I’m Not Feeling You

So if there’s one thing six months in Korea has tought me, it’s what a Korean boyscout looks like. So when I saw the preview for this new “Up” movie… I know it’s been out for like a month but I live in the Orient… I knew there was something achingly familiar about that kid so I did a google search and out this guy works at Pixar and they based the kid on him. Look at this guy… this guy and his fucking face.  Now picture him in a boyscout’s uniform. Now stab yourself in the face with a broken bottle ’cause your eyes will never be clean again. Done? Good.  I think one golden rule is, if your face looks more like a cartoon than an actual cartoon looks like a cartoon, maybe don’t work at a cartoon studio.

Cars, clothes, endorsement deals, dogs, you had it all, and now all you’ve got is this giant, vainy, red dick in your face.

A) I’m all about keeping it Kate Bush-ish (Bush-y?) this summer.

B) Like whoa. Wales, what do they put in the water over there?

C) Guess what? I am not a robot and I want to have your space babies lady.

Fun fact: The answer is always “C”.

Not that I really think anything else about Michael Jackson really needs saying, but… the first gift I remember receiving was a copy of Thriller and the Fisher-Price record player that turned on when you closed the top.  I was four. So, I was really pretty bummed about MJ. Like a lot. Which, besides the vaginal seafood, is kind of the big thing about living in another country.

Because when something big and sort of spiritually wounding happens, you can’t help but be re-reminded of how very far you are from most of the people who also got that Fisher-Price record player and a copy of Thriller when they were four. So instead of the communal grieving you crave, you end up trying to explain what it means to be from a place where a black/white, victim/predator sings you your lullabies to an Australian who doesn’t care.

Which, besides the vaginal seafood, is kind of the best thing about living in another country… getting to realize how lucky you are to be from a place where a black/white, maniac/genius, victim/predator sang us to sleep.