Recently, I was reminiscing about all the food I long to eat in the United States. Pizza with layers of real mozzarella cheese and pepperoni, a fat breakfast of steak and eggs, doused in Frank’s Red Hot, a Mexican Pizza and a few MexiMelts from Taco Bell after drinking all night, a REAL hot dog, etc. That got me thinking: Had my diet changed much since I moved to Japan two years ago. The answer, like most of us that have come from another country, is an unequivocal “yes.” But how much has it changed? Is it healthier? Better tasting? Let’s do the math …

FOOD

It took me some time to warm up to Japanese food. The sight of a roll stuffed with soba noodles left me a little ill, listening to people slurp away at a bowl of noodles didn’t help, and the smell of fried octopus or natto is enough to put me off my lunch. I admit: I am one picky bastard. Don’t gasp too much, but I hate the following: mushrooms (a staple of Japanese food, unfortunately), cucumbers, celery, tomatoes, bananas, etc. This makes for some tough choices in Tokyo, especially considering I eat the school lunch at elementary and junior high schools five days a week. I worked around the issue by telling the kids I have allergies, but really, I’m starting to just shovel stuff in my mouth and trying not to think about what’s in it. On the plus side, I love ramen, udon, okonomiyaki, yakitori, yakiniku, miso soup and sushi/sashimi. Also, I can hit up my beloved Sukiya (or Matsuya/Yoshinoya) for a cheap meal. It’s healthier than McDonald’s or Wendy’s, which is also available here, and it’s cheaper. But the U.S. is home to a better brand of beef, not to mention the usual carb-loaded dishes I love: mashed potatoes, sub sandwiches and the like. And my favorite food of all-time is a simple hot dog with mustard cooked on the grill. My kingdom for a decent hot dog in Tokyo … and how about some decent cheese?

Taste: U.S.
Variety: U.S.
Health: Japan
Overall: U.S.

BEVERAGES

I’m not even going to go into beer or alcoholic beverages. That’s another story. For basic refreshment, Tokyo is hard to beat because of the slew of vending machines and the miracle of tea. It took me a while to understand that cold green tea or wheat tea (mugi-cha) slays my thirst in the summer and keeps me hydrated. Ditto for Aquarius and Pocari Sweat. I rank C.C. Lemon near the top as my favorite drink in Japan, and the country also has Red Bull, decent cans of coffee (Fire Special being my top choice), Coca-Cola, Sprite, Mountain Dew and the usual array of sugary drinks from the West. The U.S. is home to all things carbonated, and while I prefer being on native soil for a lot of comforts, there isn’t much overseas that Japan hasn’t imported. However, the chocolate milk problem here is disgraceful. That Van Houten crap just doesn’t cut it; the only positive is that it reminds me of “The Simpsons.”

Taste: U.S.
Variety: Japan
Health: Japan
Overall: Japan

So where does Japan rank for you in terms of food and drink? Is takoyaki up your alley, or do you think it tastes like wads of seasoned rubber? Does green tea soothe your parched throat in summer? Can you hype me to some decent chocolate milk, or better yet, a simple hot dog?

Let’s hear it, all you connoisseurs.

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Grizzled, determined archaeologist Indiana Jones crouches in front of a bizarre, fascinating golden idol. The John Williams score needles in and out. Jones runs a hand across his stubble, trying to guess the weight of the artifact. He reaches into his sack and pulls out a handful of sand. Slowly, he lets the grains fall, first a bit, then the entire fistful. The tension is thick. Finally, Jones deftly replaces the idol with the bag of sand. Everyone heaves a collective sigh. Then the whole cave structure starts falling apart. After that, well, you know the rest. Something to do with a huge boulder, an indigenous South American tribe and an asshole French rival who would rather steal than earn.

Images such as this are the reason “Raiders of the Lost Ark” has such an endearing legacy and is quite possibly the top action film ever made. It might even be one of the best films ever made, period. The 1981 movie came at a time when the team of George Lucas and Steven Spielberg were in their creative prime. Everything in “Raiders” crackles. There are no wasted scenes, no filler, so the audience is treated to a pure sampling of what films are supposed to be — an escape, a thinkpiece, a release, plain-old entertainment. On the eve of the final (?) installment of the Indiana Jones series (a June 21 release in Tokyo), it’s certainly worth revisiting the start of the evolution of a franchise, the film that ultimately panned out as the greatest of the four. Here’s why …

CASTING
Harrison Ford was white-hot when he got the role. We all know it was supposed to be Tom Selleck. Thank God for Magnum P.I. contracts. Though I have heard through fellow film writers Ford is a righteous prick these days, no one was better suited to handle the title character. He’s a good-looking, charismatic everyman. The kind of guy you actually think could exist in real life as this character. Ford injected Indiana Jones with a stellar blend of grit, wit, and morality. The perfect combination for a reluctant hero. Karen Allen was also phenomenal as Marion Ravenwood, though her performance never received its proper due. She’s a leading lady, but she’s no wimp. Not many damsels can drink a huge Nepalese man under the table, open fire on Nazis with a high-caliber aircraft gun or knock some crooked-toothed bandit out cold with a frying pan. She and Ford had great chemistry. But I always contend it’s the supporting players who have the ability to elevate a film from good to great. John Rhys-Davies, Paul Freeman, Denholm Elliott and Ronald Lacey (see my avatar for more on my love for Major Arnold Toht) lend strong aid as minor, yet wholly memorable characters.

MUSIC
A no-brainer. John Williams, Spielberg and Lucas together? That’s movie magic, folks. Pick a scene and you can almost always recall the music that went along with it. The savvy theme song, the romantic strings played when Indy and Marian are together, the mysterious music played whenever the ark is in play or mentioned, and, the pinnacle — the get-fired-up, pounding soundtrack that bursts in when Indy, on horseback, comes blasting down the hill in an effort to take back the ark from a convoy of Nazis.

PLOT
Lucas often talks of the “MacGuffin,” which is essentially the foundation for the entire plot of his film. The main character is always chasing something. In this case, it’s a biblical item, yet it’s somehow believable. Adolf Hitler really could have desired the ark for its supposed powers, pitting Nazi Germany against a fedora-wearing, whip-wielding professor who isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. The story just seems to come together without many holes; the creators ask for a little blind faith, but beyond that the writing is crisp and the dialogue is not as contrived as many other action flicks.

If that’s not enough, here are my five favorite scenes:

1. SOUTH AMERICA: It seems somewhat lame to choose this as the best scene in the movie. After all, there’s so much more to come. But from the opening, when the Paramount Picture mountain fades into a real mountain, it’s clear Spielberg spent some time on making the intro special. You don’t see Indy’s face until the bandit pulls a gun on him and he steps into the light. Bloody brilliant. Watch “E.T.” again if you don’t think Spielberg himself was in love with keeping cameras away from faces to increase curiosity. And, I already talked about the part with the idol. I could watch it over and over.

2. TRUCK? WHAT TRUCK?: I discussed the music from this scene, but not the actual action. It starts with Indy on a horse and ends with him completely kicking the shit out out the Nazis. He takes over a truck, gets shot in the arm, somehow survives falling under a moving vehicle, exacts vengeance on the Nazi who threw him under the truck, then bashes the luxury sedan carrying all the Nazi heavies and speeds off with the ark.

3. BALD NAZI: This is the reason Indiana Jones is so money. When a hulking, bald Nazi steps in to fight him, Jones isn’t brave and hardass. In fact, he’s scared and resorts to fighting dirty. It’s only when he lands a flurry of haymakers and blows the guy’s face out that you can see his will. And even then, he gets knocked to the dirt and only gets away after an unfortunate incident involving a propellor.

4. WELL OF SOULS: The snakes add a nice touch, but it’s the banter between Indy and Marian and their clever escape that make the scene memorable. Running on empty and running out of flames, Jones kicks an ancient statue through another wall, comforts Marion after she sees a boa squirming through a skull’s mouth and pushes a huge brick until they see daylight and escape.

5. TOHT HANGER: Marion gets Belloq drunk and thinks she has a way to escape. As she scoots toward the exit of the tent, she runs straight into Toht, who uses a vice grip on her arm to force her into dropping the knife. He then makes an amusing crack about Americans before pulling out what appears to be a choking device. Instead, he smoothly bends it into a coat hanger and has a bootlicking subordinate hang his leather jacket for him. (Runner-up: The scene where Toht intimidates Marion and labels Indiana Jones “nefarious,” just before his “Let me show you what I am used to dealing with …” line.)

As an aside, I am not optimistic about “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull,” but I am planning to see it at the theater anyway. The franchise took far too much time bickering over scripts and money to create something great. Instead, they have to settle for a geriatric Jones and beg that lamewad Shia LaBeouf will coax high school girls into the theaters. Pretty weak effort, I’d predict.

I would love to hear comments, memories, criticisms, etc. from the community. Do you think Short Round is the bee’s knees? Did Sean Connery’s incessant uttering of “Junior. Junior. Junior” drive you up the wall? Am I a sadistic bastard for loving Toht?

In 1964, the Summer Olympics were held in Tokyo. What I did not realize until about 15 seconds ago (thanks Wikipedia) is that my own hometown of Detroit was somehow in the running for the bid. The Motor City finished a distant second. Thank goodness, too. Though hosting an international competition might have helped Detroit preserve its prestige as a top American city rather than devolve into the depressing cesspool it has become, the ‘64 games gave Japan a chance to showcase how far along it had come since WWII. Held in October (summer, huh?), the summer games featured the usual dogfight between the U.S. and Soviet Union in overall success (the Capitalists had more gold, the Comrades had more medals) as well as host Japan nabbing a respectable fourth-place finish, complete with 16 gold trinkets to wear. The ‘64 Olympic Games were groundbreaking; it was the first time the event was held in Asia. That helped paved the way for Seoul’s 1988 Olympics (in which boxer Roy Jones, Jr. was robbed of a gold; I still can’t discuss it without tears welling up) and this year’s games in Beijing.

What’s the point, you ask? As usual, there is none. No, wait. There is. (Inner monologue ending …) Tokyo again finds itself in contention to host an Olympics. Other than the 1998 Winter Games in Nagano, when the U.S. hockey team showed its pride by trashing the tatami quarters they were housed in, Japan has been waiting to get another crack at the worldwide stage. Our fair home is now in contention for the 2016 Summer Olympics. Yep, that’s eight years from now. But in this game, you have to start early. So can the city pull it off? Let’s take a look …

FACILITIES

The Good: Tokyo has plenty of stadiums and buildings left over from the ‘64 Games. National Stadium, Yoyogi Park and Budokan are still available, and no doubt the city would sink money into new building projects to ensure that its state-of-the-art reputation is intact.

The Bad: No matter how much you renovate a 44-year-old building, it’s still going to be old. And can Tokyo really squeeze any more buildings into its already bursting metropolis?

The Ugly: Have you seen some of the leftover buildings? I’m not Howard Roark, but even I can spot a lame architectural design.

TRANSPORTATION

The Good: By 2016, visitors will likely be impressed that Tokyo’s extensive trains and subways are still safe, cheap and convenient. Or maybe we can all take our rocket cars. Who knows? Both Narita and Haneda, though small airports, would suffice for international travel.

The Bad: For one, crowds. Japan is not China. It will not ship all the homeless and working poor to another part of the country in an effort to sweep crap under the rug. So people will be clogging every nook and cranny in the city come Olympics time.

The Ugly: Picture this: The Yamanote Line trains filled to the gills with drunk Japanese and Korean fans hot on the heels of a Japan victory over Korea in some event.

ACCOMMODATION

The Good: Lots of hotels. This is an international city, so no surprise there. Probably not the cheapest place to stay for a week or two, but there should be sufficient availability for early birds. Mama-san at the ryokan better bust out the sweepin’ broom, too.

The Bad: Pricey and small. The average Westerner has a lot of extra, shall we say, “girth,” than the average Japanese person. So when Big Tom, his wife, Jeannie, and the hefty children open the door to their two-bed hotel room, there might be some issues.

The Ugly: The love hotels might have to clean up a bit before the Games begin. Foreigners would be wise to bring along blacklights if they get stuck at one of these joints.

OVERALL

The Good: I’d say Tokyo has a good shot at winning the bid for the ‘16 Games. The city has a history with the Olympics, it’s safe, convenient and unique. The best argument for Tokyo is the fact many facilities already are in use and the city itself is clean and accessible. It’s also important to note Tokyo had the highest bid score (8.3) of the remaining four locations.

The Bad: Beijing is hosting this year. London has 2012. But will the committee consider sending it right back to Asia if the other cities in the running, Chicago, Madrid and Rio de Janeiro, produce a compelling argument? Madrid is probably in the No. 2 slot, with Chicago as a dark horse along the same line as London, which came from nowhere to take the ‘12 slot.

The Ugly: Having to hear “shoganai” over and over and over and over and over if Tokyo doesn’t nab the bid.

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DOUBLE FEATURE OF DEATH: Rambo and Battle Royale

RAMBO
Apparently, John Rambo was right: Nothing is over. As the world exerted a collective snigger after Sylvester Stallone announced there would be a new “Rambo” film — the fourth of the franchise — coming on the heels of the final “Rocky” installment, I joined in.

As much as I loved the overall scope of “First Blood” and the ridiculous 80s excess of “Rambo: First Blood, Part II,” I had little to no confidence that a new story involving the most pissed-off Vietnam vet in history would fly. In fact, I expected the worst. Then I watched it. It was one of the biggest surprises I’ve encountered in my film-watching career. Not only is it action-packed, it’s just plain-old good.

Let’s get this straight: No one in their right mind can enter the theater thinking they are going to come out a more intelligent or well-rounded person because they took in a Rambo flick. Not happening. But Stallone’s effort (he also directed and co-wrote) is exactly what it needs to be: an action film for guys; no cutesy romance, no 45-minute-long buildup. What it brings is the meat-and-potatoes of violent action. Heads are blown off. Limbs are removed. Guts are ripped open with impunity. Bad guys are total dicks. Good guys are sort of dicks but have good one-liners. Explosions abound. In fact, the sheer gore of the final Rambo tale is a touch startling, even for 2008.

Having fought an unwinnable social battle on his own soil, getting one back for the U.S. in Vietnam, and scaring the life out of evil regimes in Afghanistan, a visibly older, botoxed, bloated John J. Rambo is plying his trade as a snakes-for-cash vigilante in Thailand. When a group of do-gooders ask him to ferry them into war-torn Myanmar, Rambo eventually gives in and the adventure begins.

Stallone is at the very least apprised of the real situation in the former Burma. There is a lot of bad stuff going down with the Junta government, and the violent atrocities are piling up. The film takes place in a relevant area for our times, and perhaps that’s what makes the story seem so urgent and apropos to our current world. What sets “Rambo” apart from the countless other blood-and-guts shoot-em’ ups is Stallone’s deft hand at knowing what the public wants in a movie. This is the guy who owned the 80s with his two franchises, raking in close to a billion dollars in profits. He understands how to keep an action flick moving along. By the time the shooting stops and the smoke clears, Sly finds himself in a good place. And now, maybe, John J. Rambo can relax in retirement. Maybe.

4/5

BATTLE ROYALE
Cult classics are among the first movies I typically flock to. They’re the word-of-mouth, under-the-radar secrets that often offer a rewarding experience. Sort of like Frank’s Red Hot, that hole-in-the-wall ramen shop or HBO’s “The Wire.” Partially because of bizarre distribution in the U.S., I was not able to see “Battle Royale” for years — sometimes I plain forgot about it, more often I couldn’t find a decent rental copy. But the movie is a definitive cult classic, having recently been revisited by The A.V. Club’s excellent “The New Cult Canon” series (for a more introspective Battle Royale feature, check out: http://www.avclub.com/content/feature/the_new_cult_canon_battle ).

Why? First, because the story is deliciously evil: Japanese middle school kids are forced to kill one another on a deserted island until one remains. Everyone gets a weapon and some equipment, and then it’s off to the jungle to fight, hide or attempt to escape. The main
protagonists, Shuya and Noriko, try their best to stay together and not participate in the carnage. Other students openly embellish a chance to snuff out classmates. And still another “transfer student” is a sheer psychopath, playing second fiddle in raw evil only to saucy class slut Chiaki Kuriyama, a black widow if ever there was one. What ties the movie together is the teacher (Takeshi Kitano) who is pulling the strings in a very calculating, mild manner. [Note: I work at a middle school, and I can picture a few of the teachers there playing the same role with aplomb.] “Battle Royale” soars because of its social impact: Not surprisingly, a few students off themselves right off the bat rather than fight; bullying can be seen here and there; cliques exist, even on the battlefield; the rift between adults and kids is far and wide. A few minor gaffes aside, this movie still holds its own as both an amusing watch and a closer inspection of Japan’s culture of youth.

4/5

Note: Rambo is currently showing in theaters here in Japan

First, let’s clear the air: Tokyo has a tremendous public transportation system. It’s convenient, reasonable and expansive, not to mention pretty easy to understand for foreign types. My hometown (Detroit, MI) would have benefitted greatly from such a system. Instead, awful political leadership over the past 30 years has relegated the city to being a total stinktown where people only drive in and drive out on a daily basis. There’s no pipeline of public transportation that leads to the epicenter. Expect Motown to be completely abandoned in another 30 years.

OK, back to the point. Tokyo’s sparkling public train and subway system is a joy. It’s the people inside all the subway and train cars that suck. There will always be a rude, busy, city-dweller vibe to Tokyo inhabitants, but it’s never more crystal clear than on the daily commutes. This is the time when almost all passengers, in one way or another, completely forget what mommy and daddy were supposed to teach them all those years ago. Namely, manners. Or, for lack of a better term, train etiquette. if you’ve ridden the rails here, you already know what I mean. And before it appears as if I’m firing from some ivory tower, I know my own behavior can be suspect at times. But I will defend myself with this: I almost always stand on the train or metro and if not will always give my seat up to a woman, child, person older than me, etc., I always shut my trap, I always have my cell phone set to manner mode and I never read books, newspapers, documents, et al. during the ride.

Sadly, this can’t be said for 95 percent of the other passengers. It’s always something. A lot of Japanese people get a pass (the elderly, children) because you can’t blame innocence or ignorance, but I’ll be damned if the rest of the commuters (remember, this definitely includes foreigners) don’t piss me off on a daily basis. There are some basic types of travelers that commit the same faux pas each and every frickin’ day.

Mr. Important: This guy can get under your skin before the train has even been boarded. He’s the salaryman who decides because he’s a hotshot sempai at work, he doesn’t need to wait in line with the other commoners. So he splits the middle between the two lines, doesn’t wait for the other passengers to disembark, and bulls his way to a seat or a coveted corner near the door.

spartancus’ solution: Keep out what Billy West calls “The Elbow” in a cocked position and leave it in front of said salaryman when the doors open. Should he try to get by, just let him run into your widowmaker. I did this recently — was having a bad morning and the guy was a real dick — and also said “I don’t think so.” The guy slunk off to a corner and got on his phone, presumably to cry to the police. Or maybe he called his mom.

Ms. Jabberjaw: This is usually a two-person operation. A pair of genki Japanese girls board and just start gabbing away about the usual mundane, superficial crap in their lives. It wouldn’t be so bad if the volume were respectable, but apparently droning on about the brand new fake eyelashes on the market requires substantial squealing and clapping.

spartancus’ solution: Give em’ a once-over glare that would send a prison guard running. If that doesn’t work, turn up your iPod. If it’s a gaggle of high school girls, forget it. Just change cars.

Oldie Von Moldie: Like I said, old people get a pass. But not the very aware, very evil old ladies who know they can steal a spot in line, push past you, or orchestrate a hostile takeover of a seat because you won’t do anything. The worst are the troll-like ones who are dead-set on being in one specific part of the car. God help you if you get in the way.

spartancus’ solution: Roll your eyes. Shoganai.

Oblivious Gaijin: If it’s the weekend, and it’s peak drinking time, they’re everywhere. But I hand out a pass because they’re drunk and stupid, and damned if I haven’t gone through life in the same manner. No, I’m talking about the everyday, non-sign-reading, cell-phone talking, loud foreigners. I’ve seen idiots from my own country lounging in the specialty seating areas while a pregnant mom with two kids stood watching. Far too many times, I have had to hear what Person A thinks about Japanese Girl B’s body. And the next time I see one of these boobs blabbing on a cell phone, I’m going to lay down the thunder.

spartancus’ solution: If you’re up for it, explain the rules in Japan. It’s the only way to spread knowledge.

Psycho Aggressor: Primarily young Japanese men, these are the worst of the worst on trains and subways. Pent up rage from every corner of their daily life molds these youngsters into confused, scared, angry types who don’t know how to deal. So they act out in public as anonymous psychos; pushing, cursing, elbowing, glaring, touching, squeezing, poking … I once watched a guy elbow a poor young female office worker in the head repeatedly while she did nothing. (Believe me, I wanted to kick the schnitzel out of this cat). Chikans also fall under this umbrella, though I have yet to see one (I hope I do, so I can serve justice and then get deported).

spartancus’ solution: If you’re gutsy, make a move. But remember, if you get nailed by the cops, you’re likely out of Japan in a hurry or stuffed into a jail cell with even more perverts than a car on the Saikyo Line.

That covers the basics. Remember that there are a lot more things I’ll be touching on in the future, and please take everything I say with an industrial-size scooper of salt. But if you have stories to tell, we’d love to hear them. Or if you have solutions, I’m all ears …

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Editor’s Note: This is a rant. It is only a rant. It is not meant to indict an entire nation or its people. It is part of an ongoing series called, ‘Requiem For A Japan Rant.’ If you have any rants you’d like aired here at 7:10 to Tokyo, please submit them to info@sevententotokyo.com.

I love animals. When I was a young’n, I used to want to be a zoologist. Then I found out how much math is required to earn a degree in zoology and gave up on my dream. But even then, just as now, there were some animals I didn’t care much for. Specifically those of the pest variety. I always gave mice and snakes and whatnot a pass, but squirrels, pigeons and rats got no love from me. Fast forward to my time in Japan, where I have discovered a new pest to loathe.

That’s right: crows.

Many Japanese people share my sentiment, specifically in Tokyo, where the birds are everywhere. My first knock is the noise. Believe me, if you have crows living in your neighborhood like I do, it can be a real pain in the arse. Especially in the morning. That’s when these evil, black bastards are at their most rambunctious. It’s not just the constant, vociferous squawking, either; Crows are always rooting through the garbage, tearing it up and then quarreling over the scraps. This makes for noise and mess. On my walk to work one day, I saw what appeared to be an explosion that had scattered trash all over the usually spotless streets. But I knew better. The crows did it. Another thing that sucks is the intimidation factor. Take a close look at the average crow, and one thing stands out: that menacing, thick bill. You hear stories of people getting their heads buzzed in Tokyo by crows, and I can tell you with total honesty I would probably mess myself if one came soaring down to attack. But, I also have no qualms about taking a few gouges in an effort to snap the bugger’s neck in hopes its brethren will learn not to mess with us humans. Their talons are pretty thick and hardy as well; the perfect tool for tearing open Family Mart bags filled with stinking garbage or ripping away bits of scalp.
Before anyone labels me a vigilante, I will let it be known that I have never harmed a crow. But I will if I have to, if, justifying it in the words of John Rambo: “They drew first blood.” That likely will never happen, but just in case, I want a nice disclaimer if I’m facing deportation for manhandling a bird in front of a crowd.
Are there any solutions to the crow problem? Not really. Like their equally obnoxious friend the pigeon, crows have turned the city into their natural habitat. Good luck getting them out. Short of making it legal to kill crows, there’s not much to be done but grumble, or, as I did this week, silently celebrate the sight of a mangled crowd in the middle of the road in Shinjuku. Even the schoolkids I saw walking past seemed satisfied with the end result.
Next time: feral cats. Should I tell off the obahsans who feed them three times a day?

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Just a little over 20 games into the season, Major League Baseball is just getting going. For fans around the world, things are about to get interesting. But for fans of Japanese players, there’s already been some early noise. The biggest splash thus far had been made by outfielder Kosuke Fukudome, who signed a huge deal with the Chicago Cubs in the offseason after spending his entire career with the Chunichi Dragons of the Japan Professional League. The early dividends are paying off. Fukudome has quickly become a fan favorite — he’s the first Japanese player in the Cubs’ long, storied history — due to his bat and his arm. Through April 25, Fukudome is batting .338 with one homer, nine RBIs and 18 runs scored. In addition, he’s playing a pretty mean right field out there amongst all the ivy-covered walls at Wrigley Field. Chicago is currently in first place in the National League Central Division with a 15-7 record, and the hot start has fans of the championship-starved, snakebitten Cubbies thinking playoffs.

Just like when Daisuke Matsuzaka came overseas in a pricey deal with the Red Sox, I was skeptical when Fukudome and the Cubs reached terms on a deal. First of all, he’s 30 years old. So am I, but you won’t catch me running hard for more than 2-3 minutes and my reflexes have certainly slowed. Perhaps that famed Japan fountain of youth has Fukudome looking more like he’s 25. He’s certainly playing like it. Also, I don’t trust hitters from the JPL. That’s a bit elitist as an American and a lifelong baseball fan, but unless it’s a no-brainer like Ichiro or Hideki Matsui, the level of pitching and the length of the fences in Japan are inferior to those in the U.S. That’s simply fact. But hey, if this guy keeps it up, he won’t be the first Japanese player to prove me wrong.

Elsewhere in the league, old Dice-K is off to a solid start for a second straight season. After some shaky pitching last year in the playoffs (the Red Sox still won the title) Matsuzaka appears to have rounded back into form. He is a sparkling 4-0 with a 3.17 ERA and a team-high 28 strikeouts. On a grander scale, Matsuzaka has sparked Boston to a 15-9 start — good for first place in the always tough American League East Division. Ichiro is off to a lukewarm 2008 season, batting .260 with 18 runs scored and five stolen bases. History tells me he will hit an insane hot streak soon and his numbers will climb. Teammate Kenji Johjima is mired in a bit of a slump and is hitting .200, but his scrappy defensive play won me over when he came to the MLB and his hitting should also pick up. The honeymoon is long over for Tokyo native Tadahito Taguchi. Now with San Diego, he’s batting just .213 and has seen his playing time dwindle. Also seeing time with a new team is outfielder So Taguchi. The Phillies signed the Hyogo-ken native this offseason; he’s hitting a ho-hum .241 but has value as a reserve because of his glove and his speed on the bases.

We’ll check in again later to see how things are going for Japanese players overseas …

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As a college senior in 1999, I was living a pretty isolated existence. Stuck in a rundown apartment building (and paying the unbelievably low rent of $225 U.S. per month) the only thing I had going for me was a premium cable package that helped advance my growing interest in film. One film stood out in particular: Paul Thomas Anderson’s “Boogie Nights.” (Yes, the movie about the porno industry). I had never seen anything quite like it. The camerawork, the dialogue, the storytelling … everything about the film struck me as very focused and borderline brilliant. I watched that movie nearly a dozen times in the crappy apartment, often forcing unwilling friends to join me in the viewing. What I gathered after the onslaught of views was this: there is no one in film like Paul Thomas Anderson. While I will always consider “Boogie Nights” his opus, Anderson’s other work is impressive and equally unique. The criminally underrated “Hard Eight” is a simple drama set in Reno, Nevada that explores (as usual in PTA flicks) relationships and the seedy underbelly of humanity. This movie preceded “Boogie Nights.” The follow-up to “Boogie Nights” was “Magnolia,” an ambitious Robert Altman-esque spread of several interconnecting lives in Los Angeles. Complex, bold and checking in at over three hours, “Magnolia” cemented PTA as a premier American auteur and also helped make a ripple in the critics’ inner circle. “Punch Drunk Love,” a disturbing take on the love story, was not embraced by all, and though I consider it Anderson’s weakest film, I still find it charming. And so, with all of these credits under his belt, Anderson took a nice, long break that tortured his fans and started rumblings that he might have lost his touch; that his time was over. When it was revealed his next film would be an allegory based on an Upton Sinclair novel, there was a lot of head-scratching. This all went away when “There Will Be Blood” debuted in the U.S., where it tanked at the box office because the plot did not involve any groin kicks, mega-Hollywood stars or celebrity voiceovers. (OK, that’s a bit harsh, but at least now you can see the glass house I am typing in). The financial success mattered not. “There Will Be Blood” was a critical darling that walked away with two Oscars and would have had more if not for the fierce awards battle with the equally awesome “No Country For Old Men.” And so, just when Anderson’s star appeared to be fading, he emerged with his most mature, innovative and influential work to date.

THERE WILL BE BLOOD
There’s a scene where Daniel Plainview is staring at a burning oil derrick, his eyes blazing, black gold smearing most of his face. In fact, the only clean parts are around his eyes and mouth, giving off the appearance of a skull — or more aptly, a demon. That’s not far from the truth. Plainview, played with reckless, redoubtable brilliance by Daniel Day-Lewis, is the very definition of ambition gone awry; success at any cost. From his humble beginnings, we see Plainview’s efforts to build an oil empire, all the while stepping on as many heads as possible without looking down to survey the damage. “There Will Be Blood” is a revelation. Maybe not now, maybe 20 years from now, this film will be considered as one of the greatest in American history. Why? Because it succeeds on every level necessary for a one-of-a-kind movie experience. Pushing aside Day-Lewis’ eerily perfect turn as Plainview, “There Will Be Blood” features innovative, entrancing cinematography, a Jonny Greenwood-penned soundtrack that echoes Stanley Kubrick and adds a surreal dimension, and enough imagery and metaphor to keep a philosophy student awake for days. Heavy stuff, to be sure. And in every effort to give a fair assessment (for my love of Paul Thomas Anderson, see above), it is with the strongest conviction that I will label this as PTA’s crowning achievement. In one wrenching scene, Plainview states: “I have a competition in me. I want no one else to succeed. I hate most people.” This becomes plain as day as the story develops; from his bizarre relationship with his son, to a long-lost relative entering his life, to a nasty competition with a shifty preacher (played smartly by Paul Dano) the soulless protagonist is interested only in taking without consequence; of viewing the world on his terms only; of bilking stupid people out of everything they have. Hmm, any relevance there to the times we live in? Greed, oil, death and destruction? Vigilant entrepreneurship? Add to that some age-old conundrums (spiritualism vs. pragmatism, business vs. family, forgiveness vs. vengeance) and you have yourself a classic.

10/10

“There Will Be Blood” premieres in Japan April 26th.

It’s unfortunate that this is the inaugural review I am writing for sevententotokyo. Not that the film is that brutally heinous (though it’s not exactly a masterpiece). It’s just that I usually don’t get too involved in the horror genre these days. First, because I think the medium has been dead for years, and second, because I don’t scare easily. Cloverfield, overhyped from the start online, unfortunately relies on the recent shtick of using camera tricks and amateur actors. Hello, Blair Witch Project with monsters!

The tale revolves around Rob, who’s about to move to Japan (don’t do it, Rob!!) and is the recipient of a going-away party. Things are going poorly, mostly because his love interest is upset with him and his bumbling friend is making an ass of himself using the camcorder to document the bash. But things get infinitely worse when some sort of giant creature begins dismantling all of Manhattan. What follows is Rob and Co. making their way through the rubble and danger to try and reach his trapped ladyfriend. Some of the camerawork is decent, specifically when they go into “night vision” in the dark subway tunnels. There’s also some surprising humor that helps keep the story moving. But, as with a lot of recent horror fare, the plot involves too much undercooked character development and moments that go nowhere. Cloverfield is not supposed to be scary in the traditional sense; I suppose freaky would be a better adjective. While it succeeds on a minor level using the element of the unknown, overall it falls flat because of the herky-jerky pacing and cliched dialogue.

6/10

**SPOILERS BELOW**

A quick thought: What on earth is the creature? A fish monster? An alien? Some nuclear mistake? Whatever you decide, it is certainly thick-skinned. I mean, when you have a monster being carpet-bombed by B-52s as a last resort — to no avail — we’re talking about some seriously thick skin. The military lays an arsenal of ammo into the damned thing and it just goes on its merry way. And how does this thing just so happen to keep popping in on the same tiny group of tiny humans? Once is a coincidence. Twice and more is bad storytelling.

When I came to Japan for the first time in August 2006, I was steadfast in only one thing: I refused to live in Tokyo. Too expensive, too crowded, too annoying, too cosmopolitan, too cool. Considering the amount of money I brought over (enough for approxomately 12 meals at Sukiya), my Japanese language level (a poorly pronounced “arigato” and not much else) and the reputation for sweltering summers (I am a sweaty mess if it gets over 25 degrees), the Big Mikan was not an option. Instead, the company I worked for had placed me in Niigata, a two-hour shinkansen ride north. I spent about 18 months there. A little wiser to the ways of Japan and no longer ascared of the big, bad Tokyo, I moved to the Ikebukuro area a short time ago. So let us not be too judgemental in my comparison between the two places. After all, I just got here.

WEATHER

Tokyo: F#!@ing muggy as all hell in July and August. More enjoyable in the fall and winter months, with spring reigning as the most beautiful time of year. Plus, a lot of blue skies.

Niigata: F#!@ing muggy as all hell in July and August. (My recruiter had told me the summer wasn`t “all that bad” after I told him I hate humidity). The fall is sublime, but winter resembles an Ingmar Bergman flick with its constantly gray skies and chilly winds. Lotta snow, too.

Advantage: Tokyo

PEOPLE

Tokyo: In a word, uncaring. I know everyone is in a hurry and all, but how about a little human decency? Speaking from a public day-to-day perspective, Tokyo is all business and no heart. Service at stores is fine, but even neighbors seem a little too self-absorbed to give a rip. I tried introducing myself to a few people in my building but failed convincingly. Admittedly, gaijin down here are seen as just more warm bodies blocking the train exit, so the charm of being foreign is gone, but where is is the heart, man?

Niigata: A hell of a lot nicer. Maybe because the folks in Hokuriku do not get much of a chance to interact with other cultures. Maybe because there is more room to roam. Whatever the reason, people are generally courteous, kind and interested in keeping harmony. Not once did someone plow into me in a train station. And meeting new people is actually not so difficult in Niigata; sometimes a simple hello gets you in the door.

Advantage: Niigata

ENTERTAINMENT

Tokyo: Ubiquitous.

Niigata: Sparse.

Advantage: Tokyo

COST OF LIVING

Tokyo: Not as bad as I would have originally thought. You want cheap, you can find it, and more of it, too. Eating out is probably just as inexpensive as slaving over a hot single gas-burner. And oh, the choices! In one day, I saw Wendy’s, Denny’s, Matsuya, Sukiya, Yoshinoya, countless 100-yen toriniku stands, ramen shops under 600 yen, etc. … As for internet and utilities and whatnot, it appears to be the same everywhere in Japan. Clothes are more accessable too. Rent is ridiculous.

Niigata: Fresh produce and rice are a steal in Niigata. Lots of farmland there, so the product is always good and cheap. Unfortunately, the eating out choices are scarce. I probably sent the owner of the local Sukiya on a two-month cruise around the world I ate there so much. Standard costs of everyday living are acceptable, but the big boon is the cheap rent. I had a 14-mat apartment on the ninth floor, five minutes from the station, and it ran about 55,000 yen. Eat that, Tokyo.

Advantage: Push

So, for now, it’s Tokyo by a nose. Check back in a few months from now and see whether I have throttled any chikans, been ripped off at a recycle shop or jumped by kids whose hair resembles the “Lost Boys.” By then, I should have a much fairer assessment.