Brendan I. Koerner's Blog, page 125

Tapping Into Japan

Last night we started reading Harp of Burma, a book often touted as Japan’s post-World War II version of All Quiet on the Western Front. It provides a soldier’s eye view of Lieut. Gen. Renya Mutaguchi’s ill-fated campaign in Burma, which ended up turning into one giant suicide mission as the war turned against the Imperial Japanese Army. We’re only a few pages in, but already we’re hooked—surprised it took us this long to discover such an obvious classic.

Delving into the psyche of WWII-era Japa

Do You Know These Master Builders?

Rick Yelton, editor-in-chief of The Concrete Producer, has obviously been feeling nostalgic of late, a sentiment spurred by his discovery of an old box of photos. The picture above, he informs us, is of his graduating class from a 1987 Master Builders conference. In the immortal words of that radio DJ from This is Spinal Tap, Yelton considers these ex-colleagues to be residing in the “Where Are They Now?” file.

But he’d like to change that, and he’s calling on Joe Q. Public to aid him in his que

Like Sands Through an Hourglass

We’re on a soul-crushing Wired deadline for the day’s remainder, so we’re gonna outro with a little vintage Tony Allen. Soak it in, and catch you again tomorrow morning.

Yes, We Feel You

“Being in that situation made me more humble. I thought there was no way I could ever be off point, and I finally felt what it was to be stifled. I was still studying music theory and trying to make songs though. I didn’t care if she was trying to stab me or throw my drum machine through the window… I wouldn’t have cared if the house was burning down. And if you’re working that hard up against something, as soon as the pressure is gone, you’re jumping on clouds like Goku. Your power level’s just

Dibs on Miss Peru

Just as we’d hoped, The Economist decided to memorialize the late Gabonese president Omar Bongo in its current issue. And as befits an old-school strongman who appeared to care not a whit for his people’s welfare, the obituary is fairly damning—though, granted, not as gloves-off as the magazine’s posthumous takedown of Prabhakaran. The choicest bit, which follows a sentence mentioning that Bongo—president of a nation where 70 percent of the population lives in poverty—had upwards of $130 million

Nollywood Blues

Color us surprised to learn that Nigeria recently overtook the United States as the world’s second-leading producer of movies, behind only India. True, the vast majority of Nollywood’s “major productions” are straight-to-video affairs, but that’s to be expected in a nation where cheap DVD players reign and movie theaters are scarce.

Yet the nature of Nollywood’s film distribution makes the industry far more precarious than its American counterpart. Because when all of your revenue comes from vid

Using Canned Peas to Your Advantage

In keeping with last week’s Bad Movie Friday theme, we’re gonna once again focus on the thespian debut of a notorious athlete. In this case, our critical eye turns toward Brian Bosworth, the ex-Sooner star turned Bo Jackson doormat. Shortly after his pro football career came to an embarrassing end, Bosworth shifted gears and starred in the 1991 action vehicle Stone Cold, the first scene of which is posted above. To his credit, Bosworth is…not terrible, and certainly a good deal more of a natural

Echoes of an Ink-Stained Martyr

Among the many ghostly memories conjured up by Iran’s current tumult, the unsolved murder of Paul Klebnikov is one of the most unexpected. After all, Klebnikov was known primarily for his investigative journalism in Russia, where he exposed myriad tales of corruption, thuggery, and outright theft. Yet The Lede recently reminded us of Klebnikov’s fine work in Iran, where he courageously delved into the family finances of the nation’s religious leaders. One of his key targets was Ayatollah Ali Akb

Sub-Orbital Ham

While delving into the current doings in the Powerboat Superleague, we came across this tidbit from the Peoria Journal Star. Apparently the league won’t let you race unless you undergo “capsule training” every two years. This process entails being sealed up in a boat cockpit which is then flipped upside down in a pool. If you can’t escape the predicament, you probably shouldn’t be zooming across a lake at 130 miles per hour.

Yet the stakes in such capsule training are relatively low compared to t

Sippin’ Sizzurp in Dhaka

The preferred tipple of DJ Screw and Big Moe is making serious inroads in Bangladesh. Meanwhile, the paramilitary force responsible for enforcing the nation’s drug laws is suspected of carrying out the extrajudicial murders of university students—killings that the government euphemistically refers to as “encounters.”