Tom Kim

Go to Dylan Hears a Who to hear an uncanny impersonation of Bob Dylan singing Dr. Seuss. Need I say more?

Notice the sparse blogging? Last week of the trimester. Alternate panic and procrastination. And very little done.

You do some work for me. Troll around some of the earlier entries. (I have a yearning to take my entry on Asian Emo-Mullets away as the most-popular spot on my blog). Put witty comments somewhere. I may very well reward you with a mix of magnificent music (alliteration!)

I’ll be back to normal by next week.

Def Jux, home of my favorite rapper (Aesop Rock), has put out a free compilation to download. Nod your head, backpackers.

I Am Fuel has a post on Hype!, a music documentary of the Seattle grunge phenomenon of the 90s, and Speed of Dark has a post on The Time Traveler’s Wife, a book that references the punk and post-punk music of the 80s and 90s.

Both posts have accompanying mp3s that will take you back to those halcyon years.

There’s something about the Martin-Eckmann model that seems to carry a pallor about it no matter where it goes. Even in the kaleidoscope of New Delhi the android looked like it was striding through a Scandinavian city, even with an improbable woolen shawl wrapped around its voicebox and a black pleather trenchcoat.

It was almost as if it walked around in a gray bubble, de-saturating everything within a few feet of it — a pure illusion of the cognitive dissonance of its bearing and appearnace since it did not carry around the technology of a portable force field. It was just an android, a robot with enough volume in its casing to give it the mechanical ability to move and communicate like a human being. It did not even have the ability to sense and respond to the dank, pungent atmosphere of the bustle it now navigated through, once again adding to the impression of a personal coolness.

It stopped a moment, looking just like a young socialite waiting for a taxi in the dead of a Gotham winter, and swiveled around to face a stout Indian flower peddler on the street.

My uncle Paul is obsessed with frogs. That’s because my aunt Kimmy told him a well-known Korean fable about an impish frog who always did the opposite of what his mother told him to do. At the end of the fable, the mother frog tells her son the opposite of her dying wish, know the way he is, but when she dies, he feels so guilty that he faithfully follows her instructions to the letter.

This is all by way of introduction to this intriguing article: “Why do men ignore nagging wives?” I myself have wondered just last night why I always go out of my annoy Dana, the way my dad annoyed my mom. And now my suspicions have been confirmed by science: men are, by nature, depraved and perverse.

So I really should have used this weekend to make a dent on my stack of to-be-graded but that did not happen. Not that I regret it.

On Friday, I hosted the Philly Korean Language Meetup to celebrate the lunar new year. When the locale switched to my house I thought it would be a cozy affair — just The-Other-Tom & Paula coming over. But then the invites swelled to 6 more at the last minute, and I panicked a little. Not enough food!

I rushed after school to H-Mart to buy some supplies, and Dana started her stovetop magic. When 7:00 rolled around, though, only The-Other-Tom showed up. Not even Paula, who apparently had to plan for a next-day trip to Germany. Too much food!

Eventually, though, everybody started trickling in — but with gifts of food in tow. We had a grand old time. Mandoo-dukk-gook, shikhye, bin-dye-dukk, cake, coffee-in-cans, fried mandoo, wine, beer, dukk, dukk, and more dukk. And, of course, a few boisterous rounds of Yut.

Saturday: Philly WordPress and Blogger Meetup. I came in late because of a tussle with a Philadelphia Free Librarian, but it was good to see another swelled gathering of interesting folk. I had never realized that Only Partially Insane was from Fishtown which further explains her wild woolly forays into CasiNO! Brazil. I feel your pain, gal.

And Colin Devroe brought his clan! Good man. I’m now looking for people to play Hand and Foot with me. Any game that features “clean” and “dirty books” is worth looking into.

On the way back home, I decide that I’m going to redeem my defeat at the hands of a local librarian and take my case to the Central branch. It’s cold, and I don’t like standing around so I do this leapfrog game of walking a few blocks and looking back to see if the bus is on its way or no. I’m two blocks away from the library when I notice the bus on its way. Useless. I let it past me; when I get to the library, I’m 15 minutes past closing time. Argh.

So now I’m standing on Spring Garden. I’ve made up my mind that I’m just going to stand there and wait for the bus. I haven’t done this much walking in a while. 20 minutes, 30 minutes past. Fiddlesticks. I start walking home again. Guess when the bus catches up with me? That’s right, two blocks away from the stop. This time, I take it because — well I don’t know why; I’m just pissed. Septa, you suck.

I’ve got to erase some of this negativity so I head over to Lai’s for a tupperware party for Don and Michelle. I don’t know Don and Michelle super-well but they are, with their little Eliana, one of the most goofy, fun, good-hearted families I have ever met. And they’re going to be missionaries in Turkey. Lucky Turks.

Sunday: I’ve started attending Philadelphia Community Church, a startup Reformed church in Northern Liberties that has services at 8:30 in the morning. 8:30 — yeah I know. But they’re real nice, real small, fully endorsed by my regular church, Tenth Presbyterian, and a hop and a skip away. Besides, I’m a morning person.

Dana isn’t, though. When I get back, she’s ready for the 11:00 service at Tenth. Lovely sermon by Dr. Ryken as always, but I almost nod off; I feel leaden and peaked. But not before my showdown at the library! I eat some soup at Whole Foods to revive myself a bit, and as soon as the library opens, I march in there.

I get trounced again by the people behind the desks. I’ve lost the will to be productive. Dana and I end up watching Match Point and arguing whether there’s any moralistic intent in the movie. Woody Allen may no longer be at the height of his game, but I love the fact that his movies always provoke a discussion.

So there you have it, a rollercoaster weekend. I haven’t made it particularly amusing, but it was.

Good Weather for Airstrikes has another massive post on the newest brightest shiny things on the mp3 blogosphere — Part 1!

While you’re clogging away your bandwidth, you might as well pick up the latest free mixtape by Stones Throw Records for [adult swim] — Chrome Children 2.

Our first snow day of the school year. Our headmaster is known for being quite reluctant to call snow days, so it came as somewhat of a surprise to have the day off.

Bittersweet. On the one hand, I had a nice relaxing day. On the other hand, my 7th grade classes are missing a critical day in a week that ends with a Parents’ Visiting day. Stressed.

The Smithereens have put out an album faithfully covering, track by track, the seminal Meet the Beatles.

Personally, my favorite Beatles cover band has got to be the supergroup assembled for the Backbeat movie soundtrack: Dave Pirner, Greg Dulli, Thurston Moore, Don Fleming, Mike Mills, Dave Grohl. The movie was eh, but man, I’ve got to get that soundtrack; it made me hear the Beatles in a whole new way — something the Cirque du Soleil “mashup” Love album failed to do.

I missed seeing the re-united Police at the top of the Grammys. Thank God for Youtube, though.

Confession: I prefer The Police to The Beatles. Stuart Copeland, Andy Summers, and even Gordon Sumner are brilliant musicians. Their blend of reggae, punk, and new wave was inspired. Their flirtations with jazz even as a pop group set the stage for their individual explorations past the band. And they have now reunited. Yes, their discography does not have the same scope nor influence, but I defy you to find a tighter trio in all of rock.