Jay Kim Dot Net

Jay Kim Video Editing Reel from Jay Kim on Vimeo.

DISCLAIMER: Be warned, you should read the Watchmen graphic novel prior to delving forward into this note, lest you be molested with words of the spoiler variety. Also those who are planning on watching the Watchmen film without bias, it would serve you well to turn away as well. This note stands as a warning to those who wish to heed it.

( The abridged version: Movie starts on high note with Bob Dylan, ends appropriately on a low with My Chemical Romance. Click for unabridged version. )

Unfortunately I got totally sidetracked when I google image searched the former beauty queen. I could just gaze into those bespectacled eyes all day. She may be 44, but she makes me feel like I'm 10 years younger.

So funny story... I go to my hair lady, who normally gives me the usual short haircut that I always get, except this time I want to grow my hair long.  I tell her my dilemna.  I want to grow my hair long, but it was really in the awkward stage and I wanted a way out.  So she just nods and says "We have to shape it."  Now mind you she's an adorable Korean lady who doesn't really know english all that well.  So she didn't articulate that "shaping" involved putting my hair in frikkin' rollers and baking it for 20 minutes.

I was completely oblivious.  I just sat there while she started to put some kind of concoction she had mixed into my hair, then proceeded to put my hair in rollers.  I was under the blower thing when I stopped and said "did I just a get a frikkin' perm?!"  My sister and I used to make fun of our dad cuz he got a perm once.  At least he had an excuse.  He had just moved over to this country from Korea and he didn't understand that a perm was not the manliest way to spend an hour and a half.   I on the other hand should have known better.  I am now the family's new perm boy.  What made it worse was there was an old lady sitting next to me getting a perm and she just kept giving me this puzzled look.

Apparently I started to like being in curlers by the stupid grin on my curly haired head.  At this point, I'm in stubborn man mode, totally trying to act like I had intended to get a perm all along and that this is exactly what I wanted.  Proud to be permed.

Despite strange glances from the occasional man walking in to pick up his wife, and the eventual snickering of old ladies, I really like the way my hair turned out.  The scary thing is that I'll probably do this again, now that I look like I belong in an asian detective movie.  It was really not that bad and my hair does exactly what I want it to when I roll out of bed now.

I just saw the greatest show in the world!  Even with an opening act (Superfloss) that kinda really missed the mark kinda really bad with their awkward brand of white nerdcore hip hop, followed by the peculiar, tastelessly delicious comedic stylings of Neil Hamburger, the antsy crowd was still shaken--another word for ROCKED--in such a way that our feet were inexplicably made bare inside our shoes!  Yes indeed ladies and gentlemen, our socks were rocked off.  Me and my buddy Stan were on the floor of Madison Square Garden, standing room only about four feet from the stage.  We stood tenaciously for two hours with our socks literally rocked off.  The rock was strong from the beginning as the lights came up on a stage dressed to look like Kyle Gass' living room.  He was asleep on his couch with his buddy Jack Black.  Our cheers awoke them as they picked up their guitars and proceeded to serenade us about polish sausage and their relationship to warm buttocks.  The show only raged on as they performed an ingenius blend of songs from their debut self titled album and their Pick of Destiny movie soundtrack.  Their acoustic rock moved me so.  But then they took it up another notch!  After a fateful visit from their favorite fan and honorary third member Lee, accompanied by beer spillage and SAXABOOM, Jables presented Kyle with a very strange contraption he claimed to be a state of the art electric guitar, with the mandate to take it up another notch.  But the beer mucked the electricity up and it created a large kaboom as they plugged in the "guitar."

Cue amazing video transition.  JB and KG appear on the big screen having died and gone to hell.  They come across the anti-Christ shredding away on the electric guitar.  After recruiting him into their band he introduced his friends Colonel Sanders and Charlie Chaplin who play drums and the bass respectively.  When the Colonel was asked why he went to hell, he regretfully confessed, "I murdered over a million chickens."  And Charlie Chaplin?  Gay.

So away the screen goes and the hell stage set is revealed, with Jables and Kage backed up by their new Fellowship of the D.  They kick off the set with Kickapoo, Kyle filling in for Meatloaf and Jack filling in for Dio.  When the full band kicked in the crowd went CRAZY.  Some kids tried to start a moshpit.  Unfortunately those bastards were right behind me.  Having to beat up some kids aside, the D played a rockin' set, and we thought that was it.  We chanted "One More Song!"  Hoping to get just a little more D.  Little did we know, that we were about to be rocked in such a way that months from now we will unsuspectingly be putting on some socks, when they will fly off in a fit of awesome.

Jables and Kyle emerged from backstage to perform FHG.  It was kinda bizarre.  The ENTIRE arena was singing along as ONE!  Singing F*** Her Gently!  It was awesome.  Then they looked at each other with a look that said "we gon' sing Tribute."  And that they did.  As Jables spoke the magical words, "this is the greatest and best song in the world," Anti-Christ, Colonel Sanders and Charlie Chaplin began creeping their way from backstage to their instruments.  As Jables and Kage hit the chorus, their glorious Fellowship came in, rocking us to our core.  And of course now that the band was out, they played a whole entire set with all the songs that they missed in the other two sets including a few covers!

I recorded the entire thing with my crappy mp3 player.  If you plan on bootlegging a show, you probably don't want to be a psycho fan who knows ever single lyric and sings along at the top of his lungs *points at self*  You probably shouldn't be in General Admission, Standing Room Only either, since there's a lot of jumping and pushing and beating the crap out of each other.  I just hit record and put it in my breast pocket.  I listened to it and I think it's pretty wicked.  But yeah, you just have to remember I recorded it with a crappy mp3 player that was in my pocket.  I'll post it once I have Stan tweak the audio.

For now, here's a set list!
Acoustic Set
Kielbasa
History
Flash
Wonderboy
Freestyle Song
Dio
Rocket Sauce
Special Thing
Lee
SAXABOOM
The Road

Full Set
Kickapoo
Explosivo
Karate
Dude I Totally Miss You
Kyle Quit the Band
Friendship
Master Exploder
Anti-Christ and Kage Electric Guitar interlude
Break In City (Storm the Gate)
Car Chase City
Papagenu (He's My Sassafrass)
Sasquatch
The Metal
Beelzeboss (The Final Showdown)
Doubleteam
Finale

Encore Set
FHG
Tribute
The Who Medley

Frak Pary this friday 8PM-11PM in Jersey City.  We gots a plasma display, RSVP here

I hung out with my buddy Anthony at his new place in Jersey City.  I got him addicted to Battlestar Galactica the greatest show on TV.  Seriously, I like Prison Break, Grey's Anatomy and Lost, but they have nothing on Battlestar.  I recommend you do not postpone catching up on seasons 1 and 2 since 3 starts October 6 and it took Anthony two allnighters to get caught up.  But for those underachievers, there is a 3 minute recap, which does not at all catch you up, but it's awesome anyways.  Just go to http://www.scifi.com/battlestar/storysofar and watch the video.

On the fifth year anniversary of one of the most devastating attacks on US soil, I'd like to have said that I did something significant.  Well I did sleep a significant amount.  That counts for something.  Instead I used today to catch up on my work.  Which didn't work out too good since I had just bought the second season of Crank Yankers on DVD.  YAY!  So I spent the day catching up on Crank Yankers.  The show's a lot dirtier than I remembered.  Maybe I've just grown spiritually or something, but this show used to be friggin' hilarious to me.  Now it's a tad on the raunchy side and a lot of it's just dumb.  But amongst the filth is a lot of comic gold.  Season 1 was far superior though.

I saw the Covenant with some friends Sunday night.  Angsty teen actors and witchery worked for Buffy, cuz there were vampires involved and the hot wimmins were the protagonists.  And Joss Whedon was writing.  But in any other natural circumstance, and when you focus on angsty witch dudes, the premise alone is doomed for the used DVD racks.  I went in knowing this.  I simply went because I enjoy the company.  These were my peoples and I wasn't about to bail on them just cuz I knew the movie would blow.  Nothing could have prepared me for the suckfest that was the Covenant.  If I were to lower my expectations as far as they could possibly go, I would still be utterly shocked by how seriously bad the movie was.  I spent a good fifteen minutes afterwards punching myself in the head in an attempt to erase the memories from the last hour and half.  But to no avail!

They did 'splain why their "teen" actors were in their late twenties.  Apparently "using" their witching power made them age.  Oh and during the climactic fight scene at the end of the film, the evil angsty teen told the protagonist that he was going to make him his "weeotch."  No Friggin' joke.  That line was played in all seriousness.

My iRiver's working again.  I dunno what I did.  But it works better than when I took it out of the box.

I was jamming to my favorite tunes this morning--as I often do in situations where I am likely to jam to tunes--and I was in a serious drum solo in my mind--since I'm not able to achieve that level of seriousness on a set of drums in the real world--when all of a sudden the music stops and my iRiver starts to go Windows ME on me.  You see what I did there?  I created irony with the spelling.  You see Windows ME liked to crash a lot, which isn't different from every other kind of Windows--even Andersen Windows tend to crash if you have the right set of circumstances and group of not-so-bright kids playing stickball on your street of residence, not a good idea to play stick ball, since the street is often narrow and there are houses with windows on either side--but Windows ME liked to do it without telling you.  No blue screen of death, no "Not Responding", just a whole lot of what you were doing on screen, but it seems either you, or Zack Morris had said "Time Out" and the whole world didn't move, except for one or two extras who were promptly fired after the director yelled "Cut!"

So I'm walking to my bus stop and my iRiver is just looking back at me with my song's name still on there, but nothing's going on inside my earphones.  I'm not receiving the musical joy, in my mind, that I expected to hit my eardrum on a daily.  Turns out that Windows Media Player, the one player that iRiver uses to sync all your favorite hits to their sleek and sexy players, transfers album cover art along with your stinkin' songs even if you click aggressively on the sync button repeatedly in anger, Windows Media Player will not pick up on your urgent frustrations and will proceed to screw you over and over again.  See my particular iRiver does not utilize the album cover art feature.  There is a picture viewer on the player, but they designate a specific folder for pictures and another one for mp3s.  So when you mix the two up, the player gets confused and gets all Tin Man on a rainy day on you.  So I can only play music now from folders without album art inside. 

I've been listening to Dane Cook straight all day. 

I've figured out his formula.  You take a statement that normally would take about four lines, like for instance, "My iRiver kept freezing because some songs were corrupt and all I could do was listen to Dane Cook all day."  And you elaborate by repeating certain phrases slightly rephrased so they sound a little less than redundant, but noticeable because apparently the unnecessary repetition will make drunk college girls laugh, then you take a not so funny joke that people won't really get unless you explain it to them (at which point the joke supposedly ceases to be funny), then you explain it to them and it's now funny because it's not supposed to be.  Then you throw in slightly outdated, ridiculously widespread at the time, pop culture references and somehow tie them into your original statement and boom you have Cooked a Danish.  See what I did there?  I played with words. 

The title of this entry was originally in reference to faulty technology, but now I believe it's for me for simply thinking this entry, let alone posting it on the world wide web.

I hate to be a broken record, but today is taking friggin' forever.  and I like this stupid job!  I'm just feeling a bit counterproductive, which might 'splain the seemingly neverending loop I've found myself in today.  I haven't done anything for work.  It might be my placement in the space here.  Kinda like how Dane Cook describes Walmart.  As soon as you walk inside you just want to steal.  As soon as I sit at my desk in my claustrophobic hole, I just don't want to do anything.  And then the day creeps by oh so slowly, that I feel compelled to blog about this self-imposed suffering.  I've unintentionally masterminded the ultimate crime against the English Language.  But really what has the English language done, but impose and assimilate cultures all over the world?  Like the borg, it has committed countless sins against man.  It deserves a good butchering!  Screw punctuation!  And complete sentences!  Bring on the reign of the fragment and its cousin the run-on!

I just listened to some fitty cent on my iRiver...The English language doesn't need me to butcher it.

I just finished a project and looked up at the time expecting it be 6PM.  It was 3:10PM at the time.  Now some crazies might look at this like it's a good thing, since it frees me up to finish other projects.  The problem is that today is a day that I would totally be cool if time moved by like rilly rilly fast.  I blame it on Superman.  Someone should cut that scene from Superman with some disaster movie clips.  It would be pure gold.  You have Superman spinning around the earth and junk and then the Earth starts to slow down CUT TO tsunamis devastating the East Coast.  Then the Earth stops CUT TO Arnold Schwarzeneggar holding on for dear life in Total Recall.  Then the Earth starts spinning in reverse CUT TO trees flying off the face of planet Druidia as the Space Balls steal their air.  If I had the time and motivation to do so I would so do that.  But alas, I just want it to be friggin' 5PM already.

So I was at the bus terminal tonight and for some reason I purchased a Maxim Magazine.  I usually dismiss this rag as offensive for its shameless objectifying of teh wimminz, but I needed something to read and Eva Longoria was on the cover barely wearing a man's button down shirt and a g-string.  I'm only human, come on...Eva Longoria...nakie...on shag...carpet...   Back to whatever the heck it was I was talking about.  Oh yes.  Maxim magazine.  So, as I was shuffling through advertisements for mens jeans featuring only nekkid laydiez, desperately searching for my favorite desperate housewife, I flip by a few pages of models wearing cool clothes, you know the typical men's magazine fashion thing, but something caught my eye.  These models were standing around a Mark 7 Viper and Edward James Olmos' unmistakable face was staring back at me.  So I take a closer look and nearly gleed all over the page.  It was the entire cast modeling today's coolest looking clothes from the set of Battlestar Galactica.  And it wasn't disappointing that they were fully clothed!  I mean I can always use a little more half naked Grace Park, or Tricia Helfer, but this was totally gleeworthy too.  I mean I've never paid attention to fashion before, but this totally got my attention.  I'll post pictures later maybe.  I get some sleep now.

...It was good...

okay so I work in a building that houses a lot of temporary office space for movie productions. And the occasional celeb shows up that I really couldn't care less about, like Ted Danson, or Drew Barrymore and I never thought my wildest recurring dream since I was 13 would ever happen there. Mere minutes ago, I was on the elevator headed out to lunch. Routine, daily blah right? WRONG. As the doors open, my eyes meet the most beautiful brown eyes I have ever seen, but WAIT! I have seen those eyes before! Those eyes have filled me longing ever since my 13 year old pubescent self sat down to watch Leon the Professional for the very first time. They tantalized me while sitting in a theater to watch the always superb Mike Nichol's Closer. Yes I have seen those eyes before, but they were never this stunning, this indescribable...they were alive...And they were gazing right back at mine. For a millisecond we just stood there staring at each other, yet it seemed like an eternity. Five million more cliches later, I rushed out of the elevator to get lunch and took two steps before realizing that I had just made eye contact with Natalie Portman. And she was gone up to an unknown floor out of my life forever. I'm still having trouble breathing.

I had a lot of difficulty writing that title so be proud of me folks.  I've finally made another remix.  Check it out by clicking here.

As far as anything else.  My brains is baleeted and my tummy is full.  I believe it's time for some Jack and a pillow.

Just because I think it deserves a closer look.  I was delirious and barely conscious when I wrote it a couple entries ago, but I think it's my favoritest thing that I've ever written.

On a lighter note I am dying of the plague.  Those who owe me money should pay up or they will forever burn for spurning a dying man.  I have no idea if I used the word "spurn" correctly, nor do I care, for the delirium hath taken over.  In retrospect, I'm sure the 21st Century Alka Seltzer, Airborne may have changed my outcome a bit, still I have accepted and embraced my fate.  The globules of mucus in my toilet bowl formed words today.  Nothing too profound, 9th grade reading level, but I felt at peace that there was a multitude working its way up trachea and they could play scrabble.  Triple word score.

....

And now a list of Random Thoughts I would tentatively like to title: Hit or Miss
I have a beef with the music industry.  There is an automatic reaction when a metal band uses strange lyrics and "oohwakakas" and the like in their songs.  And that reaction is a scoff, or doubt in the lyrical genius of that band's songwriters.  But look at Sarah Mclachlan!  She's been known to resort to the ol' "dididumdum" repeatedly!  The response to that?  Grammies.  Lots of Grammies.

I was out with some friends playing pool the other night, when a really hot girl caught my eye.  She was shooting pool at a table nearby and to my horror our eyes met.  Immediately embarrassed at being caught gawking I started a loud conversation with my buddies to cover.  I ventured another look and to my amazement she was still looking right at me.  And instead of the normal annoyed glare, there was a shy little smile that was overwhelmingly inviting, and at the same time made me want to hide somewhere.  Throughout the night, we constantly made eye contact, she even walked by and gave me a significant smile.  Turns out she worked at the pool hall and while all the other employees walked through a big path between the tables, she walked through the tables right in front of me just to make sure she had my attention.  Herein lies the problem.  I'm not one to approach women and ask for their numbers.  I just don't want to impose in the off chance that she wasn't interested, or taken or something.  Every other part of me was screaming to go talk to her, but I just never approach perfect strangers.  Well I do, but not beautiful women strangers.  I walked out of there without even asking her name.  I can be so bold when I don't care that I'm going to embarrass myself, in fact I do it intentionally most of the time, but when the last thing I want to do is embarrass myself, I know that no matter what I do, I'm going to end up embarrassed anyway.  I know nothing will ever happen if I don't be bold, but I can't help but revert to awkward geekiness whenever I try.  I guess resorting to wussing out is no better.  I dunno, it did wonders for my self esteem that a fine looking lady would find me interesting, so I'm happy.  She actually looked disappointed when I paid and left.  To make matters worse, my friend Anthony was like "she was exclusively looking at you."  Oh well.  My wife Jessica Alba wouldn't be happy if I went around hookin' up with hot poolshark wimmins anywho.

After pool, we went to Unos and I groped the statue of liberty...

I revisited the infamous Clearview Ziegfeld Theater yesterday to catch Over the Hedge in DLP.  Despite the dirty, dirty secrets I uncovered in my one month working concession at the lavish, premiere movie house, I accomplished a feat that my younger self had vowed to never get complacent enough to attempt.  First I fell for the jumbo combo for only 50 cents more line that I had once delivered ad nauseum like the efficient, soulless automaton I was all those years ago.  Then I proceeded to devour it (with a little help from a lady friend).  She had given me one of those playful smiles before saying, "If you finish that whole thing, I'd be really impressed."  I am a man.  It is in my programming to impress pretty wimmins.

A little backstory for those who are all like "oMg, I luvZ teh mOvee pOpcorn, I cAn eaT tONs!"  Protocol for popcorn disposal at the end of every workday is as such.  We have designated, ornate Clearview Theaters Yellow jumbo trash bags in which we proceed to shovel the remaining popcorn (which is always a considerable amount).  We then tie them shut and literally toss them into a cold, concrete storage closet TO BE REUSED FOR WEEKS FOLLOWING.  I kid you not, the first thing we do in the morning is open that storage closet, and I still have nightmares of what I see in there first thing in the morning.  The floor scatters to reveal a half dozen gnawed at yellow bags, some from as much as a month ago.  One of these lucky bags gets dumped into the popper to get heated up.  Then we pop a quarter batch of fresh popcorn while customers start coming in to give off the illusion that they are eating freshly popped buttered popcorn.  Instead we simply push the old popcorn to one side of the popper and the fresh popcorn to the other.  Serve from the stale side, eat from the other, that was our policy.  Over the course of the day this process is repeated over and over til what is left is like a relief cross section of the earth's crust.  If you went in and carbon dated each layer, the bafflement would never cease.  All of this is then barreled back into a fresh yellow trash bag to be consumed another day.  I imagine what other cultures would think generations from now when they uncover the Ziegfeld Theater with its peculiar yellow bags documenting the history of its culture.  They'd think we used these peculiar kernels to measure the passage of time.  They'd marvel at how this society apparently wasted nothing.  How wrong they would be.

So there I am knowingly eating the stuff by the handful, tasting all the different layers, machismo suppressing the gag reflex along with 40 ounces of Pepsi.  I thought I was going to vomit, but I stuck it out like a trooper.  Proving once again that man is an idiot.  A dishonest fellow would say something along the lines of "speak for yourself!"  But he would then come to his senses and realize he would have done no different under the circumstances.

To tell you the truth, the popcorn was rather delicious, but the knowledge is what made it gross.  But hey I know what they do to cows, that doesn't make them any less tasty.  Concession stands aside, the movie was great, and looked brilliant in DLP.  Apparently all human women in computer generated suburbia land have ridiculously large breasts which I have no problem with, other than the fact that they were a bit obtrusive and distracted unnecessarily from the action on screen.  And I don't mean in the "ooh look boobies!" way.  More the "Whoa, okay, why are those boobs there?" way.  Other than that, I can safely say this film took full advantage of the animated medium taking physical comedy to a place only computer generated, adorable forest critters can go.  And Steve Carell...oh man...so funny.  Go see it.  If not for the boobs, see it for the cuddly porcupines.

Good greek food at Uncle Nicks on 51st and 9th really takes the edge off of jumbo popcorn induced nausea.  Good company too.

Well that was a big waste of time.  It is a blessing to have good friends to share in your disappointment.  Their company is what makes seeing a bad film totally worth the $11.50.  That and the Snakes on a Plane teaser that came right before it.  I've known it from the minute Brett Ratner took the helm of X3, but I held on to the last shred of hope that despite the inevitable fact that whatever the man touches turns into poo, this movie would miraculously be good.  It is a feeling akin to the bizarre faith fanboys held in George Lucas, that Episode II would make them forget about Episode I.  But alas, the man who squandered a brilliant cast and ruined a franchise with Red Dragon, has done it again.

Look Billy isn't paying attention in class!  He'd rather play with his nifty laser pointer, humorously indicating bulbous points on the teacher's anatomy!  Good thing for Billy, since Uncle Sam's found a new way to fight the war on terror!  A new kind of laser that temporarily blinds drivers who don't stop at U.S. Military checkpoints!  Conveniently mounted to your M-4 rifle, now you don't need to shoot a bullet to kill a truckload of people.  Just aim that nifty pointer directly into the eyes of the unsuspecting driver and let the carnage unfold!  Try getting multiple drivers to see how many'll pile up!  Blind them now, open fire later!  That's what Uncle Sam says!  So next time someone tells you to stop aiming that laser pointer at them, tell them how unAmerican they are and report them to homeland security!

...

Yeah, remember that one jerk with the laser pointer who thought it was really cool, but was just really annoying?  Turns out a person with his intellect is developing weapons for the armed forces.  A powerful laser used to temporarily blind drivers who don't heed military checkpoints is being put into use over in Iraq.  Granted I guess it's better than them opening fire on vehicles who don't stop at checkpoints, but I don't see how shining a laser in their general direction is going to stop them.  But we should all rest assured, "They don't blind people. It's like shining a big light in your eyes."  As the Lieutenant Colonel Barry Venable says it's completely safe and won't cause damage, you know, the kind of damage that occurs when you shine a big frikkin' light into your eyes.  And I'm sure if I were in a rush and didn't notice a hugemongous military checkpoint in front of me, my driving and focus would highly benefit from temporary blindness.  I guess it's a phase in our plan to bring democracy to the Middle East.  First we terrorize them with our advanced Halliburton Military Technology, then we annoy the crap out of them with it.  Like the commercial says, to that jerk with the stupid laser pointer, "We've been waiting for you."

...

Bush is one crafty evil emperor.  In an attempt to keep our future laborers out of the US, he's giving the task to his buddies in the weapons industry!  Lockheed Martin, Raytheon and Northrop Grumman are all vying for the multi-billion tax payer dollar contract to create a virtual fence around our borders.  The crap these companies are coming up with will amaze and astound.  Unmanned drones (don't worry Tom Cruise will fight them!), state of the art video motion detectors, heck, they should get Skywalker Ranch in on this deal.  Seriously in a few years, trying to cross the border will be like running through the fields of Hoth with Imperial Walkers on your tail (it'll be hard).  I should have stopped after Skywalker Ranch.  Screw you guys, I'm goin' home!

...

One last thing.  Who the frak would name their kid Neveah?  I'm not letting my kids hang out with anyone named Neveah!  I don't care that there are going to be a lot of them, they're gonna cry and be like "Why can't I play with Obiwan?"  And I'll be like "Because you have a stupid name!"