12.30.2007
2007 RiskBall World Champions, Da West Side Nasty Riddims
Here's what happened: my team was okay. I talked some trash. My team became awesome. I crushed all of my opponents. I will spare you the details of how awesome my roster played in the Super Bowl, but Jesus may have been throwing to Anquan Boldin.
12.06.2007
Da West Side Nasty Riddims: Born Champions
In a television interview Ji-Soo Park responded thoughtfully to the question: Do you think that your fantasy football team, Da West Side Nasty Riddims, truly belongs in the postseason, given that its roster is headed by a lackluster Peyton Manning and is otherwise composed of inconsistent has-beens?
"If our squad resembles a bunch of pretenders, we offer this defense: we, the royal first person plural, have squeezed every drop out of that squad. We have barely outscored our opponents by a total of 4.3 points the entire season (1182.8 to 1178.5), and yet managed to pull off a 9-and-4 record. We fielded Kenton Keith for all of his breakout games, and had the balls to pick up and play Kenny Watson from free agency when no one had heard of him. We found Nick Folk off waivers and saw more points from him than some top running backs on other teams. In the wildcard round, we are starting the unknown Fred Jackson (Buf) at running back and Bryant Johnson (Ari) at wide receiver. We are finely tuned to the celestial harmony and confluence of injuries to regular starters, the politics of a season close to its end, and other beautiful circumstances that can lead to a miraculous performance. You will watch SC and marvel at this "unexpected" performance. You may bother to look him up in the league, and see that we have already invested, and have already enjoyed the returns. We will dissect your hopes and burn your dreams, because LaDanian Tomlinson is going to the bench in the third quarter near the postseason, and you will watch helplessly as I play Kyle Boller (playing for Manning, also benched for the playoffs) for four hundred yards, three passing and four rushing touchdowns against the Dolphins."
"If our squad resembles a bunch of pretenders, we offer this defense: we, the royal first person plural, have squeezed every drop out of that squad. We have barely outscored our opponents by a total of 4.3 points the entire season (1182.8 to 1178.5), and yet managed to pull off a 9-and-4 record. We fielded Kenton Keith for all of his breakout games, and had the balls to pick up and play Kenny Watson from free agency when no one had heard of him. We found Nick Folk off waivers and saw more points from him than some top running backs on other teams. In the wildcard round, we are starting the unknown Fred Jackson (Buf) at running back and Bryant Johnson (Ari) at wide receiver. We are finely tuned to the celestial harmony and confluence of injuries to regular starters, the politics of a season close to its end, and other beautiful circumstances that can lead to a miraculous performance. You will watch SC and marvel at this "unexpected" performance. You may bother to look him up in the league, and see that we have already invested, and have already enjoyed the returns. We will dissect your hopes and burn your dreams, because LaDanian Tomlinson is going to the bench in the third quarter near the postseason, and you will watch helplessly as I play Kyle Boller (playing for Manning, also benched for the playoffs) for four hundred yards, three passing and four rushing touchdowns against the Dolphins."
12.01.2007
License to be really abstract
In a radio broadcast Rothko responded thoughtfully to the question: Are not these pictures really abstract paintings with literary titles?
"If our titles recall the known myths of antiquity, we have used them again because they are the eternal symbols upon which we must fall back to express basic psychological ideas. They are the symbols of man's primitive fears and motivations, no matter in which land or what time, changing only in detail but never in substance....Our presentation of these myths, however, must be in our own terms which are at once more primitive and more modern than the myths themselves--more primitive because we seek the primeval and atavistic roots of the ideas rather than their graceful classical version; more modern than the myths themselves because we must redescribe their implications through our own experience....The myth holds us, therefore, not through its romantic flavor, not the remembrance of beauty of some bygone age, not through the possibilities of fantasy, but because it expresses to us something real and existing in ourselves, as it was to those who first stumbled upon the symbols to give them life."
"If our titles recall the known myths of antiquity, we have used them again because they are the eternal symbols upon which we must fall back to express basic psychological ideas. They are the symbols of man's primitive fears and motivations, no matter in which land or what time, changing only in detail but never in substance....Our presentation of these myths, however, must be in our own terms which are at once more primitive and more modern than the myths themselves--more primitive because we seek the primeval and atavistic roots of the ideas rather than their graceful classical version; more modern than the myths themselves because we must redescribe their implications through our own experience....The myth holds us, therefore, not through its romantic flavor, not the remembrance of beauty of some bygone age, not through the possibilities of fantasy, but because it expresses to us something real and existing in ourselves, as it was to those who first stumbled upon the symbols to give them life."
11.22.2007
I give thanks for a tropical future
Predictably the night air is chilly, though later this year than usual. We are tempted to suggest global warming. We are promised a divine climate, though not soon. This is a present to our many descendants. Right now, we still have autumn, and soon, the end of life as we know it -- winter.
11.21.2007
Well this will make perfect sense
A question of necessity, maybe. Killing time,
in the eyes of some. My mouth calls it sleep.
When possible you will transmit the message
corporeal, carrying a presence and a distinct smell,
marked by fine pores that invite counting.
The recipients will know why we are here.
We are here for now, and for good.
in the eyes of some. My mouth calls it sleep.
When possible you will transmit the message
corporeal, carrying a presence and a distinct smell,
marked by fine pores that invite counting.
The recipients will know why we are here.
We are here for now, and for good.
11.12.2007
11.07.2007
11.06.2007
11.01.2007
Anita, Swedish Nymphet: A Synopsis
Anita is a tortured soul. She offers herself up to nearly every man she passes on the steet, but these encounters yield her no pleasure. The Johns turn out to be minutemen, averse to commitment and occasionally abusive. She wants nothing more than to stop, but she cannot. Slut is a powerful addiction.
Only one man understands. He encourages her to fulfill her urge. She finds a crack/heroin den full of degenerate men, takes off her clothes, and proceeds to know entire neighborhoods of men and women.
I hate to ruin the ending for the few out there who have yet to see this masterpiece, but Anita's wanton slut binge cures her of her addiction. And when she finally lies with the genius who suggested the rumspringa, she has the gall to claim that this is like her first time.
Anita, virgin is not a state of mind.
Only one man understands. He encourages her to fulfill her urge. She finds a crack/heroin den full of degenerate men, takes off her clothes, and proceeds to know entire neighborhoods of men and women.
I hate to ruin the ending for the few out there who have yet to see this masterpiece, but Anita's wanton slut binge cures her of her addiction. And when she finally lies with the genius who suggested the rumspringa, she has the gall to claim that this is like her first time.
Anita, virgin is not a state of mind.
8.28.2007
7.16.2007
In short
It is all over now, and amazingly I am back in my room, where I started. It seems important to summarize this particular moment. Five weeks ago, I was right here. Four weeks ago, I was in Aruba, just off the coast of Venezuela. Three weeks ago, I was on Ko Tao, in the Gulf of Thailand. Two weeks ago, I was in Pai, northeast of Chiang Mai near the Burmese border. One week ago, I was in Maui, in the foothills of the huge Haleakala. Now I am right here again, and it's as if nothing has changed.
What did I do? I walked, sweated, read, ate, and occasionally talked. I tried to make sense of the Thai people I met, most of whom were serving me in one way or another, unfortunately. I looked for authenticity -- whatever that means -- and stole glimpses of it when I was quiet enough. People lived in Thailand, and I wandered through its streets as if in a museum. To the Thai I was the exhibit, but not a terribly interesting one.
I followed routes familiar to travelers. They were many, and I was among them, but I was mostly alone. This was what I had wanted, but a few weeks into it I could not tell anymore and began to wonder if I had overjudged my affinity for loneliness.
I spent a lot of time in planes, trains, and buses. I was usually in my best mood when on the move in these vehicles. It became easy to explain why I was on a trip like this. Why do I travel? Because I am on a train. The train moves through the dusk and heads out toward the countryside. The conductor pulls out the berths and spreads out the linens. The shoreside towns pass by my window unseen. The destination is tomorrow, and until then I am moving through space.
In the end, I craved the company of familiar people, and I was fortunate enough to have a stop with old friends on a lonely but familiar group of islands in the Pacific. People need people: was this what I had sought to learn? Maybe, although I have always needed people, and anyway I should resist these urges to distill spans of time into a point. So here are some other lessons learned, and epiphanies realized: Thailand is hot and humid, and I sweat incredibly when eating; Thai people are small and beautiful; I need to learn how to ride a motorcycle; Bangkok as a city needs to be air-conditioned; the underwater world is amazing at night; Germans speak excellent English and make superior divemasters; the French do not hate Americans, but reject all things American; huge geckos do not feed on huge spiders, but both may still eat people; upper berths are better than the lower and night trains are better than the day; Pai has good pizza, and soon Tee will no longer run Bebe's; I have the ability to bore myself at will; Asian airlines are superior to American ones; centipedes bite people, and take a long time to die; Genghis Khan sure fathered a lot of babies, from central Europe to east Asia; the altitude and the chill of Haleakala may turn your arms numb, but the sunset over the clouds and the star show that follows are beautiful enough to trigger an episode of soul searching.
Still, I am not sure what to make of anything I did or saw in the past month, and that is probably good. Let us resist interpretation. Let us welcome uncertainty.
What did I do? I walked, sweated, read, ate, and occasionally talked. I tried to make sense of the Thai people I met, most of whom were serving me in one way or another, unfortunately. I looked for authenticity -- whatever that means -- and stole glimpses of it when I was quiet enough. People lived in Thailand, and I wandered through its streets as if in a museum. To the Thai I was the exhibit, but not a terribly interesting one.
I followed routes familiar to travelers. They were many, and I was among them, but I was mostly alone. This was what I had wanted, but a few weeks into it I could not tell anymore and began to wonder if I had overjudged my affinity for loneliness.
I spent a lot of time in planes, trains, and buses. I was usually in my best mood when on the move in these vehicles. It became easy to explain why I was on a trip like this. Why do I travel? Because I am on a train. The train moves through the dusk and heads out toward the countryside. The conductor pulls out the berths and spreads out the linens. The shoreside towns pass by my window unseen. The destination is tomorrow, and until then I am moving through space.
In the end, I craved the company of familiar people, and I was fortunate enough to have a stop with old friends on a lonely but familiar group of islands in the Pacific. People need people: was this what I had sought to learn? Maybe, although I have always needed people, and anyway I should resist these urges to distill spans of time into a point. So here are some other lessons learned, and epiphanies realized: Thailand is hot and humid, and I sweat incredibly when eating; Thai people are small and beautiful; I need to learn how to ride a motorcycle; Bangkok as a city needs to be air-conditioned; the underwater world is amazing at night; Germans speak excellent English and make superior divemasters; the French do not hate Americans, but reject all things American; huge geckos do not feed on huge spiders, but both may still eat people; upper berths are better than the lower and night trains are better than the day; Pai has good pizza, and soon Tee will no longer run Bebe's; I have the ability to bore myself at will; Asian airlines are superior to American ones; centipedes bite people, and take a long time to die; Genghis Khan sure fathered a lot of babies, from central Europe to east Asia; the altitude and the chill of Haleakala may turn your arms numb, but the sunset over the clouds and the star show that follows are beautiful enough to trigger an episode of soul searching.
Still, I am not sure what to make of anything I did or saw in the past month, and that is probably good. Let us resist interpretation. Let us welcome uncertainty.
7.11.2007
Fishbowl
The underwater
world: amazing, forbidden,
full of unseen rocks.
Head over heels in the underwater world
A rarely seen marine mammal called Bjorn
Friends in matching yellow
world: amazing, forbidden,
full of unseen rocks.
Head over heels in the underwater world
A rarely seen marine mammal called Bjorn
Friends in matching yellow
Bangkok, the return
The Oriental: a slight upgrade from my prior Bangkok experience
The rare tuk-tuk piloted by a member of the fairer sex
Good night, Bangkok. Good bye, swift river.
7.05.2007
Buddha in Chiang Mai
Why did the monk cross the road?
Temple detail ...
...
...
The title of this post was a pun, see.
7.03.2007
Pai Pai
The above title requires some expanation. Despite all the Pai-derived puns that stand as business names around town -- e.g. Pairadise, Pai in the Sky, Apple Pai -- the Thai pronunciation is more similar to Bye than to Pie. So there it is.
I can easily see myself a happy resident of Pai. And I have been quite happy as a short-term visitor of Pai. But the town does not encourage the middle ground, and I am ready to pack up my earlier judgment and move on. The routine to end all routines threatens to become too routine.
Had I six months to launch a whistling career in the cafe circuit of Pai, falling in with the mix of good-but-not-too-good musicians from all around the world, I would really love it here.
But I am on the outside. I am just another face getting off the bus only to get back on the bus in a few days. I am neither a hippie nor a honeymooner. I am Korean, but unlike most Koreans in town I am not entirely from Korea. There are few Americans to speak of.
So I am out of here before I get tired of this lovely little place. I have been armed with some rudimentary Thai cooking skills that I am eager to unleash back home, where I will hopefully regain my former appetite for Thai food.
Tomorrow: bus back to Chiang Mai, where I will try to acquire a bamboo saxophone. I have some more time in Thailand, but I am very much looking forward to Hawaii.
Let Wok! Put in hard vegetables! Taste now! Take off heat!
I knew it was time to leave when scenes like this began to seem routine
I can easily see myself a happy resident of Pai. And I have been quite happy as a short-term visitor of Pai. But the town does not encourage the middle ground, and I am ready to pack up my earlier judgment and move on. The routine to end all routines threatens to become too routine.
Had I six months to launch a whistling career in the cafe circuit of Pai, falling in with the mix of good-but-not-too-good musicians from all around the world, I would really love it here.
But I am on the outside. I am just another face getting off the bus only to get back on the bus in a few days. I am neither a hippie nor a honeymooner. I am Korean, but unlike most Koreans in town I am not entirely from Korea. There are few Americans to speak of.
So I am out of here before I get tired of this lovely little place. I have been armed with some rudimentary Thai cooking skills that I am eager to unleash back home, where I will hopefully regain my former appetite for Thai food.
Tomorrow: bus back to Chiang Mai, where I will try to acquire a bamboo saxophone. I have some more time in Thailand, but I am very much looking forward to Hawaii.
Let Wok! Put in hard vegetables! Taste now! Take off heat!
I knew it was time to leave when scenes like this began to seem routine
7.02.2007
Wish you were here
The beauty of Pai is that it is more or less the same every day. The sun comes up; there is a five-minute rain; the temperature rises, and the dogs curl up in the shade; hippies get off the bus and mill around town with their backpacks; one drinks a coffee, maybe a shake, listening to some blues or raggae in an open-air bar, talking to the resident Thais about where one comes from, where one is going; the sky gets crazy, there is another five-minute rain, and then the light falls on Pai like Buddha's fingers through the clouds; there is dinner to be had, not just Thai food but pretty good pizza, pasta, burgers, and even Tex-Mex; live music starts to get going around town, and one sits in a cafe while chewing the fat with some random German or Brit about nothing much at all; then, as one heads back to the bungalow on the ridge across the river, the air cools down and the frogs begin their nightly chorus. This may sound boring, but it is completely fulfilling. This is a routine to end all routines. And as much as I enjoy wandering around by myself, I do wish I could share this with people I love, because there is much more to feel here than to describe on a keyboard.
Today I am learning how to cook Thai food with Bebe, a chill dude with a kitchen and a stereo pumping Cake as we pound away on our curry paste. With me are Paul and Joanne, a couple from the windward side of Oahu. The morning session covered the curries, and my Mussaman was more than serviceable, even delicious, if I may say so myself. And after stuffing myself with our creations, I am headed back to my porch for an afternoon nap; we will gather again in the evening for rice, soups and salads.
Foot on hammock. Note the flip-flop injuries.
There are only so many pictures you can take from a stationary position on the hammock.
For a man who practically invented ascetic life, Buddha's got a lot of ornate monuments under his view.
The sky above Pai gets pretty crazy.
I cannot resist a picture when I walk this way in the late afternoon.
Today I am learning how to cook Thai food with Bebe, a chill dude with a kitchen and a stereo pumping Cake as we pound away on our curry paste. With me are Paul and Joanne, a couple from the windward side of Oahu. The morning session covered the curries, and my Mussaman was more than serviceable, even delicious, if I may say so myself. And after stuffing myself with our creations, I am headed back to my porch for an afternoon nap; we will gather again in the evening for rice, soups and salads.
Foot on hammock. Note the flip-flop injuries.
There are only so many pictures you can take from a stationary position on the hammock.
For a man who practically invented ascetic life, Buddha's got a lot of ornate monuments under his view.
The sky above Pai gets pretty crazy.
I cannot resist a picture when I walk this way in the late afternoon.
6.30.2007
Pai
The non-air-conditioned bus to Pai, a bargain at about $2.50
Climbing bus
My bungalow at Pairadise.
Pai, and the mountains beyond
Monkey, dog, laundry
Chumphon to Bangkok to Chiang Mai
One nice thing about the 24-hour trip was that I had plenty of time for pictures.
Train to Bangkok coming into the station
Second-class upper berth. Were I an inch taller I would not have been comfortable.
Hulamphong train station, 6:30AM
Rice growing under the watch of the big man himself
The central plains giving way to the northern hills
Train to Bangkok coming into the station
Second-class upper berth. Were I an inch taller I would not have been comfortable.
Hulamphong train station, 6:30AM
Rice growing under the watch of the big man himself
The central plains giving way to the northern hills
More Ko Tao
Fishing boats in the afternoon
Divemaster Simsi on the beach after a few spliffs
Ban Chalok in the sun
Big Bubble lounge
Fishing boats home for the night in Chumphon
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