Kon’s goodbye letter to the world made me tear up as I read it. It’s long, but it’s profoundly moving. To the last, Kon was a great artist.

Jack Horkheimer
If you grew up watching PBS in the 80s or 90s, no doubt you know this man. Jack Horkheimer was the host of the always educational and shamelessly enthusiastic Star Gazer TV show (very 90s webpage warning!), which only lasted for about 5 minutes and basically “filled in the cracks” between late-night programming. Jack clearly loved to share his knowledge of the stars and planets and wanted everyone to appreciate the beautiful heavens above.

Jack Horkheimer - on Star Gazer, doing what he did best!

Yep, the synthy whistle theme song (which never, ever changed!) and the hilarious green screen effects were cheezy and quirky, and that’s what made this show so fun to watch. As a kid who grew up wanting to be an astronomer (so I could one day be Captain Picard, of course) I relished the chance to see Jack’s report on where I could find Mars in the sky or where a constellation might be that season. And I’d go out and apply what he’d taught me, and to this day, no matter where I am, if there’s a night sky, I take a few moments to study it. Thanks to Jack, I keep looking up!

Jack made naked-eye astronomy easy to understand and incredibly fun. Jack Horkheimer was, to me, the epitome of what a great science teacher should be. I hope someone is able to continue Star Gazer in his honor and keep alive what he did with such zest for so many years.

Satoshi Kon
I can’t believe this amazing anime director died so young at 47, I was completely shocked to hear the news today of his sudden passing. Satoshi Kon created several film masterpieces of Japanese animation, many of which have made their ways to cinemas outside of Japan: Perfect Blue, Paprika, Tokyo Godfathers, and Millennium Actress, to name a few.

I love Japanese animation, both as an escape through entertainment and as an art form that can be challenging and rewarding (depending on what you’re watching!) The older I get the more I tend to lean more towards artistic animes aimed at the *ahem* more aged set, but directors like Satoshi Kon prove repeatedly that this art form can push boundaries and convention while still being immensely entertaining.

I’ll never forget watching the terrifyingly good Perfect Blue in my freshman college dorm, on the edge of my seat, cringing but still completely rapt by the story. A year or two later I came across Millennium Actress, a beautiful and touching film my friend Dan very aptly calls a “love letter to Japanese cinema.” The intertwining stories and timelines work seamlessly with masterful use of the animation. This famous scene from the film displays a bit of what I mean:

If you’ve watched a good amount of Japanese films you’ll recognize conventions he’s paying homage to here, not just through theme but through the composition of the shots and the color palettes.

Kon was one of the best and brightest in the Japanese animation scene, and many of us were looking forward to seeing what his career would reveal as he was still so young. It’s hard to convey how sad his death is for those of us who really enjoy this art form. Satoshi Kon left us way too soon.

Jack Horkheimer and Satoshi Kon, you are missed. May you rest in peace.

I am also probably one of the only people under 40 who actually owns a 5-cd changer stereo in addition to an iPod. Oh, and a best of David Bowie LP set. With a knitting Hello Kitty. With Greek pop cds. With feather fascinators. And mountain biking gloves.

I’m confused now.

The real news is this baby:

My new Janome sewing machine! I sold my trusty Singer on craigslist to someone who needed it more than I, and upgraded to a machine that’s a lot more heavy-duty and can work with the weird projects I’ve been making lately. Seriously seeing this on my doorstep was the highlight of my Friday.

If you go into back entries all that far, they might not work perfectly with the new format. Sorry about that.

One last note: After a lovely year and a half in Davis Square, I’m moving out. Thankfully it won’t be a big move—I’m going to be about 5 minutes away by car, just across the border in Arlington. It’s bittersweet: I love living in Davis Square, but quite frankly, my rent’s awfully high. This definitely is a hot neighborhood and it’s been a blast living in the heart of it.

Go figure, when I put my apartment up on Craigslist, we got responses within a day, and barely two days after the listing went up, a new tenant already signed a lease! Amazing.

Frequent question this week from friends and family: “How are you feeling?”

Loopy answer, thanks to a fun combination of feverish hallucinations and OTC drugs: “Congeeeeeeeeeeested”–sung ala the finale of Gackt’s “Redemption”

Fingers crossed, and weather gods willing, I’ll give New Hampshire slopes another go this weekend. Unfortunately this means I’ll miss out on the Silent Dance Project going down at Fanueil hall Saturday afternoon. I’m a bit bummed about it, but this is an event that’s gone down in many other cities already. Boston’s already got enough of the “me-too” syndrome, so I’ll be a lot more excited about flash mob*-type projects when they’re new and unique to our tiny, quirky city.

I’ve noticed an interesting dilemma crop up when folks try promoting these events on well-known local blogs and networks. At first, just a few folks in the media get wind of the event, but pretty soon the “flash mob” events lose all sense of spontaneity when they’re running in the Globe’s “Events” section. It seemed there were more reporters and photogs than participants at the pillow fight. Certainly you want to get word out so people can join, but too much publicity and media presence is something of a buzz-kill, isn’t it?

*And yea, I know, flash mobs are SOOOO 2001.

Oh yes, but before I came down with the flu, my friends and I had a lovely walk around the city on Sunday. Just randomly, this came across our path:

The State House and… a whatever-that-is.

In most of my posts I like to include a picture. If you subscribe to my flickr account, you’ll notice there are none of me in my boarding gear, beaming from under my pink goggles and pom-pom beanie. Simply put, I’m a n00b, and I fall a lot. If I tried to keep a camera on my person while I’m fearlessly conquering the, erm, bunny hills, I’d crush it.

But just to keep things interesting, here’s what my snowboarding experience thus far has NOT looked like:

Oh yea, carving up a storm on lovely powder…somewhere out in the Rockies.

I know that pretty much anything green circle is bound to be icy, but I have some unexpected experience even with higher-level runs. How, you ask? Well, let me tell you a little story—the story of how a n00b boarder, who has only spent a cumulative six hours in her life on a snowboard, found herself at the top of a mountain with only blue squares leading the way down.

(For those unfamiliar with snow sports, skiing and snowboarding trails are categorized from easiest to hardest by a simple system.)

This past Sunday, my friend and I took a lovely chair lift up Gunstock Mountain, it’s a lovely few minutes as we blithely watch kids showing off their best tricks on the halfpipe. But did I bother to check the trail map before jumping on the lift? Of course not! (Pro-tip numero uno: always check trail closings before hopping on a lift! Duh!)

We get to the top of the lift, which is not even the top of the mountain, mind you, but about half-way up. My friend and I stop to take in the breathtaking view–a snow-kissed panorama of rural New Hampshire with shimmering Lake Winnipesaukee at the heart of it all.

I began to make my way towards the gentle green circle trail (and by make my way, I mean board for five seconds and then fall squarely on my butt). The passage to the green circle run is a bit icier and steeper than I’m prepared for, I start to freak out a bit, make some bad falls in my fear, my boots get a bit too loose. I’m doing everything wrong.

Then, more good news. The green circle, the easiest trail down–oh, and the only easy path up there–is closed off. The three trails in front of me all look like insta-death: one is narrow and winding with some menacing-looking trees, the other two are wide but very steep with great big bumps everywhere. Cue the visions of me flying (screaming) through the air, landing head-first in a snow drift, or less comically, in a coma.

Families of skiiers and snowboarders whiz by me as I sit on the snow, my total six hours of snowboarding skills not nearly enough to prepare me to take an intermediate trail. Alpine skiing parents with their toddler kids on ski-leashes swish by me without a word, just a concerned glance, and off they went. Little kids no older than seven or eight ask me if I’m ok, and I lie tell them that I am. But I’m not budging.

Those same kids fly past me later on their second, third pass down the slopes, and I’m still stuck there, bum-on-snow. But hey, at least I know calculus–they probably can’t even do fractions. Huzzah!

Working up a bit of gumption and determining that I do need to get down the mountain somehow, I make a few feeble attempts to board down the gentler edges of the intermediate slope. You know, just off to the side a bit. Total. Freaking. Disaster. After riding for three seconds and falling, riding for three seconds and falling (repeat ad nauseum), I wondered if I could beg the chair lift operator to let me grab a ride down.

At that point, I do the only other thing I can think of–un-snap my bindings, sling my board over my shoulder, and take the walk of shame all the way down the side of the mountain. It was a lovely stroll, beautiful view, great exercise. Also embarrassing as hell.

I spent the rest of the day exactly where I belonged: with the middle-school kids on the bunny slopes. Since nothing could possibly be worse than walking down a mountain in snowboard boots (heavy snap-ons no less, ugh) I made sure to make up for the lost time. Somehow I made progress. My friend — an already skilled snowboarder who first learned the sport on the pristine powder slopes of northern Japan — came by to see how I was doing at about 2pm. To my surprise she said I’d improved a great deal, and she’s not one to exaggerate. (I think!)

Yes.

So here’s hoping one day I can have a rematch with those blue square trails on Gunstock and not let the mountain win. And I’ll even take pictures. But it won’t be for a long, long while.

My delicious dinner for the past few nights, I could live off this stuff all year. But really it’s the rarity of good, fresh tomatoes that makes this simple dish so precious.
The only downside of all this is that I can’t eat tomatoes any other time of year. That stuff they sell in supermarkets, that red-colored styrofoam mealy grossness, is totally unpalatable to me. I have to eat an entire year’s worth of tomatoes in basically a two-to-three week window!It’s worth it :)

In case you’ve never heard of this simple salad before, here’s the “recipe”:

• A handful of right-off-the-vine tomatoes, sliced into eighths
• A bunch of fresh parsley, very roughly cut
• A heavy douse of Extra Virgin olive oil
• A little bit of salt

Fair warning: If you don’t make this with fresh ingredients and Extra Virgin olive oil, it’s going to taste gross.