Falcon...PUNCH!

A Super Smash Bros/Mortal Kombat inspired dance-off between two grown men cosplaying as Naruto characters? Yes, please!

 

See, THIS is what happens when nerds meet other nerds. :D

The Substitute has left the building!

It's rather bitter-sweet to see such a long-lived series end.

Reinforcements Arrive | Bleach | Tite Kubo

I spent the last weekend catching up on (and subsequently finishing) Bleach, the long-running shonen manga and anime series I have an on and off again obsession for. I was really into this series about a year ago and devoured the first couple seasons with great relish--I had never seen such edgy and fiercely visceral art in an anime and fell in love with the uniquely refreshing mixture of beautifully choreographed and violent battle scenes tempered with moments of lighthearted humor.

Despite my initial excitement, I began to lose interest after the "Rescue Rukia" Canon-Arc ended, and even more so when the Arrancars became part of the central story. I know that Arrancar-characters like Grimmjow and Ulquiorra remain very popular, but they never appealed to me. I also didn't like when the story made darker turns towards the "hollowfication" (basically, the internal battle of wills against the good-self and the demon-self) of Ichigo, the grumpy, adorable and absolutely bad-ass protagonist of the series.

I would tune back in now and again when a particular battle looked interesting....and of course, I skipped who knows how many episodes to the final battle between Ichigo and the treacherous Aizen.

...which brings me back to why I spent the last weekend watching the most recent story Arc of Bleach. The story resumes after Ichigo's return to the human world and his normal high-school life after the defeat of Aizen and the loss of his incredible spiritual powers. Driven by the desire to continue protecting his family and friends, he enters into a cautious alliance with Xcution, a group of humans with weird "Hollow"* like powers who call themselves Fullbringers. The leader of the group, Ginjo Kugo, teaches Ichigo how to call on his own Fullbring, which (from what I was able to gather) was like gathering energy from one's surroundings.

I felt a little betrayed by this whole Arc. I wanted to see Ichigo's Soul Reaper powers returned--I really didn't care if he could use Fullbring. I also did not like any of the Xcution members. Not only were they obnoxious and uninteresting, I actually cared so little about them that I actually hoped someone would kill them off just so I would have to watch them anymore.

So to make a long-ish story short, Ichigo regains his power, Ginjo reveals his true intentions and absorbs Ichigo's newfound Fullbring powers for himself, Ichigo's "friends" (aka battle opponents, lol) from the Soul Society magically appear in a very deus ex machina twist and restore Ichigo's true Soul Reaper powers. Then the Soul Reapers fight the Fullbringers. Some die. Some don't. Ichigo kills Ginjo. Ichigo tells the Soul Society he intends to continue working in the human world as a Substitute Soul Reaper.

And then it ended. It was a lovely, open ending and gave a satisfying end to a series that looked like it would go on forever. It just seemed to happen out of the blue, especially since the manga will be ongoing. But I suppose it's good to end a series over drawing it out over seasons of Filler-Arcs and such. On top of that, this particular Arc as a whole felt very anti-climactic, especially since it followed the defeat of Aizen. Most fans of Bleach feel the series should have ended with the defeat of Aizen, the restoration of the Soul Society, the loss of Ichigo's power and his return to his normal life.

But, I cannot overlook the coolest thing about the Fullbring-Arc, and that is the epic costume changes! One of my favorite characters of the series is Byakuya Kuchiki, the aristocratic captain of Squad Six of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads. However, I could never really get over his weird hair-things. Not to say he isn't handsome and awesome with them, but...they just seemed too silly!

Squad Six Captain Byauya Kuchiki (Version 1) | Bleach | Tite Kubo

But then, this. Holy Shi---nigami! :D I think I might just re-watch the series for him. I definitely have a thing for characters who wear cloaks. I loved the gold lining, tassels and the missing hair/head tiles. It accurately reflects his regal personality as does the Chinese-inspired design. Gah!! Love it! <3

Squad Six Captain Byauya Kuchiki (Version 2) | Bleach | Tite Kubo

I do hope that a "Final Season" of Bleach will be produced sometime in the future once the manga has officially ended, much like how InuYasha: The Final Act concluded that manga series ended after a 3+ year haitus. That said, I'm comfortable leaving the anime where it is. The final episode (366) is a wonderful masterpiece of character development and animation and it's episodes of this quality that remind me why I love Japanese storytelling and the medium of manga and anime.

And the story will never really end, because somewhere out there Ichigo Kurosaki is still maintaining his post as our world's Substitute Soul Reaper.

Viva Bleach!

* "Hollows" are bad/evil spirits of the Bleach canon

This otaku, excited!

So, Anime Expo 2012 (AX12) is right around the corner and the ever-mounting excitement and anticipation is making me physically sick.

The excitement is largely due to the fact that I will be cosplaying. And I mean…really cosplaying. But more on that later…

I did not dress up when I attended Anime Expo 2011 (AX11) last year, mostly due to the face that AX11 was my very first convention ever and I was overwhelmed simply by the fact that I’d mustered enough courage to actually attend a convention. However, I was bitten by the desire to cosplay once I arrived and saw nearly everyone in some variation of costume. And by everyone, I mean young and old, short and tall, thin and fat, professional and amateur…and everyone looked like they were having so much fun!

Some costumes were hand-made by aspiring designers or fans who have a fervent desire for costumes to be as canon as possible. Others were store bought, altered and fitted with separate accessories to reflect the character or the otaku portraying the character. I was inspired! My mind raced with a thousand ideas for which characters I might portray and how I would create awesome costumery.

Later that year I attended Comikaze 2011 with a couple friends, and debuted my very first (and very simple) cosplay as Kiki, from Hayao Miyazaki’s classic film Kiki’s Delivery Service. I wore a simple purple dress, tan flats and a big, red bow in my hair. It was not exactly canon and not exactly recognizable, especially by the attendees of Comikaze 2011, which was a con dedicated to all fandoms (e.g. comic, horror, sci-fi, fantasy, anime, etc). But, it was nice have a simple cosplay and move about the convention relatively unnoticed.

But now…

NOW I am ready for a big costume—a costume that is beautiful as it is recognizable.  My cosplay choice for AX12 is Earl Ciel Phantomhive from the series Kuroshitsuji, or Black Butler.

Kuroshitsuji follows the dark misadventures the Phantomhive Family, an English secret executive agency controlled directly by Queen Victoria and its members are often referred to as the "Evil Noblemen" and the "Queen's Watchdogs". The family is tasked with eliminating anything that worries the Queen, as well as monitoring and keeping London’s criminal underground in check by any means necessary. Behind the front of Funtom Company, their toy and confectionary business, they are able to control and manage the underworld of the United Kingdom to effectively hide its existence from the general public. The current head of the family is Ciel Phantomhive, only son of the late Earl Vincent and Lady Rachel Phantomhive.

This dress is from a scene in the manga where Ciel goes undercover during a gala to expose an English Lord who is suspected of being Jack the Ripper.

Ah! I am SO excited! The infamous Ciel ball gown is a fairly popular cosplay option and it has many variations across the internet. I did not want to buy a cosplay that looked like a cheap Halloween costume—true cosplay is very different than what Americans do for Halloween.

I see cosplay as more of a masquerade. You should look comfortable in your costume, and it should be of a quality that presents the illusion that it’s something you would wear daily. It’s a costume that shouldn’t look like a costume. This is the dress I chose from FanPlusFriend:

In addition to this fabulous dress, I will need to purchase the following items:

The Wig: While Ciel’s hair is naturally short and straight, he adopts a long-haired look for his undercover mission.

from MeiLiFang Wig via amazon.com

The Boots: A lot of the Victorian boots I were finding were knee-high; Ciel opted for a wide, low slung ankle boot with a low heel, so these will be perfect and (hopefully) not too hard on my feet!

from Funtasma via amazon.com

The Gloves: It goes without saying that no ball gown is complete without a pair of satin opera gloves. I’m planning on altering these with a corset-like lace up along the sides, depending on how they fit my arms.

from Private Island via Amazon.com

After these items are gathered, I am in the perfect place to augment the remaining finer points of the look with jewelry and other accessories I already own. I’m thinking I may add pearls. J

Ciel is very pale; thankfully I have this going for me (!), so I’m planning on trying to make my make-up as smooth and flawless as possible. Any dramatic makeup will be reserved for the eyes and lips. I want to go for a sultry smoky eye, preferably with grey shadows. I have very short eyelashes, so I’m planning on augmenting them with “tails,” to give my lashes a long, swooping look. I’m sure I’ll need to do a few tests to get the look just right.
I have a beautiful L’Oreal lipstick that I wear day to day which I think will blend marvelously with the colors of the dress and the period.

I fear that I may be a little in love with this whole process, and am trying hard to look at the big picture to anticipate possible issues that might arise. I’ve carefully researched and scheduled the products I’ll be purchasing, so I will still have time to receive them if there’s an unexpected delay.

My biggest worry is how I will actually get to the convention. I live about 45 minutes away from LACC…but I drive a 2-door Toyota Yaris. I may not be able to drive fully dressed, and I’m not really keen to be completing my look in the LACC parking garage! I haven’t received my dress yet, so I’ll just have to try it on and see how it’ll work. It will definitely be a funny experience to drive down the 405 in an anime wig! :D

Another worry is how I’m going to handle my purse. I’m also attending LACC to buy some artwork and goodies! I hate, hate, HATE carrying bags around. I like having one shoulder bag, like a large purse or canvas bag, into which everything goes. However, nothing will mesh with my costume (not that I necessarily want it to), but still... I’m attending with friends, so I’m hoping they’ll hold my bag for pictures.

I have a perfectly sized canvas tote that is light khaki and pink, so I’ll probably use that.

There’s also that lingering thought that I’ll be one of 10,000 people dressed as Ciel. Kuroshitsuji is a very popular series and especially in cosplay. It’s not the smallest lady, but I’m curvy. I’m very short, which is keeping with the character, and I have a round face….so if nothing else, I can claim I’m the chibi version!

My last big worry is the HEAT. July in Los Angeles can be absolutely wretched. Last summer, I had to wait in line outside for 2 hours just to enter LACC. I was absolutely blown away by and unprepared for how popular AX was! By the time I got to the Expo floor, I was hot, red, sweaty and greasy from sunscreen, but that simply won’t for Ciel!

Last year I had a 2-Day Pass for Friday and Saturday, the first two days of the con. As I mentioned, Friday’s lines were CRAZY. I arrived at the same time on Saturday and the lines were practically nonexistent despite the con having grown—I think Saturday is the biggest day of AX. So, I’ve purchased a Saturday and Sunday 2-Day Pass for AX 12. Hopefully, I’ll luck out!

But aside from all these worries, I’m thrilled to be able to attend my own ball of sorts,

to wear this dress and assume Ciel Phantomhive’s person for a day.

I’m excited to walk about regally and demure if/when attendees ask for pictures.

...and depending on how confident I get, I may even interact more with fans and ask in a rather bored and bratty English accent if they’ve seen my errant butler.

<3

Pasta!

Please, please refrain from 1). letting your inner fan scream in joy at a reference to the wildly popular Axis Powers: Hetalia or 2). chucking everything in sight at me because I'm about to dedicate an entire blog to it.

I consider myself pretty literate/knowledgeable when it comes to the world of Japanimation -- oddly enough, I had never even heard of Axis Powers: Hetalia until a friend of mine ranted about the series' obsessive fans. I figured any series that inspires rabid fans warranted a closer look. And as a daughter of a History professor and lover of ancient and international culture and history, I couldn't wait to start watching. :)

World History tends to be kind of... dry. If you don't have much imagination, it just ends up being a big mass of dates and battles. Recently I took a break from Naruto and began watching an anime that has become very popular during the last year –Axis Powers: Hetalia (APH).

This series (of which I've only seen the first season) is SO politically incorrect. It is a broad collage of stereotypes, insanity, inanity and more stereotypes (and all of this is in keeping with the point of the show), which is a humorous look at WWII. Can you laugh about that war? Perhaps the more important question is, should we? I think, as with most things, it's a question of how things are presented and how the more difficult topics are handled.

The main historical events portrayed in this work occur between World War I and World War II. The series often uses satire and comedy to address well-known historical events as well as historical and cultural trivia. Historical, political, and military interaction between countries is allegorically represented in APH as social and romantic interaction between the characters; the web-comic (original) version in particular depicts military and economic incursions using various innuendo.

In APH, countries are represented by characters, and every character is a mass of stereotypical flaws-- with Japan, primarily, and Germany, to a lesser extent, being the notable exceptions. The character of Japan is a brilliant, hard-working, very polite young man, though shy and not as well acquainted with the rest of the world as he perhaps should be. Germany is a hardcore stickler for the rules, who shows little emotion; like Japan, is smart, hardworking, and prone to get results.

The other nations/characters, however, do not fare so well. Italy is a charming, rascally but inept and a useless coward who surrenders at the first sign of danger; he is obsessed with pasta, and produces white flags as his contribution to the war effort. America is a bit of buffoon, who is fond of declaring that he is "the Hero", talking with his mouth full, and eating unlimited hamburgers -- while proposing absurd solutions to world problems (like, creating a super hero to defeat global warming). France is a self-important, militarily inept, excuse-making fellow with a passionate dislike of England and a history (which he pooh-pooh's) of failures and stealing other people's thunder. England, meanwhile, despises his former ward, America, as well as his rival, France; England's cooking is notoriously bad, and ridiculed throughout the show. Russia is a sadistic young man who is frequently plotting evil against his fellow nations. China is a power-hungry nation that produces great food; etc. 

Is it funny? Yes, at times. In fact, at times, it is hilarious. Things like the Holocaust, war crimes, racism, etc., weren't discussed; and so, in a parody world where those things don't happen, it seems ok to laugh.

I’ve read a lot of reviews recently that point out the sympathetic view of the Axis Powers, particularly Germany and Japan, some even going so far as to argue that Germany and Japan are the only countries that are noble – all others are greedy and arrogant. I disagree with this. APH does not glorify WWII Germany or Japan; they are just as greedy and misguided (and hapless) as the rest of the world, we as the viewer just pity them because they have to tolerate Italy.

So, all in all, it is Italy that gets the short end of the stick in this manga, but the Italy stereotyped in APH is much more positive than any depiction on television today. Despite this, Italy’s just plain adorable!

And it's all in good fun -- the stuff that goes on is based on real historical events, but filtered through a satirical anime/reality-show lens. The dialogue is gut-splittingly funny, peaking with Italy's song about Germany ("Even though I'm your prisoner, you give me food/and it doesn't suck like English food!"), and there's goofy slapstick and cultural references aplenty.

But there are also some more somber moments, such as America reminiscing about the War for Independence and his painful rift with England, or China thinking of how he found and raised Japan. I also enjoyed the scenes between Lichtenstein and her “big brother,” Switzerland. And while all the characters are national stereotypes, the writers succeed in making each one endearing and likable... well, except maybe Russia. He's just creepy.

General Reception

Both volumes of the printed manga version of APH have topped The New York Times manga best seller list. Volume 1 topped the list on October 10, 2010 and Volume 2 topped the list on January 16, 2011. Volume 1 has been in the top ten for twenty-one weeks and Volume 2 for fourteen weeks. Reader reviews of the British magazine NEO gave positive to mixed reviews for the anime version.

One reviewer, Ellis Wylam, said that: "The animation is very colourful and cheery, and makes you astonished how they managed to create something so hilarious, fun, light-hearted and enjoyable out of a World War." However, Wylam also said that: "Unfortunately, some jokes (particularly in the first episodes) didn't make me laugh hysterically 'laugh out loud', as much as was expecting when I bought the DVD. However, the humor seemed to develop in later episodes, making you give out giggles that translate as "did he actually just say that?!

The second reviewer, Lara Garnermann, said that: " APH is an extremely intelligently written anime, suited to anyone with an interest in world history or international politics, and of course anyone who wants to laugh for 26 episodes straight." However, the third reviewer, Rohan 'Amuro' Hine, was more critical saying: "It is a very funny series, but a lot of jokes will go over your head, due to Japan having different stereotypes than us. For example, while we think the French are white flag waving cowards, in this, it's Italy who is the coward, and hides behind Germany for protection. And some jokes can go over your head if you don't have a PHD in history as well."

A review for the second season of APH, also in NEO by Matt Kamen gave the DVD of the season four stars, each for the program and the DVD extras. Kamen wrote that: "Despite its risqué jokes and abundance of national stereotypes, APH thankfully manages to stay on just the right side of casual comedy racism - maybe that's why we don't feel too bad laughing uproariously at the dub, particularly Japan's heavy "Engrish" accent! It's best not to ask too many questions of this show - instead, just sit back and enjoy while APH conquers your world.”

In addition to this, the viewer has to have some general understanding of World History and cultures to even begin to appreciate the interactions of the countries and their banter. The dialogue whips by so quickly that some scenes require multiple viewings and some quick information searches on Google.

For instance, the opening scene of Hetalia has various countries of the world gathering together at a conference. The countries are introduced by their flags—trying to decipher which countries were which while trying to follow the lightening dialogue was dizzying! Some are easy to recognize, like America, Britain, Russia and Greece, but I had to confirm which character was Poland, Latvia, Estonia, etc. Hetalia makes the viewer think…and now I knew the flags of Poland, Latvia and Estonia after only three minutes into the series.

And while the series definitely provides little tidbits of historical knowledge, it’s hard to take Hetalia’s tongue-in-cheek history lessons as gospel. But it does make me smile to see teenagers suddenly interested in World History and international culture and politics. I’m all for it it Hetalia plants the seed which grows into a deeper and long-lasting interest in history.

Long Live Hetalia!

Yondaime

I have a new favorite character.

>///<

I always laughed at fans of Naruto who lauded Lord Fourth's awesomeness. I never really understood their love of him...until now. Not only is he an adorable father to our hero,

but this scene is...amazing! 

...and don't even get me started on his sweet cape-thing. <3 Love it!

...I really need a boyfriend. 

Fillers and Feelings

Last night I finally settled down to start watching Naruto: Shippuden again. I had thrown up my hands in defeat somewhere around Episode 229, entitled “Eat or Die! Mushrooms from Hell!,” which is all you need to know to draw the appropriate conclusion as to the quality of that episode.

There were a few gems in this particularly random filler arc, namely “Sai’s Day Off” and “Kakashi, My Eternal Rival!” but all in all I find fillers incredibly frustrating.

So today’s lesson will be about “fillers.” What are they exactly? Fillers are episodes with no expository substance which are used as “place-keepers” or “time-wasters” as the animators wait for the original manga to catch up and/or work on the next Canon* Arc** of the story.

Most anime series are based off a best-selling manga. Blockbuster manga like Naruto and Bleach run concurrently with their anime counterparts, as both series are unfinished and new chapters are published monthly. However, the animators can move through the story and animate it faster than the creator of the manga can create and publish his work. This would leave gaps in the anime, so filler episodes are used to keep the show going while the publication of the manga catches up with the anime, and vice versa.

(A Western example of this is when Warner Bros began to film and produce the Harry Potter films before the series was concluded. Warner Bros could shoot, produce and release the films faster than Rowling would write them, so I think they approached their schedules carefully so there wouldn’t be a four year gap between the third and fourth film, etc).

Here are the top three reasons I dislike filler-episodes:

1.       Fillers are not canon.

I’m sure there’s a rare exception here, but for the most part, filler episodes are not based on anything written by the creator of the series. Essentially, the animators and writers from somewhere take the characters and create their own separate story for them. Often, this distorts the true and original characters as they’re manipulated into a weird side-story that doesn’t quite seem to fit with the original storyline.

2.       Fillers are always a low point.

Filler-Arcs always seem to slide in after an amazingly awesome Canon-Arc, so fillers are such a dramatic let down after the heart-stopping, gut wrenching, pulse-pounding, smile and tear inducing flood of emotions the previous arc brought you. You also know that the canon arc coming after the fillers will be just as amazing (if not more so) than the previous canon arc, and the agony of waiting week after week through who knows how many filler episodes has caused many an anime fan to go insane, or simply give up on a series completely.

3.       Filler quality is awful.

Compare the quality of the characters in filler-episode 227 "The Forgotten Island" to canon-episode 163 "Explosion! Sage Mode." I'll let you draw your own conclusions. :)

But the worst thing about fillers is you know that an awesome new Canon-Arc is in the works…and I have never been a patient girl.

HOWEVER, despite this, the series has redeemed itself—the series has officially returned to canon material and the last ten episodes of Naruto: Shippuden have been so refreshing after sludging our way through fillers for an entire season!

The newest Canon-Arc heralds the start of the Fourth Great Ninja War, follows Naruto’s further training into taming the chakra (e.g. “life-force”) of the Nine-Tailed Fox Spirit he is host to, and sees the final steps of super-ninja-villain Madara’s long-laid and intricate plans accomplished to dominate the world of the ninja.

This Arc also provides an emotionally stirring glimpse into the story of Naruto’s parents, who have remained enigmas through the entire series. We knew they died protecting their son, and that it was their painful decision to make their infant son a vessel in which to bind the Nine-Tails. As they died, they locked small amounts of their chakra into their son, so that they could offer assistance at the right time.

And the highlight of the series for me was when Naruto is able to “meet” his mother and hear of his parents’ romance, his birth and their love for him. It made me so happy to see how tickled Naruto was by his mother’s affection.
Finally…just finally. Finally, he is able to feel their love for him. Finally, he is able to tell them he loves then and to know they love him, too. Finally. Finally. I bawled through about three episodes while mentally cursing Kishimoto for making me love his characters so deeply. Gah! TT__TT

This is why I love Naruto. I tolerate fillers so I can treasure these moments that transcend the series, the genre and the culture. This is what I wait patiently for…and this is why I have fallen so deeply in love with Japanese storytelling. It resonates with me in a way nothing else does.

Naruto Forever….dattebayo!

<3

*Canon (def.): The original, unedited vision and story as seen and written by the creator of the series.

**Arc (def.): A term used by anime fans to split long series into definable story "chunks," or chapters.

Shooting Fresno, Chapter One

The first chapter of Shooting Fresno. I could never quite settle on the point of view or prose style to take with this story. *le sigh* Racial themes are going to run pretty strongly in this novel, too...I can tell...and I'm finding it difficult to navigate the best way to present the character of Rob, especially since this takes place 40 years before the Civil Rights Movement, but he's a character who appeared to me, who just is himself and too wonderful to ignore. 

The front tires of the 1923 Buick bounce off one of the thousands of potholes scattered across the endless asphalt expanse of California’s Highway 99. A metal fender squeals in protest as the driver of the speeding car fights with the wheel. The vehice wobbles violently through the aftershock. 

“Could you try NOT hitting every hole in road?” trills the irritated young woman who sits beside the quiet man in the back seat.  “I really don’t think I can take much more of this abuse!” She readjusts her folded legs. “I don’t know why we didn’t take the train.” The driver mutters something under his breath and the woman lifts her chin primly. (She shouldn’t worry though; her passenger is sure the driver is more upset with him as a passenger, even though he’s been silent the entire trip.) Her dark hair, shiny and curled in elegant waves, lays pinned beneath her woolen hat. He supposes she is the kind of woman who dislikes feeling unglamorous and can see she is choosing to ignore the existence of the small beads of sweat collecting against the back of her neck.  Obviously unpinning her Coco Chanel designed headwear is out of the question.

“It’s not just me I’m concerned about,” she says. “If we stop one more time to patch those worthless tires, I think I’ll spit!”

Her gaze slides sideways and he feels her eyes on him. His knees, bent at an angle he is sure an oriental acrobat would be jealous of, dig into the back of the seat in front of him. He, smartly, has dressed in slacks and a comfortable cotton collared shirt, with the sleeves of which he’s pushed up around his elbows in a futile attempt to make the warm, sticky atmosphere of the car’s interior a bit more bearable. A notebook is open across his inclined thighs and he sits hunched over the pages. He hopes she doesn’t realize he is writing about her and her sweaty neck.

“Writing?” she drawls and stifles a yawn.

“Trying,” he answers curtly. His hand shakes jerkily—an echo of the car’s jarring movements as it rattles along the highway. 

Another loud bang nearly knocks them from the black leather seats.

“Ah,” he groans and carefully repositions himself in his seat again.  He tears out a page from the notebook; his neat printing has been interrupted by an angry, crooked line which squiggles darkly across the page. He crumples the paper and throws it to the floor of the vehicle before begrudgingly turning to a fresh page to begin again. 

His name is Robert Wells. There’s nothing particularly interesting about him. He’s a writer. In a perfect world, he might be a celebrated one. He’s never had anything officially published, but he still considers himself a writer. That’s not expected from a black man; most people seem shocked to find out he can read and write. He can write better than most white folks, and that makes him feel pretty good. He’s different from other men in the way he views the world in a sort of romantic, or poetic, way. But he does not get along well with women, either. In fact, most are so eager to let him pass by that he’s succeeded in only a handful of half-hearted, sex-crazed flings, none of which lasted for more than, well, let’s just say they lasted long enough for him to completely forget about them. 

He is a guest (i.e. anonymous) writer for the Los Angeles Times, and while the pay is next to nothing, it is somehow just barely enough to support him. Granted, his options are limited to begin with, but life for a man like him is decent in Los Angeles; everyone likes a black man who can play the piano like nobody’s business. Correction: a black man who could play the piano like nobody’s business. He spent a year in France fighting the Germans in 1918; his left arm is messed up pretty bad, so he doesn’t play much anymore. Sometimes he feels he should write about his time there…but he finds his mind blank.

A gloved hand (seriously, in this heat?) covers her mouth primly as she yawns. The woman turns away from him and he catches her glancing out the narrow, ovule window at the convoy of touring cars and roadsters which follow behind them. Phillip Chauncey, the so-called leader of the little group, has bought a brand new, bright yellow Studebaker convertible especially for the journey from Los Angeles to Fresno. Phil and Rob had met in Hollywood around ten years before; Phil always had more motivation than Robert when it came to making money, evidenced now by his fame and apparent abundance of wealth. He is a big time movie producer now and Rob had jumped at the invitation to join him on an ‘on location’ shoot. Phil says the script is floundering; of course, the actors can’t know it’s a black man who is writing their lines. Robert hopes his involvement will not scratch out his non-existent career. His mother always said he needed to get to get his head out of the clouds; no one in their right mind would give "a colored man" credit in a film. At the very least, for him…seeing his name on a silver screen might make him believe his talent is just that. At 27, he already feels 50 (if he’s even qualified to say something like that) and the fear his life is going nowhere is beginning to haunt him. Of course, he can’t expect to become like Phil. His life has limits. 

He mentally curses Phil. What he wouldn’t give to feel some fresh air across his face! Driving the two and a half day journey from Hollywood to Fresno would give them a ‘taste’ for the land, Phil had told them.  He’s been spitting dust out of his mouth the entire trip and he has a feeling that sort of ‘taste’ wasn’t what Phil had meant. They aren’t even to Fresno yet, and Rob is already set on returning to Los Angeles. Damn Phil. The woman’s pout deepens as she turns around in her seat again; this makes Rob assume she is of the same opinion. She sinks down deeper into the leather with her arms crossed over her chest.

“I still don’t know how I managed to get stuck riding with you,” she complains. Quite frankly, he doesn’t know how he got stuck riding with her, either. As the only black man in the entourage, he’s surprised Phil didn’t saddle him along with the camera and props men. 

“Phil doesn’t want you looking windswept when we get into Fresno,” he remarks dryly. His voice is deep in tenor, but youthful. He tears out yet another page and crumples it. Her frown grows in severity. If she isn’t careful, those lines will remain and crease her skin, and this really would be her last movie. 

“My God, it’s Fresno,” she says and rolls her dark eyes. “There’s nothing there but cows and hicks. It’s no place for an actress like Dorianne Lark.” She purses her lips at him and straightens a little in her seat.  

“Now, now, Miss Lark,” he says with a playful grin. He points his pencil in her direction. “We don’t want to accentuate those frown lines, do we?” Perfect rouge lips fall open and he chuckles.  Then she punches him in the arm. Another dark line scratches across his notebook. 

“Rob Wells!” she shrieks. “How dare you say that in front of me?” He only shrugs and smiles. 

“And your hat’s crooked,” he adds for good measure.

“It’s supposed to be crooked, you idiot!” she protests, but her hands immediately rise to inspect her hat’s current position atop her head anyway. 

“Well, I don’t know who made that fashionable. Honestly, looks pretty ridiculous.”   

She shoots him an icy glare and continues to fuss with her hat. “I’m not going to even try to explain the fashion concept to someone like you,” she says. He shrugs again and shuts his notebook. Needling someone as insecure as Dorianne Lark is too good an opportunity to pass. 

“So I’m unstylish, then?” he concludes. He leans back in the seat in an attempt to stretch his legs. Her eyes roll again and she turns to face him; her fingers still exploring the flamboyant hat and re-checking that her curls are in their proper place.

“Not so much unstylish as slovenly,” she admits. He smiles lopsidedly, brings his arms up and laces his fingers together behind his neck. The collar of his shirt is wet.

“Why the hell should I care? It’s Fresno, right? I’ll fit right in with the slobs, and cows and hicks.”

“Have you ever been to Fresno?” she asks as the car hits another pothole and they bounce. He shrugs again; there is no expression as expressive as the movement of hunching shoulders.

“Passed through it once,” he says. “I stopped to take a leak on the side of the street and some crazy Mexican popped out of nowhere brandishing a rake, screaming at me to get off his land.”

She laughs.

“It wasn’t so funny at the time,” he mutters pointedly.  

“Well, I’d be pretty mad if you were…doing that on my property,” she says. “Some people have no manners at all…”

Dorianne turns and studies the man seated beside her.  Even though her passenger is black, she cannot deny he is handsome. He looks honest, and after a life of bright lights and transparency, she is drawn to his solidity. He offers her a disconcerted smile in return, and then turns to gaze out the window at the passing scenery. His mother had been of the opinion he is handsome and sometimes he agrees with her, but honestly, he thinks Dorianne Lark must be pretty desperate to take interest in him.  Despite the scorching heat, the valley is actually beautiful in its dried, sun-baked, dead and brown grassy way. The gnarled trunks of the twisted oaks that dot the horizon and cluster in odd congregations on the foothills we drove through remind me of cringing wretches, arms curling, ridged and protective. The sun is a cruel master.

He and she are not exactly cynics when it comes to love and such, seeing as they do believe (ideally) in true love. Not the storybook kind, but the real, passionate, soul-stirring compassion, devotion and love. He’s just of the opinion only a few lucky people find it. The rest of us, like her, try to catch glimpses of it, taste it, to feed our craving for it through mediocre attempts at shallow love. Humans really are pitiful creatures. And what’s worse is he recognizes his own foils. Does he think too much about depressing things? Probably. Does he give answers to his own questions? Frequently. He holds the same opinion of religion; only a few lucky people find the kind of faith that brings undying devotion. He was brought up in a home that breathed the Holy Spirit, with Mother dragging her eight children off to Sunday school every week and Rob kicking his feet all the way. 

“So what’s your story about?” asks Dorianne. He hears a crinkling sound and turns to see her smoothing one of his crumpled pages across her knee.

“Do you mind?” he snaps, reaching out to grab the paper from her. She relinquishes the paper without a fight and he crumples it in his fist again. 

“Ah, that bad is it, Rob?” she teases. 

“I’m not the only one sensitive about their writing,” he retorts, trying not to sound too defensive. There’s something so intensely personal about writing; his soul is on those papers, and he’s not about ready to have someone make a hasty judgment on them.

“Is it a romance?” she asks. He looks at her.

“Do I look like the type of man who’d write something like that?”

“I, for one, think a romance written by a man would be refreshing.”

“Says you.”

“What’s so wrong with romances?”

“They’re unrealistic. Good fiction should show how life is, not how it’s supposed to be.”

“Pride and Prejudice didn’t end badly,” she quips pointedly. He grimaces. That book, written by a spinster author who fancied herself better than everyone around her, was concerned only with the ‘ideal’ man, which subsequently caused every woman who read it to fall in love with him. And normal, mortal men (like himself) just didn’t stand a chance when pitted against their fictional enemies. Darcy doesn’t exist and he is damn sick of women holding him up as the epitome of…

“Mr. Darcy was so perfect.”

She took the word right out of his thoughts.

“So was Frankenstein’s monster…at the beginning.”

“You’re a pretty sad and depressing man, Rob,” she trills with a patronizing laugh. 

“Then let me be sad and depressed in peace.” Suddenly the interior of the car seems even hotter. 

“Why? People like romances. I’m sure you could write a good one.”

“I doubt it,” he says. “I like tragic endings.” His head falls back and he make a choking sound. It isn’t until a few minutes later he until he realizes how inappropriate his gesture had been.

“It sounds awful when you say it like that,” she says in disappointment. The car shudders and he turns to look out the window again. “And besides,” she sniffs, “I was made famous by playing out that exact scenario on screen. People like love stories.”

“People are shallow.”

His fellow passenger presses her lips together and sinks back in her seat. He exhales heavily and watches as their destination materializes out of the desert. The town of Fresno, California isn’t high on anyone’s vacation list.  Big enough to be on the map, but still small enough that no one knew it was there.

They pull off the 99 and into town by Fulton Street. The streets of Fresno aren’t any kinder that those of the highway. The narrow wheels of the car bounce in and out of the trolley tracks; the space overhead is crisscrossed with thick cable car wire and loose hanging telephone lines. Brick seems to be the building material of choice, and the plain buildings are decorated with dusty electric marquees and wall murals. Dust coated automobiles line the streets like debris along the river banks; the arriving cavalcade cause the locals to pause in their window shopping to gape. He wonders what stores in Fresno sold, or if the people about actually had the money or time to shop frivolously. Their cars, dirty from the trip, still glint with bright yellow, red and black paint in the noonday sun. He can’t help but lift his head a little higher and he feel like a benevolent god descending from the high mountain to the masses below. 

They take Fulton to H Street and their hotel comes into view. The Hughes Hotel looks nice enough. Maybe if they are lucky they’ll enjoy a hot bath. The car lurches to a stop and Rob is out stretching his legs a moment later. Dorianne is yammering at him to help her with her hundreds of crates of luggage, and he pointedly ignores her. He winces inwardly at the driver as he heaves her coffer off the roof of the car—Rob makes a mental note to buy him a drink later, though the man probably won’t accept it. He arches his back and stretches his arms above his head. A dry, warm breeze caresses the back of his neck. 

A woman on a bike is coming their way, pedaling fast. The handlebars jerk angrily as she swerves to avoid a pothole.  Seeing them, she backpedals and cruises past slowly. She captures Rob’s gaze and for a moment and they share a sense of pleasant surprise and incredulity. Her face, round and soft, is flushed in the afternoon heat. Her hat, probably blown off as a result of her daredevil pedaling, bounces up and down against her back; her gauzy scarf trails along behind her in the breeze and stray wisps of tawny hair frame her face. She looks at him strangely and her round, gray eyes do not leave him until she has gone a fair distance past the hotel. He watches her pedal away until she rounds the next street corner, disappearing from his sight. 

Perhaps Fresno isn’t going to be as boring as he expected.

“Rob!”

His mood suddenly turns sour. Something about that girl has kidnapped something from him he thought he’d hidden well away. 

“Rob!” 

An arm bent at the elbow rests against his shoulder. A manly sniffle and spit.

“Eh, Rob! Nice drive, eh?” 

“Sure,” he says, still trying to decipher the affronting feeling that is making his collar uncomfortable. He turns to look at Phil, who stands beside him with a grin spread widely across his boyish features. His shiny, blond hair is windswept and new sunburns stretch across his fair cheekbones, forehead and nose. He takes a deep breath and laughs.

“Just look at this place! Smell that valley air!” He thumps his chest once with his fists and Rob grins. “This place is perfect; even better than I anticipated!”

“It does have a certain charm,” he admits with a half-shrug. Phil claps him heartily on the back and the next moment is springing back to the cars. He turns and watches him; Phil has always been an energetic person. He makes Rob tired just looking at him. The various personnel are stepping from the cars, gathering their things, stretching, chatting. Leo Harper, the head camera man, is walking into the hotel with his beloved camera hitched up on his wide shoulder. 

In a few moments, Rob finds himself alone in the street. He leans against the side of the car and slips his hands into his trouser pockets. The shoddy looking Commercial Hotel is on the opposite side of the street, flanked by small restaurants and shops. A listing telephone pole stands a tired sentinel on the opposite corner. The Hughes Hotel sits on the corner of Fulton and H; some old, charming looking buildings are lined along down the street, right of the hotel. Whether they are small business or tenements, he can’t tell. He takes a deep breath and is surprised the air lacks the smoky taste he is used to. The air is hot, but it smells clean...aside from the lingering aroma of cow.

He studies the hotel from the street; it is large and impressive next to the shoddy buildings clustered around it. A large tower sprouts from the roof and rises imperiously over the street. He stands in its shadow. His dark eyes narrow. He walks around the front of the car and enters the hotel. 

The temperature is nicer and a welcome gust of cooled air hits his face as he enters. The lobby is tastefully decorated, but odd. The design is, for lack of a better description, stuffily Victorian. A far, far cry from his favorite jazz haunts in Anaheim. Down to the fringed lamp shades, curved wooden clawed feet and floral fabrics, the place has a comical, ostentatious quality about it. The old ledger keeper behind the oak desk looks down hastily as Rob passes him. Even though things aren’t segregated here like they are in the South, Rob Wells no friend or stranger to disapproving stares or racial prejudice. He tries not to let it bother him.

Leo Martin sits on one of the divans, idly poking at his camera. Leo doesn’t talk much, but his talent with the camera is unequalled.  Rob walks past him and Martin sticks out his hand towards Rob. He looks down and takes the key offered. Swell. Rob offers him a weak grin of presumed friendship and pockets the little metal object. He can only pray Martin doesn’t snore; he’s a light sleeper.

Copyright : Elise Aydelotte