All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.
While there are a lot of films to choose from, a couple caught my eye as being especially of interest. The documentary Moodang explores the world of Korean shamanism. Memories of Murder, the story of Korea’s first recorded serial killer, may sound like just another grizzly East Asian gorefest, but it’s directed by Bong Joon-ho, the same guy who directed the ingenious Barking Dogs Never Bite.
CORRECTION: It was Martha Angell in the New York Review of Books who used the phrase “perfect storm” in relation to the pharmaceutical industry, not the meticulously edited New Yorker. And Ms. Angell was quoting a big pharma flak, not writing in her own words.
Republicans contend gay marriage devalues traditional marriage, which they say is a pillar of civilization, and should be outlawed for the sake of children.
Glad to see someone is protecting our kids from pillars of civilization.
I mention all this because my friend Daniel Kleinfeld has alerted me to a curious website documenting the history of Korean psychedelic rock and folk music. Now, I haven’t a clue what these records sound like, but a perusal of the album covers suggests that they were designed to mimic American and British album covers, but without the help of any psychoactive substances for the Korean graphic artists. They are, in a word, square. (Stylistically, I mean; they’re also square in shape, but you didn’t need me to tell you that.)
If anyone out there knows more about Korean psychedelia, then by all means, let me know. In the meantime, let’s do our part for Korea’s national development by getting all our Korean friends really, really high.
I was listening to New Sounds tonight and heard a South Indian devotional song that was described as a “Nirguni bhajan.” I knew the second word, but was surprised by the first, because among Chassidic Jews, a niggun is a wordless tune, often sung by rebbes and thought to possess (or express, or unleash) great spiritual power. They are sung as acts of passionate devotion, like Sufi prayers. The Jewish Encyclopedia has a slightly different interpretation of the word, defining it as “a droning, formless intonation set to a text, and, more especially, the particular mellody-type or prayer-motive to which a service is traditionally rendered, e.g., the Sabbath Niggun.”
A Google search on the term Nirgun turns up a fascinating set of associations. The term itself seems to mean “formless,” “unmanifested,” and also to refer to a genre of devotional music — just as the niggun is a formless (or at least wordless) devotional song. The term seems to have importance in the Sikh religion, and the search turned up a number of links to Sikh “Nirguni saints.” For the Sikhs, the word also appears to refer to the Absolute that is God.
I don’t know what to make of all this, except to say that it seems once again that the religions of East and West have been talking to each other pretty intently since the 17th century or so, and chatted now and again before then, too.
But why can’t they take up a nice, normal hobby like pole sitting or extreme ironing? Would that be so bad? Heck, I’ll bet most of these decapitators can’t even hum the Macarena or the theme to Super Mario Bros. Considering the insane lengths to which me and my friends went to alleviate boredom during our suburban teenage years — when cable TV, record stores, movie theaters, video games, cadged alcohol and a stolen porno stashed under the overpass were not enough to prevent us from setting fire to our bedrooms now and again — I can see how the dearth of entertainment options might make an afternoon decapitation seem like a good idea. Heck, I know a guy who claims to have huffed freon on his family farm in Arkansas. And rural Arkansas, while boring, is like a trip to Vegas with the Pogues compared to fun-filled Basra or Jeddah.
Clearly, what the Middle East needs right now is board games, and lots of ’em: Parcheesi, Connect Four, friggin’ Candyland will do. Because think about it: even though Candyland sucks, would you rather play Candyland or cut off a guy’s head? Exactly. If only our leaders were brave and wise enough to ship over tons of Milton Bradley and fling it out of helicopters, we would be loved by all. They would greet us with flowers and call us liberators, and a glorious new day would dawn, in which Iraqis would cry out to the rising sun, “You sunk my battleship!”
Really, I think this might work. And anyway, it’s not like our government’s got a better plan.
Well, yes. Unfortunately, however, the Declaration is merely that — a declaration of principles — and as such is not considered binding international law, even if the U.S. did vote for it.
The United Nations Association in Canada has a helpful FAQ on the Declaration, which explains, among other things, that it doesn’t have the force of law.
Which, I guess, just means there’s lots more work to do. But then, you knew that.
The New York Times is right: Bush should apologize for lying to us.
But he won’t.