Tomorrow I'm heading back to the States for two weeks of sun and fun. Going back to -- as Steve Martin says in L.A. Story -- "This other Eden, demi-paradise, this... L.A."

In 'N Out burgers, Pink's chili cheese fries and half smokes -- beware! My Eye is upon thee (and soon my chompers, too).

I hope to be able to write later today, but as must do some shopping and packing, may not get a chance to. So if not, many good wishes for the season and for the new year! I sign in again on Jan. 6, when I return to Seoul.

Do you ever get to that level of tiredness that you can't even sleep, you're so tired? That you can't get up from where you are, because you don't have the energy to get ready for bed (and you're far too anal to just fall asleep, unshowered and un-toothbrushed, in your clothes)?

Although I just got home from a team (departmet) holiday outing (it's 11:30 or so), I'm not quite at that level of fatigue. Last night I was, though. From about 7:30 pm to about 12:30 am I transcribed a taped lecture as a favor for my dad. His temple asked him to do it, since his English is very good, but he said after the first tape, he got sick of trying to figure out the guy's Australian accent and the guy's tendency to say "ummmm...." every 5 seconds. He said he'd pay me to do it, even though his temple wasn't paying him, but I figured it was the least I could do after all he's done for me.

On second thought, I shoulda made him pay me.

At first it was pretty interesting, the lecture being about the process of death as understood by Tibetan Buddhists. They identify eight specific stages of death during each of which the person loses some of the 25 basic elements of human life. But by the end of the fourth stage, I was like, "I can't believe we have four more stages to go. Please let the poor sucker die already, will you?"

My interest perked up again, though, when the lecturer talked about the last stage, the stage at which the dying person experiences a vision of clear light: "Your experience or vision is like an empty sky, they say, like the clear sky of an autumn dawn. A vision that is not a vision."

He went on to say that nearly all people will miss this stage of the death process, and most will miss the fifth, sixth and seventh stages too, because most people have not practiced the deep meditation necessary to achieve the kind of nonconceptual consciousness to experience the clear light of death.

I liked that the lecturer also addressed possible skeptics in the crowd: "You might be asking, 'How do we know?' All of these states can be duplicated in meditation. One can cause the absorption of all of these elements into a point in deep meditation where the breath is stopped and which actually mimics the death process. That's one way of relating to it. But where much of this information comes from is from the accounts of Tibetan lamas who die consciously, who reach a level of attainment within meditation that they're able to die consciously and go through the intermediate state consciously and take rebirth consciously and recollect their experiences. And so the texts that are written of this are in fact written by people who have recollected their experience of the death process, of the intermediate state, and of the rebirth process. This has being corroborated by yogis, meditators over countless centuries in terms of the Buddhist experience.... Many of these yogis can stay at the actual point of death in meditation posture with the breath stopped for periods of three weeks, a month, is commonly reported ?one yogi, for three years stayed in the meditation posture, breath had stopped completely for three years without the body decomposing, remaining at that point of death. So these are levels of control over the death process, over the mind that enable someone to remain conscious through the process and to recount their experience.

"The Tibetan author on the Tibetan Book of the Dead refers to these sort of yogis, these highly realized beings, as ?like we know about the moon firsthand from the astronauts that have been on the moon, and we know about the death process from the Tibetan yogis, the psychonauts who've been through the death process and recall it. So these psychonauts that able to travel from lifetime to lifetime with that level of control of their mind are able to bring us that information."

He also cited an example of a Tibetan yogi who threw the Indian police into disarray in 1959 (when the Chinese invaded Tibet) by staying in a meditative pose for three weeks after having stopped breathing. The Indian authorities, because of hygiene, naturally wanted to dispose of the body very quickly. But when they went to dispose of this lama’s body, he was still sitting in the meditation position.

"Well, we've got to take him away," the police said.

"He hasn't finished the death process yet," replied the other Tibetans.

"How do you know?" asked the police.

"Because the body hasn't started to decompose."

"How do you know?"

"'Cause there's no smell. The sign that consciousness has left is that smell, of the decomposing body."

A few years ago, I first came across descriptions of yogis doing this in the Tibetan Book of Living and Dying (also called Tibetan Book of the Dead), which is one of the sources the lecture was derived from too. It all sounded very mystical eastern hoodoo voodoo to me, and I thought, "Do people really believe this? This is nuts," and I put the book aside and didn't finish reading it.

I still am pretty skeptical about it, but am more open to the possibility. Don't get me wrong, I believe in science, but even scientists tell us that there's more we don't know about the brain than what we know. And all religions include fantastical elements, so why should this be any more outlandish than any other?

But this is all very metaphysical and religious and philosophical, all large pieces of machinery better operated when one is not sleep deprived.
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Mr. Roh, the moderate candidate, won the Korean presidential election yesterday. (Roh's name in Korean is actually No, but as one of my work colleagues explained, Mr. No sounds very negative -- not to mention very James Bondish -- so the name is romanized as Roh.) Roh is a human rights lawyer and won by about 2 percentage points over the other main candidate (there were seven total), who is a conservative. Approximately 70 percent of the electorate voted, which isn't so bad (especially compared to the U.S.), but in the past two presidential elections, the number was about 80 percent.

I told Myung-soo, Woongil and Soo-hyun (my lunch partners today) to wait -- the numbers would continue to go down, since that seems to be the trend with democracies.

I think Mr. Roh is the first presidential candidate I've ever seen who used a cartoon commercial to promote his candidacy. This week I saw a lot of campaign commercials, and Roh's featured a guy sweeping the street clean of snow, picking up the garbage, trundling it up the hill in a handcart (ubiquitous here), and having trouble doing so until all the people of the town, appreciative of his work, come to help him push the cart up the hill. The commentary intones: "Wouldn't it be nice if we had a presidential candidate who actually helped people? We do." And the guy unwraps his scarf to reveal Roh.

It was pretty effective. Apparently.

I learned that if you want to be a presidential candidate in Korea, you have to put up a certain amount of money (this is true in the States too, I think) to show your serious intent. But in Korea, if you win a certain percentage of the vote, the government will reimburse you that sum of money, which is in the area of a couple hundred thousand won (Woongil wasn't sure if it was 200,000 won or 500,000 won). Interesting.

Would like to tell you more about my interesting lunch conversation and the crankified way in which I dealt with having to go out for the departmental holiday outing, but I must sleep.

New year's resolution: sleep more, stress less. (Why do I have the same resolution every year?)

Today's Korean culinary lesson was budae jjigae. Again, Woongil and Myungsoo, plus the very recently married Mr. Choi, took me to a budae jiigae house, and explained the history of the dish, a red-hot mish-mash of ingredients.

Budae jjigae was created during the Korean War, when there wasn't much to eat. U.S. army bases would give people leftover rations from their stores, which included Spam, sausages, and bacon. Not knowing exactly what to do with these foreign foods, Koreans dumped them all in a pot with a load of red chili paste and kimchee and whatever else they could find. This dish became budae (military unit) jjigae (stew).

These days, restaurants still improvise the ingredients, but always include some form of Western food. Today, the stew I ate included: red chili paste, kimchee, ramen noodles, thick rice noodles, a couple macaroni noodles, slices of sausage, a mess of chopped scallions, a scattering of other vegetables, bits of meat, one or two pieces of ddok (rice pastry), and a pile of what looked suspiciously like canned pork and beans. All these things were heaped into a large pot in the middle of the table and cooked in front of us. Then we ladled some into our dishes and dug in.

Yesterday, Woongil (who seems to have taken it upon himself to introduce me to Korean foods) said that it was a dish with a sad history. It was born out of necessity and desperation, but is now a popular meal. I wonder how many other countries have famous dishes that were created out of hardship? Probably a lot.
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Yesterday I went Christmas shopping in a vast underground mall connected to the city bus terminal and subway station. I'm still kind of amazed at all the life that occurs under the ground. Here, people think nothing of being able to buy the following things in a subway station (all from actual people, not machines): newspapers, magazines, slippers, electronics, soup, dolls, scarves, kimbap (like sushi), puppies and rabbits (live ones), and boots. (Not to mention coffee, cola, tea and other beverages from machines.) Major stores located at a subway station usually have a subway level entrance, so you don't have to go above ground to go in, and their wares spill out into the station: underwear, bread, stockings, hats.

I was wondering the other day if this is function of climate rather than culture. I think there are large subterranean warrens in cold cities in the U.S. too. And I do remember a rather large station in Boston where you could buy snacks and periodicals. But do other cities (take Minneapolis, for example) offer this level of capitalism at, well, this level? Let me know.

The place I went yesterday is a little different from your average subway stop -- it's connected to the station, but is actually a huge mall that took me a hour to walk around. There are two aisles with stores on either side. The items sold are displayed not only inside the glass front, but outside on tables and on fabric laid on the ground: blankets, pottery, clothes, electronics, cosmetics, Christmas ornaments, flowers, shoes, handbags, clocks, stuffed animals, coats.

The vendors here, as everywhere else in Korea, approach selling like an extreme sport: rushing out of the store if you dawdle for a moment, pulling clothes off the rack and insisting you try them on, declaring that you won't be able to find that particular item anywhere else, confiding that they will give you a discount, and yelling after you if you don't buy the product. Not everyone is that aggressive, but it's not unusual. It's also normal for a vendor to just come out and shadow you as you look around, occasionally straightening out items that you've picked up and then put down.

It's stressful.

The option that most shoppers take is to completely ignore the vendor, since any interest shown is immediately pounced upon like a cat on nip. I have a hard time doing this, but will have to, I think. Must learn to be more phlegmatic.

Shopping at upscale department stores is no better. At the upscale Hyundai Department Store (yup, the same as the car company -- here, the giant chaebols produce everything from gas to cell phones to milk), there are, I swear, more salesclerks than customers. Dressed in their simple, tasteful uniforms, they hover, waiting for a customer. No waiting for service here -- and no leisurely looking around either. Even in the the garage, smartly dressed women in tan coats, 1930s-style hats, and black gloves and shoes direct traffic, present the entering car with a parking stub, and take money from the exiting drivers.

At the more moderately priced Grand Mart department store, particularly in the grocery section, there is an unending barrage of solicitations from women dressed in blue and white shirts and skirts, platform white sneakers, and white leg warmer-type things that reach from ankle to just below the knee. in every aisle, they yell out their rehearsed lines for whatever product they are hawking that day. "Please look here! Elastine hair rinse on sale! It'll will make your hair smooth and soft! Elastine on sale here!" "Over here, please! This soy sauce is very delicious! On sale! On sale!"

And so on.

On weekdays it's not quite as raucous, but on weekends, you can't turn around without bumping into someone with white leg warmers on. It's almost enough to make me long for the employee-free avenues of Target, where you could go for days without seeing anyone in a red vest.

Today talked politics over a very smellerific lunch of bean paste stew and bean paste stew (one very stinky, the other not quite as much). Myung-soo, Woongil (the 32-year-old with a five year old son) and another fellow whose name I didn't catch decided I should try the stinky bean paste stew, chong gook jang. Very good for the health. But very stinky. Myung-soo said that when she was a child, she wouldn't even go into a house where it had been cooked, it was so smelly.

The day after tomorrow is the presidential election. According to Woongil, it's the second presidential election that doesn't feature a candidate from the military (who could presumably take over the country with the military if he didn't win the election). There are three candidates, Mr. Gwan (liberal), Mr. No (moderate) and Mr. Lee (conservative). The moderate candidate is ahead by about 5 percentage points.

Mr. Lee, the conservative, wants to cut off aid to North Korea, saying that all the rice and food is going to the military anyway. The other two don't want to do that, wishing instead to pursue a relationship.

I interjected: "But isn't it true that the rice IS going to the military?"

"I don't know," said Woongil, and Myung-soo followed with: "Nobody knows for sure. But we shouldn't cut off all aid."

I was about to point out that humanitarian organizations have complained of this problem, but decided not to press the point. I think people in general, when thinking with their hearts, don't really care about the facts. I was talking to my dad about the two high school girls who were killed by a U.S. army tank earlier this year in Seoul, and when I asked him what exactly happened, he said, "It doesn't really matter. The fact is that they are dead and a U.S. army vehicle killed them, so people are angry."

Angry they are. Lots of protests, especially after the military court found the two soldiers innocent.

Have you all heard about this? It's a big deal in Korea, and I do remember reading about it in the U.S. when the deaths first occurred. I've wondered what exactly happened, so on the last day of class, when I had the opportunity to ask a U.S. army officer who was in my Korean language class, I jumped on it. This is what I found out: U.S. soldiers were moving a tank from one location to another (off-base, in Seoul). The driver of this particular type of tank has no peripheral vision, so there is another soldier who serves as his "eyes" and is in communication with him. Unfortunately, there was an equipment malfunction.Tragically, there were two high school girls walking down the street whom the driver did not see.

The officer I talked to said that this kind of equipment malfunction has happened before, and that his questions would be for the soldiers' commanding officer, who should have made sure that the tank was preceded by a car or something that the driver could see.

I didn't get a feeling of too much sadness from the officer, just a kind of matter-of-fact investigatorial sense from him. On the reverse side, I don't get the feeling that Koreans really care too much about what actually happened. Like my dad said, they see two dead girls and two American soldiers, and the soldiers going free when they clearly were responsible for the deaths of the girls (that is not in dispute).

Protests these days center on SOFA (Status of Forces Agreement), which Koreans feel completely favors the U.S. army and completely puts Koreans at a disadvantage. Under the SOFA with Korea, U.S. soldiers accused of misconduct or crime are tried by a U.S. military court, not the host country's legal system. In the past, according to the officer who was in my class, U.S. soldiers have definitely abused the terms of SOFA, getting into trouble with Korean locals, for example, and running back to base, where Koreans have no legal recourse. The area around the U.S. base, Itaewon, has long had an unsavory reputation, he continued, but many of the problems in Itaewon are the same in areas around bases in the U.S.

"It's just a lot more loaded here," I commented.

"Yeah," he replied, with an expression that said: "And how!"

The officer also said that the reason that SOFA conditions are the way they are in Korea is because the Korean legal system is corrupt and doesn't observe the same civil rights as the U.S. (for example, he said, the police can come and take you away to jail without giving reason. I don't know if this is true.) and that SOFA conditions in Europe are different because the legal systems are not as corrupt. I really don't know anything about this, but it doesn't seem outlandish that a military outift would keep the right to punish its members. I mean, I remember the whole scandal several years ago about the American tourist who was caned for chewing gum in -- Thailand, was it? -- but he wasn't employed by the government. Ambassadors have diplomatic immunity, don't they (for better or worse)?

All this doesn't matter, of course, to the protestors, who want the terms of SOFA changed. When I was walking along a market street last weekend, several vendors had "Change SOFA" stickers on their carts. As I've mentioned before, there is an undercurrent of anger about the U.S. presence here that I feel ambivalent about. I wonder how much of it could be solved by sitting down and trying to understand the other point of view and how much is simply irreconcilable.

Last week I was asked by a team leader to proofread an essay by her professor (she's getting a master's degree in linguistics). What am I gonna say, no? So I do a few representative pages last week and today she asks if I'd like to go to lunch. Well, sure, why not?

So we go to lunch with someone else on my team, at a rather upscale restaurant. Toward the end of the meal, she tells me that the fulltime editor usually gets paid 10,000 won per page for doing outside work, and shouldn't she do the same for me? But she freakin' phrases it as a question, and what am I gonna do, say, "yo, homegirl don't be doing work for free, you feelin' me"? This is just after I've finished a nice meal which is going to be on her, PLUS, she's the team leader for the Cultural Affairs team, and has been inviting me to all the wonderful cultural events for free.

So I say, "No, no, this one's a freebie. If it gets to be a regular thing, then we can talk about it."

"It may become a regular thing," the team leader replies sepulchrally.

"Um," I say. "Well, it's okay."

And the person from my team says, "I thought you would say that, Helen!"

Yeah, 'cause I'm a sucker. I'm also not sure what I agreed to. Free editing for the rest of my time here? Or a renegotiation of terms the next time an outside document comes my way?

Yeesh. Anyone know where I can buy a backbone?
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I saw my second Korean movie here on Saturday night, a light comedy called "The Piano-Playing President." It's about a rather unusual president who falls for the teacher of his rebellious daughter.

I meant to see the second Harry Potter installment, but Aya and I arrived at the theatre 10 minutes too late to see it. So we saw the president movie instead, which is rather timely, as elections are this week. (Elections: all around the city, at street corners and subway stations, are campaign volunteers bowing to passersby and repeating campaign slogans.)

At the end of the movie (warning: spoiler), the president and teacher get caught by the media while kissing (though the photo, naturally, is taken just AFTER they stop their embrace, which, by the way, is just about the most unromantic and wooden kiss I've every seen), and a scandal is born, complete with opposing politicos demanding his step-down. After a few movie minutes of picturesque anguished wandering around the Blue House (the Korean equivalent to the White House), the intimation of a reconciliation between father and daughter, and the teacher resigning and moving far away from Seoul, the president announces to the nation that darn it, he loves the teacher, receives adoring applause from the press corps, and tracks down the teacher, who strangely enough, punches him in the stomach (not kidding, and the meaning of this gesture was lost on me). The movie ends with both of them exiting the presidential limo into the Blue House, presumably to rule the nation happily ever after.

Boy, scandals just aren't the same here. No marriage to dissolve, no silent supportive spouses, no illegitimate children, no suspect political motives of the lover (a la the American film "The American President" from the 1990s), no Oval Office dalliances -- jeepers, where's the fun?

All right, in all fairness, American movies don't exactly call a spade a spade all the time (although there is the example of "Primary Colors"), but there was a bit of purposeful ostrich-head-in-sand quality about the movie.

After the movie, as Aya and I walked to the elevators, we witnessed a fight! Between two 40-year-old women, no less! One of the movie theatre staff walked up to a patron, and yelled, "Why did you hit that person over there?" and proceeded to hit her in the head. Whereupon the patron naturally struck out, and there was a bit of a tussle, which an older gentleman tried to stop.

Three people who got in the elevator with us murmured, "Should a movie theatre employee be hitting a patron like that?" Apparently, the patron had been drinking and had splattered some of her beverage onto some other patron... or some such nonsense.

It was pretty funny.

Later, over tea, Aya, who is Japanese, said that one of the things she likes about Korean society is that people are much more quick to express their emotions. Heh heh.

Was out and about today: Dad's temple, Grandmother's house, Aunt's house. Before embarking on the day-long journey, we filled up on gas, which is quite expensive here compared to the States, but probably comparable to European prices. Filling up the tank cost 64,000 won (about $50). Korea has no oil fields, so it's really at the mercy of oil-rich nations. I don't think the electric car movement has started here, though I have seen a bus that purported to run on natural gas.

There's no concept of self-serve at gas stations here. An attendant asks how much you want, fills it up, hands you your change or credit card slip, and gives you the gift of the day. Yup, you get a freebie with your fill-up. I've only been in the car twice when Dad's had it filled, but both times the attendant presented us with a little something or other: once a packet of tissues, another time, two small bottles of an energy drink. Marketing at its best.

Grandmother's house is up in the northern suburbs of Seoul, about an hour away from where the apartment is. It's still fairly agricultural out there; the people who live in the rental unit next door keep chickens and ducks and rabbits and --- lots of dogs.

Dogs! Yay!

Ahem. Anyway. The four of us (my dad, grandmother, great-aunt and me) had lunch that the grands had prepared. Nearly everything was made from scratch. My step-grandmother hails from the time when you went out into the fields and picked the beans by hand and washed them and ground them into a paste and set them in water and waited until they formed a gel that was one of the side dishes on the table. The only difference these days is that she now has a food processor to grind the beans rather than a mortar and pestle.

I know it's a cliche, but homemade food really does taste much better. My dad usually buys stuff from the store, and while the stuff is made by someone, it doesn't have that "fresh from the fields" taste.

It's really quite amazing to me how far removed I am from the actual process of making food.

Confidential to the camel-curious in L.A.: Since the bactrian (two-humped) camel is native to Central Asia and the dromedary (one-humped) to Africa, I'll lay a bet that the traditional camel race that opens the Saudi culture festival features dromedaries.

Other fun camel facts: These days, camels in Saudi Arabia are bred mostly to race, not to carry Bedouins about (the Bedouins have mostly opted for cars and other modern forms of transport). The hump of the camel, made out of fat, is firm and plump when the camel is well-fed; after a period of no food, however, the hump becomes limp and falls over. (Heh.) Camel meat is a staple of the traditional Muslim diet; thousands of camels are slaughtered for the Hajj every year. Recently, due to a lack of available camels in the country, Saudi Arabia has been importing camel meat from other countries, including Australia, where the descendents of the camels brought over from India to help pioneer the back country in the 19th century roam free as the only wild camels in the world.

Here's a recipe for ya, if ever you want to check out camel meat (apparently like beef but much tougher):

Warm Salad of Stir-fried Camel with Walnuts and Potato Croutons
Serves 4 entr? sized portions

Ingredients
1/2-lb. camel loin, rump or cube roll
2 large potatoes
1/4-lb. mesclun leaves
1 1/2 oz. walnut halves, slightly broken
3 tablespoons walnut oil
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
1 bunch chopped chives
A little olive oil

1. Peel and cut the potatoes into small dice, about 1/2-in. size. Fry until golden in a little olive oil.
2. Slice the camel (trimmed of all connective tissue), pears into thin strips and saute quickly in a hot pan or wok.
3. Dress the mesclun leaves with the walnut oil and the balsamic vinegar and arrange on a plate with broken walnut halves.
4. Add the warm camel strips and potato croutons and drizzle with a little extra walnut oil. Sprinkle over the chives.
(Note: as a variation, dust the meat with some Moroccan spices such as ras el hanout before cooking)

Camel facts and recipe from ABCNEWS.com, "The Other Red Meat," Andrew Chang, June 17, 2002.
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If you're wondering why I've just written about camels (which are not found in Korea), it's because on Friday, I had to write a response for the president of the Foundation to the Saudi ambassador's invitation to the Saudi National Heritage and Culture Festival. She's not sure she can make it to the opening ceremony, which I think would be quite a shame. How many times do you get the opportunity to see a camel race?

Okay, editor's dilemma. Really rotten article about a group of islands off the eastern coast of Korea. Due in a few minutes. Edited it really fast, as had to deal with a number of other letters and ratty articles this week.

Not the point, though. Point is: really rotten article.

On what could be a fascinating topic: the Japanese annexation of the Dokdo islands in 1905 was among the first signs of the eventual colonization of Korea by Japan in 1910. Korea didn't get them back until 1946. (Well, actually 1948, when the UN recognized Korea as an independent republic. But -- not the point.)

The islands also contain a wealth of unique marine ecosystems, blahbittyblahblah, and have been the focus of some recent art exhibits.

So, lots to work with. But man oh man, this professor of social history cannot write. The first paragraph tells us that "Dokdo ... is located 92 kilometers southeast of Ullungodo Island. Its precise location is 131 degrees east longitude and 37 degrees north latitude, and in terms of administration, its address is 1-37 Dokdo-ri, Ullung-eup, Ullung-gun, Gyeongsanbuk-do province. It is about 18.6 square kilometers in size, and it is about 400 meters in length and width."

Maybe that's fine for social history journals (no, I don't really think so either), but for a general interest magazine about Korea (c'mon, say it with me), it SUCKS.

So, editor's dilemma. Do I tell the guy in charge of the magazine that it SUCKS and offer to revise it, if he gives me more time? Do I not say a word, seeing as how yo, I just work here, yo? The article would need major restructuring and rewriting...and the answer is forming in my head as I write. With apologies to the editor within, who is turning up her offended nose and sniffing derisively, I say -- ah, fuck it.
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So now that I've put the piece of crrrrap in the "DONE" pile, I can write for a few minutes. Lessee... some interesting things I can tell you.

I found out my grades and I did well. Will be moving on up to level three in January. Whoo hoo! Did better on the speaking test than I thought; did worse on the writing test than I thought.

At the graduation ceremony, there were a number of fun student performers, including two from my class: David, the U.S. army major (?), who sang a very pretty Jim Brickman song; and Midori, who performed a G.O.D. rap song with three other Japanese girls.

G.O.D. is a Korean boy band, pretty much along the same lines as Backstreet Boys and NSync.

You know, you just haven't lived until you've seen a Japanese girl in a pink and navy Korean traditional dress (donned for graduation), with orange pigtails and a turquoise blue G.O.D. jacket, belting out Korean boy band rap lyrics.
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Irrelevant and non sequitur fact of the day: the Saudi National Heritage and Culture Festival, begun in 1985, opens its two-week annual festivities in January with a traditional camel race.

I'm munching on some ddok as I write this.

Actually, I'm not munching, I'm just chewing; ddok is a soft, sticky pastry made out of rice. On New Year's Day, it's tradition to eat ddok gook, which is soup made out of ddok, because the ddok that goes in the soup is shaped like long cylinders, and the length of the ddok represents the long life you'll (hopefully) live.

The ddok I'm eating now is not that kind of ddok. There are several different shapes in this package, of different colors and tastes. One is a round pale green color, and tastes of pinenuts. Another is Crayola yellow, and studded with beans and dates. Quite tasty.

The sweets came from an office colleague who got married last weekend. Did I mention this before? Someone in a different department (team) emailed me last week to ask if I was going to Mr. Marrying Guy's wedding. I said, no, because I don't know him very well, plus I haven't been invited.

"Oh," he wrote back, "I don't know him that well either, he only joined my team four months ago. But everyone is invited. He needs to know how many people are coming so he can charter the bus."

"What bus?" I asked. "Are you going?"

"Of course I'm going," he replied. "We're on the same team. And he's chartering a bus to pick people up at the office on Saturday and take them all to the wedding site."

Ah.

I asked my dad what was up with that -- wasn't it expensive to invite all these people? He said, "Yes, but they all give money too, usually $30 to $50."

Interesting. I read a great article in the Washington Post today about a Vietnamese immigrant family in Atlanta, which included a description of a wedding. At the wedding, after the traditional blessings and prayers, people dug out their wallets to pass the dough forward. Terrific quote: "We are very spiritual," a woman whispered to the reporter, "but very practical." (Incidentally, this article is one of four fascinating articles in a series about immigrants in Atlanta, which some people are calling the next Los Angeles.)

Anyway, Mr. Married came back from his honeymoon late last week and today passed out these packages of ddok to, as far as I know, everyone in the office. That would be about 80 people or so.

Different, huh?
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I took my written tests for the speaking, and listening and reading classes today. They weren't as bad as I feared, but the reading was touch and go. I finished everything on time, but with an eye on the clock. I really need to get faster at reading; the test was pushing the outer limits of my reading speed. Strangely enough (or is it so strange?), I don't have a problem with writing. I mean, I don't always know how to phrase things, or what markers to put in (in Korean, there are subject and object markers that you add to the end of the word in question, and a number of prepositional markers as well), or even how to spell very well, but I do okay. Reading, however, is still a tortuous process -- I have yet to be able to glance at a sentence and grasp its meaning.

I don't mind too much; it's only been two months that I've been studying, after all. I mean, I could fake being concerned about my rate of progress, but I'm really not that industrious. Plus, I think I've done okay for being here since October. I haven't made particularly strenuous efforts to immerse myself (witness my habit of reading Harry Potter novels a dozen times over), but I'm okay with that. Lord help me, I can't be diligent all the time, not even close to it.

Tomorrow is the last part of the final exams, the interview with the teacher. After I sign off here, I'll ask Dad to practice with me. He's been quite helpful, answering all my vocab questions, reading out passages so I can practice my listening skills, and insisting on driving me to the subway, even though it's only a 10 minute walk away, in order to save time.
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On the subway tonight, coming home, I was surprised to see an advertisement outside the window, being projected onto the tunnel walls as we barreled toward the next station. Consumer culture -- gotta love it. At the movie I went to two weeks ago, we went to our assigned seats (yup, just like the theatre) while advertisements were played on screen. It reminded me of a time in DC when I went to see a movie and witnessed a woman storming out of her movie before it even started, because "[she] wasn't going to sit through 10 minutes of advertisements in order to see a movie -- ridiculous, just ridiculous."

Clearly, she should not come here.
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Another subway observation: as I stood in my place in the sardine tin (and it is a metal box, after all, isn't it?), I gazed at some women sitting in front of me, wondering, "Why dye your hair these varying colors of orange if in a week everyone sees your roots?" As I thought about it, though, I thought it probably wasn't about the root visibility, but about changing your look to define yourself. Just like any fad, there isn't any particular reason why it starts, except that a few people start out to distinguish themselves from the crowd. And then the crowd catches on.

What if I'm happy with my hair being black because I'm used to being one in a pantheon of hair colors? Yes, there are a lot of black-haired people in the States, but there are lots of brown-haired people, and some yellow-haired people, and a few red-haired people too. Maybe I don't feel the urge to distinguish myself by dying my hair because I'm used to being surrounded by people of lots of different hair colors, and so feel that hey, black is special too.

Just a thought.

Today was one of those ice cold, brilliantly clear winter days, the kind of day that the phrase "wintry smile" is meant to evoke.
From inside your warm classroom or subway or apartment, the day looks beautiful. Beyond the skyscrapers of the city, the mountains stand out in stark contrast to the sky. There is no hint of smog. The bleary haze that usually covers Seoul has run away, to come and play another day.
Then you step outside, and you realize that the haze had the right idea, because the wind cutting through your several layers of clothing and numbing your exposed face is merciless. You actually run to the subway, regardless of the fact that you look rather silly, not to mention the 5 kilos of book rhythmically pounding against your tender lower back. You pass a woman wearing pants cut above the ankle and flats with either nylons or no socks at all, and you think, "Damn, these Koreans are hard core."
In the subway, you power walk past a mother and her little girl, both rushing along, and the little girl runs right out of her pink and white tennis shoes, which haven't been tied on properly and which have apparently been covering -- again -- bare feet. You think, "Damn, these Koreans are crazy."
You reach home after running from the subway station, and climb the five flights of stairs, which are in the building but unheated, and the unheated apartment feels like heaven. Your cheeks are stinging, your nose is running, and you throw off your coat and turn on the heat and feel grateful to be home.

Didn't do much this weekend. Went to work on Saturday morning, then came back, read a bit, took a nap, studied. Sunday I stayed inside all day, studying, snacking, napping, watching a truly terrible 60s British movie called "I'll Never Forget What's 'Isname." I don't know why, 'cause lord knows I wish I could. For some reason, the great Orson Welles was in it. And Marianne Faithful, recently of Abfab fame, takes a turn as one of the mistresses (there are three). And Oliver Reed, whom I just now figured out is the Oliver Reed who died while making Gladiator, is the main character.
The plot was incomprehensible: something about a top ad exec leaving Orson¡¯s ad company to return to a little literary magazine, where he proceeds to flirt with the secretary while trying to rid himself of his two mistresses and wife, being followed by a private detective, and being haunted by a bully from his public school days. At the end, the secretary dies, the man returns to advertising (though not for Orson), and returns to his wife and kid, whom they call "Thing" (damn the Brits and their charm!).
Well, it was in English, and I was dying for a little mindless television.
Here's a review I found on the Web: To some tastes, this overwrought and long-unseen comedy from the swinging '60s will be completely dated with characters whose mindsets are totally alien. Protagonist Andrew Quint (Reed) is a piggish young ad executive who tries to leave his even more piggish boss (Welles), and his two mistresses, though he's not sure he wants to divorce his wife. Why? He wants to go back to do something meaningful with his life, something like working for a literary magazine. It's actually a long midlife crisis (though the phrase did not exist when the film was made) that set standards for frankness in its sexual material.
Well, count me as one who thinks it¡¯s completely dated and alien. It's interesting, though, that it was broadcast on Sunday afternoon on a Korean network. I mean, of all the movies to show, why pick one as dated as this? Hm. Perhaps because despite seeming quite dated to me, it is actually a little racy compared to Korean television? I haven't watched all that much TV here, but I do get a sense that it¡¯s quite modest (which is all the more curious, because American movies with sexual content do get shown in theatres here). I'll watch some more (to practice Korean!) and get back to you.
By not going out yesterday, I missed the first city-wide snow of the season. It has snowed before, but this time, it actually stuck to the cars, though not the streets as much.
Dad went out to temple just before noon and didn't come back until about 10 at night, which was hunky dory with me. We are getting along pretty well so far, though of course it's only been a few days.
In late afternoon, there was an odd booming sound, like fireworks, or cannons, and I went to the bathroom window to see what was. Across the street, I saw other people at their windows, looking out as well, and it occurred to me, "What if that is the sound of artillery? What if North Korea has suddenly started a war?"
Not an unreasonable thought, I think. North Korea has maintained its army at the expense of its people, and no one really knows what the hell Kim Jong-il will do. Before I moved out of my hasook jeep, I skimmed through "The Two Koreas," the book that Tomas, my old housemate, had lent to me, and got a sense of the incredible difficulty and instability of recent Korean history.
My resolution for next year: learn more Korean history! I've got to overcome this overwhelming desire to read novels and nothing else.

I have the test for my Korean writing class tomorrow morning (Tuesday), but I feel very unprepared. We did some example problems in class today, and I was a bit at a loss. I'm afraid I'm not taking it very seriously. The focus at Sogang University, where I take my classes, is heavily on speaking, so I spent all weekend studying the grammar from the speaking textbook, and neglected the writing stuff. I also thought that the tests were all on Wednesday, so was surprised to discover that one was tomorrow... Oh well.
Wednesday I have my Korean speaking and listening tests (both written), and on Thursday I've got my oral examination. 20 minutes of answering questions and acting out scenarios with a teacher! I'm dead meat. Not kidding. I feel spectacularly incompetent these days in Korean. Maybe a con of living with someone I only speak English to¡¦ maybe I'll just adopt the casual style of speaking to my dad too. What the heck. Better than not improving in Korean.

By the way, I think I now have all the forms of speech down. Adults speak to children and to friends and close relatives in ban mal, the most casual (and considered impolite) form of speech. Above that is polite informal speech, which appends the word "yo" to the end of each sentence. You use this in informal situations, like, I don't know, asking someone in a department store where something is. Then there is polite formal speech, which is used by reporters on TV news shows, in the military, and at the office.
Overlying polite informal and polite formal speech is an additional form, honorific, that is used when speaking to people in positions higher than you: your boss and more experienced colleagues, people older than you, married people (if you are single), the doctor, etc. (Naturally, there's one honorific form for polite informal and another for polite formal.)
So basically: plain speech (impolite); polite informal speech; polite informal honorific speech; polite formal speech; polite formal honorific speech.
But wait! There's more! For the mere price of a visa and plane ticket, you too can experience the joys of remembering that when talking in the presence of or about people higher than you, you must refer to the higher person in honorific speech, but when you are simply referring to yourself, you use regular polite speech (formal or informal, depending on the situation).
And that's not all! You also get the unbeatable experience of remembering that you may be friends with someone in the office, so in most situations you can speak impolite casual speech to them, but in meetings and formal situations, you speak polite formal speech to them! (Or was it polite formal honorific? Damn damn damn.)

Confidential to Wendy and other mother ship confidants: I happened to draw a picture of the Seattle Space Needle on the table at the restaurant on Thursday, and now a colleague here has gotten it into her head that I'm talking with the mother ship:
¡°Maybe you can visit the space needle and communicate with your friends out of the earth...^^¡±
I can never get away from being considered an alien.
By the way, here people don't use :) to end notes, they use ^^. I'm not sure why yet.

Well, still freakin' tired, but have just had a new burst of energy brought on by my dad coming home with groceries, including some Pepperidge Farm cookies. Cookies! Haven't had those for a while.

So yesterday I wrote all this stuff, and lost it all, and was very very frustrated, so I went to bed. Now, I am wondering, should I try to write again what I wrote yesterday, or should I just let it go?

Let's see... did anything of note happen today?

Well, I was freakin' tired (not new), so I slumped through class and work and the ride home, and stopped by a store just outside the subway station that Myung-soo had recommended I check out, and saw some things that may work as Christmas presents for John's second cousins (is that the right word for your cousin's kids?). Must remember that Brianna likes purple and Olivia likes pink. And they like girly things. How do I know this? Got home and received a call from John, who said he'd woken up, saw the time, and thought, "Hey! Helen would be awake now!" Awww.

Thought strikes. The subway. Been meaning to talk about it for a while. Specifically, the scrubbed-clean sparkling quality of the subway. The vending machines in the subway. The way people line up to enter the cars. The way that they CAN line up, because the train actually stops exactly where it is demarcated on the platform. The troika of trash receptacles (paper, plastic, and waste).

How does the subway keep its sparkling clean quality? By being scrubbed, of course. Older women in pink rubber gloves literally wash the steps and floor. Yesterday I saw a woman crouched down, digging dirt out of the grooves in the floor.

Yeah.

Trash: Korea is serious about recycling. Not only do you have to separate your trash at the subway stations, you also have to do it at home. The sanitation department here will only pick up your trash if it is in the proper bags (again, paper, plastic and waste), which you have to buy yourself. It's really quite admirable. Even human waste (don't read this if you're squeamish) is separated from paper products, if you know what I mean. If you don't, well, I'll spell it out for you: after you wipe, you don't toss in the toilet. You toss in the plastic container provided for you in every stall. Sort of like the leave-no-trace policy of hiking organizations.

I've even seen ads in the subway calling on people to take recycling seriously (at least, I think that's what they say). I'm going to get my hands on one of those posters before I leave Korea; the picture in the ad is of two dung beetles rolling bags of trash away.

Dung beetles! Yay!

Another poster I'd like to get my hands on is an ad for Bulgaris yogurt. The ad extolls a most interesting virtue of the yogurt, which is that it helps with constipation. (Again, at least, I think so.) The cartoon shows a man, toilet paper in hand, outside a W.C., with a pained expression on his face and a thought bubble: "Hok! Hok! I can't stand it anymore!" The banner over the drawing reads: "If you're plugged up, it'll make you go!" (Roughly translated, that is.) At first I thought it was the guy standing outside the W.C. who had drunk the yogurt, thereby necessitating the trip to the W.C., and I didn't understand why the ad would want you to identify with the pain of waiting when you, ah, really gotta go. But upon closer reading of the ad, I think it's aimed at the guy inside the W.C., who's make the "Hok! Hok!" guy wait so long.

I think it's hilarious.

Yes, I'm aware that this blog entry has concerned itself with potty issues twice now.

Okay, then, I'll just go back to what I wrote last night.

Last night I went to dinner with some people from the Foundation: five people who started working there within the last six months or so. Funny enough, they're all unmarried women aged 25-30 or so. We went to an Italian restaurant, La Lieto, which had a very pretty atmosphere, but dear me, Italian food here is certainly not like Italian food in America. (Which I will guess is certainly not like Italian food in Italy; you'd think I'd actually know since I did go there seven years ago, but when you're a college student on a budget, you're able to actually live on bread and Nutella for two weeks, missing out on a great deal of foreign food.) Everyone cleaned their plates and said it was quite good, but I must admit to being a bit disappointed. Where's the butter? The fat? The heavy cream? They do not live here, my friend.

If I had not been quite so tired, I might have enjoyed the evening more. Everyone does speak English, and I suppose I could have asked them to converse in it, but I felt I should practice Korean, so I didn't. But then I felt too shy to actually speak up in Korean, and you know, the longer you wait to say anything, the more you feel like what you do say in your horrible broken Korean will be even more idiotic, so ... I ended up not speaking much. I guess I caught about 65-70 percent of the conversation, which isn't too bad, but there's a lot more work to be done.

I've had considerable interaction with three of the five women: Myung-soo lived in Canada for three years as a kid, takes French lessons in the morning, is a big church-goer, and sits a few feet away from me; Ja-young does the Foundation newsletter and is also getting a masters in international education at Sogang, the university where I take Korean language class; and Hye-Jong went to American University in DC for a year, helps run the fellowship program, and has the cutest dimples I've seen this side of the Pacific. I can't tell if it's her personality, which seems very sweet and gentle, or her actual looks, but I think she's absolutely beautiful. She just started taking taekwondo lessons. (The other two women I haven't worked with yet, so I don't really know anything about them. They must take their documents to Mr. Aoki, the fulltime editor at the Foundation.)

You'll note that everyone is pursuing some other type of activity outside of work, which I really admire. Several weeks ago, I wrote about going to a concert with Soo-hyun, who is taking a French class, a Korean history class, sings in her church, and manages to go to six or seven concerts per month at the Seoul Arts Center. Crazy. I told my dad about her, and he said simply, "Koreans like to learn."

I like to learn too, but I find it incredibly difficult to balance everything: class, work, friends, homework, writing, hiking, concerts. I had hoped, when I moved here, to reflect, pursue certain interests I've harbored for a long time (writing, photography, taekwondo), explore the city. Rest. But things are as busy as ever. I want to do so much, and I don't enough time or energy! This week, for example, I saw a fantastic drum performance, went out to dinner with colleagues, and moved to my dad's place. I did homework on the subway -- when I wasn't nodding off -- and I've managed to get everything done, but dear lord, I am so tired because of it.

Don't get me wrong -- I'm not complaining about the amazing opportunities I have. I just marvel that at this age I still haven't learned to prioritize activities or interests, and still want to do everything, when I KNOW that's just not possible. How do people manage?

Something for me to ponder as I toddle off to bed.

Oh yes, bed. Things are good here, on my second day in my grandmother's apartment, where my dad lives. I moved on Wednesday night, and with my dad's help, it took under 30 minutes. You know how I was afraid that Ajuma would be upset about me leaving so abruptly? Well, I needn't have worried. I left the house a few presents (two types of tea and some chocolate) as a farewell present, and gave the keys back to Ajuma with: "It was fun living here. Thank you." She said, "Yes, okay, go well," and closed the door.

And that was that.

No present from Uchidashi or Aya, but Aya did text message me later that night: "I'm sorry I couldn't help you move. Did it go well? Live well, and I will see you tomorrow." Aw. Have I mentioned how much I like Aya?

I unpacked my stuff with sense of contentment. There's always something nice about setting up house in a new place -- all those feelings of hope that hang around fresh starts and new beginnings. Dad gave me one of the two pieces of furniture in his room -- a cabinet/shelving unit that fits nicely in the corner of my room. No bed here, just thick blankets for the floor. (I adore Korean blankets -- beautiful bright silk/polyester coverings. Must bring some back. Or find some in K-town.)

Speaking of bed, that is where I am headed. Really. Now.

Oh man, oh man, I just wrote an extremely long blog entry, and I lost it in some electronic shuffling. AAAAGGGHH!

Kill the machine. Kill the machine. Kill the machine.

I'm so tired, I could cry.

Will write more tomorrow when am not so freakin' tired.

Five performers. Massive amounts of drumming, both on traditional Korean drums and on all manner of kitchen implements. Soup that was actually cooked on stage during the performance. Comedy. Dance. Juggling. And a large stuffed duck.
Went to an amazing performance last night called "Nanta," thanks to the kind folks over at the Fellowship Program team in the Foundation. It was a cross between Stomp, Jackie Chan, and Iron Chef, if you can possibly imagine what that might be. The set-up was simply that three chefs must prepare four dishes by 6 pm, and must also deal with the maitre'd's nephew, who has newly joined the cooking staff. But that doesn't really describe it.
The drumming was really cool. Various teams of actors/musicians perform, and each team had at least one woman performer. Why not more? Dunno.
V. tired, as got home late and then tried to do homework. Also am preparing to move tonight to my dad's place. !
Yes, am moving. Saturday, I saw Maiko's new place, and liked it well enough. But if I move there this month, I'm paying for a whole month's rent for just two weeks of residence, so I decided to move in with pops for the present.
I do recall saying to Brian this summer that living with one's relations -- well, that way leads to madness. I was pretty set against the idea, but here I am, doing it! We'll see how it goes.
One of the deciding factors in my moving was my talk with Ajuma on Monday night. I asked if the rent stayed the same even though I'd be gone for half the month (after all, I'm not eating or using electricity, right?), and she said yes. So I told her, well, the reason I'm asking is because my dad wanted me to move in with him if I'm only going to be in Korea for two weeks in December.
Now, was that a threat from me? I'm not even sure myself. I didn't really mean it as such, but I'd talked it over with my dad the night before, and he did say when I asked about December rent, I should mention that he wanted me to move in with him in order to save money. So I almost didn't say it after Ajuma told me that the rent would be the same, but I felt like, oh well, worth a try.
So I suppose it was a kind of threat -- I'll move if you don't lower the rent! And it probably came out that way.
In any case, Ajuma called the bluff.
"Okay, then, move in with your dad! He lives alone, right? So it would be comfortable for you, wouldn't it?"
I think my jaw dropped -- I didn't really expect her to urge me to leave. I said I'd think about it.
So I did.
And I realized I was kinda hurt by her reaction. ("What, you don't want me to live here? You don't like me?")
Then I realized I was a big hypocritical idiot, because I was the one who had been considering leaving in the first place, without breathing a word of it to her.
Then I woke up on Tuesday morning, tired, and unwilling to get up for breakfast, and decided, "Ah, what the hell. I'm gonna get outta here."
So tonight I'm moving out. I told Aya and Uchidashi last night, and they were very nice and said they were sorry to see me go. I hope they aren't preparing some kind of present for me, though you know, they are Japanese, so I'm going to stop by the store and grab a box of chocolates for the house as a farewell present.
I'm a bit worried that Ajuma is upset with me for leaving so abruptly. I probably would be. Then again, I talked with Maiko, who left really abruptly from her guest house (gave notice and left on the same day). She went back a day or two afterwards, to say hello and bring some cookies as a goodwill gesture. The ajuma there was very business-like and said, oh, don't worry about this kind of stuff, and Maiko's visit ended in 15 minutes.
Maiko said, "It's so strange. When I lived there, she treated me like a daughter. But now that I'm gone, it's like we just had a business arrangement that's over now."
That made me feel better.
I'll miss my housemates.
But I now have enough to pay for school and my ticket home.

Tired. I avoided homework all weekend, so last night I was up late trying to finish it. I can't believe that the final is next week! These two months have flown by.
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I like my house, but sometimes I really don't want to live there. Yesterday morning, for example. I stayed up into the wee hours on Saturday night, reading and puttering around after seeing a movie with my housemate Aya and my friend Maiko. At 8:30 am or so, a knock on the door woke me up; Ajuma was going to church, so we needed to eat by 9 am. I know that's not a hardship for many folks, but for a nightowl like me, it's EARLY. Especially on a Sunday. It hurt.

You may be thinking, well, why doesn't she just sleep in and get breakfast somewhere else later? A reasonable thought, and I offer these in return: I am paying for those meals that I skip; I was awake and would not be able to easily fall asleep; and at heart, I'm a lazy bastard and don't want to go out for breakfast -- I want to be able to wake up and drift into the direction of the kitchen and nibble on something when I feel like it.

I suppose I could get some milk and cereal and eat breakfast by myself when I desire. I might consider that. But breakfast isn't the only problem, so is dinner. I get home around 7:15, and by that time, most of the other housemates have eaten, so Ajuma keeps food on the table for me. That means that when I'm running late or have other plans, I have to call her and let her know not to keep dinner on the table.

Again, doesn't sound like a big deal. But I'm not used to having to account for myself to someone else, and I'm not reacting well to it.

So yesterday afternoon, I called up Maiko and arranged to see her new place. She helped a buddy move on Saturday and on the spur of the moment, decided to move there herself.

My dad went with me to the "Do De-Rim Bil-ding" (Do Dream Building). It isn't a house; it's a dormitory-like building. Places like this are used by people who are studying for government exams and usually have a rather unpleasant atmosphere. But since this place is brand new, it sparkles.

Maiko had let the caretakers know that we were coming, so my dad and I got the full-on tour. Maiko's room, which is the smallest available, is TINY. Jail cells are palaces in comparison. Well, in American prisons, anyway. I would say that her room is about 7 feet long and 4 feet wide. No joke.

On the other hand, she does pay 280,000 won per month (about US $250). The place is sparkling clean, there's a TV in every room, and there's that added bonus of total independence from erstwhile mother figures. There are other, larger rooms available; I could take one that is slightly larger and pay 330,000 won (probably about US $300), which is 100,000 won (about US $80) less than what I'm paying now.

Still, I hesitate. I really like my housemates, and the house has a personality, unlike the building. The new place is also 20 minutes away from school, whereas the house is about a 5 minute walk.

I have to decide before Thursday, which is when rent for December is due.

Decisions, decision. You know I hate 'em.
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I saw my first movie here on Saturday night. It was a slapstick cops and robbers comedy, and I didn't understand what anyone was saying, but it was amusing enough. Plus, I got to see a comedic movie version of a Korean jail. Prisoners live 8 to a room. Also, there was a preview for Harry Potter, and that was definitely worth seeing. I know it's already out in the States, but here it won't open until Dec. 13. Can't wait. I think I've read all of them at least 5 times by now. It's getting to be a bit obsessive. It's just such a great way to escape. Not that it's so unpleasant here. But yesterday, after eating breakfast at the singularly unhungry time of 9 am on Sunday, I climbed back into bed with The Goblet of Fire and spent three and a half very happy hours in a world of clear rights and wrongs and kindly wise old wizards and beautiful magical creatures, and I even forgot to eat lunch, I was so wrapped up.
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In class today, we talked about special birthdays. In Korea, the first birthday is very important; there's a huge feast, and tons of people come to celebrate. It hearkens back to a time when many babies died, so surviving one year was an event worth celebrating.

At the birthday, which is called dole jan chi, the baby is dressed up in traditional clothes and sat down before a table on which there are several objects. The objects include: thread, money (now often credit cards), a book and a pencil. (I think there may be more, but we only talked about those four.)

If the baby grabs the book or pencil, people say that it will be a good student. Grabbing the thread means the baby will have a long life. And the money means that the baby will be rich.

I asked my dad a few weeks ago what I had grabbed at my first birthday, and he said, "I don't remember."

"How can you not remember?" I asked, rather miffed.

"Ah, well, you know, the baby grabs whatever is closest," he said, laughing, "so whatever the parents want it to grab, they put close to it."

Yeah, I suppose. But I still think he should remember.