Stanford teacher wins Pulitzer Prize for fiction novel about North Korea

Adam Johnson is a teacher at Stanford who I was stalking last year, after first noticing him on Charlie Rose. I sent him an email, attended two public lectures and bought his book. I mention or link to him in three previous “Plastic Alto” posts. In honor of his winning the Pulitzer Prize, for “The Orphan Master’s Son”, I have excerpted and posted here from “Teen Sniper”, an earlier short story, about a teenager who works for the Palo Alto Police. It kinda reminds me, roughly speaking of a mix of Tom Wolfe, Kurt Vonnegut and T.C Boyle. I’m also kinda tempted to route this – the complete story, 10 pages, to local leadership apropos of our new public safety building (proposed).*

ROMS is clueless to how the guys are always avoiding him, and I try to shield him from that. You see, ROMS and I are both Cancers, which means we’re sensitive and a little moody, but with a lot to say. For his birthday in July, I’m planning on getting him an update–Negotiator 5.0, with the latest Black English Converters because ROMS wants to express himself, but he just doesn’t have the programming.
For now, ROMS and I decide to eat lunch without those guys. I have a learner’s permit, but there has to be someone in the car with me, and technically ROMS doesn’t count, so we walk across the street to grab a Sony burger.
Generally, people don’t like to see a bomb robot enter a building, so ROMS and I use the drive-through, which is a little humiliating. The ugly truth is, though, robots are way looked down upon in our society. Just because some people are different doesn’t mean they’re not the same as you or me. That’s why, when we’re working at a playground or day care, I tie a Barney mask on ROMS’s display panel–purple and humorous, it helps ensure the next generation won’t have to live in fear.
I order a double Sony dog with a large Nix. For ROMS, I get a water, no ice–you have to wet his sponge reservoir every once in a while to keep his sniffer from drying out.
The girl at the drive-through’s kind of cute. She’s about my age, with some skin trouble, though I like the cock of her headset. When it’s our turn in line, I can’t think of anything to say, but she’s the one who speaks first.
“Nice rifle,” she says when she hands me the bag.
I want to make my move, but ROMS won’t quit sniffing her, and he’s ruining everything! I kick him on the sly. When I do open my mouth, all that comes out is “extra ketchup.” Then I go and add, “S’il vous plait.”
She shakes her head and hands me two packets, like there’s a ketchup shortage or something.
The car behind us starts honking, so ROMS and I move along.

…ROMS can see my disappointment. “Why the long face?” he asks.
“Thanks, ROMS, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
“We can resolve this crisis together. We’re friends. First let’s start with some small talk. What do you think of the Raiders this year?”
That puts a smile on my face. ROMS is my friend. Some bomb robots, every time you turn them on you’re a new person to them. You have to reintroduce yourself and everything. But ROMS is different. We’re like a team–both of us dedicated to saving people, though I do it indirectly, of course.

I LOL’d at this point, and about four times total.

*For what it’s worth: I search-injun’d “Adam Johnson” plus “Palo Alto police”. Then I found Palo Alto Library’s number and called, pressing “2” twice to get a reference librarian. Anita entered my email address into something called Ebsco, which sent me the article, I printed on Terry’s HP but actually instead read here on her desktop’s screen, then cut-and-pasted back to WordPress, via Word. (I flashed on the vague comparison of the mixture of technology and human contact it took to do this with the wryly futuristic world of Johnson).

I also had the distinct pleasure of mentioning the news of Johnson’s award to my old friend Marianne Chowning Dray, who flattered and encouraged me by suggesting she might start following this humble blog, whose name I explained to her. She said that her son had been part of a championship basketball team, meanwhiles.

Here is the photo I took of him in November.

Adam Johnson, "The Orphan Master's Son", at Stanford's Serra House/Clayman Center, Election Day, November, 2012

Adam Johnson

edit to add, moments later: EBSCO is actually a billion-dollar media company and conglomerate based in Birmingham, Alabama founded in 1944 by  Elton B. Stephens. My experience with it makes up for my disappointment at not being able to access, from Palo Alto Main, a database called jstor, for a 1972 article about “incentive zoning”, by John Costonis. All in all, I would have preferred zipping over to the library, ringing the bell, and having friendly and efficient civil servant fetch March, 2002, Harper’s from basement, but, like Wendell Berry, I live in another world. Oh, yeah, it also turns out that all the youtube’s I’ve posted here are disabled at least for me here and now by our (or Terry’s) failure to upgrade our Flash or somesuch. Search “blocked plug-in”…

I could write a little bit better than this but why try? Although Johnson is pretty amazing, and an inspiration, the way his mind works, and his diligence. I think he said he wrote most of his book hidden away in a carousel at UCSF Medical library, speaking of hallowed halls.

Maybe a little Philip K. Dick thrown in, as well. He also told or read a story, to one of the Stanford crowds, of his dad, or a character’s dad, stealing food intended for the zoo’s animals.

My former neighbor Wallace Stegner won the Pulitzer, for comparison’s sake, in 1972, for “Angle of Repose” (when future winner Adam Johnson would have been four-turning-five, years of age — and I was eight, not yet by two years Stegner’s neighbors and read mainly the sports section and Scholastic sports biographies — that was the spring summer I started collecting baseball cards, buying them by the pack, Andy Dieden and I walking or biking to the historic –to us merely convenient — Saratoga Drug, or Sprouse-Reitz).

edit to add, later: Andrew Hinderaker for Stanford Magazine does a much better job with “Teen Sniper” and Johnson generally, at the time, plus, foreshadowing this week’s news, mentions Johnson’s mentor, the Pulitzer laureate Robert Olen Butler, my fellow Uranian.

 

Johnson became "obsessed" with North Korea. - Tamara Beckwith
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I’m trying to post Olivia Tremor Control live at Cubberley from April, 1999

Somebody captured and then delivered to me a cdr of Olivia Tremor Control at Cubberley Community Center (auditorium), from April 24, 1999. All told, I have about 40 hours of music from the 150 or so shows I produced there, back in the day.

The taper dude snagged a set list and reproduced it as album art and a type of crude set list. His cdr has 19 tracks and I am trying to reconcile them with the list (sometimes bands change their minds mid set about what they want to play).

Here is how it appears:

Can you come down…

New Day

Paranormal

https://archive.org/details/03Paranormal

Floated

Spring Succeeds

Sleepy Company

Hideaway

Umbrella>Sunshine (although they write it with a bracket in front of the two title)

http://archive.org/details/10SunshineFix

California Demise

https://archive.org/details/12CaliforniaDemise

Not feeling human

mystery

holiday surprise 2, 3

Window

frosted / green / princess

define

grass canons>hill top

There is an archive site that has an Olivia Tremor Control show at Cat’s Cradle in Carrboro, North Carolina from later than summer, with most of the same songs, but in a different order, for comparison’s sake.

So far the last two tracks, 18 and 19, about 15 minutes of the 72 minute set, came out corrupted, so I deleted it from my inventory — not sure if I only have to wash the disc and try again or what. There’s also a song they refer to as “Odorless Boatman’s Belt” that is not on the list.

If anybody from the band or label contacts me about underwriting some kind of proper release of this, I might throw down for that, within reason.

I also have the overruns of the poster in storage somewhere I can dig up if there is interest. It shows two women making “Oh” sounds, like in speech pathology. I borrowed the image from a New York Times article that came out around that time, my idea of fair use.O

For reference, I also found this footage of a reunion show in Brooklyn in 2012, with some of the same songs.

I remember the show being pretty great, although I wasn’t very familiar with the music, only that I had booked other bands from the Elephant 6, and I trusted the agent, Jim Romeo from what was still called at the time Twin Towers Touring (and became Ground Control when he spun off from working with Bob Lawton and moved to Chapel Hill area). The band had played GAMH the night before, and did an in-store at Aquarius on the next afternoon, which I caught part of.  You can tell, if you listen to these six or seven tracks, that the crowd appreciated the show, although there was not a huge turnout, which says more about doing shows at a community center in Palo Alto than the band’s draw per se.

edit to add, a few minutes later: either I am an idiot — quite likely, I’m a proud Luddite, at least — or WordPress simply does not support Itunes, and this is my girlfriend’s computer so I don’t know any other way to go from my cdr to her computer — anyhow the best I could do was open an account at the Internet Archive who did let me upload from Apple to them. So click here for the first nine minutes of the show (“Can you come down..”), and check back or ask me direct if I am going to clean up the setlist and post the rest to the same archive and here. The same site also has a show in Seattle the following week.

Rolling Stone wrote about the band three weeks before our show.

P.S. There’s also a cdr of The Music Tapes (Julian Koster) who toured together. I think it was a three-band package with Elf Power as well.

edit to add, 20 months later: somehow Stanford Daily archives has an account of this show, plus do note that my next post after inviting Neutral Milk to Cub, a photo of a dog, Ollie, I met again later, dog and dog-friend and was told her name was actually…Olivia! (maybe she channels the soul of leaving member of OTC?????)

OLIVIA TREMOR CONTROL
Kickin’ out the jams at the Palo Alto Cubberley Center
t’s easy to look on the ’60s with embart|gpient. Granny glasses, love beads, “flower power” « 112 Cr) … golly gee, how lame. Still, whether they were around or not, regard that era as something wonderful. Usuj|ofsudfaf an attitude is romanticized Nostalgia. The fascinating thing about Olivia Trefhor Control is that it manages to make music heavi-| ly embedded in the psychedelic pop era while avoiding nostalgia. Rather than re-create the musk of the era, Olivia Tremor Coqtrol simply seems to be influenced by the Bfiach Boys and the Beatles in the same way that manyJbands today are influenced by the Pixies and Pavement I mean “influence” in the best impossible. Olivia Tremor Control picks up where delic pop left off. It’s a brilliant idea, for ifs an incomplete history. Brian Wilsonof the Beadh Boys made one masterpiece, “P/r Sounds,” and then went literally insane with th« never com-‘ pleted follow-up, “Smile.” The Beatles (or at least John lennon) was onto something with “Tomorrow Never Knows” and “A Day in the Life,” but “The White Album* was a totally different direction. Syd Barrett, founder of Pink Floyd, went mad after the band’s first album. Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison … the casualties of the first psychedelic era are legion. \ How valiant to pick up an idea with so many potholes (pardon the pun). On “Black Foliage: Volume One” (Flydaddy), the group’s second album, Olivia Hremor Control mastered the studio trickery that made the Beades so revolutionary. The album consist* of well-crafted pop songs buried in dense layers of instrumentation and “found* sounds^. Naturally, I was unsure of what to expect from the band In concert J wasjblown away, then, by the gorgeous wall of noise that presented itself at the Cubberley Community Center last Saturday night. The stage was populated by eight to 10 wandering musicians picking up, discarding and trading Vflffottf instruments, including a tuba, banjo and tin can. Psychedelic films almost as intriguing as the music itself played across the band. Tight renditions of songs from the record bled into eipansive jams with no loss in coherency. Words can’t explain the “wow” psychedelia, but Olivia Tremor Control was onto something when it mentioned aJlWfihouse symphony” in one song lyric. Opening for Olivia Tremor auditorium that was eerily reminiscent of high school was the Music Tapes, who, like Olivia Tremor Control, is from Athens, Ga. If I described |it as a dada jugband from outer space, would that make sense? I hope so, because that’s what it y mm, it just .like, felt like I was there, • RYQMXJY (we presume Ryq Mxjy is a pseudolkda;fjsdlkj)

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Martin Sexton at City Winery Palo Alto

I took note of a Martin Sexton concert in New York last week, from a blurb in The New Yorker. He played three nights at City Winery, at 155 Varick. The preview said that Sexton is promoting a new ep that includes a cover of a Buffalo Springfield song “For What It’s Worth.”

My friend Hugo Traeger and I get into a recurring conversation about the need for a music venue here in Palo Alto. He suggests that what would fit here is something based on City Winery, or maybe the people who run City Winery itself want to partner with us here. I’ve been to about 20 New York clubs but not City Winery but will accept as a hypothesis his idea as workable.

I estimate I’ve been to about 200 venues for live music nationwide, maybe 205 if you count international travel of which my experience is scant. I’ve promoted shows in about 20 venues plus accompanied clients, as personal manager, to another 30 or so, I reckon. In my backpack I am lugging a file that has clippings, brochures, schedules and ephemera on about 500 venues, of varying types and sizes – maybe I will sort the file and derive from that practice the wonder of blogging or posting, for what that’s worth.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uGfj6_3Yk1E

It’s a little sad the number of times I describe myself as a ‘semi-retired’ music manager and promoter rather than full-on the real thing. I feel I am in the doughnut-hole of my career in that manner, my time being displaced by other things, mostly non-musical. As I settle with the treasury department of course, in the coming days, I persist in describing myself as “concert promoter/arts administrator” and insist it’s an ongoing concern. Twenty-twelve events included shows with Akira Tana, Ava Mendoza T-Rosemond Jollisant, and Jonah Matranga, for instance, for the record, and for what it’s worth.

On the corner of Alma and Hamilton here, a real estate developer has claimed for his lair the site that previously included a gallery where I brought shows with, among others Ethan Iverson (of The Bad Plus, Do the Math and Mark Morris Dance), Esbjorn Svensson and Steve Poltz. Around the corner, at the former Blue Chalk Café another realtor has settled in, displacing ghosts of other merry-making and muse-courting (I never produced an event there, although I recall my then-clients The Blue Eyed Devils might have held court there, perhaps overlapping with my term; I remember overhearing Doug Collister planning an Echo and the Bunnymen special event, although I doubt it ever happened. At 456 University, where I produced an acoustic series in the courtyard, a high tech manufacturer has announced itself as the new office space tenant for the historic Varsity Theatre. A couple miles away, in our second downtown, there are plans to demolish the former Keystone Palo Alto (Edge Nightclub) and build even more office space; I produced two shows there (with Juan Sanchez, a trova singer and an Americana showcase with Danny Barnes, The Blue Eyed Devils and Jerry Hannan).

As I write this humble screed, I on the timeshare public computer system of the temporary library that exists in the former Cubberley High School multi-purpose room, a space where, ironically enough, I produced about 30 shows, between 1995 and 2000 included events with Superchunk, Frank Black (who I now think of as Black Francis and the Catholics but not Pope Francis – am I the first to make that comparison? Search-injuns say: ), Thinking Fellers Union Local 242, blink 182, Slaid Cleaves, Alvin Youngblood Hart, an all-female band called Umami (which is now the name of a hamburger joint on University Avenue) who opened for Penelope Houston and helped plan the event, The Donnas (performing as Electrocutes, where they met for the first time their eventual managers and label heads Molly Neuman and Chris Applegren of Peechees and Lookout! – I also met Lance Hahn that night, although he was unable to play) and maybe 20 others.

When Martin Sexton played The Cub, in July, 1996, he filled the slightly smaller Theatre, a much better place for shows (except when AFI played there and stage-divers demolished about four seats that Victor Arbogast, the welder and sculptor, then of Mountain View — behind the Century Theatres —  fixed for $75). Martin played solo and invited me to join him for his pre-show meal; we chose to buy-out at the Thai restaurant that for many years was part of Fiesta Lanes Palo Alto Bowl. I recall being surprised for some reason that he was a father; he said his young son with his motivation, to write great songs and hit the road hard. I recall his manager saying, while we advanced the show that “Marty” was one of the happiest people she had ever met. We may have a board tape of that event; I know we have Dar Williams; I have about 40 hours of music from those days that I am meaning to post or release or donate. (And not to mention I have a storage space with about 10,000 poster over-runs, of about 75 designs of varying collectability; they are seasoning while Public Storage makes jake).

The bios remind me that Martin Sexton cut his teeth as a busker in the Boston area and allegedly sold 20,000 copies of his first casette out of his guitar case; maybe he’d come back here for one of my ICOBOPA events (where I induce recording artists to pose as street musicians, for varying socio-political and music effects). One of his earlier songs “Wonder Bar” is about a pizza parlor in Worcester where he would hang out and write his future; the search-injun shows that the venue is within a mile of the Telegram and Gazette where I cut my teeth as a reporter a few years earlier. Sexton recorded a recent live album at SF’s The Fillmore, speaking of historic.

In management and promotion ideas, besides pining for a local venue I can at least instigate or inspire if not work on directly, my dreams get more conceptual and complicated; I tend to want to influence repertoire for instance in my direct involvement with talent. What about, for example, a special event that imitates a night in New York with Martin Sexton at City Winery? An installation, a site specific-pop up event, that perhaps recreates his show of March 29-30, 2013, yet harkens back to Palo Alto circa 1996? Maybe first set, 2013, second set, 1996? If we cannot manage a venue here in the tough real estate market, maybe for only one night or a limited run we can have a venue in the theatre of imagination.

edit to add, moments later, for instance, with 18 minutes left in my initial hour of Palo Alto library timeshare computer: City Winery actually has Chicago and New York venues, so maybe Palo Alto branching off is not such a fruity but nutty idea; they have 7,000 and 2,000 followers at the two venues’ respective social media accounts.

edit to add, an hour later, re-booting computer: it’s a segue, based on Frank Black, during settlement, telling me he would have rather played the Cubberley Theatre (as Sexton did) than the auditorium (where I now sit), but indeed numerous parties have made the Frank Black vs. Pope Francis comparison. I was going to post, during the conclave, something about “Where is My Mind?” substituting “mind” for the actual name of the pointy hat the leader of a billion Catholics might wear, but was afraid to — I am not making this up; I saved my notes on the back of an envelope. Martin Sexton, btw, is or was 10th of 12 in his family.

edit to add, five weeks later: Five weeks later, it suddenly hits me that Michael Dorf, the founder of Knitting Factory and Knit Media labels is the founder of City Winery and I met him in New York and he gave me his card: maybe I should just try to contact Dorf and ask him what he thinks about putting together a Palo Alto syndicate for a venue. (I found this because I was sussing Cary Baker, the publicist — who I think might be related to me, and from Chicago — and Cary did some work for Martin Sexton AND Bhi Bhiman opened for Sexton somewhere, maybe at City Winery and Bhi also was part of a big Prince tribute show, the reviews of which mentioned Dorf. D’oh!)

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Ethan Iverson “do the math” on tenors

Recently Oliver Lake tweeted “happy birthday” to Eddie “Lockjaw” Davis. I responded, “If I played tenor, I’d spend all my time not with TraneSonnyWayne but Lockjaw, Byas, Gonsalves, A. Cobb, G. Ammons, B.Webster, Lucky T.”

Several people took this to mean I was open to all kinds of tenor alternatives. Which I am! (Like Getz, Warne Marsh, Booker Ervin, etc. etc. etc.) But everyone on my initial list had something burly and breathy in their sound, a kind of smoky mystery which seems to have mostly left the planet — with the exception of Houston Person, a living great who I should have mentioned in the first place.

If Ethan Iverson did nothing but write his blog he could probably still win a MacArthur Foundation grant. I will have to ask him some time about his Don Herron link, other than I know EI is a big Dashiell Hammett fan. (“Red Harvest” especially, he told me once).  Don Herron gives walking tours of SF and writes the literary guidebook to SF.

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Sid Mobell all around jeweler

Tony Fenwick once introduced me to a fraternity brother calling me “an all-around jeweler” and at first I was taken aback; I thought it was some kind of coded ethnic slur. But I decided it was a variation on the Dartmouth vernacular, a variation of “stones’ or “ballsy” or somesuch, something somewhat macho and male. Maybe a “jeweler” had a lot of stones, a variety not just the size or what not. It’s kinda weird that I remember this.

Tony for example at various times played football, basketball and crew for Dartmouth, got a 48 on his LSATs and is a family man here in town and partner in a firm but not the one his dad founded, to his credit.

Anyhow, long and odd introduction to posting a short video by Antonio White about Sidney Mobell the retired famous jeweler in SF who donated some cool stuff to the Smithsonian, but news to me — and hence now in or on Plastic Alto — was also or is also a songwriter of considerable renown. Here he apparently wrote a song for Adlai Stevenson, bless them both. (Reminds me of visiting Carter Library with my dad and Scott Rafshoon and Scott singing along to a 1976 Carter campaign song….)

I found Mobell because I was writing above about Journey; there is a column in a Jewish pub that declares that Neil Schon of Journey is not a Jew. The next item is about Mobell.

I must of heard about Mobell in Herb Caen. Also, I met he and his wife one night at the SF Ballet; my parents at least for one season had seats adjacent to the Mobells.

Happy Passover to the Mobells. He did a famous Monopoly board game set; maybe he could also do a bejeweled sedar set.

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Arnell Soprano

Terry and I ondemanded a well-above average film about the music biz called “Don’t Stop Believing” about Journey finding singer Arnell Pineda in a Manilla-based coverband called Zoo on youtube and going on to gross $500,000 in multiple dates here and abroad.

I wonder if Steve Perry made as much as Arnell on the film due to publishing and co-writing credits of the bigger hits.

Makes me want a version called “Neil and Gregg” about the fact that Santana manager or co-manager Herbie Herbert pulled second-guitarist Neil Schoen and keyboardist Gregg Rolie out of Carlos Santana’s band, to form Journey in 1973 and then Rolie left, to be replaced by Jon Cain of the Baby’s. Total of 80 million copies sold, movie claims, but I want to see touring and sales charted over the 35 year run. I want to know how much of the bump is due to synch license of “Don’t Stop Believing” in final scene of final episode of “Sopranos“.

Dan Olmsted and I held a press conference about Cubberley Session (or, at the time “The Palo Alto Soundcheck” in front of Gregg Rolie’s childhood home. In 1995. Olmstead, of The New EZ Devils, who opened for Cake at the Cub in September of that year (along with The Negro Problem supporting), was a couple years behind Rolie in Palo Alto schools and a fellow Cub grad and would mow the lawns of the Rolie home, near Nelson and Parkside Drives, behind Cub.

Danny Scher also famously pulled a string to get Journey to play the Tri School formal in Palo Alto in 1979, my freshman year — I remember pondering asking a girl in social sciences to go with me but did not have the voice, like Journey, just a few months prior.

Schoen says that the instrumental version of the band, pre-Steve Perry was like an early jam-band, like the Grateful Dead, but I would have to check that.

I almost wondered if Jon Hunstman, the politician, had ever heard Rolie and Schoen during the time that he toured as a keyboardist for prog rock band Wizard, or if he overlapped in Palo Alto in any way with future Journey members. Huntsman born here and moved to Utah, also declared a Dream Theater day statewide recently. I should have gotten him onto my Save the Varsity team or even my Save The Varsity Fantasy Team (same difference: TLPW456)

I noticed that total stud music rights person Brooke Wentz supervised the film, meaning she would know if indeed as I suggest Steve Perry made more on the film that Arnell did.

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Offspring breakers

“Spring Breakers” the new James Franco vehicle has him duded out in dreads and cornrows, with a gold grill; reminds of Offspring Dexter Holland and “Pretty Fly For A White Guy”.

Among other things. 

The title is a pun on a plot point in which apparently the heroines (including two former Disney stars) get handcuffed by actors wearing blue uniforms because they were jumping up and down on a cheap hotel bed, causing damage we see to the ceiling but presumably also the bedsprings. 

Eyes wide shut. Incident at Owl Creek Bridge. Pulp Fiction.

Made me wonder if Walt Disney had an evil twin named DeWitt (“Do it! Do it!).

I wonder if it is meant as  companion piece to Franco in Wizard of Oz remake, as a huckster and opportunist. (And I admit I was trolling for leadership/maverick advice for my role as blogger/activist/arts advocate — I am still plotting James Franco for Mayor here — you know he was enrolled in Kennedy School for a few weeks, right?)

Booty popping is the gateway drug to allout assault on drug kingpen compound, like a James Bond led team of commandoes or in a video game.

His team was Alien.

In the previous, for something (maybe not Morton Downey Jr “mask 3) I noticed names of Dave Franco — James’ brother — and Ed Solomon, who was in my Hebrew school carpool 38 or so years ago and would hold out funny notes to cars trailing us: HONK IF YOU’RE HORNY. 

Teddy Franco call your agent.

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Are you having a pussy riot?

“Are you having a pussy riot?”

I actually asked this, out loud, directed to my dog, a cocker spaniel, spayed, 14-years old, blind, deaf, who keeled over at the kennel when Terry and I were in Kona, but then made a miraculous recovery — although we’ve been on a sort of modified hospice for almost a month now — dear Frida, on our walk, in our driveway, after chatting with my neighbor, Marjorie Ford, who is writing about bhagadivita and picked my brain (“Joseph Campbell?” “Stephen Mitchell?”) whose daughter Maya Ford was a founding member and bassist for 2nd or 3rd gen riottgrrls The Donnas (formerly Ragady Anne) — I was telling her about “60 Minutes” report on the Russian arts provocateurs with the saucy name – I thought their guitar player, a computer programmer and lady-cop-kisser and youtube star reminded me a bit of Maya — and Marjorie said she had not yet heard of these girls, or activists. “Pussy riot?” I’ll look it up.”

Then I went to pull Frida gently back the final thirty yards of our journey, our daily or thrice daily little ritual — productive, this one — I call them “Manhattan”, “Las Vegas” or “Lawrence Welk” my code for the actual, um, output — and Frida would not budge.

I wrote about Pussy Riot in August, 2012 on my campaign blog, “Svayambh-PA…” here.

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Yardley’s ‘Brave Dragons’ hits the mark

CHINA CAGERS BOOK A ‘SWISH’ BUT NOT ‘SWISHY’

From Carolina Blue to ‘His ass is blue’ in reporter’s hoops odyssey

Jim Yardley’s “Brave Dragons” can be read two ways, at least; one, as a basketball book that takes place in China; or, two, alternately, the parallax case, which I find compelling, as a book on China that uses basketball as trope, meme, organizing structure, story, background or substrate. Hoops is the ball, here, but modern China is the net, popping up through the rim after the various insightful and literary “swishes”. The players run various motions, drills and in games – or not; they in default pass off to the American and clear out– but maybe we are actually watching China, the skylines roaring up, the trains whizzing by, the hotels and malls blinking to life, as we squint to distinguish clues and familiar brands, from knock-offs; the bikes and taxis, whizzing past each other impossibly, their use of our language: their billion-man-weave, and King Rag/googolplex of cues, clues and kung-fusions. As the subhead states: “A Chinese Basketball Team, an American Coach, and Two Cultures Clashing”. Clashing, but riffing off each other, our game and theirs, equal and opposite reactions, mutual contamination, a cultural exchange, cross-pollination in cross-over dribbles; Schrodinger’s cat meets the beckoning kitty, meets Walt ‘Clyde’ Frazier in his Pumas.

I’ve never been to China but am finding myself more and more intrigued by it. My parents went when it first opened up and I recall they brought me a Mao Jacket I never wore and a bamboo chicken sculpture either lost or discarded in our various family downsizings and potlach randomizing redistributions of wealth.

I’ve been a basketball fan for most of my life; I traveled to summer programs in Mexico and Europe carrying a ball, for instance, as a way to keep somewhat in form with my hopes of high school varsity glory – achieved somewhat: I was a benchwarmer for a championship team, although nowadays, I hardly notice that March Madness is starting or who the seeds are. I am more likely to catch the Hung Liu show at Oakland Museum than to watch all three games of the Final Four.

I remember thinking I was sophisticated for insisting on Hunan food (i.e. spicy, like Brandy Ho, Hunan Homes et all, North Beach, circa 1986) rather than Chinese per se (compared to my mom telling me that years ago, on cooks night out, she would go to Chinese for chop suey, Hyde Park or Lakeshore Drive, circa 1950). To me Nanking was a restaurant on Kearney Street(Peter Fang) before it was a historical novel by a tragically sensitive author(Iris Chang). I remember being intrigued about a review of a book that said that wonton means “swallow cloud”. Food, by the way, does play a bit part in “Brave Dragons” like Bonzi Wells complaining about it or Yardley being socially compelled to eat too many buns as a special guest in someone’s home.

Part of my hopes for this book is that it will give me insight into my city Palo Alto’s new “Strategic relationship” with the Yangpu District of Shanghai – so far my kneejerk or run and gun reaction to the deal is to think we are being duped into backing a real estate boondoggle. I admit I am a little confused about the distinction between Mandarin and Cantonese. Or what came before Pinyin. Although I did correspond with Merriam-Webster on a point related to this regarding Webster’s Ninth, not to digress, and got a letter praising my observational ability. (I was the first letter on the point but they had already fixed the problem, for edition ten dictionary. I wrote to say that they used the term “Wade-Giles” in their definition of “pinyin” but there was no entry for “Wade-Giles” itself).

I think Yardley’s book would make an interesting movie, along the lines of “Iron and Silk” Mark Salzman’s 1987 book and movie about his interest in swordfighting, and not coincidendentally I think Jessica Yu would be an interesting person to pitch the rights to, on the strength of the fact that she, I and Jim Yardley all worked together briefly for the Gunn High Oracle newspaper. (I suggested previously above that Yu would make a good person to tell the Jeremy Lin story. Yu also going on to marry Salzman and win an Academy Award for documentary film, and does commercial directing for example “Ping Pong Playa” which I thought at first was a beach movie).

One effect of this book is that I now can claim, for the first time, even the faintest sense of Chinese geography, thanks to the handy map by Steven Shukow. Yardley spent a good portion of 2008 commuting between Beijin (where, for six years, he was a New York Times writer) and Taiyun, in a province due West, in the interior, maybe 300 miles) where he covered the struggling Shanxi Brave Dragons. The book describes trips to coastal cities like Shanghai (where the Brave Dragons played the Sharks), Guangdong, well to the South, to play both Guangdong by the way it amazes me that the spell checker here warns me from leaving out the middle “g” Southern Dragons of Dongguan or the Dongguan New Century Leopards of Tangxia. There are also trips described in eagle-eye detail to Bayuquan (Liaoning Pan Pan Dinosaurs) , Tianjin (Golden Lions), Quingdao (Double Star), Ningbo (Bayi Rockets, the New York Yankees of the CBA, and a club affiliated most closely with the PLA, People’s Republic Army). There’s also a Chinese New Year’s holiday beach trip described whose participants included Yardley, coach Bob Weiss and wife, Nigerian Center Olumide Oyedeji and his entourage, and Brave Dragon interpreter Garrison Gua.
One insight of mine is that although I have been pondering the Jeremy Lin story for more than a year, the treatment of the lone Taiwanese player on the Dragons makes me realize I over-estimate by half the upside of the Taiwanese-American Lin in Asia. Sports Illustrated said it could be worth a billion dollars to the former Palo Alto Viking; I am guessing, if anyone asks me, probably no more than two or three hundred million. The description of the tug of war between Chinese government, the League (partially single-ownership, partially run by local business tycoons, not unlike the model of the American Major League Soccer entity; or see also, The Economist, December 2011 “Little red card” about failure of Chinese soccer), the NBA, who built three stadiums in China, in conjunction with AEG but still have not real foothold. My first thought for Jeremy Lin was that based on that one partial season with the Knicks, or that one Friday in Madison Square Garden, he should partner with Dillion Schneider of Harlem Globetrotters organization (and a Dartmouth contemporary of mine) to form a barnstorming team, tied to an equipment manufacturer, and tour Asia that way (not unlike the And1 league or circuit or initiative that was trendy in 2007-2008 domestically).

The Nigerians in the book reminded me of my brief acquaintance and correspondance (mostly about music) with former Penn star Ugonna Onyekwe, who I met at Stanford’s museum a couple years ago, and wrote about, albeit indirectly. Actually that piece, “Heroic stoic dude named Ugonna….” was similar to this in tone, style, breadth and general confusion-inducing-ness.

As a Pulitzer-prize winning (for coverage of Chinese legal system) Timesman who loves and knows hoops, hailing from Page High of Greensboro, NC (where, for instance Danny Manning played) and UNC Tar Heels (overlapping with Michael Jordan), he had a extremely privileged position to take on this type of look at Chinese basketball. They called him Yanngsee or Older Brother. I liked the scene of him playing pool in the off hours with Bob Weiss (the former Bulls star and second-tier NBA coach, for Spurs, Sonices), Bonzi Wells and others. Yardley in his forties had the perfect mix it would seem of Old Boy, confidant, mentor and sage, but could also mix it up and let his testosterone trump his Southern Charm, to optimize first respect and then access. Although he did not actually sit on the bench, he ends up in press row, dorms, practices, meals, pool hauls, vacations and slide shows with his subject. The expediency of indulging in the observer effect shows in the prose; Yardley is part of the team he is covering and probably helped the team in its modest success (of moving form the cellar to tenth place, despite numerous obstacles).

This book would be dope for teenage hoop fans, but could also be used in university level development courses. (He also recommends Brook Larmer’s  Yao Ming biography, which he calls “the gold standard for Westerners writing about Chinese hoops”).

The book is just out in paperback, although I am pleased to have procured a first edition hard. The story is not spoiled by the five year incubancy period. Now we can use Youtube to find supplemental peeks into the topic of CBA; Stephon Marbury displaced Bonzi Wells as the greatest foreigner to grace the CBA – I also found a chapter in the 2012 Best Sports writing on Marbury in China.

There were modest departures into manufacturing (Spalding and its contractors) and the history of hoops; coincidentally Shanxi was the site of one of the first YMCA built by Christian missionaries in China in the late 19th century shortly after James Naismith nailed the peach hoop to the wall in Springfield, Massachusetts. Yardley takes us on a site trip and deftly compares the relative fates of YMCA and basketball in this different soil. Or actually, he compares the seeds of basketball planted in China and the U.S. and their very different fruition.

I would rank this book with: A Sense of Where You Are by John McPhee, Hoosiers, the recent Harvey Araton “When the Garden was Eden” (which I am anxious to crack open; I pawed it yesterday at Books Inc at Town and Country, where I also noticed BD in paper), “The White Shadow” tv show,  “The Punch” by John Feinstein.

Yardley (Julius) peppers his book with a hint of the Chinese he has picked up but all the while slashing through the lane with his “Alex” English.

(I have to admit I was pre-sold on the books merits due to my longtime friendship with JBY and the fact that the book’s focal point shares my name, Weiss).

I said this earlier but I have fond memories of shoot arounds at Stanford Escondido Village with Jim Yardley and his little brother Bill, those spring afternoons 32 years ago. The Yardleys came here because Rosemary Yardley (now Rosemary Roberts) won a Knight Fellowship to study for a year on the Farm. Years later I learned that music maven Ian MacKaye (Fugazi, Dischord Records, A Minor Threat and The Evens) also spent a year here, a few years prior, as an eighth-grader at Terman, in a similar deal. Bill Yardley, who I recall as barely five-feet, is now a Timesman, based in Seattle (bureau chief) and writing some interesting obituaries of late, for example, for the drummer of the rock band Spirit.

I was tempted to start this with a discussion of monsters; Bonzi Wells, Boss Wang, unfettered Capitalism unhitched from Democracy; also, here we have some discussion of the meaning of our foray into Shanghai development circles and a discussion of the pros and cons of a billionaire builder to donate (some say “push through”) a new gym at Palo Alto High (a classic oldschool pit, where, besides me as a visitor, the court has seen among other Jeremy Lin, Jim Harbaugh, senator Ron Wyden and Celtics “Jungle Jim” Luscutoff) – I am wondering if there is an analogy between YMCA building gyms in the 1890s and billionaire Mormons building gyms here. I’ve digressed from Brave Dragons but the Yardley book does provide context for many other topics of currency regarding these games we play. Five-on-five billion. Who’s got next?

Yuanfen!

Does Ai Wei Wei have Yardley Brave Dragon style?

Somewhere in here I wanted to mention that I played on a 25-3 championship team that featured more Chinese (Alan Ng and Jerry Chang) than blacks (Danny Brown).

In the movie version I’d like to see an actual Dragon (CGI, actual enough) running thru and enlivening various scenes like the creature downriver a ways in Bong’ Joon Ho’s 2006 film “The Host”. I can also picture a fanpage that mashes BD:TCC with “The Hobbit” (cf Smaug) and “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas”; maybe just the New Year’s beach trip by the Chinese and Nigerians he describes.

More soundtrack:

Superchunk, “Slack Motherfucker” not that ‘chunk has toured China but that founding guitarist is a childhood friend of JBY;

Of Monsters and Men: ()

Imagine Dragons, “It’s Time” (“Zhongyu”?), from Vegas, on Interscope, appearing in Raleigh, NC on May 5.

Peter Paul and Mary – This is kind of a weird thing about being a blogger, for “Plastic Alto” and NOT a Timesman or even editor of the Gunn Oracle: I’ve written about 2,000 words, on and off all day, except for checking on the aging cocker spaniel — and I actually sprained my left ankle, rushing her to the yard, a wee bit too late, if you get my drift, so much for BD:TCC inspiring MY hoops comeback — about five hours total, and I know there are at least 20 spots to edit or clarify, but I publish anyhow, or post or update in that the internet, wordpress, at least at my level is sort of like writing in a spiral notebook and leaving it open-faced on a coffee-house table. On average 50 people eventually will see my posts, or it may go viral but basically its just me and the cloud; I’ve spent the last few moments watching videos — does this review even need a sound-track? I spent five minutes sorting between some random guy pondering to himself and 83 viewers about translating “Puff The Magic Dragon” into Chinese and hearing in entirety a novelty song by the novelty act Flight of the Conchords — 8 million hits — a parody of the Peter Yarrow Leonard Lipton classic they call “Albi the Racist Dragon”. The search-injun does helpfully over me some kind of translate, and that Elon Musk named his spaceship after samesaid Dragon. Yardley was born year of dragon whereas months earlier in ’64 I was fated to be a hare. I think of the links as a tradeoff or trade-up for writing>rewriting.

Terracota Troops: short-lived local band featuring soon-to-be-more famous Japanese rapper Shing02.

Sweetbox: Germany and LA-based project with rotating vocalists, actually used by Dragon’s dj, and lyrics quoted by JBY in book. “Don’t Push Me” featuring Jade Valerie, a mixed race Pinay from San  Diego, whose real name is Jade Villalon. Apparently the producers auditioned 3,000 singers to continue the project after her departure, all of this news to me, and more obscure than Henry Finkel, despite my 18 years in the music scene (domestically — I am down with Girls’ Generation, the K-Pop group, thanks to John Seabrook of the New Yorker, however).

Another amusing observation about Americans playing basketball in China is when Bonzi Wells noted the Chinese players habit of touching each other, in a brotherly way  and wondered if they were homosexuals. By the way, it’s “Bonzi” because of his childhood fondness for bon-bons, not “bone-zi” for something more stereotypical. (Although truth be told, although I actually have a framed trading card of Bob Weiss, I wasn’t sure I had heard of Bonzi Wells until this book…)

The full name of the team includes the word translated as Zhongyu which means “finally” which maybe in this case refers to the lag between his research and publication.

Here is Yardley’s screen test to play himself in the film version of “Brave Dragons”. If you give him a little Tsingdao, his voice softens a bit and you can hear the Carolina twang. If the movie gets made within five years, he can play himself, otherwise you’d have to opt for a younger man playing the thirty-something Yardley; maybe John Krasinski from “The Office,” who went to Brown, grew up in Newton, Mass., 82 miles from Springfield, was in a comedy troupe called Out of Bounds and once coached youth basketball in Rhode Island. Or, do it as a documentary  slash reality show, in India(where Yardley relocated after Beijing), with “Jai Bhim Comrade ” director Anand Patwardhan, who I met on the Farm recently and have his cell and email direct. Maybe pro basketball in India can be a way up for the dalit. There’s a longer video of Jim talking China per se.

Here is link to GQ article in May, 2011 by Wells Towers, about Stephon Marbury in Shanxi (anthologized in “Best of 2012” go figure).

Around the time, Feb. 2012 that Yardley’s book in hardcover came out, The Times ran this story which is somewhere between an abstract and an update of Brave Dragons (ok for future reference I’m going with BD:TCC). I didn’t know about Yardley’s book until a blurb in the Sunday book review three weeks ago.

*Or as David Shields says when I write about Clyde I write about myself, because I bought those shoes for $100 from Aaron Biner at Premier on Bryant. and that’s a ping-back to a previous post…

That I mis-identified team owner and steel-industry millionaire Boss Wang in earlier versions of this reminds me that I sometimes refer to the leadership of local Palo Alto Weekly as their “Dong-Johnson”.

Edita: earlier version of this mentioned Michelle Rhee and Kevin Johnson, despite the fact that Rhee is actually Korean-American and not Chinese. The only connection is that the kind of people who attack teachers unions and promote charter schools also probably like the kind of Capitalism divorced enough from Democracy to allow massive growth.
The Tar Heels were eliminated by 1-seed Kansas 70-58 yesterday to finish 25-11.
Jay Jennings a year ago in the Chron glossed the “ass is blue” riff to which my subhead alludes; for me that part was definitely an old-school LOL almost a spittake; early on, maybe page 49 or so if memory serves, where search-injun fears to tread.
This is totally trivial even by my standards but Yardley’s book describes and provides photo-evidence of a man-hole that Bob Weiss and his wife Tracy find particularly tempting, as a hazard. It reminds me that in 1972 in Misses Todd’s second grade class at Foothill Elementary School in Saratoga, Calif (near San Jose), I wrote a short story called “The Country Switch Around” in which a hypnotized man but not necessarily a follower of Sri Chinmoy digs a hole although to China precipitating an event wherein the entire continents of human inhabitants of North America and China switched places, not unlike the 1972 transaction involving the Colts and the Rams, and um, yeah, Yardley and the Bob and Tracy Weisses in 2008.  My parents saved for many years my contemporaneous reading of this masterpiece, which will endeavor to upload to Itunes as an audiobook any day now. The people in the short story, perhaps like blogger Plastic Alto Ice Weiss, apparently never hearing, due to hypnosis or other vagaries of consciousness, the expression if you find yourself in a hole stop digging
edit to add, march 27, six days later: still thinking about the movie adaptation of Yardley’ “Brave Dragon” loosely inspired by the Salzman book and movie, but also “The Host” by Bong Joon Ho and the grey glob movie by the filmographer of the Grateful Dead (above, somewhere), or a Woody Allen movie Shadows and Fog I think, plus Werner Herzog “Bad Lieutenant” with Nicholas Cage and we are not sure who sees the alligators, Mary Shelley Frankenstein, something John Carpenter, “American Werewolf in London”, Warren Zevon, song; so the team in the movie has a dragon mascot and something kinda dark and scary happens, maybe involving the mascot, or maybe Boss Wang shape-shifts into a monster and does something bad, like speculates in foreign currency; there’s a bit about a reporter asking Bonzi Wells about being a “monster”. There’s the metaphor about “”elephant in the room” and I think a film about Columbine about that, by Gus Van Zant. The monster is development (which to me is  deadly sin, like greed, avarice, glutony), or spectre of War per se, less so racism — and it would be hard to avoid this being our white racism against the Chinese; see also Bong Joon Ho in the trilogy about the shut-in and the shapeshifter I think Michel Chondry or someone.  Godzilla of course. The creature in ‘The Host” or “Growel” symbolized the anxiety of the modern multinational age, now divorced from the Eisenhower military industrial complex. Also, my friend and near-client Essence Goldman has a video for kids about a Dinosaur who eats Reeces candies. There is a sequel to “The Host” with another director while Bong is doing “Icebreaker” or something pseudo-comic book mythological cross-cultural commercial. “White Men Can’t Jump” if you do it straight ballery. For the discussion of the proposed Peery Gym at Paly High, I was thinking of a cross between “Mormon” the musical and “High School Musical” which has a hoops theme, different project: call me for three in the key. Also, I didn’t realize that Bob McAdoo was from Greensboro but saw that he had a cousin on this year’s Tar Heel squad, and there was a starter from Greensboro, not Page.
edit to add, April 24, 2013: I am still trippin’ on this, Yardley’s book on Chinese basketball, and my concept of imagining a movie adaptation, and especially that the movie would have a subplot about a dragon or monster loose in the background, challenging the team’s ability to run a business or the visitor’s ability to write his book. (The basketball team is called The Brave Dragons, at least in English; there is talk in the book about a player being called “a monster” and the owner being called such; the so-called monster could be a manifestation of the West’s fear of the rise economically of the East –China, or could be BRIC, Brazil, Russia, India as well –; it could be about racism, the residual and enduring legacy of Africans in the post-slavery diaspora; it could be fear about climate change — I’ve been impacted by such for almost 20 years, the genesis of Earthwise Productions is such a concern — Godzilla is a manifestation about similar concerns, like nuclear power, like Pandora’s box opening; there’s also the Zodiac and how it impacts us, East or West, etc.) So today I was catching up on Tuesday’ Times and spied this story about Wagner’s “Siegfried” and the slaying of its dragon, Fafner, described in the review as a 45-ton clumsy mess, compared to other more high tech effects, like the 3-d birds of light. So maybe my version of Yardley’s book could split the difference between “Siegfried” and his actual adventure, or all these modern and not so modern dragon-myths should at least be considered. Actually, the 45-ton monster referenced in Vivian Schweitzer’s review of the Robert Lepage Met opera might be the stage itself, and not merely the dragon, duly noted. My other influence is Len DellAmico’s “Welcome to Dopeland” which riffs on the “grey goo” worry about nanotechnology run amuck, I wrote about earlier. Edita, three hours after that: maybe the Yardley character, in the movie version, if he weren’t so happily married, and a dad, could fall for the young blogger who turns out to be The White Snake.
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From VTA to Vatican for former Gunn High journalist

Jim Yardley reports in The New York Times today from Vatican City on the surprise choice of Jorge Mario Bergoglio as Pope Francis. In 1981 I edited his first byline, an article about Gunn High students who took what is now the VTA bus to school. (I presume his historic route was 22 down El Camino to 89 up Arastradero, I just checked. The VTA was merely Santa Clara County Transit, in 1981, my sussing tells us, fyi; “V” is for “valley”, natch).

Photo-0122From VTA (30 kids on public transportation beat, gray-black puffs of carbon monoxide and diesel-soot) to The Vatican (white smoke and the conclave, new leader of a 1.2 billion worshippers beat) in only 32 years is quite a journey for Yardley. He had stops along the way in Greensboro (his hometown, where he was a Page Pirate, lettering in football), Chapel Hill (pretty sure he edited the Daily Tar Heel, as did his dad a generation before), Atlanta, Brooklyn, Houston, Beijing and New Delhi, plus a Pulitzer in 2006 for coverage of the Chinese legal system. I would estimate about 2,000 Yardley bylines from the various ports of call in between.

He also has about 400 tweets on Twitter, and about 3000 followers there; We recently had a brief exchange via text messaging/email about his book on Chinese basketball. (I didn’t realize he was watching the smoke when I started bugging him).

Here are my texts, which is like a crude form of review:

Jim Yardley: his ass is blue. Weiss

I am enjoying your book. Mark Weiss

Beyond the ‘observer effect’, Yardley constituted the secret sauce in the Dragons whopper of a season.

I saw Jim in Brooklyn around 2000, and barely missed him in Houston in 2002.

The Weekly at the time ran this blurb about his Pulitzer.

I am reading this book about hoops, and will write a slightly more focused review soon enough — this is about the tenth time I mention him here in Plastic Alto.

Oh, God, help me but I am edit-to-adding a quick parody of Joan Osborne:

Super Jim was once one of us/

Just an Oracle cub on the bus…

Yeah, Yeah, Jim is pretty great journalist. (And was also one of the first 500 fans of Superchunk….which is sort of like noting, as Bruce Newman does in today’s Merc that computer stalwart Peter G. Neumann sang back-up on a Norah Jones recording).

edit to add, a few minutes later: Jonathan Yardley was editor of the Daily Tar Heel in 1961; the paper talked to Jim when “Brave Dragons” came out, last year, and didn’t mention his being a former editor, so I may be making that up.

edit to add, March 19, 2013: This is a departure from “Brave Dragons” review (and the Vatican) but an old friend of Kent Lockhart commented here that he was looking for Kent and did I have any recent contact info (Answer: apparently not). But I was meaning to write a more direct review of the Yardley basketball book, which I have now finished, and I keep thinking about talking to Jim about Kent and our 1980-1981 Titans team. I only knew Jim for a matter of weeks before hoops season started but I could sense his passion for the game, and thought that being from Greensboro, North Carolina made him some kind of authority. I remember Jim came to our lunch hour public workout and rally to kickoff the season, and that Jim sat in the first row. I remember being anxious to see if our team met the standards of the great Page Pirates of Greensboro. I remember asking him what he thought the rally (which included some drills, some scrimmaging and some type of dunking exhibition — that would not have been allowed in pre-games per se — not that I could dunk — I could barely reach the rim — but Lock and maybe two or three others could). I recall Jim saying “Lockhart could start on any team in the country” and that it meant a lot to me that we have gotten his approval. I presume he caught more that a handful of games including the CCS championship at Maples Pavillion (that is now uploaded to the cloud by starting guard and Lock’s closest friend Jerry Chang).

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