(What you wanna do is, you wanna skip ahead to the 3:55 mark.)
Maybe it's because I feel guilty for faking sick and skipping school so often as a youth that I feel the need to tell you, Constant Retard, when I'm going on hiatus. And maybe -- nay, definitely -- that's been my reason for proving myself a liar by returning to this hallowed blog ahead of schedule.
Whatever the case may be, next week I return to Canada. And then I don't know nuthin.
Besides the freezing cold temperatures of Southern Ontario, Quarter Pounders avec fromage, and myriad beers and fruit (and fruity beers, if that's your thing) at an affordable price, I don't know what the month of February holds for me as far as Psychedelic Kimchi is concerned. Quite frankly, I don't give a shit. (Yes I do.)
In my absence, Kmart will dazzle, denz will razzle, TMH will rassle, and Idealjetsam will inert.
You won't even know I'm gone.
Enjoy watching Werner Herzog eat a shoe and get Rainbow Sixed.
No matter how hard you try, you can't stop us now No matter how hard you try, you can't stop us now
We're the renegades of this atomic age This atomic age of renegades Renegades of this atomic age This atomic age of renegades
Since the Prehistoric ages and the days of ancient Greece Right down through the Middle Ages Planet earth kept going through changes And then no renaissance came, and times continued to change Nothing stayed the same, but there were always renegades Like Chief Sitting Bull, Eoin Forbes Dr. Martin Luther King, Malcom X They were renegades of their time and age So many renegades
We're the renegades of funk
You were saying something about a limited period of sojourn, right? Wrong. (Again.)
* Joy Ride!
** Sages may write great things, but it takes a kid to make it cool.
In case you haven't noticed, I am a sensualist. And, yes, I despise that word, because in Newspeak "sensualist" connotes "pervert." This is not a new thing, I will concede; and I'll save my essay about how the human species is slowly evolving into beings bereft of libidos for another era; but when a photograph so masterfully conjures feelings of lust and desire, you can bet that puritanical outrage and the cold bitch of blasphemous accusations are sure to follow.
After spending nine consecutive years on The Peninsula*, nothing phases or surprises me anymore. Or so I thought. I'm heading back home in six days, and I'd like to think of this find from the catacombs of YouTube as a going-away present.
Are you ready to have your mind blown?
(...)
I can wait.
Really, you'd better sit down. And it's not, by the way, the revelation that I've been watching MTV's countdown of the top 50 K-pop songs of 2008, either; although that's proof that I'm certifiably insane.
-----
- In case you're curious, Super Junior's "Pajama Party" is No. 5. Trust me, that song is going to be "YMCA" for Korean homosexual youths. It probably already is.
(I don't expect many readers to watch those four minutes of gayness, but if there's any doubt left that Super Junior are of the same sexual persuasion as Harvey Milk, watch the final animation around the 4:04 mark and notice the rainbow sash.)
- With nine members, Girls' Generation is like the female K-pop Wu-Tang Clan! They're No. 4 with "Kissing You." (I would, but at their age I'm pretty sure that'd make me a child molester.) Wikipedia, as always, provides high comedy:
Controversy
During the Dream Concert held on June 7, 2008 in South Korea, a silent protest took place against them. This protest was conducted by three large fanclubs: E.L.F (Super Junior), Cassiopeia (TVXQ), and Triple S (SS501).
Ooh, badass.
- Wondergirls at No. 3 with "Nobody." Why must Girls' Generation always play second fiddle to these bitches? I'm holding a silent protest!
- Big Bang at No. 2 (that's right!) with "One Day." I didn't know Spock was a member of Big Bang...
(Ostensible moral of the video: don't let a bald cancer patient get between a friendship.)
- And, at No. 1...TVXQ with "Mirotic!" What the hell does mirotic mean? Kmart offers some insight:
Whatever it is, it shall be like a gentle rain that reminds you of tears shed by bitter whores and flustered clowns.
Um...
Fun fact: Korean censors felt the lyrics "I've got you under my skin" were too racy (ban Frank Sinatra!), so they made TVXQ change them to "I've got you under my sky." TVXQ might be compromising pussies, but MTV ain't -- they're playing the original version. Call the cops!
-----
That over with, here it is: 33 seconds of glory.
For you non-Korean speakers, here's a translation:
Robocop: Oh! Lotte Ham fried chicken**...Give me more wings.
[Robocop bogarts the refrigerator***]
There are no bones in these shits, right?
(Now I can die in peace.)
* That's right, I'm retconning my life and pretending the seven months I spent back home in 2002 never happened.
** I am at a loss, however, to explain just what the fuck "ham fried chicken" is.
*** Wait, isn't Robocop supposed to uphold the law instead of break it? And while that little moment of awesome isn't as PK as The McNulty Car-Kick, it's close.
In case you haven't noticed, I am a sentimentalist. And, yes, I despise that word, because in Newspeak "sentimentalist" connotes "pussy." This is not a new thing, I will concede; and I'll save my essay about how the human species is slowly evolving into beings bereft of emotion for another era; but when a film so masterfully conjures emotions of happiness and hope, you can bet that cynicism and the cold bitch of negativity is sure to follow.
Such, I fear, is the case with Slumdog Millionaire, Danny Boyle's (other*) magnificent film. Although Slumdog is much, much more than a touching love story**, the ostensible theme*** is one of hope.
What a coincidence. What irony.
Much like Kekko Kamen Royale, Slumdog Millionaire is a film about hope*****.
(Those asterisks are ninja stars, by the way.)
* Shallow Grave. Trainspotting. 28 Days Later. Millions. (Millions!) Shit, even The Beach and Sunshine are virtuoso movies directed by this generation's Spielberg**** until their screenplays shit the futon.
** Like the bacon double cheeseburger and the chicken parmasan I ate this weekend, it touched me in all the right places. Put a hex on me if I don't write a comprehensive review here in...5 months? I have a lot to say about the film, some of which you might hear me scratching the surface of if Kmart ever posts our regrettably aborted PKast from a few weeks ago. Spoiler: I was drunk. And handsome.
*** "It is written" doesn't necessarily mean destiny, does it? Scratch beneath the surface.
**** Like The Beard, Boyle hops around genres like Phil Spector has crazy hair and shoots women in the face. Granted, Boyle hasn't directed Jaws.
* I'm still undecided as to whom the 'We' denotes. Citizens, legal (and illegal) residents, pets, robots, bacteria? All of the preceding? --
The inauguration of Barack Obama has come (and not yet gone), and it's likely that at least one person from every single nation throughout the world watched the ceremony with considerable interest. Now, as the title (hopefully) suggests, should 'we' care? is a pertinent question, and not because I say so. I haven't resided in the United States for over five years, which isn't an ungodly amount of time, but it's enough time to (somewhat) distance oneself from the day-to-day experience of being American (whatever being American is supposed to mean, I'm disinclined to argue) and grow accustomed to being the other guy.**
That said, and do be lenient about interpreting the forthcoming analogy, the United States is like an exceedingly popular (and wealthy) high-school kid that rammed his dad's Volvo into an oak tree while driving drunk. He survived, and his hospital room is littered with Get Well! cards and balloons, but the lad's gonna require some serious physical therapy before he'll be on the track team again.
I'll cease this pathetic analogy before it goes too far; as to liken Obama to a gifted surgeon, therapist, and whatnot would be gratuitous, lame, and well beyond the original point.
What should be said is this: a multitude of people across the globe are excited, to say the very least, about Obama and the implications of his presidency, and to be candid, I believe that 'we' should care about what those various peoples think.
Sure, not everyone is pleased with America's decision, but many of those same people already have a hard-on against the United States (or people of the non-Caucasian persuasion) for a variety of reasons, and you won't change their minds quickly, if ever. I'm referring to the other folks, those that recognize that in today's global economy*** you can't have a major player falter, as it will inevitably affect the franchise. (I don't know too much about basketball, as you can probably ascertain with ease.) My mother buys Australian licorice by the boatload, and that puts Denz into his new Toyota Supra (manufactured in Mexico), which in turn pays some Japanese manager's salary, and he subsequently takes his family on a trip to Vancouver for the sole purpose of buying a bag of world-renowned Canadian carrots. Some Canadian dude jerks off into a toilet shaped like a maple leaf with the money gathered from the lucrative carrot industry, and so on. It's all cyclical, baby.
If anything, I'm saying that 'we' should care that the other inhabitants of our world take an interest in the current president of the United States. Like millions of other Americans, I stood in line, happily awaiting my chance to vote, and not everyone had the opportunity to do so (American or not), but there are many ways in which to express confidence, be they economic, political, or societal, and Americans can ill-afford to ignore that ringing voice in their collective ear, one that screams "Hey, quit screwing around."
I loathe to spell the name Obama as H-O-P-E (like the good folks at Pepsi would have liked us to do), and I'm no prognosticator, but hype can be a good thing, as the momentum may be what propels the new administration into a future unburdened by overwhelming cynicism.
** This is not to propose that I'm Mr. Cosmopolitan; far from it, but you won't see me complaining that Korean carrots lack the genuine, i.e. Canadian, flavor that carrots should have. So.
*** If you want to argue against the notion of a global economy, that's cool; but let's save that for another day, shall we?
A few weeks back I was waiting in the subway station (the loop, as we call it) for my train home, listening to some music, checking out university girls and lamenting the futility of my existence along with the rest of the hoi-polloi. Then, without warning (they don't announce these things), a god damned wholecar pulled out of the tunnel.
And it was beautiful.
I've been thinking about old age recently. I'm a father now, and a professional. I've also reached an age where sport stars retire because their bodies break down. Case in point, I did my ankle late last year playing indoor soccer (Philistine, I know) and it's still healing. I feel like Grant Hill. Well, before he sold his soul to the devil for some happy feet. More to the point, I should be well past graf, right?
But there it was, in all its glory. A choppy little piece of sedition rolling through the arteries of capital within my fair city. And all I could do was grin.
A few days later, I was out the back of my apartment working on my car. Out of the corner of my eye I eye this kid, couldn't have been more than 12, walking past in a blue hoodie. He didn't see me and I sure didn't think much anything of him. Until a second later, when he paused, pulled out a fatcap and sloppily tagged a nearby street sign.
Without missing a beat, I yelled out to the kid. He shit himself and bolted. At that moment, as my old man might say, 'I then proceeded on foot and chased the assailant'. I was not holding a Krispy Kreme.
I don't know why I chased him. I sure as hell didn't know what I was going to do if I corralled him, but in my mind it seemed like the right thing to do. I am, after all, an adult.
I only ran about 20-30 metres before I was painfully reminded of the limitations of my ankle. I pulled up lame as that kid pulled away like Usain Bolt. He looked back, hoodie still on, and then stepped it up a gear.
As he disappeared up the street, it occurred to me that I had no desire to see him get caught or busted by the police. Instead, I just wanted to school him.
"You're fucking toy" I yelled.
See, I might be getting older, but I still know what time it is.
When my homeland security secretary Hon T-Sparkles vented that the winner of the Pepsi challenge was bound to disappoint, I couldn't help but shake my head.
I'd wager few are unmeasured in their expectations of what the Big O can deliver. See, only the young, the naive and Youtubers don't realise that Obama is inheriting the worst franchise since, well, the New York Knicks. And when that's the case, you aren't thinking championship. Not this year anyway.
Now I might not be an American, but as a Knicks fan, I know all too well what it is like to be ruled by Bush-like incompetence. Isiah Thomas almost singlehandedly destroyed basketball for me. He ran wild on that team like a whiteboy at Gas Panic.
You want to talk about Iraq and New Orleans? I'll give you the following: Marbury. Francis. Curry. Jerome James. Larry Brown. Draft picks gone. Cap inflexibility.
Truly there were weapons of mass destruction, and they were us.
But after years of incompetence, change came to the Garden. Donnie Walsh and Mike D arrived in town and turned that sinking superfreighter around. Traded Z, benched Curry and sent Cancerbury to the NBDL (or something). They cleared cap space (18 mil in 2010-11) and let the boys get back to playing basketball. Meanwhile, Thomas was demonstrating that his ability to mismanage even extended to overdosing on pills. Hell, I couldn't be happier.
And the Knicks are 17-24.
Because the way I see it, it isn't about today or tomorrow. If Obama is going to turn this thing around, it's going to take a great deal longer than 100 days. I think he knows it. I think we know it. So much was evident in his inauguration speech.
It isn't time for grandiose speeches. Instead, it's time for a couple of seasons where you make hard choices and you don't make the playoffs. It's about rallying supporters, cutting the dead wood, clearing cap space and positioning yourself for a distant summer.
In that context, hope is not misplaced. And that's what I feel is happening here, whether Pepsicola is involved or not.
Spark said that if you deify a man, you're eventually going to be let down.
False.
Season
Team
G
GS
MPG
FG%
3p%
FT%
OFF
DEF
RPG
APG
SPG
BPG
TO
PF
PPG
08-09
CLE
39
39
37.2
0.497
0.287
0.777
1.3
5.9
7.2
6.6
2.0
1.3
3.13
2.00
27.6
Maybe Obama sells fewer T-shirts than Che, but it wont matter.
As you've no doubt heard/read/extra-sensorily perceived, a plane crashed into the Hudson. All passengers aboard survived, but that fact does little to calm my nerves (although it does warm my cold heart). For I am, you see, deathly afraid of flying; and in fewer than two weeks' time, Poppa Large* is set to board a flight for destiny.
Destiny.
Great fucking timing.
Consider this my last will and testament.
I like Brandon Roy better than Dwyane Wade. (In fact, I like the Portland Trailblazers more than the Miami Heat.) I've always followed my instinct, for good or bad. Smiles and cries.
I don't want a Pepsi president. Me being an expat Canuck (I think our prime minister is Wayne Gretzky, or possibly Lorne Michaels), he's not my president*, but I hope I can be forgiven for elucidating on matters concerning the leader of a nation not my own. Copacetic?
As you may or may not know,
(Pizza Hut changed its name to Pasta Hut, then it changed it back)
Pepsi started an ad campaign called "Refresh Everything" in which people could upload UCC videos of their hopes and dreams (and pyramid schemes) concerning now-officially U.S. president Barack Obama onto a website Pepsi set up, refresheverything.com(/John Carpenter's career). Thankfully, the campaign was far from a success; but the fact that a large, multi-national company would even consider co-opting Obama -- or any politician -- as a spokesperson irks me to no end.
Is there a precedent for this? Has a company ever used a president in an ad campaign? Would Pepsi have dared use Obama as their "spokesperson**" during the election race?
I'm living in one weird world. Pepsi deserves every bit of scorn and profit loss for the idea, but the bigger picture is much more confounding. Scary, even.
I like Barack Obama. I think he's a good man with good ideals. I hope he has a good term -- or terms -- as president. I like that he digs The Wire, that he loves basketball, and that he talks like a gentleman that you imagined when you were young. But if you deify a man, you're eventually going to be let down. Pepsi's not the only group of people to think Obama's cool (only the most manipulative, so far), and when you elevate someone so highly***, when he missteps your hopes don't falter, they plummet. I know; I've listened to Idlewild.
Obama has been in office for all of one day. Let's exercise some caution before we start proclaiming him the greatest president it the history of American politics. To do otherwise would be foolish. Pepsi president-level foolish.
(Ultimately, Barack Obama's legacy will be determined by how many T-shirts with his image on them are sold. My guess? Fewer than Che Guevera, a lot more than Pierre Trudeau.)
* Anyway, Ban Ki-moon is the world's president. Take that, Obama!
** Did Obama let them use his image in the ads? If so, was he paid for it (and, if so, isn't that pretty crass?) If not, isn't it pretty shady to piggyback on the zeitgeist of a politician?
