03.05.07:

Bandai Vinyl Attraction...

So, Ray says "more vinyl..."

It's about 80 yards from I Ping alley to the Ding Hao basement arcade, and a long way to walk when you're only 8. In the 70's, you could pass through a chamfered entry on the south side of Zhong Xiao East Road, through double doors and down a wide stairway into the underground.

In the warren below, quintissential asia: a maze of slapped together stalls hocking tawdry handbags, clothing, slippers, books, crap, and yes — even Chogokin. Vivid vivid memories of passing that "ugly robot with the lion on its chest", "that blue one with the smaller robots inside it", and many others. In those days, pre-programmed by the the KMT state channels for a straight party line, I wanted only Mazinger and Gatachaman. Everything else was fake, deviant and failed.

It was a hot summer. No, a HOT summer: well over a hundred, sweltering, and humid as you can only get in South East Asia. We took turns sitting in the shower to stay conscious. Clothing plastered the body, saturated and heavy with the outpouring of continuous perspiration.

A Koji Kabuto story: the suffering of any child can be alleviated by a large enough robot. To boost morale, and to distract me from the smell of my own thighs roasting, my auntie shells out a few tai bi for a robot to tamp down the ADD. It's plasticky (vinyl?), blue and red robot, and totally unfamiliar to me. Braniacs like YOU know this is Combattra, but to me at the time with my tube socks and short shorts, it was the Smirking Robot with the Yellow Horns. And while you pointdexters will likely pontificate on the beauty and structural dominance of the Takara magunemo line, this was MY FIRST ever magentic toy. It was/is utterly funky, and I have been smitten by magnets ever since. Check it out.

Note the scale and feature resemblence to other Bandai vinyls like this Danguard. Though small in stature and crudely sculpted, doesn't the presence of ordinance technically makes this a "missile firing" line?

Now check out the fantastic painting of Gaiking on this box. I weep whenever I look at it.

Despite my nightly trawlings on the web, multiple trips to Japan, and repeated attempts to extract info from the Duban / Alt dualcore processor, I've only found two of the robots in this line. I would surely like to know more.

If you've got some of these yourself, or know more about them, please do share...

03.01.07:

Shajaaaam-u!

In mergers and acquisitions, there's a term I like called the synergy trap. It's the pathetic thought-hole rational adults fall into when they begin to believe that 1 + 1 can automatically generate something greater than what the abacus says. When scheming alchemizing power-ups between organizations, ideas, or people, don't forget to squirt plenty of execution on your little lump of concept. It's how things are going to go horribly right...or not.

There is no other explaining, for example, why the Popy Gatchaman Ken Owashi [Mego + Gatachaman] is so beautiful, and why the recent Takara figure [Microman + Gatachaman] so hideous *. No explaining why the Jumbo Grip Superman [Speed Racer + DC Comics] is so totally awesome a piece, and why this knock-off diecast Captain Marvel, his jealous and less-successful dopple, is such total crap.

For many years, I've chased this line of knock-off superhero diecasts using only a poorly photographed box back as my guide. Now that I've finally got one, I can put this to rest for all of us. If you are interested in objects of quality and refinement, DO NOT BUY THESE. They are total crap.

Looks can be deceiving; something kind of, kind of...synergistic-ish happens when they're in the same frame. But the quality on CM is such that cracks have appeared up and down his body. Poorly sculpted extremities (you know when someone, like, can't draw hands?) look like they could snap at a moment's notice. I suspect the paint to be some kind of tempera, lead, ketchup concoction. And finally, his lightning bolt is, well, greasy.

While morbid curiosity and my collecting "problem" dictates that I will probably pick up the Batman and "Fairmont" just to see how bad bad gets, I derive no pleasure from the endeavor. Somebody just needs to do it.

Kudos on the concept though. "Captain Marvel Diecast" must have looked great in the Power Point...

02.25.07:

Office Politics

It's Sunday. So you start thinking about work. At the office, coworkers frequently enter my lair to yammer on about web design, engineering, operations and production. I intensely pretend to listen, all the while utterly dismayed at their complete lack of appreciation for vintage japanese toys.

I have sprinkled zinc liberally across all surfaces, hoping a seed of interest will sprout in the heart of some eager young code slinger. But it's a hopeless endeavor.

Despite the presence of even more accessible American artifacts like my sparkling mint '78 Colonial Viper and Syd Mead TRON Lightcycle, I'm greeted with polite apathy. Nary a comment. Amused tolerance.

	Brave Raydeen, Godbird of Networking. I slipped my first event badge on him in 1999 and cannot seem to stop. It's pathetic how predictable this collecting thing is.
	If you've ever wondered how much I hate the Uni-Five Garada K-7, now you know.
	The presence of "toys" further emboldens disloyal employees to mock my "authority" in effigy.
	You can date my skills by the power of the "desktop" unit by the Jumbo Getta Robo Go.

Amidst the litter of metal and plastic however, a single object exerts a seemingly subconscious power on even the disinterested. Men and women of all ilk cannot stop themselves from fingering it. They pick it up while blabbering on and on and spin its dial, rearranging it on my file cabinet without thought or awareness to their actions. Winner of my silent focus group poll, it is the only "successful" toy in the room...

Of course it's the Nakajima UFO 2 Dome-type Saucer, and this humble piece which I have casually discarded here because of a broken landing leg gets more grabs than a [insert tasteless choirboy/church reference here]. You get the idea. For some reason, one of the cheapest and most easily acquired pieces draws the crowd. I love that.

If I put my art school hat on (which is black...follows function...really pushes it) I'd guess there's something about its isomorphic correspondence to symbols of regeneration and motherhood: something comforting about the circular fondleability of it, coupled with general shinyness. Whatever.

It really doesn't matter why. I'm just psyched because every time it's handled, it's a karmic shout out to those funky Nakajima guys of yesteryear. I hope they know their work still lives on...

02.21.07:

Happy Birthday DX

We are "nine." That makes us, what, 45 in internet years?

I get wider, slower, softer and smoother in dotage, and lo, patience — of all virtues — dulls my disposition. Wanted or not, it's thrust upon me each instance I harden to new objects, systems, people: my mind just doesn't bend much anymore. And like a wrinkled porn star who's retired to "direct" as others groan and grunt their way through the scene, I settle into the idea of being someone who prefers to watch.

I'm Vic from The Rapture. I ooze into the peace of a full-time velvet robe...

I do like to think that I've gotten chiller in acquisition: more Warren-like, if you will, and slightly more discerning (though if you've had the misfortune of shopping with me, or seeing MyEbay page, you're probably still freaked by the amount of pure bottom-barrel shit I consume as part of my daily diet.) The primary trait I always associate with Uncle Warren is spannungsbogen: patience for the dance, the veil, the seduction...the intestinal disposition to hold it all in until, burning, you finally let it rip. I've thought a lot about those quiet little moments he has alone with his paper bags. And while it's taken me a few years, I've finally perfected a little strip-tease homage of my own.

I call it the Anytime Rinkya Christmas. Enjoy.

You will find yourself exclaiming "Hey, I really wanted that!" and you will marvel at how that nice slow pleasure that begins with the brown box arriving and ends with lifting the last styrofoam lid is force-multiplied: it's an ecstasy assault that ends in total chaos.

The last thing I'll throw out about aging is the ripening. It's really a good thing. You cross from the checklisting phase into something entirely transcendent: the willingness to hunger -- to starve -- for the savoring of a perfect morsel...the utterly fucking delightful and unique.

It's a great place to be.