Last night I tried watching Mos Def and Jack Black restocking a video rental store's lost library with inventive, playground-like recreations but stopped when they did and moved on to some story (the rest of the movie) I didn't care much about …Copyright segue, I guess, back to Limbo of the Lost, which still fascinates me, maybe because it's a similar project—well, if those guys had spliced together clips from all those legit films and passed it off as worthy of the same shelf space as games that cost millions or years of development. I mean, the sheer audacity of them even to try:

I am angry that this game got made. I am angry that better artists have had their work stolen to make it. I am angry that this game casts a dark shadow over the genre as a whole, and I am angry that indipendent [sic] game designers will probably face greater criticism than they deserve in the fallout. I am angry this game ever got any review score higher than "total and utter failure of humanity". I am angry that the MPAA has decided not to pursue the case of the stolen film clips as Majestic truly deserves. I am angry that a contracted musician has had to defend himself for doing honest work.

So I went to sleep early, and woke up before 5:30am after a dream it was years ago and I was walking down "the Drag", was it; it was crowded, anyway, and I passed up eating at an outdoor cafeteria with Tejas and his FOB friend (you could tell from his outlandish orange outfit complete with pointed shoes) to stop outside a familiar Japanese restaurant whose brown 暖簾 read 「かわ」 at first glance, which later became 「たかだ」 after I made better sense of the calligraphy. Or my Japanese. John Chen and Steven went in together and were seated at a small table with two wooden chairs on each side, and I joined them on a fabric sofa between. Earlier outside I stopped on a bench next to my future 老婆, who didn't know me from Adam and didn't even look up from her magazine. I left but turned back towards her like Orpheus.