Christopher Walken

I started watching Saturday Night Live when I was about 6 years old. I still remember watching all the old greats doing their thing. I remember watching the Cowbell sketch the very first time it aired. I remember watching Chris Farley dance at Chippendales with Patrick Swayze. And I remember being blown away by the hilarity of the sketches whenever Christopher Walken hosted.

For those of you who don't know. Christopher Walken is awesome.

Here's my favorite.




Who ever knew creepy could be hilarious. He redefines the word. That, to me, is great comedy.

Time's 100 Most Influential People

Today I came home to find that my weekly Time magazine had come and featured on the cover were the 100 most influential people for 2008. Inside were 100 short profiles of innovators, actors, ambassadors and terrorists. As shallow as TIME can be at times, I appreciated the diligence in their selections. But that appreciation quickly faded when after reading, I realized just how ridiculously gushing some of the profiles were. Anytime you have anything written by guys like Donny Osmond and Andie Roddick, you have to expect your audience to come with reservations. Sorry TIME, but I don't order your magazine to hear rich celebrities tell me just how great their rich celebrity friends are. But don't get me wrong. There were some good aspects. I really liked that they asked Bishop Desmond Tutu to contribute and Ben Stiller's profile of Robert Downey Jr. was randomly really intriguing (and well-written might I add). But again, who knows how much of what was actually written made it through editing.

Going back to the most influential of 2008. What I took from skimming through that magazine (since for the most part, that's all that it allowed you to do) was the realization that it doesn't take much to be influential. Bunched in the same group of the "most influential" were humanitarians and terrorists sharing the same pages. And what I mean by "not taking a lot" is that if I were to leave the US, join some militant guerrilla terrorist unit in the middle of nowhere, and go about wreaking havoc on America all the while dropping my name in as many places as possible, I would have a great chance at cracking the top 100 without breaking a moral sweat. Strong moral conviction typically connotes some sort of good, but by definition, it can go both ways. Notoriety and influence are not one and the same. Let's not forget that.

Funny to realize I just rebuked myself through this rant.

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Douche

There comes a time in every young man's life when he looks back on his past experiences and laughs at all of his stupid mistakes. For me, that time is now.

Exhibit A:
I know. That's all I have to say. I know. I'll just cop out and say I was going through a phase, a very incriminating phase. While scanning this picture, it took a total of 2 seconds to come up with a name before I settled on "Fatboy Bangs". My face looks like a damn tomato... with bad hair. My God.

Here are a few more for YOUR entertainment and MY embarrassment.
Look at the woman holding up the peace sign. That's my mom. It's as if she's perpetuating an ongoing joke on me. It's ironic that my eyes are closed isn't it? So oblivious, so stupid, so naive. No wonder I'm the only one that isn't smiling in this picture.


I'm sitting at my computer as a picture-perfect posterboy for a Bud Light commercial. You know those commercials where the guy keeps repeating "dude"? That's me right about now.

But that's not it. You see, most people have that one haircut that they regret for the rest of their lives. I have several.


That my friends is a bonafide mullet. I have nothing else to say. Except maybe that I was a mistake and my mom vowed to make me her very own personal inside joke.

Dancing Queen
As a young man, my mom knew I was a special child. I guess I just really loved dancing... and I guess the Pharaoh was the "it" dance back in the early 90's. As you can tell, my sister is the mature one out of the two of us.

Our relationship in a nutshell

Ditto

Sexual Identity Crisis
Here's an interesting picture, with an even more interesting explanation. My family and I went to a resort with another family and as we were all preparing to go swimming, my mom started putting swim trunks on me. When I realized that I would have to enter a public domain with my nipples exposed, I refused to wear them. My mom tried desperately to save me the embarrassment of wearing a women's 1-piece without the proper pelvic structure (let's not get TOO graphic here), but I adamantly refused and ended up wearing identical swimsuits with my friend Sarah (bottom left). Why the hell did I choose the pink one?

Maybe I should have been beaten more as a child.

It's Not About The Shoes

Maybe it's because I'm young, but I'm a sucker for sports related commercials. This is my new favorite:



FYI- That last clip of Carmelo dunking in high school was against Lebron James' team.

Laughing Just One More Time

I've always been one to laugh at things a little longer than anyone else. Actually, maybe not a little. A lot longer than anyone else. There's just something about good jokes or puns that make my day. If you've been around me long enough, you've probably, at one time or another, asked me why I was laughing. Sometimes I have to catch myself from laughing out loud during class or even church service. I like to laugh, what can I say.

So many times when I was little and my mom would be scolding me I'd have to hold in my laughter at something that happened a week before. Sometimes I'd just laugh at the variety of emotions her face would display as she was screaming at me. Eyes get wider, mouth opens wider, eyes shut, teeth clench, suppress laughter.

Recently people have been giving me crap about killing jokes. And I mean that in the uncultivated asian way. You know: "DUUUUDEE!!! You killed it man!!!!". This is usually followed by an equally idiotic sounding "It's over" or "Don't drag it on". We're not talking about a lynching here people. It's a joke. If you don't find it funny, don't laugh. Maybe you should think about what you sound like when you're saying these things. I like to bunch "You killed it" in the same family as "Fosho dawg" and "Jiyeah!!!". Say those things aloud and ask someone whether or not you sound like a moron. Chances are, they'll say you do.

So before you tell someone they "killed it" (quotations for emphasis), remember that jokes are meant to make people laugh and if one person laughs, then that's good enough. This includes the person telling the joke. Don't flatter yourself in thinking you're special. Chances are, that joke wasn't JUST for you. As far as I'm concerned, anyone else that laughs is just an added bonus. It's altruistic of me really.

I'm with Andy Kaufman on this one. I trusted you.

Finer Things...Not Really

Oscar from The Office once said that, "Besides having sex with men, the Finer Things Club is the gayest thing about me". In my opinion, society at large uses the word "gay" rather loosely. Example, a guy who engages in sexual intercourse with other men would, in most circles at least, be considered "gay". But likewise, a guy who enjoys attending ballets on a semi-regular basis would probably also be considered gay in most, but more exclusive circles. As a disclaimer, I want to say that I neither condone or reject homosexual behavior. In fact, what I have to say has nothing to do with homosexuality. Unless you look at the word in the same way that the word gay is being used nowadays. But that'd just be nitpicking.

Anyways, back to Oscar. The gayest thing about me? Aside from the fact that I rolled and "tussled" with members of the same sex in high school?

Korean drama ballads.

That's right, you read the above correctly. I like Korean ballads. You know, the ones with the Korean guy standing in the middle of a brightly lit stage with some form of dyed/highlighted hair holding a mic? No shame in saying it. Simply put, I like the way they sound. You know that song, "I Believe" from My Sassy Girl? Yeah, I like that one too. In fact, sometimes I listen to it on repeat for hours at a time. Ok, maybe not hours, but a few times at least.

I know, pretty gay huh? Now before I go on, let's get a few things straight:

1. I am NOT a hopeless romantic. God, no. I'd rather be branded "gay" in the frat-house humor sense than be labeled a hopeless romantic which is "gay" in a way that gets semi-serious and thus semi-homosexual in the having sex with men kind of way.

2. I listen to other kinds of music too. I like Shania Twain, Dashboard Confessional and Michael Bolton too.

So in closing, aside from going to cheemjeelbang with groups of 3 or more guys, listening to Korean ballads before I go to sleep is the gayest thing about me.



Don't act like you didn't like it.

Down to Earth Marketing

There's a theory that goes with marketing. If you show people Michael Jordan with Jordans on, they're going to want to buy Jordans because, at least subconsciously, in the dark recesses of their minds, they're thinking: "I can be like Mike". Going along with that, if you show people a video of Tiger driving 300 yards with a Nike driver, people are going to want to buy Nike clubs. You get the gist. It's not very hard to grasp.

Now, let's take a look at the devastating consequences of going against the grain. We'll start with something easier to swallow and work our way into the "nitty gritty" as Jack Black so eloquently called it. All taken from the horrendous American Apparel catalog. 

Here's our first example. Seems harmless enough right? Wrong. This guys looks like he straight up crawled out of a Friday night "Cops" marathon. That's right. Cops. Bad Boys, what you want, what you want. Cops. That empty stare is the type of stare that only middle aged men give children playing in a sandbox and I don't even want to know what his hands are doing in his pockets. If that shirt's going to make me look like a child molester, forget it. I'm not even going to comment on the purple pants he's wearing. And who the hell wears neon blue shirts anyway!??! What the FFFFFF?!?

Same story here. This picture looks like it was taken with my 2.0 megapixel phone camera. Give me a break, if you want me to buy your stuff, at least be classy about showing me the goods. This looks like something my dad would wear after yoga class. You know, those shirts from Korea that all ahjuhshees wear. Yeah, you know.

When I saw this picture, one thought came to my mind: "When's his probation?". I never believed that models had any talent whatsoever until I saw this picture. This guy's stare penetrates you literally and figuratively. No really, I feel violated. Get some damn professional models you idiots, not that guy in my English class who smells like the garlic pizza rotting in my kitchen.

Two reactions to this picture: 1. What the hell is my roommate's crotch doing on the American Apparel website? and 2. Note to self: the words "three pack" should never be put anywhere near the vicinity of a crotch (For obvious reasons). I mean give me a break. If you're going to try to sell me underwear, I better see David Beckham's crotch or "crotchal" region covered by it. Don't show me some guy desperately in need of a tanning bed with a groddy happy trail. If I wanted to see this, I could go to Justin's room and look at HIS crotch. In fact, I think he has this pair of underwear in yellow. 

Can you imagine if this philosophy were applied to sports marketing? John Daly in the new Nike Breathe Muscle shirt? Let's not go there. I understand people hate that Hollywood dictates how they should look and what's beautiful, but do you really want to see some morbidly obese guy with a hairy mole on his inner thigh advertising Speedos? I don't. 

Now, I'm not COMPLETELY against down-to-earth marketing. I think it could work. But American Apparel was way off the dot. 

It's me....Bourne Identity

Matt Damon's hilarious.

Walking the Line

I feel like there's a thin line between being a jerk and having a good sense of humor. I like to think I lean toward the latter, but realize that I'm probably more of a jerk than I think. This past year has been an interesting one because several people have approached me about my "biting" humor as one person put it. Maybe approached isn't the best word to use. Intimated about my abrasive sense of humor. There you go. It's really more of a poking or elbowing humor more than it is jabbing. Not so much meant to hurt people's feelings any more than it is to make people laugh at the expense of others. And I like to think that that expense is a very subtle one. Regardless, if I've ever hurt your feelings, I'm sorry. Keep in mind it was never my intention.

Following in the same pattern of apologies, if I've ever been walking and ignored you on campus or on the street, I apologize again. You see, this year was a year of milestones for me. I finally realized that I needed glasses, or came to the realization that without them I would die. Ever since I was a kid, I hated the idea of glasses. I took pride in being the only one in my family that didn't wear glasses. This continued on until high school when, even though I got glasses, I didn't wear them. Countless near accidents and squints later, I finally walked into Minor Hall and got a pair of glasses and a years worth of contact lenses. So there's your explanation.

It's probably not a good thing that I'm ending the year on a apologetic note, but I felt compelled. So, for the last time this year, I'm sorry you sensitive pansies.

In the Land of Narnia

So I'm sitting at FSM working on a take home final due in 8 hours running on a double shot and a Rock Star. I feel like Peewee Herman right now, pre-pervert stage. I'm as giddy as a little girl. I just texted my sister and told her I love her. Kind of.

Anyways, the reason I write is to tell you about an encounter I had today. Not with a person, but with a fantasy world. So at 5:30, I was talking to Janekoo Chicken online and decided I'd tag along with her and Misoo to the library. I put my stuff down, opened my Rock Star and began writing. After about 10 minutes or so, I felt a slight discomfort in my bladder and made my way towards the bathroom. The mens was locked so I stood there for about 10 seconds before I realized the womens was vacant. It took me a total of 5 seconds to make the decision to use it.

As I opened the door and walked in, I came to 2 realizations:

1. As Andrew would say, I was "selling my balls" to use this bathroom. But I had to go, so I didn't care.

2. Hmmm....something's different here. Why doesn't this place smell like poo. That's right, poo. Not "poop". Poop has an air of finality. The "P" at the end makes it seem as if there's an end. "Poo" lingers. Those two "O"s can go on forever. Poooooooooooooooooooooooooo, you get the idea. Men's bathrooms smell like poo, not roses. I was shocked. I was in Narnia. This place was a fantasy world. No splattered pee (again, there's no end; pee) on the floor. No brown stains on the toilet seat. No "Poo" smell. I imagined Polly Pocket living in a world much like this one.

Of course, being the neanderthal that I am, I was envious. Not jealous, but envious. I sinned. In the words of Ed Norton, "I felt like destroying something beautiful". Let's keep this PG. I'll just say, I defiled that place. F*** You Aztlan.

Ladies, be thankful for what you have. Your bathrooms don't smell like poo, ours do.

That is all.

All right. Back to disability studies and literature.

Good luck with finals everyone!



EDIT
I just used the mens bathroom. When I looked to my left, there was a bloody booger smeared on the wall. Again, ladies, be thankful.