Ondal or Offdal?
damn, i missed my appointment with prof garland. oh well. it was a long day, yesterday. The Professor's House Party World Tour 2002 is going good but this lifestyle can become quite draining. I made a mistake in a previous entry about Prof Brenner's thing. It was actually yesterday. The day before yesterday was Prof Garland's party. I would talk about her place and the party but I don't feel like it. Nothing too interesting happened anyway.
Prof Brenner's house was nice. I rang the bell, announced myself, she answered. I gave her the requisite kiss on the cheek and asked where everybody was. she said they're in the garden. the garden? i went to the back with my glass of cab sauv and entered "the garden." it was nice. that is all. uh, she lives in a 3 story townhouse. the roof has a nice trellis and she's growing lettuce. the roses are blooming. we ate well. i got my wine on. me and e-dog joked around a lot, talked shit to each other. he bounced a little early cuz he said he had to meet up with this girl. later on, i crossed paths with him at a crosswalk. i didn't see him until the last minute and when I yelled at him, he didn't seem to notice. anyway, met up with choiboi later on and his ass was late as usual. it was wack cuz the girls gave us shit later on cuz we were late but whatever.
man, this entry is ddong. i am going to quit. i think i'm gonna take a blogging vacation. bye.
Thursday, May 16, 2002
Wednesday, May 15, 2002
Monday, May 13, 2002
Hit and Run
The kid was lying on the street like a dead fish.
About two minutes earlier, he and his friend and girlfriend were coming out of a Korean bar on 32nd Street. So were we. It was me, my brother and DK. I had said something about the bar sucking or something like that and the kid said some shit that I don't remember but it was like subtle shit talking.
His friend sensed that some beef was brewing and he was like c�mon man, he�s drunk, blah fuckin blah. We get outside and we're on the sidewalk and the shit talker is talkin' shit to my brother, all the while this little dummy is yappin in my ear. Then all of a sudden the guy takes a swing at my brother.
I see that shit and it�s all over. I jump him, get him in a choke hold and take him down and DK and my brother start beating him down. It was all instinct. All I remember is hearing my voice yelling "Kick him in the face, kick him in the face..." It really didn't sound like me, i guess it was a combination of adrenaline and other shit. Kinda scary, I�m a lover not a fighter.
Anyway, his friend does absolutely nothing and after like 30 seconds we get up and run away. My brother is a damn lawyer, he doesnt need to have an arrest record. We look back and the kid was still lying on the ground motionless. He was probably in 
Here is a recreation of the events as they unfolded.
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(e) 
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(g) 
Prequel
I was staring at some girl cuz she was cute and she said, "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT?!!" The end. DK, hook us up with the pics...hahaha.
Sunday, May 12, 2002
Friday, May 10, 2002
Thursday, May 09, 2002
Wednesday, May 08, 2002
We went to our adjunct professor Steven Silverman's high-rise apartment yesterday for my Cultural Affairs class. He's got a really nice place way downtown, about 1 block away from the WTC. Steven is the editor of People.com and he really knows how to get his wine on. The shit was flowing freely and his red face got even redder as the night went on. It was pretty strange, though, the two guest speakers were: a correspondent for the London Times who loved talking about himself rather than the business, and some lady who works in advertising by day and freelances stories mostly about New York's black elite, mostly to New York Magazine. whatever. I liked Silverman's dog Koko. It was a chocolate lab who liked to play tug-of-war with a chew toy. I entertained the crowd when I lifted Koko up into the air as she was hanging on to the chew toy with her teeth. Steven couldn't stop talking about that shit. Anyway, today I'll be going to the townhouse of my other adjunct professor, Marie Brenner, later this evening. I heard it's mad opulent. Uh, yeah.
Tuesday, May 07, 2002
Monday, May 06, 2002
Dreamweaver
I have weird dreams.
In the first, i escape from prison by swimming away. i had picked the lock on my leather shackles and make it home. when i get to my house (my childhood home) I look in the windows and it feels like i'm sneaking back into my house after a night of drinking. and of course, just like that shit, right when i finally decide to walk in my house my mom pops out of nowhere and greets me. I consider lying briefly and then i just tell her I escaped from jail. Instead of getting mad she's all business. She's like, do you want to flee to Korea? I was like, uh...yeah. so I find myself putting shit in my backback on this hilly street and for some reason i decide to railslide this big ledge. and instead of doing a railslide, i'm grinding and it's the smoothest move i've done in years, it feels like tony hawk on playstation. bah.
In the second dream, will smith is presenting for the soul train awards when all of a sudden he breaks from his speech to honor sheryl crow and ronald reagan for being great republicans. he was like, "10 years ago, sheryl was up for an award for republican teens and blah blah..."
yeah, i'm a weirdo.
Kery James - Attaque contre Attaque - "Hardcore son esprit parce que la vie est une tasse / Pas question de baisser mon slip m�me si je veux brasser des liasses / Mon concept est direct, il refl�te ma fa�on d'�tre..."
Tony Touch f. Wu-Tang Clan - RZA - "Murder rates increases, bullet holes the size of fifty cent pieces / Don't worry about the weed or pussy, I read books / I'm liable to mate ya king with three rooks / You see the Wu W raised in black fists / Maybe Tony Touch, Concord needle will scratch this / The ice cube link you bought, from the Jew for 80 G's / was only appraised at fourty-two..."
Fugazi - Burning Too - "We are consumed by society / We are obsessed with variety / We are all filled with anxiety / That this world would not survive..."
Sunday, May 05, 2002
The real choiboi
nice work, buddy.
K.J. Choi of South Korea watches his shot from the fringe of the sixth hole during the final round of the Compaq Classic in New Orleans, Sunday, May 5, 2002. Choi parred the hole and went on to win the tournament by four strokes with a 17-under-par 271 to become the first South Korean winner in PGA Tour history. (AP Photo/Andrew J. Cohoon) |
Beat Street
Why is it that every time I get drunk and there is a dance floor I always feel inclined to break dance? Who knows...but perhaps I'm getting better at refraining from being an idiot. Yesterday at the Bowery Bar I started to do some shit but stopped right before getting down n dirty with the groundwork. That place was aite. Not really my scene, though. Too many corporate types which made sense b/c Orly is like that herself. She's takin her series 7 soon and she's workin at some hedge fund...anyway, it was her birthday and so i went with teri and i got drunk. the end.
Friday, May 03, 2002
Rears of the Year III
check out that little kid in the way way back with the white shirt on(b/w butts far right and second from right)...he has his hands clasped together in gleeful joy....
Korean models pose for a group of photographers on a riverbank in Cholwon, north of Seoul, on April 28 during a promotion for the film "Mago". REUTERS/Jason Reed |
Downtown Brown
Tina Brown was the guest speaker for the last of the Delacorte Lecture series. The place was packed, a lot of non J-school students showed up. I was annoyed throughout the lecture by one of my fellow students sitting two rows in front of me, some ex-Israeli soldier turned journalist. He and his girlfriend and their damn PDA. It didn't help that he had plumber's butt. I mean, I'm okay with PDA but there is a time and place. Bar? fine. Sidewalk? sure. Grad school lecture? Yasser says no, sir.
And he also kept looking at the back of the room every 30 seconds and every time he did his stupid girlfriend would follow his lead and look. Later i would find out that he was looking out for his friend, who ambled in about 45 minutes after we got started. whatever.
Anyway, Tina had prepared a long ass speech about how she got started as a reporter for The Statesman before moving on to edit the Tattler in London. She then moved to New York to resurrect Vanity Fair (she talked at length about the risque naked Demi Moore cover), then how she moved on to the New Yorker and finally Talk magazine and its inevitable demise. It was a nice lecture with a handful of snorts, a few titters of laughter, and an occasional chuckle burst.
When question and answer time came up, none of the audience was asking questions. Prof Navasky who was moderating stalled for time and it was at that point that i decided to step up. (richard) Prior to that, a question flashed through my mind. I rehearsed it in my head for about 15 seconds and walked 6 inches to the mic (i was sitting right next to it).
the gist:
"Hi. I have two professors this semester who used to work for you. I'm not going to name names but it's Jim Stewart and Dave Blum. (laughter). Damn, what was I gonna say. (laughter). Oh yeah. We've also had a number of guest speakers in my classes who have also worked for you at various publications and we talk about how to pitch stories to magazine. What do you mean when you say a story has to be "hot." (laughter). I mean, they've explained it a bunch of times but I still don't get it." (laughter).
Tina replied with some shit and talked about an example of a story that was to her, "hot." It was something about nuns, I don't remember exactly.
I guess this needs an explanation. Among writers, Tina is known for only wanting buzzworthy stories which she classifies in two categories of "hot." T-hot or V-hot. Too/Very. I still don't get it.
Anyway, a bunch of people gave me props as we were drinking beers at the West End. In conclusion, I'm hot.
Padma Lakshmi, Salman Rushdie and Tina Brown at the publication party for Martin Amis' new book-photo by:Dave Allocca DMI |
The Wannabe Cane Kicker
So there I was, heading to the Taco Bell on 95th and Broadway. As I'm walking in, this bum with a cane asks me for some change. I'm on autopilot so I proceed to ignore him.
"Give me a quarter. Hey Hong Kong! Hong Kong! Give me a quarter!"
I open the door to TBell and he realizes he doesn't have my attention so he throws in for good measure, "fucking faggot."
It doesn't really hit me until I'm in Yo Quiero what this piece of shit was saying. I start stewing. I hate agressive bums.
Several different scenarios I fantasized about while waiting for my food: got any change africa? ... yeah, here's your change...throws quarter on the ground...punches bum in his face....kicks bum's cane...glares at bum...bum is deranged...bum is agressive...bah.
Armed with all this shit, I walk outside with my burrito supreme and mad packets of Fire and look for the bum. He's hobbling down the street saying over and over to some gay guy in a gay sweater, "Just one quarter, man, just a quarter..." I'm kind of disappointed I wasn't able to put this bum in his place but then I realize what a lose-lose situation this whole situation is. I start walking in the other direction looking at this shit over my shoulder and as the bum finally gets his hard-won quarter from the guy gay, I say, "Fuck."
Thursday, May 02, 2002
The Real Rear of the Year
For your viewing pleasure:
This was taken in Flushing, Queens. Me and my photographer Sandy (i like calling her my photographer but she's really just a fellow Columbian) went out to take pictures for my KoreAm article on the korean murder thing with tae wook and friends. We were about to hop on the LIRR to go back to manhattan but decided to eat at this place cuz we heard they had the best buns in new york. but we all know who really has the best buns....bah
They are making it into a cover story. I'm scared.
Wednesday, May 01, 2002
Cat Nap
I fell asleep for 30 minutes watching "The Cat's Meow." Here's the busted ass movie review i wrote for my Cultural Affairs class. It took me 72 minutes to complete it. In other news, I received Second Place for Best Trend Story for my Britney Blog piece of shit I wrote last week...Prof Garland pointed to my shit as an example of incorporating one's own voice into a piece. I have discovered that in order for people to think your shit is distinct all you have to do is write 'urine' and 'pee' and you're gravy...
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Although mostly dripping with the moral corruption, guilt, and ambiguity of a 1940s film noir flick, The Cat�s Meow is a film that takes on characteristics from several different genres -- the result of which is a movie that lacks a consistent mood throughout and leaves the audience seeing the same scenes done a dozen different ways.
The movie, released by Lion's Gate Films, revolves around the mysterious 1924 death of the man credited with creating the Hollywood studio system, Thomas Ince (Cary Elwes), aboard the extravagant yacht of media mogul William Randolph Hearst, who is played by the multi-faceted Edward Herrmann.
The meat of the film takes place between two pieces of bread. The top bun is when Hearst�s famous guests, including Charlie Chaplin (Eddie Izzard) and actress Marion Davies (Kirsten Dunst), board the yacht for a weekend to celebrate Ince� birthday. The bottom bun is when Ince is wheeled off on a gurney, a bullet lodged in his brain.
Jennifer Tilly is mustard. She plays a ditzy yet resourceful Louella Parsons, the legendary Hearst gossip columnist, and she provides both comic relief and just the right amount of flavor to keep things from getting bland.
The ensemble cast has director Peter Bogdanovich giving us all the elements of a murder mystery but with no murder, at least not until the end. This seemingly backwards approach leaves the audience not trying to figure out whodunit, but when who will do it and why he is taking so damn long. Indeed, the most interesting scenes in this film occur in the last half hour, after Ince is shot.
While Bogdanovich mostly fails with creating an engaging narrative as he attempts to delve into the historic scandal that unfolded during the weekend cruise, the strength of this film lies in the complexity of his characters, particularly with Herrmann�s portrayal of media ogre Hearst, who is referred to as �W.R.� by his stuffy Hollywood peers, but more affectionately as �Willie� by his youthful mistress Marion Davies. Hearst�s obsessive desire and jealousy sometimes borders on lunacy, but is countered with vulnerability and finally, the pure power Hearst has over others, both in the media and interpersonal relationships.
Dunst delivers a solid performance as the starlet Davies and seems right at home playing the ing�nue. With her classic Hollywood good looks, Bogdanovich makes a wise choice in casting her. Although Dunst radiates with almost na�ve prettiness, her intelligence and sometimes-devious motives are communicated through her eyes. Eddie Izzard plays a charming and self-assured Charlie Chaplin -- the man Hearst suspects Davies is having an affair with -- but does not play the lechery to the hilt which the role requires.
The film�s dialogue is sharp and witty throughout; sometimes cleverly annoying but for the most part simply clever. The scenes between Hearst and Ince as they negotiate ways to eliminate Chaplin from the equation and other devious arrangements, crackle with double meaning and contributes to the overall dark feel of the film, despite the gaiety of their continuous flapper parties and dancing of the Charleston.
In a similar fashion, the dialogue, the actor�s performances and the direction Bogdanovich gives them all contribute to the general mood of the film and the result is one big double entendre that will leave impatient movie-goers irritated. But for those who hunger for allusion, innuendo, and other shady elements dessous des cartes, this film will satisfy.
-30-
I give this movie 3/5 ddong balls.
