HOMELY PLANET

With friends like these who needs A KICK IN THE NUTS?

Of late I've been deleting all of these. Why? Perhaps I don't mean 'em, perhaps I come across as an asshole and alienate folks, perhaps I'm just a bitching valve, just venting silly middle class anxiety.

This blog has taken a tumble in honesty points, of late. I think my drunken truths were what attracted people here to begin with. Why the change? Why the self editing?

A victim of my own "success?"

Like I've ever known a lick of the word.

What I do know is that I was in the streets of Urumqi last summer - for some days - and I found it the most hospitable of Chinese cities. Little did I know that the Uighurs would rampage throught the streets with the sole intention of killing Han Chinese. Or just Chinese. A couple of my friends continually abuse me for referring to the main ethnic Chinese as "Han." I guess they think it's pretentious, even though EVERY western media outlet refers to them as the same, with regard to ethnic tension.

Whatever the case, it makes me very sad to know that Urumqi has been the scene of so much death.

Last weekend I did a standup gig here in Busan. Soon I will do the same in Seoul. Both went well. Despite the fact that I'm not usually the funniest guy in the room, once on stage I can usually sort it out. I'm just good at crowd control. Like it or hate it, this is where I'm in form. I love stepping out in front of a group.

I think I'm a talented guy: I can write some shit; I can take a crowd. But I'm still a failure, a fuckup, a loser... otherwise why would I be here?

But I like it here. This is my home, whether I like it or not. It's where I've ended up. I failed in America. I dont' have a house, a car, a suburban life... nor do I have a cool, sucessful, urban life... I have fuck.

Except family.

But my father's dead. As is my mother. The thought of her last year of misery makes me want to shed my own skin. I have one surviving grandparent. She's outlasting all of our predictions.

But I hate death. I've had enough. It makes me want to breed.

Or kick my own head in.

This shit over the last year is mental, to say the least. I feel absolutely afloat, just bouncing on the pinball of life. The parental lines are cut, and I'm breaststroking in a riptide.

I feel like I'm living in a vortex. L has been my anchor, but it spins by the minute.

Like it? Hate it? I doesn't matter. This is where I AM. I still perform. I still do. You can accept it or not, but at least I've been honest to my core. At least I've written and put myself out there. I got tons of real laughs every time. I always do. And at least I've done SOMETHING, rather than simp away, waiting for the next episode of DANCING WITH THE STARS or LOST whatever else TV shite, and watch the world pass by.

The fact that I happend to be in KOREA doesn't erase my effort.

I could move HOME tomorrow. Does that somehow make me more relevant?

Apparantly there were serious riots in Urumqi, China, yesterday, a city in the western province of Xianjiang. They say the death toll is at least 120 people, with hundreds more injured. I spent some time in Urumqi last summer during my travels, and am not terribly suprised, since the local Uighur Muslim population chafes under the domination of the Han Chinese, who make up a majority in this regional capital. Word has it that the riots may be spreading to Kashgar as well, the site of an attack during last year's Olympics that killed 16 security personel.

It's probably for the best that I've decided to avoid Western China and Central Asia this summer, going south instead.

I've actually had this beer a few times before, and it's not that bad.



Ahhhh... 시원 해요!

Well, it's a better year to be an American, with Obama and all. Bush certainly felt like an anvil strapped to my shoulders - I'm sure I'm not the only one.

Whatever the case, to my fellow Yankee Doodles: Enjoy the Fourth. I certainly will. I'm celebrating by going to a baseball game and doing a comedy show. I may even eat some roasted cuttlefish.

Here's a great American band doing a great song:

...this!

For those of you in the area, let me plug the two comedy shows I'm taking part in this weekend:

Friday, July 3rd, at VINYL UNDERGROUND in Busan.
Saturday, July 4th, at TANDOORI BAR out in Gimhae.

Real live standup comedians.

Featuring

BRIAN AYLWARD (Newfoundland, Canada)
 
*Winner of the 2008 Hong Kong International Comedy Festival

ROSS GARDINER (Glasgow, Scotland)

*Appearing at this year's Edinburgh Festival

ME, SHOWBIZ MCTHARPY (Seattle, baby!)

*Infamous agitator, blogger, rock and roller, fisherman, and provocateur.

Hosted by ROY EARLY

Both shows start at 10:30 (ish)

I recently performed with Brian and Ross up in Seoul, and I can guarantee that they're both funny as fuck.  Ross is heading back to Haggisland soon, so catch him while you can, or before he becomes the next big thing over there.

This will be interesting as it's the first comedy show in Busan since Babopalooza, when we all got arrested.  But we're charging no money and not mocking the Immigration Police, so I'm sure we'll be fine. 

Anyhow, come on out and support this shit while it's here.  Because you never know when you'll get it again.

Welcome back to any of you losers who get here via the blogroll over at http://www.pusanweb.com .  I was temporarily removed for having the word "FUCK" in one of my titles.  The site's owner is also unhappy that I post my blog titles in ALL CAPS.  He says it makes the page look "ugly."  He's a nice guy and this is the first time I've run afoul of his sensibilities, but it brings to mind the question:  Should I ever temper the look and/or content of this blog in order for more exposure?  That's selling out, right? 

*  *  *

Koreans are busy people.  The only people who build faster are the Chinese, who literally sprint around the worksite.

I'm looking out my window at what six months ago was a giant dirt pit.  A small city of apartment blocks has since risen from the soil, thrown-up at alarming speed.  They're only about three quarters constructed, but still. Six massive cranes work around the clock on what no doubt can be viewed as a neighborhood beautification project.  My midtown locale, Yeonsan-dong, is kind of old and shithole-y, so this gleaming new cluster of high-tech shoeboxes will no doubt raise the real estate prices around here.  Let us hope it doesn't affect my rent, since I'm paying too much as it is.

*  *  *

This is the first official week of summer break at the college, but I'm working as much as ever.  I was slated to work extra classes for the first month of the break, and picked up even more than expected.  Fuck it, though.  I could always use the money and don't mind working extra before my REAL vacation kicks in, even if I have to get up early every day.  It just makes the upcoming month off all the more sweeter.

Which brings me to vacation plans.  I was considering going back to the US, since my grandmother's health was up in the air (read: she almost died).  But she's since stabilized and doesn't appear to be in any imminent danger.  Of course this could change tomorrow, but after consulting with my sister and brothers, the consensus was that I continue with my original plans, so I'm doing that.  The China/Laos trip is on, only with one slight alteration.  Lucie gets a week of vacation during the first week of mine, so I want to do something with her.  She will either accompany me to China for the first week, or I may delay my arrival in China and spend the better part of a week with her on Jeju Island, here in Korea.  If I do that, I'll have to catch up with my comrades down in Yunnan, but that's fine.  They'll be fine without me for a few days, at least if Angry Steve is there to read the map.  Whatever the case, Lucie and I will discuss it tonight and make our choice. I leave in just a little over three weeks now, and am, of course, utterly stoked.

*  *  *

In other news, Mr. John Bocskay got married last weekend.  I was priveleged to attend both the wedding and reception, and aside from congratulating Ae-ran and him, I must give the couple BIG RESPECT for hosting one of the BOOZIEST WEDDINGS I've had the pleasure of taking in.  The ceremony was at the Westin Chosin Hotel, where we all enjoyed an open bar of top shelf booze and beer.  The ceremony itself was short, sweet, and sincere, followed by a five-course meal in which the wine poured and more drinks were enjoyed.  The party then moved to Metro Bar in Kyungsungdae, where again alcohol was provided gratis, this time for about 100 of John and Ae-ran's closest friends.  This went on for several hours...  later several bands played at competing venues, vows were made, happy couples turned on each other, and general abandonment reigned.  All that I know is that I found myself wandering the sidestreets at four AM, still dressed in my best suit (Gulati, Bangkok), seeing in triplicate.  At one point I ran into to Kiwi Craig Nichol, who was sweating profusely and slurring into his cellphone.  He invited me to come drink further, but even my alcoholic ass knows when to call it quits.  Sometimes.

Anyway, the wedding was epic, and once again let me congratulate John on getting hooked up and hooking us all up.

So I've caught a lot of flak from my last missive in which I trumpet Michael Jackson's importance.  Friends of mine came out of the woodwork and beat me up, saying that I was exaggerating, that he cannot be put on the mantle of musical greats, since at best he was a great dancer/singer and "music video innovator," and that his pathetic slide in freakshow works as some kind of negative stock against his true contributions.

Fair enough.  I was steaming drunk when I posted it and may have been guilty of hyperbole.  I've been thinking it over the last couple of days and I go back and forth.

I never thought I'd be put in the position of defending Michael Jackson - someone who has elicited derisive sneers from me for much of my life - and I do agree with much of what the detractors are saying. 

BUT...

I gotta say that I detect a whole lotta condescending priveleged white guy scoffs in these comments, that they are overthought and, dare I say, elitist.  To say that Brian Wilson is greater than Michael Jackson raises eyebrows for sure.  Wilson is indeed a genius and has influenced countless artists, but go ANYWHERE in the third world and mention his name and I fucking guarantee you will be met with blank stares.  Mention Jackson, and most will not only know who he is - they will like his music.  This is especially true among poor brown and black people.  I bet John Lennon doesn't even turn up on most of their radar screens.  And this is the majority of the Earth's population.  So how important does that really make him, when really, today, he's not as known or admired as you may think?

To answer Angry Steve, Jackson HAS been massively influential.  He wrote the book on modern pop - from boy band schlock to R and B to what you might call "dance music."   Who has he exactly influenced, you ask?  Timberlake, Usher, Babyface, R. Kelly, Britney Spears to name a few.  Sure, a lot of it is commercial and awful, but it's very popular.  I know that's not necessarily the barometer of good, but we can't ignore it either.  Can you write off his influence just because you DON'T LIKE his music, because it's not COOL enough for you?

That's fine, but what needs to be realized is that Jackson was truly international, and aside from Bob Marley, he was the first black artists to go global, to be embraced by everybody.  He paved the way for hip-hop's now global appeal, so you can't divorce him from its success.  For a while he was more famous than any human had ever been before.  He was huger than huge.  It was almost sick.  But you can't deny that despite his own bizarre racial self-loathing that he indeed broke down barriers.   It can be argued that Jackson made it possible for a Tiger Woods or even a Barak Obama to happen.  

Michael Jackson had planned a comeback tour - which was obviously going to be a disaster of Hindenburgian proportions - and yet 750,000 thousand tickets had already been sold.  750,000.  That's a fucking heaping jolly shitload.

So yeah, he mattered to people.   A lot of people.  They might not be the kind people you consider or like, but they live all over this globe and have opinions on music, just like you and me.

I really was never a really big fan. Never owned an album.  More of a rock and roller, to tell the truth.  BUT, his influence, both on music and pop culture can't be denied.

He was never "dead to me since..." This is the third time I've gotten this quote today.   "Michael Jackson has been dead to me since...."   What is this? The fucking Godfather?  While I appreciate the cynicism, Michael Jackson was always VERY ALIVE to me.

He was alive to me during the 70's, when Jackson 5 records played on my parents hi-fi stereo are some of my first memories as a human being.  Everytime I here "Baby Take Me Back," I'm transported to my house in Nisqually Valley, circa 1976.

He was alive to me in the early 80's.  I remember listening to songs from "Off the Wall" during my summer's doing childrens' theatre.  These tunes were part of the soundtrack to my pre-adolescence.

He was alive to me in middle school:  I remember when "Thriller" came out, how I was a rocker and had to pretend to hate it so much. And I did, publicly, though I secretly liked a lot of the songs.  What  I did hate was how POPULAR it was, how it was some sort of "normal person" litmus test that you liked the thing. It was like railing against The Beatles after they appeared on "Sullivan." I may have been righteous in my cause, but it was a losing battle.  Not liking "Thriller" in the day made me feel like a freak, like an iconoclast, and I still carry that real feeling of oppositional pride with me today,.

He was alive to me fourteen years ago.  I remember in the mid '90's when "History" came out. I remember the uber-pretentious superhero/Stalinesque mural that adorned the wall of - what was it - Penny Lane in Lower Queen Anne? It was then that I knew it was over, that he had crossed the line from silly to sick.

He was alive to me ten years ago (or so), when he went on trial for abusing those kids.  And though we all know he was guilty  (and he was, he fucking did it, ALL), he got off.  Was it just wealth?  Or was it the fact that we all knew that he'd already paid for his crimes, that his existence was now pathetic and miserable, that prison time would just be redudant?  One glance at those SAD SAD photos of his surgery travesties told a thousand stories of abject self-loathing.  He was already a casualty of himself. 

People have abused me for mourning MJ's death. I've gotten my share of mocking laughs and ironic shrugs. Fair enough. He was a child molester. This is plenty to damn him anywhere. He was a freak. His plasic surgery catastrophes could elicit nothing but pity from anyone who was unfortunate enough to witness the photos.

You can condemn him on these terms alone.

But he was one of the purest pop geniuses to come around in a century. Lennon? McCartney? Wilson? He was their EQUAL. But, he was an absulote contradiction. He was brilliant and eternally flawed, so fucked up that many of us wished him this death some ten years ago. He lived and died by this wicked sword, but, like it or hate it, his impact on pop culture is more than indelible. As I said before, it's Elvisian. Both were tsunamis of effect. Both were massive in their day. Both were tragic. You can roll your eyes and sigh and tell me, "I told you so," but it doesn't make Michael Jackson unimportant. As fucked up as he was, he was a FORCE.

There are VERY FEW artists you can say that about.

Think about it

It appears that Michael Jackson is DEAD. Perhaps a prescription drug complication.

For some reason I find this freaky and moving, so I'll leave it at that.

So the rainy season has arrived once again, this year right on cue. The skies have darkened and a tropical heat has settled down onto the Peninsula, making everything steamy and wet. I actually have grown to like the summer monsoon season. I used to hate it, for the fact that just when summer arrives it starts to rain, but the summer monsoon temporarily transforms Korea into a different place. At least it seems that way.

Last weekend was a good one. On Friday Lucie and I headed to the spanky new part of town next to Dongbaek Island. We hit a seafood buffet, where I exclusively downed raw tuna and an obscene amount of steamed snow crab. It was one of those occasions where I was unfillable, just a seafood jonesing glutton who could have probably eaten crab for six more hours. We drank wine at an open-air yupped-out Italian joint that was as overpriced as it was overdone, but sometimes you gotta cough up. Especially if your girlfriend is Korean. God Gawd.

On Saturday I took a solo hike up to Geumjeonsan and Samgyae Peak. On the way down I knocked back two bottles of makuli, whose milky-white boozy goodness caused me to float back down the mountain. I actually took the cable car down, but was too buzzed to notice the metal and glass box that contained me. Some people take the cable car UP the mountain and then claim that they "hiked" Geumjeonsan. Lazy fat fucks. That night was my old friend John Bocskay's birthday party, in which we ate meat and drank stupid amounts of soju and beer. At one point we had a roast, and I abused him pretty good. Let's just say he had it coming. Johnny gets married this upcoming Saturday, and I wish him happiness and luck. I'll be there to send it in person.

Somehow Scott Evans and I found ourselves at the Paradise Casino. I've been going there lately, since I've been winning decent cash and am banned from the other joint for punching a security guard (I was SURE they stole my fucking chips, the RACISTS!). Scott diddled around at the roulette table, while I chained myself to the Stud game. Lucie called at 12pm the next day, and to her dismay I was STILL at the table, downing endless iced coffees and barely keeping my eyes open. She was understandably miffed, but a pricey lunch and a new skirt at the Shinsegae Department store kept her wrath in check. A chunk of the 100,000 I won that night went to keeping her from slicing off my balls.

It's now Tuesday afternoon and I'm listening to Tom Petty in my underwear. The semester's over and all that I have are afternoon kids classes, so I can fritter away the AM's and early PM's by drinking coffee and attempting to finish the internet.

Life ain't too bad sometimes.

(As I noted in my last post, my good friend, the Fake Hippy, has inexplicably folded his blog. I offered him a post on mine to give an explanation to the legions of his crushed readers. This is what he had to say...)

Alright kiddas. Me mate Show here has been gracious enough to allow me, L'Hipster Authentique, to spout some wisdom to yez. I doubt it will do yez any good, since most of you arse-lickers around here are obese North American whoppers who can't even locate yer nobs through the folds of steak and kidney pie fat burstin out of yer jarg clobber, but I'll give yez the privelege just this once. And each of these words that flows forth is a priceless piece of art, I'm tellin' ye. Print out a phrase and take it to The Tate and you'll receive a stack of real Sterling - none of that useless Yank play money that's not even worth wiping a shite with, la'.

I'm presently located in the TAZ, sipping a cuppa Her Majesty's finest. I'm puffin on some perfectly rolled ganj and listening to the sweet sounds of Floddy. A fit, unclad Czica (no kimchee halitosis) is lying on my bed, and the evening light reflects off the cathedral across the square and is hitting her proper, like. I'm tellin yez, it's straight outta Dali's studio. This is how I'm living it daily, in ReAlfuCkingBohEmiA, Europe, while the rest of yez are chokin on smog and gettin had off by miserable Korean tits who don't want yez there in the first place. Get hip to it, kiddas.

Last night I rode my bicycle to The Skunk Club. I dismount and walk in the door. My clobber is straigh boss, la', vegan shoes, white trackies, AC/DC shirt (line down the stomach). Some Eastern block mullet metal fan is working the door, trying to extort some local currency from yours, but I walk pass like I own the gaff, and he's too gobsmacked to lift a finger. I order up a glass of the finest fizzy and take in the two fit birds at the end of the line. Some dreadlocked white nobhead is spinnin stale reggae and jumpin' around like he's King Tubby's bandmate, so I saunter forth and say, "Alright la', we'll have enough of this Kohsan road shite," and he says, with an Essex accent, "'oo the fack are you?", to which I reply, "I'm the cunt who sold you tree bark at Glastonbury last year, ya beaut," which I followed with the 'fod.

Bam!

Deadly, I'm tellin' ye. The blood was pourin' out of the poor saps nostrils like lager at The Dagger and Hooves and Tuebrook. I finished my glass if fizzy and walked out the door. I headed to a quiet like place down the way, where I caught the footy and watched THE MIGHTY REDS (five times) spank ManUre, 8-0. Sir "I'm a kiddy fiddler" Alex Fergusson stomped on his own colostomy bag once the result was final, the disgusting old tit. I relished in Gerrard's four hat tricks and spouted the causeway at Momo's final treadway, 'la. It's Scragg's been in all over again, yez get me?

So, yez are wonderin why the Fakehippy is callin it quits and breakin hearts around the world? It's cuz I'm livin it la'. I'm so outre that WRITING about it makes it passe. And reading about it makes you the biggest sap of all.

So get off your disgusting BigMac bloated arse and create your own gig, la'. Put the poker cards down and destroy your car. Don't eat animals and tread lightly, but have off all thems that need havin off.

Peace and LFC forever.

I know it's been quiet here at Showbiz Central, but this is just a natural cycle of my blog. Sometimes I'm busy and sometimes I neglect my duties, choosing instead to just take in life rather than reflect on it. I'm approaching my five year anniversary for this here forum, so I suppose I can forgive myself up and down periods.

Yesterday I finished all of my final tests, and today I completed most of my grading, so my bread and butter work at the college is pretty much done. I still teach a host of extra (read, kid's) classes, so even without the college students, I'm still well busy. That said, my mornings are freed up, giving me much more time for daily reflection, exercise, meditation, as well as an excuse to get absolutely MONGED the night before.

Last weekend was a fun one. On Friday, Lucie and I hit the Shinsegae Department Store's 9th floor goodness for some of the best Chinese grub I've ever had in Korea. Afterwards we went to the launch party for Busan Haps, the new print magazine started by our friend Bobby over at Idle Wordship, which was good times. On Saturday, The Sunset Lounge in Haeundae hosted an all-day acoustic music fest (of which I took part). We drank beer all day and ate barbecue and listened to a whole lineup of folks, punctuated by a wrestling match on the beach with a couple of caned UKers. On Sunday, the lovely Roshina took over my pad and cooked two curries plus sides, complemented by a big ass bottle of whiskey brought over by Scott Evans. General Bacchian debauchery all around. My distended belly is a testament to the good times.

In more sobering news, my summer plans have been called into question by the condition of my beloved and last-living grandmother, Marion Christiansen. She's 88 years old and over the last several years has lost her husband and only daughter (God bless both their souls.). This has been too much for her, and despite the fact that she's the strongest woman I've ever met, her time in this world is coming to an end, and when it does, I'll be straight home to honor her life. She's the last of our elders and was like a second mother to all of us, so I am more than bound to show my respect for her when the time comes, which, sadly, appears to be on the horizon. So my plans to go to China later this summer are up in the air, as it's more than likely I'll have to instead return home at some point. I'll play it by ear and honestly wish to endure no more loss, but I'll do whatever I have to do. I just wish her peace and send her my purest love, both privately and in the form of this post.

Otherwise things are well. Lucie has been grand and a real pillar during all of these crazy and difficult times. And our old friend Fake Hippy has folded his blog, choosing instead to write personally for (hopefully) later publication. We will absolutely miss his addition to the internet fray, but look out for him in the meantime abusing all who need it in the dog-eat-dog alleys that make up the Homely Planet comment board.

In the meantime, it would behoove y'all to check out the following:

Welsh/Slovenian Filip's blog

...as well as Gringo-in-TJ's latest post about the proverbial expat douchebag

Cool. Enjoy the summer. It's almost here and it's usually an amazing time of the year. Let us all roll with the punches and soak in the best that life has to offer.

Next time I will decline the drunken invitation to wrestle two Welshmen on the beach. Though I was indeed victorious, I have lasting injuries.

Why do I feel like life is doubling up? Like time is folding in on itself? Like experience is hitting me far faster than I can respond?

Is this just age?

Here's the gist of it:



Last year we headed west, from the sticky confines of Shanghai and Xian, straight into the heart of Donkeyland. It was proper mutton-flavored Central Asian shit and I hope to return there again.

This year we're heading back to Shangers, but then taking a turn south, training it to Kunming and Yunnan Province, where we'll take in some limestone scenery and eventually cross the border into northern Laos. Laos is probably my favorite country in the world, so any chance to make it back there is leapt upon. After bopping around in Laos, the plan is to go to northern Vietnam and then make our way back into China, eventually stopping in Macau for a couple of nights at the end.

The itinerary is ambitious and I doubt that we can do it all in one month, especially how it will be the wet season and getting around in Laos can be a slow and muddy affair.

Back on board are The Big Dog Sammy and Angry Steve. We are priveleged to be joined by Sir David Scraggs on this one as well, who will no doubt provide a bit of much-needed chaos and comic relief. Caf will be welcoming us in Shanghai and may make part of the journey down to Yunnan with us, time and heat permitting. He's an Irishman with translucent skin, so he tends not to leave his nice air-conditioned apartment in the summer, save for the daily lager run.

I'll be performing a stand-up set tonight at Jacoby's in Haebangcheon, as part of the music festival. There are a lot of other comics. The show starts at 9.

I'm not sure if anyone from Seoul actually reads this blog, but just in case, come out and watch me kill, or eat a big dick.

I love this song. It's the soundtrack to my life.

This is a very interesting time to live in Korea. Ex-President Noh Mu-Hyun killed himself last Saturday, then, on Sunday, the North tested a nuclear bomb and shot off a couple of missles.

The South responded by agreeing to search and seize vessles from the North that are thought to be exporting nuclear technology and/or materials, and now the North has withdrawn from the 1953 Armistice and is threatening to attack US and Southern warships.

I'm practicing my breast stroke to Japan.