Made in Japan, Outsourced Globally

I have been meaning to get my hands on this, and finally managed to figure out "what" exactly I was looking for (meaning the book. Now that I have seen the website, I am contemplating if it's worth dishing out cash for the DVD).

I think someone mentioned in passing that Ewan McGregor visited the Skull Church (Kostnice in Kutna Hora) in the Czech Republic. I have yet to read that chapter but am enjoying the ride, as I leaf through the pages.

White Rabbit Creamy Candies contain unacceptable levels of the chemical melamine, New Zealand Food Safety Authority and Australian food regulators said Wednesday." (CNN)

"Melamine is commonly used in coatings and laminates, wood adhesives, fabric coatings, ceiling tiles and flame retardants. Some Chinese dairy plants have added it to milk products to make it seem to have a higher protein level. Melamine is the same industrial contaminant from China that poisoned and killed thousands of U.S. dogs and cats last year.

Health experts say that ingesting melamine can lead to kidney stones, urinary tract ulcers, and eye and skin irritation. It also robs infants of much-needed nutrition."

What's even more appalling is that it wasn't just one company -- officials have already found 22 companies that practice this chemical mixing. That's 1 in 5 suppliers! (BBC News)

And you'd think that the non-nutritional fake milk scare in 2004 would have taught the industry something... They didn't stop with malnourished babies with swollen heads, but kept on going with poisoning domestic pets and babies with the consequence of ulcers and kidney stones.

This will certainly change the attitudes of Chinese consumers.

Fringe: Woooow... so not impressed. All the actors seemed like they were afraid to, (dare I say it?) act.
The Digital Switch in Wilmington, NC: Predicting some frustrated old timers in Feb 2009...
Apple's iPod announcements: Jobs looks really sickly (someone, please feed him a tub of lard). Overall, the innovations were baby steps, and the price cuts are telling of the hard economic period ahead.

What is "Pop"?

Pop culture = popular culture

It's interesting how the connotation seems to have evolved over time. Pop culture is "popular" because it is pervasive over the masses, yet the notion seems to be that you want to be slightly above the "masses". When did we become so cool?

The height of this peculiar contradiction (in my mind) was the late 90's alternative rock period. It was 'superbad' to be anti-establishment and un-main stream - which is what everyone was trying to be (and therefore, a popular culture).

When speaking of anti-establishment, there was a time in Soviet Russia that secretly listening to smuggled Western pop music (such as the Beatles) was the hip thing to do. That, however, was less mass pop, and more 'rebel with a cause.' (And the truly cool kids would have underground Gagarin raves, which was even edgier & fringe, mocking nation-state pride for the thrills).

So returning to the original contest of "bubblegum pop" vs. "better than the masses snobbery pop"... Brittney is the former, and Nirvana would be the latter (Cobain probably taking it to the ultimate expression of this sentiment against "selling out"). The connotation of pop culture seems to change over time - more like in a pendulum pattern of soft and hard.

I'm simplifying it too much (fashion, film, fads, celebs... these all factor in too), but I don't think I'm too far off. I just find it ironic.

Strangely enough, I think this all started with an idea in my head that I would rather meet Brian Warner than James Blunt in person (you know, the things you think of laying awake at night). I wouldn't listen to Marilyn Manson but still enjoy having "Back to Bedlam" in my car stereo. Strange, I know.

I may resent the bubblegum pop but am still attracted to it. On the other hand, I'm still in the anti-establishment mindset, wanting to wade slightly above the masses.

I saw Tropic Thunder this weekend (hence the title).



Tribute to Tom Cruise. "A G5 plane....and lots of money....playaaaa!"

Is that... who is that? Jeremy Piven? No... it's... oh... oh...???

It was pretty amusing. And I have to admit, I got a little excited to see the Choke preview. (I fully expect the best double-entendre punchline to make it into the movie - if it's not, the entire movie could be a loss, and Chuck Palahniuk should be ashamed. It's a filthy, wicked line).

-- David Lynch, The Air is on Fire (exhibit at the Cartier Foundation in Paris 2006)

THERAPY

I went to a psychiatrist once. I was doing something that had become a pattern in my life, and I thought, Well, I should go talk to a psychiatrist. When I got into the room, I asked him, "Do you think that this process could, in any way, damage my creativity?" And he said, "Well, David, I have to be honest: it could." And I shook his hand and left.
-- David Lynch, Catching the Big Fish - Meditation, Consciousness, and Creativity

I went into Chop Suey (a local shop that carries used & unique artsy-fartsy books), looking for Banksy. I left the store, minus the Banksy book (although am still contemplating if it is coffee table-worthy since I last saw it in a hip-hop shop in NY), and plus a David Lynch book.

I didn't necessarily know what the book was about, but after leafing through random pages, excerpts like the ones above made me laugh out loud in the store. It was imminent that I needed to buy the book.

The Air is on Fire was absolutely brilliant. A series of disturbing multimedia exhibits on canvas, headache-conjuring black + white films, and an unforgettable wall paper of dissected poultry and fish on the way to the bathroom. An enigmatic brilliance of dissonance and discomfort.

I devoured the book in two sittings. I leaf through it randomly for inspiration sometimes.

Fireflies remind me of summer.

As I jog down to the neighborhood park, I catch the scent.
An earthy, distinct smell.

The nanosecond is packed with the strong, poignant burst of firefly particles.
The air is filled with the bitter-sweet foolishness of youth.

Life of a firefly is surprisingly dim, living as a juvenile larvae most of its life underground or on tree barks.
Then it becomes a 2 week debutant, encouraged by its natural urge to mate. A mad debauchery that dictates its life course, which it probably doesn't even comprehend.

The images conjure contradictory feelings of pity and jealousy.
The poor creature expends its light and energy for that single moment of pleasure. A flashy climax. Lights dim. Curtains close. Then death awaits its atrophied shell.
The last thing it feels is euphoria and assurance that it passed on its legacy to a new life.

The thought fills the back of my throat with a dry, pungent flavor.
Like acidic tannin in a bottle of red that is too young, it leaves its bitter rinds on the palate.
It makes me gag.

I jog away, trying to break free from the spell of summer.
Fireflies - they remind me of summer.