What is "informatization"? I don't know. But I do have to read 15 pages of a mind numbing article about it. The article doesn't even f**king define the term!

Sometimes I really, really hate this job.

I think I will ignore the existence of this article today. Never do today what you can put it off til tomorrow.

This afternoon I will go to the company gym (an office-sized room with a treadmill and a stationary bike) for the first time since the fall, take a stroll on the treadmill, then head into Gangnam and into a coffee shop to study my Korean history comic book. There are a lot of Korean history comic books. I don't remember coming across American history comic books. Do you?

I'm sorry this entry is so boring.

Hey. I know I've been missing in action for the past two days. Nothing bad, just not inspired. Also, a lot of work at work, unexpectedly and suddenly.

I know I've complained about this to individual friends and on this blog, but to heck with it -- I'm gonna complain yet again, 'cause I'm just reckless and fixated that way. I just can't seem to get a decent night's sleep and it's driving me up the wall!!! Added to the triptich of mosquitoes, daylight at 5:15 am, and heat, my back's been acting up and I actually have to get up so as to alleviate the pain that builds up by morning.

So I get up very grumpified and go to work very unwillingly and face badly written English with a very frightening snarl. Often the document contains not only grammar mistakes, but also mistakes in logic as well.

The problem is that the Korean education system does not emphasize analytical skills. My mother's critical thinking skills have improved immensely with two years of classes in the States, but when I edited her first masters' degree papers, I was surprised at how poorly she wrote, even factoring that English is not her native language. She explained that she never had to write papers in college.

I wrote that off to an antiquated post-war system of education, but a generation later, the same problem exists. People my age also lack quite basic paper-writing skills, for the simple reason that they were never required to develop them in school. If they did write a paper, it was usually a report on what they had read, rather than an analysis.

Now, the Korean education system produces a nation that is 99 percent literate and far outranks the U.S. in standardized tests in nearly all subjects, if not all. But coming from the best of the best in the U.S., I can't help but look at the lack of emphasis on critical thinking with a good amount of dismay. (There plenty of Americans who also have poor skills in this area, which is also a bleedin' shame.) The worldwide respect that Koreans crave may be captured temporarily by events like the World Cup, but in this rationalistic world, I don't think that Korea can compete without an acknowledgement of the thinking patterns that have characterized western thought for so long.

That being said, Koreans do understand the philosophical difference between east and west. In an essay I recently re-proofed (I'd seen it several months ago), a famous Korean traditional music artist described western thought as "predominantly rationalistic" and eastern thought as "predominantly mystic." As my father is fond of pointing out, the west values precision, definition, scientific process, while the east, well, doesn't. This is why the green stoplight here is usually referred to as "blue."

"But it's not blue," I and all other westerners argue. "It's clearly green."

"Well, blue and green are pretty close," my father said, "and it doesn't really matter, does it?"

While my western-trained mind recoils at this casual misnaming, I see his point. What does it matter, in the end?

In the matter of global competitiveness, though, I do think it matters. The problem is, instituting this kind of lesson in Korea would require a full-blown overturning of the current status quo, in which teachers are never questioned and students are not asked for their opinions. When my friend Hyo-jung spent a year in Australia, she said that she was most surprised by how freely students asked questions and challenged the books they read, and most of all, how the teachers encouraged this. In Korea, she said, she never asked questions. If she didn't understand the lesson, she would just ask a friend later.

There have been plenty of times when I've done this during my schooling in the States too, but it was more due to my shyness and fear of looking dumb than a restrictive school atmosphere.

So... yeah. I think I... um, just ran out of steam there, so I'm just gonna wrap it up now. Logic is good! Go logic!
---------------
Yesterday I went to see two exhibits, thanks to the Fellowships Team, who invited me along with the language and research fellows that the KF sponsors every year. The Picasso exhibit, while shocking for its sex content, wasn't nearly as interesting as the "Yes Yoko Ono" exhibit. I think I'm in love with conceptual art! (Either that or I've been out of the academic environment so long that I'm mistaking bullshit for genius.)

The Picasso (and whenever I see that, I think of how the judge on Ally McBeal pronounced it PIK-asso) exhibit included a pink room with the unintentionally (or maybe intentionally) hilarious "Raphael and La Fornarina" series, in which Raphael and his model/lover "perform acrobatic sexual intercourses, during which Raphael never loses his grip on the palette and brushes.

"The Pope Julius II, a cardinal, and Piero Crommelynck, who helped Picasso with printing, are watching the scenes. Michaelangelo, who was jealous of Raphael's success, is hiding under the bed and eavesdropping on the happenings, but is unable to view the scenes as the Pope does.

"It may be said that the series ... manifests Picasso's psychological state at the time. The artist was at the advanced age of 87. Now unable to play the leading role, Picasso can only be a voyeur. And looking at these prints, we the viewers join in the voyeuristic act."

If ever I forgot why I decided against majoring in art history, this kind of bullshit reminded me exactly why.

On the other hand, why I found myself captivated by Ono's brand of bullshit is a mystery to me as well. It wasn't just me -- all the KF staffers (4 other women) agreed that it was a more interesting exhibit. Perhaps it does have to do with the sometimes aggressively male view in Picasso's work, versus the "feminine" aspect of Ono's... though it didn't seem particularly feminine to me, just more interesting.

Of course, the collaborations with and stories about Lennon did add a certain frisson to the exhibit. The story goes that Lennon attended one of her exhibits way back when, and asked her if he could hammer in a nail in one of her pieces (the work featured a white wooden board, with hammer and nails nearby; visitors were encouraged to hammer in a nail, and when the board was filled, the piece was considered finished). Unaware of his identity and unimpressed, Ono replied, "For five shillings you can hammer in a nail." He countered, "If I give you an imaginary five shillings, can I hammer in an imaginary nail?" They locked eyes and the rest is history.

Among my favorites was the series of conceptual “paintings,” which consisted merely of instructions in Japanese for various paintings the viewer could create in their head. For example: A. Plant a vine in a rock wall. B. When it withers, the painting is half over. C. When the wall crumbles, the painting is finished. (Or something like that.)

Another similar mindf**k was the mornings for sale piece, in which Ono “sold” mornings to people in the shape of shards of a glass bottle, on which she would affix typed labels such as “Tuesday, December 15, 1966/ the whole morning”. The deal was that people would buy the glass shard, and on the morning they “bought,” use the shard to look at the sky.

See what I mean? You can’t decide whether it’s brilliant or bullshit. All I know is that it makes me want to use words like “subvert” and “commodification” and “epistemological.” And I don’t even know what “epistemological” means!

I could have done without the film that tracked a fly’s movements on a naked woman’s body (to the soundtrack of Ono’s interpretation of sexual release), but the film that consisted of 365 buttocks, shot while the subject walked in place and talked with the film crew, was pretty funny.

But my favorite was the first piece, consisting of merely a ladder, a square piece of glass attached to the ceiling, and a magnifying glass. Although we weren’t allowed to do so in this exhibit, the original 1966 exhibition permitted visitors to climb the ladder and peer at a tiny word etched in the middle of the glass with the magnifier. The word is “YES”.

Just discovered that I have missed the 2003 Boryeoung Mud Festival, which sounds just too fun for words. Oh well. Next year?

I'm not sure, of course, but yesterday hk may have participated in a Korean first when she sat down at a pojangmacha (an outdoor food stand) and had ddokbokki, chicken kebabs and soju with her dad.

Actually, my dad was already there and pretty far gone (from a bottle of soju) when I walked out from the subway station and heard him call my name. He'd been sitting there a while already, at the pojangmacha he favors, sipping soju and chatting with the proprietors. He used to do this more often, but in the name of moderation, he started exiting the subway at a different location, so as not to pass by the cart without stopping there and sitting down. He sometimes buys a box of cigarettes that the husband likes, smokes a couple, and leaves the box there.

The wife-husband team have been at this location for over 10 years, and expect to be there even after the apartment complex is torn down and new condos built. They sent three kids through college this way.

The wife, who is probably in her 50s or so, had a tired but pleasant face, and insisted on pouring a glass of soju for me, as well as giving me my food for free.

As we walked home, my dad expounded -- as he is wont to do when soused -- on the value of sitting at a pojangmacha, watching the ordinary citizens of Korea stop by for a snack or a drink. These are the food carts that my mother told me never to eat at, for fear of food poisoning. My mother's always tried to protect me from the ordinary.

Well, that sucks. Was just halfway through a longish entry when the screen went black. %$#%!!

Okay, tomorrow I'll tell you about the funny thing that resulted in a very expensive Japanese lunch today.

For now, I'll say that I talked with some more people at taekwondo and I think I'd like to get to know them better. One is a 24-year-old woman who majored in French and wants to go to film school. She recommended going to an independent film festival she knew of, and a volunteer Korean work camp. She also strongly reminds me of my sister-in-law, Julie, both in her physical appearance (same eyes, face shape, height, and cuteness) and her personality (confident and friendly). Eerily, her name is Ju-ri. I think I mighta found your doppelganger, Julie!

There's also a tall, gangly, skinny 16-year-old named Jin-ro who is the class clown, which he can afford to be, since he's taken taekwondo since he was six. Everybody loves Jin-ro -- the older students, the younger students, the teacher, even the international school princesses who are totally going to become those really annoying sulky Korean girls who, while accomplished and beautiful, make life hell for their boyfriends and everyone else who has to put up with their princessy behavior. Oops, sorry, a little high school flashback resentment. Anyway, I could be wrong, but since you're never going to meet him anyway, I'll pretend I can read people and predict that Jin-ro will become one of those Great Guys, the ones who are nothing much to look at, but once you start talking to them, you understand why their wives were the best looking girls in school. Yikes, I hope that doesn't condemn Jin-ro to one of the princesses. God, I really do have a lot of resentment.

I didn't catch his name, but a young teen boy (probably 13 or 14?) rounded out the group who walked together to the metro tonight, and ate ice cream (paid by nameless boy). Nerdish and sweet, he understands English pretty well (as do all of them, actually), and has been pretty friendly this week.

The last person I think I'd like to get to know is a college student named Un-ji (I think), who helped me start learning some of the positions yesterday and today. She's so much prettier than the teen princesses, but unlike them seems level-headed and friendly and polite and helpful. Okay, so I have to cut the princesses a break, since they are teeners, but -- no, actually, I don't have to any such thing, because there's just no reason to be that saturated with sulk.

Anyway, I'm way beat (last night, a positively masterly combination of mosquito bites, heat, and too much light coming in through the window, which was open to try to beat the heat, defeated any attempted to enter a REM cycle), so I'll sign off here with the promise of the lunch story tomorrow.

Just came back from the ceremony noting the 49th day since my uncle's death. Family members and friends gathered in the temple that my aunt has been going to for 20 or 30 years, and paid respects. So far as I can gather, until the 49th day, the spirit still lingers on earth, waiting to be reborn. The ritual on the 49th day frees the spirit to be born again.

In practical terms, this meant a lot of chanting, bowing, and food. I did the best I could with the chanting and bowing, considering I'm still pretty slow at reading Korean, and didn't know what the heck was going on. My aunt and her friends knew what to do at what times, but the family members were a little lost.

The temple is an all-female monk temple, which is pretty cool. The monks set up a screen behind which the deceased is symbolically supposed to be changing his clothes for his journey toward the next life. After the chanting and bowing, there was a ritual burning of clothes and shoes.

Then we ate.

I met my dad's three female cousins -- daughters of his father's sister. They all had the same calm, gentle, intelligent, smiling demeanor my dad has. As I have on occasion felt before, I realized again the huge web of family I have in this country, something that I never felt growing up in the States. A feeling of connection and rootedness. Even though I scarcely ever see them (or, as in this case, even know of their existence!), knowing that they're there is enough to alter the landscape, just a little bit.

As I was sitting (cross-legged, painfully), I wondered if I could manage having this kind of ceremony done when my parents pass away. It seems odd to think that generations of tradition would stop with me. Recently I was explaining my reasons for learning Korean to someone, and I was struck by the fact that all my ancestors have spoken Korean. Since Korea's history goes back more than a thousand years, it's not out of the bounds of imagination to think that my great-great-great-great-etc. grandparents lived somewhere on this peninsula. It seems the height of absurdity that the language and customs should stop now, with me. Not that I hold it against my parents for deciding to immigrate -- god, no, I applaud their bravery and appreciate my life in the States, especially now that I've lived here for 10 months. But it's a bit of a shock to think that my brother and I are separated from so much history.

Ow.

My ticket? Oh, just wait a second, I've got it here somewhere, I just can't swing my bag forward to look in it, because my sides -- yes, I understand you've heard this all before, but really, you could be a little more understanding, considering what kind of -- now is that necessary? I'd really like to search for my ticket, but considering that hot knives are being stuck into my sides and my arm muscles are being fed through a thousand tiny paper shredders, I'm kind of at a disadvantage here. Search for yourself, I know it's somewhere in my bag. There, you've got it! See, Mr. Conductor? "First class carriage on the pain train." I knew it was around somewhere. No, thank you very much. Sheesh.

Last night I finally went to my first real taekwondo class, and wouldn't you know it, I picked the hottest, muggiest day of the year to start. The combined body heat of 20 people was enough to steam up the mirrors AND the floors, so that people were able to slide around on the wooden floors on their bare feet.

Kinda gross, huh? However, because of this, I didn't feel SO bad when I slipped and fell on my ass during a kicking exercise.

The lesson was fine -- a good workout, even just the warmup part of it -- but as the only white belt in the class, I stood around and watched other people a lot. Oh well. I've finally learned over the years that whenever trying something new, it's advisable to have low expectations for a while. I'm an unknown entity to the students in the class, they're basically unknown to me (though I observed them twice last week when I was making up my mind about the studio), I know nothing about taekwondo while most of the other students are black belts, and so of course it's going to be a bit weird and awkward at first.

I did learn that there is a family of mother, father, daughter and son all taking the class, which might make them the deadliest family in the world.

On the way home, Mia called me from Toronto, and said she was a little Korea-sick. "Helen, there are all these white people here," she said. "It's weird."

A last booknote about Harry Potter: Was it just me, or is the detention that Harry is assigned by Umbridge lifted straight out of Kafka's The Penal Colony? That short story gave me nightmares. And the whole High Inquisitor stuff -- Spanish Inquisition, or Brothers Karamazov? Or just broader persecution history?

Ha ha ha. I'm so literary.

Another lunchtime Korean language lesson with my work colleague and I think I might cry.

This time we talked about democracy. He brought up Alexis de Tocqueville's treatise on America and was disappointed that I hadn't read it. Then he asked, "If only the power elite have power in America, then it's not much different from the days of kings and queens, right? It's the same few people in control and just the method that's different, isn't it?"

Oh LORD.

Am I being too sensitive? Maybe it's just the frustration of not being able to converse properly on such a complicated topic -- a topic that I usually avoid discussing anyway, because of its inherent divisive nature. I felt ambushed, on the defensive, as I tried to explain that some people do think America isn't a democracy but that it was the nature of any large organization (forget country -- try any large group!) to form a power elite.

Jesus, Jared and Joseph.
----------------
This weekend I met up with Janet at the Coex Mall and we traded books -- my two Robert Ludlom thrillers for her copy of the newest Harry Potter (yay!). Over lunch, we talked a little bit about guys, and I was treated to her opinion of French men ("arrogant and repulsive"), which she gained from her years attending a French school in New York and living in France for a semester. We agreed that American men, slobs though they may be, have an underlying sweetness to them that redeems their sometimes boorish behavior. This, Janet said, is what French men lack.

A few hours later, I found myself at a birthday party of an American soldier, with a number of other soldier types and their Korean girlfriends, and as is usually the case when alcohol is in the mix, plenty of lewd jokes were out and strolling about. At one point, I had to explain what a blow job was after some guy asked my Taiwanese friend if she wanted one (the drink) and everyone around us laughed.

Anyway, my Taiwanese friend had brought her French-Korean friend (a Korean woman adopted by a French family), and while I was talking to her, she asked, "Do you like thees [hand gesture] kind of party?"

I smiled and said I'd been to some like this during college.

After a moment, she said, "I hate thees. It ees so vulgar. French men, they are not like thees."

Remembering what Janet had said only a few hours earlier, I had to laugh. To each their own, my lovelies, and may you find what you're looking for!
-------------------
Book Watch

[Spoilers about Harry Potter imminent -- don't read on if you care about reading things pristine!]

I finished it yesterday (a great day spent indoors with a great book -- haven't done that for a while), and I liked it. I think I'll like it better with consecutive readings -- this one was just to get it out of the way -- but even the virgin run was pretty good. I liked Harry's temper and the way some people told him off, and I loved all the nods to the previous books (and the people who love and read them over and over!!!). I felt the plot was progressing nicely, and the characters growing up, and the only thing I was really disappointed about was Cho.

After the build-up in the previous two books, I was really hoping for some serious action with those two, but the way it ended was so... blah. I was invested in Cho! She was my homegirl! How cool would it have been if the Asian girl had gotten the hero? Alas...not this time. Sigh.

I still give major props to J.K. Rowling for including people of color in the wizarding world -- and not in a "look! i'm including people of color!" way, but in a "hey, I think I'll build a world representative of the real one" way -- but I do wish the Cho-Harry romance hadn't turned out to be such a dud.

Oooh, and also, I finally read some Lemony Snicket stories in the bookstore on Saturday, and they are DELISH. I loved twisted tales.

Korean mosquitoes look like gnats. In comparison, the American mosquitoes I grew up with look like they're on steroids. But as the dozen or so bite sites on my legs, arms and head (that's right, my head -- like, what the hell? Skeeter Special Forces?) silently testify, the little gnatty buggers are just as nasty.

Was told today that I should watch some recent Japanese anime for a more comparable example of Wonderful Days-type animation, but I have to say, I saw about five minutes of the the fairly recent (just last year, I think) Spirited Away (which has a totally different name in Japanese), and while I can see that it has a better storyline and wonderful imagery, it inhabits an entirely different realm than Wonderful Days. So, even when not hopped up on lack of sleep, I still say -- go see it.

I finally signed up for a taekwondo class, and while it's kind of far from home, I'm gonna roll with it; the facilities look great, the owner is authoritative but kind, and no one in the 7:30 pm class looks under 16 (and one woman is over 60!). So I start on Monday, and I hope the four-times-a-week routine will inspire me to keep better hours and healthier habits. For months, I kept a very regular schedule of school, work, and home, and while it may have been good for my health, too much routine made hk very dull, so I whipped 'round and started going out a lot a month ago. Which has been great fun, but is now beginning to take its toll. So time again to adjust.

This is boring, even to me. I'll shut it now.

Psych!

I met up with someone from my class today, Sister Chun-ha. Before today, we had never spent any time together by ourselves, but since I'm not in class with people everyday anymore, my classmates seem to regard seeing me as a special occasion. Dunno. Anyway, many moons ago, I wrote about her when we were in level 2 together, and I was impressed by her language ability and beautiful eyes. Today, though, as I listened to her talk about being disinterested in class, in playing piano, in doing much of anything, I realized with a start that she's exhibiting all the symptoms of depression.

Having recently been there, I pulled out the old pop psychology songbook and told her I thought she had (directly translated, anyway) "melancholy sickness" and that I'd been in that town myself until a month ago, when Lewis and Mia showed me the way out.

It's a bit strange, being friends with a nun. A Chinese nun, at that. Who didn't want to come to Korea (she signed up to go to America but the convent couldn't get the visas). It's not like we can talk about boys, which I do with Tex, the missionary; or movies, which I do with Janet; or -- well, I suppose we could talk about movies, but I don't think she sees very many. In any case, there's a huge cultural and experiential gulf. To wit: Chun-ha said today that there was once a German priest who came to visit the town where her convent in China is. He went to class in the mornings and went sightseeing in the afternoons, so that by the end of his stay, he knew of places that she didn't. "We thought it was weird that after a morning of hard work in class, he went out and exerted himself again in the afternoons, " she said. "Chinese people would probably take a nap instead. But westerners seem to be very open. Chinese people seem to have narrower views."

So... different, yeah. But despite this, I feel a good amount of affection for Chun-ha, and vice versa, which makes me wonder how exactly people become friends. Okay, not people in general as much as me, specifically. I mean, I had very little in common with John, but I loved him more than anyone else in the world. What is it that I respond to in other people whose interests and lives are so different than mine?

Oh, gross, more introspection. You have to forgive me; I didn't admit it earlier, but I'm still deep in debt at the sleep bank, which makes me more voluble than usual tonight, as well as less interesting and cohesive. I am finally going to SHUT IT now. G'nite.
------------------
[3 minutes later]
For cryin' out loud -- I was so busy writing down complete FLUFF that I forgot to mention that shots were fired in the DMZ yesterday. A couple from the North first, and response fire back from the South. No one hurt on the South side. I asked my dad about this and he didn't seem very concerned -- just another in a long series of periodic skirmishes on land and sea. It was big news, though.

It's possible that I'm feeling what I'm feeling right now because I (again) slept very weird hours (yesterday from 5-8 pm and this morning from 4-8 am) and that this is all the product of a few weeks of sleep deprivation, but I have to write it anyway.

Wonderful Days is fucking sublime.

And just what the hell is Wonderful Days?

It's the most expensive Korean film made to date. It combines 2-D animation, 3-D computer graphics, miniatures, and live action photography. Its storyline has something to do with the future and energy sources and evil guys and a red-headed chick and a dark-haired hero and stormtrooper-like guys in gray uniforms and a biker rebellion and love in a world where it is always raining or cloudy. It is so stunningly beautiful that I simply don't have the words to describe it. I seriously felt like crying after I saw it because it was so amazing.

The storyline is murky and leaves a lot to be desired, the characters are all characters we've seen before, and even some of the images quote very directly from previous films (especially Star Wars), but that doesn't stop the movie from being shatteringly beautiful. I know, I know, I keep repeating myself, but it's like the movie and the music had a direct line to the part of my brain that appreciates beauty. I feel like I haven't seen anything so amazing in years, like any images I considered to be beautiful in the past absolutely wither in the face of this movie.

I read in the New Yorker (thanks, Dave and Steph!) yesterday that "the brain responds physiologically to dramatic swoops in range and pitch," otherwise known as "the money note." (When Celine Dion sings the third verse of "My Heart Will Go On" -- "You're heeeere/ There's nooooothing I feeeear" -- in a different key, that is the money note.) The money note "brings you up short in the supermarket and transports you from the price of milk to a world of grand romantic gesture."

Wonderful Days was two hours of money notes. I could not take my eyes from the screen. As if I were shooting up on all the love that went into the making of each scene, each graphic, each vista. It's unreal how beautiful this movie is.

All this, about an animation flick?

Yes!

I've seen some Pixar movies (Monsters Inc., Finding Nemo), and I've seen a highly acclaimed example of Japanese animation (Princess Mononoke), and Wonderful Days is nothing like them. The closest comparable film is probably Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within, which I saw part of a few years ago. I remember being awed by the graphics then, but imagine the leaps forward since then. I'm not a gamer, but I'm pretty sure even video game connoisseurs would appreciate the artistry of Wonderful Days.

Yes, it's really that amazing.

I think it was made with a mind to distribute in the U.S. -- two co-producers are American, the main characters' names include a David and a Simon, and all the signs in the movie are in English -- so I hope, hope, hope that it'll be out soon near you. You'll either be blown away or you won't understand what the hell I'm talking about, but you won't know til you see it, so go, 'cause I think there's a good chance that it'll render you speechless. Or babbling like an idiot. Like me.

I'm gonna shut up now and leave with the caveat that I had a strange day today: up til 4 am at a friend's house, where three of us slept over; two hours talking with my language exchange partner, who suggested I think about living in Korea for the long haul (there's a thought); listening to a friend of mine tell me that according to her faith, everyone who doesn't believe in Jesus is going to hell; eating nachos and salad in an Irish pub; and then this movie.

Now don't forget, before you see this film, chant to yourself, "hk was smoking something when she wrote all this, and the film is not all that, because there's nothing worse than having really high expectations of a film and then being disappointed because it was great, but not the earth-shattering experience you'd been led to believe it was and ironically probably would have been for you had your sleepless in Seoul dork of a friend hk totally built it up for you like it was sliced bread."

Don't forget, now.

Today was Constitution Day in Korea.

You know I hate arguments. My heart starts pounding, my breathing rate goes up, and I feel like I want to fly out of my skin. And yet I just came back from an hour of discussing the effects of mass media, censorship, freedom of speech and the relative importance of freedom versus safety.

I hate that shit. It upsets me to have to argue a position when there are logical arguments for both sides, and I can see all of them, and it's just a combination of natural and nutural (yeah, I made that word up) factors that make me think the way I do and make you think the way you do.

The person I was talking with is helping me practice Korean, but it's very frustrating to try to hold a real discussion on this kind of topic when your ability to argue your point is limited to first grade vocabulary. Also, he does think that mass media is in large part responsible for the moral decline of society, and I think that's bullshit, so where does that leave us? Exactly.

I don't like hardcore gangster rap, but I don't have to listen to it, so I don't. Does it have artistic value? I don't know, maybe. Is it a legitimate form of expression that elucidates some social problems with frightening graphic clarity? Yes. Does listening to hardcore gangster rap make kids go out and shoot other kids? I don't know, maybe it does. Does it denigrate women and therefore cause men to treat women poorly? I don't know, maybe. If hardcore gangster rap were banned, would all shootings and denigration of women stop? No. So, do I think it should be banned? No.

I hate arguments.

I ended up at Namsan Tower, the highest point in Seoul, by accident yesterday. I actually went to see Namdaemun (South Gate) Market, having read that it was a seething mass of commerce and humanity, but the merchandise depressed me and I decided I wasn't in the mood to fight the seether that day.

I walked up to Namsan (South Mountain) Park and wandered around, looking at the little groups of older men sitting on the ground, playing Korean cards. One little group seemed to be headed by a woman, a rather unusual sight, and I wondered if she came there everyday to head up the gambling.

Befuddled by the paths, I walked into a building and discovered it was the Namsan library. So I asked for a map of the park.

"Map? Of the park?"
"Yes, a map of the park. That shows the paths and stuff."
"Try the fourth floor."

[on the fourth floor]
"Map?"
"Yes, of the park. Like, for tourists? That shows the paths? So I can walk around?"
"Like this?" [shows me a Mapquest type map on the computer]
"Yeah, but more detailed."
"Like this?" [pulls out an atlas of Seoul]
"Um, sure, yeah."

I stared at the atlas for a while, orienting myself the best I could, then thanked the librarian and walked out. I was about to give up but noticed a bus stop sign (often they have maps on them), and realized I was very close to the Botanical Garden. So I trekked up a little further, and saw an entrance for cars and an staircase, which I figured was the pedestrian entrance.

I climbed. At one point, the stairs split into two directions, and I, I took the one headed straight up the mountain, because I wondered where it would lead me.

To the top of the mountain is where it led me, in my very inappropriate $7 Payless shoes, sweatin' all the way.

Since I was there, I bought a ticket to the observatory level of Namsan Tower, which was actually really lovely. It wasn't too hazy or smoggy, so I was able to see fairly clearly, and it was fun, as usual, to try to pick out the places I knew from the pictures of the views provided. A lot of landmarks are corporate buildings and hotels. I suppose that's the case in the States too.

When I hit the southeast view of Yongsan and Itaewon, it dawned on me that the U.S. army base wasn't labeled on the photo of that view. I guess that makes sense, security-wise and pride-wise. Interestingly, I didn't think that the base was all THAT big. I mean, it's big, don't get me wrong, and worth millions of dollars in real estate, but it wasn't the HUGE area I thought it was. But it does stand out.

Looking at the areas surrounding the base, the buildings look like they've been haphazardly slapped down in any which way, a result of the multitude of small, curving streets that most people live on. Crammed together, there's a kind of admirable disorder to them, as well as a sense of packed-togetherness. There are no trees among these buildings, at least none large enough to leap out at you through a telescope.

The base looks different from the surrounding neighborhoods. Huge, dark green leafy trees hide most of the houses. The neat lines of the parking lots bemused me -- except for the richer high rises, there are no parking lots like American parking lots in Seoul. You park underground or parallel to the curb. And a building sign that read "Eighth Army United States" for some reason threw me for a loop. Panning left from the War Memorial Museum, you end up looking right at that sign.

I kept staring at the base through the telescope until I got motion sickness and had to stop. Then I walked around the tower again, thinking. The last time I'd been in a tower like this was two years ago. Fourth of July, Seattle. John and I went up while my aunt and uncle and brother and sister-in-law waited for us on the ground. We had arrived on the night of the Fourth, and saw fireworks from above as we flew in -- beat them apples.

Now I was in another tower, looking down on another city, with no one but myself. [Insert 10 minutes of reminiscing, sad thoughts, realizations and resolutions.] Wherever you are, John, whatever you're doing, God bless.

Sleeeepeeeee. It actually cools down quite a bit at night here, so it's not the heat so much as the light from the streetlamp streaming through the open window, the fact that it gets light at 5 am when I typically go to sleep at midnight, and the presence of at least one mosquito per night that zooms past my ear with that chilling buzzy whine. You know what I mean. The buzzy whine of imminent itchy madness. I hate the little buggers.

Had a nice if disjointed weekend due to strange sleep patterns: on Friday I was supposed to check out a taekwondo studio, but was so tired I just went home and slept til 8 pm, then woke up and read Felicity recaps on televisionwithoutpity.com until 7 am. Say it with me: hk, you are an idiot. I won't even hold up the defense that the show, which I never watched, is actually really engrossing (especially when you don' t have to watch bad acting).

I slept for 3 hours on Saturday morning, then was woken up by my grandmother coming to visit, followed by my aunt. Unfortunately, I had to meet my new language exchange partner (one of my work colleagues who wants to improve her English), so I didn't get to spend much time with them.

My language exchange partner and I had a good first meeting. I headed over to her neighborhood, where we ate some lunch and then went to her house, where she showed me her wedding pictures and told me some hair-raising Korean traditions. Like the banana thing. In front of their friends, the groom ties a banana on string around his waist, and the bride peels it. Without her hands.

And I thought the bouquet toss was humiliating.

Actually, I got the impression that this isn't that widespread, but it's well-recognized, and there are definitely people who still do this.

After meeting with Hyo-jong, I went to meet Mia at Gangnam, and spend a few hours with her there, hanging out. I thought that was the last time I'd see her in Korea, so I was a little sad, but strangely happy at the same time. You know all the stuff I've been writing about her and Lewis helping me turn a corner in the city of Post Breakup? Well, I think I'm learning the art of appreciating the moment. I appreciate every moment with Mia, and that is why I was able to watch her bus pull away on Saturday night and still walk to the subway station with a smile on my face.

I headed home after that, and talked with my grandmother a little bit. Amazingly, I wasn't annoyed as I have been in the past, probably because I can now communicate better with her. Remembering Mia's relationship with her grandmother, I even ask mine if she wanted to take a walk in the park on Sunday morning, and she said okay.

Unfortunately, I didn't take that walk in the end, because I was tired and didn't want to wake up. It's okay. Next time.

I had arranged with my friend Maiko and my classmate Etsuko to go to Namsan (South Mountain) on Sunday, but we ended up going to a Hanok Ma-ul, a pretty park with reproductions of old Korean houses. It's also where the Seoul time capsule is buried, to be opened in 2394, when Seoul will have been capital of Korea for 1000 years. Hm. Wonder how things will be then?

After the park, we had lunch, then headed over to Yeoido, an island in the Han River. It was a gorgeous, warm, breezy day, and tons of people were sitting on the grass, rollerblading, biking, etc. Maiko called two friends and they joined us at 5 or so. I called Mia, and it turned out that she wasn't doing much, so she joined us at 8 pm. At that point, the rest of the crew was ready to go eat something, but Mia had to head back home, so we split off. Instead of going right home, though, Mia felt like eating outside, so in true Korean fashion, we got two bowls of instant noodles, a bottle of soju, and a packet of dried squid, and sat on the riverbank under an astonishing full moon. Someone was setting off mini-fireworks in the distance. The night wind was cool and the soju was strong and the instant noodles were warm and Mia said, "This is perfect, this is the perfect way to spend my last night in Korea, with you, and that incredible moon, by the Han River -- it's just the way I wanted this year to end, and I didn't even know it."

Crazy, romantic Mia wanted to cross the Han River on subway Line 1, so we took a series of totally illogical trains to accomplish that, and at some point, we were talking about me feeling guilty about the breakup, and she said, "You have to believe that he's going to be okay. When S---- and I broke up, I was incredibly hurt, but I'm okay now. Things are good -- they're great. I'm happy. John will be too. I think you need to believe in that."

I'll try. I'm ... trying.

Around 10:45, Mia's train came along, and as I walked away (up the wrong set of stairs, as it turns out), she shouted out, "Helen!" I turned out to see her beaming face: "Thank you!"

No, my friend, thank you.

Went out and did my first solo touristy thing yesterday at Changdok Palace. I caught the last English language tour just as it began, and as I handed my ticket to the gatekeeper, he asked, "Aren't you Korean?" "Overseas Korean," I replied, and ran past him.

I will definitely take you to this palace when you visit, because the tour was informative and interesting and the Secret Garden is stunning -- huge, forest-like grounds that made me completely forget I was in the middle of a crowded, dirty city.

On the grounds there is also a reproduction of a nobleman's house that one king ordered to be built so that he could, from time to time, go into the house, wearing nobleman clothes, and try to think like an ordinary person rather than royalty. Pretty progressive, even if only 5 percent of the population could be considered nobility.

At one of the buildings, I enjoyed seeing the little door used to push the royal bronze chamberpot outdoors, where it would be taken to the medical facilities and the contents examined by doctors. Daily.

This morning, I told my dad about going to see Changdok Palace, and he said, "That's the one with the Secret Garden, right? At the back of the garden, there are cherry trees, and one time, when I was a kid, some of my friends and I hopped the fence so we could eat some of the fruit. We got caught and dragged out the front gate."

If you recall, my dad and his friends also got caught hopping the fence at Kyungbok Palace when he was a kid, and made to hop around a building like a rabbit as their punishment. Heh.

There is a skinny little college intern sitting next to me, who speaks perfect Korean and English and has lived all around the world because her parents were diplomats. I've heard of these people, but I'd never met one before. Their fluency and comfort with both Korean and western languages and lifestyles makes them, I would say, a kind of modern-day Korean noble class.
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Dang, almost forgot -- congrats and happy anniversary to my dear Aunt Patty and Uncle John, who celebrate 30 years of marriage to each other today. As well as being a second set of parents to me, they are generous, principled, bashful people from whom I have learned a lot of important life lessons. I love you guys -- rock on!

Yesterday was drizzly and steamy and gross. Before meeting Mia at 5, I wandered in Gangnam.

I went to see the National Library, but it wasn't very impressive. And it wasn't air-conditioned.

I found a small shop selling soap made out of vegetables (or was it vegetable oil?).

I wandered some more and was captivated by the sight of orange flowers on the ground, brought down by the rain, huddled on the brink of an evil-smelling drainage grate.

I went to the new Kyobo bookstore and speed read a terrible mystery called "The Babysitter," after which I felt like I'd fed my brain a Big Mac with biggie fries and coke.

While walking with Mia, she suddenly recognized and called out to someone who she had worked with in L.A. in 2000. The girl (Yale College, 2001) is a rising second year at Yale Law; the boy she was walking with (Yale College, 2000) is a rising second year at Yale Med. The perfect Korean American couple -- I didn't think they really existed! She should lay off the eyebrow tweezing, though.

Crushed by lack of sleep (5 am sunrise wakes me up every day), I went home, thought about J and cried for a little while, then went for a 40 minute run, after which I felt better and read Jo's Boys til 11 pm.

[Confidential to the Ringleted One: H.B.!]

Yesterday went to school at the request of the school director, to look at a brochure she's making for the program. Basically, she already knew the answers, she just wanted confirmation. And for this I rode the subway for an hour?

However, as I met up with two classmates and Mia later, it was all good. Had dinner with all three of 'em, then had some tea with just Mia, who came back from Thailand this past Sunday and is dealing with going back to Toronto next Monday after a year of traveling and living in Korea.

It's funny how you can sometimes feel yourself changing and growing and learning. Talking with Mia, I thought of my own 9 months here so far. I can't quite put my finger on what exactly the changes are, but I know they're there, waiting to be revealed when I finally go back to my life in the States in a year or so.

Mia was concerned over a last-minute blip in an otherwise great friendship with someone who left Korea last week, and so I found myself telling her about how she and Lewis had helped me turn a corner in the past month or so, and how much I really enjoyed being in their presence. But, I said, I also knew it was not my place to demand all their attention, or try to hold them to me too tightly -- I liked them because they are so interested in meeting people and getting to know them, and that quality in itself demands freedom. I don't think I've ever seen such a clear case of the adage "If you love something, let it free," as evinced in these two people.

You could say that this quality doesn't make for a very reliable kind of friend. But I prefer to think of it as the purest kind of friendship -- one based on me wanting the person around, but not needing the person to be around. And the purest kind of acceptance, where I'm happy to have whatever few moments we can have together, because even if I never see them again, those were moments of happiness and contentment.

Getting very Chicken Soup for the Soul-ish in here. Ow. Quit it.

Time for another fun fact about Korea. When it rains (as it is doing quite seriously and vigorously now), many buildings put a narrow bin outside their doors. The top of the bin is open, revealing an open plastic bag into which you insert your wet umbrella and thus ensure non-drippage on yourself or the office. Some stores have long and short plastic bags, to better fit your long or folding umbrella.

The aquarium was really, really cool. The leaf fish was one of my favorites -- it floats motionless, mimicking a leaf. Masaru and I thought it was dead at first, until we noticed the 12 other fish in the back floating in the same way. Also enjoyed looking at the Moorish Idols -- yellow, white and black striped creatures with long dorsal fins. I mean, you gotta love a fish that has "eye shadow" the same color as its striped "clothes." Also, they have a wicked cool name.

Masaru scuba-dives, so he pointed out fish that he's seen in the wild. Masaru is also a chef, so he pointed out fish and crustaceans that are tasty. Fun with Masaru! Whee!

After 3.5 hours in the aquarium, he said he'd like to see Charlie's Angels, so we did, and like everyone else on the plant, I give props to Demi Moore putting in major gym time and coming out looking like a million bucks. But mostly, I thought the movie sucked. Um, Drew? Did it ever occur to you that your man McG's constant T&A shots are not "empowering" so much as "titillating"? And that if it looked like any of your stars actually could throw a punch, it would be about a google times more effective than the 500 so-fake-they-don't-even-jiggle special effects you have in the film? Drew, you know I love you and your boozy, druggy past and your enormous chin and the fact that you revived this franchise with your own considerable star power, but Drew, Drew, Drew, it could have been so much more.

30 seconds of Michelle Yeoh actually kicking ass is worth 25 entire C's Angels: Full Throttle movies.

Starting from today, I'm working 10 am to 2 pm, so I've got the afternoons off to explore the city. This afternoon, I'm going with Masaru, the Japanese chef, to the Seoul Aquarium. Whee!

Yesterday, I went to the War Memorial Museum with Maiko. It is HUGE. A large sign over the main entrance reads: "Only strong national security can guarantee peace." From the door, it's a straight shot to a large sculpture which is now being renovated. The fence surrounding it reads: "Freedom is not free."

We rented audiotour phones and walked through the history floor with fairly high interest. We decided to skip the Korean War floor, as Maiko, who is Japanese, had been through it already, and felt uncomfortable the first time. The final floor was devoted to the Korean armed forces (army, navy, marines, air force), and felt suspiciously like propanganda.

I will admit, however, that it was neat to walk through the models of a ship, plane, and land-sea boat/tank thingee.

The museum is heralded as the best museum in Seoul by the Lonely Planet, which publishes just about the only reputable guide to the city. I liked the history section, but after a while, I got kinda bored. Displays of uniforms, guns and bombs start blurring quickly.

I think I'd probably like the Korean War exhibit. Next time.

A couple interesting points: 16 countries sent combat troops to help Korea in the Korean War. About 33,000 American soldiers died. Add to that, say another couple thousand foreign soldiers who also gave their lives for Korea.

Total number of dead in the Korean War: 1.5 million.

Oof. Slight hangover. Touch of nausea. Light, butterfly wing of a headache. Yuck.

I think I should probably be excused for drinking a little much last night (although not as much as other nights, with less severe resultant hangovers -- why? don't get it), as it was a bit of a trip down Emotionally Fraught Memory Lane.

Okay, July 4, so (actually kind of randomly), I end up at the U.S. army base in Yongsan (the big ass one in the middle of Seoul) watching fireworks with Marc, who's with the U.S. army; Vivian, a nice woman from Taiwan; Yuji, the 38-year-old Japanese man who looks 30; and Dan/Jeff, who is 18, considers Biggie his role model, and whose name I obviously didn't catch.

These are all people (except Yuji, whom I met at Junior's birthday party way back when) that I met at a post-graduation party two weeks ago. With the exception of Marc, we all go to the same language program.

I'm not exactly sure how it conspired, but I think Vivian and Marc were in touch after the party two weeks ago, and Marc invited all of us to his apartment for drinks, chow (cold cuts and American and provolone cheese! I was so happy) and fireworks. Anyway. Doesn't matter. Must divest self of compulsion to remit useless boring facts to reader.

So we head onto base for some July 4 fireworks, and it is... trippy, to say the least. First, it's an odd thing, to enter a U.S. military base, even if you're in America. It's a different world, like 1950s suburbia. There's a day care, elementary school, and high school. There's free first-run movies for active duty soldiers. There's a classy hotel that's just for military personnel. It's just... weird.

Second, the Yongsan base is a freakin' U.S. military installation in the smack dab middle of a freakin' foreign country's capital city. Marc said that if W gets reelected, it's a pretty sure thing that they'll move the base about two hours south of Seoul, and that he thought it was a pretty good idea. Besides the political factors, there's the small matter of the chaos and disorder to be overcome if Seoul was ever attacked -- yeah, there's an American/Korean plan for evacuation and all that, but if the drivers in Seoul don't even pay attention to traffic lights, what's the chance that they'll obediently zip onto the assigned roads to evacuate the city?

Third, the last time I was on an army base, it was in DC, and I was going to see J. So when I saw the humongous, Target superstore-size commissary, I suddenly remembered the Fort Myer commissary, where J and I used to go grocery shopping. Marc, the army guy, pointed out the shoppette (a convenience store), and I flashed back to the time J and I were both low on cash, went to the shoppette on base, and bought tuna, bread and mustard with the five bucks we had between us.

Marc said that there used to be a golf course on base (in the freakin' middle of crowded, living-on-top-of-each-other Seoul!), before Seoulites complained about this extravangant use of precious real estate. It was turned over to the city, which plans to build a natural history museum on the grounds. Anyway. More pointless info, leading to the real story, which is that I yelped, "A golf course! That's extravangant," to which Marc said, "All American bases have golf courses!" to which I replied, "Ft. Myer didn't!" to which he replied, "Sure it does!" to which I challenged, "Where?" to which he answered, "Uh, in the back?" to which I laughed, to which he joked, "Well, maybe the generals tee off of JFK's nose," to which I fell silent, because I just got hit with the memory of all the times I went to see J at the Tomb, the Cemetary in the winter and summer and fall and spring, the way J looked on the mat, the times I'd come by with lunch for him after having borrowed his car in the morning, the care and diligence and pride with which he did his job.

Sigh.

Interesting factoid: Marc said that it was common knowledge that North Korean special ops trainees, as part of their testing, have to sneak over to the South's side of the DMZ and take a rubbing of a sign that is hung on the fence to warn visitors off.

Hey, it's July 4! But you know, that means nothing here! So no BBQs, no fireworks, and no parades.

Except that I'm going to an army guy's party tonight, so maybe there will be a BBQ.

Bluagh. Don't want to go to party tonight, but nice girl I met last week (good god, only last week? this is has truly been the slowest week in the history of the free world) at another army guy's party invited me to go, and true to my maxim of "you must keep moving, dammit, even if you feel like buying a trashy spy thriller and a bag of chips and lying in bed instead," I'm going.

(Wait, it wasn't last week I met her, it was actually two weeks ago. Where is my brain? Where? Where?) (Sob.) (I miss it.)

BC sent me an email forward, and I feel I must pass it on to you all: Go to www.google.com, type "weapons of mass destruction" as the search term, click on "I'm feeling lucky" (not "Search"), and read the error message. I love google.

Last night, instead of going to check out the taekwondo place, I got some kimbap (Korean sushi) with my friend Myungsoo and sat on the embankment of the flood control valley that's near our apartment complex. Because it rained on Wednesday, we had a clear view of the mountains in the distance, and it was quite sublime. However, as it's that time of the month (I hate talking about that, but I'm not quick enough today to figure out how to explain my sudden and inexplicable tetchy mood without referring to it; see "Brain, Lost" above), I found myself irritated beyond belief when she suddenly, joyously broke out into a "Praise the lord" type of song.

Stop, stop, STOP!!! Do I break out into Buddhist chants when I'm happy? NO. (Granted, I don't know any, but that's BESIDE the point.) Please ask yourself -- does the person I am walking with REALLY want to hear me pray for our good digestion and blessings before our meal of cheese and tuna kimbap (surprisingly tasty, actually)? Might she even remotely feel uncomfortable, since it is NOT her religion and she has expressed NO interest in learning about it? Hm! Maybe I should try backing off! Ya think?

With apologies to the Christians out there -- I don't mean offense, truly, and I understand that proselytizing is a core part of the religion. I don't mind if someone talks about the role God has played in her/his life, and I don't even mind friendly invitations to church. But at this point, I've been to church with friends a number of times, I have a decent grasp of the basic tenets of Christianity (I even agree with 'em, as most reasonable people do -- it's the Christ part I have trouble with), and if I really wanted to convert, believe me, I'd tell ya.

I respect my friends' religions, and the vast majority of Christians I know respect the fact that I'm not one. The proselytizing, though, makes me feel that my choices are not being respected. Which leaves us all in a quandary, I suppose, since proselytizing is an important part of -- Protestantism? I don't seem to know any Catholics who have tried to get me to convert -- uh, it. So okay, Myungsoo, you keep trying and I'll just keep getting annoyed. Sigh.

With the exception of the Philippines, South Korea has been the most receptive Asian country to Christianity.

Oh yes, I ended up trudging over to the taekwondo place after dinner, and was not pleased to see a class of 7 kids being taught by someone who looked like he hadn't started shaving yet. No go. Will check out the far away location my colleagues used to go to.

By the way, is it common knowledge that Liberia was created as a home for freed American slaves in 1822? (see Washington Post article on Liberia today) Have I been under a rock all these years?

Saw my missionary friend Tex last night again (also saw her on Tuesday), and she was all aglow because she just started dating someone from church. Awwww.

Tex is going to make my bridesmaid dress for One-Armed Maggie's wedding in September, and I confess to being a wee bit nervous about it, as she's not a professional. However, I was really glad I could communicate with her in English, because I'd have been in a world of trouble trying to explain that no, I wasn't really sure if there was supposed to be a fishtail effect on the dress or not, and could she by chance put loops instead of buttonholes on the top?

After my fitting (which revealed that I have distinctly hourglass-figure stats -- whee!), I stayed and reviewed some of her Korean homework with her. Tex took two semesters off from school, so she's just starting level 3 whereas I would have started level 5 this term. Even so, I was kind of amazed at how much better I am at Korean. Obviously I started out with a heavy advantage, growing up in a Korean household, but I think I have improved loads these past 9 months.

9 months. 9 months! By the time the dress is finished, I'll have been in Korea for a year... at which point I'll subject you to an excruciating introspective entry. I give you permission to skip it.

So can you tell already that I have nothing to write about today?

Oh! I forgot -- I was up late last night because the International Olympics Committee announced the location of the 2010 Winter Olympics at 12:30 am. The Korean city Pyunchang was up against Vancouver, in the end. They showed a little bit of Vancouver's promo video, and then Pyunchang's, whereupon my dad exclaimed, "Hey! That's not Pyunchang in the video, that's Seoul!" Hey, it's a small country -- the Olympians can surely fit in a day trip to Seoul. There was coverage of a big crowd in Pyunchang, cheering and holding signs.

Vancouver won.

Which kinda makes sense, since the World Cup was just here, and Beijing is hosting the next Olympics, so, you know, Asia fatigue, I guess. Or spreading the wealth.

Even so, I was disappointed.

Tonight am going to check out a taekwondo place near the apartment, which my dad scouted out for me. My dad, the perfect roommate. Accomodating, uncomplaining, takes no rent, buys and cooks food, doesn't have any restrictions -- man, after this stint I'm definitely gonna have to live alone.