These past few weeks have been pretty hectic. A marathon, a heartbreaking World Series, three weeks of overseas travel, and general holiday malaise combined with downright laziness to help explain Eddyfication’s slumber. However, I’ve been itching to get back on the blogging horse for too long and a recent movie viewing spurred me to finally re-engage. Before I go into that, a couple of events deserve recounting.

First, this year’s Chicago Marathon. Despite coming down with a nasty cold two days prior, I managed to finish in 3 hours and 50 minutes, which was 20 minutes off my target pace. It was good enough to place me in the 18th percentile among all runners and 24th percentile among my cohort (males in their early 30′s). I coughed up my fair share of mucous along the way but it was the final 4-5 miles that really crushed me.  Apparently, those salt pills that I scoffed at were recommended for a reason, as the twelve pounds of banana that I consumed along the way didn’t do enough to ward off some pretty killer cramps during the home stretch.  I had to pull over to stretch away a spasm probably 15-20x during the last several miles.  And I’m pretty sure I ran the final two miles without ever actually bending my right leg for fear of inviting yet another bout of jaw-clenching misery.  But for the fact that I was surrounded by similarly-situated maniacs also on the verge of total collapse, I would’ve worried that I looked like a complete imbecile as I made my way towards the finish.  And serving as a testament to the human body’s potential, I somehow managed to sprint the final 400 meters (or at least that’s what it felt like I was doing).  As I was gliding to the finish, I was passed by another runner whose own burst of energy quite clearly surpassed my own.  However, the poor guy stumbled exhaustedly as he crossed the finish line, clumsily trying to grab anything around him for support as he collapsed in a tired heap.  Luckily, I mustered a semi-normal fist pump as I crossed the finish line and have managed to convince myself that I appeared none the worse for wear.  As if I needed reminding that the human body isn’t built for such feats, being surrounded at the finish station by a sea of EMTs and horizontal bodies either writhing in agony or completely catatonic provided a quick reality check.  Us humans are simply not meant to run 26.2 miles nonstop; therefore, not only was this my first marathon but it will also mark my last.  My bucket list has been checked.  Moving on.

Second, I got to suffer through yet another World Series loss for my hometown Texas Rangers.  At least last year the Rangers were pretty much out of it from the start against the Giants.  This year, however, we were literally one out away from a championship not once but twice and still couldn’t pull it off in the end.  I knew right when Freese performed his Game 6 heroics that the Rangers didn’t stand a chance in Game 7.  It was the type of momentum swing that doomed infamous Game 6′s of yesteryear, including the Boston Red Sox in 1986 (Billy Buckner) and the Chicago Cubs in 2003 (Steve Bartman).  I just knew the Rangers would fall flat in Game 7.  And sure enough they did.  While it’s certainly quite the accomplishment to make it to the World Series in back-to-back years, losing both times dulls the magnitude of such a feat.  I’m afraid I’m stuck with teams (like the Fighting Irish and Dallas Cowboys) that simply lack the fortitude to win consistently, especially when winning calls for showing up big in big games and making plays in crunch time.  Now excuse me while I take a break from my armchair complaining to grab another beer.

By the way, I attended Game 2 of the Series, which was pretty damn cool.  I drove down to St. Louis from Chicago with my little brother, a trip that helped me appreciate the dangers that lie hidden in the “ultimate driving experience”.  Not accustomed to opening my car up on the open road, I routinely eclipsed 100 mph without even noticing it.  (This is where the smooth driving experience that the Germans manufacture can very well spell doom.)  We stayed at the Hyatt Regency St. Louis, which is located right next to the Gateway Arch and a mere ten-minute walk from Busch Stadium.  The stadium was quite nice, a decent mix of new and old that managed to retain its classic feel.  The game itself was a defensive struggle, a nail-biter that saw the Rangers pull one out with some scrappy play in the 9th inning, providing me with the unique opportunity to annoyingly cheer on my winning team while surrounded by a sea of enemies.  Among the observations to be made during the game was the unexpected civility of the crowd, which took me by surprise until I reminded myself that we were at the World Friggin’ Series, where price discrimination self-selects a certain type of obedience among those with the means to actually attend the game in person.

Third, my travels out East were mostly par for the course.  Hong Kong was its usual hyper-consumptive and buzzy self, and my first visit to Tokyo was met with equal parts nostalgia and melancholy.  It was great to see old buds and reminisce by visiting some of our old spots.  But it was strange to be there without the full crew of friends and family.  And though Tokyo remains an awesome city with unmistakable style, I detected a sense of loss that pervaded everything around me.  Maybe it was the distinct lack of expat sightings and/or the disappearance of certain standbys (our grocery store, our Citibank ATM, etc.).  Whatever it was, something felt off.  That said, Tokyo remains as incomparable as ever.  It was great to be back and I look forward to my eventual return.

A couple of things stand out about my trip.  First, thanks to certain discounts, I had the occasion to stay at the new Ritz-Carlton Hong Kong (across the harbour in Kowloon) as well as the Ritz-Carlton Tokyo.  Having spent a solid three weeks in these hotels, I can solidly proclaim that I hate the Ritz-Carlton.  I’m guessing this only applies to the international variety, as the Ritz-Carlton Laguna Niguel is among my sentimental favorites.  But the Hong Kong and Tokyo versions are disappointing on multiple levels.  In Hong Kong, for example, you’ve got over-the-top kitschy in terms of decor and the software doesn’t match the hardware (i.e., the service offers nowhere near the polish of the structure itself).  Plus, the hotel managed to completely botch the distinction of having Asia’s highest bar (Ozone on the 118th floor), with views of Central obscured by thick plexiglass and other random objects.  The Tokyo version is exquisite in its service, location, and overall touch, but the style and ambiance don’t mesh with my own sensitivities.  It feels old and stuffy.  The lounge might very well be the most boring one in Asia and the fact that they charge $30 for admission (an invitation to complete and utter boredom) is criminal.  The place has zero vibe and the restaurants offer the unfortunate combination of mediocre taste and stratospheric expense.  It’s basically the anti-Grand Hyatt, which is just a few blocks away and worlds better in virtually every respect.

Second, I got to pass the time alone on weekends and on various bullet trains by absorbing Walter Isaacson’s biography on Steve Jobs.  At over 600 pages, it’s a rather long read but one befitting its subject.  Jobs was the foremost innovator of his generation and our world will miss his vision with a vengeance, a reality made clearer by digesting Jobs’ story.  Though good on balance, the book itself was slightly disappointing.  Isaacson glossed over a lot of competitive strategy dynamics that I would’ve like to see pursued and the work’s second half had a rushed feel to it.  That said, I still gained plenty of insight into the man and his company, enough to warrant my reading of the book a worthy pursuit.  Among the things I learned: 1) Like many geniuses, Jobs was a difficult man and tortured soul whose treatment of those around him ranged from disdain to infatuation to disinterest; 2) Jobs’ genius lay not as much in his technical know-how as in his vision for what consumers wanted before they even knew it; 3) Extreme attention to detail and slight-to-moderate levels of OCD can sometimes be a good thing for one’s professional life; 4) Jobs led a life full of contradictions, especially as it related to his Eastern spirituality and many mood swings, which made me feel better about my own inconsistencies; and 5) Jobs’ vision was all-encompassing, making him a sight to behold and a visionary in the truest sense of the word, which did a wonderful job of reminding me of my own mediocrity.  In slightly related news, I actually found myself seated near Walter Isaacson while waiting in the United Airlines lounge at Narita Airport.  He was literally sitting fifteen feet away from me, so close that I could actually hear his conversation with two Japanese colleagues.  While I contemplated saying hello, I chose instead to give the man his space (especially since I didn’t really love his book!).  What I found most surprising was the fact that he was spotted without an Apple product in sight, choosing instead to use a Blackberry and a Dell laptop.  As I tweeted upon the sighting, it was as if some sort of cosmic injustice had occurred.

Unfortunately, the journey home ended up being an eventful one, which is never a good way to describe a transcontinental flight.  Luckily, the events had more to do with the passengers than the plane itself, which is very much a good thing.  Being seated in the upper deck of a 747, I heard the overwrought grumbling of a passenger making his way up the stairs as we took to our seats upon boarding.  As he emerged from the stairs and made the turn down the aisle, I caught a solid glimpse of a man overburdened by three large carry-on bags and overcome by the effects of alcohol.  Hammered is an understatement when it comes to describing this man’s condition.  As he stumbled to his seat, flight attendants were scurrying about in an effort to assist the man with his overall situation as well as determine whether or not he was flight-worthy (wondering: what’s the air equivalent of sea legs?).  It just so happened that this winner was traveling with his wife, who I overheard claiming to be a medical doctor traveling with a husband under the influence of a sedative and “not a lick” of alcohol.  Sure thing.  The airline authorities took her story hook-line-and-sinker while the rest of us knowingly rolled our eyes at each other, assuming the worst was yet to come.  Sure as shit, just as our bird began her ascent, an awful stench slowly began to permeate the upper deck cabin and the air soon wreaked of puke.  This elicited at least one gag reflex moment from yours truly, prompting me to surf the plane’s movie selection with my shirt pulled above my nose.  Once the seatbelt sign was turned off, there was plenty of fumbling among the cabin crew and the passed-out misfit’s wife as they attempted to clean him up with plastic bags that I assume were made for the occasion.  The smell eventually abated only to be punctuated by two more puking sessions before we landed.  And I forgot to note that the guy was seated directly behind me.  This led me to a new rule: Anyone puking on a flight for reasons demonstrably attributable to alcohol should be forced to pay a $100 fine to each of the surrounding passengers within a 20-foot radius.  The airline shouldn’t take the blame as it’s quite clearly not to blame for the doofusness of its own passengers.  But the buffoon infringing on the experience of others should absolutely be penalized.

Of course, I got the chance to watch a number of films during my flights and lazy days at home.  What follows below is a breakdown of those movies, listed in no particular order:

1. Horrible Bosses: Mostly mediocre but kinda fun. Jason Bateman was great as usual and Jennifer Aniston demonstrated some naughtiness that was pretty awesome but that dude from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia annoyed the hell out of me.
2. Bridesmaids: Pretty funny but just OK.  Kristen Wiig was great as was Jon Hamm and Melissa McCarthy.  But I thought the whole premise was overblown.
3. Life in a Day: A wonderfully-edited compilation of user-submitted videos from a random day in July 2010.  Beautifully original and genuine.  Produced by Ridley Scott.
4. The Hangover Part II: Standard, mostly predictable fun that was surprisingly lame in spots.  Yet it was enjoyable all the same.  For whatever reason, I found Zach Galifianakis much funnier this time around.
5. The Tree of Life: Brad Pitt and Sean Penn starred in this Terrence Malick production, so I figured it had to be halfway decent.  Instead, I forced myself to sit through two hours of total cluelessness (easier to do when you’re on a 15-hour flight).  I’m told Malick is a directorial genius but it’s totally lost on me.  Complete and utter WTF confusion on my part.  I have no idea what this movie was about.  A Seth Macfarlane tweet summed the film up perfectly: “My brother died. Plus, dinosaurs.”
6. Forks Over Knives: Interesting material but poorly executed.  Still did enough to continue pushing me in the direction of a plant-based diet.
7. Margin Call: Yet another attempt to explain the financial crisis of 2008 but this time with an impressive ensemble cast and a more informed script than most.  I liked this better than I thought I would (even though jetlag had me drifting in and out).  More even-handed than I expected and it did a particularly good job at humanizing the “other” side of the crisis (that of Wall Street).
8. Conan O’Brien Can’t Stop: This documentary follows Conan O’Brien during his NBC-imposed one-year moratorium from television.  O’Brien’s forced time off spawned his Legally Prohibited From Being Funny On Television Tour, a traveling comedy show that made stops in 30 cities.  Being a fan of Conan, I generally enjoyed the peek behind the curtain.  However, loyal readers know that I was none too pleased with his behavior during the NBC ordeal, so I was only able to enjoy this movie so much.

The final movie that I’ll highlight is Drive.  Starring Ryan Gosling and Carey Mulligan, it’s the story of an unnamed mechanic/stunt car driver/getaway car driver who is a man of few words.  He befriends a neighbor who is a single mother (the husband is in jail) and who also happens to be of few words.  Naturally, they’re surrounded by people who are of many words and therefore seem less wholesome than they.  I spent the first part of the movie absorbing the blows of boring, predictable cheesiness because: 1) it had a Tarantinoesque art house feel to it; and 2) I knew the tone would eventually turn on a dime (thanks to some light reading on the movie beforehand).  Sure enough, it did.  And as I reflect on the film I realize more and more that I really liked it.  This will no doubt make those who watched it with me roll their eyes (I think I’m quoting Lizzi here when I say it was one of the worst movies she’s ever seen).  But the further I get away from it, the more the movie resonates.  The film’s Danish director, Nicolas Winding Refn, won Best Director honors at Cannes and even received a standing ovation, which I’m left to assume is a rare treat that must mean it was a good piece of work (granted, Cannes also gave the famed Palme d’Or to The Tree of Life, so there goes that theory).  In any event, this is one of those movies that leaves its mark in indescribable ways.  In terms of texture, style, and music, it felt to me like a weird combination of Grindhouse, Requiem for a Dream, and Punch Drunk Love.  I won’t be able to do the movie justice, so I’ll lean instead on the expertise of A.O. Scott of the NY Times, who describes Drive as the “coolest movie around”, and Peter Travers of Rolling Stone, who had this to say:

Buckle up for the existential bloodbath of Drive, a brilliant piece of nasty business that races on a B-movie track until it switches to the dizzying fuel of undiluted creativity. Damn, it’s good. You can get buzzed just from the fumes coming off this wild thing.

To wrap things up, I’ll leave you with the movie’s signature song, A Real Hero by College, which is perfect for the film as it’s as haunting as it is catchy.