Visualgui’s soccer freaks, I mean fans, the 2006 World Cup Special Interest is now closed. It was unbelievable that you guys made it to every single game, watch it, write comments about it, and chat with each other all at once. I couldn’t watch the game and write at the same time (I did at the first couple of games, but I missed most of the action); therefore, I sneaked to the bar to enjoy the match on flat-screen TV with a glass of Long Island on my hand. If Visualgui.com would still be around and the fans would still be interested, we will reopen the forum in 2010.

I haven’t have chao gao nhum with dua mam (pickle) and tep ram (caramelized shrimp) for almost twenty years, and still don’t like it much. I miss the look more than the taste of it. I am not even sure what part of Viet Nam the dish is originated, but it’s a very strange combination, and the coconut cream added a layer of “ngan” (What’s the equivalent English word? Too lazy to think.) to it. Actually anything with coconut cream would ruin the dish for me. Maybe it’s the summer that is making me losing my appetite. For the first time, someone actually fronted me that I don’t eat much.

When chucking out the dramatic opera singing, instrumental cai luong is not so bad. Goodness, I am hopeless!

Robert Altman’s A Prairie Home Companion takes us inside the final performance of a live radio show that lasted for thirty years. The Fitzgerald Theater, in which the musical show takes place, will be demolished and turn into a parking garage. With emotion, joy, and a bit of mysteriousness, the strength of the film is in its subtlety. The camera gives us enough time to get to know the characters without slowing down the paste. Many big stars are in the film including Vassar’s alumni Meryl Streep (an oldie but goodie), Virginia Madsen, Woody Harrelson, Kevin Kline, John C. Reilly, and Tommy Lee Jones, and they all done a fantastic job of not only acting but singing as well. I enjoy both the heartfelt performances as well as the whimsical comedies they brought to the production.

What strikes me the most about Pham Quynh Anh and Marc Lavoine’s J’espère is the gorgeous motion graphics.

In my review of Ngay Do Co Em, I pointed out the relationship between Duong Trieu Vu and Dam Vinh Hung, and now Mr. Dam uses Brokeback Mountain to express his homo love in Giai Thoat, his latest release. Whether the spoof is his marketing campaign or personal statement, I have no interest in Dr. Dam’s sex identity. I am sure he doesn’t want to define himself either. Musically, he is getting more and more pathetic, and can’t come up with anything new. Even on the bluesy “Anh Don Em Ve,” he applies the same style with his earlier rendition of “Noi Long.” For Chris’ sake, switch up the flow or something, but I guess he and his fans are comfortable with the melodrama crap he puts out. So let’s not give the Brokeback bitch any more grief.

Read Midnight Lightning not because I am interested in Jimi Hendrix’s life, but because I dig Greg Tate’s writing. He sure is one fine critic I have mad respect for. Tate describes Hendrix as “[T]he electric guitar’s Einstein if not its Edison.” And he isn’t ashamed to admit that he felt in love with Hendrix the “dreamfucker” as he analyzes Hendrix’s lyrics, “I make love to you in your sleep and yet you feel no pain because I’m a million miles away and at the same time right here in your picture frame.” Speaking of Hendrix’s sex life, Tates invited Michaela Angela Davis, a fashion and beauty editor for a major African American women’s magazine, to compliment on Hendrix’s pimp juice and for “how liquid and languid he was, and how drippy that made him always seem. Like he was surrounded by a lot of water and could still set shit on fire—literally! He was also drippy without seeming soft or gay and that was because he was not afraid to embrace his inner pimp… I’ve never wished I could have fucked him, but I have wanted to fuck that feeling he was having when he played… watching Hendrix fuck those amps was some of the best sex I’ve ever seen.” Tate also featured a portion of the book to a number of people who were close to Hendrix to speak about him. While these chapters are informative, they could not carry the engaging level Tate could.

His fingers are too short to stride, but Jamie Cullum has a bit of the keyboard chops, and if he would shut the fuck up and just bang out piano chords, I might consider him a serious musician. Until then, he still is a juvenile clown trying to get his swag on. Sure, he could play some quick, slick, and ear-candy solos, but could he extend beyond those? None of his song on Twentysomething leaves room for instrumental improvisation, and his singings take up most of the time. As for his vocals, dude sings (on “These Are the Days” and “All At Sea” for examples) like a spineless little bitch who does nothing but whine, moan, and groan in a hoarse British voice. When listening to his cover of Cole Porter’s “I Get a Kick Out of You,” I sure want to stomp my foot up his ass, and smack the shit out of him for derogating Jimi Hendrix’s “The Wind Cries Mary.” But he is so spontaneous and energetic that ditsy chicks are willing to drop their panties for him. That’s all that really matters.

The spanking new Dean of Freshmen is now live. I chose upbeat colors to make it fresh for the freshmen, but the clean and elegance were also considered for the parents. In addition, I have used the photo on the homepage in a different direction. I originally had the photo appeared at the top, but its large size took up too much space above the fold. I didn’t want to reduce the graphic either because it would lose the effect was I was going for. As a result, I incorporated the image into the whole design by placing the attractive visual at the bottom. It’s a reward for those who scroll.

Thanks to Inky and his jazz-rock vision, I am being drawn back to Electric Ladyland, a Jimi Hendrix Experience. I was exposed to Hendrix as far back as my junior high school years from Mr. Hilt who was my favorite art teacher. Twice a week, I was looking forward to his class so I could just paint and enjoy Hendrix. I didn’t know what the heck I was listening to, but at least the music that came out of his stereo system was not as excessively loud (even though he played at a high volume for a classroom) as other rock shit I couldn’t stand. With Hendrix, I could hear what he was strumming without going deaf, and his virtuoso improvisations were rich and colorful, not just a bunch of white noises screeching up my eardrums.

After hearing his melodic invention on “Voodoo Chile,” I could figure out where Miles Davis got his inspiration for his fusion. In the album liner notes, Derek Taylor quoted what Davis had to say about Hendrix: “He had a natural ear for hearing music… it was great. He influenced me and I influenced him and that’s the way great music is always made. Everybody’s showing somebody something and then moving on from there… Jimi Hendrix came from the blues, like me. We understood each other right away… he was a great blues guitarist.” In the jazz-inflected “Rainy Day, Dream Away,” Hendrix’s riff works along with Freddie Smith’s horn and Mike Finnigan’s organ to create a thought-provoking interaction.

While the psychedelic intro, “…And The Gods Made Love,” gives us a hint of what we are about to enter, the powerful-closer “Voodoo Child (Slight Return)” lets us know that the experience will live on after the music stops, or the heartbeat stops—”If I don’t meet you no more in this world, then I’ll meet you in the next one, and don’t be late, don’t be late.” Hendrix crooned. Almost forty years later, the album still rocks!