Saturday, January 27, 2007

Postcards From the Ledge

I'ma hop in and hop out right quick (word to Raekwon the Chef) with a few thoughts that I've been churning in my mind like curdled milk:

1) I'm not dead. Yet. Right now, food, clothes and medicine is all I need. That and Orange Crush. And my spine (word to Mike Stipe). And perhaps lots of cigarettes, booze, and fast women. What can I say? I'm high maintenance*.

2) Better late than never: THE LEATHER BALL IS BACK!!! PRAISE THE ALMIGHTY**!!! In other, less exciting news, the Miami Heat are sub .500. The fuck?

3) Mark Whalberg was nominated for an Oscar for his role in The Departed. Ummm...Great movie, great acting, but Marky Mark is barely in it, and his performance, which amounts to him hamming it up by acting a first-class asshole who swears a lot, is the least noteworthy of the starring ensemble. Jack Nick totally got screwed.

By the way, is there a year that goes by when Judi Dench is NOT nominated?

4) I can think of only ONE better way to use one's hands than this.

5) Jason Kidd.

Until next time. I'm gonna go get drunk and eat something living***.

* Did I spell that word wrong? If so, fuck it. No time for spell checking, Dr. Jones.

** AKA Steve Nash's bleeding hand.

*** No, not a penis, Mr. Funnyman.

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Grand Theft Auto

Save Tiberious:

Thursday, January 18, 2007

This is how the industry you work in ends...

...not with a bang, but with a whimper.

I, for one, will miss print media, and not just the paychecks either. I think Garrison Keillor does an excellent job outlining the appeal of newspapers here ( I can't say it any better, so I'm not going to try.

But I can't help but notice that GK wrote his little ode to the newspaper online, which leads me to wonder...

Et tu, Brute? Et tu?

Saturday, January 13, 2007

Spiritual Fibrosis

With the -possible- exception of Denz, it would seem as if we here at Psychedelic Kimchi are a collection of lazy bastards. As of late, we haven't been posting much, and readers (all twelve and a half of us) may be wondering just what the future holds for Black Sabbath's illigetimate Korean offspring, and by extension, the human race as a whole.

Surely, there is reason for some concern. For starters, Elgin Perkins is looking to foreclose on our property, and by god, we've been doing our best to locate pirate gold. That shit takes time, and Kerri Green, so bear with us. Furthermore, while I can scarcely divulge too much information, suffice it to say that:
A) Yes, Doomsday has indeed fallen upon the fair metropolis of Bundang, but let fear not beat upon the breast of the faint: Superman never dies, he merely takes a breather. Call it a hunch.
B) Speaking of catastrophe, some folks have been whispering about the demise of Pyeongchon's resident champion, but again, do not abandon all hope just yet. During his absence, I promise to hunt down the venomous perpetrator at any cost, and chances are, it shall be a bitter, visceral confrontation upon Subway Line #4.
C) You may be weary of the comic book allusions, and that's cool, because the rest of the Psychedelic Kimchi crew have merely been enjoying the holidays -and/or numerous trysts- and are thus otherwise distracted, albeit momentarily.

In lieu of anything pertinent, I offer to you, dear readers, a few nonsensical ruminations.

First of all, whatever happened to Irene Cara? I mean, she was on Hit Me Baby 1 More Time, but who gives a fuck about that? For that matter, some may question my ability to give a fuck about Irene Cara whatsoever, and that's a valid question. My response is, invariably, to posit the sheer greatness of the masterwork that is Breakdance. Don't hold out on us, Irene, we know you have another hit in you.

Second on the agenda, Catharine Maria Sedgwick. This rant does not pertain to her body of work; as A New England Tale is "woman's fiction" (forgive the brief quotation of Nina Baym, as we're looking at round six of Jack Daniels here), and Redwood, while mildly interesting, does little to arouse modern sensibilities, to say the very least. Even Hope Leslie, Sedgwick's premier work, isn't that spectacular overall, but it does provide us with a few intriguing characters. I can't help but wonder about Everell Fletcher's role as the colonial, prototypical player extraordinaire. Here's a guy, seemingly a garden variety chump, with three women that pine over him like it's going out of style. The eponymous title character, Hope; the stout, perpendicular Puritan, Esther Downing; and the articulate, cool-as-fuck Magawisca.
Throughout the aforementioned novel, Sedgwick presents Fletcher as a strait-laced douchebag, and yet the three female protagonists fawn over him like he just won the goddamn Price Is Right Showcase Showdown. Esther, for example, is tempted to forego (or forgo, if you're like that) her religious convictions, while Hope is, well, just a cliche, and Magawisca, she gets her arm chopped off (by her own father) for being in love with the guy. Still, at numerous points throughout the text, the best Fletcher can manage are gems like "I might have loved [Magawisca]-might have forgotten that nature had put barriers between us." Good work, dick.
I understand that you were a lifelong spinster, Miss Sedgwick, but there's no need to portray every single male as a vacuous, obtuse piece of shit. On the other hand, Sedgwick, I should be thanking you for the creation of Magawisca, who was, arguably, the greatest female character of nineteenth century American literature. Note: This should be the topic of a secondary, 'meaningful' post, perhaps, but my brain has been akin to Swiss cheese as of late.

Thirdly, a ponderation: Hard to Kill or Die Hard, which can be overplayed more? I've enjoyed my sojourn here as much as any random foreigner, but still, what is with Korea's fascination? Don't even get me started on Castaway. During my initial stint in a Korean hagwon, a guy was hired based upon the fact that, in his photo, he (to paraphrase) 'looks like Tom Hanks, from Castaway' and no, the guy looked nothing like Mr. Hanks, whatsoever.

Last, and most decidedly least, the Sonic Boom. Where would 1993 be without it?


Hati (asterisk-free and writhing through every minute of it)

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Denz vs 2006 (A Year in Review)

One of my weaknesses is television 'year in review' wrap-ups. Montages of the best and worst of the year backed to sentimental music (invariably a Coldplay track these days). As a somewhat enlightened man, I imagine that I should be able to transcend these cheap transparent appeals to sentimentality and/or ratings, but I can't get enough of them. If that makes me a media muppet, then string me up, Jimmy.

With that in view, and given Sparks in Hiatus 2.0, I have decided to take up arms and commit my own montage to the year of 2006 and, in doing so, pen the first kimchi for the year Two-Bond. [(c) denz 2007].

My random musings begin, of course, with everyone's favourite jack-off medium - the internet.

Best online development of the year: Erm..
*crickets chirping* - Um... how about a lifetime achievement award for porn? You know what, aside from the resurrection of the PK, the internet can go fuck itself.

Worst online development of the year: Video Blogs
Damn those V-Blogs or whatever they are called on Youtube (and their associated drama bombs). Honestly, as a fan of words, I love a decent blog. But watching some heavily edited narcissist film his or her opinions is just a bridge too far. Honestly, why aren't these the people getting car-bombed? Pareto optimality anyone?

Runner-up: asterisks.

Worst realtime development of the year: Desensitisation to Iraq.
How we came to tolerate this clusterfuck, I'll never understand. Our capacity for emotional and moral atrophy knows no bounds. And at 3000+, the administration has fucked more Americans than Wilt Chamberlain.

Runner-up: The de-evolution of the Sports Guy.

Best realtime development of the year: Bush

Por... wait... Knowing that the reign of Bush will soon be over. It is my sincere hope that history paints him as the most incapable and deleterious leader of all time. We all know he'll get off. Nevertheless, I'm counting the days until Obama in 2008. What's not to like about Barak?

Runner-up: Porn


Best Book: The Road - Cormac McCarthy
Up until a few days ago, I hadn't read any book published in 2006 that had blown me away. It wasn't until my dear old Ma sent me McCarthy's book as part of a Christmas package that I discovered the one and only contender. Much has already been penned about this book, but I'll leave it to the book itself to speak for its force:

He walked out in the gray light and stood and he saw for a brief moment the absolute truth of the world. The cold relentless circling of the intestate earth. Darkness implacable. The blind dogs of the sun in their running. The crushing black vacuum of the universe. And somewhere two hunted animals trembling like ground-foxes in their cover. Borrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it.

Best Not Quite Book: Tuvalu - Andrew O'Connor
I wanted to give homeboy a chance. He's an ex-ESLer repatriated Australian much like myself, but Tuvalu felt ... ehh... If Number9dream was Murakami lite, Tuvalu is like diet, decaffeinated, sugarless David Mitchell zero. But props where props are due; the man went out and won the Vogel. Which is one more than I have. O'Connor: 1 v 0 : Denz


Best Movie: Children of Men
It's a rare thing to feel both transported and connected to a film set in the future, but Alfonso Cuaron brings it home like a god damned DeLorean. Wonderfully shot, well paced and just flat out intelligent. The religious undertones might irk some, but the last sweeping one-take action sequence is divine.

Runner-up: The Departed
Another exceptional film. Damon and DiCaprio nail it. Looked great, felt great and ... *headshot* ... oh yes.

Best Performance: Monica Bellucci in 'Combien tu m'aimes?'
I'm not sure if this is classifed as acting, but when a performance from an actress leaves my own wife somewhat flushed... well... you get the nod. Honourable mention to Holly Valance in DOA. I have to represent.


Best in Show
Nate Robinson's block on Yao.

Worst in Show
Carmelo Anthony - don't even get me started on how flatout lame Melo is in for cold clocking Collins and running away like a big girly girl. Watching the Sports Guy attempt to justify Melo's actions only made it worse.

Best in Hoops
Aiight. This is for my boy: Rebound

Best Fantasy Pick-up: Marques Colston
Things started out fairly awkard for me this season. Drafting Willis McGahee (busted), Chris Chambers (bust) and Caddy Williams (nothing but a buster), things were looking wrong, well wrong. In week 1, I picked up a little WR by the name of Marques (erroneously registered as a TE by the good folk at Yahoo!) and promptly brought my fantasy season to life. Granted I got Saddamed in the semis, but hey - it's all swings and roundabouts.

Best Story: Drew Brees and the New Orleans Saints
As much as I love hoops, there really isn't any better sports story than a dumped and injured Brees signing with the Saints and becoming an MVP candidate, drafting R-Bush, unearthing Colston and just completely turning around a city that was dead in the water. Inspiring stuff. Makes you wonder if the NFL didn't somehow plan this all along... and not just the draft picks/signings, I'm talking about the Hurricane. Voodoo, baby. Sing with me...

Runner-up: Amare 'Microwhat?' Stoudemire.


Skillz has his rap-up wrapped up on Myspace and the AV Club also provided their usual great review of music in 006. My thoughts? Nah, never that. Instead, some random songs that you should own:

Best Drinking in the Flatbed: Space City - Drive-By Truckers
Best Life is Good: Love Generation - Bob Sinclair
Best Suicide Watch: Anything off 9 by Damien Rice

Best Kickflip: Lupe Fiasco (turns out I was outdrafted like a motherfucker)
Best Sophomore Slump: When You Were Young - Killers
Best Narrative/Onion Reference: Shaky Dog - Ghostface
Best Driving Song: The Witch - The Broken Keys
Best Rehash Beat: Hiphop is Dead - Nas (Thief's Theme anyone?)
Best Ressurection Beat: Jay-Z - Kingdom Come (had to dust off the hammer / damn can't touch this...)
Best Black Keys: Your Touch - The Black Keys
Best Love Song: I Called You Back - Bonnie Prince Billy


Best Death: Irwin/Hussein (tie)
Both were batshit insane, both died doing what they love (Irwin in the wild. Saddam in the execution chamber), and both had their death videos become the top rated search on YouTube. That, my friends, is how to live and how to die. (I heard Saddam said 'Yeah, fuck all ya'll' in Kurdish just before they dropped him like a sack of Tikrit potatoes).

Runner-up: The Knicks.
Who will continue to die for the next three or four years. Now that's a dynasty, baby.

Best Hope for World Peace: The PS3.

Best Babe:
Another sterling year for women - Cheryl Tweedy, Emmy Rossum, Autumn Reeser, either one of those Rihanna/Ciara/Amerie girls, Yukie Kawamura and Risa Shimamoto.

Got milk?

Runner-up: Ayame Misake.
The Japanese World Cup girl would have taken home the entire pig if it wasn't for the Lohan Precedent (Translation: A brother has to stay out of Folsom, right?).

Best Hero: Harry Kewell.
Even my wife loves you, Harry.

Best Villan: Fabio Grosso.
So help me god, if I ever see this man in the street I will string his arse up like Mussolini.

Arrrgh. I can't even stand thinking about this again. I'm still gutted. You know what... fuck 2006.

Happy 2007, expletives.