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Friday Night Musings

Okay, I haven't been blogging so much lately, and when I have, it's been some drunken ramblings or videos of dumb rock bands or youtube clips from TV shows that you may or may not have see.

I can't blame anyone who may have stopped reading.

So I'll try a post tonight, on this Friday night (Saturday morning, actually). It's sweltering here in the Chez de Showbiz. I've kept the air conditioning off as I generally use it as a last resort. It drives up the power bill and is foul and unnatural. I much prefer an open window, but that subjects me to the din of traffic hissing from the overly busy street below, as well as a dusting of deisel fume grime and toxic worksite dust from the half-formed apartment city across the way.

This is my fifth year here on THE PENINSULA (good Gawd), and July is always the month of wet misery, as the monsoon always hits on the seventh month. This year has been wetter and nastier than any I've yet experienced, with torrential rain and punishing muginess slapping us down on a nearly daily basis. Yesterday morning was the worst I've seen. The rain came as an all-encompassing, grey mass, turning the streets into literal rivers. I limped my motorcycle through the wadis on a crosstown ride, testing out my new rain gear, revelling in the chaos of mother nature. While I do no jig when a Bangladeshi cyclone drowns thousands, I sap a certain satisfaction when mother nature cold cocks us and shuts down our shit. Anytime that school is cancelled and businesses are closed due to weather is a great time to get drunk, laid, or both. Such events awaken our primal instincts. They remind us that all of this concrete and glass and plastic we've constructed are flimsy materials at best; that our systems of economics and government are fragile institutions; that our dependable utilities and well-stocked stores may not always be so.

As far as writing, it's one of those things I do in spurts, like other unmentionable habits. It seems that I've become minorly "discovered" here in Korea, and I'm now being asked to pump out content for a number of semi-obscure websites and low-budget publications. I say "yes" to them all and am even sometimes paid paltry sums, but this all takes away from blogging time, in theory. I now have a backlog of about four articles that I've promised to deliver in the next week. Oops. I made a boo-boo. But this is OK. I work well with deadlines. They're about only thing that really make me work.

But I love this blog. It's all over the map. It's never included in any "Korean blog rolls" - it gets no respect from the K-blogosphere literati. It's silly, angry, irrelevant, drunken, self-indulgent, and rarely ever deals with "Korean issues." But I know that it's well-read and, at times, well-written. I like it because it's pretty much "performance writing." I love writing, but I'm a performer first and foremost. I actually like audiences. I like response. I have no interest in obscurity.

The real truth is that lately I've been teaching my ass off and spend the remainder of my time chilling with my girlfriend (세지야), or getting caned down the pub. That's it, really. Writing is a solitairy venture, and I find myself alone less and less these days, despite the fact that I live solo with two cats, both of whom have the common courtesy not to bite me or claw up my leg when I'm typing at the keyboard.

In more SHOWBIZZY NEWS...

I've been back on the comedy stage, of late. I consider this to be a good thing. Two weeks ago I did gigs here in Busan and Gimhae, and tomorrow I'm doing another show in Seoul, at the Kabinett Wine Bar/Restaurant in Itaewon. This thing has been pimped in all of the English-language press and is sold out, with a 50+ person waiting list, or so I'm told. I'll go do my thing and probably get drunker than a hundred Indians afterwards, which is really par for the course for any trip to Seoul I make, if the truth be told... which is the only thing I know how to tell... truthfully.

The Rise, the Fall, the Return: Day 2, 3, 4


I am remiss that I have not been posting to this very much. But, you see, I have rode nearly 300 miles (and counting) and am now in Clarks Summit, PA, sporting a lovely peeling red nose, a very sore bum and a lot of good pictures.

I will add more later to this when I am not tired, but I will give the briefer:

Day 2: The Rise. Everything went well until the two-mile hill (which, really, was four. They lied on the cue sheet!). I had to get off the bike a walk it a couple times but I completed it and, finally at the top and with a swath of open down sloping road ahead of me, hooted like a drunk at a baseball game.

Day 3: The Fall. In the parlance of cyclists, I bonked. Badly. Should have done 73 miles today but was only able to pull in about 50. Got picked up at two points and dropped off at later rest stops. The last time I felt like a complete zombie and just wanted to go to sleep on the side of the road. A fellow rider gave me Emergen-C and, who knew?, that stuff works! Completed the last 17-mile stretch into Owego, NY.

Day 4: The Return. I'm back, baby! Despite record low temperatures this morning (46 degrees when we left the hotel at about 6:30), as well as some nasty hills, the first rest stop not being until mile 39, and another rider breaking his femur, I got through 80 miles of New York and Pennsylvania country relatively unscratched. I mean, I wouldn't scratch much on me right now; the sunburn would make me cry.

Tomorrow is Clarks Summit to Stroudsburg, PA, through the Endless Mountains...


The church graciously let us use their bathrooms.

—John Dunphy

Drink Drink Drink and Be Ill Tonight

Happy Bastille Day.

I love the French. I do. They know how to enjoy life - they get down with serious food, wine, and general chillment/relaxation that is only dreamt about in America. They also are obstinate and will put their shit on the line for an ideal. Some of them are very liberal (which is awesome), sometimes too liberal (which can chafe sacks), but guess what? There are still some (maybe many) French who are just slightly to the left of Himmler. Perhaps the existence of real fascists in France causes a reaction. Perhaps they have a real and tangible history with the said -ism.

But France intellectually laid the groundwork for the founding of America. They also supplied the troops and navy to really get the job done. Yeah, without us, they'd be speaking German. But without them, we'd be spelling color with a "u." Remember this, all of you knee-jerk patriots who busily chowed down your "freedom fries" while deriding the French during GULF WAR II: without THEM there wouldn't be an US, or U.S. And, by the way, like our Canadian friends, they were right in sitting out this whole Iraq clusterfuck. If only the British could say the same...

I love France because I like long vacations and plenty of drink. I love France because they birthed Moliere' - with whom I share a birthday - who took the piss harder than any Englishman of his day DARED. He laid the groundwork for mocking hypocrisy and pumping out proper satire. He killed everyone, and his plays are still produced globally, and almost always kill WAY HARDER than Shakespeare. Shakespeare's tragedies and histories are genius, but Moliere's plays are straight up WAY FUNNIER than the best of Shakespeare's comedies. They just get more laughs today. They're more relevant.

I say this only as a far away fan. I've only visited France once, and that was in transit. I probably spent one hundred minutes total in the country - on the way there, and back. I took the Dover-Calais ferry and was greeted by a frowning moustachioed man in a foreign-legion cap. I still got my stamp and continued on a bus through the Gallic Nation, until I reached the great flatlands of Belgium.

But France is important, as fucked up as it is. They set a certain bar for the West, and I should think that we can learn a thing or two from them.

July 14th also happens to be a certain ex's birthday. She is most definitely NOT French, and here is my present to her:

Go Bananas for Woody Allen at the Busan Cinematheque


Woody Allen

WOODY ALLEN RETROSPECTIVE

When: July 26 – August 23

Where: Busan Cinematheque

The Busan cinematheque is hosting a Woody Allen retrospective, showcasing 18 movies from the filmmaker’s fruitful career. The selection is a pretty representative sample of his overall work, although it blatantly disregards the late-period of his life. None of his most recent films made the cut. Here’s a list of what’s on the program:

Take the Money and Run (1969)

Bananas (1971)

Everything You Always Wanted to Know about Sex But Were Afraid to Ask (1972)

Sleeper (1973)

Love and Death (1975)

Annie Hall (1977)

Interiors (1978)

Manhattan (1979)

Stardust Memories (1980)

Zelig (1983)

Broadway Danny Rose (1984)

The Purple Rose of Cairo (1985)

Hannah and her Sisters (1986)

Crimes and Misdemeanors (1989)

Radio Days (1987)

Another Woman (1988)

Bullets Over Broadway (1994)

Deconstructing Harry (1997)

For screening information, please visit http://cinema.piff.org/main/theater/month_list.asp

Mudfest - After the Mud

No muddy pictures to see here

..... yet.....

daytime photos will appear after I visit the cute couple at the camera shop.
_______________________________________________________


Last weekend I dragged the new girl onto a very tacky pink bus at 7am where we spent the following 6 hours with drunk girls who passed out in stranger's laps, boys who peed in bottles, and far too many chain smoking waekookins - all this we endured for the chance to spend a day and a half running around some small Korean seaside town in the middle of nowhere dousing ourselves in mud.




It looked a little something like this .....
Photo thanks to the lovely Fran.

After we rinsed off all the mud we ran into some familiar faces ...




.... while the West Virginian shot some guns....



.... then sang songs .....



I gave it a go .... but trying to sing Blondie when the lyrics are written in Korean .... there are some things even short shorts can't do.




After twisting and shouting and dancing and singing some of the wild ones went out for a little late night skinny dip. I - being the square that I am - stayed behind and had my own little dance party on the beach. Then these guys showed up with a girl wearing bright yellow Chucks and pulled the balloon down from the sky.







Things started to get a little strange when we crashed the second noribang party.
Our new friends weren't so much fans of clothing ... or in some cases underwear ....








Good ol' Rhylon kept the party PG.




No night of drinking is complete without soju and loitering outside the FamilyMart ... and on this perticular night the new friendly face we met belonged to the tallest man in Korea, who also happens to be one of the nicest.




Night over.
Time to sleep on the floor (there were no beds...just floors).
Next day back to the bus ... the never ending bus ...
Poor new girl was all tuckered out.












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