The Strange Case of Inspector Clouseau

The original Pink Panther is a classic British slapstick comedy movie starring the late comedic genius Peter Sellers. It's famous for the character of the French bumbling police detective, Inspector Jacques Clouseau. It's also famous for the incredibly catchy theme song by Henry Mancini. Following Sellers death in 1980, the series is practically dead. There were several films made, but they were nowhere near as popular as the Sellers movies. Now, the series is being continued starring Steve Martin.

Peter Sellers' portrayal of Inspector Clouseau, is near and dear to many that was familiar with the original series, including revered movie critics James Berardinelli and Roger Ebert. In reviewing the remake, Berardinelli and Ebert particularly blasted Steve Martin's portrayal of Clouseau. Both feel that Sellers has become so identical with Clouseau, they see Martin's portrayal as a pale imitation of the original. Berardinelli even goes as far as calling the remake as a "travesty."

But how would someone who isn't too attached to the original series respond to the remake? I know of the original series' reputation, but only watched some parts of the first movie. Sellers' Clouseau is not ingrained in my brain like Berardinelli and Ebert. I watched the remake with a relatively clean slate.

Surprisingly, I find Steve Martin's Clouseau pretty amusing. His faux French accent is funny, although its usage in the hamburger pronounciation scene is overdone. His antics and his bumbling participation to the sight gags are hilarious; the first giant globe accident and the other one that happens much later are particulary funny. Martin is up to the task of supplying the slapstick. He's also capable of supplying the non-slapstick comedy with Clouseau's idiocy and tactless wit.

Martin is not perfect, of course. In fact, his major flaw is simply of him being Steve Martin, one of the most recognizable comic actors today. When you see his Clouseau, you know that it's really Steve Martin with a fake moustache. The genious of Peter Sellers is his knack for meshing in to his characters. Watch the cold war satire Dr. Strangelove to see how Sellers brilliantly plays three different characters, each with different comedic style, all believable as played by three different actors. Martin couldn't match Sellers' brilliance, but if you can get that out of the way, his portrayal of Clouseau is pretty good.

While Martin's Clouseau is enjoyable, the same can't be said about the rest of the film. The script is simply a mess. The mystery is resolved very, very weakly. The direction by Shawn Levy is forgettable. Of all the possible beautiful setting possible in Europe to shoot, the movie needlessly feature NYC's Times Square. The supporting actors are varying in quality: Emily Mortimer is charmingly funny, Kevin Kline is boringly bland, and Jean Reno is disappointingly wasted in a completely unimportant role. I don't even want to acknowledge whether Beyonce was acting at all in the movie. The gags, arguably the best part of the movie, even lose their initial momentum when they start misfiring in the middle of the movie.

In the end, despite Martin's good efforts, the movie as a whole fails. Clouseau's antics and sight gags couldn't save the lack of story, the illogical plot, and the bland directing. It's disappointing since this is really Steve Martin's funniest performance since his heyday in the eighties and early nineties. It won't stand up against the original series, but it's worth to check out for Martin's Inspector Clouseau.

Me am Bizarro

Welcome to Bizarro World!

This is the land where everything right-side-up is upside-down. It's the land where cats chase dogs, rain rises to the clouds, and being evil gets you rewarded.

It's also a world where when you shoot a 78 year-old man in the face, you are greeted with cheers and said victim apologizes to you.

Isn't Bizarro World nice?

Who is Kid Exposition?

Kid Exposition is Satria Krisnandi.
Kid Exposition is Indonesian.
Kid Exposition lives in Seattle, Washington. For now.
Kid Exposition likes super hero comic books.
Kid Exposition knows good movies.
Kid Exposition hates, hates, hates The Da Vinci Code.
Kid Exposition is myopic.
Kid Exposition is too shallow for poetry.
Kid Exposition looks at the world and writes about it.
Kid Exposition is neither fair nor balanced.

Barely Breathing? Try Barely Awake

Last Saturday a couple of friends and I went to a Duncan Sheik concert. Remember him? He's the indie-pop singer/songwriter that had the hit single "Barely Breathing." I figured since I am only going to be in the states until late spring, I better catch as many concerts as I can. Besides, I kinda like Duncan Sheik songs like the one I mentioned earlier, "Wishful Thinking," and "On a High." I was hoping to see those songs performed live.

The concert is held at Triple Door, a very posh place. Showgoers are seated in dinner tables instead of standing in a general admission setting. Since it's a seated venue, space is very limited. While enjoying the show, you can order dinner, wine, or cocktail from the fine menu (fine = bloody fucking pricey). The tables are arranged in tiers, so that every table could get a clear view of the stage. We were lucky to get a table. There were six of us and we were about nine places down the list.

The show was opened by Jim Boggia, an acoustic guitar playing singer/songwriter type performer. He performed alone. No backup, just him and his acoustic guitar. He has a nice, raspy voice a la John Mellencamp or John Mayer. In fact, his clear and crisp guitar play reminisce Mayer's style of play in "No Such Thing." He's also quite the entertainer, cracking jokes and having fun with the audience. A standout song he did was "I Realized This Afternoon While Driving to Connecticut." Check the lyrics and you'll see why the audience went wild hearing him singing it. He closed his set with a beautiful cover of Paul McCartney's "Live and Let Die."

After Boggia, the show went south of the border. The next performer was a British bloke named Teddy Thompson. He's an acoustic guitar playing singer/songwriter type. Do you see a pattern here? He's rather dreary, I'm afraid. His music might be better on record, heard through a speakers or headphones in a quiet room. Performed live, it was dull. He sang lazily like Rufus Wainwright, with mouth barely moved in vocalizing the lyrics. His music also matches Wainwright's dreary, mournful atmosphere. Not surprisingly, further research says that he actually had a duet with Wainwright. A positive in his set is Thompson's dry British humor, but it still couldn't save his boring performance.

When Thompson finished his set, the main show starts. Unlike the opening acts, Sheik brings a full band: a drummer, a bassist, and a lead guitarist. Sheik himself plays an acoustic guitar. The additional instruments raised the audience's mood after the previous set. I don't know any other Duncan Sheik songs other than the three I listed earlier, but I can clearly hear his stamp on the songs he performed: The acoustic rhythm guitar, the small melodies from the electric guitar, his light vocals, and his peculiar choice of words. He kept on playing song after song I never heard before. He did play "Wishful Thinking," but that's the only one I could recognize. The songs are fairly good pop songs, but not really memorable. I grew sleepy over time.

After about an hour of performance, the band finished their set. I was in deep shock. They haven't played "Barely Breathing" and "On a High," arguably his two best hits. My friends were surprised too. Then I figured that the show's not really over. There would be an encore. He would come back and play the two songs.

He did come back for an encore. But after four songs in and still no "Barely Breathing," I started to worry. My worry was realized when he finished the last song of the encore and bid the audience good night. It's really the end of the show; there isn't another encore. He really didn't want to play "Barely Breathing" and "On a High."

I was let down by the omission of the two songs from the set. It's like celebrating New Year without counting down to zero or going to a bar just to drink Coke. It's not like he has other huge hits like those. It's just two songs for fuck's sake! Even U2 still plays "One" and "With or Without You" in their set. Those two songs define U2 just as "Barely Breathing" defines Duncan Sheik, the show description from Triple Door even mentions the song's prominence. By not playing "Barely Breathing" and "On a High" Sheik did a disservice to the audience. Or at least me.

OMFGROTFLOL

Originally posted in Terra Occulta on January 29, 2006

Yes, I have a filthy mouth.

Yesterday several friends and I watched not one, not two, but three movies with qualities that range from decent to vile. Believe me when I say that if I could find a word worse than ‘vile,’ I would gladly use it.

The first movie I watched was Fun with Dick and Jane, starring Jim Carrey. I haven’t really enjoyed a Jim Carrey movie since the now classic Dumb and Dumber. I wasn’t really interested in watching, but I went to see it anyway for very good reasons I will not divulge here. I’m a coy bastard, aren’t I?

The movie was decent enough. Carrey manages to pull some of his slapstick genius, but a few jokes fall flat. The movie is just too grounded in reality for slapstick comedy to work (It talks about Enron-like corporate fiasco). Meanwhile, huge plot holes weaken the movie’s third act and, consequently, the movie in general.

The third movie I watched was an Indonesian teen flick called Lovely Luna. I didn’t skip the second movie. I’m saving it for later in the post. It’s the piece de resistance if you may.

Since it’s a teen flick, Lovely Luna is filled with cliches. There’s the guy that pines for the love of a popular girl that’s way out of his league but totally clueless of the affection from another girl, which happens to be his best friend since childhood. If you don’t know how it ends, I envy you for your naivete.

But to its defense, quite a few things work. The movie is pretty well shot, the dialogue is unnatural, but a few moments of sincere lines stand out, some of the jokes actually work, and the happy ending is kind of nice. I’m a sucker for happy love stories. That’s why I liked the second Spiderman movie better than the first one. Yes, the Spiderman movies are actually love stories, and yes, I am actually referring to comic book movies. I’m a comic book geek. Deal with it.

Now, the second movie. It was another Indonesian movie called Issue. I had a big laugh watching it. There’s one problem: It’s supposed to be a tragic drama.

Watching Issue is like watching Titanic. Not the movie, but the ship. I was watching an accident occurring in slow motion. The movie hits a giant iceberg called “incompetence.” You just sit there waiting some kind of salvation to come, but no help is coming. The tragedy just keeps getting worse and worse.

For starters, the writers don’t know what kind of movie they want to tell. They seem to want to mix a thriller with a love story, but end up with a mess. The writers also seem to think that people talk like third-grade Indonesian language textbooks. When a bad guy threatens you with perfect sentence structure and formal form of speech, you know that he isn’t really a badass like he wants to be. Also, the writers like to think that cosmic coincidences happen every two scenes. God plays with a loaded dice in this movie.

The actors appear as if they all graduated from the B-Movie school of overacting. The word ‘subtle’ no longer exists in their dictionary. If the story needs an actor to be annoying, then, by all means, he should speak self-righteously in a very loud noise and make an angry face. Then, if the story needs the actor to be suddenly courteous, why all he needs to do is talk calmly and smile. Adrian Maulana graduated summa cum laude from this prestigious school.

Then, there’s the recently divorced Tamara Blexy… , Blenz… , oh fuck that. If she’s not going to act in the movie then I’m not going to write her full name here. As the main character, she’s utterly useless. Special recognition must be given to the actor that played the villain. He single-handedly converts the movie from horrible to campy. He tries really hard to look evil by not talking much, constantly twitching his moustache, and, get this, eating raw meat complete with blood and all. You sir, are a genius. But I recommend not showing your face in public for the next, oh I don’t know, ten years or so. If you do have to go out, please trim your moustache and wear a toupee to avoid public ridicule.

The director is very brave to shoot the movie just like a sinetron, complete with the cheap video look and, surprisingly, dubbed audio. If you can shoot in a big TV station set, surely you can set aside some money for a film camera, and set of decent microphones. Then, you could hire a lesser star than Miss Blexy and use the excess money to find a qualified cinematographer and a professional audio guy. Then maybe find a screenwriter, an editor, and another director.

A note to the filmmakers: trying to reach the stars is good and all, but you need a concerted effort to do that. Doing a half-assed job is just going to knock you deep down in the gutters. I pray that you will find the light and repent for your sins in this movie.

Being mean is so much fun.

Cinema Cinema

Originally posted in Terra Occulta on January 22, 2006

That reminds me, do they still have "Sinema Sinema" on RCTI?

I recently came upon a brilliant site that reviews current Indonesian movies and discusses about the movie industry in general:

http://sinemaindonesia.multiply.com/

After browsing much of the site, I don't know to either...
a) Laugh
b) Cry
c) Vomit
d) All the above
e) All the above, rinse, repeat

I haven't seen an Indonesian movie in years. The last one I did watch was a VCD (Are those still around?) of Ada Apa Dengan Cinta. That was, undoubtedly, a worthy entry in my top ten bad moves ever. I was taken by the hype of the resurgence of Indonesian movie. What I saw was an awkwardly written, amateurly acted, and cliche filled teen movie. It was shot slightly better than a sinetron, but that's like saying blinded in one eye is better than blinded in both eyes. Despite my disappointment, I held hope that this was just growing pains. In time, the movie industry will grow to create movie Indonesians can be proud of.

Boy, was I wrong. (According to sinemaindonesia, at least)

Of the movies reviewed in the site, only one or two are recommended. The rest are, shall we say, deplorable. The reviewers in sinemaindonesia are fairly knowledgeable, although they did put a disclaimer notifying their inexperience in the subject. They back their statements with keen observation laced with acerbic wit. Here's a snippet of the review for 9 Naga:

"Yang juga sangat ngeganggu adalah penggunaan kata 'bencong', seperti: 'Pantang mundur. Mundur cuman buat bencong'. Padahal kalo kami lewat naik mobil di jembatan deket Taman Lawang, bencong-bencong nggak pernah mundur tuh, nepok-nepok anunya sampe kami ngasih mereka duit lima rebu."

Okay, it's maybe a little juvenile. But it's still funny. There are a lot more jokes at the expense of the movies and their makers.

If the reviews in sinemaindonesia are to be believed, the Indonesian movie industry has some serious problems. It has a lot to do before dreaming to match the Hong Kong or Korean movie scene.

Talk Softly and Carry a Big Gun

Originally posted in Terra Occulta on December 4, 2005

Last week, a couple of guys and I went to a place I never thought I would see in Seattle: a gun range. Seeing NRA presence in liberal Western Washington is downright weird. Normally, I'm more left leaning in my socio-political views, gun control included. So, shooting guns is probably the last thing that comes to mind when I think about a pastime. However, I figured that after seeing guns in movies and tv, this is a good chance to experience what shooting one really feels like.

We went to Wade's Gun Range in Bellevue. Entering the lobby, I could see that it's just like any store if not for the glass wall that overviews the gun range. A line-up of people were shooting all kinds of guns in the gun range. A less obvious thing that differentiates the gun range from any other kind of stores is the literature and posters. On the walls are posters invoking the second amendment, the right to possess a weapon. That's a first for me to see that kind of posters after four years living in the Northwest. Meanwhile, on the tables are information brochures for the NRA, with some words by the one and only Charlton "From my cold dead hands" Heston. You can be sure of not finding a copy of the Stranger here. (For people that is oblivious to the reference, the Stranger is Seattle's free liberal newspaper.)

To rent the guns and lanes in the range, we had to read the safety rules and fill in a liability form. I made sure to at least glance through them before signing. After all, it's not funny if you accidentally kill someone because you forgot to read the rules. That would be tragic. Before entering the gun range, we had to wear goggles and ear muffles. I wondered, how loud could a gunshot be? The answer: Very, very loud. Especially if you are in an enclosed room and there are ten other guns going off. Even with the ear muffles I could still significantly hear the loud bang of a gun shot.

Because we're not experienced with guns, we all shared a lane, taking turns in trying the guns. The first gun we tried was a small revolver. To describe it simply, a revolver is the kind of gun most likely seen in a western. You load the bullets in a rotating cylinder. Cocking the hammer will load a bullet into the firing barrel, while pulling the trigger will fire it (duh!). Before taking the first shot, I hesitated. This was not like trying out bowling for the first time. I was handling a weapon that could easily be used to kill someone, me included, with a light pull of finger. After making sure I had a good grip, I raised the gun, aimed at the bullseye on the target several feet way and pulled the trigger.

A whimper of noise and a spark of muzzle fire later, I have officially shot my first gun. As I smelled the freshly burned gun powder, I looked at the target in the distance. The bullseye was clean. But several inches above it was a hole the size of a bullet. I missed. When the bullet was shot, the gun jolts back in my hands, raising them. I felt the force from the gun only slightly, but the trajectory of the bullet was affected significantly.

I was rather disappointed at that first try. Not because I missed the target as that is a given. I have bad aim. Just ask my toilet seat. I was disappointed because the gun felt like a toy gun to me. Yes, it is a real gun and it shoots real bullets that could kill people. But the gun has no heft. I barely felt the force the gun exerted to my hands when it shot. I was hoping for something more powerful.

After using all the bullets, we switched the gun for our next one: a 9 mm semi automatic. As the name suggests, the bullets have diameter of 9 mm. The semi automatic refers to the way bullets are loaded. Unlike revolvers, where you have to load the bullet with pulling the hammer, a 9 mm loads the next bullet to the barrel automatically after the last one was shot. You put the bullets in a clip, insert the clip into the handle, and you're ready to shoot.

When the gun was loaded, I readied it, aimed at the target, and pulled the trigger. Like the first gun, I saw the flash of muzzle fire and heard the noise of the gunshot. But this time, the bang was louder and, most surprisingly, the force exerted by the gun was much, much, stronger. It was so strong, it rattled my arms. I wasn't expecting that kind of noise and force. It gave me quite a shock, I had take a few seconds to calm myself after that first shot. Unlike the first gun, I can feel the power surging from the gun, to my arms, and to my body. It had my blood rushing and adrenaline pumping. Now, this is a gun.

The final gun we tried was another revolver. But this one was larger. Much larger. It's King Kong to the first revolver's chimpanzee. I didn't remember the brand, but I call it the Dirty Harry gun. I didn't remember the caliber, either. It could be a .44 since the bullets are needlessly huge.

Just looking at the size of this gun, I knew that this is a powerful gun. So, I took the necessary precautions in shooting it. I gripped the gun extra firmly and took a wider stance to brace for the force from the gun. After making sure I was ready, I cocked the hammer back and pulled the trigger. What happened next is still unclear. The noise I heard couldn't have been from the gun. It sounded closer to a concussion grenade. It was so loud, I couldn't imagine hearing it without the ear muffles. Even with the extra preparation, the force still got the best of me. The gun jumped back at my hands, giving a sharp shock to my arms and body. I even stepped back from the force. This wasn't a gun; this was a bloody cannon.

Still in shock, I turned around to look at my friends. I wish there was a mirror so I could see how idiotic I look. They all laughed at my suprised expression. How could I not be surprised? The gun I was holding in my hand was ridiculously powerful. It's overkill for self-defense. Unless, of course, your idea of self-defense is to blow the head of a burglar off or create an extra ventilation hole on both side his body that you can put your fist clear through it.

The trip to the gun range was an interesting experience. My feelings for guns have changed. I couldn't deny the thrill of shooting a gun. It was a heart pounding feeling that gives an adrenaline high. However, that didn't change my view on gun control. In fact, it just strengthen my belief in stricter gun control. The power of the guns I tried awed me. It only made me realize how dangerous they are in the wrong hands. By "wrong hands," I don't only mean criminals, but also regular people that could be easily swayed by the power of guns. The ones that would think a gun is a justifiable mean to end a confrontation.

Hunger = Creative Inhibitor

Originally posted in Terra Occulta on October 24, 2005

While tragedy, depression, and alienation are wonderful fuel for the creative mind, hunger apparently is not. I proved this in a wholesome, but ultimately unscientific method of examining the scarce amount of words I put into print (well, virtually at least) during these two weeks of fasting. Apparently, the stomach trumps the brain in controlling the self. It's probably the inherent instinct of self-preservation.

Anyway, after declaring the creation of a new blog, I finally got it up. The blog is called The Imaginaut (Yes, the name is explained in the blog. I did made a fuss about the name the last time). You can find it at http://theimaginaut.blogspot.com . First up, a review of the brilliant sci-fi movie, Serenity. And it's got purty pictures.

So, there you go. Now I can go back about worrying about my hungry, hungry stomach.

Hit List

Originally posted in Terra Occulta on September 19, 2005.

Sleep is for the weak. If that's so, I'm Superman, Bruce Lee, and Rambo altogether.

I haven't been sleeping well for the past week. Sleeplessness makes me bitchy at night. The time is 1:43 AM. I hope this will explain my current state of mind. I am listing a few phrases in Friendster profiles that have been annoying me. Why? Because I've seen them all over the place, and I just can't stand it.

J-Town
Jakarta is a fucking metropolis, people.

"Friends forever" (Usually on photo caption)
What are you, thirteen?

"It's me" (Usually on photo caption)
Oh, really? It's you? I couldn't have guessed.

That's enough nitpicking for one night. Please don't kill me.

A Concert Supernova

Originally posted in Terra Occulta on September 10, 2005.

My back is aching. My throat is sore. My ears are ringing. The back of my neck is killing me. Yet, I never felt better all my life. Why? I just watched Oasis live in concert.

If you don't know how important this is, check what my thoughts on Oasis several posts down. To sum it up, Oasis was, is, and always will be the best musical act in my mind. For anyone who attempts to challenge my views, prepare for grave consequences. I'm talking to you, Arifin.

Before the show, I had a preparation to war, so to speak. Since the venue is in Everett, 20 miles from where I live, I had to fill my car's tank. With gasoline being $2.89 a gallon, it's quite horrifying. I also had to familiarize myself with how to get to and around the venue. As it was time to leave, I wore my beloved Oasis T-shirt I saved for special occasions like this. To give me a quick jolt and keep me alert for the show, I went to the grocery store for a can of Red Bull. I picked up Sekar and Dena, my Oasis buddies, before heading to Everett. When we got there, we learned that our seats were separate. The girls were seated together. I was left alone, but closer at just eight rows from the stage. You win some and lose some, I guess.

The show also featured fellow Brits, Kasabian, and Aussies, Jet. As a relative newcomer, Kasabian got the opening act. Their performance was impressive. Their electro-rock music with emphasis on rhythm translates well live. The irresistible distorted bass line on their brilliant debut single "Club Foot," which was also their final song of the set, comes out tenfold with the bombastic sound system, shattering eardrums everywhere. With a new close-cropped haircut, Kasabian's vocalist, Tom Meighan, is an energetic frontman. While not singing, he flails around, swinging his body and arms like Michael Stipe on crack. Next was Jet. They are disappointing to say the least. Their live performance suffers from their poor choice of sound. You can hear each individual instruments and vocalist Nic Chester's voice, but they don't mesh well. Worse, they only expose their poor sound quality by turning up the volume way, way up. I swear my ears were going to explode from the loudness.

There was a long break after Jet finished their set to allow the roadies to do a soundcheck. So long, I was worried. Oasis has a history of breaking down on tour, especially in the US. The brothers Gallagher is always at each others' neck that a bust up in near impossible to avoid. So, what if they just had a fight and one wouldn't show up, or worse, both just wouldn't bother to play. I'm maybe a little paranoid, but I have been waiting for this to happen for ten years. Ever since I heard of (What's the Story) Morning Glory?, I have been dreaming of watching them live. I would go out of my mind if the show was ruined. Luckily, my fears did not come true.

When the stadium lights went out, the crowd goes wild. The stage light went on. People started standing. A voice recording was played. It was a countdown of some sorts. Then "Fuckin' in the Bushes," the traditional opening song went on. Everybody gets even more excited. Finally, the boys walks out to the stage. All hell breaks loose. This is it, the moment I've been waiting since junior high. I could see them all clearly from where I'm standing. I could see Gem Archer and Andy Bell quietly setting the rhtyhm in their side of the stage. I could see regular fill-in drummer, Zak Starkey, son of Ringo, playing like he always belong in the band. I could see the stoic brains of the operation, Noel Gallagher, strumming his guitars. I could see the cool-as-hell, I-don't-give-a-damn-in-the-world frontman, Liam Gallagher, wearing his shades and oozing charisma as he stood motionless in front of the stage. They were ready to rock.

They started by playing the opening track from Don't Believe the Truth, "Turn up the Sun" which was quickly followed by the first single from the same album, "Lyla." Just from two songs, I could see how they got to be where they are today. Their sound is impeccable. Each sound meshes beautifully with another: guitars, bass, drums, keyboards, vocals. Oasis is, first and foremost, a live band. They make good records, but they do fantastic gigs. With an array of albums under their belt, they are able to pick and choose a variety of songs, some new, some forgotten gems. They played "Bring It on Down" from their debut album, Definitely Maybe, the title track of Morning Glory, and "Acquiesce," a B-side staple. Not their most popular tracks, but favorites for longtime fans. They also played classic sing-a-longs like "Live Forever," "Cigarettes and Alcohol," "Rock 'n Roll Star," "Wonderwall," and "Champagne Supernova." Believe me when I say I sang along each and every song, not just the classics, but the old and new songs as well. That's why my throats are dry. Well, that and the screaming and yelling. After a brief rest, they returned for an encore, playing two Liam songs in the new album, "Guess God Think I'm Abel" and "The Meaning of Soul." It was followed by the crowd favorite "Don't Look Back in Anger" and the final song of the night, a cover of the Who's "My Generation," a live standard.

I left the stadium with a mild sense of disbelieve and a great sense of fulfillment. It was an awesome show. Probably the best I have ever seen. Now, I'm sitting in front of my PC recounting the concert. I can say with a clear conscience that the show was one of the highlights of my four year living and studying in the US. Ten years of waiting paid off with a bang. I may sound like an over excited fanboy, but I don't care. I AM an over excited Oasis fan.

Intros, Expositions, and Reruns

Hello.

I am Kid Exposition. I like to try putting words together and making some sense. Emphasis on 'try.' Oh, I also have a tendency to self-deprecate.

I have been maintaining another web log at Friendster called Terra Occulta for some time now. Friendster's blog feature is decent but barebones. I wan't more control at no further expense. So, I started this blog. The idea is that I will publish entries to both Terra Occulta and Kid Exposition.

To start up, I'll rerun some of the more substantial posts from Terra Occulta. Hopefully, in a few days I'll be motivated enough to post new entries.