Most people who visit here know I enjoy me some good Asian movies. I started out with Crouching Tiger, I think, then moved onto House of Flying Daggers and Hero and all of Zhang Yimou’s movies, and ventured into Takeshi Kaneshiro’s films, good or not, and then wove my way around Tony Leung and Andy Lau.

But, to my eternal dismay, I had never seen an Akira Kurosawa movie. You know Kurosawa, right? The guy who, to quote Wikipedia, “is widely regarded as one of the most important and influential of all filmmaker(s).” Yeah. That guy.

The husband has always wanted to see Seven Samurai, upon which The Magnificent Seven is based. We haven’t gotten there yet, but a few weeks ago we saw Throne Of Blood, which is a retelling of Macbeth. Then, over the weekend, we saw Rashomon and Yojimbo, two totally different films, both starring Toshiro Mifune.

Geez. Where the hell have I been all my life?

It’s hard, watching Rashomon, to think that this incredible, groundbreaking, mind-fucking, gorgeous movie was made sixty years ago. 60. Like, made in 1950. If you like the work of Borges and Escher and Charles Willeford and any artist who takes reality–or what you think is reality–and turns it on its head, you will like Rashomon.

Yojimbo is much more straightforward, based (uncredited) on Dashiell Hammett’s The Red Harvest, and was the basis for Sergio Leone’s A Fistful of Dollars. You cannot take your eyes away from Mifune in this one (actually, in all the films I’ve seen he has such a presence), and it is as dark and noir as anything I like, which is saying something.

Not sure what is next; hopefully Seven Samurai soon, but meanwhile, I just had to gush.

Back to regular whining and programming later in the week.

Last night, Brooklyn’s outdoor concert series, Celebrate Brooklyn, hosted a sing-along of Prince’s Purple Rain.

Oh, SO MUCH FUN!

We took the 10 year-old, after trying to remember what could’ve made it rated R, and told him we’d warn him when Appolonia was gonna take her top off. There was some bad language, but nothing more, he said, than he’d heard in the playground.

Anyway, it was awesome to be outdoors on a lovely summer evening with thousands of other Prince fans, all of us screaming and cheering and singing along. I don’t know how many times I’ve seen the movie, but it never fails to crack me up that they had a chalk outline for an attempted suicide (including the outline of the gun!). Because, you know, it’s good to outline a guy who needs medical care in case he dies later, so you can preserve the moment.

The acting was atrocious, the storyline ridiculously simple, and can I say, how can Appolonia want to be with a guy who hits her, plus has all the courtship chops of that guy who keeps mostly to himself next door?

But the songs, the dancing, the pageantry, is just so damn spectacular. Plus you can’t beat Jerome and Morris Day, two of the hammiest actors ever to grace the screen. The Spouse jumped up to do The Bird, too, which made me giggle.

The best part remains, however, the Lake Minnetonka line, made even more resonant because the 10 year-old and I are going to the waters of Lake Minnetonka tomorrow so the 10 y-o can do sailing school. My mom grew up in Minnetonka Beach, and my uncle still lives in Wayzata. The first time I saw the movie I murmured, “that’s not Lake Minnetonka,” and felt very proud of myself.

Yeah, whatever, I was probably 19, my moments of triumph thus far had been few and far between.

Wheee! The 10 y-o liked the movie, too, and was dancing with us at the end during “I Would Die 4 U.”

So tomorrow we head to Minnesota, but that likely won’t affect me posting, except the people around me will be blonder. My hair, however, remains the same.

So, Megan, you unearthed the camera, and the first thing you take pictures of is . . . YOUR BOOKS?!?

Yes. Deal with it.

The Canterbury cup is a Wedgwood my Dad had since before I was born, I think. He had a gazillion pens in it, so I am carrying on the tradition (plus it has a broken handle).

Am I obsessed with Osi Umenyiora because he is a New York Giant, and apparently there is some sort of big game this Sunday? Because I saw him on the Bob Costas show, and he was way charming (not my choice of program, btw, which you probably figured out. The Spouse does an admirable job of making sports more Megan-friendly by pointing out guys who love their moms, or are really hawt, or have interesting lineage)? No. I am obsessed with Mr. Umenyiora because he has ALL THE VOWELS IN HIS LAST NAME ONCE AND ONLY ONCE, and HE’S EVEN GOT A ‘Y!’

Love that. And I know I’ve mentioned it before, but the Picky Vegetarian has a similar deal, she’s got all the vowels in her full name. Like Julia Roberts. Or sequoia. Or education, cautioned and auctioned (which are, of course, anagrams of each other).

Good luck, Mr. U. I’m rooting for you.

Courtesy of The Imaginary World

The Son, the 6,000 Book Owner Dad and I were at the beach today. While there, a trio of girls were listening to their iPods, and one started singing Rick Springfield’s “Jessie’s Girl.” I do not think that is the worst song ever, it’s super-catchy, in fact, but I can’t fathom actually choosing to listen to it on an iPod (and then listening to Tony Orlando & Dawn’s “Knock Three Times”!)

But it led me to wonder–what is the worst song ever? For me, it would have to be Paul Anka’s “Having My Baby,” but that is because he is Canadian, Canada has a Canadian content law that says a certain percentage of songs played on the radio have to be from Canadian artists, and my family and I were traveling through Canada the summer it was out. Ergo, I heard it once every ten minutes for a month.

Of course, that is a personal moment in time colored by the agony of traveling with my family hearing a song I despised; a priori (have I mentioned I [heart] Kant?) what are the worst songs ever?

There are bands I dislike; Violent Femmes, Fine Young Cannibals, Four Seasons (Frankie Valli’s voice makes my skin crawl), Journey, Rush (like fingernails on a chalkboard), and Abba.

But I can’t think of specific songs; “You Light Up My Life,” “Feelings,” and “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer” are all up there, but are they the worst?

What’s your nomination for the worst?

I TOTALLY asked the husband during the Oscars tonight if the dance troupe was Pilobolus. And I was right!

(Yes, I also TOTALLY have insomnia. It is indeed three in the morning, and I need to get up in four hours. Big drat of sleeplessness).