Steve-Whoa!

Follow the link to see a video of Steve-O (of Jackass "fame") on Adam Carolla's Comedy Central talk show.

http://www.comedycentral.com/shows/too_late_with_adam_carolla/index.jhtml

It appears Steven had a few nips of grandpa's cough syrup before the show (boy, is that ever an understatement).

Christmas movies that aren't Christmas movies

Halloween is just over a month away. As a DVD and film connoisseur, one of the things I like about the end of October is that I don't have to worry about what type of film to watch (something that almost literally keeps me awake nights). There are so many to choose from: John Carpenter's Halloween, or Halloween II (the rest are pure garbage), The Exorcist, Romero zombie flicks, The Simpsons Halloween specials...the list, while far from endless, is relatively long. Longer than my Valentine's Day collection of movies, of which there's...hold on, let me think...Spider-Man? He's a genuinely sentimental and caring fellow, isn't he? OK, if not Spidey, then how about The Godfather? I mean, no one embodies filial piety, devotion, and unequivocal love quite like Michael Corleone (not including the sequel, where he, the bastard, orders a hit on his own brother).

But while thinking about what movies help make the Halloween season (an especial time when I woefully mourn the end of my childhood -- which ended sometime last year, by my own estimate -- because I can no longer receive free candy from strangers) so special, I also started thinking about the films I enjoy watching during the Christmas season. Most of them have little or nothing to do with Christmas, but for reasons unknown -- or, at most, partially understood -- these movies help put me in the Christmas mood and give your old pal/enemy Sparkles some yule-tide cheer:

[in no particular order]

To Kill a Mockingbird

Many people are aware that Robert Duvall makes his screen debut in the film, but few know that it is also the debut of actress Lindsay Lohan. It's true.

The Godfather

I don't know what it is about this movie that screams Christmas. Is it the garroting? The execution of a crooked police officer? Abe Vigoda?

Goodfellas

I know why I'm fond of watching this mob movie on Christmas day. Christmas '99, my mother gave me the laser disc version of the film. Remember laser discs? Me neither.

The Shawshank Redemption

Pretend this bon mot from the mouth of Captain Hadley is directed at Santa Claus:

What is your malfunction, you fat barrel of monkey spunk?

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

My all-time favorite "Christmas movie that isn't a Christmas movie." Who needs Mary, Joseph and little baby Jesus in a manger when you got Sentenza, Tuco, and The Man With No Name?

[dodges lightning bolt]

Man, what I would give...

- to see a president -- any president, even that Dave guy who used to own President's Choice -- give a press conference while dressed in a Spider-Man costume.

- for a year's supply of Reese's peanut butter cups.

- to have Ghostface Killah make an entire album with El-P (both as MCs, El-P on the boards). For a taste, check out the Hide Ya Face remix. It's sublime.

- for Pringles, Orion, or any other snack-food company to formulate and market a BBQ kimchi potato chip. Failing that, a bulgogi potato chip. If Pizza Hut can put sweet potatoes on a pizza and make it (arguably) work, some culinary chemist must be able to fulfill my wish. If not, there is no God.

- for the Red Sox and Yankees to meet again in this year's ALCS. Unfortunately, there's no way it could ever be as monumental and exciting as last year's series. If they do meet, I'm afraid it'll be It Was Written, as opposed to last year's combination of Illmatic, It Takes a Nation of Millions..., Paid In Full, Critical Beatdown, Resurrection, One For All, The Chronic, Only Built 4 Cuban Linx, and Criminal Minded. Still, I'll be content if anyone mashes A-Rod in the face. I don't ask for much.

- to see a new Stanley Kubrick film. My choices would be: The Catcher in the Rye (while it's impossible that Kubrick will direct -- his being dead and all -- it will happen in my lifetime), and an episodic film based on the Klondike and South Seas stories of Jack London.

- for the TV show Quantum Leap to be reborn. I recently purchased the series' first 3 seasons, and, while there are quite a few episodes that are absolutely cringe-worthy, the premise is great, and the on-screen comraderie between Scott Bakula and Dean Stockwell is awesome. Shame it was ever cancelled in the first place.

- for a 1/2 gram of cocaine. Just kidding. That's too little. (Again, just kidding; I sometimes wonder if I'm putting myself in jeopardy by posting drug jokes and jokes suggesting the fire-bombimg of certain nation's embassies. After further thought, nawwwww.)


- a car. I really need a car.

- an extra hour's sleep every morning. I really need an extra hour's sleep every morning.


ZZZZZzzzzzz.

I always feel like Samsung is watching meeeee!

And I can't enjoy my tea.

For one reason or another, it turned out that a lot of the home appliances we purchased are made by Samsung. Yesterday, I realized that they are part of the Illuminati. They're trying to put a microchip in my brain (to track my whereabouts and control my thoughts) while I'm sleeping. But they have great a/s, so I can't really complain.

The all-seeing eyes of Samsung:


Vacuum cleaner.


Refrigerator.


TV.


DVD player.


Air-conditioner.


HAL9000.


What's the frequency, Cheol-Soo?

Richard Dreyfuss: Asshole (was also in JAWS).

I'm torn. My absolute love for Richard Dreyfuss (coupled in this case with his off-hand sarcastic wit, which I found quite amusing) makes it hard to say this:

Richard Dreyfus, you sir are an unmitigated cad.

Follow the link for the Dreyfus interview, interspersed throughout a diary of the writer's visit to the set of the Warner Bros. remake of The Poseidon Adventure -- though it's the interview that most will likely want to read. And it's a doozy!

http://chud.com/news/4405

My initial thought after reading it was "Richard Dreyfuss, who pissed in your Corn Flakes?" but seeing as how how he's a big-shot Hollywood actor, I think "Richard Dreyfus, who blew snot in your Starb*cks latte?" is more apt.

Bundang-gu, represent, represent

Just now I desultorily discovered that Bundang, the area in which I live, has its own page on Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bundang). While brief, it is quite accurate.

Know what doesn't have its own Wikipedia page? Ilsan. Take that, Ilsan!

(If you think I'm trying to start a Springfield/Shelbyville rivalry here, you're right.)

I realize that this entry is a tad short, and that people who don't live in Bundang probably couldn't care less, so, in an attempt to make it up to you, I give you this, a post that I wrote last night but couldn't be bothered to finish. The original title was "Them's Fightin' Words," but due to the circumstances of it winding up in this post, "Stale Donuts" seems more apt. Enjoy!

...

Opinions are like assholes: they're relatively circular, usually smell quite unpleasant (though partisan followers will, despite evidence to the contrary, insist they taste sweeter than sugar-covered sugar cubes), are the butt -- no pun intended, but pleasingly welcomed -- of a million jokes and jest, and they occassionally are sewn closed until someone keeps feedin' and feedin' and feedin' the proprietor of said asshole/opinion. It's a familiar axiom, I'm sure.

That said (a Christmas goose for the reader who can make sense of the above; I can't), I thought I'd bombard you with some opinions. They may be unpopular, they may not; regardless, I refuse to justify anything found below.

1) W. Somerset Maugham, while perhaps not the greatest storyteller ever, is certainly the most beautifully-gifted writer of English prose the world has ever known.

2) On the flip-side, Ernest Hemingway was an untalented hack whom people with no imagination or real artistic appreciation pretend is so significant because a) doing so makes them feel special, knowing they could write a better novel than the man, and b), because they find his personal life apart from his novels and stories -- which, while adventurous, doesn't make his tales any less shittier -- enthralling.

If he were alive today, I'd certainly watch a reality TV program centered around him. He was an interesting guy, for sure; but I'd never call him a great, or even a good, writer. He wrote like I dance; which is to say, fucking horribly.

To put it in a way Hemingway aficianados will understand:

I don't like him. He did not write well. His books are boring. They are not fun. They are boring.

3) Mariah Carey is an enigma wrapped in a fucked-up-chick-who-likes-to-drink-champagne-while-swimming: http://www.hollywoodtuna.com/?p=244

4) The cheese/sausage thingies omnipresent in convenient stores here are neither cheese nor sausages. And they're hard to open.

5) A-Rod has AIDS.

6) The Holocaust never happened. No, wait -- I meant Gremlins 2: The New Batch never happened.

Memory Lane (Part I)

If memories could be canned, would they also have expiry dates? If so, I hope they last for centuries.

-- Cop 223, Chungking Express

1999 was a good year for basketball. The NBA lock-out -- which shortened the regular season to 50 games -- notwithstanding, it was the year that the Knicks, whom I had rooted for since childhood (and stopped rooting for after moving to Korea, partly because I could no longer watch them regularly -- I'm from Southern Ontario, and the Buffalo NBC station always showed Knicks games -- but mostly because of their bone-headed managerial decisions), became the first 8th-seeded team in NBA history to reach the finals. They ended up losing in the Finals to the San Antonio Spurs, but I was still pretty elated; they had had a terrific playoff run, dispatching in dramatic fashion their two biggest rivals at the time, the Miami Heat and Indiana Pacers. I was also becoming a fairly impressive basketball player in my own right. I knew I'd never be able to play at a pro's level (my ball-handling is terrible, for one), but that didn't stop me from every day, if the weather was nice, hitting one court or another with a small circle of "basketball jonesers"; and when it rained or got too cold, we often played at the Y.

I may be accused of having delusions of grandeur here, but I am convinced that, had I been adequately coached (I've never played organized ball), I could have become, on a semi-professional level, a decent 1 or 2 guard (failing that, I'm positive I could have been a professional wrestler).

Certainly I felt I had it in me, because after graduation all I seemed to care about was basketball. My folks -- at first subliminally, and later outright vehemently -- urged me to look for work. I paid them lip service. My three passions at the time were, in no particular order, basketball, girls, and hip-hop. It was only at the threat of being cut off by my parents that I realized I had better try to find something (or make it look as though I was trying to find something; I can't lie, that was my true intention) if only to appease my folks.

This was early-July. Every morning, after my father left for work, I would eat breakfast and browse the classified section of the newspaper. I could and perhaps should have searched on-line as well and posted my resume on various job sites, but seeing as how I wasn't very keen on finding work anyway, it's easy to see why I didn't. Around 10 or 11, my good friend and reliable basketball comrade (let's call him D) would drive up to my place. We'd smoke a couple of cigarettes while shooting the breeze, then it was off to the court, where we'd usually play for 2 or 3 hours.

Man, I know I was a complete slacker back then, but those are fond memories.

Around the beginning of August my folks started getting really adamant that I find work, any work, even suggesting that I take a part-time job at a bookstore while looking for something better and full-time. Feeling more than a little guilty at my parents' patience and generosity, and knowing that sooner or later I'd have to stop procrastinating and get a job, I resolved to follow their advice -- unless, I told myself, I found something more attractive in the classifieds the next morning.

I didn't find a better help wanted ad, but what I did find piqued my interest considerably. It was an advertisement for a TESOL (Teaching English To Speakers Of Other Languages, for the uninitiated) course. The ad's headline was what roped me in: TRAVEL THE WORLD TEACHING ENGLISH! Below that was a list of the benefits being an ESL teacher offered. It sounded quite appealing. What really got me interested was the tagline "only a high school diploma is necessary." See, I hold a degree in English Literature, but until reading that I was convinced that only certified teachers would be eligible to teach English in a foreign country. I had some experience tutoring grammar to exchange students while at university, but an English teacher I most certainly wasn't. Nevertheless, I called to inquire about the course. After speaking to a representative of the company, I realized that taking the course was what I wanted to do. I can't lie, my mind was aflutter with fantastic thoughts of exotic locales and carnal delights; not once did I consider that I was taking the course to help secure employment. I didn't want to be an English teacher so much as I wanted to be Lord Jim.

There was, however, one big problem. The course was 850 dollars. Where the hell was I going to get 850 dollars? The idea of asking my mother or father for the money was laughable: there was no way they would have lent it to me.

Thankfully, providence stepped in.

The very next day -- a Wednesday, as I recall -- a letter addressed to me arrived. It was from my university. I timorously opened it, perplexed and fearful of what the letter might be about. Had Dean Wormer found out it was I who dropped a truckload of fizzies into the swim meet? Had he learned that it was I who delivered the medical school cadavers to the alumni dinner? Was there some loophole he had found which would mean I'd have to do my senior year all over again, only this time blindfolded?

Sorry, I got a little carried away there...

The envelope contained a check, a refund for the unused amount remaining on my student meal plan. Normally my school didn't refund this, but only because most students ran out of money on their meal plans and had to pay extra, or because the amount was too small for them to refund. I think their policy was anything below 200 dollars, though I can't be certain. The check representing my remaining balance was a whopping 1100 bucks. I shit you not.

See, I attended a university close to my hometown, but I stayed in a dormitory. Or rather, I had a dorm room; during my final year, I rarely stayed there. I had a girlfriend back in my hometown, and spent the nights I wasn't cramming -- which was just about every night -- either with her or hanging out with my hometown friends. My parents, who footed some of the bill for my dorm room, were none too pleased, but after a while they got used to it.

So it's easy to see why I rarely used my meal plan, instead opting to eat my poor folks out of house and home. Still, the staggering amount of the refund stunned even me.

I used 850 dollars to enroll in the TESOL course (the rest I blew on inconsequential shit, such as music CDs, beer, fast food, beer, some clothes, and a blow-up do…um, a nifty haircut). These courses are generally (for there are a lot of them out there) of rather dubious prestige, but nevertheless appear attractive on a resume. Mine took 4 weeks, after which I knew nothing about being a teacher and a little about the ESL industry. Was the course worth it? I guess so. If I hadn't taken it, I'd have been a lot more naive than I was when I first arrived in Korea (though I was still really fucking naïve, but we’ll get to that later).

That was August, 1999. After "graduating" my TESOL course, I sent my resume and profile to schools all over the world: Chile, the Czech Republic, Poland, the UAE, Japan, Turkey, Stankonia...you name it. I had no idea where the hell I wanted to go, just that I wanted to "see the world." A few weeks passed with no responses, after which I started to wonder whether my resume-writing skills were weak, whether I was a lot uglier than I thought, and whether I was lied to when I was told that "all you need is a high school education" (which, by the way, is true for some countries, but very few). Then I received a call from the director of a school in Istanbul, Turkey. We spoke for only a few minutes, then he said good-bye. I wasn't very optimistic regarding my chances at that particular institute. In my defense, I had a vicious hangover and was unprepared for a telephone interview. I hadn’t been given prior notice that the gentleman would call.

So it looked as though Turkey was out. Not so bad, though. Besides the weather, what's so hot about Turkey, anyway?

After a few days, I decided I'd better try my luck at sending my resume to a few more places. It was then that I realized that the attachment I had e-mailed to every school and recruiting agency contained a picture of my cat, rather than my resume. I swear to god this is true, which goes to show just how computer-illiterate I was back then, being unable to tell the difference between a Word file and an image file. For the record, the reason the school in Turkey replied to me was because I filled out an application on the school's website, rather than sending them my resume/cat photo.

I corrected my mistake and in less than a day was contacted by roughly 35 billion recruiters from Korea. I chose one and a week later mailed them my documents, including a notarized copy of my diploma and a set of transcripts. I figured I'd be in Korea in less than a month.

But that was not to be. I don't know when the recruiter received my materials, but, perhaps because I used regular mail instead of a courier service, I'll hazard a guess that it took quite a while, for it wasn't until the following March that I heard back from them. In the interim, I hadn’t really thought about Korea much (if at all). I was once again occupied with sloth, doing a lot of nothing and generally getting on my parents' nerves by doing ("not doing" is more apt) so. Then, one Sunday evening in early-March, my recruiter called me. He wanted to know if I could arrive in Korea at the end of the month. Sure, I told him. I didn't have any plans.

And so it followed that I interviewed that same evening with a school in Seoul. I was offered the position on the spot, so to speak, and willfully accepted. Sans any kind of research into the job, sans speaking to another teacher at the school to see if the place was reputable, sans just about every precautious step it's advised that newcomers to Korea take, I said "yes" then and there.

Korea, here I come!

I dove in headfirst. Since then, diving in headfirst has become a genuine habit. I suppose I'm lucky that, like a cat falling off a counter, I've always seemed to land on my feet, pretty much unscathed.

[*knocks on wood*]

Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey.

...Or, in this case, rice with mixed vegetables. The little girl enjoys watching Sesame Street while eating her breakfast. Then it's off to nursery school.

Psychedelic Kimchi Saves The World!

On September 19th I wrote:

Amazing what a promise of candy can accomplish. I think that's what the US needs to dangle in front of Kim Jong Il. I bet he'd drop any plans for further nuclear proliferation in favor of some Skittles. Taste the rainbow, Kim Jong Il.

And today I read this: http://news.yahoo.com/fc/world/north_korea

N. Korea Pledges to Halt Nuclear Program
BEIJING - North Korea on Monday agreed to stop building nuclear weapons and allow international inspections in exchange for energy aid, economic cooperation and security assurances, in a first step toward disarmament after two years of six-nation talks.

Coincidence? I think not. I hope you enjoy those Skittles and Mars bars, Mr. Kim.

So when do I receive my Nobel prize?

2 Reviews: The Big Red One and 25th Hour

The weekend is the only time I have to watch movies. On Fridays and Saturdays, after the little girl is in bed, I usually pour myself a glass of whisky and throw on a DVD. This past weekend, I watched Samuel Fuller's war epic The Big Red One (penis jokes are way too easy with a title like that, so I'm not even going to bother) and Spike Lee's 25th Hour. I liked them both, one slightly more than the other. Here's my take:

The Big Red One

Lee Marvin has a face that was made specifically, I think, to star in war movies. What's so surprising in this movie is that, despite his gruff features, he plays a compassionate and caring sergeant. Movie critic cliche: it's a tour-de-force performance.

Marvin plays The Sergeant (he is not named in the film), a veteran of the First World War who leads a rifle squad in the US army's first division, known as "The Big Red One." It is now WWII, and the movie opens with the division heading to North Africa to persuade the Vichy army to side with America and break ties with the Third Reich. From there, it's on to Sicily, France, Belgium, Germany, and, finally, Czechoslovakia. Throughout the film, replacements in the squad come and go, but four riflemen remain. They are Zab (Robert Carradine), Griff (Mark Hamill), Vinci (Bobby Di Cicco), and Johnson (Kelly Ward). The film is very episodic, but it works well. Some viewers might feel that there are too many coincidences in the film for it to seem realistic, but that didn't bother me too much.

In fact, the only real plot of the film is the story of a German sergeant who, amazingly, encounters the Red One in every country. It's totally implausible, but again, I didn't much care.

What I loved: Robert Carradine is wonderful as the cigar-chomping Zab. Can you believe this is the same guy who played Louis in Revenge of the Nerds? I never knew he could act so well. Ditto for Mark Hamill, whom until this film I had only seen in the Star Wars movies (that's a lie, but I'm pretending I've never seen The Guyver). They're great, but let's be honest: Hamill's performances definitely aren't what made them great. Here, he plays a rifleman lacking the prerequisite guts to kill. I suppose some similarity between Griff and Luke Skywalker can be drawn, but the boyishness portrayed here and the boyishness from Star Wars are like night and day. It's a shame he didn't get to prove himself in more movies.

I also loved that you can really tell the movie was written by a man who actually served in the war. There are very few war movie cliches in the film, and the episodes recounted -- though I doubt everything is based on events that actually happened -- feel authentic.

What I disliked: not a whole lot, apart perhaps from one slightly hackneyed scene where the squad infiltrates an insane asylum in France, and it happens that an inmate picks up a machine gun and sprays a room full of fellow inmates and German soldiers. We get it, war is insane.

Also, some might complain that there doesn't seem to be much of a point made in the film. Is it pro-war? Anti-war? My take is that it's slightly in support of the latter, but it seems almost as an afterthought. Still, it's entertaining and poignant, with great (and surprising) performances. Highly recommended.

Note: the DVD that is available is a reconstructed version which adds on 47 minutes of footage missing from the version that was originally released in theaters.

25th Hour

I'm a big Spike Lee fan. He puts out films at such an amazing rate that it seems natural he would have some misses. Still, a lackluster Spike Lee film is 10 times better than, say, a decent Brett Ratner film. So says I. Some of Lee's movies are mediocre, while others have been labelled horrible (She Hate Me, for example). But he is the guy who directed Do The Right Thing and Malcolm X. Critics have claimed that the quality of Lee's films has diminished over the past decade. I don't see it. I loved some of his films that garnered mixed reviews, such as Summer of Sam and He Got Game. And he showed real balls with Bamboozled. One accusation which certainly cannot be directed at Spike is that he sticks to a formula. He's constantly reinventing himself and trying out new things (me, too. Today, for instance, I bought a second pair of underwear. It was a bold decision).

25th Hour , based on the book by David Benioff (who also wrote the screenplay), tells the story of Monty Brogan, a 31-year-old New Yorker facing a 7-year jail sentence for trafficking narcotics. We follow Monty on his last day, as he meets with his girlfriend (who, Monty and others suspect, may have set him up to be busted), his father, and two friends from his youth, Frank and Jacob. What will Monty ultimately do? Kill himself (he's deathly afraid of what awaits him in prison)? Go on the lamb? Or serve his time?

What I loved: both the film's opening and closing are original and memorable. The ending in particular is one of the best I've seen in quite a while (and, no, there's no twist). And the score! One of the best I've heard in a long time. Ed Norton, reliably, does one hell of a job playing Monty. He's comparible to a young DeNiro in that he constantly turns in great performances that seem so natural and effortless (although I'm fairly sure DeNiro in his prime didn't direct and act in dreck such as Keeping the Faith). Slight digression: I noted in a post from last month that he's perhaps the most talented of the new generation of actors, and that it's strange he hasn't been in anything memorable or notable for a while. I still believe what I wrote, but on Saturday, watching the bonus features on the DVD, I was reminded what a pseudo-intellectual he seems. If you want proof, listen to his commentary on the Fight Club DVD. And how about him -- in the mini-documentary contained on the 25th Hour DVD -- proclaiming He Got Game as one of the best films released in the past 20 years? I like the film and all, but that's just a bit of an overstatement there, Ed. Brian Cox does a great job as well. I was disappointed he got such little screentime, because he's terrific in everything he does. I'd be remiss if I didn't metion the "funny you should say that" exchange in the nightclub between former NFL lineman Tony "The Goose" Siragusa and Norton. It's a great piece of dialogue; and who knew Siragusa had such great acting chops?

What I disliked: surpisingly, I was disappointed by Philip Seymour Hoffman's portrayal of Jacob. He seemed stuck somewhere, as though he was unsure whether to make Jacob appear tragic or just a poor schmuck (though, to be fair, he's the only one in the nightclub scene who appears remotely drunk. My conjecture is that he probably was). Barry Pepper's acting is good in the film, but the script has him acting like such an over-the-top bastard at times that it's often hard to watch. The scene between him and Hoffman overlooking Ground Zero is well-shot, but his dialogue is so confrontational that one surmises Hoffman's character would in real life punch him in the face or walk out of his apartment. The honor for worst performance of the film goes to Rosario Dawson. She's one sweet piece of eye-candy, but she can't act to save her ass. My final criticism of the film is that most of the characters are unlikeable. Take Monty, for instance. During the movie I didn't once find myself hoping that he wouldn't go to prison (until the end, that is, and only because I liked his father so much). Contrast that with Ed Norton's portrayal of Worm in Rounders. In that film, Norton plays a guy who's 10 times more of a scumbag than Monty -- but we like Worm. I liked Monty, but only a little. I got the feeling that, under different circumstances, he'd be a lot less filled with anger and a lot more fun to hang around with.

Overall, though, it's a good film. Definitely worth a rent.

Note: I had been looking for the DVD ever since I bypassed it when it originally went on sale. To my surprise, E-Mart has it for sale for 9,900 won. A good deal for a pretty well-packed disc (it has seperate commentaries by Lee and screenwriter Benioff, in addition to some other features). If you live in Bundang and are considering purchasing the DVD, they had at least one other copy as of Saturday.

Final Verdict

The Big Red One: Tera Patrick


25th Hour: Sky Lopez