“Takeo-kun has really nice skin…and his eyebrows and sideburns really get to me…and his broad shoulders, and nice pecs…and his lips are so sexy!..His hands are so big, too. They make my heart race! I really want to cuddle, and hold hands, and stuff.” -Yamato Rinko
A modern day Beauty and the Beast, Ore Monogatari!! takes a much sweeter route through its tale of romance. Yamato Rinko appears to be your typical adorable female shoujo lead, with her small stature, high voice, and pure aura. Gouda Takeo towers over her and many full-fledged adults with a body builder’s muscles and penetrating stare. But unlike the fairy tale, our girl isn’t a hostage, and our guy is neither prideful, nor full of anger. We have two young people who genuinely care for one another, and come together as a couple in the first three episodes.
“I’ve never liked playing tuba alone. It’s just one boring phrase after another. But when you play in an ensemble and hear all the other parts, it becomes music. It becomes harmony. You can really tell you’re carrying the piece. I’ve liked tuba ever since.” -Gotou Takuya
I’ve mentioned quite a few times in previous posts that I grew up playing the piano, having started at a very young age, but I don’t know if I ever mentioned that I also picked up percussion at the wise age of ten. The choice was a simple one: I took one look at the mallet instruments–glockenspiel, xylophone, vibraphone, marimba, chimes–and saw my piano keyboard. And when I joined the concert band, it was easy to shift into the role of mallet player since all the boys wanted to smack the drums and auxiliary percussion. It wasn’t too long before I realized that to continue on would require I learn the other percussion instruments, as boring as they seemed.
There’s a distinct lack of Ghibli’s TV series, Sanzoku no Musume Ronja, on my Feedly and Twitter, which is a shame given its charm. Watching this show feels like a step into my childhood, with memories of tales like the series Pippi Longstocking (no surprise, since the writer is the same), several of Roald Dahl’s books, Charlotte’s Web, and the Chronicles of Prydain with its European-inspired setting. The original story of Ronia the Robber’s Daughter comes from Swedish writer, Astrid Lindgren, and takes place in a magical time in a forest populated by spiteful harpies, baneful dwarves, playful will-o’-wisps, and jolly thieves. Ghibli is the perfect vessel for a story like Ronja’s, and would have likely made a beautifully drawn film with music orchestrated by the esteemed Joe Hisaishi or Cecile Corbel. Instead, it is the first of the studio’s TV series–and I dearly hope it isn’t the last.
Yowamushi Pedal has been amazing to watch this year, and I’m always happy to see more Onoda and hear the Hime song. I talked before about my lack of experience with cycling, but now that we’re into a second season and I’ve discussed the details more thoroughly with KWoo, I’ve gone ahead and compiled some of our notes–nitpicking, if you must–regarding the show. If you’re a cyclist, or love the sport as a spectator, feel free to include anything else you’ve seen.
Blazing rings of fire, whips and wild cats, acrobats, and clowns–circuses have long been places of mystery and thrills. What began as Roman structures for naval battle reenactments, shows, and races later became the romanticized traveling tents many people think of first these days. I have never personally attended a circus, but have always been intrigued with the idea of running away to join one like many of the kids did in the books I read. Could I fly on the trapeze? Or perhaps befriend a lion? Even now as an adult, I have no idea what area I would have fallen into, though I like to imagine a variety of circus names I might have chosen.
I consider myself a bit of a coffee snob. Coupling the facts that I have worked briefly as a barista and that I live in Seattle, the coffee capital of America, coffee has worked itself thoroughly into my bloodstream and way of life. Not a morning passes where I don’t grind and brew a pot of joe; my morning commute to the office always includes my trusty Thermos. When I order an espresso drink–usually a 16 oz. triple shot white mocha with no whip cream, but with a half inch of microfoam instead–I remember which baristas know how to properly texture and which baristas don’t and from whom I order an americano instead.
So when Cocoa watched Rize’s demonstration of latte art and succeeded in her first try, I wanted to cry foul! Call it pride if you will, but I doubt a girl who entered Rabbit Cafe for the rabbits alone instead of the coffee would know how to create her own designs when I wasted many a pitcher in my attempts on the art, despite knowing the theory. Even the simplest of designs, the heart, can be difficult to achieve, and the crux of the ability is in the steaming of the milk.
While I’m still keeping up with this fabulous series, I’ve also started re-watching it from the beginning with Kwoo in hopes of getting him caught up on the anime. HxH has always baffled me with its persistence in staying on my radar despite being everything I thought I disliked: 100+ episode count, source material still ongoing, a shounen battle-anime–the list goes on. All these factors aside, the show excels in areas that far outweigh my misgivings. From character development, to setting, to story and pacing, HxH succeeds time and time again in not only fulfilling my expectations, but also far exceeding and even surprising them. Re-watching from the start does not change the the amount of pleasure I take from this series. On the contrary, I find myself reveling in the craft.
“No proper princess would come out looking for dragons,” Woraug objected.
“Well I’m not a proper princess then!” Cimorene snapped. “I make cherries jubillee and I volunteer for dragons, and I conjugate Latin verbs– or at least I would if anyone would let me. So there!”
―Patricia C. Wrede, Dealing with Dragons
Much of what I imagine about princesses stems from Disney movies and fairy tale stories: they’re young, beautiful, magical, loved, and live happily ever after. While there are more instances of stories featuring headstrong princesses these days–favorites including books like Dealing with Dragons, movies like Brave, and TV series like Once Upon a Time–I still don’t automatically think of the modern woman when “princess” is uttered.
Bicycling is one of those acts that are a tradition to childhood; some older figure, like a father or a big sister, stands behind the bike of little, scared you while you desperately try to keep balance and hope against all fears that he or she will not let go of the bike. Plenty of kids graduate from tricycle to bicycle at a young age. It wasn’t strange to see my classmates zooming around with confidence by the time we hit 1st grade. I didn’t find balance until well into my 4th grade year on a dirt road at the jeering of my well practiced friends. Since then, cycling has always been a chore. While I remember roaming the neighborhood with my posse like every other suburban kid, I never chose biking as my first course of fun. And when college came around with its steep hills and freezing winters, the bicycle turned from a tool of convenience to one of torture. So here I am, living in Seattle where cyclists abound and where even my boyfriend is a bike nut who owns two and just this past summer rode a 130-mile path with his cycling group. My office is frequented by bike messengers, who always smell of sweat and have some of the largest calves that I’ve ever seen. Cycling has never been more strange and attractive.
As the food lover I am, I try to keep my mind open about trying anything and everything. This of course includes all parts of the food chain, especially meat! Unfortunately, making sure that the foods you obtain and consume are safe and cruelty-free can be difficult, and sometimes even impossible. Silver Spoon gives us a setting where produce and livestock are very much close to the plate. You might handle a piglet one day, only to fry it up into bacon four months later. It’s smart to keep your emotions at bay when raising these beasts if the dinner plate is indeed their final destination, but at what point do you draw the line between treating them like pets and bordering on animal cruelty?