Most of us in the USA are familiar with Godzilla, the monster movie from 1954 in which Raymond Burr witnesses the destruction of Tokyo by a massive sea monster. That movie, compared to other Godzilla movies, has a darker edge to it and has long been a guilty pleasure of mine. Even though I know it was a chopped-up version of the original Japanese film, I like it.

Enter Gojira, the original Japanese film, now available on DVD. It was one of three smash hits for Toho in 1954, along with Musashi Miyamoto and The Seven Samurai. Like the other two, Gojira was no lightweight in the script department. I’ve just finished watching it and I’m stunned at how powerful an anti-nuclear weapons film it was. Much of the anti-nuclear message was cropped from the USA release. In this one, we see casualty wards, crying children, and shrouds pulled over those that did not make it. Doctors watch helplessly as they see Geiger counters go off the scale when they check survivors for radiation.

The makers of Gojira wanted to produce a strong antiwar movie. They had survived the firebombings of World War Two and some had also witnessed firsthand the destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. In their Gojira, Tokyo is destroyed by fire for the second time in ten years and we have chances to bond with the people of Tokyo, only to see the monster Gojira make them casualties of his wrath. The destruction of Tokyo is not mindless: it is purposeful, and terrible.

As I watched Gojira, I considered it to be the first anime film. Parts of it are animated and the premise certainly fits with the mature tradition of Japanese animated arts. If one suspends disbelief around the actor in the monster suit – which isn’t campy in this version – one sees the potential for what could have been an epic anime feature. Given today’s technology, Gojira could be redone with satisfyingly realistic special effects. But in the hands of a Hollywood team, the deeper themes of the film would be lost.

At its heart, Gojira is a true protest film. The monster Gojira himself is something out of the Shinto world, a force of nature turning on a humanity that forgot its own bond with the world. In Gojira, I saw the beginnings of some of Hiyao Miyazaki’s work, especially his films Nausicaä of the Valley of Wind and Mononoke Hime (Princess Mononoke). Parts of the film also came uncomfortably close to Grave of the Fireflies, the anime that deals with the firebombing of Tokyo in May, 1945. The film is not light entertainment. It is heart-wrenching and makes one ponder about man’s inability to turn away from violence.

Gojira is not a metaphor for nuclear destruction – he is nuclear destruction. The prophecy at the end of the film that continued testing would create a new Gojira has come to pass. In the 56 years since the film’s release, we have seen new Gojiras arise in the form of unstable nations with nuclear powers, such as North Korea and Pakistan, as well as in the spectre of a possible terrorist-spawned nuclear attack. Like the victims in Gojira, we stand helplessly, unable to truly halt a calamity, should it visit us. Perhaps we should be more humble in our ways, lest nature take on an aspect of terror and provide us with a nightmare designed to destroy the proud.

I’ve lived here almost 20 years and haven’t had “My Italian Restaurant” since Siciliano’s moved to north Garland and raised its prices. Sali’s on Garland is good, but… just not quite my entire style… Tony’s is just up the road from me, but it’s crowded and its pizza was marginally better than Little Caesar’s across the street. Rockyano’s is take out/delivery only, and I haven’t ordered there since giving them a second try about 10 years ago and not being happy with the results.

So I did the Google search for a pizza place near my house, and decided upon Roma’s, on Greenville. Picasso’s on Skillman is closer to me, but I decided against it for a few reasons. First, prices. I was going out with my family and I didn’t want to get mugged for just one pizza. Second, reviews. The good reviews weren’t specific and the bad reviews weren’t written by kooks. Third, the menu. It’s HUGE, with cuisine ranging from hamburgers to Thai food. That’s a bad sign in my book. Stick with what you’re good at and be excellent at it.

Roma’s had a few dings in its reviews, but I decided it was the one we were going to try out. It’s casual there, so we put on our sandals and drove on out.

My son ordered the “Chicken Judge’s Special” and I split a medium pineapple pizza with my daughter. Mom was at training, which is why I decided we needed to go out. I’m glad we did, and I want to go back with everyone some day.

The bread came out first. It’s unlimited rolls there, but you want to make sure you save room for the main courses. The bread is good quality, the garlic topping was flavorful without being too salty, a peril that besets many a roll. The marinara sauce for dipping had good flavor. I would have preferred more sweetness, but that’s me. I’ve had other marinaras, and this one stands on its own merits.

As we waited for the main courses, I reflected on the service (great) and the atmosphere (kinda dark). If you want a place lit up like McDonalds, sorry. On the other hand, if you like the lighting relaxed and Italian crooners singing their melodies, come on in. Me? Hey, Frankie don’t tell you no lies, capice?

The pizza and the entree showed up and, man! First, the pizza. On a scale of 1 to 100, with 1 being a cracker dipped in ketchup and 100 being the best pizza I ever ate, this place gets a solid 92. It’s got a great crust and more than once, I stopped myself from hitting my drink because I wanted to savor the flavors more. I’m giving my rating on the cheese pizza parts only. The pineapple, by the way, was properly drained so we didn’t wind up eating a swamp. The crust was thin, but not like a cracker. It had a great balance with the sauce and cheese, and the sauce had some great herb notes in it. My daughter, who’s young, was able to eat it. I like that. A real, adult pizza that a kid can approach and enjoy.

The Chicken Judge’s Special was amazing! That got a 95 or more, but I didn’t eat it, so I can only dream about it. I had a bite and I realized from the first taste that if supper was a contest, my son won it with this order. The olive oil-garlic-basil-oregano sauce on the pasta blew me away. Great aroma and my son was thrilled with the chicken. This guy knows his chicken, too, and he says this bird was all good.

The prices were all right, too. We could have overspent at some other joint, but this place has great prices that let you tip the great staff generously. I finally found my neighborhood Italian place.

I loved the finale for Lost, up to about the last five minutes. Then I felt a sense of deja vu as I watched a guy move through time and space to connect lives and make them better… but the guy was apparently dead all along? Oh yeah, that was Quantum Leap’s ending. It’s also the ending for Roseanne, come to think of it. Jimmy Kimmel did a spoof with Newhart ending, which I felt worked a lot better.

It’s not like the writers had themselves in a corner or anything. There were probably several good ways to end the series, and they were hot on a truly great ending, but then dropped the ball on it. In my version, we keep it right up to where Hugo and Ben are left in charge of the island, then we cut back to LA 2004. There, Jack sees his father in the coffin, remembers everything, and then goes into that chapel. Hugo thanks everyone for all they’ve done and, as we see a scene of Jack watching the plane take off, tells them they’ve all made their choices and to live their lives in peace and as much happiness as they can share… because one does not own happiness. Sawyer makes a wisecrack about what Hugo will do with his millions, and Hugo says, “They’re all yours.”

Stunned, the castaways watch on as Hugo explains they all get a little piece of his fortune, as he doesn’t need all of it. “I’ve made my choice. I don’t need a whole lot for where I’m going. And, speaking of going, I’ve got a flight to catch. But, frankly, there wasn’t any way I was going to be able to spend it all in my lifetime. Help me do that, willya?”

Everyone says goodbye to Hugo and has a good time with each other in the chapel, realizing their lives have been changed for the better from their suffering on the island. We watch as Hugo goes to LAX and boards a plane for Hawaii. He sits next to Ben. There’s some ominous turbulence, but the plane lands just fine. In Hawaii, Hugo buys a boat and Ben helps him sail it… to the island. Hugo looks at his new home and says, “This is a better way of getting here, don’t you think?” Hugo’s girlfriend steps out of the cabin, looks things over with Ben at her side. Hugo says, “Well, let’s start with fixing that statue.”

Cut to Jack going back to look at his father one more time. He opens the coffin, to see it empty. He looks up in wonder.

Back to the boat. Ben says, “That’s a big job. Who’s going to help us?”

Hugo points at the beach. “They are!”

Cut to a scene of everyone that died on the island standing to greet Hugo, with Jack’s father in the center. The End.

Credit where credit’s due: my son came up with the last part, where Jack goes to the empty coffin, as we were driving to school this morning.

Just saw this movie. It’s a true gem of a picture, and it’s a dirty shame Hollywood doesn’t make any more like this. Bollywood does, and maybe that’s why I love both classic American cinema and the masala films from India.

It’s a beautiful story without any sort of Hollywood ending. Feeling the pain at the end made it all the more special to me. That, and the beauty of Rome and its people. I need to head that way, one day, and it made me thankful that I live next to a major airport. During the mad whirl Peck and Hepburn enjoyed, I saw myself and my wife doing the same things, minus taking a dip in the Tiber. Or getting a haircut. But the gelato looked amazing, even in black and white. And at the end of it all, I’ll still have the one I love, so I’ll be one up on Gregory Peck, which is pretty cool, all things considered.

I’ve read his Solaris and am reading his Memoirs Found in a Bathtub. He’s genius. I especially appreciate his ability to create bodies of commentary about his invented worlds. He’s a great author and well worth reading.

1. Exxon Mobil
2. Wal-Mart Stores
3. Chevron
4. ConocoPhillips
5. General Electric
6. General Motors
7. Ford Motor
8. AT&T
9. Hewlett-Packard
10. Valero Energy

Surprised to not see Bill Gates or a Walton or Warren Buffet on the list? Those persons have nothing on the persons listed above. Bear in mind, that, thanks to a bit of perjury before the Supreme Court by the author of the 14th Amendment, corporations are persons in the USA. That makes Mr. ExxonMobil the richest person in America. Move over flesh and blood, there are richer persons than you’ll ever be that walk abroad in the land.

I’m not going to name names on a personal level, but I’ve seen my share of people that inherit for a living. They’re the ones that get to follow their dreams unconditionally. I’ve got a number of students that are working as hard as they can to end the nightmares for them and their families. They don’t have the luxury of dreaming, not yet.

I’ve got plenty of friends that made a run at making the big time in the music industry. You have no idea how happy I am when I track down one of these late-80’s dreamers and find out he’s off the drugs and is making a living playing in bars all weekend long. Of all the bright young guys with Texas-sized hopes I knew back then, Robert Earl Keen’s made it the furthest up the music biz ladder, and he’ll be the first to admit there are a lot of others every bit as good as he is that the music business shot apart. You take every person with talent and big dreams born in a given year, line ’em up, and luck will choose one to rise up out of them all. Luck chooses maybe a baker’s dozen to never have to get their lives wrecked by alcohol or drugs, and the rest… the rest become casualties if they don’t stop dreaming.

Then you have the no-to-low-talents that become big names simply because they’re connected to pots of cash and/or a famous parent. Maybe they had no moral standards and managed to exploit that amorality to its fullest potential… whatever. Be it a stage mom that never quit or a pile of cash that kept talking, there they are, on top of the world. The worst are the ones that are famous for being famous. Paris Hilton is perhaps the most egregious in that area. So much of success in any artistic field is not in mastering the creative process, but in dealing with the business side of things. If you don’t have connections to lawyers that can run amazing deals because of who they’re connected to, you got little to nothing left to go on.

Follow your dreams? How about taking a good, hard look at those dreams, hmm?

First of all, if you say you want to make a living with your art, ask which is more important, the living or the art? If it’s the living, you will likely wind up making that living, but you’ll compromise your art. The art is more important? Don’t quit your day job, buddy. And you better make darn sure you like that day job, because you’re going to make your living that way and your art’s going to remain a hobby.

Next, ask yourself, what is success? If it’s a pot of cash left over after you pay bills, then become a white-collar criminal. That’s the fastest, most effective way to make that money and chances are you won’t even go to jail. If you can’t stomach that, then you better consider success is dying with your soul intact. Success is in helping the weak and bringing smiles to the faces of people left broken by the guys that think success and money are connected.

I like to draw. Nothing wrong with that. I have friends that will ask me to draw a little something for them and I’ll dash off a pretty picture that isn’t really print-quality, but it looks nice. They say they like it, I get my audience, and everyone’s happy. Should they have to pay for that smile? Not if I’m having fun making the picture. That’s how I reason it and it works for me. In exchange for doing things for free whenever I have the time and feel like it, I don’t have to make a living with my art. The pressure’s off and I can enjoy the experience.

So have I given up on my dreams?

I don’t think so. I love teaching. That’s what I do. I love my family. That’s who I live with. I am satisfied with the spiritual side of my life and I can find plenty of intellectual stimulation. I’m doing fine. I’m 42 and I’ve got my life in a pretty decent balance. Not being hung up on material things is probably an important part of that balance, as is a feeling that I’ve found answers to a lot of The Big Questions and know that I’m finding answers to the rest.

I like drawing, but I don’t have to be hanging in a gallery. I like writing, but I don’t need to be on a display at a Borders. Because my life isn’t sucked into running after money, I have time to enjoy it. I’m free to follow my dreams, but that doesn’t mean I follow them irresponsibly.

Not good enough for “Reason to Live”, but still pretty dang fun and tasty.

Found it at the Hong Kong Market. It doesn’t smell like durian, but it has that nice durian-y funkyness when you start chewing it. My daughter and I bought some today and had great fun.

Interesting article in The Independent about being a Viking-era re-enactor. The only people you had to worry about not offending back then were the Vikings. Otherwise, you were your own man in just about every aspect of your life. A few basic rules from God and King, but in every other way, you were truly on your own.