Present Imperfect

Where Are You, Fat Optimus Prime? | July 22, 2003

Well, this past weekend was the San Diego Comic-Con, and once again, I missed out on seeing Hobbits. Isn't that just always the way? Guess I'll just have to run into them at the Arclight like everyone else.

Anyway, I was killing time with a real-live, PAPER edition of the New York Times in the Marriott bar on Sunday, and I read an article on the demilitarized zone between North and South Korea and how it is a thriving, albeit accidental, wildlife refuge. According to the article, "the only safe haven on the Korean peninsula for hundreds of rare native animal and plant species [like that Mandarin Duck pictured above] is the one place where there are no people."

They're apparently working on getting the DMZ official wildlife reserve status.

In book-related news, I really have to get a copy of Lawrence's The Seven Pillars of Wisdom (The other interesting article in the NYT was about Britain's masterful fuck-uppage of Iraq back in the day. Also, T.E. Lawrence was really short. Really.) and Okakura's The Book of Tea. Guess I'll take a little trip over to my Amazon wish list today. Nothing like some fake shopping.

Also, I just read Kingsley Amis's Lucky Jim which was hilarious. Check, as they say, this shit out:

'There was the most marvellous mix-up in the piece they did just before the interval. The young fellow playing the viola had the misfortune to turn over two pages at once, and the resulting confusion...my word...'

Quickly deciding on his own word, Dixon said it to himself and then tried to flail his features into some sort of response to humour. Mentally, however, he was making a different face and promising himself he'd make it actually when next alone. He'd draw his lower lip in under his top teeth and by degrees retract his chin as far as possible, all this while dilating his eyes and nostrils. By these means he would, he was confident, cause a deep dangerous flush to suffuse his face.

Welch was talking yet again about his concert. How had he become Professor of History, even at a place like this? By published work? No. By extra good teaching? No in italics. Then how? As usual, Dixon shelved this question, telling himself that what mattered was that this man had decisive power over his future...