Good Reads - Blog Posts

You know those anime meta posts along the lines of “I was born with pink hair. The doctors told my parents I was a Main Character and ever since my life has not known peace from demons/spirits/sports competitions/harems who find me”

Well I see that, and I raise you this:

An anime boy whose appearance is, by absolutely anyone’s account, completely and utterly average. Mundane hair. Mundane eyes. Not even glasses to set him the tiniest bit apart. A simple, unmemorable, unrecognizable civilian among a backdrop of millions.

And he has a lot of passions, and a lot of ambitions, which he hones every chance he gets. He’s dabbled in sports and archery and cooking and just about anything you could wrap a competition around. And he’s competed in many of these. Every chance he gets. With all of his passion and all of his might.

He’s crushed by the competition every single time.

Until one day–one day something clicks for him. Something that should have seemed obvious from the start and yet never was–as though everyone, including himself, was unwittingly blind to it. It clicks, when he realizes every kid who’s beaten him in competition, every kid who’s gone on to fame and glory and acclaim, has been some candy-haired gel-spiked ridiculously-dressed fucker. 

There’s some trend there that this Main Character boy can’t explain and can’t understand but he decides, this one time, fuck it. He’ll play along too. He’s got a model train competition in four days, and he’s got nothing more to lose. He hits up the department store, buys the pinkest, noxious-est, fruitiest hair dye he can find, the spikiest hair gel available, and the gaudiest clothes on the thrift rack. He enters the model train competition looking like a bubble gum gijinka.

And he wins.

Suddenly, the other candy-haired contestants notice him. They talk to him. They pledge rivalries. Girls notice him. Judges applaud him. Acclaimed model train aficionados offer him internships across the world. He’s hit on something. 

The main cast expands to cover just about every candy-hair cliche in the book: from the mostly-normal-looking demure school girl with the blue hair to the Naruto-est, yelling-est boy with the red-and-green spiked hair. The cool megane senpais, the purple haired tsunderes, suddenly everyone is interested in him. They’re prodigies and upstarts and underdogs and they truly believe that this main character boy is one of them.

So the main character boy maintains his ruse. He touches up his roots at dawn every morning and carefully attends to his gelled spikes and tells absolutely no one about this great, uncanny, unfathomable secret he’s stumbled upon. He wins his competitions left and right. He racks up the acclaim. He’s hailed as a prodigy of all trades, just now bursting onto the scene, and boils to the top of all his candy-haired peers.

He’s rising up, his every dream within his grasp. Until one day he gets a note under his door, taped to an old picture of his Normal Boring self from middle school, that says “You don’t belong”

From Anthony Bourdain:

Americans love Mexican food. We consume nachos, tacos, burritos, tortas, enchiladas, tamales and anything resembling Mexican in enormous quantities. We love Mexican beverages, happily knocking back huge amounts of tequila, mezcal, and Mexican beer every year. We love Mexican people—we sure employ a lot of them.

Despite our ridiculously hypocritical attitudes towards immigration, we demand that Mexicans cook a large percentage of the food we eat, grow the ingredients we need to make that food, clean our houses, mow our lawns, wash our dishes, and look after our children.

As any chef will tell you, our entire service economy—the restaurant business as we know it—in most American cities, would collapse overnight without Mexican workers. Some, of course, like to claim that Mexicans are “stealing American jobs.”

But in two decades as a chef and employer, I never had ONE American kid walk in my door and apply for a dishwashing job, a porter’s position—or even a job as a prep cook. Mexicans do much of the work in this country that Americans, probably, simply won’t do.

We love Mexican drugs. Maybe not you personally, but “we”, as a nation, certainly consume titanic amounts of them—and go to extraordinary lengths and expense to acquire them. We love Mexican music, Mexican beaches, Mexican architecture, interior design, Mexican films.

So, why don’t we love Mexico?

We throw up our hands and shrug at what happens and what is happening just across the border. Maybe we are embarrassed. Mexico, after all, has always been there for us, to service our darkest needs and desires.

Whether it’s dress up like fools and get passed-out drunk and sunburned on spring break in Cancun, throw pesos at strippers in Tijuana, or get toasted on Mexican drugs, we are seldom on our best behavior in Mexico. They have seen many of us at our worst. They know our darkest desires.

In the service of our appetites, we spend billions and billions of dollars each year on Mexican drugs—while at the same time spending billions and billions more trying to prevent those drugs from reaching us.

The effect on our society is everywhere to be seen. Whether it’s kids nodding off and overdosing in small town Vermont, gang violence in L.A., burned out neighborhoods in Detroit—it’s there to see.

What we don’t see, however, haven’t really noticed, and don’t seem to much care about, is the 80,000 dead in Mexico, just in the past few years—mostly innocent victims. Eighty thousand families who’ve been touched directly by the so-called “War On Drugs”.

Mexico. Our brother from another mother. A country, with whom, like it or not, we are inexorably, deeply involved, in a close but often uncomfortable embrace.

Look at it. It’s beautiful. It has some of the most ravishingly beautiful beaches on earth. Mountains, desert, jungle. Beautiful colonial architecture, a tragic, elegant, violent, ludicrous, heroic, lamentable, heartbreaking history. Mexican wine country rivals Tuscany for gorgeousness.

It's archeological sites—the remnants of great empires, unrivaled anywhere. And as much as we think we know and love it, we have barely scratched the surface of what Mexican food really is. It is NOT melted cheese over tortilla chips. It is not simple, or easy. It is not simply “bro food” at halftime.

It is in fact, old—older even than the great cuisines of Europe, and often deeply complex, refined, subtle, and sophisticated. A true mole sauce, for instance, can take DAYS to make, a balance of freshly (always fresh) ingredients painstakingly prepared by hand. It could be, should be, one of the most exciting cuisines on the planet, if we paid attention.

The old school cooks of Oaxaca make some of the more difficult and nuanced sauces in gastronomy. And some of the new generation—many of whom have trained in the kitchens of America and Europe—have returned home to take Mexican food to new and thrilling heights.

It’s a country I feel particularly attached to and grateful for. In nearly 30 years of cooking professionally, just about every time I walked into a new kitchen, it was a Mexican guy who looked after me, had my back, showed me what was what, and was there—and on the case—when the cooks like me, with backgrounds like mine, ran away to go skiing or surfing or simply flaked. I have been fortunate to track where some of those cooks come from, to go back home with them.

To small towns populated mostly by women—where in the evening, families gather at the town’s phone kiosk, waiting for calls from their husbands, sons and brothers who have left to work in our kitchens in the cities of the North.

I have been fortunate enough to see where that affinity for cooking comes from, to experience moms and grandmothers preparing many delicious things, with pride and real love, passing that food made by hand from their hands to mine.

In years of making television in Mexico, it’s one of the places we, as a crew, are happiest when the day’s work is over. We’ll gather around a street stall and order soft tacos with fresh, bright, delicious salsas, drink cold Mexican beer, sip smoky mezcals, and listen with moist eyes to sentimental songs from street musicians. We will look around and remark, for the hundredth time, what an extraordinary place this is.

C L O S E R .

You pulled me closer,

And closer.

I let your love sink in like venom.

With every drip i found my life hanging between sweet solace of death and the nightmare of the present.

To you I've gifted my life ,

My love.

To you I find my home ;

Yet you seem like the canon that shoots down my fragile home.

According to the pacrim wiki, Coyote Tango was the first jaeger the program lost. By that time, Pentecost and Tamsin were not piloting anymore. It was June, 2016.

The order of pre-knifehead fallen jaegers is:

- Coyote Tango. Destroyed in combat against Itak. On its second set of pilots. June, 2016.

- Victory Alpha. Destroyed in combat against Raganarok. The pilots survived. July, 2016.

- Tacit Ronin. Abandoned because its pilots died of neural overload. July, 2016.

- Lucky Seven. Abandoned because one of its pilots was decommissioned. 2019.

Following this pic from the wiki:

We know that the first jaeger was launched in 2015 (Brawler Yukon) and the last in 2019 (Striker Eureka).

The golden age of the jeager program was from 2017 to 2019, three years of gaining more than they were losing. The peak was in 2019, with 20 active jaegers. The bottom was in 2025, with no jaegers left.

2024 was the year with more deaths, with 8 j-pilots going KIA. Then 2025, with 7 deaths between the Double Event that killed both Cherno and Crimson, and Operation Pitfall, who claimed Pentecost and Chuck.

Between 2019 and 2023 there were 9 KIAs.

Which means Yancy was the first jaeger pilot to die on combat. It makes sense, given the reaction of Penecost to hearing that they had lost Gipsy's signal (and Yancy was dead).

It marks:

- 2019-20: 1 lost jaeger, 1 pilot KIA.

The list of fallen jaegers Post-Knifehead:

- 2020-21: 2 lost jaeger, 1 pilot KIA.

- 2021-22: 3 lost jaegers, 2 pilots KIA.

- 2022-23: 2 lost jaegers, 3 pilots KIA.

- 2023-24: 8 lost jaegers, 2 pilots KIA.

- 2024-25: 0 lost jaegers, 8 pilots KIA.

- 2025: 4 lost jaegers, 7 pilots KIA.

Let's compare all this info with the following Kaiju War Timeline from the wiki:

A) 2013-2014: The Feral Burst. There were no jaegers yet to defend humanity against the 3 kaijus that invaded the world.

B) 2015-2019: The Long Game, Part I. There were 24 jargers up around this period, with a total of 13 kaijus making contact.

Special mention to the Beckets, who got an impressive mark of 5 kills during those years. It means they helped killed more than a 1/3 of those bastards during the golden era of the jaeger program. For what I see, Raleigh is the only pilot who had ever abandoned the jaeger program because he wanted to, not because he was hurt or kicked out.

C) 2020-2023: The Long Game, Part II. The amount of kaijus who invaded in those three years equals the amount of kaijus who made contact within the first 6 years of the war. It means the precursos sent as many kaijus in half the time. Humanity went into this phase with 19 jaegers. By the end they had 4.

2024 reports 13 kaiju attacks. It makes sense that they lost 8 jaegers and 10 pilots more or less in that year. With 12 jaegers active, it is more than a 1vs1 situation. Something tells me that most of Striker Eureka's kills were during this phase.

Special mention to the Hansen, btw. *During Chuck active years, he participated in almost third of the kaiju killings that happened then. I don't know Lucky Seven's score in this race, but *Herc's win amount to a 1/4 of the whole kaiju fights during his active time.

*The count stops at Mutavore. It does not include the Double Event or Pitfall.

If we include Post-Mutavore but not their participation/assistant at killing Leatherback:

- Chuck: 11 kills, 35 kaiju appereances during his active career (almost a 1/3).

- Herc: 12 kills, 44 kaiju appearances (not counting 2016 and adding at least 2 kills of the Lucky Seven era; around a 1/4).

Yet again, if by statistics alone, Mako is the most winning jaeger pilot of the movie. In her active years there had been 5 kaijus and she has helped kill 4. It's worth mentioning that her debut was on a double event followed by a triple event, with the only Category-5 ever saw. Impressive, to say the least.

On the other hand, Raleigh has helped kill or killed himself almost half of the kaijus that had appear on his active years.

Here: (ratio is 19-20 kaijus, 9 kills).

- 2025: 6 kaijus, 4 kills.

- 2015-2019: 13-14 kaijus, 5 kills.

The Hansens record is impressive just in the sheer size of their killing count, which is still not complete given I don't have the info on Lucky Seven. Meanwhile, Raleigh and Mako are impressive for the efficiency record.

Of the 51 kaijus that invaded the Earth, Gipsy and Striker combine to 20 kills. That means 2/5 of the total.

The last three jaegers hold the best or most insane records of the program. Herc with the most wins, Mako with the best efficiency and Raleigh fucking Becket who had solo piloted twice and explode a jaeger in another world.

So I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe we'll never know most of them. But even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there. We can still do things. And we can try to feel okay about them.

-from Stephen Chbosky's The Perks of Being a Wallflower