It’s 4:50 AM.
From what I can tell in my groggy annoyance, it’s roughly 90 degrees, the air is steeped in humidity, and the idea that humans have dominion over all animals is just so utterly laughable.
Deer, for example, are quite resilient in the fight to coexist with man. No matter how many of their carcasses have to be picked off SUV bumpers on North American roads, their numbers seem unchecked. NRA types seem to cite deer population control as an argument for the protection of Second Amendment rights. Even if deer weren’t humping each other like crazy as per their biological mandate, they’ve adapted well enough to urban expansion to be sighted prancing about human civilization relatively unfazed.
Pigeons, too, seem unimpressed by humanity. So little are they threatened that they grow fat and complacent from the bountiful offerings of our garbage. Perhaps that’s why street-savvy city pigeons are plumper than their rural cousins. Though the extra cache of flight inhibiting bird flesh may not necessarily be an evolutionary advantage, these fatty pigeons appear to be so indifferent to the rush of traffic that they don’t really see the need to fly.
Then there are cicadas.
In a city that’s as densely steel and concrete packed as Seoul, trees can only take root in small urban-planned clusters. Naturally, it is only in these small urban-planned tree clusters that cicadas can gather in concentrated masses.
When man strips lowlier mammals of their habits, those creatures more often than not perish to the brink of extinction like pandas. When man strips man of his habitat, we get the Trail of Tears à la Andrew Jackson. When man strips cicadas of their habit, these formidable insects retaliate.
And thus cicadas teem along the limited city green, their forced population density trebling the volume of their eardrum shattering cries. Meanwhile, natural selection favors those ungodly cicadas that can be heard over the lurching screech of freight trains and irate commuter horn honking, allowing the loudest of these insects to attract potential mates and further propagate the trait of thunderous boom. Such happy unions then birth the next generation of even louder cicadas to continue this strain of urban Darwinism where the loudest compete with the louder in the most perverse chorus ever conceived:
“Fuck me!” the cicadas bellow lustfully. “FUCK ME!”
I, too, let out a “FUCK ME,” albeit not quite so much as a passionate imperative than as a cry of exasperation. Again, it’s 4:50 AM, approximately three hours since I managed to lull off to sleep in the full swing of the very same deafening cries that have reawakened me. There’s no way I’m going to be able to fall back asleep now.
Fuck me.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
jello and success in america
NOTE: unclear if culture for robots will return to its former level of activity anytime soon, but here's something i wrote for a friends' collaborative blog, those hovercrafts. deviates from my previous style but, oh well.
jello is an american success story. the fact that its key ingredient is the collagen chemically extracted from ground-up farm animal bones makes it even that much more of an american success story. indeed, this unpalatable gelatin of industrial origins has, despite its very nature, come to inspire undiscriminating adulation across all generations over the last hundred years. while there aren’t that many gelatin producers in the world, jello has even earned the ultimate mark of product success: it is a proprietary eponym, a member of the very exclusive club of brand names that are now the generic term for their products (like kleenex or band-aid).
now i’m going to do that thing where i point out some astronomically high number of jello consumption (300 million boxes from kraft a year) so you can be astonished at the power of statistics in conveying the amplitude of long-term accumulation. but seriously. three hundred million boxes of ground up animal bones are purchased to be boiled, cooled and digested in a prismatic array of fantastic colors every year. that’s in the u.s. alone, too. behold, the power of marketing. behold, the power of the culture of convenience.
throughout the last century, jello has ensured that a shrine for its kaleidoscope of flavors is erected in the shelf space of virtually every single american grocery store. it is perhaps due to this ubiquity that jello is also embedded into the ether of american nostalgia.
i am in awe of this product. all the more so that the history of jello follows the telltale tracks of the quintessential american dream. get this: gelatin was first invented and patented in 1845 by this guy:
peter cooper: american hero
cooper was an industrial engineer and inventor who couldn’t really be bothered with this minor blip of a development because he was too busy with things like facilitating the spread of railroads across america and kickstarting the first transatlantic cable telegraph. he later sold off the patent to some cough syrup maker whose wife christened it “JELL-O” but failed to make it catch. it was then sold off again right at the end of the 19th century, then speciously marketed as “america’s most famous dessert” by a man named orator woodward. seriously. the man whose boldfaced lies and over-exaggerated propaganda led to the success of the jello empire as we know it today... his name was orator. awesome.
of course, i’m not the only person in awe of this american success story. the internet is replete with the quirky details of jello history (the jello website is a good place to start). there are hundreds of jello recipe books immediately available to us should we decide to convert to mormonism or are in need of a housewarming gift for the elderly couple that just moved in across the street. then there’s jell-o: a biography, an ode to the birth and life of the curious treat, written by a processed food enthusiast named carolyn wyman.
in expressing personal awe for jello, wyman has said, “think of the kind of imagination and marketing acumen required to make colored and flavored boiled bones a dessert staple. i admire that kind of daring.”
yes, carolyn wyman. that is exactly what we were thinking. too bad she acted first to make jello’s success into her own.
much like her beloved jello, wyman in a way encapsulates the american dream. conventionally speaking, she’s authored six books and continues to write a nationally syndicated food column called the supermarket sampler. but two of those books have the word “spam” in the title while all of them celebrate her diet of eating basically whatever junk food she wants. she claims that the vast majority of her diet consists of frozen dinners, cookies and ice cream. indeed, what stereotypical american doesn’t dream of her lifestyle? especially when you see the following picture of the author:
carolyn wyman: american hero
i mean, i don’t think that her body of works is some big conspiracy to make us all fat (though it could very well get us there). no, the thing that draws me most to wyman is the perceived sincerity of her enthusiasm for foods so diametrically opposed to sustainable, healthy living. yup. she makes a comfortable living off of geeking out about the junk foods she likes. how’s that for success in life?
but be they feigned or mind-bogglingly genuine, her comments definitely raise some eyebrows. in an interview with a website known as snackerrific.com (oh, the glorious internet), wyman has said, without detectable irony, how she feels it’s wrong that “most american schoolkids probably learn more about greek mythology than they do about the snap, crackle and pop characters who stare at them from their rice krispies box every morning - and who are an important part of our american mythology.”
i mean, i guess i’d prefer to gaze upon the dilated pupils of the rice krispies trio than have the juvenile theater of greek mythology -- a pantheon of jacked up superbeings with the emotional maturity of a toilet plunger -- leering incestuously at me as i eat my “most important meal of the day”.
of course, that isn’t quite the point wyman’s making. from what i can tell in my very limited exposure to her writing, such pronouncements of devoted faith in american consumerism are not infrequent and are said with a surprising lack of sarcasm. for wyman, those very inherently american products like rice krispies and jello truly are modern pillars of this country’s indigenous mythology.
don’t get me wrong; i’m not saying we should put her in charge of school curricula or follow her in her lifestyle choices. i just think that she’s onto something when she refers to the significance of these products in our understanding of american culture. and really, anyone whose cynicism doesn’t prevent her from marveling at jello’s historical trajectory is alright in my book. especially when she can translate her marveling into mainstream success.
jello is an american success story. the fact that its key ingredient is the collagen chemically extracted from ground-up farm animal bones makes it even that much more of an american success story. indeed, this unpalatable gelatin of industrial origins has, despite its very nature, come to inspire undiscriminating adulation across all generations over the last hundred years. while there aren’t that many gelatin producers in the world, jello has even earned the ultimate mark of product success: it is a proprietary eponym, a member of the very exclusive club of brand names that are now the generic term for their products (like kleenex or band-aid).
now i’m going to do that thing where i point out some astronomically high number of jello consumption (300 million boxes from kraft a year) so you can be astonished at the power of statistics in conveying the amplitude of long-term accumulation. but seriously. three hundred million boxes of ground up animal bones are purchased to be boiled, cooled and digested in a prismatic array of fantastic colors every year. that’s in the u.s. alone, too. behold, the power of marketing. behold, the power of the culture of convenience.
throughout the last century, jello has ensured that a shrine for its kaleidoscope of flavors is erected in the shelf space of virtually every single american grocery store. it is perhaps due to this ubiquity that jello is also embedded into the ether of american nostalgia.
i am in awe of this product. all the more so that the history of jello follows the telltale tracks of the quintessential american dream. get this: gelatin was first invented and patented in 1845 by this guy:
peter cooper: american hero
cooper was an industrial engineer and inventor who couldn’t really be bothered with this minor blip of a development because he was too busy with things like facilitating the spread of railroads across america and kickstarting the first transatlantic cable telegraph. he later sold off the patent to some cough syrup maker whose wife christened it “JELL-O” but failed to make it catch. it was then sold off again right at the end of the 19th century, then speciously marketed as “america’s most famous dessert” by a man named orator woodward. seriously. the man whose boldfaced lies and over-exaggerated propaganda led to the success of the jello empire as we know it today... his name was orator. awesome.
of course, i’m not the only person in awe of this american success story. the internet is replete with the quirky details of jello history (the jello website is a good place to start). there are hundreds of jello recipe books immediately available to us should we decide to convert to mormonism or are in need of a housewarming gift for the elderly couple that just moved in across the street. then there’s jell-o: a biography, an ode to the birth and life of the curious treat, written by a processed food enthusiast named carolyn wyman.
in expressing personal awe for jello, wyman has said, “think of the kind of imagination and marketing acumen required to make colored and flavored boiled bones a dessert staple. i admire that kind of daring.”
yes, carolyn wyman. that is exactly what we were thinking. too bad she acted first to make jello’s success into her own.
much like her beloved jello, wyman in a way encapsulates the american dream. conventionally speaking, she’s authored six books and continues to write a nationally syndicated food column called the supermarket sampler. but two of those books have the word “spam” in the title while all of them celebrate her diet of eating basically whatever junk food she wants. she claims that the vast majority of her diet consists of frozen dinners, cookies and ice cream. indeed, what stereotypical american doesn’t dream of her lifestyle? especially when you see the following picture of the author:
carolyn wyman: american hero
i mean, i don’t think that her body of works is some big conspiracy to make us all fat (though it could very well get us there). no, the thing that draws me most to wyman is the perceived sincerity of her enthusiasm for foods so diametrically opposed to sustainable, healthy living. yup. she makes a comfortable living off of geeking out about the junk foods she likes. how’s that for success in life?
but be they feigned or mind-bogglingly genuine, her comments definitely raise some eyebrows. in an interview with a website known as snackerrific.com (oh, the glorious internet), wyman has said, without detectable irony, how she feels it’s wrong that “most american schoolkids probably learn more about greek mythology than they do about the snap, crackle and pop characters who stare at them from their rice krispies box every morning - and who are an important part of our american mythology.”
i mean, i guess i’d prefer to gaze upon the dilated pupils of the rice krispies trio than have the juvenile theater of greek mythology -- a pantheon of jacked up superbeings with the emotional maturity of a toilet plunger -- leering incestuously at me as i eat my “most important meal of the day”.
of course, that isn’t quite the point wyman’s making. from what i can tell in my very limited exposure to her writing, such pronouncements of devoted faith in american consumerism are not infrequent and are said with a surprising lack of sarcasm. for wyman, those very inherently american products like rice krispies and jello truly are modern pillars of this country’s indigenous mythology.
don’t get me wrong; i’m not saying we should put her in charge of school curricula or follow her in her lifestyle choices. i just think that she’s onto something when she refers to the significance of these products in our understanding of american culture. and really, anyone whose cynicism doesn’t prevent her from marveling at jello’s historical trajectory is alright in my book. especially when she can translate her marveling into mainstream success.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
robot resolutions
this is officially day 6 of my new decade as a non-smoker. so i post, in fond memory, a rather ornery little piece written about a month ago:
"i smoke. i function at full cognitive capacity, i’m aware of the noxious harms, and i still smoke. get over it.
as many smokers appear to their non-smoking counterparts, i cannot absolve myself of hypocrisy or the admittedly self-destructive behavior. indeed, while i take wicked pleasure in smoking, i welcome any incentive that could override the desire to light up my next cigarette. such incentives may include a lifetime of access to clive owen in his boxers or a deadly yet oh-so loyal pet panther named zephyr, diamond-encrusted collar and all. insofar as such incentives have not presented themselves, i am fine with enjoying a few cigarettes a day. so, yeah, i’ll quit. when smoking fails to meet my sole criterion of personal sensual gratification.
much like the rationale behind my affinity for tobacco, i want the terms of my eventual breakup with the substance to be as self-realized as any decision can philosophically be. yet, this determination to quit on my own terms may actually be protracting my addiction. allow me to explain.
when i can steal off on my own during lunch hours, i make a beeline for my favorite sequestered spot to have a smoke in the heart of the korean capitol district. usually the second of the day. while i am quite pleased to have discovered this enclave far from the standard dwellings of my coworkers, i probably would not have chanced upon it if i weren’t virtually marginalized into it. the sight of a 20-something girl (often mistaken to be 5-7 years her junior) brandishing a lit cigarette in a sea of salarymen and government functionaries is, well, quite jarring for korean social mores. so jarring, in fact, that people will gawk at the offender like they do white dudes in seoul who not only appear to be from another planet, but also seem to have a gravitational pull of their own.
the quick, uncontrollable glances to sate curiosity before aberrations, i can understand and tolerate. the more prolonged stares, i even dare to meet until shame or fear of confrontation compels the onlooker to avert his gaze. but i’ve encountered hostile reactions, namely, sanctimonious, “rhetorical” declarations lamenting how quickly society has gone to shit if girls smoke in public. the unwanted yet unavoidable attention that accompanies my nicotine-indulgence had me longing for respite.
so, i fled the open. went into hiding like a goddamned criminal in the aforementioned “enclave.”
i take precautions just as seriously, too. i’m sure to stand downwind so that neither smell nor falling ash can dwell on my person. a pack of strong peppermint gum lies nestled in my pocket, cozying up to my lighter. hell, i even wear gloves when doing the deed.
so why don’t i just quit? why am i running with my tail between my legs everytime old korean folk get up in my grill about my loathsome lack of morals and etiquette? have i no pride? have i no self-control?
sure, i’d love to quit smoking, but i want to do it of my own volition. i’d rather deliberately destroy my lungs in the face of unnecessary censure and deal with the utter shame of it than quit to submit to oppressive gender norms that liken female french-inhaling to uneducated savagery. i suppose can’t deny that i may be trying justify a personal failing. but it’s not about fixing this failing at all costs. it’s not about accepting the collateral advantages (tobacco-free world) of pervasive evils (pre/proscriptions of female behavior) because i’m powerless to orchestrate massive worldview changes in 23 million people. it’s about having the social freedom to engage in legal activities whenever i damn well please, regardless of my gender.
it is, however, terribly unfortunate that something so good for me had to be subsumed into the framework of female submission. it’s like being told i’m better off dead."
"i smoke. i function at full cognitive capacity, i’m aware of the noxious harms, and i still smoke. get over it.
as many smokers appear to their non-smoking counterparts, i cannot absolve myself of hypocrisy or the admittedly self-destructive behavior. indeed, while i take wicked pleasure in smoking, i welcome any incentive that could override the desire to light up my next cigarette. such incentives may include a lifetime of access to clive owen in his boxers or a deadly yet oh-so loyal pet panther named zephyr, diamond-encrusted collar and all. insofar as such incentives have not presented themselves, i am fine with enjoying a few cigarettes a day. so, yeah, i’ll quit. when smoking fails to meet my sole criterion of personal sensual gratification.
much like the rationale behind my affinity for tobacco, i want the terms of my eventual breakup with the substance to be as self-realized as any decision can philosophically be. yet, this determination to quit on my own terms may actually be protracting my addiction. allow me to explain.
when i can steal off on my own during lunch hours, i make a beeline for my favorite sequestered spot to have a smoke in the heart of the korean capitol district. usually the second of the day. while i am quite pleased to have discovered this enclave far from the standard dwellings of my coworkers, i probably would not have chanced upon it if i weren’t virtually marginalized into it. the sight of a 20-something girl (often mistaken to be 5-7 years her junior) brandishing a lit cigarette in a sea of salarymen and government functionaries is, well, quite jarring for korean social mores. so jarring, in fact, that people will gawk at the offender like they do white dudes in seoul who not only appear to be from another planet, but also seem to have a gravitational pull of their own.
the quick, uncontrollable glances to sate curiosity before aberrations, i can understand and tolerate. the more prolonged stares, i even dare to meet until shame or fear of confrontation compels the onlooker to avert his gaze. but i’ve encountered hostile reactions, namely, sanctimonious, “rhetorical” declarations lamenting how quickly society has gone to shit if girls smoke in public. the unwanted yet unavoidable attention that accompanies my nicotine-indulgence had me longing for respite.
so, i fled the open. went into hiding like a goddamned criminal in the aforementioned “enclave.”
i take precautions just as seriously, too. i’m sure to stand downwind so that neither smell nor falling ash can dwell on my person. a pack of strong peppermint gum lies nestled in my pocket, cozying up to my lighter. hell, i even wear gloves when doing the deed.
so why don’t i just quit? why am i running with my tail between my legs everytime old korean folk get up in my grill about my loathsome lack of morals and etiquette? have i no pride? have i no self-control?
sure, i’d love to quit smoking, but i want to do it of my own volition. i’d rather deliberately destroy my lungs in the face of unnecessary censure and deal with the utter shame of it than quit to submit to oppressive gender norms that liken female french-inhaling to uneducated savagery. i suppose can’t deny that i may be trying justify a personal failing. but it’s not about fixing this failing at all costs. it’s not about accepting the collateral advantages (tobacco-free world) of pervasive evils (pre/proscriptions of female behavior) because i’m powerless to orchestrate massive worldview changes in 23 million people. it’s about having the social freedom to engage in legal activities whenever i damn well please, regardless of my gender.
it is, however, terribly unfortunate that something so good for me had to be subsumed into the framework of female submission. it’s like being told i’m better off dead."
Monday, January 4, 2010
Friday, December 4, 2009
robot fails statistics forever
guess what? U.S. Economy Lost Only 11,000 Jobs in November
what, am i supposed to rejoice? thanks, nytimes news alert. really, breaking news that "U.S. Jobless Rate Falls to 10%"
i'm so tired of blatant statistic manipulation used as a means to alarm/mollify. what does that even mean anymore, 10%? ok, ok, so it's the adjusted rate that discounts those have deliberately stopped seeking employment. instead of 10.2% of the population, only 10% are now fruitlessly job hunting. so how are we even supposed to swallow that as a sign of progress? like, come on. just means fewer people are beating dead horses, while more have come to terms with pony death. i'm never making it back to the states...
this is going to be a long winter.
oh, and also: BOO FUCKING HOO
what, am i supposed to rejoice? thanks, nytimes news alert. really, breaking news that "U.S. Jobless Rate Falls to 10%"
i'm so tired of blatant statistic manipulation used as a means to alarm/mollify. what does that even mean anymore, 10%? ok, ok, so it's the adjusted rate that discounts those have deliberately stopped seeking employment. instead of 10.2% of the population, only 10% are now fruitlessly job hunting. so how are we even supposed to swallow that as a sign of progress? like, come on. just means fewer people are beating dead horses, while more have come to terms with pony death. i'm never making it back to the states...
this is going to be a long winter.
oh, and also: BOO FUCKING HOO
Monday, November 23, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
happy pepero day, y'all!
in a highly unusual turn of affairs, i will actually address culture in this post. a sweet and hilariously manufactured bit of culture, but culture nonetheless.
you may be familiar with the wildly popular pocky, a simple, delicious confectionary concept created in the whimsy-prone land of japan:
in minute contrast is the south korean pocky knock-off, pepero, a product of korean corporate titan lotte:
while chocolate-covered pretzels are not exactly difficult to sell, capitalism will tell you that more is always better. which is why, in a moment of marketing inspiration, lotte declared the 11th of november (11/11, or four pepero sticks), official pepero day, to boost sales and make mo $$$$$.
the practices of this "holiday" entail the "cute" and "fun" exchange of pepero sticks with loved ones, prompting masses of people to clean out grocery and convenience stores alike of their delicious, chocolatey stock. of course, this is just as laughably bogus as valentine's day, but at least it embraces and trumpets its sheer commercial intent, rather than trying to justify itself through religious hagiography or retardedly fanciful notions of love.
koreans seem to praise (pay$$$$$$$$$$) lotte for coming up with such a clever marketing campaign for their product. but in addition to the pepero sticks i've already received today, i've also been gifted two cylindrical rice cakes, complete with packaging that basically declares: "november 11th is cylindrical rice cake day! share the love (and the monie$$)! xoxo, the national agricultural cooperative federation of south korea." well, if no one's copyrighted the whole "1 = some long object" idea, we may just as well turn to our neighbors and cry, " happy arne duncan's face day!" or, "happy starved african child legs day!"
on that note, i bid you farewell, and happy erect penis day!
you may be familiar with the wildly popular pocky, a simple, delicious confectionary concept created in the whimsy-prone land of japan:
in minute contrast is the south korean pocky knock-off, pepero, a product of korean corporate titan lotte:
while chocolate-covered pretzels are not exactly difficult to sell, capitalism will tell you that more is always better. which is why, in a moment of marketing inspiration, lotte declared the 11th of november (11/11, or four pepero sticks), official pepero day, to boost sales and make mo $$$$$.
the practices of this "holiday" entail the "cute" and "fun" exchange of pepero sticks with loved ones, prompting masses of people to clean out grocery and convenience stores alike of their delicious, chocolatey stock. of course, this is just as laughably bogus as valentine's day, but at least it embraces and trumpets its sheer commercial intent, rather than trying to justify itself through religious hagiography or retardedly fanciful notions of love.
koreans seem to praise (pay$$$$$$$$$$) lotte for coming up with such a clever marketing campaign for their product. but in addition to the pepero sticks i've already received today, i've also been gifted two cylindrical rice cakes, complete with packaging that basically declares: "november 11th is cylindrical rice cake day! share the love (and the monie$$)! xoxo, the national agricultural cooperative federation of south korea." well, if no one's copyrighted the whole "1 = some long object" idea, we may just as well turn to our neighbors and cry, " happy arne duncan's face day!" or, "happy starved african child legs day!"
on that note, i bid you farewell, and happy erect penis day!
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
halloween commiebot
october is ending on a good note:
our division's budget surplus has been manipulated by my boss as my first official pay raise.
and, i'm off to shanghai, suckas. i'll be back next month.
american passport holders pay approximately 260% more for a single-entry chinese visa than do korean passport holders. highway robbery!
and while the communist government finds easy, systematic and totally legal ways to fleece us capitalists, i'm willingly dishing out this dirty money to attend an imported pagan costume party dressed as this:
this particular trip, as you can see, is replete with irony.
so goodbye, october, i hardly noticed you pass. i leave you with this:
the evangelicals - "halloween song"
our division's budget surplus has been manipulated by my boss as my first official pay raise.
and, i'm off to shanghai, suckas. i'll be back next month.
american passport holders pay approximately 260% more for a single-entry chinese visa than do korean passport holders. highway robbery!
and while the communist government finds easy, systematic and totally legal ways to fleece us capitalists, i'm willingly dishing out this dirty money to attend an imported pagan costume party dressed as this:
this particular trip, as you can see, is replete with irony.
so goodbye, october, i hardly noticed you pass. i leave you with this:
the evangelicals - "halloween song"
Friday, October 23, 2009
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