One of my students is excited that "the handsome one" endorsed Obama.
He sure waited until late in the game (shades of USA in World War One? Methinks he's hoping to get a VP undercard for tipping the balance.)
Ever notice how the music running through the heads of every aspiring composer who appears in a movie sounds like a movie score? Why don't they make movies about musicians who want to be avant-garde junkyard/power-tool percussionists, or experimental industrial electronica found-sound mixers? It's so totally unfair to all the great musicians who don't like "Oooh" choir synthesizer effects and soaring violins and low-voiced women "aaah"-ing over low, echoing digeridoos and double-bass reverb.
Point in case: the music doesn't start until the 2:00 point, but . . . An American Symphony
by Glenn Holland/Michael Kamen
Mr. Holland should definitely have gotten into movie scores.
I like the way the music playing in someone's mp3 player changes the way they walk down the street: instead of a normal gait, it's just so much more fun to walk behind an elbow-flapping, wrist-flopping, neck-craning disco-strutter. . . until the next song comes on (which is also entertaining, if they go, say, from Miles Davis to Metallica)
Next: It's funny how the tiniest thing -- getting just the right amount of sugar in your starbucks coffee -- can be all it takes to turn the corner and make a good day into a very good day.
Met a German dude on Friday night named Rainer who gave me this view on American football.
"It's not a ball. It's shaped like an egg. And you don't control it with your feet, you control it with your hands. It should be called Hand-egg, not Foot-ball."
I want to write a story about a guy who names his car "the Bull" just so that he can say, "Mess with the Bull, you get the horn." Har har har.
Quote from a twelve-year-old I know: "I'm the only kid in my group of classmates who's never had a boyfriend or girlfriend. Even Jeremy had a girlfriend back when he was in First Grade, but he says he didn't really know what love was back then."
Girlfriendoseyo took me down with a zinger a little while ago, while we were hanging out with her best friend. (Guess she was fronting or something.) On the odd fact that every old lady in Korea adores me (or at least my curly hair -- the young ones are hit and miss, but every old lady wants to know if it's a pama [perm]): "Roboseyo, the old Korean ladies like you because you have the same hairstyle as they do."
--which is true. One of the most shocking "Didn't expect Korea to be the same as North America THIS way" realizations I had was in my first year, when I realized Korean old ladies do exactly the same thing with their hair as western old ladies: cut it short, perm it, and dye it blue (optional). For comparison:
some Western old lady hairdos:
Some Korean old lady hairdos:
I've been busy as anything with certain important but boring, unbloggable tasks that aren't fun to write about, but cause computer-screen overkill and freon wave headaches or whatever it is that you get when you spend too much time in front of a computer (self-generated mad cow disease, perhaps? Fear the spontaneous spongiform!) so I haven't yet had a chance to flesh out the essay, "Five Things I'd Change About Korea," with links and funny pictures and soundtrack buttons, though I might do that this weekend: the text is complete, it's just a matter of getting it blog-friendly, link-rich, and fun.
Meanwhile, had a funny student day last Thursday, one in my public speaking class who refused to follow instructions and just tell the darn story, and instead made Aesop's fable, "The Ant And The Grasshopper" into a weird gay fetish fantasy, and then another student came into my next class half-cut, about two beers into his night of drinking, answering questions this way:
(it was a business English class)
Me: "How much money does the CEO of IKEA have?"
HDS (half-drunk student) "True wealth is not money. For example, I have God, and because of that, I am truly wealthy."
Me: "Next question."
HDS (to another student): "Celia, you are beautiful and charming."
Celia: Uh. . . thank you?
Me: So, uh, page ninety-eight, everyone?