Amen:

I'm off to NYC - let's hear it for Amtrak! - to give a talk to customers of Pitney-Bowes about why documents aren't really containers of information. Why would we ever think that they were? Perhaps because we've viewed ourselves as containers of information. Plus, we've recently managed to informationalize all of business. But, you know what? Information isn't really the lifeblood of business. Lifeblood is the lifeblood of business.

Of course, I'll probably rewrite the whole thing on the train ride down. [Joho the Blog]

It's easy to pontificate to little children that they should go to bed early and on time because it's good for them and that they'll feel good when they wake up with enough sleep.

If only I could be good at living out the truth of going to bed on time. I've lived through enough evenings of not going to bed when tired only to hit that second wind of wakefulness when I want to do everything but sleep. "Oh, only one more chapter from a book -- or one more article from The New Yorker". I know that the next morning will be painful -- yet I don't want to sleep quite yet.

Now who is more clueless -- the kids or I?

Last night, I hastily promised that I would write more about Yasujiro Ozu and universality. So I'm here to deliver on my promise, as underwhelming as my performance will be.

Why is it that I want to spend many of my hours watching the films of a director whose name I did not even know two months ago? Am I just caught up in the type of fashion that afflicts middlebrow intellectual wannabes? (The PFA says Ozu is great -- so I must go around watching these films, professing Ozu's greatness even if I can't quite see it for myself.) Maybe.

But that doesn't explain how moving the films have been to me. I biked home last Saturday evening after seeing Late Spring with tears streaming down my face. It was just a film about a father and his daughter, how she doesn't want to get married because she does not want her father to be alone, and how her father convinces her to get married, thus condemning himself to loneliness. I thought that Tokyo Story was absolutely gripping, speaking to my sense and understanding of family. I want to know more about the film, what makes it tick. I spent two hours on Sunday with the new DVD of Tokyo Story looking for insight.

Does it help to be Asian or specifically Japanese to really get Ozu? Some European American friends of mine did not respond to the portrayal of family in Tokyo Story the way I did. They were surprised that the film is considered by many to be one of the greatest films ever. I myself am delighted to see the recognition that Tokyo Story has received. It's good for me to read many who don't have any problems associating artistic experiences originating from Japan with the universal. I'm tired of hearing primarily ideas and art from Western contexts described as such. I'm refreshed by seeing faces on movie screens that look more like mine crying, speaking (or not expressing) heart-felt emotion -- and moving viewers around the world in the process.

Yes, I know that I'm shedding very little light on whether Ozu's work is universal. Maybe I'll answer that question some other day.

Our quasi-periodic bloggers' lunch on Monday was a real treat. Lynn reflected, "Our blogging lunch was fun yesterday, catching up on personal lives and work as well. Our blogs keep us somewhat up-to-date with each others' lives, but there's nothing like actual visiting, imho." I'm thankful for all the ways we have to share of ourselves. Without blogs, we'd know quite a bit less about each other. But without seeing each other, we would know little about how we each are as embodied beings, flesh and blood creatures.

I treasure digital representations we each offer up. This evening, I realized how much richness is to be found in the writings and images we have created over time. Too much to take in at times. Wouldn't it be great to collect Chris' table art and make our own arrangement of the art to ponder the pices? As I looked today at a few of the tables, I realized that I would need to take more time than I feel I have at this moment to give it the type of attention the art deserved.

I also want to read the blogs of my friends more closely. I'm not sure exactly how I'll do so. The method of skimming really hasn't worked frankly. And deeply reading everything that everyone blogs will surely exhaust my energy.

Maybe I can learn from the way I visit with some friends IRL. There are a lot of people I am terribly fond of that I don't get to see too often. But when I with them, I pay close attention, delight in their presence, and soak up their words. Such infrequent but "quality" visits do more than dozens of superficial conversations ever would.

Tonight, after a wonderful evening spent at the house dining and coversing with my friends -- a young married couple with their two lovely kids -- I wandered downstairs to do what I've grown accustomed to doing on a Wednesday evening: turning on the TV to watch The West Wing and Law and Order. I usually pay close attention to the former but have the latter act as background noise while I answer email or surf the Web.

Unfortunately -- or fortunately -- the reception tonight was so terrible that Channel 11 was just a noisy mess. I turned off the TV, cursed the cabling in the house, and found my way to my computer in the quiet of my room. Ah -- this is so much more conducive to concentration, peace, and productive reflection.

So why void does the TV fill -- or seems to fill -- that gets me to turn it on in the first place?

From an article in today's SF Chronicle about the latest slew of partisan political books from the right and the left:

"These books capitalize on polarization," says Susan Rasky, senior lecturer at the University of California at Berkeley's Graduate School of Journalism. "They play to an audience that's pissed off at the other. These are not books that ask, 'How do we bring ourselves together?' "

Anyone writing books to answer that last question?

I'm in the middle of a new craze -- one for the Japanese director Yasujiro Ozu. The Pacific Film Archives is hosting a retrospective of Ozu's work right now. In the two weeks, I've seen three of his films but am aching to see more of the 36 that are being shown at the PFA.

Since I've not been blogging regularly, I want to return to blogging by writing as pointedly as I can. But it's late alas -- so right now, I just want to leave a tidbit to seed what I plan to write tomorrow and to whet the appetite of the several loyal readers I have out there.

I've been thinking about the issue of universality and the art of Ozu. I throw in Bach -- well, because I like Bach -- but also because I've pondered the use of the adjective to describe Bach. Are all these things related? I don't know.

Let me just sign off for the evening by throwing in a quote for me to sleep on:

Hasegawa also offers his view as to why Ozu's films are still loved by so many people: "Ozu consistently portrayed the universal theme of family issues common to all human beings. Wim Wenders hit the nail on the head about Ozu's films in stating: 'As thoroughly Japanese as they are, these films are, at the same time, universal. In them, I've been able to recognize all families, in all the countries of the world, as well as my parents, my brother, and myself.' However many times I watch Ozu's movies, after viewing, the films inspire me to contemplate the meaning of life, families, and parent-child relationships." Hasegawa's desire is to "introduce even one more person to Ozu's films, particularly the next generation of youth." That is undoubtedly also the hope of every person who loves Ozu and his work.

Thanksgiving is upon us. I find it challenging to actually slow down and soak in the meaning of an given holiday. It's not for a lack of trying. On some Veterans Day, I stop to reflect on soldiers of war and pray for peace. Yet it's not easy in the U.S. to really commemorate an occasion. Most around me just see these days as another day off. The newspaper is typically full of advertising for the special shopping to be had.

So with Thanksgiving, I am faced with another great chance to give thanks. I will try to give thanks and not just run around making my dish or just sit around stuffing my face. Let's see whether I succeed.

Let me offer up a list of books that are on my mind lately as a substitute
for some "real blogging":

• The
  Middle Mind : Why Americans Don't Think for Themselves (whose author Curtis
  White spoke at Cody's Books tonight)
• The
  Geography of Thought : How Asians and Westerners Think Differently...and Why
• Book
  of My Nights: Poems
• The
  5 Patterns of Extraordinary Careers : The Guide for Achieving Success and
  Satisfaction
• Churches
  That Make a Difference: Reaching Your Community With Good News and Good Works
• Chinese
  Americans and Their Immigrant Parents: Conflict, Identity, and Values

This morning, I attended church and sat beside Lloyd and Pepe. I wrote an entire page of reflection based on the sermon and may go into those reflections in this space -- but not tonight when I'm tired. I will say that the sermon series on 1 Peter was immensely challenging for me.

Last night, when feeling a bit down, I turned to doing a bit of programming. That actually lifted my spirits, though I need to fight against programmers' obsession.

Riding my bike is another good way for me to fight the blues. What a lovely autumn afternoon in which to cruise around Berkeley.

As I type this entry, I'm listening to Rough Guide to the Music of China. Such a nice way to get introduced to some big artists who had previously been utter strangers to me. I await the selection of Cantonese opera that will surely transport me back to my childhood.

It is time to go to bed, lest I get a second wind and not be able to fall asleep until 1am!