Do not be this guy

A perfect solution for cheap guys looking for any possible means to shave a few pennies.

http://www.themoviespoiler.com/

You can just cuddle up with your honey under a blanket in front of the computer monitor and enjoy the movie experience right in the comforts of your work station chair. At only five minutes needed to slam through a movie, hell, you can go crazy and make it a double-feature night!

V for Vendetta

"Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is it vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished, as the once vital voice of the verisimilitude now venerates what they once vilified. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose vis-à-vis an introduction, and so it is my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V. "

... so begins the introduction of the character, "V," in V for Vengence. While the actual line in the movie went way above my head (picture right hand snapping in a whip above the top of my head) -- that's probably why I never got into the good schools -- it pretty much says what the movie's about. The movie's chock full of very intriguing elements -- anarchistic historical allusions (Guy Fawkes), Wachowski Brother-brand of action sequences, political philosophy, romance, visual spectacles, awesome soundtrack, and of course, the clever lines -- but while it's a very entertaining movie overall, it never really fails to hit it out of the park in any one of these elements to make it into a "great movie" territory. Nonetheless, being somewhat of a history/political-theory buff, I really enjoyed the whole idea behind the movie and had a great time watching it.

Who will enjoy it: Any Wachowski bothers movie fan (I'm not one of them), history buffs, anarchists-at-heart, fans of superheroes wielding sharp-edged weapons, people who enjoyed X-Men more for the political/social message than the visual effects.

Who won't: Anyone who thought Batman & Robin was the best Batman movie, people squimish about holocaust-like images, fans of gratuitous nudity shots (sorry pals, your favorite Harvard graduate never shows skin in this movie -- go rent Closer).

Other random facts:

The movie poster has this cold-war Russian propaganda art feel to it... really cool.
I never realized that it was Hugo Weaving (known mostly for his portrayal as Agent Smith(s) in the Matrix movie series) playing the character of V... also very cool.

Coldplay - Air Canada Centre - 22 Mar 2006

I read in a short interview recently where Chris Martin remarked that: "Everyone's sick of Coldplay. Even we're sick of Coldplay." I think that it was probably a quote that was taken out of context, but regardless, it seems like they're going to be heading back to the studio after the current tour to work on their next album. Bravo!

I think that Coldplay makes magnificent music (my favorite is Clocks). They're so good, in fact, they seem almost over-exposed, to be honest. Most haters eagerly disparage them as being banal for being so popular -- this is often a fallback position that haters take as if disparaging a popular band, somehow, imbues them with with a discerning bohemian sophistication in their musical taste – and to some extent, these poor misguided souls were just, well, misguided. (However, these are probably the same guys who crank the latest tunes from "Now That's What I Call Music!" series in their car audio in the same line of misguided logic.)

Well, any doubts I might personally have had as to how GOOD Coldplay might really be was totally blown away on Wednesday night when I unwittingly* attended their final concert in their current tour in Toronto, 22 March 2006.

*Yes, unwittingly, as my client team's executive decided to surprise our team with a private suite in the Air Canada Stadium and premium seats to the concert, and I only realized the nature of this 'surprise' the client has been hinting at all day (with this certain mischievious twinkle in his eyes) just as I was being led toward a huge crowd outside the stadium... but that's another long story.

On to the concert.

How good is Coldplay? They have so many #1 hits that they can keep the entire audience on their feet, singing along to every single song for the entire two hours of the show. I witnessed countless girls swaying in enraptured pose (closed eyes, face toward the heavens, clasped hands in a prayer pose, obviously communing privately with Chris Martin the entire time), middle-aged guys in faded Pink Floyd concert tees tearing up with the band on their own air guitars, I’m-too-tough-for-this-weepy-crap dudes in frat duds singing along in falsetto to the lyric to Fix You… in other words, everyone was having a good time. Of course, the Coldplay magic simply would not have been possible without the help from section 109, row 12, seat 15; thank goodness I remembered to bring my air drum set.

Every concert for big-name bands always have two elements that sometimes distract from the main venue: digressing into some tribute songs to the musical icon (in this case, ‘till Kingdome Come for Johnny Cash) and a fake ending -- followed by ten minutes of the band’s name being chanted with religious fervor, then the band reappearing triumphantly like the marines to close the concert with a bang. In both accounts, Coldplay hit it out of the park. The tribute part, no doubt, buoyed by the recent commercial success of Walk the Line (kick-ass movie, IMO) –Johnny Cash tribute is a national pastime these days. Bands usually play some weak songs when they come back after that fake exit, but Coldplay went out with six-guns blazin,’ the chorus of Yellow and Speed of Sound still echoing in the stadium as the lights turned up for the audience to exit. Coldplay is good.

Finally, every concert seems to have another element: some jackass wearing an oversized jacket, standing squarely in the field of vision between you and the band, not rockin’ away like others in the audience, not taking the cues to take a seat when the band hits the slow songs (read: “not-so-popular” filler songs), but just standing there stiffly the entire time. Please, do not be this guy. (Note: If you happened to be the guy holding a ticket for section 109, row 11, seat 16, dude, you paid an awful lot of money to just stand there.)
Almost without exception – well, there are some exceptions like Hoobastank and Limp Bizkit (yes, I’m old) – all bands are much better in concert and I’d not hesitate to catch a Coldplay show again. Listening to their albums again after the show, the album recordings sound just way too smoothly polished and delicately produced, compared to the animated energy of their show. (Just imagine listening to the opening chords of Politik banging it out on the piano in the backdrop of frenzied stage lighting driving and ten thousand fans screaming.) Fortunately for me, I’d never be able to listen to a Coldplay tune again without being immediately transported back into the concert in my mind; I just hope that the dude in section 109, row 11, seat 16 does not show up.

Lost in Toronto

A city's downtown -- usually around the financial/corporate districts -- tend to turn into ghost town on Sundays. That's true of DC's government building concentrations, Chicago's Loop, and I'm finding out tonight, Toronto's downtown area is no exception.

First night on my own in a strange city never fails to be a rather lonely experience. (This is usually a common experience for the first week of a new client project, where instead of travelling out on Monday mornings as usual, I often travel out the night before -- Sunday -- to start the new project in a clear state of mind.) Toronto turns out to be a double whammy: clearing customs is not a common experience (makes you REALLY feel like a stranger) and my cell phone doesn't seem to be getting service here. The Web is the only connection I have with my life on the State side at this moment.

After chucking my carry-on bag on the bed and picking up an advertisement-infested tourist map from the hotel's concierge, I stepped into the streets of downtown Toronto. The concierge told me to check out the cafe-lined stretch of King Street, but I ended up walking a few more blocks to Queen Street where I found a much more bustling stretch of 10-15 blocks, full of cool restaurants, ecclectic cafes and inviting bars. I wasn't dressed for the chilly wind and the 30 F temperature, and after about six blocks or so, at every intersection, I was torn between continuing exploring the increasingly enticing-looking stretch of Queen Street or just doubling back and duck into one of the many restaurants I considered along the way. I gave up after ten or more blocks with a vow to resume the exploration on a warmer evening (that is, if the project's schedule permit it).

Fueled by a quick dose of sushi* and warm sake (my choice of first-night-in-a-strange-city dining experience), instead of taking the shortest path back to the hotel, I decided to check out Yonge Street which turned out to be a mistake. The temperature had obviously turned down a notch while I was sucking down my sake with my meal, and after its warm effect has worn off just a few blocks into the mid-March chill, it was a sheer misery, walking about 15 more blocks of what turned out to be mostly deserted office district.

A few more (practical) things I noticed:

• There are A LOT of Subways in downtown Toronto. Quiznos is a close second. There are about two Subways for every McD's.
• Street-cart hotdog vendors a aplenty along Queen Street. This is a promising prospect on the quality of nightlife there; you can always tell that people are having a great time if you see lines for a street dog at 2 AM.
• Tim Hortons (http://www.timhortons.com) seem to be a combination of Starbucks and Dunkin Donuts (e.g. doughnuts and sandwiches served in an upscale decor) and just like Starbucks, there's one in nearly every corner.
• Toronto's got a lot of elements of what reminds me of NYC and Chicago. The way retail shops and office buildings blend into the city scene and some of the more bohemian-looking places remind me of how things appeared to me in Manhattan, but the general temperament (I cannot quite place a finger on it, yet) is closer to Chicago.
• There is a wide diversity of ethnic backgrounds in the residents, and especially for the young (teens/twenties), they seem to be a lot better harmonized -- I spotted a lot of mixed-race couples and groups. Definitely cool.

I can't wait to see how the scene changes once the city comes to life again on Monday morning.

* Is trying sushi in a place called, 'i love sushi' (http://www.ilovesushi.ca/) a bold decision or a stupid folly? True to their claim, the ingrediences seemed fresh (but this, I'll have to see if it's generally fresh in Toronto), but just like most of the offerings from sub-par sushi joints, the rice portion was WAY too large for the size of the fish -- both for the sushi and hand roll -- and they seemed to have tried to compensate for this by making the rice slightly sweeter than usual. They say being crazy is doing the same thing repeately, expecting a different outcome each time. When will I stop being lured in by too-cheap-to-be-good prices on the menus plastered on the windows?

Pretty good reading: The Underdog

"You do not become the first family of sauna by farting your way to the top." (p. 173)

Fortunately, they did not resort to such low-ball tactics, but you'll understand that even if they were to ignored the high road (as if refraining from farting in a wooden box heated to 210 F can be considered that), they'd never have won the The World Sauna Championship. Yes, such contest exists... and so do events such as the Golden Shrimp (a 2 mile race where the contestants run backwards -- and the coveted price is a piece of Parma ham) and US Sumo Open ("... part of sumo's growing appeal is that it gives overweight people a sport to call their own"), among countless other obscure contests that Joshua Davis enters in pursuit to be good at something. More amazing than the quixotic premise behind the book and the profoundly absurd story of the man who seriously applied himself these pursuits with (what seems to be) senseless vigor, is the incredible camaraderie he finds in people whose passions draw their lives in a path that intersects the author's in his journey. This shared passion becomes the key that unlocks the straightest path into people's hearts; Joshua Davis is welcomed into their lives with open heart and overwhelming pouring of passion. He befriends the likes of Maru (one of the most revered grandmasters of Japanese sumo wrestling), Markku (a Finn who owns four saunas in his home) and Veerabadran -- a career clerk in Channai, India -- who, at age 40, set the world record for the most miles covered running in 24 hours: 85 miles!

This was another recommendation by my friend, Marc. It was deep into the story, beyond the cheesy cover, the okay writing and the lotr comical antics, that I realized the true story behind The Underdog as I finally reached the epilogue where Joshua Davis catalogs the latest adventures his friends are tackling... these people never stop seeking new challenges to plunge head-first with heart full of passion. We might call them crazy -- but then again, we're the ones preoccuping too much of our very limited time in our prime years with things too close to matras of 'minimize risk' and 'maximize power of compounding interest' and 'spend less (for others), hoard more (for me)' so that we can pamper ourselves the rest of our lives idly on cruise boats and summer homes, the long years only interrupted by the occasional visits by our children and grand children.

I wonder if we're not spending our every day thoroughly engrossed in something we can pour our utmost passion into, perhaps we're the crazy ones to not notice that there's got to be something more to life than solid retirement plans and strong investment portfolio.

This book is a breezy read -- I read through it in about two hours. Give it a try... at the very least, you'll come away with some good stories to tell your friends.

Say it ain't so!

There are times that I really, really look toward the long flight... especially a home-bound flight after a tough week at a client site. I love the fact that I sit in the midst of strangers who try their best to mind their own business, free of any obligations to answer calls or check voice mail (because you can't!), a pocket of peace and idleness that is interrupted only occasionally to be served beverages or to be reminded that my iPod can crash this plane (obviously, the first type of interruption is more preferrable to the other one). Stepping across the little gap between the jet bridge and the airplane cabin, eyeing my designated seat (preferrably a window seat) as I pass the rows to get to it, I look forward to the two hours of total isolation. Sure, the emails will silently pile up in the Inbox, and text messages and voice mails might force my attention on them when I turn on my cell phone when I land; but for the next couple of hours, to me, everything temporarily suspended and I am just by myself. Lost in blissful isolation.

Today, however, I encountered a disturbing article in the Wall Street Journal about a rather disturbing changes in communication technology and FAA regulations that might enable wireless phone services in flights as early as next year! (similar article here)

Yeah, two hours of being sandwiched between to obnoxious business guys, yapping into their cell phones... NO THANK YOU.

Please don't take away my last refuge from calls and emails...

Self-Portrait, Vincent Van Gogh

Art Institute (Chicago) boasts the biggest public collection of Impressionist works outside of France, but only has two works by Vincent Van Gogh on display. His Self-Portrait (1886/1887) is one of them.

The self-guided audio tour is full of content that explains the works by the other Impressionist masters like Monet, Caillebotte and Gauguin, but it only mentions this self-portrait in passing. For some reason, however, this was the work that really captivated my attention. The concept of self-portrait is an interesting one, but just trying to imagine how an Impressionist artist approaches his own self-portrait provokes a weird connundrum involving concepts such as objectivity (he's an Impressionist for Pete's sake!) and intention. Van Gogh's self-portrait is an eerie one; it's almost as if he is sitting on the other side, peering out at the world inside-out through the picture frame... what is going on in his mind?

Brief surfing of the Internet reveals that in a short period of five years upto his death, Van Gogh produced about 30 different self-portraits; this is one of the earlier ones. He started the self-portraits just when he began to experiment with symbolic and expressive values of colors.

Here's a man who was totally disillusioned from his humanity and spirituality (he was first trained for Christian ministry and lived impoverished in a zealous, literal interpretation of Christian teachings), then found 'God' through his art, but continued to live under extreme poverty (he's sold just one work during his lifetime!), suffered bouts of horrific nervous crisis (this left ear is in bandages in his later self-portrait after his infamous attempt to cut it off), then ended his own life under spiritual anguish and fatal depression. Is there any hint of such inner tumult in this piercing gaze?

Spending an afternoon in Art Institute (Chicago) was a much needed break and I came out with a renewed appreciation for Impressionist works. (Well, in truth, I went just two hours before the museum closed, so I didn't have the chance to browse at anything else.)

Note:

Admission to Art Institute is free every Tuesday, and self-guided audio tour rentals are only $2. Avoid going on weekends unless you prefer peeking at works of art between people's heads and shoulders.

Good bye, idle afternoons

I just got the news that I'm now staffed on another client project and will be starting on Monday. Although the first week will be in Chicago, the rest of the work for the next 2-3 months will be in Toronto. I guess this is the end of my idle week... I'll miss spending the days at the cafes (free wi-fi), poring through books and articles and just idling away. I hope that I'll get enough time to avoid a drought of postings on this lonely little blog of mine...

Wish me luck, friends.

A Cook's Tour: In Search of the Perfect Meal

Anthony Bourdain will probably never be a writer remembered for his mastery of the craft. Not in the sense that you will eagerly attest that Tom Wolfe or David Wallace (or heck, even Dr. Seuss!) to be. His books might make the bestseller list (as his commercially successful Kitchen Confidential has) but the prospect of a literary award in the near future, however, is doubtful.

What he is, however, is a great chef and a gifted storyteller. This ‘great chef’ part is also of suspect, as I have not tasted his culinary creations, and he’s never appeared on any of the ‘Best Chef’ list I’ve ever ran into. His storytelling, however, is of an entirely different matter. His life’s journey as a misfit chef in the culinary jungle of Mahattan is fascinating (as told in Kitchen Confidential) and in A Cook’s Tour, he’s able to tell his stories just the way you’d expect him to be in real life: worldly, wise-crackin’, down-to-earth and most importantly, passionate.

A Cook’s Tour is a book Bourdain’s written on his experience of taking a global culinary tour as a part of film the Food Network’s show by the same name. Instead of touring the Michelin star restaurants or famous eateries, however, Bourdain aims for the kitchen and the soul -- and recounts tales of his pursuit for ‘the perfect meal,’ which he suspects correctly, might only be found in the most unexpected of places. While he also visits a fair share of TV show-friendly places and obliges the production crew’s request for various meaningless, but audience-friendly activities, (video gold, baby!) his best stories come from his experiences that probably never left the cutting-room floor. Fortunately, Bourdain captures them in A Cook’s Tour.

As it turns out, Anthony Bourdain had many a perfect meals on his quest– whether it is a simple meal(?) of mole poblanos in the dusty village of Pueblo, Mexico, or a steaming bowl of pho in Saigon. Along with fresh ingredients, faultless preparation and right backdrop and atmosphere that are crucial in making the meal perfect, what truly distinguishes a dining experience is the passion and heart of those who prepared the meal and share the meal with Anthony. All the nights he gets wasted on vodka (Russia), sake (Japan), mescal (Mexico) or any other concoction offered to him, on the other side of the glass is his generous host – often family members of his associates or other chefs – who bestow upon him the most gracious of hospitality and generosity and come away winning his heart with their simple pride in their country and passion for their culture.

There are many faults, too. For one, stories on some of the locales he’s visited are simply weak and sub par, and his obsession over Vietnam (and the full gamut of Vietnam War references) tends to become annoying after the third chapter on Vietnam (the other countries only get one chapter each). I guess it’s up to the individual’s tolerance, but for me, the good outweighed the bad and ultimately, made this a worthy reading.

Whereas Bill Bryson is probably the better writer of the two, Anthony Bourdain’s book is a much more enjoyable reading -- despite the glaring faults. Whereas Bryson showed how clever he is in dissecting his observations into right-sized portions of cynical humor, Bourdain serves up ample portions of simple observations from the heart.

Notes:

1. I’d recommend Audiobook versions of Bourdain’s books over the printed ones. Anthony Bourdain, as I mentioned, is quite a character and his reading of his own works add an extra touch of his style and personality that really amplifies the ‘reading’ experience.

2. What REALLY won me over about this book is his recount of the trip he’s taken to Puebla, Mexico, the home to many of the cooks who work in his kitchen (this chapter starts with: “There’s a little town in Mexico where cooks come from”). He pays homage to all the Latin Americans who toil endless hours in (seemingly) menial jobs, and in general, not given nearly enough credit for all the things they’ve accomplished; they didn’t just simply settled for spending the rest of their lives cleaning after the Americans – they’ve watched, learned and trained. Were they of a different cultural background (fair, Caucasian complexion also helps), they would have been given a lot more respect. Kudos to Tony Bourdain on this one.

Neither Here Nor There

Bill Bryson writes with exceptionally concise sense of humor, and behind his keen observances and crisp wit, lies a deeply humane heart... so I'd have described my experiences with his other works that I've read over the years, such as A Walk in the Woods, In a Sunburned Country, and A Brief History of Nearly Everything. Enduring through Neither Here Nor There: Travels in Europe, however, was a thoroughly disappointing experience. The only good thing that I can say is that it's the shortest.

Bill Bryson has this great idea to trudge through Europe for the first time in a couple of decades since he's gone on a four-month long backpacking trip in his youth. He starts with Hammerfest, Norway, which is a thirty-hour bus ride from Oslo. In February. Alone. Although his next destination is Paris and his schedule takes him through Belgium, Germany, Denmark, Italy and so forth, (unfortunately for me) things don't get much better for Bryson. Even more unfortunately, he seemed have decided from the onset, to employ his gifted writing talents in a mischievious (and sadistic) drive to make sure that his readers are let in on this wonderful load of misery and gloom.

From my experiences, travelling alone is almost always not preferrable to having company on the road (with the exception that I'd rather be alone than with a disagreeable companion), but an interesting side effect of a solitary travel is that you tend to become extremely observant about your surroundings (probably a good thing for travel writers) and very self-conscious (never known to be the best choice of mindset to lift one's spirits in a foreign land). There are many places where reading Bryson's description -- in its economical yet incredibly effective way -- of the scenery and atmosphere that he encounters, left me very satisfied at being able to find the kind of joy I derive at reading the typical Bryson travel writing; unfortunately, they are often smeared by his incredibly miserable mood and negative attitude. At best, he's able to capitalize on his cynical mood to make a deftly clever remark; most of the times, however, his comments are spiteful, disparaging or downright vicious -- certainly NOT the Bryson I've come to expect.

Through the book, he turns from lonely and miserable, to mildly amused and miserable, pissed-off and miserable -- and finally, as he ends his journey in Istanbul, downright homesick and miserable. Having had great admirations for his travel writings the Appalachian Trail (A Walk in the Woods) and Austrailia (In a Sunburned Country), I started on Neither Here Nor There, thinking Bryson will be a witty and insightful guide to help me get prepared for Europe as I'm planning out my summer travels there; unfortunately, I found myself on a tour led by a guide who seemed to have found out just this morning that his car has been towed, his house has been reposessed, and his wife has ran off with the milkman. There's no sense of wonder and appreciation evident anywhere; just bitter humor and a sulking middle-aged Bryson trudding his way alone through Europe toward Istanbul -- and great surprise: when he gets there, he found Istanbul to be "hot, fetid, airless, threadbare, crowded, old and slow."

I still heartly recommend A Walk in the Woods, In a Sunburned Country and (for the science history bluffs at heart), A Brief History of Nearly Everything. However, if you were to ponder upon picking up this book at the local book seller, leave the copy of Neither Here Nor There on the shelf; the Bryson I know and love is neither here nor there.

Intelligentsia

I live by Lake Michigan on the eastern end of the neighborhood of Lakeview*, with easy walking access to neat little cafes and restaurants. Speaking of cafes, (loosely defined as a business establishment where their main draw is coffee or tea) along Broadway Avenue, there are six cafes en route to the nearest Borders a brisk at the Diversey/Clark/Broadway intersection (less than a mile). The biggest, and by far, the most popular one is Intelligentsia(http://www.intelligentsiacoffee.com/).

Their cafe business is almost ancilliary: they're much more well known around Chicago as coffee roasters, as many area businesses promote the fact that they serve Intelligentsia coffee -- similar to concept of 'We Proudly Serve Starbucks' thing at hotels -- and I found their coffee being served in cafes as far as Champaign, IL. (2.5 hours away from Chicago). Nonetheless, not being a coffee connoiseur, I can only assume that the brew I get is 'pretty darn good'; I can only speak to the cafe experience of dropping in Intelligentia every now and then.

Intelligentsia feels like a large coffee house that you might expect to find on a college campus with ample study space by the tables, comfortable couches, and boisterous conversation-filled atmosphere where you can quickly blend into the scene and be lost for hours (I usually prefer a bustling scene). They constantly grind roasted beans for customers who come to buy them in bulk, so with the usual brewed coffee aroma, you can also detect the distinct scent of ground coffee as you sit at a table.

There are cafes where you might go to seek peaceful solitude and quiet reflection; Intelligentsia, on the other hand is the type of place that you'd prefer to spend a lazy Saturday morning over a newspaper or with a delightful conversation partner, where you'd find warmth and comfort by the chatter of friends greeting each other, the familiar noise of coffee beans constantly being ground and a sense of anticipatory excitement that fills a bustling Saturday morning scene. It's a place that is much better during autumn and winter, where you can step in from the cold, quickly shed your parka, sweaters, scarves and hat, and unwind with a friend over (arguably) the best coffee you can find in Chicago.

Note:

* They call Chicago a city of neighborhoods, as you can identify your residence with a distinct neighborhood name such as Lincoln Park, Logan Square, or Lakeview (just the list the ones that start with the letter, L -- there're a lot of neighbhoorhoods here). In fact, even the most trepid tourist who would not venture out a mile beyond the epicenter of the the most popular tourist attractions such as Sears Tower, Navy Pier or 'the Magnificient Mile,' will have inevitably have crossed several neighborhoods without ever knowing that they did. (e.g. Printers Row, The Loop, River North, Streeterville, Gold Coast)

BTW, speaking of area designations, no Chicagoan ever calls the northern end of Michigan Avenue as, 'the Magnificient Mile.' The very moment you mention it -- say, you're asking to be directed to the fabled shopping district -- the Chicagoans will instinctly label you as a tourist. Nonetheless, unlike the residents of other (read: less friendly) cities, we will not mock you, scoff at you, or look down on you with disdain and open contempt; however, if you were to catch the ever so fleeting look of "hehe, here's a good one, 'the Magnificient Mile' hehe... TOURIST!" a split second before we kindly direct you to Michigan Avenue, you will wish you never asked. Mark my words: never utter the words, 'the Magnificient Mile' in Chicago!

Parody music videos

I find myself on the bench again ('on the bench' is my company's lingo for being in between client projects) and while the uncertainty of not knowing where you'll be tomorrow is a source of growing anxiety -- it gnaws away at the sense of stability and comfortable predictability -- it can also be a welcome time for a bit of respite away from the client site action... which means more time for me to idle away with random musings! (This, strangely enough, is more difficultant for me than you'd think.)

I always fancied having a chance to direct a music video to my favorite songs. (No, it's not anything like some rabid fans' claims that spirits leap from Ricky Martin's lips and touch their souls.) How cool would it be to be able to infuse my own interpretations of a particular song in the overall musical experience?

SNL Digital Shorts have been breathing new life into the stale SNL routines with some roll-on-the-floor-laughing parodies of music videos, featuring the celebrity hosts of the week. This week, it was everyone's favorite Harvard graduate, Natalie Portman:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tQ7bJQGlfJY&search=natalie%20portman%20rap

(this might disappear in a few days, as the other hilarious digital shorts -- such as the Chuck Norris parody has been 'removed by user for site violation')

There are a lot of amateur music video parodies that clog up sites like youtube and google video, but the SNL Digital Shorts definitely trump them all.

Enjoy, my friends!

Idle Saturday evening

I am truly drawn to people's passion... and that can be passion for anything; well, anything excluding malicious, perverted or just plain ol' greedy -- but of course, I have to say that all of these are based on purely subjective judgement. I am known to be of a curious sort, and I can listen to anyone as long as the person has a genuine passion for something. For example, I can probably pick up an encyclopedia, turn to any listed subject and pore through the content with focused fascination. (I think that the last entry I read was on Kyrzigstan.)

Of course, Internet (especially blogs and podcasts) is a terrific place to run into people with passion for all sorts of things, and I can easily get lost for hours if I find a particularly good blog, completely absorbed in whatever the author has to say. For example, just a few minutes ago, I wanted to get others opinions on whether they thought that Godiva's Platinum Collection was that much better than the standard kind, and within a few minutes, I was able to get some interesting takes such as: http://www.chocolateobsession.com/2006/01/review_godiva_platinum_collect.htm#more

A few clicks more, I ran into another fascinating blog: http://www.roboppy.net/food/.

It's a shame that the people beind such curious interests and passion are hidden behind the invisible Internet barrier; how delightful would it be to talk over a box of chocolate or try out some unusual sandwich in an ethnic diner? Well, some more idle thoughts as I'm enjoying a rather peaceful Saturday evening in my apartment -- catching up on the TiVO'ed shows and idly surfing the web while listening to some newly downloaded albums. Life is peaceful in Lakeview tonight.

How life can seem absolutely brilliant for no reason

Ever have a hangover that is SO BAD that when it finally goes away (after an entire day of horrid suffering), your life just seems gloriously beautiful and you're enraptured in a euphoric sense of well-being for absolutely no reason other than the fact that the hangover is mercifully gone?

Yeah. That bad. Fickle creatures. We.