Sunday, December 22, 2013

You Don't Get What You Paid For

Schadenfreude is pleasure derived from the misfortunes of others. This word is a loanword from German. The literal English translation is 'Harm-Joy'. It is the feeling of joy or pleasure when one sees another fail or suffer misfortune. It is also borrowed by some other languages. -- Wikipedia
Don't reach for the halo too soon. You have plenty of time to enjoy yourself, even a little maliciously sometimes, before you settle down to being a saint. -- Edith Pargeter
Debacle: 1. a sudden and ignominious failure; a fiasco. -- Google
Man goes to doctor. Says he's depressed, life is harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in threatening world. Doctor says, "Treatment is simple. The great clown Pagliacci is in town. Go see him. That should pick you up." Man bursts into tears."But doctor," he says, "I am Pagliacci." Good joke. Everybody laugh. Roll on snare drum. Curtains. -- Alan Moore, Watchmen
During the off-season, the Brooklyn Nets signed Paul Pierce and Kevin Garnett. They are going to pay $80 million in luxury tax for what, as of this writing, appears to be a lottery team. They're currently 9-17. And, oh yeah, Brook Lopez broke his foot and is done for the year.

There are several lessons here.

1) The NBA isn't Major League Baseball or Euro soccer. You can't buy championships in the L, and all the complaining that only large markets can compete after the Heat signed Wade, Bosh, and LeBron in 2010 and that small market teams wouldn't be able to keep up is pretty much bunkum now. The New York Knicks are 8-18; the Chicago Bulls are 10-16; the Los Angeles Lakers are 13-14. Meanwhile, Oklahoma City has the best record in the league at 22-4 (woah!), followed by Portland at 23-5, then San Antonio at 21-6. So much for that reasoning.

2) False entitlement delusions of grandeur in sports always backfires. Just because you're a billionaire like Mikhail Prokhorov or a six-time champion like Michael Jordan doesn't mean you can have everything your way. This shit ain't Burger King. Prokhorov is probably realizing this now; Jordan probably will never*.

3) You can't "Dr. Frankenstein"  a basketball team, nor can you create a microwavable instant-breakfast fanbase in a Petri dish. Nothing works that way. New York will always be the Knicks' territory, regardless of how poorly run that franchise is. Sure, you could wait a couple of decades to build up some hardcore fans and hope that the tide eventually turns in your favor (see: Clippers, Los Angeles), but waiting doesn't seem to be on the Nets' menu.

4) Has anyone seen Andrei Kirilenko lately? Is he going fishing on Lake Placid?


* But I dig the new Hornets logo!












Saturday, December 14, 2013

Nothing Ever Really Dies



I still remember the first comic book I bought myself*: X-Men No. 248 from 1989, Jim Lee's first penciling duty on the title. I pulled it from the creaky rotating comics rack at Brant Smoke & Gift, on Brant Street. I was eleven years old.

I started my comics collection by piling each new issue I bought, sans bag and board, next to my writing desk on my bedroom floor. After a few months, one pile became two, then three, and eventually I knew I had to find a better way to protect my collection. I wanted to make sure my comics didn't get ruined so that I couldn't read them anymore; they were so fragile. At the same time, other kids were collecting comics too, but rather than having any interest in the stories contained in the books they purchased, they bought them as an investment** and kept them sealed in poly bags, usually without reading them -- you know, because that would "break the spine" and devalue the book***. Every little fucker, myself included, was convinced that issue whatever of Doctor Strange or Deathlok was going to be the next Detective Comics #27.

Kids are so fucking stupid.

During my adolescence and into adulthood, I would fall in and out of love with collecting comic books. But I never stopped loving the stories.

---- ------

I don't remember the first horror movie I watched. I do remember watching a shit ton of them, mostly slasher movies, as an elementary school kid, usually at sleepovers. I can tell you exactly where and when I watched a certain movie over my entire lifetime****, but I can't tell you what the first horror movie I watched was. This is weird to me.

I bought the Friday the 13th Part III novelization from the paperback rack at Brant Smoke & Gift when I was eleven. I went home with it and hid it under my bed because I felt like I'd committed a crime. I was young and had an interest in fiction wherein people are murdered, brutally. At that age, curiosity so often feels criminal.

Kids are so fucking stupid.

As an adult, I've watched fewer horror films than I did when I was younger. Maybe because real life is scarier than anything cinema can offer.

Kids are so fucking tasty with Frank's RedHot...



* not the first one I read. My uncle would regularly buy me comics -- Daredevil, The New Mutants, a really great one-shot in which The Thing fights a scaled wrestler that eventually turns into an alligator -- when my family would visit Nova Scotia in the summer. I N C E P T I O N

** Sell your Bitcoins now!

*** The comic book industry, realizing this new dynamic in its customers, went on to exploit its younger -- or dumber -- collectors who wanted to both preserve issues and read them by releasing issues wrapped in their own plastic bags. Buy one to read, another to save! And, hey, each bag has 1 of 7 collectible cards! Buy one bag to save, buy another to get a card! #kompugacha

**** Seriously. Test me.

Friday, December 13, 2013

Aim for the Bushes



I think I came within a few centimeters of grievous injury on my way home from work.

At Yeoksam Station, the card reader on the turnstile wouldn't read my card. The stile still turned though, so I went past and ran down the stairs to catch the train. But because my card wasn't scanned at Yeoksam, it wouldn't register at Gangnam when I transferred. No problem there really; they have those weak knee slappers to block you if you haven't paid your fare. A toddler could push through those.

The Jeongja Station transfer connecting outbound passengers to Jeongja Station proper has the same knee slappers, so when my card, predictably, didn't scan there either, I walked through. There's an alarm that goes off, but no one can hear it when the rush hour crush is coming through, and nobody really cares anyway. Smooth criminal.

Jeongja Station proper, however, has the old turnstiles. There's also a gate for senior citizens -- who ride for free -- to either get buzzed past if an attendant is at the gate (there rarely is) and a button for seniors to press and talk over an intercom to get buzzed through.

I had three options: 1) Hit the button and explain the initial error at Yeoksam (no thanks; that would be like confessing to jay walking in a second language to someone who doesn't give a shit), 2) Hit the button and try to pretend to the intercom guy that I'm a senior citizen (this would have been comedic if they have CCTV at the gate, which they likely do), or 3) hop the turnstile (fuck yes!).

See here, I'm no scofflaw. Option No. 3 seemed like it would save trouble for everyone. I've hopped a few turnstiles in my time, and always because of a machine error. I'm not a Warrior hunted by rival gangs and police* who has to get back to Coney Island for safety; I just wanted to get home, feed my dachshund, maybe watch some basketball.

So I hoisted myself up onto the turnstile, pulled up my legs, and propelled myself forward. My right foot caught one of the stile bars on the way down, though, and gravity almost had its way with me. Somehow I righted myself. I don't know how, but I did. Both of my feet hit the floor first, hard, and the impact ran up both legs and into my testicles. Not a pleasant feeling, but it beats being splayed out on a subway station floor with a cracked skull.

Three takeaways from this experience:

1) An innocuous chain of events can so easily lead to tragedy.

2) I could probably ride the train for free every day if I wanted to.

3) Boys will be boys. As mature as I consider myself to be, the instinctive allure of climbing/jumping** sometimes takes over. Never allow me to get on a trampoline.


* RIP, Fox.

** Bran Stark likes this

Thursday, December 12, 2013

Fantasy, Final


I'm not an RPG guy. Or, rather, I am one and I just didn't realize it. I've self-actualized this fact only recently.

In 2008*, Kmork, that madman of mercurial mayhem, suggested I play Chrono Trigger, recently ported to the Nintendo DS. I'd always shied away from RPG games until then; the grinding to level up, random battles, D&D fantasy tropes, and the boring turn-based nature of the genre (or so I thought, having suffered through more than a few excruciatingly awful RPG games in my youth**) made me reluctant. But Kmork ensured me that Chrono Trigger was largely regarded as one of the best video games ever created, and a rudimentary Internet investigation proved that he was correct (as always, unless he isn't).

I'm sure that there are millions who would attest to the power of religion (billions, in that regard) or to the healing properties of homeopathic remedies; I wouldn't trust their word if it were tattooed on the inside of my eyelids. But entertainment is another matter. If enough people -- people who are knowledgeable, passionate, and, most of all, intelligent all around -- praise a video game, my interest is piqued. Fourteen years ago***, I moved to Korea. And while I was initially apprehensive of eating things like raw fish, chicken feet, grilled cow intestines...dog****, and so on, I understood that if a culinary dish is beloved by so many there must be something special about it.

So I played Chrono Trigger, and it was a glorious experience. The story, the characters, the score (THE SCORE!!!)...I will forever, fondly and thankfully, reminisce of Chrono Trigger***** in the same way I remember Star Wars, The Wire, the LeBron-era Miami Heat, Dostoevsky novels, the films of Martin Scorsese and Stanley Kubrick, and The Bat roller coaster at Canada's Wonderland for the rest of my life as a paragon of entertainment.

So, why, if I enjoyed Chrono Trigger so much, didn't I seek out more classic RPG games? I'm not sure. Maybe it was because I thought nothing could top that experience*******. Maybe I was busy doing other things; as you get older, there is less and less time to pursue new interests. Your leisure window starts to close, and stuff that you'd like to do gradually becomes stuff that you want to do but don't have time for. Prioritization. Mostly, it's because work gets in the way.

And that's when serendipity stepped in. I edit video game localization, the translation of a game released in one language (in my case, Korean) into another (English, although I'm brushing up on my Dothraki). When I have downtime at work, I'm encouraged to play video games for research purposes. It's awesome********.

But Pac-Man and Temple Run don't offer much insight vis-à-vis game localization research. Those are games I enjoy playing these days because I have so little time to truly invest myself in a game like Chrono Trigger. However much I yearn to invest my time in watching the four-hour version of Once upon a Time in America, listen to The White Album in a sitting, or collect every star in Mario 64, I don't have the time. I've fantasized of a Henry Bemis-esque scenario in which I'm locked inside a fallout shelter during a nuclear apocalypse*********, because how else can I find the time to play an epic video game?

Enter: Final Fantasy IV. For the past three weeks, I've been grinding on that worthy at work like sandpaper on an incisor. It is the only RPG game after Chrono Trigger that I have loved immensely. It is also only the second RPG game I've played after Chrono Trigger.

There comes a point, not unlike conception, physically or abstract, where curiosity turns into interest, and then the next step, where interest becomes a passion. As it relates to video game RPGs, I have Kmork to thank for, first, being the spark plug, and, later, in the present day**********, being my RPG guru.

Like attempting to describe a dream, no one gives a shit about one's solo video game accomplishments. That said, beating the four Archfiends is an intense accomplishment I will always remember. It was trying, as all memorable experiences are. I was nervous. My hands were shaking. I won. I fucking won.

Then I slipped on ice on the walk home and broke my hip.





* which, damn, is nearly six years ago. It really does feel like it was yesterday.

** Double Dungeons for the Turbo Grafx 16; which, I imagine, is like having an early attraction to horror/fantasy and reading the Twilight series as a gateway.

*** over a third of my life! That's very cool, and also quite scary. Time really does keep on slippin' (slippin', slippin') into the future, Steve Miller.

**** Never again. Not because I love dogs, which I do, but because I hated the taste. I tried it, didn't like it.

***** I'm doing so right now! /meta

******* which is a dumb reason. I'd call someone who refused to watch gangster films an idiot if he stopped after seeing The Godfather. Goodfellas, yo!

******** Game testing, however, is not. Driving a Ferrari is fun, I would imagine. Building one, crash testing one, I imagine is not. Unless you're a masochist.

********* In this version, Bemis's broken spectacles are substituted by a thrown Dual Shock controller.

********** "later, in the present day" ... 88 miles per hour

Thursday, November 28, 2013

Invisible Earphones -- "Ring Ring Ring (Ha Ha Hey)"

Every day I wake up and hear music playing in my head. I don't actually hear it, but you know what I mean. I get up, take a shower, and all the while a song is playing. It might be "The Ecstasy of Gold," it might be "Rebel without a Pause." If I'm lucky, it won't be "We Are Young."



I've had tinnitus for the past three days. If that worthy tries to ring me back tomorrow, my number is 222-2222, and I have an answering machine that can talk to you.





Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Invisible Earphones -- "Iron Galaxy"

Every day I wake up and hear music playing in my head. I don't actually hear it, but you know what I mean. I get up, take a shower, and all the while a song is playing. It might be "Fur Elise," it might be "Ride the Lightning." If I'm lucky, it won't be "Call Me Maybe."



"Let's talk in layman's terms, rotten apples and big worms..."

That song isn't going to get much play in Madison Square Garden during basketball games. In the same (cold) vein as Nas's "New York State of Mind" and Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five's "The Message," it spray-paints a picture of the hell of poverty in an urban environment, and in doing so, it creates art out of despair.

Broken glass everywhere.

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Invisible Earphones -- "Girls"

Every day I wake up and hear music playing in my head. I don't actually hear it, but you know what I mean. I get up, take a shower, and all the while a song is playing. It might be "Fur Elise," it might be "Ride the Lightning." If I'm lucky, it won't be "Hey Mickey."



This shit is dumb, and cold getting dumber. In case you haven't heard, a toy company, GoldieBlox, released a commercial that, depending how you look at it, appropriated/parodied/swiped "Girls," a song from the Beastie Boys' 1986 album License to Ill. The Beasties' lawyers sent GoldieBlox a letter explaining that the late Adam Yauch (MCA) wrote in his will that he never wanted to have Beastie Boys songs used in commercials, and then GoldieBlox preemptively filed in court for a ruling. My law vernacular is probably off there, but every site I've read has been claiming that GoldieBlox is "suing" the Beasties. To be clear, GoldieBlox is not looking for money from the Beasties camp. They've probably made enough from this bullshit "controversy" already.

First of all, how the hell does a song that's 27 years old create controversy almost to the exact date of the album on which it was released? Secondly, Yauch and the rest of the Beasties long ago disowned the misogynistic lyrics on License to Ill to the point where they wouldn't perform most songs off the album in concert*. That worked out pretty well for them; they smartened up fast, abandoned the faux frat-core scene they created, and carved out a legacy that spanned four decades.

So why is this an issue? I can't speak for the dead, but I have a hard time believing that Yauch would be against a song that he disowned** being repurposed into a parody, even if it ultimately is for a commercial purpose.

The commercial in question is a parody, by the way, and I find it really weird that this is even a thing, that hip-hop groups (or, rather, their corporate counterparts) would take issue with the very thing that founded hip-hop: sampling.

Both parties should stop fighting for their intellectual rights. Because they're both wrong.


* They also didn't include the hip-hop masterpiece "Paul Revere" on their greatest hits compilation, The Sounds of Science, ostensibly for what Ad Rock did with a Whiffle ball bat to the sheriff's daughter.

** Those lyrics are actually very tame, almost sweet, until the song ends with the Beasties' wishes that girls would do their dishes, laundry, and clean up Ad Rock's room. You can't go back 27 years and call that song overly misogynistic when you have Yeezus and "Blurred Lines" getting play in 2013.

Monday, November 25, 2013

Invisible Earphones -- "Holiday in Cambodia"

Every day I wake up and hear music playing in my head. I don't actually hear it, but you know what I mean. I get up, take a shower, and all the while a song is playing. It might be "Fur Elise," it might be "Ride the Lightning." If I'm lucky, it won't be "Hey Mickey."

But my brain radio is always on-air, and I can't call in to request songs; my subconscious mind is the DJ, and he plays whatever the hell he wants.

Monday:


Sunday, November 17, 2013

Trick or Treat like Semtex

(image source)

Fol Chen - 200 Words

     A few years ago, more or less, during a hospital stay owing to a few broken ribs, fractured ankle, and acute stress disorder, you came across a heartwarming article while surfing the web. At the time, such pursuits seemed an ideal manner by which to whittle the hours away because television was overrated and family, however well-intentioned, could endure only so many hours a day of seemingly disjointed ruminations pertaining to a topic they may have grasped -on some level, at least- but nevertheless allowed to slip through their cerebral fingers. In hindsight, the misgivings exhibited were entirely defensible.

     Oddly enough, you stumbled upon the article in question during a foray into, of all places, the trough better known as Buzzfeed, a gutter better recognized for quirky cat pictures and Robert Pattinson's dating disasters than inspirational tidbits but sometimes a girl takes whatever she can get, and Buzzfeed notwithstanding, it was a pretty good find. The story had been about the birth of two cheetah cubs, sort of, insomuch that technically there were four but only two survived, so it was obviously more complicated than that particular summation. The point being, such a touching tale would have been forgotten entirely had it not been for a rap, rap, rapping at your door about an hour ago on this, a chilly Halloween in an area where few children went trick-or-treating. This is Kirkwood Heights, after all, and community college housing isn't known for its kid-friendly atmosphere, but there was a knock so you answered, Tupperware bowl full of fun-sized Butterfinger bars in hand.

     She took a handful of treats, of course, but the woman who had shown up at your door is neither a child by any gratuitous stretch of the imagination nor someone you would have anticipated seeing again, as in, ever, on either account. But there she was, duffel bag in one hand, Butterfingers in another, this vestige of a stilted reality long since miscarried, though not one wholly unrecognizable. She offered a greeting of sorts, to which you had none prepared, though she didn't seem to mind.

     A few years ago, more or less, the woman proposed, in so many words, that a sealed maw becomes either a womb or a tomb for all things enclosed; that fate was serendipity passing itself off as a beast in god's clothing; and that the time had come to knock a few teeth out. Shortly thereafter, you found yourself splayed out upon warm concrete, coughing up blood and wondering just who, what, when, where, why and how an athlete on the cusp of seventeen could manage to be outrun by a man bearing sockets instead of eyes. You had been advised to resist the siren song of hubris prior to the beginning of the end, but you've always been a bit thickheaded, honestly. Then again, in terms of a heads-up, something clearer than an inscrutable reference to Mr. Brightside WOULD HAVE BEEN NICE.

     The woman steps out of the shower, body glistening amidst the steam and utterly unfazed by your presence in the doorway. As she goes about drying herself with your favorite towel, you can't help but notice a myriad of minute, delicately jagged, almost phosphorescent orange lines chaotically etched upon and spread across her slender frame, though curiously, the woman's face remains unspoiled. Now, the tally marks carved into her forearms, they come as no surprise, but these saffron fissures are something new. Trepidation notwithstanding, you make the obligatory inquiry.

     "Oh, Jenny, Jenny, Jenny!" she quips, running her fingers through a sopping mane of hair dyed black as a crow's feathers. "All the god's hunger and all the god's woe mangled little Ms. Megan before letting her go. Everybody knows that."

     What made the story about the birth of two cheetah cubs so uplifting was, to an extent, the unlikelihood of its occurrence. The firstborn cub came into this world well before the second, third and fourth emerged; unlike their predecessor, the unfortunate trio had to be removed, stillborn, via cesarean section and the staff labored for nearly three hours, attempting to resuscitate the cubs through CPR, medication, and heating techniques. Then, something unexpected transpired, something best described verbatim, though you remain uncertain as to why it's suddenly so readily remembered:
“Given how rare this procedure is, we thought it’d be unlikely for any of the cubs to survive,” said Adrienne Crosier, SCBI cheetah biologist. “But that little female is a fighter. Once we got her breathing, she just kept going. It was a very intense, stressful experience, but among the most inspiring of my career.”
     The woman whose name, you now believe, is Megan has slipped into a matte-black catsuit; atop that, a flimsy, flowing gown of similar hue. Seemingly satisfied with what she sees in the mirror, the woman currently identified as Megan begins applying paint to her face, neck, and ears, ostensibly oblivious to the inherent peculiarity of the situation.

     Upon warm concrete at the onset of the end, owing to a few broken ribs, fractured ankle, and a slew of hysteria, you struggled to inch away from the man bestowed with sight sans eyeballs; a man devoid of humanity, per se, wielding a raised machete that glimmered in the simmering shades of twilight. You vaguely recall screaming up blood, arms held up so as to shield yourself from the inevitable, but also, in the briefest moment of dissociative clarity available, pondering, Does a blade shine in the dying light? 

     The brilliant shade of yellow, as it has been applied to the woman's face, contrasts with the preponderance of ebony so drastically that even here, beneath the soft, white glare generated by compact fluorescent tubes, the sight of it reminds you of staring into a space heater as a child; a mild sensation of nausea coupled with unyielding fascination abounds.

     Does a blade shine in the dying light? is what had been asked right before the end, but the crazy thing about questions is that sometimes the answers arrive in the most unexpected of forms. You remember the blade's descent slowing as the flickering light reflected in it increased, and that the man's face tilted ever so slightly as though he were mulling over a quandary of sorts, albeit one related to your own. The thing is, the woman now known as Megan had offered up an additional, almost conciliatory piece of information before the end began.

     Structurally sound analogies, much like poetry and bean burritos, have always been foreign concepts, sure, but as you stand in the doorway watching Megan fiddle with the black sclera lens placed upon her left eye, you can't help but wonder, accuracy be damned, if she isn't more than a bit like that second, female cheetah cub. Had nature been allowed to take its habitual course, neither would have survived their respective ordeals; and sometimes, nature can go fuck itself because what she also told you, after you had volunteered, somewhat foolishly, for the role of slipshod harbinger is that, come what may, the man with no eyes was at the very top of her list.

     Facing you, she requests an evaluation and truth be told, beyond an awkward shrug and chuckle you aren't sure what to say but in light of what could have been, things don't look all that bad.














(so keep your bankroll lottery eat your salad day deathbed motorcade)

Friday, November 15, 2013

Katherine (Excerpt Later)


Once upon a time, I wanted to write a story about a young woman who tried to eat a bicycle. That premise has stayed with me over the years. Continuing the tale has proven as hard for me as you might imagine chewing and then digesting a bicycle might be, but I still think there's a story there -- not about a girl eating a bicycle, but about the girl who tried to eat a bicycle. This is my attempt to reacquaint myself with Katherine.

The guy sitting next to me won't stop scratching his ankles. First the left, then the right. It sounds like coarse sandpaper on driftwood, in stereo. I try to ignore it by looking out the window, but the sun's morning glare is so stark that I have to push the window most of the way closed, and then all I have to look at is a two-inch gap, beyond which lies the plane's wing. Not the best scenery. A flight attendant with a bob of hair shaped like the Liberty Bell and dimples that paradoxically shout demure and disdainful walks down the aisle, and I ask her if I might have a vodka and orange juice. We're going to take off soon, I'm assured, again, and I can order a drink when we're safely off the ground. It was worth a shot. I grab a travel mag from the pocket in front of me, behind the seat of the passenger in front of me, and, soon, hopefully, 35,000 feet in the air. And maybe I'll buy a miniature cuckoo clock. For kicks. Maybe I'll buy a Chanel compact and later try to use it as a hockey puck.

We start to taxi. Ankle Scratcher opens the Wall Street Journal that had prior been lying half on his lap, half on mine. The top corner of the paper brushes my temple, no apology, and instead of screaming I look at the sterile, inoffensive cabin ceiling, screaming through my eyeballs at a god that never answers the phone when I'm at my most annoyed. The irony of flying, at least symbolically, is that reaching the heavens tends to be more like a descent into hell.

Our pilot comes on the intercom to further explain the delay, and I try to throttle him with my mind. It doesn't work. Then I try to telekinenetically abscond the Arrow pen from the breast pocket of the sleeping gentleman sitting across the aisle, with which I hope to manipulate and thrust into the eye of Itchy Ankles. Again, failure. Resigned, I slump in my seat and watch the flight attendants go through their safety routine. They look like robots doing underwater calisthenics.

A kid tries to go to the lavatory and is ushered back to his seat. He promptly pees his pants and begins crying. I pretend I'm sleeping in a tauntaun's bowels. No one can be completely sane on an airplane, although some people are better than others at pretending that they are. Flying cross continent might be fast, but only if your definition of time doesn't include all the bumps that make it so slow.

And yet...and yeti...spaghetti...

I'm awoken from a nightmare by a jolt. I feel like throwing up. My window is up, and the sun looks like an egg yolk threatening to burst and cover everything in dark yellow. Behind me I hear a goat bleating. I rub my eyes as the plane lands. Land. Terra motherfucking firma.

"Shit," my seatmate says, "seventeen minutes to make the gate? Give me a break! Where are you heading?" he asks me.

"Home," I say, but it sounds more like a question than an answer.

"Anyway, good flying with you. What's your name?"

"Katherine."

"Pretty name. Have a good one, Catherine."

And we start to deplane. It's 5 AM on a Thursday morning. I'm finally coming...home?

"I saved your breakfast because you were sleeping," says the Liberty-Bell-haired stew as I try to exit. "I can reheat it for you to take with you if you want."

"No, that's okay," I say. "I'd sooner eat a bike tire."