Writing exercises

While researching for an extended writing class, I stumbled upon this list of exercises at McSweeney’s: THIRTEEN WRITING PROMPTS

“A wasp called the tarantula hawk reproduces by paralyzing tarantulas and laying its eggs into their bodies. When the larvae hatch, they devour the still living spider from the inside out. Isn’t that fucked up? Write a short story about how fucked up that is.”

That’s so fucked up.
The end.

You say Dokdo, I say Takeshima (or the Liancourt Rocks)

The Big Picture captures the Dokdo/Takeshima (Takeshima/Dokdo) debate through big news shots: Dokdo or Takeshima
They should just take one island a piece and turn them into penal colonies, or breeding grounds for the next generation of Godzilla.
Actually, the best way to handle this situation is probably for the UN to evacuate the islands and then nuke them into oblivion. That way, neither side loses face, and that’s really what this is all about, right? A 500 year old Japanese-Korean pissing match about some rocks in the middle of nowhere… And yet, this issue even springs up in articles covering race relations at Little Tokyo senior care facilities.
When will we all learn?
– Koreans must embrace their kimchi funkiness
– Japanese must accept their well-deserved reputation for snootiness
(And of the two, I’m personally guilty of the former more often than the latter)

Someone turned the heat up…

…it was probably that big, feral, omniscient monkey in the sky.
In two weeks it went from the high 70s (F) to over 100 degrees during the afternoon. It was hot. I decided to walk home since Nam dropped me off this morning. I walked a few miles and emptied the bottle of water I carried along. People drove by in/on all sorts of motored conveyances, and wondered where the hell the crazy Japanese guy was walking. NOBODY WALKS IN THAILAND.
I’m the walking dude.

New Snakeskin Head Drum

On the way to my uni’s sports day a couple weeks ago, we stopped off at a famous temple (from the ancient “kao noi ka mae” story) where they sold various trinkets, sticky rice baskets, and musical instruments at a series of stalls on the dusty temple grounds.
After testing out this drum and hearing how nice it sounded, my coworker and I debated about who should buy it. He said he had too many drums already, so I bought it. The man who sold it to me didn’t say who made the drum, who killed the snake, or if it tasted delicious, and I didn’t ask. Just having a drum with a snakeskin head is cool enough. One thing was kinda gross, though. The first day of pounding on it, scales were flying off everywhere. I looked down once to find my forearm covered in snake scales that were sticking to my sweaty skin. It was djembeistic and cathartic as hell.
Basic Specs

  • 100% Natural Boa Constrictor Head, 9″ (~23 cm)
  • Glazed pottery body
  • Expertly tied with 100% natural cotton twine and 100% artificial plastic straps
  • Deep throbbing bass response

I will cry out loud when this thing eventually breaks, it’s way too cool.

A message to my Facebook using friends

If you’ve posted anything beyond a recognizable photo on Facebook, you are bound to learn the hard way. That’s my take on it, anyway. Between Facebook’s TOS and willingness to sell you out – yes, YOU, dumbass! – there isn’t a whole lot of hope.
I don’t post about this in spite. I write about this in hope that you might OPEN YOUR EYES. Nothing can come good of a private corporation owning rights to reproduction and usage of your personal data. Get a fucking clue already. Corporations exist to increase shareholder value. Unless you are a shareholder, you are just an asset. Don’t be a fool to boot.