chuck bassian, non! MAIS OUIIIII!
Speaking of boyfriends, my new one is the star of the Taiwanese TV dramedy “Rolling Love (Go! Fried Rice).” Yes, I have been lately watching a lot of tv shows from Korea, Japan and Taiwan at night. Before I fall asleep, okay? What. Anyway, Jiro Wang is the boyfriend in question. He plays Michelin, a feared street gangster who gave it all up to take over the family diner when his dad died, only to find he has a NATURAL GIFT for making TRANSCENDANT FRIED RICE, for which everyone across the land flocks to his diner to eat. As far as I can tell it’s just egg, rice and scallions (p.s. am I lame if I learned how to make fried rice watching this show?), but it is the subtle simplicity of the dish that garners Michelin his aggressive foodie fans… and which will eventually find him love (according to the summary, I’m not to that episode yet).

Anyway Jiro Wang is totally adorable as Michelin and, obviously, he is in a popular BOY BAND called Fahrenheit. According to dramawiki, “He is the baritenor vocalist of the group. His publicized temperature is that of hot Summer, at 95 degrees. He also represents “Hot.” So there you have it, my new celebrity crush is the Justin Timberlake of Taiwan. God. I bore even myself with the painful predictability of my mantaste. It’s like, I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW. I have a sixth sense for picking out boy band members, celebrity DJ / producers and dudes who only listen to Southern rap. I need to start hanging out on the upper west side or some shit.
I DIGRESS!
The coolest thing about Jiro Wang, besides his copious talents, is that he is a healthy eater. I know because he has starred in this commercial advising viewers to DRINK MORE WATER…

And this commercial advertising Po Mi Veggie Drink as an alternative to fried foods:

I will say this though. I don’t think it can work out cause um, I don’t really like his band.

In the Japanese TV drama “Zettai Kareshi” (aka “Absolute Boyfriend,” based on a popular manga of same name), this robotics company develops a prototype to be a perfect boyfriend, an ideal lover, for cute but bumbling protagonist / test subject Riiko–a robot whose sole mission is to please her in any way he can. In this scene, the first model (Night, aka 01) fights the newer model (Toshiki, aka 02), made by a warring faction of the same robot company. It is cool enough to think about two dudes fighting each other to be your boyfriend (if a bit reminiscent of like, mountain rams), but when they are two boyfriend robots? SLAMMING!

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Was not, sadly, as a singer-songwriter. It was the first installment in a monthly series of rotating critics they have for New Music Tuesdays. I talked about Three 6 Mafia, Sigur Ros, Hercules and Love Affair and um, Ry Cooder (who actually is a totally righteous dude). The dude host got freaked out by Antony’s voice. I say the word “like” a lot. NEXT UP: YOUNG JEEZY THE RECESSION! YEEEAAAAAAAAAAAH. Barack O’Balla! LISTEN!!

During the heatwave my little pot of home bikini waxer tipped over and oozed THROUGH my vanity onto my hardwood floor. I don’t know how to get it up cause it’s not so much waxy but syrupy, the consistency of honey. I have already tried pouring mr. clean on it and rubbing it with a paper towel but the paper towel just got stuck and it got sort of soapy and gross. CAN ANYONE HELP?!? Too oozy to harden it ala candle wax. waaaah!

If I may get so fashiony on you, this dress has become my summer staple. It has saved many a sweat gland, espesh during the heat wave, by not stickily attaching its jersey self to my body. I think I’ve worn it once a week since the beginning of May. And today, I’m wearing it to Sean’s engagement soiree (happy engagement dear ol friend), with red patent kitten heel sandals (I had to go with how it was styled on pixie market), a clear star necklace purchased for $5 from girlprops to cover up the greasy grease stain I can’t get out after I fucking dropped some artichoke appetizer on my boob at dinner one time, a red-white-and-blue sash around mi head. Shitloads of lipgloss. AND: my marlies dekkers black “kissing you” bra with the straps sticking out from the back, which frankly makes the outfit. Sidebar Marlies Dekkers is this dutch lingerie company that operates on the philosophy that your bra should be part of your outfit, and has this kind of lite bondagy strappy thing going that is not trashy (mostly) but just kind of sexy and avant-garde. They are not sold stateside but are opening a store in Soho at some point in the future. Let’s do this.

Also: CROOKERS TONIGHT AT WEBSTER HALL. They are who I was in Europe with not so long back, the secret story I was working on that is out now in FADER 55. I went to Milan to interview them, spent a lot of time with their Jack Russell terrier Spino / Spinacchio (spliff/spinach) and their cool girlfriends and sitting around a lake at the bottom of the swiss alps drinking amazing wine that did not give me a migraine (I get migraines from sulfites required to import wine into America). el awesome!

Okay, me and Chris experienced THE MOST AMAZING hour and a half of television the other night. We were iggin cuz now that all our best shows are on hiatus (including best-best Friday Night Lights, RIP) we have to do shit like go outside and shit, but after a patio dinner (PACIFICO! holllar) and a lengthy walk, we decided to make use of Esan’s 4555-inch flatscreen parked in the living room. Obvious choice: the show on the Korean station listed on the program guide as “SURGEON BONG.” We of course knew that “Bong” did not refer to the american BONG, but still, how can you resist. SURGEON BONG. Surgeon Bong is totally my next booty call, holler at the weed doctor. And we proceeded to watch a vaguely surreal metashow about a beautiful actress, Seung Ah, as she’s filming a movie called “TICKET TO THE MOON.” She has a monologue to a bunch of children about how making soaps are a symbol of thanks. And if you give someone a lavender soap it means you are in love with them. Then the director yells cut, they finish the movie. The director keeps trying to get everyone to have a drink with him, leading us to believe he is a mega alkie. Seung Ah sees this other dude in a suit and gets clearly shook but it is never explained why. The dude that freaks her out, who we later learn is President Jang (obvs) is not nearly as hot as the director OR her BONKERSLY sexy costar. He gives her a monologue about learning to make udon for herself, and we can’t figure out if he’s her dad or her former sugar dad. Then at the end, the boozy director comes over to the scriptwriter’s apartment with a six pack (of course– Miller lite but there was electrical tape over the logo, really) and he tells her, “JUST FYI, I’M NOT GOING HOME TONIGHT. I’M STAYING HERE. WITH YOU.” He kisses her, then some effect comes on the camera that looks like a radiation flash just before a nuclear bomb detonates. Aaaaand… SCENE. THE WHOLE THING IS AMAZING. Later we learn we weren’t watching Surgeon Bong, we were watching “On Air,” this new drama that debuted as number one in Korea this year, for good reason because the plot is just banock. And you can watch it online with English subtitles. So I guess it’s back to not going outside or talking to you.
After “On Air” ended we watched ten minutes of an Italian news station, then flipped it to a documentary about how these big robot arms in a snack cake factory. ILL WINERY STATUS.

Outwits his bumbling interviewer, cryptically and accurately cuts McCain off at the knees, mocks the Times in his first sentence, and pithily aligns his populist self as such:
Do you read a lot of contemporary fiction these days?
Like everyone else, no, I don’t.
MENSCH CITY!

Didn’t mean to ghost on you peoples but this chick has begun her own personal borough of insanity, between watching the Next Pres on our new roommate Esan’s 433-inch flatscreen (size: a car) and officially offically HBIC-ing over at the old homestead and blogging in our Royal We FADER blog about hot boys in an effort to convince everyone that all the boys at our office are gay instead of only some of them, because I am the only girl doing the music shit (Chioma and Erin kill the stylee styles). Oh yeah and COUNTING THE DAYS UNTIL JUNE 21, EVEN THOUGH THE TWO OPENING ACTS ARE EXTREMELY DUBIOUS.

I hadn’t seen Olbermann’s Special Comment on why Hillary Rodham Clinton’s RFK statement is unforgivable, but it’s as eloquent, passionate and accurate a treatise as any. Can’t wait for tomorrow to see what superdelegates go Obama’s way. And, again, I can’t wait until the New York Senatorial election so I can vote her OUT. SO OVER IT.

It’s despicable and shocking to me that while the city and inner Brooklyn becomes increasingly bourgie, and let’s face it yuppie hell, this type of thing can continue and its resources shuttered, on some Reagan-era “let’s close all the parks in the hood” shit. Might I remind you that this is not the first time the violence in Far Rock have been in the news; Redfern Projects is where Stack Bundles lived and was murdered one year ago, may god rest his soul. They put in a lot of foot-patrol after that happened, too. It stayed the same. Maybe if some city planners redirected the cop money into actually improving the quality of living for people, keeping open their community center, bettering their schools, fucking putting in some sports shit, something, this wouldn’t perpetuate itself. Meanwhile the idea of 14-year-olds killing each other is devastating.
SIDEBAR. They shut down the drug house up the block. Everyone got evicted, there’s a sign in front that says it’s under video surveillance, and there’s a huge padlock on the door. There are less crackheads on my street now *maybe,* but there are also less nice kids out front who had to slang for whatever reason (and a couple not so nice ones). I’m not complaining either way, I am stating fact. But what I am complaining about: this drug house was allowed to exist *consistently* for the past five years or more, long enough that I’ve seen different dealers go away, come back and get their lives together (one of the dudes is even going to college now), and barring the occasional cop on the corner patrolling the bodega, no one did shit about it. Tell me why–as soon as it seems my block has finally completed the cycle of going from almost all black and puerto rican when I first moved in, to being almost entirely white–somebody finally decided to do something about the drug house?