윤

Google and the third result is a J.’s Brain-era write-up whose reason for hating I can’t quite determine, since the hard shells don’t even hail from south of the border. (It’s like my recent observation that the only thing Sheil won’t be able to eat back in Taiwan is Panda Express.) And at the time its rather unfortunate connotations had yet to emerge. Myself I’ve only recently been introduced to the delicacy, and find it to be a superior alternative to the similarly-composed Drumstick®, whose top-heavy content distribution invariably leaves an empty cone, and the muss resulting from the brittle chocolate coating Klondike bars, as I’m not about to allow food that precariously close to my mouth in inedible wrappers.

(Cf. crazy fucking chink.)That Ducati on my wishlist? Too scared to ride it now.

The cityscapes told me Nolan would get it right. The dream-within-dream relativity was something else, as was the love for the Diana Rigg Bond. I’ve chosen my ring for my totem, because Chinese characters always get muddled in my mind. Raging brainer, indeed.What disappointed me was my follow-up, a comparative trifle set on the tawdry streets of the inner city (perhaps in anticipation of my trek this morning through Hawthorne and El Segundo to drop off one car and pick up the other) where I had stopped at a public restroom and was accosted by a couple of hooligans. I tried to shut the door on them, but the lock didn’t take and they barged in brandishing a glass blade. With them in pursuit I fled into the night and found refuge in an unfamiliar electronics chain store decorated in the business-killing 風水 red of Circuit City, CompUSA and The Good Guys! On the second floor I would ambush each separately and punish them quite righteously.

[Had this story tabbed for quite some time, so I thought I’d dispense with it.]

Idea I had with the advent of high definition was for a Metroid-like old-school platform-explorer that’d take advantage of those extra pixels and make each stop an enormous cavern, requiring far more than the usual flick of the X-ray visor to find the hidden missile target. Boss fights could be insane romp-arounds. Why must the push, in even 2-D remakes, always be for denser, more detailed models the same size as the low-res sprites we were once perfectly happy with? I think this every time I watch sports on TV, too: let me occasionally see the whole World Cup field and all the players in relation to one another on it, not just the fucking corporate sponsor logos more clearly! (One thing I admire about Taiwanese TV, they sure know how to get the most out of their real estate. Their news looks like a newspaper.) Why can’t one by-product of our big-screen generation be a greater sense of perspective? Okay, next.

Jailbreaking with Spirit was easy as pie, PdaNet worked so well I bought a license, but I just had to be greedy and try Martin’s Chinese solution to install api’s. Cookies in apps no longer saving—and no, the permission fix didn’t help—and some even stopped working altogether. So yeah, full restore with an old backup. (If I were more daring, I’d have tried the firmware downgrade at the time, because I’ll have to, eventually.) Next day I get back on the Itchy and Scratchy Land log ride for Marcelo’s cracked TV player to watch the World Cup. Sucks when you’re not satisfied with Steve Jobs’ vision of the world for everyone.

One Internet pundit beat me to it by describing the sensation as “the closest I ever come to swallowing a mouthful of semen” (to which I add, never say never), but it’s not got the taste of the delicacy I remember from the streets of Taiwan. Steel can, however, is giving me a nice desktop workout.

My wife, the greatest woman in the world.

Had this dream that I was reminiscing about an ex-girlfriend who decided to dump me for a better life, which I suppose is not particularly un-noteworthy in itself, but her family tradition was for her to accompany and reinforce her decision with a music video. I played it back; she wore a 旗袍 for the occasion and sang personalized lyrics condemning me with her brother’s assistance.

Tide’s turning again, this time away from 30 Rock, which hasn’t been doing it for me lately, back to the Office producers and their newer work on Parks & Recreation. (Modern Family on the night before is good, too.) I dreamed that I was part of a similar documentary crew, except we were returning to the show years later, to witness the changes at the company since. We walked through the warehouse first, much larger than Dunder Mifflin’s—turns out it was Spectrum’s, as the entourage escorting us included leather-jacketed Frank, Ben and their usual cadre of bankers a-courtin’. Jim and Pam had either moved on, or their fate left for surprise. We made our way to the small office up front, which everyone knew was now fully manned by Chinese. Further evidence that this was the future, people walked there through a holographic wall. It was squalid, in terrible disarray with only a single frumpy clerical worker appearing from a closet-like restroom; in fact, there was no distinction between toilet and desk. No receptionist, either, following the new practical standards from the East.

老婆 explained that JP-idol clone 瑤瑤 chirping this tune was responsible for this epidemic of an expression, but as mixed up as all the languages are to me now, I’m reminded more of 싸-ing (as in 오줌).

Disappointed that the Kobe beef has been replaced by Angus at Sandra Bullock’s, we went for the real thing at Anjin and overheard this version of 그대만 있다면. Could this be the first case of a Japanese remake of a Korean original—other than, of course, the entire menu there? Mmm… カルビクッパ。。。