It's actually been a long time since I've posted on this blog. There are a billion things I should have talked about by now, but I didn't get around to them. Rest assured, this blog is very much alive.
But for now, all I want to do is write this little tidbit on friendship, because I think it's very important:
"The people you are willing to spoil are your friends. You do so because you care about them. The people who expect you to spoil them, they are vampires. They are not your friends, and you should be wary of them."
I am writing this blog here to commemorate the release of this:
I wrote this song back in the fall of 2008, around the time of my 21st birthday. (I'd like to say late September or early October.) The funny story about the song is that it's obviously about a girl, but I think the muse either doesn't know or refuses to acknowledge that it's about her. Conversely, a great deal of my closer female friends have asked if it was about them, which, to me, comes off as sort of "weird." I've only had this bizarre relationship with the girl that I wrote this song about.
I remember once I was done writing the song, I was ready to throw it away or let it fall into the wealth of obscure songs that I didn't feel completely "sold" on. However, much to my surprise, when I debuted the song, it was met with such a warm reaction that I had a change of heart about it. That, and Pat Delaney convinced me that it was a great song. (This wasn't the first time he stopped me from throwing away a "great songs.")
To this day, it confuses me that the song has amassed a great amount of plays, despite it not being too old of a song on the Bootlegs of the Untitled Band myspace. I have performed it a couple of times when I was working on a college radio show, and I've also done a parody of the song called "Moon Jelly Records Joke Promo" that can be heard here. It was also one of the very first release as a single from my "record" label.
Despite its exposure, I'm definitely not delusional about it because if I truly had accomplished Internet success, I definitely wouldn't have trouble being signed or landing a record deal. However, I do have to wonder: who is listening to this song?
Regardless, on August 13, 2009 (almost a year since I wrote and recorded the song), Bootlegs of the Untitled Band partnered with our good friend, Saikyo Studios, to shoot the "I Only Hate You" music video. The conceptual planning for the video took place months ago, with various ideas being thrown in multiple directions. The original idea was a little too ambitious, and perhaps harder to shoot: I wanted to use vast locales, props, and a creepy shot that would require me slowly gliding out from under a bed.
Needless to say, the film, because of the 1960's vibe that the song is spiritually related to, we settled to shoot the video as a performance on a fictional variety show. It was later dubbed "The Chris Plummer Show" because our friend would be playing the talk show host.
While we tried to keep it in the spirit of the 60's, the film breaks it's ties with the era. I mean, after all, how 60's can you keep it when the song itself has the lyrics: "The fucking love songs/don't know shit on what I feel." And so the video has some wild gestures, dancing, and of course, minorities.
There were some fun shots that ended up getting cut out: I started stripping, Pat did a pretty sick punt to the air, Plummer pretended that his golf club was a guitar, the lights of the show flickered on and off to the beat of the song, amongst many others. However, I felt that it was better to subdue ourselves a bit. Some of the shots were just too ridiculous, while others just wouldn't work with the rest of the footage.
So there you have it. That's all about "I Only Hate You." I guess that last thing I could say that it will be appearing on a future release, but I'm never sure when I'll finish said release.
Here's full credits about the music video that you probably don't care about:
Bootlegs of the Untitled Band "I Only Hate You."
Written and Performed by Bootlegs of the Untitled Band. Bootlegs of the Untitled Band appears courtesy of Moon Jelly Records
Directed by Chrisopher Plummer and Bootlegs of the Untitled Band.
Edited by Christopher Plummer and Kevin Ng Cinematography by Christopher Plummer. Lighting by Aya.
Produced by Saikyo Studios 2009.
"Playing on the stage is probably one of the only times that I feel like if there is a heaven on earth. . . if there's a heaven on earth, that's when I'm performing. That I don't know who the president is, and I don't know who got arrested, and I don't know, I don't know anything but how, how wonderful it is . . . to [through] the ends of your fingers to talk to thousands of people out there in that audience."
Dedicated to the Memory of Les Paul. (June 9, 1915 – August 13, 2009)
Without Les Paul, "I Only Hate You" (and a lot of songs) probably wouldn't exist being as it features his innovation of overdubs and multitasking.
Here are some fun tidbits in the film: -The beginning of the film acknowledges that the footage was found in a film vault in Carson, CA, and yet, talk show host Chris Plummer says, "This band comes all the way from Carson, CA." -Mini vinyl is a Verbatim brand CD-R that looks like a vinyl. -On Chris Plummer's desk is an 8th grade picture of my brother. -Patrick is holding up the light for Plummer. He is barely visible, but you can see him to the right of the screen. -Aya and myself made the crowd noises. -My brother was in charge of the jellyfish, in which he kept purposely hitting me in the head with. -Most of the footage was shot on August 13, 2009. The close-up shots of myself were filmed the next night on August 14 by me and my brother. In one shot, I'll have a budding mustache, and the other shots I'll be clean shaven and sweaty. (Those are not tears.) I also look significantly dead tired in the close up footage. -Patrick does not play the exact chords that's heard on the recording. -The recording features an acoustic guitar, but Patrick is playing an electric Epihone Les Paul in the video. We did this to further the tribute to Les Paul.
Oh, this one is short and sweet, because we like everything nice and compact. Just look at cellphones!
This is just a shout out to the hit singles. Not just the songs featured on the radio but the songs featured on television and motion pictures! God, I love motion pictures 'cause I can just sit down and have everything efficient! The experience is like taking shits and popping pills! HOORAY!
I'm kidding. I have nothing against liking singles or finding out about a band through whatever form of media. However, songwriters pour their souls just to have 90% of their shit ignored.
But no, we all want to be pop culture guys and dolls. I get it: I'm not featured in a cute movie with Michael Cera. Thank you, hit singles.
(NOTE: You can right click, and then "Open in new tab" to see the images bigger.)
"Everyone's afraid of their own life
If you could be anything you want You'd be disappointed, am I right? No one really knows the one's they love If you knew everything they thought I bet that they'd just shut up."
-Isaac Brock of Modest Mouse- (from the opening lines of the song, "Lives")
That particular piece is off the 2000 album The Moon & Antarctica. Mainstream listeners probably only know Modest Mouse's radio hits, and they really aren't one trick ponies. (I, for one, am pretty upset when people only know my music for just one song.) You can listen to this particular diddly here.
The epigraph relates to what I'll be discussing today. It's something I haven't been able to shut up about for awhile: Mark Waid's "Irredeemable."
There will be spoilers. I already know that most people don't read comics unless if a new superhero movie comes out, in which everyone doesn't shut up about Spider-Man, Batman, or Watchmen. Hopefully you will think differently about comics after reading this as there has been a lot of great literary works that have come out after the first wave of underground comics (Robert Crumb, Art Spiegelman, and Harvey Pekar) and modern comics (Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman, and yes, even fuckin' Frank Miller.)
This isn't to say that there isn't a lot of lame comics out there. Some "adult" comics have nothing really mature about them, and are just excuses to show titties and dicks. Superhero books try to be "dark" by unreasonably inserting bizarre love affairs, deaths, and deals with the devil. So, no, not everything is gold, and sometimes you just got to listen to word of mouth. For the most part, that's what I do.
I first found out about Irredeemable from Blair Butler's Fresh Ink Blog. It just sounded like something I would be interested in, and I usually tend to see eye to eye with Blaire. I generally hate comic book bloggers, but she is one of the better ones if solely for the fact that I feel there's a certain level of sincerity, as opposed to other comic book reviewers who try too hard to come off as "cool" or "funny." (Furthermore, she likes The Luna Brothers, Brian K. Vaughn, and Damon Lindelof, and that's always a plus for me.)
What caught me about her words about Irredeemable was that it was a "superhero deconstruction," (I love any literary deconstruction) and that the premise had to do with: "a Superman-esque hero who finally gets tired of being a 'good guy,' and kills everyone." When I first heard that Irredeemable was written by Mark Waid, my initial reaction was: "What? The guy who wrote Impulse??" Impulse was a series of fun, teenage stories. It was entertaining, but I certainly would not expect the writer to do something such as Irredeemable. Well, needless to say, I was wrong, and I certainly did not know Mark Waid.
I did not know that Mark Waid had written two critically acclaimed works: Kingdom Come and Empire. Kingdom Come dealt with the "ethical price of superheroism," and Empire had to do with what would happen if the super villains had won. In regards to Irredeemable, Waid has stated that it is ""about how the lessons we learn about right and wrong as children can become warped and twisted when challenged by the realities of the adult world" and "how does a man go from being the world’s greatest superhero to its greatest supervillain?"
It was a hunt to find the first issue being as it sold out at most places. I eventually did find it, but it took walking into the comic shop with the worst customer service. (It makes perfect sense, doesn't it?)
Needless to say, I was pretty blown away by it. The beginning to it is pretty nuts. If you'd like to stop and check out what I'm talking about, here's a preview of the first seven pages.
Three issues have been released, and this is the story thus far: "The Plutonian, Earth's most powerful and beloved man, has gone rogue. In recent weeks, millions have died at his hands and entire cities have been lost. Now, his former teammates, the Paradigm, are combing through the Plutonian's past, searching desperately for clues as to why a god has turned evil, what he wants... and if there's any way to stop him."
My favorite panel comes from the first issue. The Plutonian's sidekick, Samsara, recollects when he first met his mentor. It was during a baseball game in which the great superhero defuses a nuclear bomb, saving the lives of everyone in the stadium. Nearly everyone is cheering for the rescue, but you got to consider that The Plutonian has super hearing:
How's that for good character work? Look at his facial expression!
Whereas superhero comics tend to have characters who have big hearts to go along with their powers, Waid has stated that his character does not have the emotional capacity to not let the world get to him. He also pointed out that by classic superhero rules, heroes can't concern themselves with what people think of them. His counterargument to this is: "if you are so far removed as to not care what people think of you, it takes one less step to not care what people think."
This following page should be one of the all-time greatest moments in comic history. Issue #2, features a flashback of when Alana Patel (the Lois Lane of the series) finds out that mild mannered Dan Hartigan is The Plutonian:
She feels that this whole time Dan Hartigan had been laughing behind her back, and that this was all a joke to him. The Plutonian tells her, "You mean everything to me and I'll protect you forever. I swear. Alana, you love me. I showed who I am and you still love me." Alana is freaked out by the whole ordeal and responds with, "Love you? I don't even know you!"
I won't go into detail about the third issue, but all I can say is that the opening pages features probably one of the most disturbing things I've ever read. What happens in the beginning sounds like something you'd hear from your crude, immature friend sharing a story about some porn he just watched.
Regardless, I still feel that Mark Waid's Irredeemable is an intellectual work that everyone should check out. Do I think it's going to end well? I really hope so. I'd hate to see another series with a strong beginning, but a crappy ending.
What I really love about Irredeemable's first three issues is that it is turning out to be the ultimate story about the nice guy going bad. There's the age old theory that a person is only an asshole, because originally he was too much of a good guy. I'm not going to say it's like Christopher Nolan's film "The Dark Knight," in which the character Harvey "Two-Face" Dent had his whole spiel about, "you either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain," because whereas Dent always showed signs of being corrupt, flashbacks of the Plutonian portray that he was lovable, dependable, highly logical, friendly, and just had the makings of what you'd expect from your typical "goody, two-shoes" superhero.
But as the more "superhuman" you become, the more disconnected you are from things. The closer you get to godliness, the more people begin to look like statistics and ants. If you've saved the day, and did the right things a billion times, every thing becomes formulaic, and it always hurts the most when you're right, when you want to be wrong. (And believe me, issue three has a part where The Plutonian is unfortunately right about people.)
While I am by no means, a superhero, I can certainly relate to The Plutonian. I'm pretty sure a lot of people can. How many times have you done what you felt was "the right thing," and still have things blow up in your face? You can have all the praise and adulation from everyone, but suppose the one person you love the most was still an unrequited situation? Perhaps you do favors for people, but they don't ever think about checking up on you; all they care about is what else you can do for them. (The characters in the comic are feeling the ramifications of never getting around to knowing who the Plutonian truly was.) You can't be a caring person in this world without being a martyr, and I feel that The Plutionian character has taken all the bullshit that he can, and has pretty much decreed, "fuck it."
The 1986 Alan Moore graphic novel (Irredeemable is loosely inspired by Moore's "Twilight of the Superheroes" concept) Watchmen has a joke involving the clown, Pagliacci:
"Heard a joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he's depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. Doctor says, 'Treatment is simple. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him. That should pick you up. Man bursts into tears. Says, "But doctor. . . I am Pagliacci."
The Plutonian is probably a lonely guy who has no one to confide in, and nothing can cheer him up.
I'm sure if you read Irredeemable, you'll think that The Plutonian is an asshole, but I feel he's more human than most superheroes.
Irredeemable is published and copyrighted by BOOM! Studios. (2009.)
Before I start, I first want to say "thank you" to the couple of you that have commented on this blog. (Keyword: "couple," because there literally is two of you at the time of writing this.) I honestly wish I could've commented back during the time you posted on this blog, and I'm still figuring out how to have this thing notify me via e-mail.
Furthermore, I have (for the time being) changed the blog settings so anyone can comment on the blog, regardless if they're registered blogger members or not. I'll leave this setting this way, but at the first sight of spam advertisements for penis pills and energy drinks, I will be putting the old settings back.
But anyways, today I will be writing about: Novelty Acts.
The above picture is from the June 12th, 2009 Bootlegs of the Untitled Band/Bassfishing show at Sacred Grounds Coffeehouse in San Pedro. Aforementioned in a previous blog, Bootlegs of the Untitled Band is my brainchild project, and that's me in the orange spacesuit. (I was originally inspired by Paul London to wear one, but it's slowly developing a life of it's own with what I've been doing.)
This particular photo is my new band, Bassfishing. ("Bass" is meant to be read bay-se, like the instrument and not like the fish. That, itself, is a reference to The Wizzard from Tim and Eric's Tom Goes to the Mayor.)
At any rate, if you were to see this at a coffee shop, what would you think? Please be honest. If you were to see a bassist in a ski mask, a DEVO-reject on rhythm guitar, and La Parka wearing his casual clothes wielding an electric, what would be your reaction? It's certainly different.
What do you expect to see at coffee shops? Or better yet: what do you expect to hear when someone pulls out an acoustic guitar? Well, I'm not sure what you expect, but I certainly know what I'd expect. There are three schools of acoustic guitar players: the school of "Bright Eyes" Conor Oberst, the school of John Mayer, and the school of Jack Johnson.
Before I continue, I want to just point out that I'm not going to detract away from their talent. They certainly do things with the six strings that I'd never dream I'd ever be able to do in my entire life. However, I'll admit that I'm not a fan of Bright Eyes and John Mayer. I can understand the appeal of a tortured songwriter who has a painful time telling his stories, but something just doesn't click when it comes to Oberst's music. It's just a little too melodramatic for my tastes. As for John Mayer, I'm sorry but he is too "adult contemporary" for me. I think he's a good guitar player, but y'know, that isn't everything to me when it comes to being music I like. As for Jack Johnson, well, I actually think he is pretty good. His music is pretty fun. He's certainly not an influence of mine, and not something I'd listen to daily, but I can honestly say I like Jack Johnson.
But regardless if I love or hate Jack Johnson, John Mayer, and "Bright Eyes" Conor Oberst, there's no deny that there's this horrible saturation of this type of singer-songwriter, especially at coffee shops. It doesn't matter if it's a girl or a boy singing, they generally tend to emulate one of these type of performances. And believe me, if there's anyone who would know, it would be me. In the Southern California Area, I've been associated/performed at: Nuart Cafe, Portfolio Cafe, Java Town, Cup of Jo, Sacred Grounds Coffeehouse, the It's A Grind in Lakewood, and the It's A Grind along PCH in Long Beach. I share the stage with with these modern-day dramatists.
Between the more typical singer songwriter types and the guy who's been known to wear costumes and shout songs about "Alpha Snails," who do you think is the bigger draw? Who do you think gets the better critical acclaim?
It's honestly the age old battle between comedy vs. tragedy all over again. I'm certainly not saying my whole act is centered around humor, but I tend to be more on the comic side than the tragic side.
I've been called a "novelty" act before by some guy claiming to be a record producer. I've been given weird stares by more "serious" acts. I really want to know: who decides who has emotional depth and who doesn't? What's with the suppression of comedy? How often do we hear: "I used to think Jim Carrey was lame, but I found out the man could act. He can do serious roles!" Everyone loves to laugh and feel good, but we're more likely to react to a sad ending, as opposed to a happy one. I always hear about good books being the depressing ones; it's always the one's that are "heart-breaking," "haunting" and "emotionally shattering." I'm always told my appreciation of the "novelty" band Ween is shared with thirteen year old kids who'll eventually grow up and reject their fandom.
Apparently, I'm certainly not "artistic" without some earth shattering, tear-jerking aspects. At the June 12th show, I played a "straight" show. It was a friend's idea, and I took it to consideration. I played a 13 song set with no gimmicks, no "stand-up comedian" stage banter, and I restrained myself from moving too much with the flow. It was an interesting approach, but it certainly felt like performing music with a straight jacket.
I had an epiphany that night, and I realized that the problem isn't with me. I shouldn't have to creatively change myself for anyone, because what I feel is natural when I perform is true, honest, pure, and raw expression. I'm certainly not saying I can't be serious. Some days I'll feel like being goofy on stage, and on other days, I don't. I shouldn't consciously dictate what I should do. Does anyone dictate how they breathe?
The problem is the mentality of rational and pain. Our great logical minds have set the paradigm to be that we must think and analyze, and of course, this leads to pain. Logical minds expect life to play fair and for everything to make sense. We don't want to experience and enjoy things; it seems too easy to do so. We are all subconsciously masochists who want everything to be intricate and technical, so we can get everything down to a science; to say everything fits appropriately with labels. We don't like this idea of life being mysterious, but rather our egos want to say we know everything. We want to be able to proclaim: "I've got you figured out" and "You're predictable." Everything has to be "intelligent," and comedy is rarely ever seen as a "smart" art form.
And so, a simple minded baffoon on stage become a "novelty act." I'm someone that the logical minds think are predictable. Truthfully though, I believe that you can never predict the mind of a fool. The fool is only a fool because someone called him a "fool," and the label comes from being "different." [Of course, I'm not saying one should be just pure comedy over tragedy, because that's when you'll get the true sociopaths. However, I think I'll address this in a later post.]
I truly do feel that Ween are spiritual brethren to my work. Does it bother me that they haven't achieved mainstream success? It's been 6 independent albums, and 10 studio albums. I certainly want them to have bread on their table. I don't wish anyone to starve in the world. Of course, I think generally, nobody takes them seriously.
The 1997 album The Mollusk is one of my favorite albums, but from start to finish, it is quite hilarious. The opening song "I'm Dancing in the Show Tonight" is a showtune-esque number, with a chamber of morphing voices. Another notable song is "Ocean Man," which has been used for a Honda commercial, as well as The Spongebob Square Pants movie. The song most people state as the most out there on the album is the stomp on the floor, "knee slapping" romp that is "Waving My Dick in the Wind." Needless to say, the album is forty minutes of good times.
This isn't to say the band doesn't have its serious moments. The final track on The Mollusk entitled "She Wanted to Leave" is probably one of the few songs that literally had me bummed me out for days. The opening song to the 2000 album White Pepper called "Exactly Where I'm At," has lyrics that really punch you to the gut: "I'm all staged / It's all an act / I'm really scared that I may fall back on the abstract / It'd be exactly where I'm at." And of course, these are all songs that would be considered "emotionally deep," had they not been written by Ween.
There is hope because Ween is one of those kinds of band that has always changed their sound. They've done an album of country tunes, an album themed around the ocean, and an album of Beatles-esque pop. On top of that, while they are considered to be with the indie and alternative scene, they've been known to cover songs by hard rock musicians such as Led Zeppelin, Motorhead, and even Van Halen. On top of that, they've had a great underground following that supports them through and through, showing that it is still rewarding to be uncompromising and express who you really are. Their fans tend to appreciate all aspects of them.
It might not quite be the mainstream, but there is an audience out there that doesn't think of them as just a "novelty" act.
If you haven't figured out, the later is the explicit remix.
I honestly think that had they succeeded in getting that song to be used in a commercial, it would've been as memorable as those old, creepy Quiznos subs advertisements.
Secondly, here's the music video to one of my favorite Ween songs, "Even if You Don't":
It's directed by Trey Parker and Matt Stone of South Park fame.
Photos of Bootlegs / Bassfishing taken by Roderick Apellanes at the Sacred Grounds Show. June 12, 2009. His photoblog is here: Raving_Musashi..
The photo of Jim Carrey is from his role of Lloyd Christmas from the Farrelly Brothers film, Dumb and Dumber. (1994.)
If anyone is interested, I'm playing the nerdy guy, Patrick of CHINA SMOKE was playing my friend, my dad was played by Mr. K, and lastly, the film was directed by Chris "DJ Gouki" Plummer. So, if any of you guys had heard of Moon Jelly Records, that short "more-annoying-than-actually-funny" skit would know that was basically the whole company right there.
The "plot" (if you can really call it that) was my brainchild. Again, the whole idea behind it was to be more annoying than actually funny. It seems to have caught on, being as a couple of our friends could not stop saying "my dad" in a nerdy voice for awhile.
My friend Andrew and I were hanging out the other day, and he asked me, "Where did you even come with it?" Truthfully, I guess it was too stupid that it came off as original. Truthfully, I would dare say that a part of it is autobiographical.
No, I've never been caught drunk by my parents. No, I've never actually been beaten with a fondue fork. And no, my parents do not prohibit me eating cheese for a week when I'm in deep shit.
I've been spanked by a newspaper before, and they used to scare me with the snapping sound of a belt, but overall, I wasn't a "good" kid per se, but too much of a "weird" kid for them to handle. What could my parents do when I drew their Christmas cards, and there were skeletons and tombstones all over the place? Could my parents really yell at me for accidentally breaking a buddha statue when I was peacefully waltzing with it?
I guess what I'm trying to say what is autobiographical about it is that fear of your dad. When I was a rowdy kid, my dad used to threaten to beat me up if I misbehaved. It's not so much that I can't beat up my dad. He's pretty old and his bones aren't as good as they used to be. But really, at the end of the day, who really wants to punch your father?
It took me a long time to admit this, but I see a lot of myself in my dad. A lot of people are actually a lot like their parents, but hardly anyone ever wants to admit it. My dad is just as weird, just as stubborn, and just as borderline obsessive compulsive as I am. He's always on the move: I hardly ever see him take a day off. Every time he's free from work, he's always fixing or cleaning something in the house.
I'm the same way. Usually when I have a vacation, 75% of the time I don't feel like hanging out with people. I actually prefer locking myself in my room and working on music and art.
And here's the key thing about the two of us: some times, I think we work hard at the things we do just so that we can say we gave it 110% When it comes to things you care about, there's no half-assing in the Ng family work ethic.
I sometimes think my dad really just works hard just for the right to say he's been "selfless" and a "good guy." I share this condition. I think it's a mental illness really, but sometimes I think I give of myself to people (usually friends), just for the sake of being able to say, "I'm giving more." And of course, both me and my dad expect reciprocation and equal effort from everyone, but realistically, the world does not work that way.
The major question here is: do I love my dad? It's really an awkward question to answer, but I would honestly say "yes." It's truly an unconditional love. I'm not saying everyone should love their dad, because that would honestly silly. You can't choose your family, and so I feel, no one ever has to commit to loving their family.
He's weird and goofy, and I make jokes about him all the time. It's definetly easier this way, because if I took some of the things he says to heart, my dad would come off as this mega-jerk, and he's really not. I may not agree with his actions and ideals, but that's always the old vs. the new. (I don't want to digress much, but if you ever read Toni Morrison's novel, Sula. . . my dad would probably lose his leg for me and call it "love," but wouldn't particarly be an affectionate type of person.)
Anyways, the whole point here was the celebrate my dad, and hopefully I did so. Will I probably go back to butting heads with him by the end of the day? Probably. That's usually how it goes for holidays.
I mentioned back when I was blogging on myspace that I'd eventually reach this topic, and today is that day. I will be talking about my short stint working for a college radio station. I won't explicitly state the name of the radio station, because I think it's unfair to slander the few hard workers that work for that organization. (However, if you follow the clues about where I go to school as well as look at the picture, I'm sure you could figure out who I used to take orders from.)
I originally assumed everyone that worked for the college radio station were pricks. I had spent a good deal talking to some of the DJs, and it always seemed like I wasn't the right "type." I'm pretty sure one radio talk show host absolutely hated me for no apparent reason. When I first went up to him and introduced myself, he seemed annoyed with me. He was an eccentric guy who would dress in fashionable clothes, walked around with a boombox that would act like "theme music," and his program featured a wealth of obscure indie and blues; I really thought we were going to be friends. However, it seemed like he wanted nothing to do with me. Other friends of mine talked to him, and he was exceptionally nice to them. However, to me, he said very little, and when he did, it was in a disgusted tone.
Needless to say, I originally wanted nothing to do with the radio station. It became apparent that the one guy who didn't like me was one of the upper management workers, and he, in turn, wanted nothing to do with me. To make matters worse, he was a general manager for booking shows, and it seemed like my musical act was banned from concerts on campus. Whereas the old general managers were my friends and were open to have me play a show, this general manager wanted more subdued, indie artists. The concert series under his management seemed to consist of more soft spoken, ambiant types, which is not my style of music or personality.
It wasn't until I was inspired from a fellow college radio show named "The Doing It Wrong" show that I felt like giving it a second chance. They were my friends, and I figured if they could get away with such a disorganized, yet entertaining show, I decided to give my own shot. The radio station was going through a transitional period in which a lot of their old DJs were leaving college, and so I applied. On August 2009, what I had thought would never happen had happened: I was hosting my very own radio show, "You Haven't Beaten Me Show."
With a name like that, it aptly set the tone for the entire semester of college radio program. I was finally working for the enemy, but there was no way they were going to control my voice.
I felt I was giving something different to the radio. I wasn't a Top 40 type, as my show would feature a mix of alternative music; Modest Mouse, Ween, Radiohead, Madvillian, The Flaming Lips, From Bubblegum to Sky, The Hives, waffles, The Pixies, The Mongols, Love, and Public Enemy were some of the ecclectic bunch I would play on the show. I would talk and sometimes be rather volatile (especially towards the show before me), but none of it was ever hateful in a "shock jock, 'Tom Leykis'" kind of way. Stimulating talk with a broad range of topics were at the core of the show; I never wanted to say anything on the air that did not have some sort of merit to it. I listened to the other shows, and without tooting my horn too much, I felt that I balanced having the right amount of energy, without letting myself go into "novelty" levels of broadcasting. I wanted to come off perfectly loud and clear, while adding a little bit of "edutainment" for good measure. The end of each broadcast would conclude with a live, acoustic performance in the studio to send the listeners off on a good note.
I am very grateful to say that I had spectacular guests co-hosts I had on the show. However, I will say that my expectations were usually "reversed" by the end of the day; often people that I thought would be talkative and entertaining on the mic tended to be the most quiet with the "on air" lights were on, and vice versa. I tried to make sure that we didn't get too distracted by making "inside jokes" that would distract from the broadcast. (Admittingly, I sometimes did not follow this rule, but I tried to keep it to the best of my ability.) The most notable help I got working the show was Chris Plummer on technical duties, a janitor named Frank who would let me inside the studio (because the station itself did not provide it's employees with keys to the studio), as well as recurring on-air personalities Patrick Delaney and Angelo Rivera.
The two most notable shows are the ones I dub: "The Extremely Pissed Off Thirty Minutes" and "The Last Show." The former of the two was a show in which I had to break into the studio after the guys before me locked the door, and didn't bother to stick around and help me out. This led to a series of throwing garbage cans and smashing two-by-four planks on the sealed door. Frank would eventually help me out, and the rest of the show was dedicated to putting him over as a person, as well as trashing the show before us. I kept my composure, but I made sure to let the listeners know that I was getting tired of some of the bullshit that came with working for this college radio station.
"The Last Show" was indeed the final broadcast. It had everything: great guests, awesome music, and superb talks. I let everything loose because I knew this would indeed by my final broadcast. I held no punches when it came to badmouthing the studio, but at the same time, never strayed too far from the original concept of creating a different kind of programming. I didn't want to be just another angry guy on the radio, so I made sure to say some kind words for everyone and even recited poetry from Freedom Writers just to give a change of pace on the show.
So now that I've recollected some positive memories from my radio days, what exactly went wrong? Plenty of things:
1) The station was going under transitional management. Everything was very disorganized. For the earlier shows, I was moved around a lot because they always mischeduled everything. I went from having a show at 2 o'clock, to having a show at 8.
2) FCC Censorship. Despite the broadcast being commercial free, we were limited on what we could say on the air. I always thought the spirit of "independent" radio was about freedom of speech, but the general manager did not see eye-to-eye with me on that respect. Originally I tried to make my broadcast devoid of swearing, but as the shows went on, I started to get more relaxed and natural.
3) Malfunctioning Equipment. I performed an entire show for two hours that ended up not being broadcasted. I wasted my co-hosts time, and felt like a jackass for even doing the broadcast.
4) Miscommunication. Aforementioned in the previous point, nobody bothered to tell anyone that the equipment was down. No one even had a hunch that none of it was working because everybody performed their show was if everything was normal. This actually happened quite often. The station would go weeks with misinformed employees not knowing that the transmissions were down.
5) New equipment. Whereas the old radio station equipment allowed you to use CD's, LP's, MP3's, and even casettes to do your show, everything was dependent on digital music on the new station equipment. Everyone had to upload their music on the official radio station's database, and everyone would be able to have access to whatever songs they find on the computer. This led to less variety on the shows. Whereas my broadcast was the originally the only one to use The Beatles' "Happiness is a Warm Gun," every show was now playing it.
6) Keys to the Station. Having access inside of the radio station was only open to an exclusive group. You were given the option of purchasing key cards to the radio station, but it ultimately never mattered being as they were eventually rendered invalid at some point. Often times, access to the station was determined on whether or not someone propped the door open for you to enter.
The biggest nail to the coffin to my radio station days was that I was a "company" man. I wasn't exactly the biggest ass kisser, but I was very polite to my peers. I was very well spoken when talking to the general managers, but I was always given the short end of the stick. Some of my friends who did work within the radio station seemed to just whine and complain, and I bothered to actually discuss with management with any problem that I had. Even if it was fruitless, I felt good that I actually tried to work with what I got by the end of the day.
However, there's no point of being a deck swabber on a sinking ship. Even though I was asked to do my show for a second season, I respectfully resigned my position, deeming myself as "unfit for commercial radio." They're trying now to be more like "commercial radio" as they're fighting towards sponsorship for an HD signal, meaning they'll need more "fitting" personalities. I have no regrets on what I've done on the show, and I do not have any wish to ever return.
Hello friends! I know most people write on their blogs to rant. While I can't deny that what is coming up in this blog is indeed a rant, I do wonder what is it about our culture that attracts us to whining and complaining? (I really don't know the answer here, but perhaps I'll probably explore it in another post.)
This short piece is titled: "They Hate Stupid People, And I Hate That Attitude."
Maybe I'm making a little too much of this, but I went on facebook and saw this group entitled "I Hate Stupid People." When I saw this, I felt pretty upset with the world.
Now, I know what you're thinking: "It's just a silly group on the Internet. It has nothing to do with the real world." While I do find some merit in that rebuttal, lets face it: the Internet is a mass communication tool at its finest and worst. Because it is a public forum in which anyone can voice their opinion, I would dare say and argue that it is reflective of mass human culture.
The whole reason why I'm upset with this is that I don't believe anyone truly is "stupid." I think a lot of people I meet are "misguided" and "foolish," but certainly not "stupid." I may have called people "stupid" before in the past, but at heart, I never really mean it. I am in no position of calling anyone that. This entire universe is a mystery to me, and there's no way one could ever truly say they understand any concept to its fullest.
To me, this is indicative of ego driven consciousness. Who can say they fully understand a person? I sometimes feel that when people look at me, they see: "joker," "a buffoon," and "this guy probably has no direction in life because he's not business-minded."
However, when I look at someone, I try to see them as a mystery of life; an ever-changing person with a billion masks. People have limitless potential. Why should we say otherwise when we all know there's a billion complex things about us is just too much to explain?
I don't want to give up on people. I have friends who have given up on people, and I sometimes feel tempted to ask, "What if I had given up on you? What if I just assumed you were one trick phony?"
It's all in perspective. When you worship a god, do you fear his power? Is he an authoritative figure? Does he sit on a throne, being ultra judgmental on everybody's actions? Or does he teach sharing, compassion, kindness?
Which do you want to imitate? (Okay, I'll admit the former is probably a lot more fun, but we're talking long term here!)
The truth is that nobody is ever really stupid. In many ways, the truth is that we're all fools. We sit on our thrones thinking "I've got the whole world figured out," when in reality, none of us could explain the purpose of life. Who gave us the right to ever divide people up into "intellectuals" and "idiots?"
At the end of the day, none of us really know anything. Science itself is a matter of speculation: it really is just labels to make things easier to communicate. There's a billions things out there that are just too hard to explain. I think the common example I've heard is the platypus: it's not quite a duck or a mammal.
A lot of the elderly will tell you, "It's all about world experience. Maturity is something that comes with age. Knowledge only comes when you're well seasoned."
And what does it say when the elderly wish to be young? They yearn to be the ones they consider "stupid."
And why would they think that? Because when all is said and done, life is much easier when you're not over-rationalizing everything. (Do you think I'm happy writing this blog?) The old saying goes, "Ignorance is bliss," and it's very true that the less you know, the happier you are. The children have the power of imagination: they see the sky and ocean as things to be marveled at, whereas the adults see it as just air and water.
Children are not dumb. Indeed, they are very wise. They can live happily until our culture brews their egotistical attitudes: "I'm smarter than you," "I've got a better smile," "I need this to make myself feel better about myself. . ." etc. etc.
Soon enough, they will feel the need to control everything. Naturally, to feel like you're the King-Shit-of-the-Mountain, you're "esteemed" mind requires labels to make it seem like you know mechanics behind everything. Instead of realizing you're perfect just the way you are, you'll feel the need to put others down to make yourself feel more dominant. The only way you'll find self-worth is when others are kissing your ass.
Some days you'll realize you're an asshole, and it will hurt really bad.
Wouldn't it be better if we just respected each other for a change?
I just want to say that it has been a long time since I've written in this because I've been dealing with some serious "bummers." I don't want to say "depression," because that would definitely be unkind to people who are legitimately clinically depressed, but yes. . . I have been feeling down. Truthfully, I still feel pretty low, and it's this kind of energy that stifles my creativity. However, I will try to keep up with this blog and not let it be another scrap project.
A couple weeks back, I visited my doctor regarding an injury. After taking out his flashlight and examining me, he gave me some sound advice and reminded me that I'm "not Superman."
This sparked something in me. How many times have I heard that one? I've never claimed to be Superman, and of course my doctor has the balls to assume I'm just another reckless youth. My father always made sure to scare the crap out of me as well as guilt me with money issues to make sure I'd generally not make any stupid moves.
But enough on that. Perhaps completely unrelated, but I got another speech today that I've heard one too many times. Today, I was mandated to go to a reading for my poetry class. The poet I heard read was phenomenal. (I'll probably review his book in a later post.) The writer is very out there, using weird images such as "boners" and "fucking sheep."
Afterward, the floor was open to questions and answers. My teacher usually begs her students to ask questions. Casually, I asked, "Personally I'm a fan of your work, and I was wondering how do your fellow peers and colleagues feel about your work when you use images such as 'boners' and 'fucking sheep'?"
He was absolutely inspiring. He was an established writer who never compromised his style. I mean, he would not do anything to lose his job, so he definitely showcases the appropriate work for the right setting. (e.g. he won't talk about boners to a room full of elderly scholars.)
I love how he said things like, "I'm not writing to please the upper academia. Just write what you feel works." By the end of his response, I felt enlightened and inspired that this man was willing to just come off as down to earth, and he wasn't all "up the ass" about being on top of the writing hierarchical ladder.
So here comes the punchline: my teacher talks to me after class and said it was inappropriate about how I spoke. Basically, I'm not supposed to talk in that casual, unprofessional way with a writer; this esteemed poet is not my friend. She said the only person who had the right to talk to the poet that way would be her.
I'm really sick of academic bullshit. First and foremost, I felt my question really stimulated conversation in a positive way. Other students thanked me after the reading, saying that my discussion with the poet really made others feel comfortable about asking their questions. Second, all the other students were asking "cookie cutter" questions about structure. I have never met a poet who seemed interested in talking too much about why he chose to write a poem in couplets.
Lastly, I've definitely lost respect for my teacher. I still think she's a nice lady, but definitely one who strokes her own academic ego. If I could, I'd tell her, "I'm sorry. I completely forgot that writers are not human beings. They are gods. I will humble myself and remember my place, oh great master."
I think most people would be terrified that there's been a recent invasion of Nomura's Jellyfish in the shores of Japan. I'll admit that I would have the bejeezus scared out of me if it came near me in the water, but if I could watch one in a tank, I'd probably do it for days.
No, I can't probably tell you why, but I love to watch jellyfish. I've always thought they were pretty cool since I was a kid, but I can definitely thank one of my friends for bringing me to the aquarium one day last year, and I was instantly mesmerized. Ever since, I've loved to see them float, wiggle around, and wave their tentacles.
I came across a tank of moon jellies, and I've just thought that was just such a cool name. It's stung me ever since, and it's stuck being as I've named this blog after them. (I've also done some other notable jellyfish related things, but that's another story.)
A lot of people say jellyfish are pointless. The argument really is that all they ever really do is float around and sting things. I know it's an age old sentiment, but I'm honestly jealous of such a simple existence. Imagine how cool it would be to be one!
People often ask me, "How come I like pro wrestling?" I am not ashamed by it. In recent years, things have just not looked good for the business if you consider all the drug abuse scandals. Still, I will admit, despite being 21-years old and knowing very well that the show is indeed (*GASP~!*) fake, I find plenty of entertainment from watching talented men and women beat the snot out of each other.
There's just a certain magic quality that's just so remarkable knowing everything is choreographed. When someone messes up a move in wrestling (or "botches a spot" for you wrestling nerds), it is noticeable. These people innovate creative ways to put on a show. Notably, the WWF/WWE commentators say wrestling is "not ballet," but in a lot of ways, it is. There's a lot of practice behind the techniques in wrestling, and if someone messes up, people can get hurt. It's a precise combination of physical ability and acting, and it's definitely not something everyone can do.
There was a time in my life when I was getting horribly bored with the past time. It was around 2003 that the mainstream WWE became rampant with these huge guys (such as The Big Show, John Cena, and Brock Lesnar) who lacked any interesting moves, and put on these slow paced matches that mostly consisted of poorly executed punches and a finisher. Just when I thought I was about to finally be able and live a normal, pro wrestling free life, I happened to watch a show called WWE Velocity and saw a wrestler named Paul London.
Originally, I was visually drawn in because I felt that if you squinted enough, it pretty much gave you a picture of what I'd look like if I were a pro wrestler. (At the time, I was slim enough and my hair really resembled.) However, as his match went on, I was convinced that the man was insane. He would do things and take risks that I had not seen anyone else before.
Sure, you would have a wrestler like Jeff Hardy do things like a flying clothesline off the ring apron, but Paul London would run on the ring apron, leap off to do a "shooting star" (a front flip), and land on his opponent, making it look like he horribly injured himself in the process. Despite Paul London dressing in bright, goofy costumes (he usually had tassels on his boots), by comparison, (with all due respect to Jeff) he really made Jeff Hardy look like a pansy.
Paul London transformed me to become a geeky, internet fan who downloaded various shows of other wrestling promotions. I was entranced by this man's physical ability, and I just had to watch more. He was like a phenomenal trapeze artist. . . except he hurts people!
Through watching other matches, I found out the man could also wrestle (which, ironically, a lot of the people in pro wrestling can't do), throw some damn good looking kicks, fight in a hardcore "street fight" atmosphere, and make the fans laugh when he's talking on the microphone. It was through this that I became exposed to wrestling shows such as Ring of Honor and Total Nonstop Action, as well as become fans of indie wrestling stars CM Punk, Samoa Joe, Brian "Spanky" Kendrick, Alex Shelley, Colt Cabana, Homicide, etc. etc.
So needless to say, I was happy six years later to watch the man who entertained for years through his daredevil attitude at a live show. On February 21, 2009, I attended the So Cal based wrestling promotion Pro Wrestling Guerrilla's 98th event titled "Express Written Consent."
In an age where you can tune into a two hour WWE or TNA show just to get an hour and thirty of talking and drama, and thirty minutes of wrestling that's devoid of actual wrestling, it was refreshing to watch this show. PWG is a different breed of wrestling; you've got great technical and hard-hitting fighters such as Scott Lost and Davey Richards, but you also got comedic wrestlers such as Chuck Taylor and Kenny Omega. (Taylor is known for throwing invisible grenades and Omega can shoot "hadokens.") It's a good balance, and I think there's really something for everyone. From the shows I have went to, there hasn't been anything too bloody or gruesome, but matches have been known to occasionally involve a chair, brawling in the audience, and definitely outside dives that really gets the audience to move out of the way. (I'll talk more about this when I write a more detailed review of Pro Wrestling Guerilla.)
The main event of "Express Written Consent" featured Paul London tagging with The Young Bucks (Matt and Nick Johnson) against The Dynasty (Joey Ryan and Scott Lost) and Karl "Machinegun" Anderson. London came out to The Smashing Pumpkins song "The End is the Beginning is the End," and I became a kid again. I made sure to give him a high five on the way in. I still think the man is batshit crazy; his entrance attire is a bright orange space suit and he is generally goofy in his mannerisms and speech.
Older wrestling fans will say Hulk Hogan lifting and body slamming Andre the Giant was perhaps the greatest wrestling moment of all time, but for me, it would be Paul London hitting his top rope shooting star press on Scott Lost. I got the chills. Like a true fanboy, I forgot all the bad things in my life for a split second, and was just awestruck by joy and elation from witnessing such a thing of beauty.
I shook Paul's hand afterwards, told him what a great match it was, and had a photo taken with him. I left the night with a good feeling, and of course, ever since, I've been in attendance at PWG's shows.
All photos were taken by me at Pro Wrestling Guerrilla's "Express Written Consent." February 21, 2009.
Last year, I wrote and drew a short comic piece called "Clockwork." The original version was solely dedicated to one of my best friends for her 21st birthday, but I ended up extending the dedication in the final version to another friend (Patrick of CHINA SMOKE) and my brother. It pretty much depicted my winter break, weekends in the spring, as well as my summer of 2008.
I remember awhile back I watched some old documentary special on the life of writer Raymond Carver. His loved ones were upset that Carver decided to create characters in his stories that were based off of the people in his life. His depictions of his friends and family were generally very negative.
That was pretty much the reaction I felt I got out of Clockwork. I was already infamous for writing life-based characters in my fiction short stories, so for me to write a non-fiction, "American Spelendor-esque" piece solidified my place as (what my friend Blaine calls me) as a guy whose stories are centered around "cheap shots."
To answer that statement, yes, I do believe I do make cheap shots at people, but I do think that's missing the point behind the narritive. I am very proud of Clockwork because it brought up the age old question: does your life feel like it is on repeat?
My life did, and that's why it needed to change. Imagine what it must feel like to know every morning how you're going to wake up, what you're going to do, what everyone is generally going to say (it's bound to happen if you hang out with anyone daily), and what you're going to do right before going to bed. It's fine for people who are comfortable for the same thing every weekend, but I've always been the kind of person that dislikes the feeling of people stuck in the same place.
The reaction I got from the people in this piece are as follows: 1) One person wanted to see me write/draw more comics of himself. 2) One person said, "Yeah, I do say that too much," and ended up saying other things over and over in it's place. 3) One person was offended. 4) One person got it, and mused in a blog of his own: "Everyone has problems, and to the guy who has the least problems, we're his problems." (I thought that was sweet of him.)
Interestingly enough, I've been planning for the longest time to write/draw an update to Clockwork. It would be about the time I found someone who broke me out of the clockwork blues, but at the same time, I felt I was making this person's life repetitive. Ironic, right?
I've spent some time organizing what I'm possibly going to write about in this blog. Ultimately, I have concluded that it is best that I start off with a short little introduction about myself.
BRIEF BIO
My name is Kevin E. Ng. At the time of writing this, I am in my early twenties and an English Education major (with an emphasis in creative writing) at Cal State University of Long Beach. I have worked enough to learn that I do not like working, and will blatantly admit that I do not really care too much at this whole idea of "success." As you figured, I am currently unemployed, socially devoid, and my only goal for the future is to make enough cash for sustenance such as food and shelter.
So while it can be established I am by no means a business-minded person, I am a creative nerd. (Whether or not anything I create is to be considered "good" is in the eye of the beholder.) In this age where is fairly easy to get a hold of the tools necessary to make yourself a media darling, I have dabbled in various artistic outlets such as writing, comics, paintings, film, music, etc. etc..
Don't worry. I do not have the answer to this question either. I could take a guess and say that it will be about plenty of things. I don't want to bore my readers by writing just about my life because that would be very uninteresting, so we'll see what comes out of this. I am mostly just writing this for myself as a means of venting out things on my mind, and hopefully everyone will get a kick out of reading it as well.
I figured I'd use this to review some things I really like, whore out some of my work, and talk about life. We decide what's culturally relevant, and I feel every Joe and Jane Schmo out there is very important.
If you're reading this, you're probably familiar with me. I'm really no one important. I'm honestly not too sure about opening a blog, but I'm trying it out anyways. If I like it, you'll find this frequently updated. If I don't, this will rot and just be more junk cluttering the internet that will probably come back to bite me in the ass ten years down the road.
This is all I will say about for now. In the meantime, STAY TUNED!!
How's that for good character work? Look at his facial expression!
She feels that this whole time Dan Hartigan had been laughing behind her back, and that this was all a joke to him. The Plutonian tells her, "You mean everything to me and I'll protect you forever. I swear. Alana, you love me. I showed who I am and you still love me." Alana is freaked out by the whole ordeal and responds with, "Love you? I don't even know you!"
What I really love about Irredeemable's first three issues is that it is turning out to be the ultimate story about the nice guy going bad. There's the age old theory that a person is only an asshole, because originally he was too much of a good guy. I'm not going to say it's like Christopher Nolan's film "The Dark Knight," in which the character Harvey "Two-Face" Dent had his whole spiel about, "you either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain," because whereas Dent always showed signs of being corrupt, flashbacks of the Plutonian portray that he was lovable, dependable, highly logical, friendly, and just had the makings of what you'd expect from your typical "goody, two-shoes" superhero.
Irredeemable is published and copyrighted by BOOM! Studios. (2009.)
The 1997 album The Mollusk is one of my favorite albums, but from start to finish, it is quite hilarious. The opening song "I'm Dancing in the Show Tonight" is a showtune-esque number, with a chamber of morphing voices. Another notable song is "Ocean Man," which has been used for a Honda commercial, as well as The Spongebob Square Pants movie. The song most people state as the most out there on the album is the stomp on the floor, "knee slapping" romp that is "Waving My Dick in the Wind." Needless to say, the album is forty minutes of good times.
People often ask me, "How come I like pro wrestling?" I am not ashamed by it. In recent years, things have just not looked good for the business if you consider all the drug abuse scandals. Still, I will admit, despite being 21-years old and knowing very well that the show is indeed (*GASP~!*) fake, I find plenty of entertainment from watching talented men and women beat the snot out of each other.
Originally, I was visually drawn in because I felt that if you squinted enough, it pretty much gave you a picture of what I'd look like if I were a pro wrestler. (At the time, I was slim enough and my hair really resembled.) However, as his match went on, I was convinced that the man was insane. He would do things and take risks that I had not seen anyone else before.
In an age where you can tune into a two hour WWE or TNA show just to get an hour and thirty of talking and drama, and thirty minutes of wrestling that's devoid of actual wrestling, it was refreshing to watch this show. PWG is a different breed of wrestling; you've got great technical and hard-hitting fighters such as Scott Lost and Davey Richards, but you also got comedic wrestlers such as Chuck Taylor and Kenny Omega. (Taylor is known for throwing invisible grenades and Omega can shoot "hadokens.")
