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All aboard the Cat Bus for a moving conversation about one of the greatest animations of all time – and the emotional madness of trying to bring that tale to the stage in London's West End. If you're in London at the moment, you need to see the current theatrical adaptation of My Neighbour Totoro currently showing in the West End. Produced by the Royal Shakespeare Company with puppet designs by Jim Henson's Creature Shop, this magical re-telling of the iconic Studio Ghibli animation was written by our guest today, Tom Morton-Smith – a storyteller whose past work includes Oppenheimer (not the Christopher Nolan movie, but an acclaimed stage drama) and Ravens, a Cold War thriller set at the 1972 World Chess Championship. Taking on Totoro was an undertaking as big and daunting as the titular forest spirit himself. Set in post-war Japan, Hayao Miyazaki's story told the tale of a father and his two daughters who move to the edge of an enchanted forest, to be closer to the hospital where the girls' mother is undergoing medical care. As uncertainty gathers, strange creatures reveal themselves to little Satsuki and Mei – leading them on an adventure of wonder and awe. In the spoiler conversation you're about to hear, Tom details how he translated that wonder and awe to the stage. He's also open about his persoal experience, writing the play amid huge change in his family life. The grief and loss – or potential for loss – that sits in the background of the Totoro story is something Tom was moving through himself as he sat down to pen this adaptation.We break down the tale's themes of environmentalism and the kindness we owe to each other. We also get into the darkness of Ghibli that is often erased or reduced in how the west talks about films like this one. Finally, we talk about “ma” – the Japanese word for “emptiness” – that Miyazaki fills Totoro with, and why it might just be the secret to the joy of this film, now more than ever, in a frantic, digital world. Script Apart is hosted by Al Horner and produced by Kamil Dymek. Follow us on Instagram, or email us on thescriptapartpodcast@gmail.com.Screenwriters – get comprehensive feedback on your latest script from Al Horner by visiting ScriptApart.com/coverage.To get ad-free episodes and exclusive content, join us on Patreon. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.
My Neighbor Totoro: Episode 354 - We return to the world of Hayao Miyazaki as we take a look at the film that birth the world famous mascot for Studio Ghibli with the 1988 classic "My Neighbor Totoro". Gather up all your acorns and don't forget to bring your umbrella for this nostalgic trip to the japanese countryside! Hop in the Catbus loser, we're talking Totoro! Insta: @NormiesLikeUs https://www.instagram.com/normieslikeus/ @jacob https://www.instagram.com/jacob/ @MikeHasInsta https://www.instagram.com/mikehasinsta/ https://letterboxd.com/BabblingBrooksy/ https://letterboxd.com/hobbes72/ https://letterboxd.com/mikejromans/
Can the Aeronauts decide what is the best mount? Who is Fu Manchu? Email us your questions at wordballoonspod@gmail.com
Join us in the whimsical world of Studio Ghibli. This week in the blanket fort, Joy and Larisa are talking about the legendary Hayao Miyazaki and our favorite films of the beloved animator. Larisa shares of the coastal town and cozy bakery in Kiki's Delivery Service, then Joy delights on the childlike wonder of My Neighbor Totoro. Hop on your broomstick or catch a ride on Catbus as we travel through the beautiful scenery of Studio Ghibli. You can also watch our podcast on YouTube. Follow us on Instagram. Email us your 2% cozier or your cozy stories to blanketfortfiles@gmail.com for a chance to be featured in the blanket fort!
Watch the episode here. Hop on the Cat Bus and join Eric and Rory as they explore the animated classic My Neighbor Totoro. The links for the book and article that we discussed are below: Book: God of All Things by Andrew Wilson: https://zondervanacademic.com/products/god-of-all-things Article: https://thinkchristian.net/my-neighbor-totoro-and-becoming-like-little-children James' book Cinemagogue has a new edition! Hear more in this episode and read more here. For a sneak peak at the Director's Cut, click here. — We've got new merchandise! Check it out at the merch store. Help us recruit more film lovers and theology nerds by sharing this episode with your friends. Rate and review the podcast wherever you listen to help attract more listeners. Follow and connect with us on social media. Support us on Patreon. Chapters: Intro - 00:00 Popcorn Ratings - 03:11 Theology Ratings - 07:31 Subscribe, Share, Connect - 10:02 Ads - 11:48 Popcorn Thoughts - 14:05 Japanese Folk Religion - 18:12 Mighty Rushing Wind - 29:06 Folklore vs Mythology vs Truth - 38:33 Lightning Round - 54:35 Music by Ross Bugden: ♩♫ Epic Trailer Music ♪♬ - Fall (Copyright and Royalty Free)
You can't go wrong with Totoro, it is such a feel-good film. The best Dad and his two daughters move into a supposedly haunted house, but it was actually just dust devils. Then come to find out there is a giant fuzzy forest guardian that lurks about. No big deal though, he's chill.Our Links:Ian Wolffe
"I've always wanted to have a haunted house!" - The Dad Our third Studio Ghibli movie directed by Hayao Miyazaki: "My Neighbor Totoro" from 1988 - a cute family movie about childlike wonder, forest spirits, Soot Sprites, the Cat Bus, and Totoro himself! Podcasters Featured: Erik and Meghan Slader from Nerdeagram Elyse from The Super Switch Club Douglas Gale from Game Game Pass Kaslo 25 on Twitch Zack Derby from The NeatCast and Effin Cultured (Edited by Erik Slader / Music by Vigo @DeftStrokeSound!) *Note: Bill is still editing our "Nausicaa" episode. Next Time: "Kiki's Delivery Service" 2024 is the Year of Ghibli... If you would like to be featured on an upcoming episode head over to: https://probablywork.com/podcasters-assemble/ You can also join the discussion in our Discord server Support us on Patreon or Buy Our Merch! Network Info This podcast is a production of the We Can Make This Work (Probably) Network. Follow us below to keep up with this show and discover our many other podcasts! The place for those with questionable taste! Twitter | Facebook| Instagram: @probablyworkwww.probablywork.com Email: ProbablyWorkPod@gmail.com
Help NinetyForChill: The #Podcast get away from paywalls by subscribing to "Ninety For Chill: The Podcast with CatBusRuss". It is never too late to start the New Year. Some people hope to just get out of their comfort zone. That is the goal of Brandy Stonum, or should we call her HappyBeebsMeowMeow. With a Twitch handle like that, watching a movie where a feline plays a big role seemed perfect. So CatBusRuss was able to bend the rules of the podcast a bit, Han Solo style, and allowed Henry Selick's Neil Gaiman adaptation, "Coraline", be the focus of the show. CatBusRuss has been trying to get one of his best Champaign/Urbana pals onto the podcast since about the inception of the show. The two chat about and have watched movies in each other's company over the past couple of years, so he thought content would come naturally. Our host thought the biggest issue was just finding a movie to fit the parameters of the pod, but people can just be nervous about putting themselves out there. This was probably true of Russ until he had to cut his first wrestling promo. There were just too many quiet goth wrestlers in Peoria. Creating a character was the only in he had. Brandy is a few weeks from bringing her Twitch channel online, so like our film's protagonist, she has to make the online world in her image and not have it handed to her. Hopefully, we can get her back on the podcast once her channel goes live, but until then, lets revel in her cinematic intelligence and patience when it comes to dealing with the CatBus.
Help NinetyForChill: The #Podcast get away from paywalls by subscribing to "Ninety For Chill: The Podcast with CatBusRuss". So "Ninety For Chill" is addressing the Chris Klein-led "Rollerball" remake. This obviously means the past couple of weeks have been a comedy of errors for CatBusRuss. These faults include: car issues, difficulty finding guests for the show and balancing them with his dating life, and enduring another "far right" kick. Comedy is the key term in that paragraph. The "How Did This Get Made" movie podcast will be covering John McTiernan's "Rollerball" on Friday, January 26, 2024. To get the most out of this, our host is doing his homework. To further be on the same page as the HDTGM crew, CatBus went into his vaults to review "Blitz". This British police procedural stars patron saint of Paul Scheer, Jason Mantzoukas, and June Diane Raphael's podcast, Jason Statham. In other words, Russ could not manage the time to see the latest Statham action flick, "The Beekeeper". Nothing seems to be working out for the overworked podcaster. To further emphasize the difficulties Russ has been having, he did have another chat about the state of cinema with ThePoeticCritic. Too bad the mics were not set up ideally. But the audio can be heard with a bit of static, so it maybe worthwhile to stick through this week's featured reviews. After two movies reviews and forty minutes of chatter, you also get to further participate in the burial of Chris Jericho. CatBus may need to get through the "Terrifier" franchise to be fair to The Ocho, but after "Albino Farm", he is left thinking that Y2J may not be able to provide any positive contributions outside of the ring.
Help NinetyForChill: The #Podcast get away from paywalls by subscribing to "Ninety For Chill: The Podcast with CatBusRuss". Ninety For Chill is closing out 2023 with some cinematic banter from ThePoeticCritic. CatBusRuss and his big sister discuss how the movie landscape has changed, be it offerings for the multiplexes or streaming services. Their primary concern: Where are the movies? Our host is more concerned about where to stream them. With the top electronic retailer deciding to stop selling physical media, CatBus is out to grab the remaining worthwhile steelbooks. Too bad Universal/Comcast is willing to license their features to other streamers. Peacock should be enough to watch "The Super Mario Bros. Movie". He is not going to subscribe to Netflix. Thank Viacom for keeping "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem" on Paramount+. But what will happen in Paramount and WBD merge? ThePoeticCritic is more concerned about the movie-going experience. She explains how there just does not seem to be anything to draw people in most weekends. "Wonka" was her grand exception to the rule, but Disney and DC movies are not bringing in the money that they use to. Taylor Swift shows that people want events to attend. Where are those grand narratives that should take screens away from the Swifties? Despite the drama, we want to end the podcast on a positive note. At least Russ did. So he discusses his most recent binge to make sure he has all angles covered when determining the top discovery this year. The annual obligatory David Cronenberg feature is his adaptation of the play based on the book about the relationship between Carl Jung and Sigmund Freud, "A Dangerous Method". Was it too grounded to take the top discovery spot from "X" or "Marcel the Shell with Shoes On"? If only a Cronenberg would direct an "Evil Dead" movie. "Evil Dead Rise" was excellent, but was it anything more than a reskin on "Evil Dead (2013)"? And to honor past guest of the show Jonathan "A Film to Fight For" Romeo, CatBus watched "Saint Maud" as per the suggestion from "Possessive Forces vs. #Cinemastodon's Exorcists". Stick around after the chat with TPC to hear our host's critique of this high-concept, A24 horror.
Help NinetyForChill: The #Podcast get away from paywalls by subscribing to "Ninety For Chill: The Podcast with CatBusRuss". After a very successful Spooky Month that carried into Veterans Day, CatBusRuss felt it would be best to return to just reviewing movies this week. It was an opportunity to catch up on Ally's Accessories Shop of Etsy's Trash Feature Revue. As it turns out, we are in the home stretch when it comes to covering all of the DVD's Russ's ex-girlfriend bought him to ensure the podcast would have content for at least three years. Back when she would visit Skimble "The One Eared Angel" weekly, three discs per letter of the alphabet were provided to our host. This podcast is in its third year, so we are about out of the "gems" that she provided. Her efforts to represent each letter of the alphabet left some of the characters in better positions. In other words, we are out of T, U, and V (the last review was for "Swingers"). But, September and October's need for horror left CatBus jumping from the letter L ("The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" [1979]) to the Letter P ("Puppet Master II"). So, to fill in for the missing letters, "Ninety For Chill: The #Podcast with CatBusRuss" returns to M, N, and O. Russ hopes that you will find at least two of these films to be charming. "The Night Listener" has strong Toni Collette and Robin Williams performances. "The Oranges" has a superb ensemble trying to carry a taboo May/November relationship tale. And some of you may have been charmed by Vince Vaughn in 2001's "Made". CatBus knows this because since he had friends who thought they should act like one of the characters that Jon Favreau wrote for Vaughn. This unacceptable behavior helped to hasten his move from Peoria to Downstate's Liberal Hotbed.
Help NinetyForChill: The #Podcast get away from paywalls by subscribing to "Ninety For Chill: The Podcast with CatBusRuss". Andrew "Couchman Bakes" Tiede returns to the podcast to discuss a third feature about THE actor of every kid who was babysat by a VHS tape deck, Kurt Russell. The challenge being, Kurt's movies tend to be too long to be discussed on this show. But never to disappoint the audience, CatBusRuss will allow "John Carpenter's The Thing" to be the primary topic. All the Couchman needs to do is come up with a horror movie marathon. These "quadruple" features are based on two themes that can be taken from what maybe Carpenter's most influential feature: Who can you trust? What is the killer? CatBus's Six-Raven Cinema House offers up 1956's "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" and 2011's prequel to 1982's classic to address the first theme. As for the second, he revisited the so rad its good flick, "The Wraith" starring Charlie Sheen. At Andrew's Sasquatch Cinema House, the "Who" is addressed with a nerdier Elijah Woods versus aliens in "The Faculty". As for the what, how about the origins of Charles Lee Ray's after death adventures with 1988's "Child's Play" There is obviously a film missing from the Tiede showcase. Can he make up for it with the theater's new massaging chairs? Russ thinks that maybe too distracting. Perhaps you need to be the judge.
Help NinetyForChill: The #Podcast get away from paywalls by subscribing to "Ninety For Chill: The Podcast with CatBusRuss". It would not be #SpookyMonth for "Ninety For Chill: The #Podcast" if ThePoeticCritic did not make her annual villainy felt. She has never been big for slasher movies, so it is Kaiju season. CatBusRuss explores her opinions on the late '70s "Godzilla" movies and admits to light Letterboxd stalking. He just needed to know why she watched "Billy the Kid Versus Dracula". If only Ed Wood could have kept Bela Lugosi clean... As always when it comes to the CatBus's big sister, the conversation does devolve into a discussion about the current state of cinema. The two butt heads about "Wonka" and "Wish" again. How can she not respect the mere suggestion of an orange Hugh Grant and Alan Tudyk's hooved potential means box office success? Before all of that, Russ attempts to get the annual trip through Ally's Accessories Shop on Etsy's Trash Feature Revue back on track with Danny Trejo versus an electrified ghost. "Reaper" also features Jake Busey and English treasure Vinnie Jones. It is a bad movie gamble our host cannot resist.
CatBusRuss may be too old to be hip. He does not get the allure of Creepy Pasta. For our host, these ideas seem to be lazy attempts for older millennials to appear creative. They are just odd/disturbing images without any lore, a product of the ADHD era. To make up for the lack of depth, fans of the concept make themselves believe in it to hope to will these monsters into the zeitgeist. These efforts may have been better spent appreciating the tales of Stoker, Shelley, Wells, Lovecraft... But, these efforts may bare fruit. There is now a generation born into a world that has always had the Internet. Attention spans be damned. Generation Z can open up Chrome and find these creatures and phenomenon and declare them as the demons of their time. "We're All Going to the World's Fair" is a film that explores the effects that creepy pasta may have on the most impressionable among us, teenagers. Even the most cynical (CatBus) cannot deny this is an intriguing concept. Austin of "Take 'Em To The Movies, Austin!" brought this feature to Russ's attention. Jane Schoenbrun's film seems to really have connected with this week's guest who does his best to sell the movie to the jaded host. The two debate whether it is a deeply flawed feature, or the groundwork of the next great A24 career. In the case of the prior, CatBusRuss took the time to see what fun Shudder had to offer (and find a feature starting with "Q" for "Ally's Accessories Shop on Etsy's Trash Feature Revue". The Shudder Exclusive "Quicksand" appeared to have the potential for chaotic fun. If Russ failed to deliver a great flick, maybe it is best to refer to Austin's opinion(s). https://takeemtothemoviesaustin.substack.com/ https://mastodon.world/@auzzy
Help NinetyForChill: The #Podcast get away from paywalls by subscribing to "Ninety For Chill: The Podcast with CatBusRuss". This episode of NinetyForChill may serve as a personality profile of its host, CatBusRuss. Since 1997 and "The Fifth Element", he has been a fan and apologist of Milla Jovovich. Her direct-to-video features do not scare him off, so he was intrigued by "Paradise Hills". Neil Marshall's "Doomsday" is one of his favorite movies. It would not be fair to Marshall if Russ did not check out his collaboration with Jovovich, the "Hellboy" reboot. ThePoeticCritic is more of an influence of her little brother than he would like to acknowledge, but this lead him to give "Class Action Park" a viewing. That feature is about a very eighties attitude. Thus, it inspired him to finally watch the "Risky Business" DVD provided to him by Ally Higgins of Ally's Accessories Shop on Etsy. Another disc Ally gave her ex-boyfriend was a no budget horror movie from 2016 called "Nocturne". After that trash feature, CatBus needs to reminisce about a good gore film, so it is only fitting that "Spiral: From the Book of Saw" was the first movie he saw after cinemas finally reopened.
Help NinetyForChill: The #Podcast get away from paywalls by subscribing to "Ninety For Chill: The Podcast with CatBusRuss". CatBusRuss is doing his best to overcome exhaustion. Fan Expo Chicago calls for exploration means there was no time for relaxation. Our host has worked himself sick, so he felt lucky to get in three movies since returning from Rosemont. And after starting the week with his Netflix DVD rental, "Another Earth", getting up the energy to watch 1979's "The Lion, the Witch, & the Wardrobe" and 2022's "Thor: Love and Thunder" should be considered an accomplishment. These three movies are all worthwhile. "Another Earth" is science fiction that challenges the genre's demand for visual effects. The adaptation of the first "Chronicle of Narnia" is an interesting attempt to sneak Christianity into schools. And while avoiding films in the franchise that are based around a new characters, Russ has enjoyed diving into Phase 4 of the MCU. But all of these features present challenges to enjoy them. There is a very dour premise with the indie film. The cartoon features questionable character designs that make you wonder why they did not stick to their "Charlie Brown" style. And you can see why there are three credited editors on the Marvel movie. It is definitely going to be a one flick movie this week for the CatBus. His strength must be regained.
Help NinetyForChill: The #Podcast get away from paywalls by subscribing to "Ninety For Chill: The Podcast with CatBusRuss". CatBusRuss has made it back to Champaign/Urbana from taking his big sister, ThePoeticCritic, up to Chicago Fan Expo 2023. There was plenty of fun to be had, but there is a lot of stress that comes with planning to have the maximum amount of enjoyment. The Fan Expo takeover of Wizard World (formerly Chicago Comic Con) has led to more blatant efforts to take every possible penny from the convention goers. And taking money from Netflix, WBDiscovery, NBCUniversal, and Disney while cracking down on what actors could and could not say was almost too much hypocrisy for our host to endure. He felt that the standard panels that were for fans by fans were lacking, and the cool vendors seemed to stay away from the event. Fortunately, Russ had autographs to track down to make up for this time, but the con is becoming less and less intimate. The time was filled and (too) many cool things were bought, but the 2024 reducing itself to three days from four may be a blessing. The CatBus had been dropping daily bonus episodes on ninetyforchill.com when it came to the first three days of the convention. This episode is a review of Fan Expo overall, followed by those three bonus podcasts.
Help NinetyForChill: The #Podcast get away from paywalls by subscribing to "Ninety For Chill: The Podcast with CatBusRuss". CatBusRuss returns to his blogging roots. This episode is dedicated to "Arena" from 1989. Our host wrote a review for this Charles Band produced feature back in 2019, and it caught the attention of one of the premier nerdy minds in the Champaign/Urbana metroplex, Tim Bates of Evil Penguin Games. Tim has had a big influence on his fellow retail geeks, like friend of the show Kodiak Thompson, by exposing them to media like the "John Dies at the End" franchise. Tim and Russ have essentially been working together the past six years, but it was not until the CatBus shared his review of this feature on Facebook did the two expand their conversations from complaining about customers to movies. "Arena" was one of Tim's favorite movies growing up and at one time he owned a VHS copy of it. As for our host's relationship with the film, it took him 30 years to get around to it. His fascination with gaudy, low-budget faire had only started in 2009. But he remembers growing up on early eighties "Star Wars" knock offs. Add in a tournament fighting element, and Russ wishes his cinema snobbiness had passed decades prior. This is not to say that Russ has totally abandoned being a cinematic elitist. He still is a tired of a lot of big-budget studio films, but he knows dissing the mere concept of them may not be fair. Russ liked the first three phases of the MCU, so despite the fatigue towards the series, the fear of being too judgmental means he must continue with MCTuesday. For this installment, the feature he takes on is Sam Raimi's "Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness".
Help NinetyForChill: The #Podcast get away from paywalls by subscribing to "Ninety For Chill: The Podcast with CatBusRuss". In this superhero, mega-budget obsessed world, it is easy to understand the regular movie goer's mindset that if something is cheap, it cannot be good. The feature will definitely not be exciting. Excitement is overrated, but a little heart in direction and a good script can make any five-figure budget worthwhile. Too bad exploitation encourages quick products over quality. CatBusRuss's recent visit to Ally's Accessories Shop on Etsy's "Trash Feature Revue" resulted in him finding "Killjoy", a killer clown, black-exploitation film that was all about taking the cash from any sucker. Thank science that this came as part of the nine-picture "Puppet Master" collection, but it is disheartening that Charles Band lacks quality control over what he puts his name on. And then you have the likes of The Cinema Snob who preaches do not take rip offs of your favorite movies personally. His suggestion that I need to see "Shocking Dark (officially "Bruno Mattei's Terminator 2") proved otherwise. This left our host in a state that maybe he did not know what good no-budget cinema was. Thankfully revisiting Ryan Thompson's "Zombie Apocalypse" and Marc Fratto's "Zombies Anonymous" showed the Cat Bus that there is still plenty of gold to be mined from aspiring filmmakers who cannot afford 4K or 35 mm cameras.
We check another Miyazaki film off our bucket list this week, as we talk about My Neighbor Totoro and where it ranks among the other Ghibli/Miyazaki film we've seen. We also talk about how to pronounce Totoro, Digital Underground, Barbenheimer, lying to siblings, thanking trees, and The Boy and the Heron. | Rate us nicely on Apple Podcasts | Support us on Patreon | Follow us on Twitter | Subscribe to us on YouTube | Join the fan Discord --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/jjbpod/message
Help NinetyForChill: The #Podcast get away from paywalls by subscribing to "Ninety For Chill: The Podcast with CatBusRuss". Sam Marsh is a lot like the aliens who seek political sanctuary in the "Men in Black" franchise. CatBusRuss thinks that is a fair thing to say because this is his first podcast guest who is from the Mastodon social media platform. Most people consider that to be another planet. Our guest is just like a Martian minding his own business and make a living on the Internet (vis-a-vis Earth), but has a lot to offer this planet. He feels there is no need to draw attention to himself. But attention should be drawn to the first "Men in Black" feature from 1997. It is one of the few blockbuster smashes from the Nineties that is under 100 minutes in length. Our host was developing his cynicism for bloated movies at that time, so he just assumed it would not qualify for the podcast. He had not really given the rest of a franchise a chance. That is not really fair, so thank you Smarshian for bringing it back the CatBus to a simpler cinematic time. There is a lot of audio foreplay in this episode. With MCU Next Tuesday being promised last week, Russ had to give "Black Widow" a watch. That is just something that can be denied. "Men in Black Widow", that could be a Marvel crossover event, or a Marvel porno parody.
Help NinetyForChill: The #Podcast get away from paywalls by subscribing to "Ninety For Chill: The #Podcast with @CatBusRuss". CatBusRuss finally got to celebrate his 40th birthday with the London trip his dad wanted to go on three years ago. It was centered around Cubs baseball, but that victory over the Cardinals (Series split, but it is England, so let us considerate an aggregate win of 14-8.) only took up so much time. He had to amuse himself on the flight and the one day with no American pastime. Thanks to United Airlines entertainment system, a movie marathon was formed. Russ finally caught up on “The Banshees of Inisherin” on the way to England. The flick is 1:53, but the other feature was “Marc Maron: From Bleak to Dark” at 1:05, so it balances out to 90 minutes per show. When there was no baseball, the Stevenses went and saw “The Book of Mormon” on the West End. And the flight home was an Isabella Rossellini double feature of “Marcel the Shell with Shoes On” and Robert Zemeckis's “Death Becomes Her”. Another interesting line up the CatBus would love to have a theater to moderate for. This episode was recorded using the "Spotify for Podcasters" app with no computers to reference information from. Let me apologize for butchering any movie titles and failing to pay proper respect to "Marcel" director Dean Fleischer Camp's.
Help NinetyForChill: The #Podcast get away from paywalls by subscribing to "Ninety For Chill: The #Podcast with @CatBusRuss". Andrew "@CouchManBakes" Tiede has been one of the most reliable and fun repeat guest to bless "NinetyForChill" with his presence. He has really helped CatBusRuss make great audio content, so it is about time that he got to chat about a feature that he has been pushing for since " Big Trouble in Little China": CouchMan Lo Pan vs. Jorge Shen". That picture is "Tombstone", another feature starring Kurt Russell. But this picture is 2 hours and 10 minutes long. It does not fit the format for a podcast dedicated to features between 70 and 100 minutes. How will we get this to work? CatBus has been trying to offer up some work arounds. Thanks to an experiment that the "Screen Drafts" podcast came up with to reassess their past episodes, The Marathon, a compromise was made possible. Our host and his guest will each make up their own tribute night to perhaps the greatest supporting actor of all time, Sam Elliot. Both showcases will end with the most beloved take on the tale of Wyatt Earp, but each moderator will have their own format. Andrew gets two two-hour movies and a grill to open up "Sasquatch Cinema House". His competitor gets three 100-minute timeslots and a popcorn machine to debut the "Six-Raven Moviehouse". Will "The Good Dinosaur", "The Big Bang", and "Thank You for Smoking" draw more people to Russ's cinema in spite of "Roadhouse" and "Tombstone" being ran back-to-back? Will having to endure "Ghost Rider" ruin Andrew's audiences night before it gets started. Since both movie theaters are BYOB, who knows?
Help NinetyForChill: The #Podcast get away from paywalls by subscribing to "Ninety For Chill: The #Podcast with @CatBusRuss". Nothing seems to be working out for CatBusRuss. He is doing a lot better mentally, but that maybe out of spite. The day after he finished producing "Toss Back Tuesday: Jim Carrey Under 100 Minutes", the podcast scheduling plans were all screwed up. "The Super Mario Bros. Movie" was the big Blu-Ray release for June 6, 2023. Its theatrical run was released the week prior to the April movie CatBus wanted to see the most, Nicolas Cage starring as Dracula in "Renfield", so the resources our host used to find out that the physical release date of the Nicholas Hoult film was going to be a week after the billion-dollar cartoon seemed correct. You can only imagine his dismay when he started ringing out customers who brough up the vampire disc along side the plumber flick. Russ did get around to seeing the movie when it was still in theaters. This would have been in its third week of release. As noted in "Nicolas Cage & The Unbearable Weight of Massive Filmography", our host ended up dealing with unexpected cancellations of this feature during its second weekend. He decided to sit on the review he recorded from the parking lot. Being the only other person in the cinema for the flick, expecting the physical release to be just a couple of weeks away seemed like a fair assumption. Sadly, Comcast/Universal seemed to do nothing but fumble in their efforts to make this feature profitable. Fortunately, "NinetyForChill: The #Podcast" is going to make an effort to further make this feature relevant.
"The Truman Show" was a feature that some would say has aged like a fine wine, but there seems to be many who still have a bitter taste in their mouth. What would Hollywood be like if this feature received its roses back in 1998 instead of 2022 at Cannes? Would Jim Carrey have become the post-modern Tom Hanks? Is he American enough to usurp the two-time Oscar winner's greatest title of "America's Dad"? Before this podcast recording, CatBusRuss had only seen the third act of this Peter Weir classic. He was thoroughly impressed by the direction and could tell that Carrey was providing the performance of his lifetime. The first chance he found a discount on the digital release, our host knew it was a must buy. Finding the time, and perhaps the motivation, to watch it was the challenge. His living situation the past seven years could be to blame. Perhaps he did not want to break the initial rules of the "NinetyForChill: The #Podcast". This feature is officially three minutes too long. More than likely though, it may have been the thought of further enduring ThePoeticCritic's obsession with everything that was late nineties Jim Carrey. This week, CatBus faces all of those challenges with a 130 minute conversation with his big sister about what may be one of her favorite features of all time. As for Ani-May, CatBus watched the return of Studio Ghibli with Goro Miyazaki's "Earwig and the Witch", another tale of strange adoption.
Help NinetyForChill: The #Podcast get away from paywalls by subscribing to "Ninety For Chill: The #Podcast with @CatBusRuss". CatBusRuss is pondering how often he should be releasing new episodes of "Ninety For the Chill". This current season has had a great balance of episodes dedicated to his own personal binges and conversations with great guests. But with so many podcasts having a monthly or biweekly release schedule, is the CatBus working too hard? The episode for next week is in the can, so this week, our host is keeping up the ani-May theme by watching Studio Ghibli's spiritual successor's, Studio Ponoc, first feature, "Mary and the Witch's Flower". It is a fun kids film. Then CatBus pulls out some reviews that sum up his own maturity. It starts with coming of age in the punk rock world with "London Town" and moves on to the oversexed college experience with Gregg Araki's "Kaboom". From sexually explicit cinema, CatBus makes a quick transition to the other extreme of indie cinema with the Soska Sisters' remake of David Cronenberg's "Rabid". Cronenberg was one of the two patron saints of this podcast. The other is Stuart Gordon. What sounds better than Gordon with Lance Henriksen? To find out what that is like, you will hear a review for "The Pit and the Pendulum". If that is not enough of a Henriksen fix, stick around for a review of Stan Winston's directorial debut, "Pumpkinhead".
One of the worse things about the Marvel Cinematic Universe is that they insist that you stick around until the credits conclude for what is essentially a tease for the next feature in the franchise. It is far more forgivable in "Turning Red" to just feature the father dancing to some boy band, but it is still not part of the narrative of the feature that you paid to see. So what if you cut out the six minutes of credits and the teaser for an inevitable sequel to a feature that is only 50 seconds past 100 minutes? You have sold CatBusRuss on allowing "NinetyForChill: The #Podcast" to address Ryan Reynolds in his greatest role "Deadpool". Leave it to Andrew Tiede to find another loophole in the parameters of this movie podcast. Like Han Solo established, the feature is 100 minutes, if you round down. As a bonus, CatBus pays tribute to the month of AniMAY by finally getting "Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence", and ends up giving more credence to the underappreciated quality of the controversial, live-action adaptation of the franchise. If only Scarlett Johansson and Reynolds would have made it, the synergy of this episode would demand admiration.
It was an inevitability that Nicolas Cage was going to get at least one episode of "Ninety For Chill" dedicated to his works. With the amount that he works, there maybe more to come. As long as he keeps it weird of course. CatBusRuss was doing his best to catch a showing of "Renfield" before it leaves the big screens this week. That feature is not quite the box office success that was expected, so our host was hedging his bets for a slice of podcasted fried gold by finally going through his cheap, "How can you not buy this Nick Cage flick?" collection. "The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent" features the best of all things currently nerdy with Cage and Pedro Pascal playing off each other, and was critically acclaimed. If only a Champaign/Urbana multiplex could offer a great theater going experience, the feature would be a great A-feature of a double feature. Unfortunately, Phoenix Theatres 16 in Savoy must base what shows they will go through on what money they are getting from online sales. IMDb's showtimes be damned. It maybe a conspiracy to stop audiences from cashing in their emergency tickets based on previous poor experiences. So the weekend ended in a long night for the CatBus. Once he got home from trying to make something out of getting dressed on a day off, "Jiu Jitsu", from the minds that rebooted the "Kickboxer" franchise, was next on the queue. The idea of Cage versus a "Predator" knock off should have made major bank. Find out why this was the definition of a B-Feature.
Board the Cat Bus as Justin, Mike and Derek get together to discuss the anime film classic, My Neighbor Totoro, on its 35th Anniversary!
This week's episode is proof that you can actually meet genuine people at comic cons. One half of "In Love, with Movies" hosts, Nic, comes on the show to chat about Ruben Fleischer's only undisputedly good feature "Zombieland". CatBusRuss and his guest did not take a lot of notes suggesting that it maybe one of the best paced comedies of the current century. Watching the feature was more than a pleasant palate cleanser after visiting "FeaDotCom (.com)" for Ally's Accessories Shop on Etsy's "Trash Feature Revue". The two end up realizing the kind of comfort cinema sci-fi comedies can be. It is only appropriate that it pulls so much from "Ghostbusters" with very little shame. Zombieland's characters may not evolve, but like the three NYU professors who got into paranormal investigation, they do not have to. If they did, the audience might leave feeling betrayed (which may explain the lack of success of "Gangster Squad" and what CatBus feels is an underappreciated sequel "Double Tap"). If the premise is enough, why mess around with it too much? Of course this film got a crappy television show when Amazon said hold my beer.
This is essentially a follow up to last week's episode "Gold Diggers of 1933 and Nintendo 2023". CatBusRuss took time to defend "The Super Mario Bros. Movie", so there was a temptation to see the film that he was attempting to stand up for. But one movie and no guest did not feel right. Also in that episode, our host explained to ThePoeticCritic why the "John Wick" franchise qualifies for NinetyForChill: The #Podcast. If you make a perfect movie that is under 100 minutes, you need to expand that universe, thus earning more time with your sequel. The decision on what feature to see at the cinema came down to this: What other movie could the CatBus watch at home that would be an appropriate double feature? Sadly, there are not a lot of video games that are either adapted as family movies or animated ones. Russ never played "Rachet & Clank" and he might need to save "Sonic the Hedgehog 2" for another Jim Carrey conversation with his big sister. His iTunes collection does have the Bob Odenkirk comedy "Nobody" which was written by Derek Kolstad, the writer of the "John Wick Trilogy". It seems the better double feature is "Nobody" and "John Wick: Chapter 4".
In this episode of the Five(ish) Fangirls Podcast, we explore the classic Studio Ghibli film, My Neighbor Totoro. This animated movie is considered one of the best of all time, and it's not hard to see why. We discuss the charming characters, breathtaking animation, and timeless themes that have made this film a favorite of fans worldwide for over 30 years. Plus we have some Star Wars fandom news straight from Celebrations, and your feedback! Our Linktree: https://linktr.ee/FiveishFangirls #FiveishFam TIME STAMPS 00:00:20 Intro 00:02:19 News 00:17:00 Feedback 00:32:26 My Neighbor Totoro 01:24:38 Closing Thoughts 01:27:01 Outro Copyright Disclaimer under section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for “fair use” for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, education and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use.
Jim and Jessie try to stay on topic as they watch on of studio Ghilbli's most iconic film
IT'S THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL! Meet the Gals; Sawyer Cinderfoot (Lilly Percifield), Morroghan Starr (Maddy Lamb), Esta of House Ruadon (Campbell Duffy), and Beans (Olivia Rose McCain) as they embark on their first adventure together on their way to Frogmont Adventuring Academy for Young Women! Will they make it to Lorelai Village? What will they encounter on their first bit of adventure in the realm of Eldrivale? Tune in to find out!Want to know how the game we're playing works? Listen to episode 0 where our Goblin Master, Jared Voswinkel, goes over what the heck Gals & Goblins is about! Join the party!To talk with us, theorize, and send memes, join our Discord.To stay up to date on all things G&G, follow us @galsandgoblins on Instagram, TikTok, Twitter, and Youtube.Don't forget to leave a 5 star review! If you write us something, we'll read it on the show!
what's good squiddies we are taking a train travel to places unknown with Russ from cat bus we hit topics of wrestling, movies, Chris Harwick , zombie screenplay, kaiju bog battel and much more wanna check more on me check links for more info https://linktr.ee/Ta2squidpodcast --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/ta2squidpodcast/support
In this Episode, the Sons discuss whatever the Teens did in Episode 20.
Scary steps into yet another leadership role as the team plots their next course of action.This episode contains profanity, violence, and sexual content.Support the show on Patreon!Get merch and more at our website!Follow us on Twitter @dungeonsanddads!Check out the subreddit! DM is Anthony Burch (@anthony_burch)Lincoln Li-Wilson is Matt Arnold (@mattlarnold)Normal Oak is Will Campos (@willbcampos)Scary Marlowe is Beth May (@heybethmay)Taylor Swift is Freddie Wong (@fwong) Theme song is "On My Way" by Maxton WallerBrian Fernandes is our Content ProducerAshley Nicollette is our Community ManagerEster Ellis is our Lead EditorTravis Reaves provides Additional EditingRobin Rapp is our transcriber Cover art by Alex Moore (@notanotheralex) Send us stuff and get in contact: https://www.dungeonsanddaddies.com/contact The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.
Do you ever just feel nostalgic for the childhood days of wandering around the forests of Japan and befriending a huge cuddly forest deity? Well the boys sure do, so that's why they're diving into the beloved Studio Ghibli film, My Neighbor Totoro! Did you know this movie is semi-autobiographical? Do you know which other Ghibli film it was released alongside in theaters? What about all the symbolism packed throughout the movie in sometimes surprising ways? And is Cat Bus cute or terrifying? Doesn't matter, either way, hop into the ol' Cat Bus because it's between this and the flying spinning top, and no offense, but I just don't know if your balance is good enough for that.
"Once you've met someone you never really forget them. It just takes a while for your memories to return."This week, Ben and Rick are taking on their toughest challenge yet: narrowing down the masterworks of Studio Ghibli to their Top 3 favorites. There's just so much to love about this studio, and it was difficult for us NOT to gush about everything we touched on. We also read all of your listener responses! It's a great episode, check it out!PATREON: www.patreon.com/pixelprojectradio DISCORD: https://discord.gg/Rfjx2ptWP5TWITTER: @pixelprojectpodINSTAGRAM: @pixelprojectradiopodcastThank you for listening! Want to reach out to PPR? Send your questions, comments, and recommendations to pixelprojectradio@gmail.com! And as ever, any ratings and/or reviews left on your platform of choice are greatly appreciated!
英语故事︱吉卜力公园门票预售已开启动漫迷可以圆梦了Fans of "My Neighbor Totoro," "Kiki's Delivery Service," and other films from the legendary Studio Ghibli, will have a new destination to add to their travel bucket list later this year.带有传奇色彩的吉卜力工作室出品的《龙猫》、《魔女宅急便》等电影的粉丝们今年晚些时候将在自己的旅行清单上增加一个新的目的地。Ghibli Park, opening November 1 in Japan, will be a fever dream of a theme park for anyone who has ever watched the studio's beautiful and often surreal animated films and wanted to step into the worlds they build.对于任何一个看过吉卜力工作室制作的美丽梦幻的动画电影的人来说，即将于11月1日在日本开业的吉卜力公园是一个让人热切期待和向往的主题公园。The Ghibli canon is heavy on themes of nature, friendship, strong female characters, flying machines, destiny and bravery. Their aesthetic is naturalism meets steampunk, sprinkled with its own proprietary formula of magical realism.吉卜力作品多以大自然、友情、坚强的女性角色、飞行器、命运和勇敢为主题，其美学源自自然主义和蒸汽朋克的碰撞，再佐以魔幻现实主义的独家配方。Ghibli Park is located in Aichi Earth Expo Memorial Park, less than two hours from Kyoto by train. The theme park will be about 17.5 acres when completed. (One acre is roughly the size of a football field.)吉卜力公园位于爱知县的爱·地球博纪念公园内，从京都乘火车不到两小时可抵达。这座主题公园竣工后占地约17.5英亩（1英亩约为1个足球场大小）。When it opens in November, three of the five planned areas will be ready. The main one is Ghibli's Grand Warehouse, an indoor facility that will house artifacts and exhibits from films including the Robot Soldier from "Castle in the Sky," the Catbus from "Totoro," and another recreation out of the "The Secret World of Arrietty."当吉卜力公园11月开业时，规划的五个园区中将有三个准备就绪。第一个主题园区是“吉卜力大仓库”，这个室内设施中将陈列着来自多部电影的工艺品和展品，包括《天空之城》中的机器人士兵、《龙猫》中的猫巴士，还有再现《借东西的小人阿莉埃蒂》世界的布景。A second area, "Hill of Youth," features the antique shop from "Whisper of the Heart" and another recreation from "The Cat Returns." And the third is Dondoko Forest with a full recreation of Satsuki and Mei's house from "My Neighbor Totoro" and a Totoro-themed playground.第二个园区“青春之丘”包括来自《侧耳倾听》的古玩店和还原《猫的报恩》场景的建筑。第三个园区“龙猫森林”中将能看到《龙猫》中小月和小梅居住的房屋，还有龙猫主题的游乐场。One of the two areas that will open later ("after 2023," the park's press office said) is Mononoke Village, referencing "Princess Mononoke" and her adventure among large forest animal gods.后期会开放的两个园区（据公园的新闻办公室称将于“2023年之后”开放）其中之一是“幽灵故里”，将会以“幽灵公主”和她与山兽神的冒险故事为中心。The other is the Valley of Witches, which will include some parts from the trippy "Howl's Moving Castle," and the more sweet "Kiki's Delivery Service," about an earnest and hardworking young witch.另外一个园区是“魔女之谷”，将包括《哈尔的移动城堡》的一部分迷幻景观，还有《魔女宅急便》中和认真勤奋的小女巫有关的甜美场景。If you go to Ghibli Park, don't expect a Catbus roller coaster, Kiki's broomstick "Avatar"-style adventure or a Ponyo Under the Sea ride. "Take a stroll, feel the wind, and discover the wonders," the park's site offers as an alternative.如果你要去吉卜力公园，不要指望那里会有猫巴士过山车、乘坐琪琪扫帚的沉浸式冒险，抑或是波妞的海洋之旅。该公园的网站上写道，你能做的是：“漫步徜徉，感受微风，发现神奇。”Think immersion and prompts for imagination rather than pyrotechnics and stomach-turning thrills.也就是说，你要全身心地去体验，发挥自己的想象力，而不是依靠各种烟火表演和惊险项目来刺激你的感官。Tickets are available online as of August 10 for dates beginning November 1. Reservations are required, as there will not be day-of tickets sold.11月1日起的入园门票将从8月10日开始在网上预售。门票将需要预定，因为不出售当日票。You must buy separate tickets for each attraction you want to visit.除了门票外，每个景点还需要单独购买门票。The most expensive of the three is Ghibli's Large Warehouse. Tickets cost ¥2,000 ($15) for adults and ¥1,000 ($7.50) for children on weekdays. On weekends and holidays, that price is ¥2,500 ($19) for adults and ¥1,250 ($9) for kids.三个园区中门票最贵的是“吉卜力大仓库”，成人平日票价为2000日元（约合人民币100元），儿童平日票价为1000日元。周末和节假日的成人票和儿童票价格分别为2500日元和1250日元。英文来源：美国有线电视新闻网翻译&编辑：丹妮surreal英[səˈri:əl]；美[səˈriəl]adj. 超现实的，离奇的artifact英[ˈɑːtɪfækt]；美[ˈɑːrtɪfækt]n. 人工制品，手工艺品trippy英['trɪpɪ]；美['trɪpɪ]adj. （如）由致幻药引起幻觉的pyrotechnics英[ˌpaɪrəˈteknɪks]；美[ˌpaɪrəˈtɛknɪks]n. 烟花制造；烟花施放n.出色的表现；炫示
White Knuckle Lyfting. DefecateCon 5. Grabbed by the chuckles. Anson Dis Mount. Ballpointing leaves a mark. Bleaching Elephant Buttholes. Dark Barry. The Patrick Stewart Business. Why are you punching Yourself, Bruce? Driver of the dead. Your Stomach's the Captain Now. Figured I could get away with eating a peanut. That's a lot of unwhite corndogs. Your Wife is Wonderful but SHE'S WRONG. Cancelling Batgirl with Stephen and more on this episode of The Morning Stream.
White Knuckle Lyfting. DefecateCon 5. Grabbed by the chuckles. Anson Dis Mount. Ballpointing leaves a mark. Bleaching Elephant Buttholes. Dark Barry. The Patrick Stewart Business. Why are you punching Yourself, Bruce? Driver of the dead. Your Stomach's the Captain Now. Figured I could get away with eating a peanut. That's a lot of unwhite corndogs. Your Wife is Wonderful but SHE'S WRONG. Cancelling Batgirl with Stephen and more on this episode of The Morning Stream.
OMG, Mary Anne has encountered some boys! We refuse to call it too many boys, because it's really not THAT many boys. It's, like, a slight oversupply of boys. Meanwhile, we concoct elaborate hypothetical situations to psychologically torture each other. Just normal friend stuff, really. On today's agenda: a disappointing lack of Catbus; baffling trampoline retcons; ten boyfriends and a terrifying clown; Karen's son foretells Earth's doom; bacon-based hate crime; a serious case of foreshadowing; minimal Mallory; sun safety equals instant comedy; a crisis of monogamy; nothing good happens in the ice-cream parlour; hamster husbandry, revisited; the thong bikini window; Aoife goes crone mode. Our theme song is "The Incredible Shrinking Larry" by Matt Oakley & "Big Band Jingle A" is by Lobo Loco, both on the Free Music Archive. If you like our show, tell a friend, rate and review on your podcast app of choice, and come say hi on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr or Instagram!
As convention season starts to pick up, this week's episode is all about the incredible large size cosplay builds we've seen. Special guest Allison Chase joins us to talk about her journey making showstopping cosplays such as her Power Loader from Aliens, Snowball from Rick and Morty, and My Neighbor Totoro's Catbus that Adam saw at MegaCon last year! Thanks so much to Allison for joining us this week! You can find her work at https://www.instagram.com/aachase1401/ https://www.tiktok.com/@allison.chase.cosplay https://www.instructables.com/member/AllisonC74/
We're back with another international film pick, this time with the Japanese classic My Neighbor Totoro! We discuss our previous experience with Miyazaki films, how we feel this movie compares and contrasts with American children's cinema, and how to claim Catbus plushies as a tax write-off. Join us all summer for the international films we've been meaning to see! And follow on Instagram for more content and our Summer Book Club picks! --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/pop-dna-podcast/message
Part 4 of PARENTAL GUIDANCE, SUGGESTIONS What is it about this robust rosé that Jamie describes as “delightful and charming” but has Scott doing Popeye Face after each sip? Does the petrichor character pair well with MY NEIGHBOR TOTORO's rainy, natural aesthetic? Or, does the wine's unexpected nature pair better with the essence of toxic capitalism evoked by KIKI'S DELIVERY SERVICE and SPIRITED AWAY? What are the primary ingredients to Miyazaki-san's signature style? Hop on your broomstick, Cat Bus, or river spirit dragon friend and press play on this episode exploring fantastical worlds! MY NEIGHBOR TOTORO, KIKI'S DELIVERY SERVICE, and SPIRITED AWAY are all written and directed by Hayao Miyazaki and are available for your streaming pleasure on HBO Max as of this episode's release. The 2020 Finca Torremilanos Ojo de Gallo is available at Despaña Vinos y Mas for $27 plus tax and shipping. Follow the show on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook @BiggerBottlePod. Email us at biggerbottlepod@gmail.com. Our NEW art is thanks to Ross Connard! Music is selected from Camille Saint-Saëns' ‘The Carnival of the Animals - XII. Fossils' as performed by the Seattle Youth Symphony, licensed under Creative Commons (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/legalcode)
On this episode of Chaos, Aaron and Rocky decide to cosplay as two podcasters and sit down with Professional Cosplayer Allison Chase. From Power Loaders to Cat-Bus, Allison takes us on her journey from talking about what she wants to construct to making it a reality. We also touch base on her upcoming creation for this years MegaCon.Welcome to the Chaos... OMG it's not staying on.
In episode 14, Emily & Madison jump aboard the Cat Bus to discuss 1988's 'My Neighbor Totoro' & Other Fantastic Miyazaki Movies. Join them as they review the film's realistic depiction of childhood, catchy tunes, and their favorite memories from Studio Ghibli films. Plus, join in next week for 'The Departed' & Other Dynamic Actor/Director Duos.
I can think of nothing more exciting than the prospect of touching down and finding oneself in Istanbul. When you’re there it really feels like you’re in Constantinople, the legendary nexus of East and West. The city is tinted in sepia, like an old photograph. It has a palpable historical gravity. You feel as if you could wander around a corner and stumble upon some significant artifact, as would Indiana Jones. It’s not just that it is an old city. Europe is full of musty, old cities emitting the last wheezing respirations of life. Not Istanbul. Its former glory is also its present glory. The city doesn’t need life support, because it’s still spry and muscular, in the prime of life.I had only 36 hours in the city on a long layover. Thirty-six hours, you may well note, is a ludicrously insufficient amount of time to investigate the historical depths of Constantinople in full. And I’d agree with you. But it sure as heck beats nothing. Plus, I didn’t have to book an extra airfare, rather than just pick one with a long layover. Pretty savvy, if you ask me. I had booked accommodations at the ‘Cheers’ hostel, so named not for the American television show of the 1980s but for what British youths say instead of "thanks" at the end of a transaction. That's where I headed now.I hoped off the metro in the sepia-tone city center. Actually I wasn’t sure if it was the city center. I didn’t know the first thing about Istanbul or how it was laid out. But it seemed bustling, and there was a grandly-domed Mosque, called Sultan Ahmet, which took up about the same footprint as a football stadium. I meandered up the side street on which Cheers was located. Meandering is the only form of locomotion one can perform on an Istanbul side street. Each street heads in some direction but only vaguely and with dramatic reorientations at unexpected points, like the trend line of the stock market. I noticed that the streets were littered with kittens. They were feral cats, in the sense that no one owned them. But they didn’t look scraggily like most intercity fauna. From the looks of the bowl of milk on the sidewalk, people took care of them. I made my way down the street with my suitcase, scanning each brightly lit façade for some indication that I had found my temporary home. Then from the cool shade of an ivory laced café called a voice:“Hey, man. Are you looking for Cheers?”“Yes,” I said.“Well, you found it, man!”A Turkish fellow named Ahmed greeted me as if I were an old friend. He took me into the hostel to the front desk, where he introduced me to Sinan. They both had the air of men who had been relieved of ambition through many devoted years spent with Mary Jane. They were ludicrously welcoming, and I loved them immediately.“Are you staying at Cheers, man?” Sinan asked this as if a buddy had unexpectedly popped by to crash on his couch. I informed him of my intention to do so.Sinan and Ahmed showed me around the place. The building was long and lean, with a tight spiral staircase running up its spine. Everything was wooden and well-worn. The first floor had a modest kitchen in the back, where breakfast would be served. My room was on the second floor, with twelve bunks and a bathroom, arrayed in an unusually spacious room. The third floor had more rooms. On the floor above that was the in-house bar, where I made the acquaintance of yet another warm and kindly Turkish guy who invited me back to enjoy half-priced beers at happy hour. The bar boasted a spectacular view of Sultan Ahmet’s dome, pillared at four sides by great, spear-like columns, the scene practically springing in through the window as it would in a 3D movie.There is an idea from psychology called the "explore-exploit tradeoff." It is a decision-making dilemma that any thinking organism must solve: I can either choose the option I know to be the best right now (exploit), or I can try something new in hopes that it might prove even more beneficial (explore). It is notoriously difficult to describe the optimal solution to the explore-exploit tradeoff. The crux of the matter is that it’s tough to know when you’ve collected enough information to stop exploring and start exploiting. Well, I developed my own solution to the problem. I had several weeks before made a reservation at a restaurant called Mikla, which was recommended by a gourmand friend of mine who had recently spent two weeks in Turkey. It was a tasting menu establishment, where the general arrangement is to hand the waiter an immense wad of cash in the promise that sometime later he will return, course by course, with a series of whatever the chef has on offer, minusculy proportioned and neatly arranged. Like White Rabbit in Moscow. I enjoy that sort of thing, and so does my friend. I trust his tastes, too. My solution to the tradeoff, at least when it comes to restaurants, is to exploit his explorations. He said Mikla was the best thing in Turkey.However, earlier that day I had sent Mikla an email canceling the reservation. It was a lot of money. Not as much as it would be at an equivalent restaurant in US, or somewhere else relishing an economy that isn’t teetering on the verge of collapse. But certainly it would cost more than whatever I’d be able to find stumbling around the streets. When I got to the hostel I equivocated for a bit. Would it be worth it? At length I decided to fetch up at the restaurant and let fate decide—if they still had a table, I’d snag it. What the hell? I’m worth it.When I left the hostel I wasn’t sure if I was in Europe or Asia. Approximately half of Istanbul belongs to one and half to the other. I assumed since I was on one side of Istanbul and Mikla was on the other that I'd crossed from continent to the other. I felt as though I was crossing a border illicitly, as if into a forbidden nation. I wasn’t, I later learned. But I reveled in the sense of espionage anyway. When I inspected the map, it looked like Mikla was on a main drag. But as I trekked up the hill on which it was situated, I learned it was most emphatically not. Maps of Istanbul bear only a loose correspondence with reality, as the streets are constantly shifting, like the moving staircases of the dormitories at Hogwarts.I presented myself at Mikla on the 18th floor of a hotel situated on Istanbul’s highest eminence. I had walked for about an hour to get there, mostly uphill, and it was really hot out. I showed up in a bit of a tizzy, more than a bit disheveled. I was wearing running shoes, which had been a different color when I bought them, green shorts that extended down only as far as my upper thigh, and had a soot-stained face that brought to mind an industrious but unfortunate character in a Charles Dickens novel. I looked like s**t, really. I inquired with the maitre d’ about the possibility of restoring my previously appointed spot in the dining room. He demurred and told me it was full-up. The restaurant, I could see, was empty. I managed to negotiate a spot at the bar. Then I excused myself because, as I told him, I had come prepared to change into something more presentable. He directed me to the men’s room. While I was changing in the tiny bathroom, a guy came in to check on me. He offered some banal explanation for his presence, like making sure I knew how to operate the flush handle on the toilet. But really he was there on orders from the maitre d’ to ascertain whether I had in fact transmogrified into a form that was presentable and unlikely to cause embarrassment or mirth among the other dining patrons. I had put on dark jeans and a light blue linen collared shirt. I had also wiped the grime from my cheeks. I wouldn’t be turning any heads, neither for reasons of sexual intrigue nor arresting sartorial faux pas. I made my way back to the host’s table. He had managed, magically, to find a table for me, provided I could vacate by 9pm. Excellent.I submitted my request for the full tasting menu and a glass of Turkish rosé. Then I went to look out over the city. It was amazing. When I returned to my seat I beckoned the garçon. “I have a dumb question,” I told him. “Which continent am I on?”“Europe,” he genially informed me. “Asia is that way,” he pointed across a body of water. He explained that the heart of Istanbul formed something of a Y shape divided by waterways, the Bosphorus and the Marmara Sea. One segment of the triad was Asia and the other two, including Mikla and my hostel, were Europe.The first courses came promptly as a couple rounds of amuse bouche. Bite sized fishy stuff. These were accompanied by a basket of bread with goat cheese butter, from a goat named Yagmur. I sat there at the table to take it all in: I was in Istanbul. At the best restaurant in the city. Eating exquisite food and savoring a view of the whole thing. I couldn't have been happier.Throughout my meal I watched Turkish playboys trickle in with their exquisitely dressed blondes in tow. Each of the women was dressed in white. Every single one of them. It might have even been the same white dress. They also appeared to have had the same plastic surgeon do their boob-job. Regardless, no one failed to show up in anything but their finest duds. Myself included.I looked up from my book from time to time to take stock of the other patrons. I noticed the woman next to me carefully dabbing tears from her perfectly made up eyes. Then she started smiling. I could never quite figure out why. Eaves dropping didn't help, as the conversation was not only subdued but in Turkish. Istanbul is a city of mysteries. A couple was seated next to me. They were the same age. They also sported the same just barely elevated casual that I did. The girl was Asian; the guy was difficult to tell. They were speaking English, neither natively. I fantasized that they were lovers who met in a distant land and could only continue their affair meeting in Istanbul for all-too-brief romantic encounters. The tasting menu seemed to be a bit exotic for their tastes, as they prodded at the fishy amuse bouche experimentally with a fork and a pair of quizzical looks.Eventually I decided he was German. He was talking about the country as if he was from there. I could tell she was Korean. But then again he was uncharacteristically tan for a Teutonic lad. Turkish German, maybe? Anyway, doesn’t matter. There were more excellent dishes to be had. I was out by 8:50, as promised, and fully sated.After dinner I was eager to stretch my legs in the streets of Istanbul. I called first at a bar that I'd identified as promising on the way up to dinner. It was adjoined to a hostel. I walked through the lobby and a spacious diner to open air patio in back. The walls were festooned with flags and books, as if someone loaded cultural artifacts into a canon and shot it all the wall. Every table was filled. There was a Volkswagen van parked in a corner of the room. Bob Marley and his musical offspring were featured heavily in the musical selection. The place had vibes for days. On the cocktail menu were a bunch of Turkishly named drinks without an ingredient list. I ordered the Fahrettin, for reasons of phonological pleasure. The bartender, a busy guy to be sure, dropped my drink while presenting it to me, spilling on me and my book. He said sorry then wandered off, which I thought was a rather neat trick of nonchalance. What remained of the cocktail was quite good—tequila-based, accompanied by a mysterious concoction in the traditional idiom of Istanbul. He comped me the drink, which seemed like a fair trade for having to wear part of it.Time to hit the streets again. I reemerged into the humid Turkish night and set my course down the steep hill. It was steep enough that if you took a tumble, you’d continue rolling until you spilled out onto the level street a half mile below. I was clearly in a hipster area. Every storefront had a shop, a cool one. There were lively bars, vegan kitchens, and The Pure Love Café. Groups sitting at tables spilled out from restaurants into the street. All the people were good looking and appeared dressed to attract mates. The street featured a modest strip of sidewalk, wide enough to comfortably fit my three leftmost fingers. Enabling a safe place for walking ranked relatively low among its priorities. Mostly it was dedicated to other things, like rubbish bins, cellar stairs, stray cats, their generously proportioned milk bowls, and scooters thrown onto the sidewalk as if abandoned by a fugitive who had escaped down a nearby alley. The texture of the street was a comely but treacherous cobblestone, so the entire thoroughfare was a sort of a mini obstacle course at ground level. The street lights were spaced just far enough apart that when your shadow died in front of you it resurrected behind. Scooters and cars whizzed by as if finding themselves fifteen minutes late for a meeting on the wrong continent. Being a pedestrian in the city requires a certain extra sensory perception for knowing when to be in the street and when to get off. Istanbul is a game of inches.The street dilapidated as I descended. It was no longer populated by hipsters, as it had been near the top, but mothers and aunties sitting outside while mending clothes and folding laundry. At length I found myself back on the main road, which I took in the direction of my hostel. I followed signs to an underground "tramvay" which proved to be a closed market, shuttered for the night. After a few subterranean turns and what seemed to be too far to just cross the street I began to fear I'd been trapped in another Moscow metro maze. Then I resurfaced right in the metro stop that I'd aimed for, where I promptly boarded the next tram. I had learned an important lesson from the Russians—always offer your seat to elders, women, and children. This was taking me far in Turkish etiquette points. I no longer needed to be waved off by elderly men on the subway, but actively offered my seat when they came aboard.When I got off at the stop by my hostel, I noticed a massive hole in the sidewalk where some men were working. It hadn't been there when I left. The men wore plaid shirts, jeans, and one was knocking back a beer (obviously, he was the supervisor). I'd like to think they weren't engaged in any officially sanctioned work but rather indulging in their Saturday evening hobby of amateur ditch digging.I went back to my hostel. In my room I met a young man my age, named Dylan, from San Francisco. He was clearly of a strain of human being known as West Coast Bro. I told him I was also from the West Coast, Seattle. West Coast people have a certain way of communicating with one another, as if everything the other person relates is a cause for minor celebration. The excitement just sort of leaks out. He told me he and his buddies had covered 16 miles the day before."Dude, nice!" I responded."The asian side is pretty chill," he told me "You should go.""Hell yeah, man."This is another thing about the West Coast. The most prized attribute of anything is chill. As in: man, that party last night was chill; I went on a date with a girl, and she was pretty chill, man; I failed that exam, but don’t worry, man, it’s chill. One of the primary reasons why I don’t fit in on the West Coast is that, at 98.8 degrees Fahrenheit, I don’t have an ounce of chill contained anywhere in my body. For example, I go on rants about how silly the notion of chill is. That’s decidedly unchill. But I put on a cool front with Dylan, not to alert him to my lack of chill. In this I achieved a level of success sufficient for him to invite me to hang out. “Hey man, Kevin and I are about to take some vodka shots in his room. Wanna come?”"Sweet!” I told him. “Maybe I’ll meet up later.” I didn’t plan to meet up later.I took leave of Dylan and went up for a drink at the rooftop bar. We had a view of Sultan Ahmet in the evening air. I met an Indian girl who worked as banker in London and a Slovenian professor of public health. We bullshitted for a while. I wasn't quite ready to retire for the evening, having spent much of it sitting at dinner. I went for a walk to take in the evening streets of old city Istanbul. It was not exactly bustling, but there were still people out, mostly in search of food and drink. Restaurants yearned for customers. Turkish men stood outside of their eateries and implored you to dine in their establishments. I'd like to think that if I were really undecided about where to enjoy my next meal that I might actually be swayed by their amicable inducements. I do love to be courted. I returned to the hostel bar, where my friends lingered. We bullshitted more, until late, like 1:30. The Slovenian girl took a look out the window and remarked, “That's an interesting view." Then I retired for the evening.The next morning I was eager to get going. I sprung up, showered, and went out in search of one of the handsome cafes I had passed the night before. I realized as soon as I left that I had no idea where anything was—the grand bazaar, which mosque was the Ayasophia, how to cross to Asia. About three blocks away from my hostel I equivocated for a moment, pacing back and forth as I changed my mind several times over. First I decided f**k it, just wander; then I noted how short of a time I had in the city and I should be prudent about how I use it; then I went back to the first mindset, how hard can it be to find the grand bazaar? It’s pretty big, right? Ultimately I about-faced and went back to the hostel. I pulled out my map and my food recommendations, noting the major landmarks and eating destinations. I had a cup of strong Turkish coffee while I deliberated, along with heavily seeded watermelon. I located the Grand Bazaar, figured out which mosque was the Ayasophia, developed a game plan for my transcontinental crossing, and picked out a breakfast destination. Time to hit the streets.Where Russia is fixed and inflexible, Istanbul is fluid and free flowing. The rules here are like the addresses, an approximation, meant only to get you in the neighborhood. I had begun to understand this the night before when I looked up the address for Mikla and found that it took me to the right block but didn't commit me to any building in particular. The same was now true for my breakfast spot. The Russians would, however, I think, be quite fond of the way the Turks lay out their streets. They couldn't possibly be more convoluted.At length I tracked down my destination in an enclosed market with several different food stalls. I called at the one serving Menemen. It was unclear where exactly the seating area ended and the kitchen began. I presented myself to a gentleman standing vaguely in the part of the restaurant dedicated to preparing food rather than eating it, and asked for some Menemen, please."Only one?"Yes."Please take a seat."That kind of protocol would never have flown in Russia. I still would have been waiting for attention from the waitress when, mere minutes later, I was delivered a bubbling cast-iron pan of egg, pepper, spices, sausage, and tomato, more spice red than yolk yellow. Turkish omelette. After setting it down, the guy took the lid off a Tupperware container, exposing about two whole loaves worth of bread. I eyed it, appreciating the generosity, but not sure what I was supposed to do with about ten times more bread than omelette, by volume. I also ordered a Turkish coffee. I soon realized that what I had at the hostel had not been strong Turkish coffee at all. That was a strong cup of American-style, brewed drip coffee. I had just forgot what strong drip coffee was like, since the Russians enjoy a rather lighter cup. This was the size of an espresso shot, served in an oriental ceramic set. It had the consistency of melted chocolate. The gradient of Turkish coffee starts as liquid and ends as solid. Instead of fork and knife, I used pieces of bread to scoop up the omelette. By the end of my meal I looked over and saw that the Tupperware container was mostly empty. I was immensely satisfied.Before I headed out from breakfast, I spread out my map onto the table. It was a physical copy I had obtained at the airport. I always pick up the free tourist map whenever I touch down in an unfamiliar city. I forgo Google Maps if I can help it. The problem with Google Maps, you see, is that you can never really be lost. It tells you where you are, so you never have to figure it out for yourself. Getting yourself unlost is the best way to quickly become familiar with the layout of a new city. And gaining familiarity with a city’s layout is one of the most efficient ways to gain a sense of intimacy with the place. This was a cityscape I wanted to get to know. I pocketed my phone, resolving not to appeal to its GPS-augmented maps.I set off in the direction of the Grand Bazaar on a circuitous route, for there was no other kind available. I quickly became nowhere in particular. I was not on any discernible path or route. Istanbul is laid out not as a grid but rather as the pattern glass takes when you throw a small rock at it. It’s as if the road-builders made only game-time decisions about where the road should lead as they were laying the foundations. If you set off down a particular thoroughfare you're just as likely to find yourself circling back to your present junction as going on straight ahead. There’s simply no way of knowing. The other thing about the streets of Istanbul is that you never know what you’ll find on them, but you can be pretty sure it will be some sort of informal commerce. If Paris is a moveable feast, then Istanbul is a permanent market. As I wandered—potentially in circles, I couldn’t tell—I wondered where all these textiles come from. There’s a seemingly limitless supply of cheap clothes, shoes, gadgets, bags, household supplies, and provisions of every nature. Whence the demand? Who, for instance, needs four hundred little girl’s wedding dresses? As my mind slowly returned from its absence I grew concerned with whether I would even know when I breached the Grand Bazaar. Everything I passed was a bazaar. All of it seemed pretty imposing. I wasn’t confident I’d be able to distinguish the minor ones from the Grand One. Eventually I discovered I had ambled in correct direction, and I strode in through an arch labeled GRAND BAZAAR, est. 1461.At once I was thrust into a sort of capitalist cathedral with high ceilings and densely packed rows commercial stalls rising toward the heavens like a downtown avenue of product-laden skyscrapers. The scale of it resembled the Sistine Chapel, had it originally been zoned for commercial purposes. Salesmen lingered at their stalls like doormen at a building. In the section I had entered they sold mostly familiar sartorial wares: knockoff Gucci, LV, jerseys from the major soccer clubs, that sort of stuff. They didn’t look to be much engaged in the act of selling. Mostly they stood there drinking tea. The tea was delivered by couriers carrying hanging trays that looked like one side of the scales of law. Many of the salesmen yelled to colleagues across the way, or shared quiet confidences with their business partners in the stall. Most of them were just sitting or standing idly, seeming to take it all in, or at least facing the right direction to do so.I perused a few different boroughs of the Grand Bazaar. There was one with lots of jewelry, shiny and brightly glaring. It was like walking through an intergalactic market hawking small star systems. There was another area, labeled the "Old Bazaar," that sold antiques, like lamps from which you could solicit the services of a genie. The comparatively modern bazaar offered an array of goods without any unifying theme: picture frames, chess boards carved from marble, ceramic plates, glass tea sets, and rakish canes that would seem apropos in the wobbly grip of an octogenarian pimp. Kitty-corner to the stall I looked at now was one with much the same wares—the same chess boards, the same tea sets, though here they were featured in conjunction with various spice jars and décors of an Islamic bent. It occurred to me that something seemed fucked up in the supply and demand system here. There's an awful lot of supply. Turkish economics must operate by different rules, I figured. On the other hand, I wanted all this s**t. It was beautiful and unreasonably cheap. It wasn’t like the flimsy, crappy knockoffs on offer in many such markets. But I didn’t purchase anything, mostly because I didn’t want to have to lug it around. Still, it made me think about the guy selling the stuff. That guy could stand in front of his stall every day for the rest of his life, make his pittance of Turkish Lyra per diem and sell only a handful of goods every so often. It didn’t seem right.As I continued my stroll I noticed a band of policemen: three guys in jeans and Nikes with Polis vests, one strapped imposingly with an AK-47 diagonally across his chest. This is not an entirely uncommon sight around the world, but it is still somewhat off-putting.It wasn’t until I chanced upon the borough of preserved food—with teas, dried fruit, and the like—that the dynamics of Bazaaro economics started to jibe. The supply and demand was amortized. The timescale was that of many years, not of now. It was the opposite of scalable and innovative, the prized economic considerations of the modern West. But it was sustainable, which though highly-touted in the West is a much more low priority distinction. I was struck with the realization that all this would continue to carry on after I left, as it had since 1461. The supply could sit there and the demand could wander in as it may. It wasn’t a simple function of this point in time. It left me with a deeply seated appreciation for object permanence, that things are there even when I’m not looking at them. The world continues to go on, whether or not I appreciate it. And I was sincerely grateful just to see it, even if momentarily.In sum I’ll give the Bazaar points for Grandness, as advertised. But truth be told I expected the Bazaar to be, well, more bizarre. Perhaps I felt it should be filled with turbaned snake charmers, or a well-suited James Bond escaping from a band of international criminals on motorbike, careening off a nearby roof to unsettle a table of civilians just about to sit down for a large family meal. I don't know exactly.It proved easy to exit. However, it was not easy to know where I had exited once back in the unruly constellation of satellite bazaars. I had no idea which direction I was now oriented. When I stopped to get my bearings I saw a huge mosque. Surely, I thought, this would give me a landmark by which to establish my position. Not the case. When I surveyed the area surrounding the Bazaar on my map, I identified no less than a dozen mosques which I could have been gazing at now. For all I knew, this one could've been too minor even to be included on the map.I soon discovered that all roads lead back to the Grand Bazaar. I needed to get the hell out of this area to have a hope at establishing my whereabouts. It took me mere seconds to become completely lost. I was suddenly out of range of the main market and ambling helplessly through a sepia-toned hedge maze of storefronts, delivery trucks, and product-strapped couriers. There were no landmarks and no visibility in any direction. There weren’t even any right angles. There were however half a dozen guys unloading a shipment of approximately seven tonnes of the same little boys underwear. At length I found what seemed a promisingly distinctive landmark: a stately building with a plaque labeled ISTANBUL LISIPI. After a bit of scanning I found it on my map. I appeared to be situated on a street that led directly to the main drag. Nope. I ranged up and down the street, trying both directions, but it refused to spit me out anywhere besides nowhere in particular. I was totally lost again. By now I had made the worthwhile discovery that only sixty percent of the streets were on my map, which was already packed with detail. Only about twenty percent of the included streets featured names. When finally I found the main drag I had been searching for I pieced together post hoc from street names that I had been looking at wrong Istanbul Lisipi. I had been at Lisipi Zirkek, not Lisipi Kiz as I had suspected. Of course.I headed back toward my hostel for a reliable toilet. I found a Starbucks along the way and contemplated a cold coffee. This is something that the rest of the world has yet to figure out—when it’s hot, it’s nice to have the option for an iced coffee or a cold brewed coffee or whatever. Starbucks is the only global institution which reliably abides this philosophy. Also, Starbucks, like me, is from Seattle, so there’s an ounce of hometown pride involved in the process. I have the authority to inform the barista, “I’m from Seattle, so I really know what I’m doing here.” I'll often congratulate the manager on everything being up to snuff. At any rate, the queue was too long, and I desperately required the services of that toilet.Once relieved and back on the street, I realized that I expected Istanbul to have more smells. Even the roasted corn purveyed on the sidewalk is mostly scentless unless you get a really big snootful. I sort of imagined there would be an ever-present light dusting of za’atar or ras el hanout, like Turkey was actually located inside an oven cooking something exotic and seriously delicious.Speaking of seriously delicious, I decided to get some ice cream—something to tide me over until I made my way to Asia for lunch. I fetched up at an ice cream stall, where the gentlemen was engaged in serving a family of a mother and four little ones. Whereas the service of ice cream in the US involves a dim-witted, pimply eighteen-year-old scooping from one of thirty-one barrels and inquiring as to whether you'd prefer a sugar or a waffle cone, Turkish ice cream is served with a demonstration, like a hibachi chef at Benihana. This guy had flair. A magnificent mustache, too. He stood at a cart with a refrigerated cavern housing four barrels. The cones were stacked in a leaning tower on the side of his cart like a human-sized scimitar. Above the ice cream man were bells that he’d swat at deftly and rhythmically with his rapier. In his other hand he held not merely a scoop, but an ice cream spade. He served each child individually. I watched him start the little girl off with a cone on which he dolloped a scoop of pink ice cream. Then he thrust his rapier toward the little girl, who would recoil and giggle. While she was distracted he stole back the scoop he had just moments before conveyed to her. This stirred in her brief consternation followed by more giggling. Thus continued a cycle of dolloping, swatting bells, giggling, stealing, thrusting, and more giggling, until the girl had a cone piled high with four colors of ice cream. She was immensely gratified. As the family left still giggling, the man asked me, “Do you want all four flavors?” His voice was about an octave higher than you’d expect for a man whose upper lip was part wildebeest. “Yes, please,” I told him. My presentation was less elaborate, as I was clearly of a more esteemed clientele than his previous patrons. Thankfully, he still smacked the bells a couple times with his rapier. Then, just as he handed me the cone he upended it, and pretended to drop the ice cream. He performed the act so convincingly and with such conviction that my heart dropped and hit the floor at approximately the same time as the cone would have if he had actually dropped it. I giggled like the little girl. Getting Turkish ice cream, I noted, was one of best decisions I’ve ever made.As I gummed down my ice cream—it was chewy, flavorful, and unrepentantly delightful—I walked past the Sultan Ahmet mosque situated next to my hostel. I reflected on its grandeur, a sort of fractal monolith. Buildings were much better when we built them for God.I descended the hill on the other side of Sultan Ahmet, headed vaguely in the direction of the famous Ayasophia. I watched as the Bosphorus river shimmered in the distance, like the eponymous cymbals. It was a stroke of brash, spangled sapphire in the otherwise dusty cityscape of Istanbul. I thought I was on a street that would take me directly to Ayasophia. I wasn’t. I intended to cut smartly across the residential hillside, but instead I ended up at the bottom of it on an arterial street that more or less circumscribed Istanbul where it meets the water. I walked along that street. Clearly I would make it to Ayasophia eventually if I just stayed on this street. I spent forty-five minutes walking along, at first admiring the shimmering Bosphorus but then realizing that it was about high time to ask where the f**k this mosque was. How the hell do I get there? I knew I was getting close because I had to pick my way through a kilometer long queue of idling tour buses, their drivers napping in their vans. I still couldn’t see anything of significance. Impatiently, I glanced at Google Maps. I didn’t feel as though I was on the verge of becoming unlost. When at length I found my way there, I became confused. That’s it? I thought to myself. There was no real sight, just a mosque. There are mosques every seven or eight steps in this city, so that’s not exactly a big deal. It wasn’t even large. I guess its esteem derives from the fact that it is exceptionally old. As I scrolled unromantically through Google Maps to see if I was indeed missing anything, I realized that I hadn’t even been looking at the famed and idyllic Bosphorus river, as I had thought. It was actually the Marmara Sea. I stormed off, incredulous that I had gone to such trouble just to ogle at something so underwhelming. I later discovered that I had not visited the Ayasophia but the "little" Ayasophia, whose diminutive I had failed to notice. Totally different site. At any rate, I was ready for a new destination. I was ready for my transcontinental crossing to Asia.I gambled that a bus could take me along the waterfront to the Eminönü ferry terminal. I didn’t know that it would. But it seemed a good bet, since I was on a main drag headed toward a central location. I walked along but there were no bus stops. Magically, as with Catbus bounding out of the darkness in My Neighbor Totoro, a bus appeared with the word Eminönü on top. I waved the bus over, it stopped, and triumphantly I stepped aboard. Not only did it drop me at the intended ferry terminal, but I realized quickly that I was about a manhattan block away from my pide recommendation. I knew this would give me the strength necessary for my transcontinental voyage. Pide is essentially Turkish pizza, but greasier and meatier and therefore better. It comes in an elliptical shape, with a folded galette shell. It’s like a pizza crust orbiting a galaxy of meaty, saucy goodness. I happily inhaled a full serving before setting off for Asia.I had no explicit destination in Asia. My plan was just to get on a ferry and see where I ended up. There were three ferry terminals, all with vastly different destinations, spanning multiple continents, though I couldn’t quite tell which one went where. I boarded the one I evaluated to have the highest probability of terminating in Asia. I hoped at the very least it would end up somewhere still in Turkey. I boarded the maritime vessel along with six hundred of my closest Turkish friends, and together we set sail for I knew not where. I was one of the last aboard, as I had more or less hopped on whichever ferry left soonest. There was precisely three quarters of a seat available when I got on, and I wedged myself in on the top deck next to some Turkish youths. We took a sharp right out of Eminönü, back along the waterfront where I had taken the bus from Ayasophia. I looked at the hill of Istanbul from the water. After about thirty minutes the boat docked. I went down to the gang plank to discern whether I was at a decent location to disembark. I stood there while the boat’s ramp met the dock. No one got off. Several hundred new passengers stood in wait to pile on. I had no idea where we were, or where this boat would go next. I asked a few people around me—"Excuse me, where are we?" Everyone’s reply was uniformly unhelpful, "Sorry, no English." I equivocated, then at the last second I jumped ship right as boat was kicking off. Good thing, too. I believe the boat was going on to Beşiktaş, back in Europe.I had made it to Asia. But before I got to exploring I needed to make arrangements to get back to Eminönü. I couldn’t afford to be stuck in Asia and miss my flight. Luckily, the ferry official standing in the vicinity of the terminal was able to direct me to the proper concourse where I found the schedule. There were ferries back to Eminönü every twenty minutes. Perfect.It was time for a quick jaunt around Asia, a sort of warm up lap before I headed there in earnest. In front of me was a grey and sprawling business district along the water. The action clearly was located on the hill behind it. I ascended. Immediately, I was struck by a feeling of recognition. I was in Hong Kong. It felt to me like an Asian San Francisco, built on a hillside, with brightly lit storefronts catering to an amalgam of eastern and western sensibilities. There was an idiosyncratic flow to people’s movement, also as in Hong Kong. They move with the same purpose they do in West but on the madhouse, strewn-about streets of Asia: Manhattanites in a maze. I wandered into a used bookstore, the delightful kind where the proprietor values books more than organization. He delivered me to the English language section, and over-explained to me how the system worked. I appreciated the earnestness, but I had ascertained everything I needed to know pretty early on: here are the books. At any rate, the Turks must be avid readers because they have a s**t-tonne of book stores. I called afterward at a hipster coffee shop. They had cold brewed coffee in a carafe lingering in a space of frigid clime. Amazing.I sat outside and listened the conversations of the other patrons. They were all conducted in Turkish. As I matched words to menu items, I realized that spoken Turkish words begin the way I expect, then terminate in something completely indecipherable. At length, I descended back to my port-of-call for a late afternoon trip from Kadıköy, which I learned was the name of the terminal, to Eminönü. I sat atop the ferry in the dusky light of Istanbul.Eventually I arrived back in Europe. Then I headed to the metro, almost embarked, but decided against it in favor of one more stroll through the streets up to the hostel. At a three way intersection I saw a pavilion with mini chairs and tables, oriental table clothes, and these tiny Turkish teas I’d been seeing all day. I wanted one. It was perfectly positioned to watch the people traffic, too. Strong black tea in a glass three inches tall. Slightly more than a generous shot glass. I repaired back to the hostel bar just in time to watch the evening's soccer match.It was five, or just after. I looked out over Sultan Ahmet. Then a noise. Let me just say, there is nothing more exotic than the five o’clock call to prayer over the loud speaker in a Muslim city. It is the most non-Western sound in the world. It sounds to naive (and potentially blasphemous) ears like a sitar player drunk on a far eastern spirit, crooning a love song you'll never know the story to. It continues for just about ever. The cadence is such that it dies down, and just when you forgot about it, begins blaring again at the highest register, making the descent all over again.There was one last stop on my Turkish agenda: Asmalı Cavit. It is an eating establishment located by Mikla—by now feeling like an old haunt of mine—and serving hot and cold meze. When I presented myself to the maitre d’ I inquired about procuring a seat in the restaurant. “Inside is complicated,” he told me, enigmatically. Then he brought me round to an adjacent corridor, which was filled with white-clothed tables. This area was less complicated. I could take a seat toward the back, if that was fine with me. Happily, I accepted. The corridor was terraced, so there were three levels of diners. Since I occupied the furthest back it was also the highest and most regal. I wouldn’t even have to leave my seat to make my usual rounds of inspecting what everyone else is eating. When the waiter approached me I confided in him that I wasn’t sure what to order but I wanted lots. He required no further information. “I’ll bring you a plate of cold starters.” I’ve never felt so understood. As he turned to submit my order I called out, “Wait!”“Yes?”“I’ll take an order of Raki, please.” Turkish absinthe.“With water?” he said, and raised an eye brow.“Sure,” I acquiesced. I wasn’t sure how one was supposed to take Turkish absinthe, so I went with the house recommendation. The Raki came out swiftly. It was served as a triptych. There was the shot-glass worth of absinthe, a tall glass filled with ice, and a small a pitcher of cold water. I set to work on my build-your-own Turkish cocktail, dumping the absinthe over the ice wholesale. I settled on a portion of water somewhere between my masculine inclination for neat spirits and the rather large volume the glass would contain. Of a sudden, the concoction turned ghostly white—chemistry meets conjuring. I took a sip. “Jesus Christ!!” This seemed the only handle by which my mind could grasp the experience. The drink felt like a swift kick to the nuts, but it happened where my face should have been instead of further south. I ventured another sip. Another audible “Jesus Christ!!” was the only response I could produce. There was something eminently realistic about imbibing this drink, like reality shone through with startling clarity after every intake. Two sips in, I could feel clinically interesting effects come on. I tried to recall whether I had passed any banks on the way up here, and I flirted with the idea of sticking them up. Just as I remembered I forgot to bring my pistol, my cold starters came, a plate of delicious mysteries. I was filled with a child’s wonder as I surveyed a landscape of variously colored and textured entities I knew nothing about. I stuck them in my mouth to learn more. The servings resembled what you’d find in the prepared section of your local deli, but it was as if they were assembled by a martian who was given a slate of fresh earthly ingredients and a keen incisiveness for eliciting delightful gustatory experiences. This alien had none of our usual prejudices about how food should look or be combined. There were spicy little green beans (actually seaweed), fava beans, spiced tomato paste, all with a vibrancy and color palate that felt at once exotic and lucid. I took another cool hit of Raki-inspired reality. “Jésus Cristo!!” It came out in Spanish this time.I took a break from the plate and surveyed my surroundings. I cast my gaze skyward. There was no sky, it was simply the interior façade of an apartment complex. I was seated almost in the inner courtyard. I dispatched with my food much as a dog chows down on her bowl, though with the addition of much happy and rewarding experimentation—“what if I dipped the seaweed in the tomato? Exquisite!” When I was finished and ready for another go-around my waiter was nowhere in the vicinity. I searched around for him, but all I could see were the goblins hanging from the AC units of apartments above and the other patrons in the restaurant wearing grass skirts and dancing the hula in unison. I made visual contact with the waiter from across the room. I gestured that I was ready for the next round. He made a circular motion with his hands and mouthed the word next. I nodded. He gave me the thumbs up and left, never to be heard from again. The goblins must’ve got him. I sat patiently for about twenty minutes before getting up, collapsing like a felled tree, dusting myself off, and inquiring with the only remaining familiar face—the Maitre D’, he who spake of complicated matters—about whether I had an order forthcoming. “No,” he told me politely. I told him I'd like to fix that. I ordered the lamb chop, which I had been eyeing. Then I added, “I’ll have another plate of starters, too.” What I had meant to convey was that I’d like a different plate of starters—a martian landscape as mysterious as the first, perhaps sweltering this time. I thought since my terse order had been so deftly intuited the first time around, I’d be just as lucky the second. I wasn’t. I got the exact same plate of cold starters, which I still wolfed it down, scattering bits of kibble across the white-tiled kitchen floor. I paid the reckoning, then at the moment I reached for my last dose of absinthe I was sucked into it, like a flushing toilet, and all at once found myself back at the hostel. It had been a Portkey.Intrigued by this newfound form of transportation but otherwise undaunted, I collected my bags from Cheers and bid farewell to my friends, Ahmed and Sinan. “Later, man!” they called as I scooted out along the cobbled streets of Istanbul to grab a train back to the airport.I took a seat on the train—old men, women, and children be damned. I pulled out my phone, connected the train’s Wifi (yes, Americans, even economically imperiled developing countries offer this service now), and began to watch the second half of a World Cup game, Portugal versus someone. As I streamed the match, I saw the white-mustached Turkish gentleman next to me eyeing my screen, surreptitiously, as one eyes a dirty magazine tucked away in the far corner of the rack. I inclined the screen toward him, a gesture of international goodwill. He nodded in appreciation, and together we gazed at the figures jaunting around on the otherwise verdant illuminations of my phone. Moments into our shared and intimate viewing experience, the Turkish man leaned in to share a confidence.“Beşiktaş is number one team in Turkey.” He gave me a wide smile. “Beşiktaş is my team,” he clarified, pressing a thumb to his chest and then an index finger distantly toward, presumably, the glorious municipality of Beşiktaş.“Oh?” I said, impressed.Then he pointed at the screen, “Pepe plays for Beşiktaş.”Pepe is a Portuguese defensive stalwart. He is one of Portugal’s most internationally prominent players, after Cristiano Ronaldo. Not only that, the man relayed as further intelligence: the Beşiktaş outfit also boasts among its numbers Ricardo Quaresma, who is a less distinguished footballer, but notable as one of the few Portuguese players who doesn’t identify under a mononym.“Oh, wow,” I intoned, convincingly, as if playing an Owen Wilson character.This Turkish-American connection via the Portuguese pleased us both and we sat there in happy silence for a few minutes. Then he retrieved his phone from his shirt pocket. He scrolled through and offered me a picture of him and his daughter at a game, indicating that this was Beşiktaş. “This is very nice,” I said. In return I offered a picture of Haily and me at our Portugal game in Russia and explained how I had actually been at World Cup before coming to Turkey. The man was keen on this information, as of course he was, because Beşiktaş is technically in Europe.When his stop came we parted as friends, as two men who had just before been strangers and in the intervening moments shared with one another intimate experiences held closely to our hearts and connected on a deeply-felt, fundamentally human level, which only an event like the World Cup brings out. Soon the train pulled up at the airport terminal. And as I hopped off the train I reached into my jacket pocket where I felt the smooth surface of a foreign object. I looked down and pulled out a manila envelope. It was stuffed with reams of neatly wrapped, bank-marked two-hundred Lira notes. “Now where do you suppose these came from?” I said to myself, depositing them furtively back into my pocket and making my way through the automatic doors of Istanbul’s Ataturk airport.I got to the airport at 11:30 PM for my 1:30 AM flight. The muslim girl at the Turkish Airlines check-in counter greeted me cheerfully. I handed her my passport. She banged away on the keyboard as airline clerks do—about a thousand clicks for what you imagine can only be about a dozen bits of information. Then she pulled a phone up to her ear and made a call. It wasn’t a short call, either. Not a good sign. She was speaking in Turkish, but I could make out the word “standby.” My stomach dropped. This had happened to me once before, in Mumbai. I had booked an intercontinental flight (on Air f*****g France, for the record), which was slated to depart in the wee hours for Paris en route back to America. There had been a tinsy miscalculation, and the doggedly optimistic algorithms at Air France had, unfortunately, unexpectedly, inexplicably, overbooked the flight. I was one of a handful of ticketed passengers denied entry. As you can imagine, I wasn’t happy. But as you also might be able to imagine, there were people who got more heated than I. One guy started yelling at the poor Indian girl behind the desk, “You can’t DO this to me! Do you know who I AM? I have somewhere to BE!” She did her best to assuage him. At first I understood his rage, empathized even, at least in the sense of mirroring his emotion. I thought he was a douchebag for yelling at her, sure, but I understood where he was coming from. He continued in this vein for tens of minutes. “Where I have to be is IMPORTANT! And I am getting on that PLANE!” Eventually I couldn’t watch anymore, because he was taking his anger out on this girl who couldn’t do anything about it. “Do you know who I AM?” He yelled at the clerk. “Yes, fuckhole we all know who you are,” I chimed in. “You’re a pompous, self-important, poorly-adjusted jerk. So just sit down and shut up like the rest of us.” I didn’t actually say that to him. But I did intervene and attempt to soothe him, which worked and the girl shot me a look of sincere gratitude.Anyway, the muslim girl on the phone had still not addressed me directly. She went over to her colleague for a brief conference. Then she returned and told me to follow. We went over to another counter. She consulted again with her colleagues in Turkish. After they reached a verdict, her colleague printed me a boarding pass. The girl handed it to me, smiling, and said, “Your gate is not open yet, but you can go through customs.” I looked down at my ticket.“Is there a problem?” I asked. Where my boarding pass should’ve had a seat number it just said “JMP.”“The flight’s overbooked,” she told me. “Just wait at the gate until everyone else is boarded. Then see if you get on.”While I’d been waiting I had noticed a sign that said you should request a compensation brochure in the event that you’re bumped from a flight due to overbooking. I requested one.“I don’t understand,” she said, suddenly not an adept English speaker.“Brochure,” I said, pointing at the sign.“No brochure,” she countered. “You’ll be fine.”I gave her a blank look for three silent seconds, then dismissively rolled my eyes at her and huffed off. As I walked away I thought about how that wasn’t a very nice thing of me to do and, reminded of my time in Mumbai, turned back and yelled, “Do you know who I AM?”I was in the throws of uncertainty concerning one’s destiny that only a waylaid transcontinental flight can bring on. I threw down my bags at the gate I was slated to fly out of and took a brief leave of consciousness, which was the most productive thing I could bring myself to do. When I awoke I was still marinating in qualms about the stochastic nature of my flight assignment—would I be able to get on another flight? Would I have to go back into the city? Would Sinan and Ahmed take me back? Of course they would, I assured myself. But it didn’t help.As the seating area around the gate filled up, I started to see them—white Africans. They were headed to Johannesburg, like me. They were speaking Afrikaans. I would’ve found this very exciting if I weren’t so nervous. One by one I watched each of them be graciously accepted onto the plane. Once the great throng of people had boarded the plane, I presented myself at the counter to be installed into any unclaimed seat. They said they were still waiting for a few passengers to trickle in. I took a half step away from their desk and tried to put on a patient face as I waited. Joining me in hoping that the stragglers had succumb to some unfortunate scenario were a couple of backpackers and an asian girl, with tattoos, in her thirties. We shared brief commiserations. A pang of kinship shot between us while resting in the clammy and masculine hands of Lady Fortuna.“Hope we get on,” the Asian girl offered to me.“Yeah, me too,” I replied.A family with two small children came running through the terminal, waving their tickets, and petitioning the agents not to close the door just yet.Then as the doors were closing, in dramatic slow motion, the clerks went bang-bang on their keyboards and out popped a fistful of boarding passes. They presented them to me and the two backpackers. They told the Asian girl there was no room for her. The three of us gave our comrade a doleful look as we were ushered down the runway. I wished her luck. Then I promptly forgot about her. For me, this was a happy occasion. I was on my way to Africa.Next Episode:Thanks for checking out Season 1 of Notes from the Field. If you’ve enjoyed it, please consider becoming a premium subscriber. I’m trying to do more of this kind of travel writing in the future. But as you can imagine, it’s hard to have these kinds of experiences while also holding down a job. Your subscription goes a long way toward helping me to do that. Use the link below, and you’ll get 50% off an annual subscription. Thanks! This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe
Yuck warnings: Again, as far as we can tell there aren't any but we aren't in your heads! So if theres something that bugs you please tell us so we can fix it. We're finaly back after like a billion years. Turns out podcasts are time consuming! But no matter, with this episode we bring you two spooks and a lie along with a purr-fect little creature that you can just really love. Also this episode is surprisingly Furry heavy but that's unrelated. Ajay does some pre-preparation! Lachlan attempts the ancient art of "jokes" Cover Art by Lou Intro/Outro music by Rootsmessenger You can buy PocketNotes HERE Follow Ajay (@ajaynus) and Lachlan (@lachlame) on Twitter! Follow us on Tumblr at ghoultank.tumblr.com Join our Facebook group "The Ghoul Group" As always, you may not believe in Cryptids but they believe in you.
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