tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87741412024-02-28T02:04:54.320-08:00braincelljupitera voyage into a mind that is a planetbraincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comBlogger229125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-33793399310665366112019-12-20T13:20:00.000-08:002019-12-20T13:20:23.448-08:00Bill's Balls Big in Japan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I just found out that the Japanese title for "Caddyshack" was "Balls Balls." But the Japanese title for "Meatballs" was the singular "Meatball." Clearly the Japanese are able to phoneticise the plural of ball, so I don't understand the logic here. Talk about lost in translation.</span></div>
braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-76907081722795708992019-03-29T13:13:00.000-07:002019-09-11T17:58:02.768-07:00Candy Christ<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px;">My faith in Jelly Beans has been unwavering throughout my life. But I never knew the meaning behind the colors until now. Praise Rite Aid!</span><br />
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braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-88815426428206048732019-01-27T18:30:00.000-08:002019-09-11T13:28:09.345-07:00Witch color's which?<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px;">Just saw “Wicked” at the Pantages Theater. In the birthing scene, everyone acts shocked by the newborn’s appearance. Baby looks normal to me (except that it’s an unmoving doll). I think, “Oh, I guess it’s stillborn.” Nope. Apparently it’s green. Just another reason why it sucks to be colorblind. She did look more noticeably green as the adult version though. And much more alive.</span><br />
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braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-7700016073510987072018-05-18T15:44:00.000-07:002018-05-18T15:44:01.463-07:00T the Head<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The other night I had a dream in which I encountered a woman who I once knew as a child. I’ll call her T. T also went to my mother's nursery school and lived in our neighborhood. I probably had play dates with her as a toddler, and I'm pretty sure I attended a birthday party of hers and vice versa. We were in the same classes quite often through sixth grade, and I think we were fairly friendly in school. But we were never friends. The last time I probably ever saw T was in junior high because I went to high school for one year in NYC and then moved to Holmdel and continued school there.</span></span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-661513d1-7564-dec2-b5b4-b94fb319aba3" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">T was blonde with blue eyes. I never had a crush on her like I did with so many of the other girls. (My crushes all had brown/dark hair.) Still I felt connected to her somehow. Maybe it was because I don’t think she truly fit in with all the other girls. I remember one time in third grade when T had what appeared to be a booger on her arm. Another girl said, “Ew, you have a booger on your arm!” T just calmly flicked it off with her finger and said matter-of-factly, “It’s a disease.” Well this made me and the other girl laugh hysterically. Obviously a disease doesn’t look like a booger and can’t be simply flung off your skin without leaving a mark. Even a third-grader knows that. T didn’t seem to be bothered by our laughing or teasing. Or at least she didn’t show it. </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s strange how this tiny incident has somehow been affixed in my memory for all this time. How many other insignificant moments were there, day after day in school, that did not make an imprint? For me it was a humorous anecdote, and I guess that is why I have allowed it to stay with me all these years. Perhaps I have subconsciously repeatedly revisited that moment for a light-hearted cerebral tickle. Maybe my brain replayed it because it was a bonding moment with the other girl (of course, dark-haired), who I knew would never include me as one of her friends, even though she basically lived right behind my house on the other side of the woods. </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It never really occurred to me until now, but maybe that memory never left T either. And, if so, from her perspective, it was likely a source of pain. I certainly can recall a dozen, if not more, memories of being teased and bullied in school. I don’t often choose to relive those moments, and I rarely talk about them.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When I joined Facebook about 11 years ago, I looked T up. I didn’t send a friend request. I just stalked as much information as I could from her public profile. She was (is?) married with kids. Part of me was hoping that wouldn’t be the case. From what I could gather about her husband, it was a high-school romance. I can’t imagine having fallen in love with someone from my school days and still having that person in my life (married or otherwise). That’s a long-ass time. Almost goes as far back as my booger memory. Unlike me, though, T has a physical being from her past that she has held onto, with whom she has created a family and and continues to create new experiences and memories every day. I have a snot story.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I never really thought about T much throughout my adult years. Not consciously, anyway. I wonder if she remembers me at all? Throughout my life, certain women have reminded me of her. Most recently, two women in two different improv classes seem to have triggered thoughts of T. They both had those physical attributes that for some reason have always and only been associated with her in my mind. A scattering of freckles, slightly dirty blonde hair, somewhere between curls and frizz, and eyes that sparkled like cold blue Christmas. </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So back to this dream I had.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">T was just a head. Something tragic had happened to her. Miraculously, she was still able to live, but as a head. No torso, no neck, no nothing. No life-support system attached to her. It wasn’t a head floating in large glass laboratory tube. Just a head. </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">T the Head didn’t seem to remember me, or if she did she didn’t let on. She didn’t show any of her emotions except for a slight bitchiness, and who could blame her for that? Still, I was hoping for some kind of acknowledgement of our shared history, no matter how insignificant it might have been to her. But just like she did with the booger, she played it cool. </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maybe that’s how she had to be with people. After all, she could only get around if people carried her. She let me carry her for a while, albeit in a begrudging way. T the Head wasn’t too heavy, but there was enough weight that my arms would get tired and cramp after a while. I felt bad that I wasn’t stronger, and I worried that would drop her if my muscles suddenly gave out.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Setting her down was a tricky matter. T the Head didn’t stay upright unless you balanced her just so. She could easily just topple to the side, or worse, do a literal face plant. My deepest fear was that she would suffocate if I didn’t keep an eye on her. T the Head was like a baby with the mind, experiences and personality of a full-grown adult who had lived a life -- now helpless and completely reliant on others. </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Eventually I found a spot on a lawn where the grass wasn’t too high. The ground was soft enough that T the Head would sit perfectly upright and level without any need for a hand or additional props to keep her stable. It might have been the big field with the swings and jungle gym in front of Lafayette Mills School, which was walking distance from T’s childhood home. It wasn’t something I questioned at the time. It was a dream. It was dark -- nighttime in a dream kind of dark, so while the light on the ground was bright enough to see the freshly mowed green turf, nothing in the distance was visible. A horizon of blackness. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I left T the Head there and walked away, certain that she would be safe. Her gaze fixed in one direction. Permanently, perhaps, staring forever into nothingness. Unless someone stumbles upon her in a dream and offers to carry her around for a while. </span></span></div>
braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-78331431712178298782017-12-19T14:45:00.000-08:002018-02-01T14:53:42.688-08:00Cloud City Phantom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">The lack of Lando in the new Star Wars and comments about race in another facebook post triggered an old memory. This is absolutely true.</span><br />
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I had two Star Wars Bespin Guard action figures, one was white and one was black (not African-American, as neither of those places exist in that galaxy). They both had the same mustache as Lando, as this was regulation in Cloud City. As far as I know, they were the only figures Kenner made that were the exactly the same, except for their race.</div>
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One time when I was playing with my figures, I placed the black guard, gun in hand, on the Death Star elevator shaft near the tractor beam controls. While I was turned away, the gun flew out of his hand and hit me in the face. Scared the shit out of me. I never played with that figure again. I swear he didn't like me.</div>
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UPDATE: My memory seems to have played tricks on me. In researching images for this post (my figures were in storage), I found that only the white guard had the Lando 'stache. I'm leaving the above as written, though, because I find my childhood memories to be more fascinating as memories than actual fact because it's the memories that I've lived with for my whole life. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZQsjWdvfMOcaiDRd30qe6QiApawYeXHy5QkgbtIu3oJ00dg4CwMHLAD0cMXyNyYTqXJFq2hrQc4lyuckbiI1sG9ng_lSxmHtR-IQt0hRaFhQ0B2krnGhIuzWlls9-4OVTr5lU/s1600/ESB-Bespin-Securty-Guard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1154" data-original-width="789" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZQsjWdvfMOcaiDRd30qe6QiApawYeXHy5QkgbtIu3oJ00dg4CwMHLAD0cMXyNyYTqXJFq2hrQc4lyuckbiI1sG9ng_lSxmHtR-IQt0hRaFhQ0B2krnGhIuzWlls9-4OVTr5lU/s640/ESB-Bespin-Securty-Guard.jpg" width="436" /></a></div>
braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-56365154019305389662017-10-03T17:33:00.003-07:002017-10-03T17:33:44.621-07:00<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7DgPpf1BvrHbnKwRbOXqlFIAD3Is0EKyFDHskdczaMTTbCRzeSeBZYblhcwP2RHeIEOQr6pMYQ81PUreVwcg9YXKCbjKMXLyaPpERQshIhlE7Pk0T0BPn3ziMIKnbF4OHqIAt/s1600/22140937_10155888023790712_5047909721609548548_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="718" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7DgPpf1BvrHbnKwRbOXqlFIAD3Is0EKyFDHskdczaMTTbCRzeSeBZYblhcwP2RHeIEOQr6pMYQ81PUreVwcg9YXKCbjKMXLyaPpERQshIhlE7Pk0T0BPn3ziMIKnbF4OHqIAt/s640/22140937_10155888023790712_5047909721609548548_n.jpg" width="476" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Shirtless shoeless man with tattoos spotted outside the former Circus of Books porn den turned hipster marijuana dispensary. Not sketchy at all. I love LA!</span></td></tr>
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braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-8921476235366525592017-09-22T16:03:00.001-07:002017-11-14T15:44:11.814-08:00Where yeohman has gone before<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've been rewatching a lot of the original Star Trek episodes lately, and I think I have developed a crush on <a href="http://memory-beta.wikia.com/wiki/Keiko_Tamura" target="_blank">Yeohman Tamura</a>. She was played by the actress Miko Mayama and only appeared in one episode.<br />
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Before she went on a voyage of discovery in outer space, she was "discovered" by Burt Reynolds, as this post on her <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0562203/bio?ref_=nm_ov_bio_sm" target="_blank">IMDB </a>page states. Hollywood had already discovered her as by the time they met, she had already been on Star Trek and about 10 other TV shows. <br />
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According to Burt Reynolds autobiography, "But Enough About Me", Miko Mayama started as a Kabuki Theater player. They met when he stopped in Japan on his way to the Philippines to do the movie, "Impasse." Miko moved with Reynolds to the United States and learned to speak English by watching Bugs Bunny cartoons. Her first words to him in English were, "What's Up, Doc?" They lived together for 4 years before he left her for Dinah Shore.</blockquote>
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<a class="gie-single" href="http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/593260629" id="uhVgyeTfSgVOHCLGSruR5w" style="border: none; color: #a7a7a7; display: inline-block; font-weight: normal !important; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Embed from Getty Images</a><script>window.gie=window.gie||function(c){(gie.q=gie.q||[]).push(c)};gie(function(){gie.widgets.load({id:'uhVgyeTfSgVOHCLGSruR5w',sig:'RZXQBjMQHvpa4mSe7pQUg5vkpzJCBytpiKJYvJ8qVKU=',w:'594px',h:'592px',items:'593260629',caption: true ,tld:'com',is360: false })});</script><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embed-cdn.gettyimages.com/widgets.js"></script><br />
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Read the whole excerpt from Reynold's book here:<br />
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<iframe frameborder="0" height="500" scrolling="no" src="https://books.google.com/books?id=FtFJBgAAQBAJ&lpg=PP1&pg=PA108&output=embed" style="border: 0px;" width="500"></iframe><br />
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In 1973 she appeared in the Blaxplotation film "That Man Bolt." <a href="http://ancensored.com/clip/That-Man-Bolt/Miko-Mayama/7672" target="_blank">In this scene</a>, Bolt, played by Fred Williamson, checks out the woman who wooed Burt with bunny talk.braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-1908352608274804932017-09-01T18:51:00.000-07:002017-09-21T18:55:11.775-07:00<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-captioned="" data-instgrm-version="7" style="background: #FFF; border-radius: 3px; border: 0; box-shadow: 0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width: 658px; padding: 0; width: -webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width: 99.375%; width: calc(100% - 2px);">
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<a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BYkH9fjg2Gx/" style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Restroom hallway of a Japanese restaurant in Houston. #waterfallsofinstagram</a></div>
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A post shared by Mike (@braincelljupiter) on <time datetime="2017-09-03T03:51:56+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Sep 2, 2017 at 8:51pm PDT</time></div>
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<script async="" defer="" src="//platform.instagram.com/en_US/embeds.js"></script>braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-75709210895307650202017-08-20T18:30:00.000-07:002017-09-22T15:49:43.438-07:00The Great American Blindness Challenge 2017<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTW07wZcrLKOvJyO_IJArXC9_7uT1hREqzJRoVVTQEjQ_30SPPeGSX2yPd4aHCXEMobDHWc4yUIDtKjiklkaM5HAceT0o3pdCwWnKuU1FdMorYm0RH4fPdgJWfzh-4oSB-65dW/s1600/20954105_10155750730840712_4791514789878845418_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTW07wZcrLKOvJyO_IJArXC9_7uT1hREqzJRoVVTQEjQ_30SPPeGSX2yPd4aHCXEMobDHWc4yUIDtKjiklkaM5HAceT0o3pdCwWnKuU1FdMorYm0RH4fPdgJWfzh-4oSB-65dW/s400/20954105_10155750730840712_4791514789878845418_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Braincelljupiter stares at the eclipse in Madras, Oregon</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">First I noticed my shadow looked 3D and colors started to become saturated. I felt like I was wearing sunglasses. It felt like I was going blind. It got cold. Then darkness started closing in from the distance. Mount Jefferson on the horizon disappeared. I got colder. Then it was night. People gasped and cheered. Totality. For a little more than two minutes I stared at the fingers of the sun. A man nearby told his toddler daughter, "you have to remember this." And when it was over she said she wanted to do it again. I felt the same way. Do it again. Make me feel small. Remind me we are floating and rotating in the blackness of space. Remind me of how we only exist because of your warmth and the distance you keep from us.</span>braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-17835447959795552732017-08-19T18:52:00.000-07:002017-09-21T18:54:37.665-07:00<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-captioned="" data-instgrm-version="7" style="background: #FFF; border-radius: 3px; border: 0; box-shadow: 0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width: 658px; padding: 0; width: -webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width: 99.375%; width: calc(100% - 2px);">
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<a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BYCEGG9AkGI/" style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">#greatamericaneclipse</a></div>
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A post shared by Mike (@braincelljupiter) on <time datetime="2017-08-20T22:23:58+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Aug 20, 2017 at 3:23pm PDT</time></div>
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<script async="" defer="" src="//platform.instagram.com/en_US/embeds.js"></script>braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-54022403813895117412016-09-23T18:56:00.000-07:002017-09-21T18:56:30.287-07:00<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-captioned="" data-instgrm-version="7" style="background: #FFF; border-radius: 3px; border: 0; box-shadow: 0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width: 658px; padding: 0; width: -webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width: 99.375%; width: calc(100% - 2px);">
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<a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BKwXcZ9AP4Q/" style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Everybody salutes Tom Cruise.</a></div>
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A post shared by Mike (@braincelljupiter) on <time datetime="2016-09-24T22:38:35+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Sep 24, 2016 at 3:38pm PDT</time></div>
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<script async="" defer="" src="//platform.instagram.com/en_US/embeds.js"></script>braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-19295941552966944412016-06-21T18:53:00.000-07:002017-09-21T18:54:28.703-07:00<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-captioned="" data-instgrm-version="7" style="background: #FFF; border-radius: 3px; border: 0; box-shadow: 0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width: 658px; padding: 0; width: -webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width: 99.375%; width: calc(100% - 2px);">
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A post shared by Mike (@braincelljupiter) on <time datetime="2016-06-22T21:20:51+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Jun 22, 2016 at 2:20pm PDT</time></div>
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<script async="" defer="" src="//platform.instagram.com/en_US/embeds.js"></script>braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-3155459786926578552015-12-02T18:12:00.000-08:002017-09-21T19:18:26.405-07:00Old Skool Skater<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">My roommate from NYU, Cameron Martin, was a professional skater for Powell Peralta. He's now an artist and not on Facebook. Back in 1991 in our sophomore year, we made a video together that I shot and edited. Last week he sent me this link to a recent <a href="http://quartersnacks.com/2015/11/past-life-via-1991-a-year-magazine/#more-31050" target="_blank">article </a>about the video and how it lead to the end of his relationship with Stacy Peralta.</span><br />
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<br />braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-65274772683655304202015-10-06T19:25:00.000-07:002017-09-22T13:26:22.542-07:00<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>braincelljupiter </b>is available for commercials, TV and film. <br />
Contact for rates. Rates include these faces and more. </td></tr>
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<br />braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-35284906493286155472015-07-03T18:18:00.004-07:002017-09-22T15:50:21.765-07:00Tall Iced ImprovaccinoToday I improvised a scene at Starbucks. I played a "Rainman"-esque character who questioned another man about his "service dog." I started out by complimenting him about what a beautiful service dog he has. Then I asked him if the dog was helping him read the newspaper (obviously the dog wasn't because the newspaper was on the counter in front of the man, out of eye-level of the dog).<br /><br /><br />The man asked me if I was with the "Service Dog Police." I assured him that I was not. He then asked me "What does that sign say?" I read it aloud so everyone in the store could hear. "We welcome service dogs."<br /><br /><br />"What else does it say?" he asked me.<br /><br /><br />I looked at the small print. "No pets, please!" I cried, placing extra emphasis on the word "pets."<br /><br /><br />A little boy, oblivious to this inane altercation, came over to ask the man if he could pet the dog. Of course, the man obliged.<br /><br /><br />That's when I turned to the little boy. "One day when you grow up you can have a service dog and bring him to Starbucks."<br /><br /><br />The boy said, "Oh, I don't live around here."<br /><br /><br />"That's OK," I told him. "It's a California law anyway and you don't have to pay attention to it even if you are from here."braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-83537386952853051812015-05-04T18:15:00.000-07:002015-07-06T00:26:01.542-07:00Jacaranda<br>
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I don't have any memory of admiring flowering trees before I moved to Japan. Until I had lived in Los Angeles, I had no appreciation for how green my home state of New Jersey can be.<br>
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If you're around people who take notice of the little things, it rubs off on you. You suddenly start to see these things in such clear detail as if you've just gotten a new prescription in your eyeglasses. When you're around people who just take things for granted--people who don't see beauty in everything that makes up this reality--it becomes a challenge not to get sucked into that state of mind.<br>
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San Diego seems to be full of these trees that for most of the year look quite barren. Then suddenly they become an explosion of purple. They are neither common in Japan nor New Jersey. I'm red-green colorblind, and perhaps because (or maybe in spite) of this, purple comes across as extra vibrant to me.<br>
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Maybe people who have lived in Southern California all their lives don't notice these trees that litter that landscape with lavender. All I can see is a natural wonder worthy of a celebration.<br>
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<br>braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-74029078596925893762015-02-24T15:41:00.000-08:002017-09-25T16:49:16.542-07:00Time Traveler<span id="docs-internal-guid-f31d5728-bb6b-974a-d5c0-c50d8f616877"></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Thomas Guide - 1993 Edition</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I was living in Los Angeles about 20 years ago there was no Internet, no smartphones, no Metro. It was high tech enough for me to be able to fax a resume straight from my PowerBook. Getting around the city required purchasing a Thomas Guide map the size of a phone book. My job provided me with a cellular flip phone that was only to be used for emergencies (because calls were pretty expensive) and a pager that received texts, although the caller didn't actually text, they spoke to the number they dialed, which an operator then texted to the pager. It seems so archaic now. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Today I navigated the city with Google maps on my iPhone, and I'm texting people at no cost, and keeping friends back in Tokyo abreast of my whereabouts and goings on (status updates in modern day lingo). Parking meters take credit cards here, and I was worried about not having enough quarters! I lived in Studio City, in the Valley, where the ocean air never reaches. My roommate used to joke that we were living on Mars because there was a constant haze we got used to breathing. Roommate is a bit of a stretch. He had the bedroom. I had the living room. It was a living arrangement that I can't even fathom of putting up with now, but somehow I did for three years. Slept on a futon, the kind that folds into a couch. I guess I didn't really need much privacy. I was always going out. </span></div>
braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-67492175545019583382015-02-13T21:00:00.000-08:002017-09-26T16:10:56.042-07:00Buddha for "You"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />So I enter the meditation hall, take off my sandals, and look around the room. Several people are seated in chairs along one side of the room and the back wall. Only a few are cross legged on the cushions that line the floor. I pick a cushion that has an extra cushion on top, perfect for keeping me raised enough so my long legs don't fall asleep, and sit down. "Excuse me, I put that cushion there to sit on," says a woman sitting in a chair. <br /><br />"Oh," I reply. "Sorry."<br /><br />I look up and see another high cushion. I go over to it and plop down.<div>
<br />"Excuse me, I put that there for him to sit on," says a man sitting in a chair next to his friend, who is also sitting in chair. "If you want an extra cushion, there are more in the corner," he adds.</div>
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<br />Why the hell are you people sitting in chairs if you want to sit on a cushion?! And if there are extra cushions available, why do you care if I sit on "yours"?!</div>
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<br />My mind raced with these thoughts as I went to take "my" extra cushion from the corner of the room.<br />Enlightened people crack me up sometimes.</div>
braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-1957506016456093372015-01-10T20:00:00.000-08:002015-04-01T17:41:14.651-07:00Kawaii Jedi<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">This new Star Wars looks like it's gonna be great. I really underestimated JJ Abrams.</span>braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-83270549855473066092015-01-10T19:02:00.001-08:002015-01-10T19:03:41.278-08:00<br />
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braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-22889622088829153222014-12-26T01:11:00.001-08:002014-12-26T01:16:57.774-08:00Cotton candy?! So da, ne!<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0pKraFv3oUB_KB4b6ui47QM84ozN2J-Fx-D3Ta5FMqEpOJzKh89PVv1LgrXnTDc6FlM2szMkWKxxtYE4Qm-nzHMPFoT_uXSqXIAibWLIjcZdSQOAg-quM4rLytuEUhko_fMrP/s640/blogger-image--848306183.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0pKraFv3oUB_KB4b6ui47QM84ozN2J-Fx-D3Ta5FMqEpOJzKh89PVv1LgrXnTDc6FlM2szMkWKxxtYE4Qm-nzHMPFoT_uXSqXIAibWLIjcZdSQOAg-quM4rLytuEUhko_fMrP/s640/blogger-image--848306183.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">So desu yo. Cotton candy soda da yo. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-11100175791293049292014-12-24T16:44:00.000-08:002015-04-01T17:45:15.582-07:00Drowning dreams<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Last night I dreamed I swam in a holographic ocean. Of course, when I realized that I forgot to take my wallet out of my back pocket, I got stressed. Even though there was no way it could get wet. Then I got caught in a riptide and went under. That's when I woke up. It wasn't a nightmare at all. It explains a lot to me. Our minds create our own realities. What's yours?</span>braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-62480010160187240122014-12-18T19:30:00.000-08:002015-04-01T17:54:27.578-07:00That sinking feeling<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">The signs indicate you are indeed washing your hands in a sink that more than one person has mistaken for a urinal.</span>braincelljupiterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03889041121573932259noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8774141.post-1753260571479553052014-12-01T19:45:00.001-08:002015-01-10T19:03:59.911-08:00Say "cheese"<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Katori Shingo from the no longer boy band (as in they are no longer boys but are still somehow a band) promotes a cheese product in an ad on the Tokyo subway. Does his smile look sickly to you as it does to me? He could play the Joker in the next Batman movie. Not a very appetizing way to sell food of any kind. </div>
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