For Love of Da Robot: A Shout Out to Daft Punk

What is it about Daft Punk that makes people paint themselves with their lyrics and choreograph catchy little ditties for YouTube celebrity? If you have seen their videos online and listened to their music, you might have an idea, but true Daft Punkers will argue that you don't know what you're talking about unless you've been to a show. With fierce competition and jaw dropping prices to acquire tickets, few people are able to experience the electo-high of a Daft Punk show.

When the Da Funk Fest came to Toyko, Alive 2007 had just been released, fusing the energy of all those old favorites together, resulting in a seamless stream of power. I couldn't miss it, so I made the trip to Tokyo to pay homage to the French masters. Held in greater Tokyo's Makuhari Messe arena, I was surrounded by thousands of screaming fans from all over the world. When the curtain went up, neon light spilled onto the crowd, alternating static and lyrics, beaming incandescence onto the screaming, dancing mob. Famous for their love of robots, the French duo wear robot helmets at every show and make their radical electro-funk from inside of an enormous pyramid. The lighting is as important as the music; the glowing pyramid being the cornerstone of the Daft Punk image. Its radiance flickers over the raised hands of the crowd along with the music, starting with simple light flashes and building into full graphic photos along its walls. A lighting grate frames the pyramid like a halo while the back screen provides the background for the scene. With the music and the lights creating an electronic wonderland, it was impossible to stop dancing through the whole 3 hour show and despite being completely out of breath, I was still begging for an encore.

Arguably the most successful electronic artists of all time, Daft Punk have forged an electomania for the mainstream. DFA artist LCD Soundsystem alluded to Daft Punk as far back as 2005, making a top 40 dance record that featured the track "Daft Punk is Playing at My House." We have seen big-name artists like Busta Rhymes and Janet Jackson use their songs to make hits, most recent success story being Kanye West's sample of "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger" which won him an appearance at the Grammy's and a number one slot on the charts in the US, UK, New Zealand and Canada (for starters). While this might make Daft Punk purists' stomachs turn, there is no arguing the proliferation of this group's past popularity. And as our culture becomes more cyber-possessed, there is no limit to how popular these electo-dieties might become.

Update: 3/3/09
Another movie score will be added to Daft Punk's orchestral repertoire...They've just been signed to do Disney's score for upcoming film, Tron 2.0.

The Goriest Meal

Jenny and Monika are vegetarians, though you would never know this if you were their travel buddy. One day in Hanoi, the girls meet me in the room and pull a pink plastic bag out of the fridge saying they have brought me a present: dog meat. Since they are vegetarians and they ate dog, I should do it too. Well, I couldn't do it and I never heard the end of that. Look, I'm all about experimentation, but eating Lassie is taking it a bit far for me.


Being born in Louisiana, eating strange reptiles is pretty normal. I've grown up eating crawfish, alligator, turtle soup and frog legs, so when the girls heard about a snake village outside Hanoi, I was game. The snake village has these specialty, family-run restaurants that serve cobra feasts featuring the raw heart of the snake and snake blood wine. We selected our restaurant and withing minutes, the server's father and brother brought out a writhing cobra to the corner of the restaurant, stepped on its head and stretched out its body, slit its throat and drained the blood into a goblet. Our server then ushered us back to our table and mixed the blood with rice wine. As we toasted, she brought out another goblet containing a greenish liquid, which turned out to be snake bile, and 3 cobra hearts in 3 glasses for us. We were told that the cobra is supposed to give you long life and fertility, which is why Vietnamese have these restaurants. After having our "wine" and some beer to wash it all down, our server started bringing out the rest of the food.

The menu was so extensive, we couldn't eat everything she brought. Imagine iron chef where the secret ingredient is cobra. Among the twelve dishes we were served, we had snake gruel, snake with ginger, sauteed snake with garlic, snake steamed with Chinese medicinal herbs and fried snake with dipping sauce. I wouldn't have been surprised if she had served us cobra ice cream at the end of the meal.

My vegetarians made me proud that night. The slaughter didn't phase them one bit. When our glasses were drained and our bellies full, we caught our taxi back to town, a little grossed out that we were stuffed with snakes.

Notes from the Underground: A Look Inside the Love Hotel

At first mention of the words Love Hotel, most Americans envision flickering Neon signs and dank walls shedding their paper like dead skin. But, since we’re talking about Japan, this is not the case. Fuse the Japanese obsession with technology and cleanliness, twist in some kinky fantasies and you have the Love Hotel, or Rabu Hoteru. These gigantic, window-less buildings look like they have popped out of a Disney theme park in the shapes of ships and pyramids. Wandering through the maze of private entrances and frosted glass doors, you'll be lucky to stumble upon the reception board since no one is there to tell you where it is. The most important feature of the Love Hotel is discretion; no grimy man handing out keys under a flickering florescent light here. The reception board displays illuminated photos of the rooms they have available and upon selection, illuminate a map to your room. Your room number is also illuminated so you know you're in the right place, which is helpful since you haven't been given a key. But don't worry about someone bursting into your fantasy romance: that sound you hear upon closing the door is the magnetic seal and no one is coming in (or out) until the bill is paid: a security measure that makes you feel like a character from a Murakami book.


The room is pristine and fully equipped with all the necessary amenities: mini bar, video game center, karaoke station and a vending machine filled with toys and edible panties to spice up the evening. While the knowledge that an unknown number of people have "done it" in this room is slightly unnerving, the sheets on the circular bed are pressed and the mirrors on the ceiling are sparkling, so it's easy to shrug it off. Besides, the jacuzzi and bidet being standard equipment in the "LoveHo" makes emerging from your lust cubby less conspicuous.

But now it's time to pay for your evening by turning on your T.V. and selecting payment from the game system's drop down menu. The amount you owe the house then pops up on the screen and you swipe your credit card using that card reader on the wall. If you don't have plastic, no worries. Just use the pneumatic tube to send your yen soaring to the unknown people on the free side of the door. When you get your change and receipt, the door unlocks and you are free from your prison of pleasure.

For those of us more accustomed to space, this might seem like a lot of effort for a lay, but its not surprising that these dens of fornication are so popular among Japanese who haven't given up their love of paper walls. Add onto that the merging of families into common households and the idea of going out to get it on sounds completely reasonable. As real estate prices continue to soar and fewer people can afford the spacious homes to which Americans have become accustomed, you might see this Love Hotel phenomenon trickle into the states.

my cup runneth over and the transitions thereafter

in the process of living, i suspended writing for the last few weeks of my trip. sometimes people forget the details so they insist on writing everyday. in my case, these details are burned into my mind so vividly that when i close my eyes, i see them. last night i was dreaming about a kayak and water flowing over my computer. i was using the computer to protect myself against the elements. then i was in the arms of a man who loved me and made me laugh. my sister woke me up with a giggle, "you were a smiling sleeper!"

i rolled over, but was unable to harness that dream again. that's very much where i am right now. like a dreamer suspended between reality and a weightless, watery dream world. i am now in limbo between my past experiences and my future goals. i am terrified and exhausted, thrilled and expectant, but i have been unable to touch this blog since i left asia. it's just too personal, too reminiscent of those days and right now i just can't process all of that joy. in the words of henry david thoreau,

"if the day and night are such that you greet them with joy, and life emits a fragrance like flowers and sweet-scented herbs, is more elastic, more starry, more immortal- that is your success. all nature is your congratulation, and you have cause momentarily to bless yourself. the greatest gains and values are farthest from being appreciated. we easily come to doubt if they exist. we soon forget them. they are the highest reality...the true harvest of my daily life is somewhat intangible and indescribably as the tints of morning or evening. it is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which i have clutched"

i have touched the rainbow, worshiped the dawn, bathed in luminance and danced in the air. looking over endless fields of green rice, pointed hats knee deep in planting, i turned to allan and whispered, "my cup runneth over" and smiled like the light across the horizon. i agonized over the decision to return to the old life, knowing it would entail forging a new life in a new world and now i return to reality to push the pages from this old, gorgeous chapter in the book of me to the new, blank pages. possibility in my life legend is currently giving me writers block, so i stand, poised with a mammoth quill waiting for the dust to clear from my mind.

"everything had changed suddenly- the tone, the moral climate; you didn't know what to think, whom to listen to. as if all your life you had been led by the hand like a small child and suddenly you were on your own, you had to learn to walk by yourself. there was no one around, neither family nor people whose judgment you respected. at such a time you felt the need of committing yourself to something absolute- life or truth or beauty- of being ruled by it in place of the man-made rules that had been discarded. you needed to surrender to some such ultimate purpose more fully, more unreservedly than you had ever done in the old familiar, peaceful days, in the old life that was now abolished and gone for good."
-boris pasternak
from dr. zhivago

vietnam: from russian symphonies to portable pho restaurants

my first impression of vietnam was at a border crossing, dawn after an overnight bus from vientiane. fuzzy after all the sleeping pills and the blurry overnight train, we come to the lao border, spend all our kip on pringles and shuffle into the government building where we stand in awe of the utter mayhem springing around us. the room is packed with travelers, most of them lao, in no particular order desperately trying to shove their passports behind a glass window AT THE SAME TIME. forget lines, forget order- this is asia. it's the same story once we walk across the border, leaving our bags on the bus. we have to hand our passports to the people in front of us, who pass them through the crowd and under the glass window. from there we wait and elbow our way to the glass window to watch the men process, stamp and grimace. we wait while the passport agents flip through the passports, befuddled that jenny and monika have extra pages, until they finally let us through. then the morning fog rolls in, shrouding us all in a chilly mist.

hanoi


motorbikes are everywhere, like ants, honking and whipping around. in order to cross the street, you just walk- very slowly- and they swerve around you like a rock in the middle of a stream, surrounding you in honks and exhaust fumes. the city is packed. there are ladies carrying baskets like giant scales across their shoulders, heads down, pointy straw hats hiding their eyes. they sell fruit, flowers, car parts, set up restaurants on the street and make pho. every brick of the street is a store, a restaurant, or a barbar shop crammed so close that you can't take it all in. as you squeeze through them all, dodging the motorbike that's now cruising the sidewalk, blaring its horn at you, you pass the dishwasher who crouches on the curb with her tub of soapy water and try to cross the street again.


on the other side of this extreme is the luxury of the nicer places in the city. the opera house, a lavish renaissance structure built by the french, where we see a symphony and piano concerto underneath glowing chandeliers. the music of russian masters brought to life again in front of us, moving us to grab for each others hands in the dark. after, dirty martinis and cuban cigars in the gazebo by the sofitel pool. candle light and wicker lounge chairs, talks of graham greene and secret affairs, laughter. the next day, we return to our oasis for high tea, lightly scented lotus, tiny sandwiches, chocolate buffet.

sapa

vodka bottles at a nearby lesson yield english lessons and walrus grins from chopsticks. everything blurred by the orange lights of the train and our friends from the hotel ushering us into the train, hugging us farewell. our windy bus ride from the station to sapa overlooks the rice terraces, carved from the mountain over 500 years ago. they resemble architectural topography, sketches now living in the side of the mountain. we start our trek, followed by a train of hill tribe people and chicken, our pink bunny balloon. the ladies of the hill tribe smile wide, explain the use of the water buffalo and pose for pictures in front of the landscape. then insist that we buy their headbands or earrings or pillowcases after lunch. we sleep in a village of 600 people, the mountain rain tinkling on the tin roof, squeaky wood floors and uno games. the next morning, we set out along the terraces, swimming in crisp river water as children watched and laughed on the bridge above. the next day, the mist rolled in so our walks were like being in a cloud. fog settled above rice fields, gardens of lillies and bamboo tucked into a sheet of mist.




halong bay
the bus operator accidentally plays a pole dance porn video on the neon bus to haiphong. in town, we search for exotic foods and find izakaya instead of blackened sea slug and snails. the japanese business men are from nagoya, so i reminisce about my old city and befriend yamakawa-san, who gives me his vintage lighter. the next morning, we ferry to the bay, through the damp mist to cat ba town. our hotel is on the 6th floor with our own private balcony, overlooking all of halong bay. we play cards and watch the sunset behind the mountains, then take a boat to a floating restaurant where we choose our fish from nets under the restaurant. they prepare a feast of fish, clams, crab and slippers marinated in lemongrass and peppers. we take a boat back to town and dance to the music we make up. dawn and we are off on our own junk- a traditional vietnamese boat taken through halong bay. we are surrounded in an eerie mist as we pass the floating homes of fishermen, constructed above their aquatic farms. chows run along the planks of the homes, barking as we sail by into the mist. we kayak along the salt water reefs, through caves that sing with dripping water. when the rain starts, we hide in a cave and watch the drops dance in the distance. mammoth jelly fish pulsate through the water during the day, and at night the black water glows with phosphorescence while we drink moonshine by candlelight. the bay feels like a mystery, a place where time slows down to a crawl. so little light can actually penetrate the fog that the entire day seems like dusk; like you're looking at the world through lenses of green and gray. and though it's not traditional beauty, it's an honest one; like seeing your lover as they sleep. it's a beauty that is three dimensional.

on being a quiet american

i originally had a conflict about coming to vietnam. should i spend tourist money in a country whose political system i morally oppose? christmas morning at the vietnamese embassy further concertized these oppositions and made me a weary of testing these waters, but now that i'm here, i am glad to be seeing how communism works, or doesn't rather. this trip is not just about leisure but about education. sometimes, i am an ambassador for my ideals in conversations with others who want to share. this is not about politics, more about seeing the guts of a country and realizing that their way of life has nothing to do with my values. they have the right to live as they please and organize themselves how they wish. as long as they are not aggressors, then it has nothing to do with me. (which makes me really think about the wars...)

oh hanoi, the train, the smells, the noise...i will tell those stories later. right now i want to talk about sam and hannah, the iranian couple who shared our cabin from hanoi to sapa.


we rolled in, laughing and drunk, holding a pink chipmunk balloon and talking to everyone in the way. sam and hannah were already seated on a cot, so allan and i settled in and started talking. when they said, "iran" i was so excited because they were already so warm. for hours, i sat with them and talked to them about their culture and their politics and their conception of americans. i got to cross the lines that the borders and the media barricade between us and reach locals in places our leaders won't let us go. hannah must cover her head in public. sam and hannah have never been to a beach together, as men and women must be separate. alcohol is illegal and must be ordered over the phone like drugs in the us. but, girls do have sex with their boyfriends before marriage, though they don't talk about it. they do drink and live like we do, though they must be secretive in most ways and though i think this is oppressive and would not want to live this way, (which is why i don't), sam and hannah seemed exceedingly happy in their lives, tolerant of their challenges, and excited to share themselves and their culture with others. not all of the population is religious or even agrees with the fanatic government ruling the nation. they said about 5 to 10 percent of iranians think that way and the rest are just like them. if that is true, then i am going to iran. i have never been so in love with a couple: their smiles and warmth, sincerity and joy of life despite its difficulties. we talked about language, poetry, japan (sam lived in japan), culture and love.

and then i thought, if only 10 percent of the population are like ahmadinejad, why don't the rest of them stand up and fight against it? how could a country that was so liberal be forced back into such repression? as i asked myself these questions, i realized that OUR government is being ruled by the same concept. maybe it's a majority, but it doesn't make it right and it doesn't make it free. why can't new, innovative, radical ideas take root in OUR american society? we are always stuck in a middle rut of compromise and moderation, which is just a muddle of right and wrong. it's not easy to pass judgment on something you don't understand and are not a part of, kind of like you shouldn't take the stick from your neighbor's eye when you have a log in your own.

(for more on this theme, please read graham greene's novel, the quiet american)

same same...but different

the motto of laos, same same, but different, has become my motto. i am the same same, but these weeks have made me different. it's a nuance, a cloud lifting and opening my eyes to something wonderful: possibility. through my whole life i've felt obligated to do things without really understanding why. there's been this pressure to please or take care of everyone but myself, but now i'm starting to see that the only person i am accountable to is myself. the only person i need to make happy is myself and i'm doing that.

i love my life

i have said this aloud so many times and meant it with the utmost sincerity. i love my life.

riding the slowboat up the mekong, surrounded by people that see me, that understand me. conversations about murakami with norwegians and sharing beerlao and slow joints. listening to graceland and singing to myself, for myself and admiring the scenes around.

relaxing in luang prabang, the french colonial city speckled with lao culture. the wats overlooking the long french windows, drinking wine in fishbowl glasses and runs along the river- the markets illuminated with white lights and bananas roasted on an open grill. the lao disco where we drank scotch and danced till we were drenched and the locals laughed at our charisma. the waterfalls- pools so clear and blue we argue about whether or not they're real. we hiked up through the fall, past the danger signs, following the groves made by the water and stood at the top of the enormous fall. the lush forest in the distance, the green blue layers of water falling, falling to the ends of the earth.



the smell of fresh mint everywhere. splashing in the tube in veng vieng, kicking my feet, calling to the mountains in elation. the color of the sunset, a burning red behind the sharp blue cliffs as i drove a moped down the street, overcoming a paralyzing fear. lagoons, crisp and refreshing after a blistering bike ride over rocky roads, and the lighting of the caves illuminating the golden buddha inside. dancing- fireside while everyone rested in hammocks and finding ben in the crowd, making up words to the song based on back to the future. moments that make you laugh so hard you can't talk. running around the boardwalk, screaming for ben as he screamed for me to dance thriller. kayaking from veng vieng to vientiane, admiring the boulders, the child fishermen and conquering the rapids.

our last night in veng vieng, i looked around at our crew- a group of 15 strangers who had kept running into each other and formed a bond. misunderstandings and fights morphed into daredevil moments and crazy conversations. each of these people brought something diffent to the table and each of them has left me a little bit different, better. but mainly, this is about my girls. traveling with jenny and monika has been the best choice i could have ever made. both of them enrich me in ways i forgot i needed and every moment with them i feel more and more complete.

from monika, i'm learning to leave time and space for myself. to create and let go, to have the guts to take chances alone. also, to commit to things and follow through with the crazy ideas you come up with.

from jenny, i'm learning to learn. i'm reminded of my love of learning and beautiful things and how to make my goals translate into long term possibilities.

i am the same person i have always been- the core is the same, but the layers around me are peeling and changing colors- more vibrant, more rich, more. i am same same, but i feel so different.