more on that pesky volcano to the north.

way more fun than f[r]iendster, pt.2: craigslist. post-o-da-day: revenge of the cicadas!

speaking of awesome in a god almighty way, gothamist points out that today and on july 12th in new york city, the sun will set in the centerline of every new york street. apparently it happens every year on the same days. anyone care to meet in nyc on this day next year?

how totally cool is this?

weekends are reserved for aussie rules football on abc asia pacific. watch it! awesome game, i mean it in both the surfer dude way and in the god almighty way. 36 or so extremely fit men in stupid socks running around on an oval field doing whatever needs to be done to score a goal (yes, hands, yes, heads, yes, using the opponent's torso as a launching pad to get great height). i think the only way a player is allowed to leave the field is if he's missing a limb suddenly. actually there is something called "the blood rule" which requires a player to leave the field if there's any dripping blood. but concussions seem to be okay. and vomiting's okay too. lots of crazy homoerotic rubdowns on the sidelines. i'm a little bummed that they made the referees get rid of their crazy polo shirt, slacks, and porkpie hat getups, it was like a host of frank sinatra: the palm springs years impersonators running the show.

if football (soccer) is the beautiful game, then surely aussie rules football is the hot, sweaty, heaving, dirty dirty game. the kind you don't take home to mother.

oh yeah, i support collingwood, which of course is the last team on the premiership ladder. typical. go magpies, whoo.

i once entered a contest where the prize was five pairs of shoes. i had to write a short essay on why i loved shoes, so i simply wrote one sentence: "my mother's name is imelda." i didn't win. if i had the gumption i would've just written the lyrics of victoria williams' song. anyway, i digress. imelda marcos has come to embody a lot more than a love of shoes but the whole idea of excess, which has its own term: imeldific. to give into that excess: imeldafication. like when you jonbenet out your kid for a party, or when bling out your accessories wardrobe with last year's murakami. too much and too wrong but completely irresistible. oh, and mostly unironic.

a documentary by ramona s. diaz, imelda, opens in select cities the first week of june. reviews seem generally favourable, but in the interest of being fair and accurate (which is so against everything imelda) it's not exactly a campfest. i haven't seen anything ms. diaz has done, but i'll bet she's mostly unironic. although the movie has a great tag line: "thank god, when they opened up my closet, they found shoes, not skeletons." snort. i'll be in honolulu the week it opens, so i'll let you know.

oh you'll love this link:
the wit and wisdom of imelda marcos

i called judith but got scratchythroat jamieson instead. was treated to an amusing conversation/2-sided monologue involving utah, james mason, southern gothic, and jetblue, set to an eclectic (if slightly dire) soundtrack. on tape. it also involved not one, not two, but THREE rants about that 1975 sex'n'slavery flick, mandingo. i think the reason i have such antagonism towards the cinema is because of the movies i somehow got to watch in my formative years: mandingo, the demon seed, trilogy of terror, poseidon adventure, the first nudie musical, the exorcist, cabaret,bless the beasts and the children--which you know was the real trilogy of terror: stanley kramer at the helm of a billy mumy (as 'not quite a boy, not quite a man' lead) vehicle, with a title theme by the carpenters (and that song that is now the theme for "the young and the useless restless"). messed up stuff, i tell you!!!! messed. up.

also messed up is the realization that i am guthy-renker's target audience.

note to anyone craving vietnamese food: phô in the itc building has the best lumpia and iced coffee on island. only don't have an iced coffee at lunch if you're having lunch at 3pm like i did. and now suffering from blogorrhea at 3am. 'nuff said.

the daily show with jon stewart is probably the one show i watch with any consistency (ok that and pimp my ride), despite that recent episode with jerry seinfeld that was just a giant unironic plug of daily show sponsor, american express (who apparently also own jerry's ass). anyway, the reason i'm telling you this is because i like jon stewart and i wish he was the speaker at *my* commencement, instead of paul westhead, who was a great coach and nice guy, but no jon stewart. and his speech ended with a clichèd "we-won't-say-goodbye-blah-blah-blah-but-just-say-auf-wiedersehen" [difficult word for a clichè -voice in my head.] which doesn't compare to the end of mr. stewart's address to this year's william & mary college graduating class. not one bit.

oh, ewwwwwwwwwww!

so, i'm sure y'all were as pleasantly surprised as i was by the ending of "friends". someone should've capped monica long ago, but if i was chandler, i would've stuck around and gloated a bit before i turned the gun on myself. my favourite part, though, was when günther stole ross and rachel's baby after they had sex amongst the corpses and threw themselves off the balcony. my guess is that after he's finished raisin' her, he's a-gonna marry her!

i thought the spin-off, "joey", was going to be all about his life in phoebe and mike's new midtown pay-for-flay sex dungeon, but i guess i was wrong....

my new favourite band just might be the veils. brit band fronted by volcano-trekking kiwi named finn. three points in their favour right there. tick tick tick. taken under the wing of geoff travis, first signed to legendary blanco y negro label (everything but the girl, jesus and mary chain), now on rough trade (the smiffs!). tick tick. have the same sweeping grandeur of the triffids, *not* U2. tick. cover of album seems to suggest an affinity to the romance of the road and the western united states, unfortunately not unlike u2. oh well.

interesting story about atkins-kroll selling cars bound for russia, from marianas business journal, via another guam-based blog (scroll down a bit, past the purdy pictures). my favourite quote: "it's none of your business!" ah, car salesmen. slimy bastards.

malafunkshun is off the air. when it started, it was great--clever, witty, subtle. somewhere along the line it became bitter with baggage and as subtle as a mallet to the head.

what is it with the death of subtlety on this island? why did marine drive have to become marine corps drive? it's supposed to be a salute to guam's liberators in world war II, but that was a joint effort amongst all the armed forces. when the road was originally dedicated to the marines in 1945, the officials involved understood exactly that "marine" was a double entendre, meant to both honour the soldiers, and the island itself. further proof of the continuing disrespect by man of land and sea. not to mention some unhealthy amount of self-loathing.

just in case you feel like visiting la isla loca, just remember this: snakes can come up through the toilet.

mcdonald's has an asian/pacific islanders-specific website up, www.i-am-asian.com. what the **** was going on in *that* meeting? hm, lesseee. what ethnic group have we not literally saturated in fat and beef yet? can we get away with calling them pacific rimmers?

and what exactly is this "asian pacific american hip-hop" that i'm supposedly listening to whilst i guzzle down my green tea with a bigmac chaser? oh, did someone buy the black eyed peas' album? You know, chingy isn't chinese, and j-kwon's not korean.

so far, mcdonald's idea of pacific islanders extends to hawaii ("it's close to the states" i can hear a mickey d lackey say. moron, it *is* a state.), and it can't be bothered to name any significant asian-americans or pacific islanders--instead, it directs you to an outside link. i guess it was easier to endorse it than to rip it off verbatim.

i am so not lovin' it.™

they're filming a moofie, max havoc: curse of the dragon. strictly z-list. carmen electra's innit. and that girl from the transporter. ok, maybe she elevates it to p-list. er. maybe.
carmen's not on island yet. too busy skydiving with dennis hopper. meanwhile, in east agaña, they filmed some asian dude being rowed out to a secret drug deal rendezvous (snake rock near alupang cove aka boyscout jamboree island) by tom petra, pasty white guy badass math teacher slash yakuza bag man. yeah. oh god. yet another embarrassing guamish blip in the entertainment world.

Sir Ian McKellen: Do you know the difference between a quiche and a blowjob?
Hot Young Actor: Uh, no.
Sir Ian McKellen: Well, then, darling, let's go on a picnic!

oh hey, itzbinsolong. dai-ichi hotel closed down, there's a liquidation sale like you wouldn't believe. danish modern silverware and noritake china from le creole, the japanese-italianesque (ital-yen) coffee shop, weirdo pippi longstocking whimsical hotel silverware and numbered wedgwood china from the frenchie fine dining place, sapporo beer glasses, surprisingly few coffee cups, beautiful silver chargers, hotel furniture galore and super ugly linens. you need?

it's sort of sad. they closed down quickly and immediately. the bread pans are still greased up and ready to go (completely disgusting to paw through the kitchen section). i wonder if the employees were told in advance or just locked out.

dai-ichi was the best preserved of the seventies modern tropicalia look. perpetually open lobby with sunken koi pools, from the parking lot, you could see through the lobby and to the beach beyond. for awhile it was the only place with really good japanese style european pastry. in the end, it was the budget new year's eve place, for eight bucks you got the best view of the fireworks and a plate of roast beef. i can't comment on that.