go Apple, for continuously sticking to your guns and releasing great computers at reasonable prices.


_DZ

Not all roses who wander are lost

So last night's episode of House, M.D., a series I watch rather passionately, was a major character-developing episode for Thirteen, an attractive doctor in her late twenties/early thirties. She has Huntington's disease, a degenerative condition that will end her life in ten to fifteen years, which she inherited from her mother, whom she watched die slowly and painfully.

The program focused on the choices she had made recently as a result of news that her disease was progressing faster than had been expected - lifestyle choices involving late-night partying, drugs, and casual sex with strangers (she's bisexual). Dr. Foreman, her colleague, cautions her against such behaviors, instead advising that she should use the time to exercise, stay healthy, and try to prolong her life as long as possible. Thirteen retorts that what she's doing is making her happy, and isn't life all about being happy?

Though I am fascinated with the human condition to strive to be happy, this article is not about that. Basing a lifestyle around making the whole point of life in striving to make oneself happy is of course incredibly misguided and doomed to fail, much like one mistake in the opening of a chess game means the game is already lost.

Thirteen is doing this, but at an accelerated pace, one that will cause misery much sooner than her disease will end her life.

My interest here is not what Thirteen is doing (the self-destructive behavior seeking to find control in her otherwise-uncontrollable situation), but rather the bigger picture of the hidden implications behind her behavior. Thirteen is, as she sees it, "sucking the marrow out of life", or living life to the fullest. She is getting all the fun in that she can before she returns to the dust. She is trying to get her money's worth out of life.

This situation then brings her worldview into light. Clearly, for her, her life is her own, and she sees it as being unfairly terminated. After all, she spent all those years in medical school to prepare for a high-paying career so that she could live a life of luxury, right? Now all that time she could have spent partying she has to make up for. She invested in a future that she now will not be able to cash in on. This is maddening for her. Now if her life is her own, and she does what she wants with it, she must feel cheated. Fate is out to get her, to ruin all her plans and make her existence worthless. She clearly has to get all the fun she can in before her Huntington's kills her, whether that fun is cheap sex or incredible hour-long drug highs. It's a sad situation, really.

Now how would a Christian respond to this. Several verses come to mind, including 1 Cor.6:19-20, "Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body.", Jer. 29:11, "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.", and Matt. 6:34 "Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." As Christians we can have courage, and even take delight, in knowing that God has plans for us. I even find it incredibly comforting to know that I do not have to bear the sole responsibility for my life's course - that God knows what's going on and he can use any and every situation for good (Rom 8:28).

God created the universe, including, of course, human beings, and he owes us nothing. NOTHING. This sovereignty of God I think even proves that the universe is working the way it should. It doesn't mean I understand why bad things happen to good people, but I do think that it means that even if bad things DO happen, God will be glorified. In our life, or even in our death, it is our duty to let other people see that. Hopefully Thirteen will start to do a better job.


_DZ

The Three Dragons

I sighed as I walked into my bathroom. It had been a long day at the mahjong tables. I had spent all afternoon pon-ing, kan-ing, chii-ing and ron-ing, and had returned home with five dollars less than I had upon departure. But I didn't mind. On the contrary, I had walked home with a beaming smile on my face, ecstatic that eight hours of continuously fantastic competition had only cost me five dollars. Mahjong was such a joy to play. The four of us with our green polo shirts and jeans, chain smoking cheap cigarettes while busy strategically arranging out hands, yelping at victory and groaning at defeat. Such was the game that united blue and white-collar workers alike under one roof at the local YMCA. Yes, it had been a good day indeed!

I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower. The steam engulfed me as the hot water streamed over my body. I quickly rubbed myself down and reached for the shampoo. A red dot suddenly appeared on my forearm, and another on my foot. Another burst forth onto my hand, and one more came after that. They kept appearing; another and then another and another, following one anther in a regimented sequence. I smiled and turned my face into the shower stream. My nose was bleeding. I poured shampoo into my hand and went about washing my hair. I let my hands down after a good lather and let the fluffy foam coating them absorb the rogue blood droplets. The crimson soon calmed to a rosy pink and was washed away, its anger assuaged. As I soaped up, more droplets, their impish aura about them, rocketed past my ankles onto the tile, where upon impact they burst into ghosts and chased each other down the drain, their solace to be found in perpetual gridlock with one another amid the copper labyrinth of the underground. I continued my routine. They were no threat to me. These beads of blood, these excited erythrocytes, had long since become something of a neighbor rather than a distant visitor. They came and went as they pleased. And just as one with a visitor must be chained to the entertain in the living room, so I had to be wary of my guests until they left. They bothered me for but a little while, and then, just as abruptly as they came, they were gone. I turned off the water and stepped out of the tub. I dried, dressed, and traipsed off to bed.

All this socializing had tired me out, and it was time to climb into my clean white sheets and dream of rounds in which I could collect nine or more Dragon tiles.