Author: hannah.ananas

Inglorious Basterds

Last night, as I was going to bed (Or was it at some point in the middle of the night, when I woke up?  Or even this morning?), I recalled the film “Inglorious Basterds”, and had a slight desire to watch it.  I have seen it already, but this film and I have a sort of special connection, and for various reasons.

For one thing, I first saw the beginning of it on my first trip to France, on my Freshman year JanTerm in Cannes – a sort of momentous occasion, its being my first time there and all.  One of the students working at our dorm’s café was all excited about watching it, and got us all to sit around to watch it at the café.  After only a few minutes, I was uninterested in the film, and I left (as I recall).

A few years later, I finally watched the whole film, though I forget currently when and how.  So, it was meant to be comedic and historical and action-filled.  Got it.  Now I’d seen it, so I didn’t have to see it again.

Then, while living in Vienna (though that part’s somewhat irrelevant), I saw two films that I loved.  The first was “Keinohrhasen”, with the German actor Til Schweiger.  I fell in love with the film, and has a soft spot for Til because of it.  Then, I saw in theaters the film “Django Unchained”.  I somewhat fell in love with the German character of the film, played by Christoph Waltz, who is Austrian-German himself.  By calling to mind before the start of the film that this was a Quentin Tarantino film, I was able to enjoy the full beauty and glory of the artistry that was “Django Unchained”.

Once back in the States, however, I recalled that I had not given just perspective to “Inglorious Basterds” as a Quentin Tarantino marvel, but had judged it relative to the average film.  (I grew up in love with Kill Bill, you see, and learned QT’s style of gore and revenge and all that, somehow learning to enjoy and appreciate it because of the setting and story that was Kill Bill, probably with a bit of guidance from my brother Michael, who had shown me the films in the first place.)  So, I decided it was high time to watch the film again, though this time as a Quentin Tarantino film, instead of a regular one.

And so I did.  However, allow me to point out the setting of this film: WWII in Germany and France (or, at least, a France filled with Germans), with Americans interspersed.  When the movie began, it took me about ten minutes (?) to realize that something was amiss… or, at least, something felt like it must be amiss.

I eventually realized (and even had to pause the film for the extreme laughter that arose from within me) that it was the fact that I was completely missing the subtitles.  I was not, however, missing the dialogue.  I was just merely ignoring, nay, not even noticing the subtitles, because I simply understood what was being said.  The laughter came suddenly and from deep within – it was like this film was made for me, in a sense.  I now spoke decent French and German (and still fantabulous English, of course), and this movie played back and forth between my three main languages.  It was a perfect mix of cultures and language for my language-loving mind.

Now, that was great, but it got even better.  Then, I found Christoph Waltz AND Til Schweiger in the film.  Add that all to the expectation of Quentin Tarantino’s style, as well as the gorgeous Brad Pitt (yeah, I have a soft spot for him, too), and I was in love with the film.

You’d think that’d be enough to have a special bond with a film, but there’s one more bit to it all, and a rather profound one at that.  Seeing this film shortly after seeing Django had me notice something quite peculiar.  In Django, Christoph Waltz was quite obviously ‘the good guy’ of the film.  He had obvious morals that were oh-so-lacking in the other characters, plus he was totally BA* with his skills and tactics and sense of style.  In a way, in the time and place of Django, being German was ideal, and being American was kind of terrible.  (Do you see where this is going?)

Now, look at “Inglorious Basterds”.  Are the roles not 100% switched?  Christoph Waltz, whose character once was somewhat idolized for his status of being German, now was considered the worst of the worst in morals because he was German.  And the Americans were appropriately on the high ground this time.  Had it been another actor, I’m not sure I would have made quite the same connection.  But I found it amazing that this one man – and yes, I am aware that Christoph Waltz was not present for any of these actual periods of history, but just roll with it – could, at one point in time, be honored and respected for being himself (German), and, at the next, be despised and hated for being himself (German).

And so, I have this forever attachment and special relationship with “Inglorious Basterds”, which also inevitably drags along a bit of moral contemplation on the mentality of the human species throughout the course of human events (especially conflict).  And, of course, Christoph Waltz.  None of this would have truly linked together so well without his wonderful collaboration with Quentin Tarantino, as well as his total enrollment in the characters he played (I truly loved the one, and was distraught by his death, and despised the other, hoping throughout the film for his immediate death.).  Nods and hats off to you, sir.  And Quentin Tarantino – you’re awesome, too, sir.

 

🙂

 

*bad-ass

Post-a-day 2017

 

What’s in Your Pockets?

I don’t have much to say to this other than that there really is something special about the things I find in my pockets.  It’s as though, the more pockets I have, the more things I carry around in them.  And, the more I carry around in my pockets, the more ridiculous the things end up being.

Today’s poll results:

Coin-purse (complete with coins and a tiny paper crane)
Toilet paper
House key
Pantyliner
Phone
Pen
Tissue
Boatload of loose coins
Small pack of tissues
More loose tissues
Headphones
**There’s supposed to be chap-stick in here, too, but I left that at home unknowingly

I’d say today is a rather average and boring day for my pockets – it’s usually much more exciting, really.  I wonder what there is to learn about one another based on our pocket contents…

 

Post-a-day 2017

 

Beer & Cigarettes

Chatting with an acquaintance recently, I sort of weasled some interesting information out of him.  The weasling wasn’t exactly intentional, – I was genuinely just curious – and it was more that he opened up after I shared information about my family and friends, as well as the general population in the US.  But it was still some info that he was obviously super-hesitant to share.

It all came from our chit-chat about nothing special, and our never-ending back-and-forth about his smoking.  We both agree that smoking is something terrible, both for individuals and the world at large.  And we both agree that he is 100% addicted, and doesn’t really feel like he’ll fall to bits in his early- to mid-forties.  So we occasionally have little goofy bits of conversation, which leave us both tickled and chuckling, usually as he goes off to smoke a cigarette.

A recent little anecdote was when he asked how I was doing, since he knew I’d been sick.  I commented that I was doing alright, but was tired and had a bit of a cough still.
“Oh, me, too,” he said, accompanied with a coughing gesture.
“Oh, you’ve been sick, too?!” I express, concerned.
“No…  Because I smoke.”
We both laughed.  And coughed, actually.

And so goes our acquaintanceship, for the most part.

Recently, however, as we were chatting about the browning of his teeth, and that it does not match the obvious effort he puts into his daily physical appearance, I happened to ask him when he even started smoking.  He smiled, and got real quiet for a minute, and I wondered if he was figuring out what to say.

“Twenty,” he finally said.
I raised my eyebrows.
“When I was twenty,” he repeated.
“Really?” I declared with pure doubt.  (Think SNL’s “Really” skit from Weekend Update.)

He then reminded me unnecessarily that 20 is the age in Japan for smoking, I asserted my knowledge of the fact, and we moved on.  I talked about how I remember my brother discussing his secret first cigarette, shared with siblings in the backyard as kiddos.  I described the general standard for kids in the US with their first cigarettes and first drinks of alcohol, and how everything pretty much seems to happen around high school.

Eventually, this acquaintance, with a lowered voice, suddenly had a new story.  No longer was he the follow-every-rule individual he initially (albeit hesitantly) declared himself to be.  He was, in fact, just like all the kids back home.  First drinks (beer) were at 16, and the first cigarette was not long afterward.

Now, there are two main things I pulled from this conversation.  1) I wonder if this is standard for Japan, the way it is for the US.  2) Was this bit of honesty a step towards our becoming friends, instead of just remaining mere acquaintances?

I, of course, know the answer to neither of those inquiries.  However, I have a mind to figure them out!  Plus, I’m really glad he opened up to me with the truth of it all.  Not that it’s necessarily any big deal, but with how closed off people have felt to me here, it was really refreshing to have some openness, and on something that seemed rather sensitive.  (Okay, there’s a third things that came out o f the conversation: What is the Japanese viewpoint on breaking that law of ‘No one under 20’?  How quiet he grew and how unsure he was at first about answering my casual question really make me wonder…)  😀

 

Post-a-day 2017

 

Happiness and secret crushes

Today, I was incredibly happy to be where I was, ready to help out with the seminar where I was volunteering.  I was doing my work, smiling gladly, when my secret crush walked in – and I couldn’t have been more ecstatic for the afternoon.

I couldn’t stop grinning hugely. Perhaps I was grinning like a fool, but I was a happy one, and I’m okay with that. : )

Post-a-day 2017

Food with its own standards

I totally respect the French approach to cuisine; I really do.  It’s amazing what can be produced from such a philosophy and background, and I have reaped benefits from it many a times over the years.  However, there is something to be said about the places and people who go purely for quality of taste, with little regard for presentation.  In other words, the hole-in-the-wall kind of places.

Sitting at the small counter in a restaurant for maybe 20 people just now, I watched one guy lopping together fresh gyoza (Japanese dumplings) with his hands and a spoon.  A few minutes later, my bowl of ramen (a sort of Japanese noodle soup) was set in front of me.  I noticed a trickle of the soup on the side of the bowl, as well as a smear of the gyoza wrapper dough.  My thoughts, far from appalled, simply said, “Well, this place is definitely not about the presentation.”

For me, of all people, this is a somewhat surprising response.  However, AAawwzc —-that was a small tangent in which I stopped to pet and squabble with and be kissed by a little fluffy, curly-haired, three-year-old dog (Moku-Moku) on the street… now back — the food, as my experience yesterday at this same shop can attest, as well as the throng of people waiting to eat there later in the evening, as I passed it on my way home, is wonderful.  It’s kind of like the grown men who run the shop care for little else – including presentation and looks – than sharing their good food.  And I think that is wonderful.

And, obviously, it’s delicious, too. ;P
Post-a-day 2017

Nonsense or not?

I sometimes feel like it’s just a whole lot of nonsense that I’m writing on here.*  And I sometimes wonder about why I even bother, because it feels like a whole lot of nonsense.  Yet, there is something that these writings do for me.  Somehow, they open up something within me… perhaps it’s that they’re helping me to be the me that I not only truly am, but also want to be.

I don’t know, of course, as everything is just conjecture here. But there is something about this weblog that is huge for me, in an almost-tangible way.  I can feel my breathing ease whenever I think about what this weblog is for me.  It’s like me being me or something.

Anyway, it means a lot to me, even though I’m not quite sure what it all is, and even though it feels like a bunch of… well, nothings.  Hmm… guess it really is a lot like Kathleen Kelly after all.  😛

Anyway, I just wanted to share that.  So thanks for letting me write, world, and thanks, Nicole, for getting me on this weblog in the first place, and for holding me accountable and helping me win a plan with which I could work.  🙂
Post-a-day 2017

*If you’re seeing an odd parallel to Kathleen Kelly right now, too, bonus points to you.  🙂

Soundtrack to life

Tonight, I dedicate my writing to the songs that make a soundtrack to life.  Riding home on the train this evening, exhausted, watching the lights blip on and off in the darkness as the world glided cooly by, my forehead and hand pressed against the glass of the door to block out the light inside the train, I noticed how the song in my ears was a perfect fit to the soundtrack for that scene of my life.

I truly don’t know what song it was, – something new from NoiseTrade – but I know that it was perfect.  If someone were filming my life at that moment, – what I was watching anyway, and how I was feeling – the song would have been what was playing with the clip.  That hopeful, I can make it, even though life is hard and lonesome at times feeling was so clear, I wanted to know what happened next in the movie.  Alas, it’ll be weeks before the next five minutes of that film make themselves clear (movies are such cheaters on time), but I’ll hang in there – I’m here for the long haul, anyway.  😛

It wasn’t as good as the time I was saying goodbye to the acrobats in Dallas (another time, and I’ll tell all, song included), at which point my life really was like a scene from a movie, soundtrack and all.  But it was still a good one.  It reminded me a bit of the power of music, the things it can do to the mind – give us hope when we’re hopeless, lift us when we’re down, energize us when we’re exhausted, sober us when we’re going a bit nuts-o.  Music is like love, but more easily acknowledged and with benefits more often reaped.

So, tonight, I say a hearty thank-you to music and to those who create it.  Especially to the ones that work so beautifully as soundtracks for life.  Thank you.  Thank you, all.  🙂

 

Post-a-day 2017

 

Home is best shared

I think I have reasoned well enough that I want always to have someone living with me.  There is too much that I miss out on by living alone, I don’t want to do it again.  Most of my time living alone, I make efforts to find ways not to be home alone (or at least feel like I am at home alone).  My own bedroom and bathroom is plenty of alone space for me, for my nighttime relaxation and settling down.  I want common spaces to be common spaces.  Plus, without someone around, how else do I keep the place cleaned up, huh?  I’m too comfortable with clutter, to accustomed to it, to do anything about it until it gets really bad.

Life is just easier with someone else always coming around.  And the easiest way to have someone come around is to have someone living here, you know?

Yeah, I want a flatmate forever.  🙂

 

Post-a-day 2017

 

Japanese Health Clinic

My experience today with Japanese health was an interesting one.  I walked to a clinic in my neighborhood late this morning, because I had intense flu symptoms all weekend, and I needed a note to miss work.  I wasn’t feeling so great today anyway, as I had already suspected would be the case last night, but my supervisor from work told me that I just needed to stay home today no matter what, and go to a doctor at some point for the doctor’s note.

Why?  Well, apparently schools have a very specific protocol for people with influenza.  If you have influenza, I was told, the first day you have fever counts as Day 0.  After Day 5, you are allowed to return to school. (So six days total that you must remain absent from school.)  However, you must have at least 48 hours between the time you last had a fever and the time you return to school.  So, while it can be longer, you have a minimum influenza quarantine of sorts of six days, no matter what.

Now, for my job, we have a differentiation between personal/vacation days and sick days.  However, to set your sick days as sick days, you need a doctor’s note.  And, by a doctor’s note, they really just mean the dated receipt that you are given when you pay your 20-ish dollars at the end of your visit to the doctor.  So, I had to go see a doctor today in order not to have to take three days of vacation days for my required absence (read banishment) from school this week.

I found the clinic alright, despite the name having been misspelled in the e-mail to me about the clinic.  Walking in, I noticed that, naturally, nothing was in English.  I had no idea what to do, but saw a small room with benches and people, and a small desk-type area that was not very reception-y.  A lady approached me and handed me one of their white masks*, which I accepted gracefully, as I asked if anyone spoke any English.**  She said that the doctor knew some, and so I wandered into the waiting room behind her.

She asked for my insurance card, which I gave, and then attempted to pronounce my name, which is written quite clearly on the card in Japanese lettering (katakana).  For those who don’t know, you can’t mispronounce this sort of thing, because each ‘letter’ only has one way to be pronounced, no matter how it is combined with other ‘letters’,  Nonetheless, I had to help her read the name aloud for some reason.  Whatever…

So I sat and waited on one of the benches.  One of the ladies came back with some paperwork for me to fill out (yes, in Japanese), and handed me a small thermometer.  I had some hesitation in using it, though I couldn’t quite tell why.  Nonetheless, I eventually stuck it in my mouth, and it proved that my fever had, indeed, resided.

As I waited, more people arrived and did as I had done, minus asking about the English.  I eventually noticed that there was only one thermometer, and that the lady would do one single, quick (with no twist or anything) swipe of the bottom part of it with what looked like an alcohol swab each time after someone new used it.  I solidly decided not to think about it – I already had germs enough in me to manage for this week – , but I made an inner snarky comment of If I wasn’t already infected, I sure will be now before setting it aside.

Eventually, a version of my name was said over this scratchy speaker in the ceiling, and I was summoned to room #1.  I found out after this little bit that my supervisor had already called and mentioned that I was coming, and so perhaps she gave enough details for their concerns, because I found it rather odd how the doctor instantly asked me, ‘So, you might have influenza?’ and then asked only two or three other questions before shoving the swab thing up my nose for the 60% success rate rapid flu diagnostic test.

It was only when the test came out negative a while later, and I responded with a ‘Seriously?’ to the doctor’s confident declaration that I ‘just have a cold’, that the doctor asked my symptoms.  For the previous three-ish days, I had had high fever, intense muscle pain all over my body, a horrendous and throbbing headache (even causing my hearing to be pained), and a sore chest with some coughing, and I hardly could get out of bed for anything other than the bathroom or more water.  Today, however, things were significantly improved, and my fever had finally broken yesterday (so, no more fever today, but still low-level aches and pains of all sorts).

Nonetheless, – and I partially attribute this to a lost-in-translation bit – he prescribed me a different medicine for each of these ailments, to last me for five days.  I went and sat in the waiting area for the third and final time, before being called up to the desk again, paying about $20 US, being given two receipts and my insurance card, and being pointed to the building across the street.

Across the street, I used my Google Translate app to translate a questionnaire about ‘Are you pregnant?”, ‘Do you have any history of severe illness?’, ‘What allergies do you have?’ and the likes (plus one question I never quite figured out about ‘Generic Medicine’ or something), waited a few minutes, and then paid just over $5 US for a baggie full of medicines I didn’t want.  (Really, I just wanted the receipt from my doctor’s visit, and then to go back home and have a green smoothie and some sleep.)  But, hey, at least it all cost me only about $25 US for the visit and the meds.  Could have been much worse than that.

When I called back my supervisor, at her request, to inform her of the results and the rest of my visit, she said she’d talk to the Vice Principle and call me back after a while.  About ten minutes later, she called and informed me that, though the Vice Principle was on a business trip for the day, she, the head of teachers, and the school nurse had all convened and decided that, despite the rapid flu test, I had the flu, and so can not return to school until Thursday at the earliest (and even later, if I am still sick Thursday), and that it would all count as sick days (since I had gone to the doctor today).  She said she would inform my visit school of this, she wished me well, and she told me to call if I needed anything these next few days on my own.  I thanked her, and that was that.

So, I unofficially officially have the flu.

 

*I must admit, I have a sort of odd phobia against these masks.  I think they remind me of the feeling of being stuck under the blankets too long in bed, making the air super stuffy and hard to breathe, but then add in the factor of their being hooked around your ears, like then pressing the blankets against your mouth, increasing the intense suffocation and decreasing the chance of fresh air entering your mouth or nostrils… and so these masks elicit in me a sort of instant panic whenever I consider actually putting one on my face.

**Okay, I realize I am in Japan.  I am not aiming to disrespect their culture by wanting English here.  I simply do not know enough Japanese to work my way through a medical visit, in which every detail counts, and the slightest misunderstanding could be incredibly troublesome and even dangerous.