There are times when I feel like Joan Crawford. Well, Joan a la Faye Dunaway, anyway. And these are the times when I go up to young women in the subway and scream at them, "No flats with jeans!"

So I know that this isn't the biggest fashion flaw in the world. No, that would be reserved for the older women wearing high heels with shorts, or worse, high heels with shorts and ankle-length nylons -- shudder. And shudder again. And then avert your eyes.

I'm no fashion plate myself. But somehow, wearing flats with jeans irks me to no end. I hate seeing the little bows on the shoes peeking out from jeans that are 9 inches too long and folded once so that the bottom hem is halfway up the leg. Cut the damn jeans, people! Or buy your size! And stop wearing those stupid flats with 'em!
---------------------
A bit cranky today. Usually during the week I'll have two or maybe three afternoons where I can go home and sleep, but this week I haven't managed to make that happen. Either I've been studying or meeting with my tutoree or meeting a friend, so it's Friday and I HATE the stuff I have to read at work and my plans to go on a little excursion out of Seoul this weekend fell through and -- waah!

God, shut UP, Helen.

Last night, after taekwondo, I met with my co-worker HJ to work on the "What Color is Your Parachute?" exercises. About a month ago, we had a "what the hell are we doing with our lives?" conversation, and we decided to have a go at the book. Thing is, she took a short holiday a few weeks ago and decided that she wanted to apply to a joint law-international studies program in the States, so I'm not sure she needs to do these exercises anymore, since she's already reserved her particular parachute at the store.

Amusingly, we went to lunch with another colleague yesterday and were talking about law and crap, and this colleage told me today that, on the spur of the moment, last night she also signed up for the LSAT and bought some prep books. WTF?

It may be all the coffee I've been drinking this week, but I feel all jittery about this upcoming trip back to the States. I've just quit my job, I don't have one lined up, I still don't know if I'm going to law school, I'm not seeing anyone ... oh, I'm going to have some fun conversations at these weddings.

Yes, you're right, of course. Say the sweet phrase: "open bar." Breathe. Repeat.

Flood!

It's been raining and raining for days now, which even the locals say is strange, since this sort of rain should have been done and gone with by the end of July. That's when the rainy season ends, after all. On Monday morning traffic was awful because a low bridge (which sits right on top of the river, actually) was closed due to the torrents that poured down on Sunday. I was out and about (meeting someone for lunch and then someone else for a museum outing) on Sunday, and my legs were soaked up to my knees.

Today, however, people were getting soaked up to their knees because they were wading through water -- on the sidewalk. After work I found out that my short-term tutoring job (he leaves tomorrow for the States) had canceled our meeting for today, so I decided to get some work done at a coffeeshop in Gangnam, a hip, coffee-shoppy type of place. Because of the people lining the stairs, hoping that the rain would let up, I had to fight my way out of the subway station. I saw a swirl of water as I stepped onto the last step, but figured, "Oh, these wussy commuters! It's just water, people," and strode out...

...into a small river. I couldn't see the curb of the sidewalk; the water, grayish brown, covered two thirds of the sidewalk and all of the street. I thought that perhaps I'd just push on ahead anyway and just dry off in a coffee joint, but then I saw people trudging through the water. It nearly reached their knees.

A motorcyclist, unfazed, stopped and waited for the pedestrians to get out of his way before merrily continuing down the sidewalk (motorcycles are the amphibians of Seoul -- not simply because they bulldoze through rain, sleet and heat, but also because they zip along the street and the sidewalk with equanimity).

I backed up under the awning of a Dunkin' Donuts (yes, they're here) and watched the spectacle for a while. Once in a while, a wave rippled through the river and pushed the edge of the water nearly to the step I was standing on. A lot of people around me were on their cell phones, exclaiming about the situation. A man dressed in a suit strode through the water, clearly having accepted that he was going to have to take this suit to the cleaners. Traffic on the street was hopeless, and the water level hit halfway up the tires of the vehicles helplessly waiting for the snarl to untangle.

Judging from extent of the flooding, the pipes were simply overwhelmed, and couldn't process the serious downpour that followed several other days of steady rainfall. I eventually decided that I'd go somewhere else, though I was a little nervous about taking the subway, actually. But I made it safely to the mall and studied for a few hours, and then went to my language exchange partner's house. The rain had let up a little by then, but the entrance to the subway station closest to her house had been sandbagged. Likewise the doorway to a nearby bank. Dang!
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Someone at work said to me today that it took a long time to find me for my position, and that it would probably take a long time again to find a good candidate this time. "So maybe you can just apply again," he said. Hee hee!

Yesterday my work colleague Myung-soo told me and another friend that she received a proposal over the weekend from her boyfriend of 100 days.

Congratulations, right? Except, well, not quite yet, because she hasn't really answered him yet.

Since I'd recently seen a TV drama where a woman did the same thing, I thought maybe this was a normal Korean custom, inserting some time between proposal and response. As it turns out, though, plenty of people just say "Yes" or "No" right at the moment.

Myung-soo's delay is peculiar to her, in that she wants to make sure that she can give herself over completely to her boyfriend, and that she is completely convinced that God has forgiven her all her past sins and is allowing her this happiness. I think. She's a very, very, very devout Protestant, and it's important to her to make sure that all's right in her soul and with God before committing to someone for life.

The God stuff aside, which I can't really comment on, taking time to ruminate over commitment, compatibility and the rest seems like a good idea to me. Although I can't really imagine any of my recently engaged or married American friends saying, "Gosh, that was really lovely and touching -- can I have a week or two to think about it?" to a heartfelt proposal, this is not an American thing as much as a modern thing.

Remember in The House of Mirth when Lily receives a marriage proposal from Mr. Rosedale? She gets a couple days to think it over. And when Mr. Collins proposes to Lizzie Bennet, he takes her no holds-barred refusal as a coquettish flirtation, and attempts to give her a few days to think about it.

Huh. As I wrote the above, though, it occurs to me that even in these examples, the author clearly intends for us to root against the joining. Myung-soo is pretty sure she wants to accept the proposal. So... I dunno.

In all honesty, I have my reservations about this pending engagement. I've never heard Myung-soo speak enthusiastically about the guy, only in admiration of his ability to open his heart to God because she wanted him to. She said she felt very calm during the proposal, even while he was shedding tears.

But marriage requires different things than a casual relationship, and a lack of swept-away-ed-ness doesn't necessary portend trouble.

This is, however, the second engagement in three weeks that I've had trouble being excited about. The first was Vivian, my Taiwanese friend, getting engaged to her Korean boyfriend. The first time I met her two months ago, we spent an hour talking about the hardships of being married to a Korean man in Korea, and she said she was pretty sure she was going to leave Korea and go back to Taiwan. This is the same woman who didn't see her boyfriend for three weeks and didn't really miss him (though they did talk on the phone). And when I asked her three weeks ago whether she loved her boyfriend, she said she wasn't sure. (Now she does say she loves him.)

I dunno. Marriage is a mystery. My parents' relationship didn't contain too many good lessons for young hk. Or the older hk, for that matter. I read today the NY Times Magazine's 9-page article on "The Good Divorce," which detailed a fascinating and terribly saddening gap in perceptions of the wife and husband about their marriage, and felt quite discouraged.

Luckily, the weddings I'll attend in September and October are for couples whom I think are good matches and are in love.
--------------
I told someone at lunch today that I was quitting the Foundation next month, and exactly 35 minutes after lunch hour finished, someone came to my desk and asked me, "So you're quitting the Foundation?"

News travels at the speed of light here.
--------------
Many thanks to BC (that's Miss C to you!) and Craig's List. I'm not qualified for the job, but I so appreciate the thought. You're lovely.

Interesting weekend, especially Saturday night. At Vivian's invitation and encouragement, I went out with a group of people she gathered, and met, among others, a rather young woman (22) from Hong Kong, her seemingly charming but actually annoying and obnoxious Canadian boyfriend (28), and two Korean adoptees from Denmark. (In my diary entry that night, I wrote, "I met two Korean Danishes. Er, Korean Danes?")

The evening wended its way from a restaurant in Insadong, the old quarter of Seoul, to college mecca Shinchon, where we first went to a basement expat bar where the walls were covered with writing and a fight broke out between patrons, at which point we moved over to an Enchanted Forest of a bar called the Water Bar because of the clear pipes with water running through them. At first hesitant, I edged my way toward asking the Danes about growing up in Denmark as a Korean. They both said they had great families, and didn't feel or experience racism, but that they had friends who had less empathetic families, or families who considered themselves as having done their Christian duty by adopting.

According to David (age 30), there are about 8,000 Korean adoptees in Denmark, where adoption of Korean orphans goes back to about the 1970s and continues to the present day. Unmarried women who get pregnant are still hustled off to private houses, where they have the baby and give it up.

David and Yoon (just about to enter college in Denmark) both are interested in finding their birth parents. Yoon said she was particularly interested in seeing if she had any siblings. Family medical history is also useful to know. David, who's been here for nearly a year and doesn't have any plans to leave soon (though he thinks he'll eventually go back to Denmark), hasn't started looking for his parents yet, but plans to.

Fascinating stuff. But you know, I'm a big dork, and as such, I got a huge kick out of watching two ethnic Koreans jabber at each other in Danish. Cool.

Well, it's official: I'm quitting my job next month.

Yesterday afternoon I asked Mr. Lee, the human resources fellow, what was going to happen, since I AM going to both weddings and WILL be gone for a month. "Will I have to quit my job?" I asked.

He asked back, "Okay, if you have to choose between going to the U.S. for a month and staying with this job, which one would you choose?"

I thought for a second and said, "I need to go to these weddings. I want to go to these weddings, they're important to me."

So he asked his boss again, and I went back to my desk, and a few minutes later he approached my desk with an apologetic expression on his face. "I'm sorry," he said, "but you cannot be gone for four weeks."

I absorbed this. I felt an odd mixture of guilt, as if I'd disappointed someone, and anxiety, since I hadn't prepared myself mentally to give notice that day. "Okay," I said. "I guess that's that, then. Can I work until I leave next month, then? Til the 9th?"

"Sure! Of course!" he hastily replied. "Actually, why don't you work the 15th, too, that way you can get paid for Chusok [Korean Thanksgiving]."

He looked so uncomfortable and uneasy, I tried to reassure him, "I'm sorry I'm causing you stress. It's okay, I understand."

I left the office a few minutes later and bumped into him going downstairs at the same time, heading out for a smoke, no doubt because he is now going to have to find someone new for my position and is a bit stressed about it. On the way out of the building, he asked, "Do you smoke?"

For some reason I was about to say no, but I caught myself and said, "Sometimes."

He offered me a very thin cigarette and we stood outside the building's front doors, smoking away. He still looked disconsolate -- whether from having to deliver bad news or from having to deal with hiring someone new, I don't know.

"You couldn't go for just five or six days?" he asked.

"Um, no, the weddings are three weeks apart, and it would be really expensive to fly back and forth."

"Who is getting married? Family? Friends?"

"Well, I'm part of one wedding for a friend, and the other two are also close friends."

"Are they Korean?"

"No, one's from Taiwan, another from Hong Kong --"

"Very cosmopolitan!"

"-- but they all grew up in the States."

He nodded. We smoked. The men sitting in chairs in the smoking area outside the building stole glances our way, since no women ever smoke there. (In fact, since the no-smoking-in-the-building policy went into effect a few months ago, I've heard that a couple of women smokers quit smoking, because it is quite looked-down-upon for women to smoke here. Women used to smoke in the bathrooms, but now that smokers have been relegated to the outside, they either have to face down the stares or they're SOL.)

Mr. Lee asked suddenly if I were planning to stay in Korea and get married to a Korean guy. "That's what my grandmother would like," I answered.

He nodded. "I recommend that you live in America," he said suddenly.

"Really? Why?"

"My wife is German-Korean, and she has a very hard time understanding all the nuances," he said. Even though she left Korea at age 7 and visited frequently, the 20-some years of living abroad built an unbridgeable gap in cultural understanding.

After this rather poignant glimpse into his marriage, we stood a little longer, until he suddenly suggested, "What if you came back and worked full time for a month?"

I couldn't help but laugh, even though he was being amazingly accommodating considering that I was making an unreasonable request. "I'm sorry -- thank you -- but then I couldn't go to school."

"Oh, that's right," he said, rather crestfallen.

I felt badly for laughing, and tried to reassure him again that it was really okay. "I understand the Foundation's position, don't worry. Four weeks IS a long time, it's too long. If I were working in the U.S., at a full time job, I'd never do this. But as I feel a little more free here..."

He still looked disconsolate, but at least I tried. We finished off the cigarettes, tossed them into the planter that had become a makeshift ashcan, and said goodbye.

I walked to the subway, conflicted. Maybe I was being stupid. Maybe I should offer to edit stuff via email. Maybe I wouldn't be able to find another job. AAAAGGHH.

I avoided home and went to the mall, settled down in my cafe of choice and ordered a kiwi banana shake. Then realized that today a decision had been made, for good or bad, that was going to shake up my life here quite a bit. So I ordered a slice of chocolate mousse cake.

While eating that chocolatey goodness (probably the best choco-foodstuff I've eaten here to date), I ruminated and felt anxious and tried to calm myself down and angsted a little more and told myself to shut up. Then my phone rang. It was my dad.

"So I interviewed someone for the biology teacher position at the school," he said, "and I mentioned that you were looking for editing jobs, and the woman said that she has some essays to be edited, one which needs editing right away."

"Thanks, Dad!" I smiled into the phone. "Wow! That's great."

"You're welcome," he answered. "What do they say? 'If you knock, the door will be opened'? I think there's probably a lot of opportunities out there like this. You probably would make more money this way anyway, with fewer hours."

"That's good," I said, "'cause today I found out that I'm definitely quitting next month."

"Oh yeah?" he said. "Okay, well, let's look into this."

I finished my chocolate mousse cake feeling a little better. My dad, man. He gets things done.
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"June 16. In response to a sudden surge of kidnappings for ransom by people desperate to clear credit card debts, the national Police Agency kicks off a 100-day campaign aimed at cracking down on serious crimes. The campaign, which is set to last until Sept. 24, will focus on kidnapping, human trafficking, loan sharking, organized crime rings and armed robbery."
- "Chronology of Major Events (June 1, 2003-July 31, 2003)," Korea Focus

Just finished editing the Chronology, and couldn't help but share the above with you. Credit card debt is becoming a huge problem here, as in the U.S., but I haven't heard of many Americans turning to kidnapping as a solution. I have a feeling the bankruptcy laws in Korea aren't as forgiving.

And also: ..."a 100-day campaign aimed at cracking down on serious crimes"? That strongly reminds me of the "Drug-free zone" sign on the steps of the Adams school, which I lived next to in DC. Like, only on school grounds are drugs not allowed -- but hey, come to my house, we can freebase there! Likewise, kidnappers, human traffickers, loan sharks, organized crime lords and armed robbers better watch out -- until Sept. 24, that is, when you can return to your regularly scheduled criminal activities with impunity.

I will miss learning about Korea, which I'm forced to do in this job. Then again, I think the articles are available on the web.

I've made some changes to the format here, but I'm not really happy with it. I'll work on it some more later.
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I'm not sure it's been all that evident, but I've had a case of the blues for the past week or so, culminating in a weepy Tuesday night walk from taekwondo to the subway. I'm also not sure what the trigger was, though I suspect it's probably the thing I mentioned last Monday, Aug. 11.

In any case, it was certainly made worse by my tendency to withdraw from society, and then feel isolated, and then sink further into myself until I'm walking the streets muttering to myself, "It's okay, hk. It's okay. It's gonna be okay." I didn't see anyone socially for more than a week, at first because I didn't want to, and then because I was sort of afraid to, and then because I just wanted to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling.

I remember doing this in my senior year of college, when I lived in a sweet single and developed a fear of going to the dining hall, or any place where there was more than one person. I mention the sweet single because although it was truly sa-weeeet! as the boys in high school would say, it, like the house in The Shining, probably brought out the psycho tendencies. Living alone is great for many people; it would probably drive me to popping Prozac within a month.

It was interesting, therefore, to read an excerpt from "The Loner's Manifesto" on Salon.com yesterday, and to recognize some aspects of myself but realize that as much as I do often feel ill at ease in social situations and usually prefer to sit at home and read trashy books with a bag of chips by my side, I really need people. I'm not particularly self-sufficient, though I think I seem like I am. It usually is better for me to talk things over with a friend than to keep things locked up inside.

You'd think this was really, really obvious stuff to a 27-year-old who's reportedly done some thinking about herself, but hey, it's hk we're talking about here. So I was surprised last week when J asked if I was talking things out more these days rather than keeping it all bottled up.

"I talked about stuff! I didn't keep things bottled up!" I said defensively. "Ahem," he coughed. "Oh, right, except for all the important stuff," I remembered.

Why is it that I keep relearning things that I should have learned and been done with years ago?

And why is this entry so damned jumpy and incoherent? I give up.
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There are a lot of stray cats around my neighborhood. Koreans call them "robber cats," cause they slink around so sneakily, eating kimchee out of trash bags. But stray dogs are not called "robber dogs." In fact, I've never seen a stray dog here. Maybe because they get snatched up and EATEN. Bwah hah hah.
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Oh yes, and I've gotten past the funk. In a desperate flail for a lifesaver, I asked my Taiwanese friend Vivian to have coffee with me on Wednesday, and while it wasn't a melding of the minds or anything, just spilling a few guts to a sympathetic ear was helpful. This is no offense to the Ringleted One, who lent me a kind ear last week; it's just that sometimes, someone in the flesh is what you need.

Incidentally, Vivian recently decided to marry her Korean boyfriend and stay in Korea. My work colleague HJ recently decided to apply for a joint program in law and international studies in the U.S. Another friend at work told me last week that she was pregnant. My old roommate is moving to her new condo next week. Even two bloggers whom I read are moving to San Fran and going to work for Garrison Keillor, respectively.

Suddenly it seems like everyone is on the move and shifting and finding their way and making decisions. I hope it's my turn soon. I suppose it would count if I had to quit my job. Wonder what's next?

You can taste delicious strawberry in a fresh milk. It uses only excellent ingredients for a new generation who seeks for the best taste enjoyment. Good quality and great satisfaction guaranteed. A new type of modified milk-based product!
Don't hesitate to buy.
It will bring you happiness of drinking.

-Fresh'nTasty strawberry milk carton

Again stayed up til 4 am last night, first finishing up a perfectly hellacious editing job (computer science thesis -- something about transcoding multimedia streams to mobile terminals -- don't know WTF it was about but did earn about $100 for it) and then reading absolutely worthless trash on the internet. Came home from work around 4 pm and slept for an hour or two before going to taekwondo, which was difficult today, as my body said, "We are TIRED. Give us REST. Stop staying up til dawn, you FREAK."

At work, the human resources fellow gave me a nasty shock when he called and said that the higher ups were probably NOT going to approve my leave for next month (in order to hit both One Armed Maggie's and Dave/Steph's weddings, I need to be gone about 4 weeks), since I have already taken so much leave during my 10 months there. He said he'd ask his supervisor again when the supervisor came back from vacation.

Distracted by someone hovering over my desk, I just said, "Okay, thanks," and hung up. But when I thought about it later, my admitted sleep-deprived and therefore addled brain came up with this thought: "Huh. They're not going to let me take the time off. Huh. Well FUCK 'EM! I need this stupid job like a hole in my head."

At this point, the rest of Parliament began shouting, and the head voice started banging her gavel, trying to bring order. A voice cried out: "But it's a stable job, it's a well-paying job, it's a cush job, it's a sought-after job, and it's a JOB, for cryin' out loud. How are you going to live without a source of income, you twit?"

"First of all, it's a DEAD-END job, I HATE correcting the same shit over and over, and really, what's the point of hanging on to a job just for security if it's not fulfilling you in any way?" The original voice began walking around, looking at all the other voices in the gallery, talking as she went. "Is this what life is about? Is fear our chauffeur? I thought better of us." She stopped. "Really, not getting approval for leave and being forced to actually quit this life-force-sucking position might be the best thing that's happened to us in a while. Because we are too content to just slither everyday to this job, unfulfilling and boring as it is, and not explore other options -- options that WE WANTED to try out before we got sling-shot into this cushy position. What happened to our plans of trying teaching again, to see if that's a career we wanted to pursue? Or trying out the freelance lifestyle? What happened to our nerve? Our courage? Our desire to try new things?"

She looked around. "This could be the kick in the ass we've been waiting for," she said, eyes bright and a slight smile on her lips.

There was silence. The voices advocating security and comfort and inertia and fear and status quo got a thoughtful look on their faces. The voices of doubt and indecision and wavering started looking less constipated and more cheerful.

The voice in the center of the room saw the idea taking hold. "The office is right," she said unexpectedly. "We HAVE taken a LOT of time off. They're perfectly in their rights to deny us the leave time next month. But," she continued, "we've got the right to leave. We've got the right to say to ourselves, 'These weddings are important to us and we choose to go to them, and we are NOT AFRAID," she suddenly roared, turning around in a perfect Hollywood courtroom move. "We are not afraid," in a more hushed tone, "to take chances."

Someone began to clap. Then someone else. Soon the gallery was full of noise, but this time, not the querulous tones of voices cowed by fear, but the joyous sounds of courage taking root.

The end.
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Well, in the movie, I'd be completely swayed and put in my notice tomorrow and find my dream job and vocation the next day, at which a beautiful, sweet, intelligent, progressive, funny man just happens to work as well. HowEVER. I'm not convinced quite yet, though I did enjoy being carried away up there. I have been bored with this job for a while, and the perks, while nice, aren't really worth the dead-end, no-brainer nature of the position. So it may be a good thing, getting denied approval, because I am going to the weddings. Between such a job and seeing three dear friends get hitched, there ain't no contest.

The blackouts in the Northeast were reported on Korean news, and I read about them online yesterday. Man, doesn't that sound exactly like a terrorist act to you? Disrupting daily life, making it impossible to conduct business, etc. If you've ever read Tom Clancy's Patriot Games, there is a minor character, a domestic terrorist, who dreams of doing precisely what happened yesterday -- pulling the plug, essentially. His goal was to make people doubt the government's capacity to protect them.

Yet the articles I read about the first day show New Yorkers rising to the challenge magnificently. I've never thought that NYC was the center of the universe, as New Yorkers tend to think, but I gotta give full props to them today.

And I also gotta give props to Canadians, for being so funny (and producing Kiefer Sutherland). A Toronto resident was quoted in the WA Post as saying: "Canadians aren't doing too well with Americans this year. We have SARS, we opposed the war, and now we've blown out their lights." The more I find out about you Canucks the more I love ya!

Magnetic D, BC, Dave, Steph, Mia (in Toronto), Tiff (in Albany) and everyone else who got blacked out -- hope you're all okay.
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Later in the day...
Check out this site (http://homepage.mac.com/gapodaca/digital/shoe/index.html) to see the amazing affects of photo retouching. The most interesting (and kinda scary) are the two women models. The brunette's "before" pictures are particularly striking.

Today is Korean Independence Day, and there are some protests planned in front of the American Embassy.

I have a little contract job for this weekend, editing a comp sci paper, but I can't log into my yahoo account for some reason, so I can't get to it. When I do, perhaps I'll print it out and go to a cafe or something to work on it. Impossible to do work at home these days.

I slept late and reread a good book this morning (The Eyre Affair, by Jasper Fforde -- the English major in me loved it). Had a rather unexpected evening last night, though. I meant to go to taekwondo, but after running like mad up the staircase of the transfer station, I had the pleasure of watching the doors to the 7:08 pm train close and the train pull away. I was about five feet and two stairs away.

I dithered for a while on the platform, debating whether to stick around and catch the 7:26 pm train, which would let me attend the last half hour of taekwondo; or call Vivian to say I was coming to dinner after all; or go home and fulfill my exercise quota for the day. Opting for the last, I got home, changed into running clothes, and around 8 pm, set out to jog/walk along the top of the flood control system near the apartment complex.

When I reached the end of the long dike, I turned around and headed back, accidentally in sync with a group of runners, one of whom was wearing a shirt emblazoned with "Jamshil Marathon." (Jamshil is the name of a neighborhood close by.) I like to pace myself against other runners sometimes, and so I followed them, noting that they were running at a slow enough pace for me to match them comfortably.

I lost track of them a few minutes later, but about 10 minutes after that, I was heading toward the riverbank, and they passed me while I was walking, so I gamely started up after them. After about 5 minutes or so of following a group of two women and one man, the man turned around and asked, "How far are you going?"

Over the wail of Tracy Chapman on my headphones, I yelled, "I don't know!"

He said, "We're going to Yeoido Island! Run with us! You run well."

"Oh, that's too far for me!" I said, but kept running with them. He motioned me to take the fourth spot in their incomplete square formation, and I fell in. After taking off my headphones, we chatted a bit. He said they were running a marathon on the 15th, and that they sometimes got together to run at night, and that they liked rock climbing. He asked if I ran much, and I said I used to run a few years ago but that now I was taking taekwondo lessons. He said that it was a good idea to do a variety of exercise. We passed a much larger group of runners going in the opposite direction, and he pointed out a man who'd completed a recent race in record time.

I hadn't intended on running very far, but a cool, breezy night, clear views of the river and city, and a strange willingness on the part of my legs to comply resulted in me running much further than I intended, maybe even as much as an hour. Very bizarre. I guess all the stars were aligned just so last night. I actually made it to the Yeouido docks with them, saluted them goodbye as they continued, and headed back. Casual friendly encounters don't happen often in Korean society, and I was kind of tickled by it.

Walking back, I noticed the moon, low and dark in the sky, just a day or two past its full stage. The last time I saw the Man in the Moon was when I sat with Mia on Yeouido, by the Han River, on her last night in Korea, drinking soju and eating instant noodles. I stopped by a playground and practiced some taekwondo moves on shaky legs before heading back home. It was nearly 10 pm when I got back.

Feeling better about the thing I mentioned Monday, after a talk and an email with the person who has the decision to make. I'm praying that the person will keep trying.

Life has settled into a rather tame routine as of late. Two months ago I was staying up til dawn and sleeping at various men's houses and drinking tons of beer, but now I go to work, study or relax in the afternoons, and go to taekwondo class at night. I don't mind. Variety is good. Plus, losing my beer gut in time for bridesmaid duty would be nice. I don't know why I'm all het up about looking good for One-Armed Maggie's wedding, but I am.

The cicadas are deafening but cheery. The Korean name for them is meh-mee. My dad says it's because Koreans think the sound of the cicada sounds similar to meeeeh-mee, meeeeh-mee. Well, it's closer to the actual sound than "cicada," I guess.

It's funny how the same sounds are interpreted so differently in Korean. Americans think dogs go "Woof woof" or "bow wow" or "roof roof" or "arf arf." Koreans think dogs go "mong mong," and the Korean equivalent of "doggie" is "mong-mong-i." The cat sound is pretty similar in both English ("meow") and Korean ("ee-aoung") -- I'd say the Korean is more exact. But the frog's voice is where we part paths -- whereas Americans replicate it as "ribbit ribbit," Koreans write the sound as "geh-gool geh-gool."

The weather is much more bearable this week than last, or the two weeks before that. It's still hot and humid, just not nearly as uncomfortable as before. It almost seems like fall is on its way. I don't trust it though. I'm convinced that the stifling humidity is just around the corner, waiting to pounce.

A shout out and special thanks to D for being the first person to sign into the guestbook. Now that all the cool kids are doing it, don't you want to do it too?

Because my earlier post for today was lame

I was walking home from work just now and saw five things in the neighborhood that reminded me that I was in Korea. (It's not like I forget I'm here, but gradually I'm taking all the weird and wacky things for granted.)

1. For the past couple weeks, on screens placed on the sidewalk or on chairs, someone has been drying red peppers. Hundreds of them. An old man is sitting in the shade next to the peppers today; other days I have seen an old woman sitting guard. Two weeks ago the peppers were bright arterial red; now they are shifting into the zone of red best characterized by the color of the crust on the lid of the ketchup bottle.

2. Across the street, two women are sitting in the shade, talking. One of them is a Yakult lady. Yakult sounds cool, huh? Beware the armies of Yakult! But actually, Yakult is a kind of yogurt energy drink. In the mornings, hordes of middle-aged women dressed in French mustard yellow jackets, black pants, and yellow hats storm the streets, selling these energy drinks.

3. A little further on, I walk past irregular blocks of soap drying in the sun. A few days ago, I saw a couple of women smoothing out the last pan of vegetable lard mixture in a styrofoam container. They must have broken up the soap and laid out the yellowish chunks to dry today.

4. A little beyond the soap, three old men are sitting cross-legged, shoes off, on a mat on the sidewalk. Seated strategically under a tree, they stare at a paduk board, trying to out-maneuver each other with the round black and white pieces. I've seen these men each sunny afternoon that I've walked home. Even when it's hot and humid enough to make your tongue sweat, they're out there, playing. Sometimes there are a couple of others watching.

5. As I cross the street to the block where the apartment is, I see two women walking toward me, sharing a sun shade. A green patterned parasol. Though I've heard that the latest upcoming fad is getting a deep tan, that definitely hasn't caught up to the post-teen set, which practices good skin protection.

I am living in a relatively poorer apartment complex, so it's a bit countrified. You're not likely to find the soap, peppers or probably even the paduk-playing grandfathers at a fancier, newer complex. I'm probably going to move to another part of town in November. But I'm very glad to have lived here.

I put up a guestbook (see the bottom of this page) today, so anyone who'd like to respond to anything, please feel free. If you sign into the guestbook, there are a couple of annoying fields that I can't opt out of, but you don't have to fill them in. Just write your name, message and anti-spam number (you'll see what I mean) and hit "I'm Done."

Nothing of interest today. Feeling kind of disconnected, actually. Also anxious. The thing I mentioned on Monday is still bothering me.

You know, I've now gotten three invitations to be someone's friend on friendster.com, and I've even signed up twice, but each time I deleted my page. I just felt too self-conscious and bashful. I suppose I should, if only to establish more of a web presence.

SNarF!! Ha ha-- choke, cough. Sorry, I could help snorting when I wrote that. I don't HAVE a web presence. But see, when I talked with J on Sunday, he suggested a couple things to publicize this blog, and since then I've been dreaming of being more widely read. Then again, I'm not sure that I want total strangers reading my thoughts.

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm a writer by nature, and all writers are attention whores.

Two people I know here have now commented on the fact that my efforts to learn Korean are unusual. Ju-ri, a fellow taekwondo student, said last night that there are lots of westerners and overseas Koreans (KAs, Korean-Canadians, etc.) who come to live in Korea for a while but don't bother to learn Korean. (Incidentally, there is a specific word in Korean for Koreans who emigrate and live overseas, but there is no equivalent word in Japanese, the language most linguistically similar to Korean.)

"Maybe it's because Korean is so difficult, or because you get treated with respect if you speak English," she theorized. "But especially with overseas Koreans, it's very disappointing that they don't try to learn the language their parents speak."

I answered that I came to Korea specifically to learn Korean, and other people come here for their own reasons. "That's true," she agreed, "people do come here because it's easier to make money."
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I've been reading an English/Korean version of Of Mice and Men, mostly on the subway. This is the first time I've read the book (although, thanks to my college bf, I already know the ending -- never forgave him for that). I'm nearing the end now, and it's been nearly two months since I started it.

I usually read the English page first and then the Korean, referring back to the English side if I don't know vocabulary or can't understand the grammar. Because of this method, I've been forced to slow down and really pay attention to everything that's going on. Normally I blast through descriptions, focusing on the storyline more than anything. This is probably why I wasn't so interested in English as a major in college as I thought I would be -- I like reading, but as entertainment.

Reading Of Mice and Men this way, though, I'm appreciating the care with which Steinbeck creates the scenery and the characters. I can see the flies buzz lazily in the square of sunlight coming in through the door of the bunkroom, hear the clink of the horseshoes outside the barn door, envision the red ostrich feather mules that Curly's wife wears. I'm much more aware of the significance of each character, the zeitgeist, the way that hope builds up and fades.

I understand more about Depression-era America than I would have if I'd read the book just in English. Who'da thought?
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Finished reading the recaps of "24" on televisionwithoutpity.com yesterday and am now nursing a small crush on Kiefer Sutherland. No biggie. I'd like to see the show, though.

Still bothered about the thing I mentioned yesterday.

Lightness and Darkness

There's a strange HIV prevention ad running in Seoul subway cars these days.

It features a janitor coming across a plate glass window of a building where "AIDS" is written in large red letters. The janitor tries scrubbing the word off with a scouring pad, to no avail. Then he tries a sander, but alas, no love there either. That pesky "AIDS" refuses to be erased. Then he notices someone carrying a bunch of multi-colored balloons, and he gets an idea.

Next thing you know, the janitor is opening a condom packet and takes out a green condom. With the condom, he starts wiping away at "AIDS" and lo and behold, the letters start disappearing easily when he glides the magic eraser condom over the glass.

I can't quite remember the last shot, but I think it's of the janitor holding the condom and beaming. And then the message comes up: To prevent the contraction of AIDS, let's use condoms. Especially multi-colored ones. Because they're pretty and look like lifesavers. Also, they're just the thing when it comes to tricky stains like spraypainted AIDS signs on glass.

Just kidding. About the last three sentences, that is. Actually, all I could think was that if that handy dandy green condom was treated with nonoxynol-9, cleaning the window with it would be gross. Not that, you know, cleaning with a non-spermicidally-treated condom is non-gross.
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That was the lightness, above. And now for a little of the opposite.

Was up til 4 am reading recaps of "24" on televisionwithoutpity.com, despite being tired and ready for bed at 10 pm. Stupid, stupid hk. Desperately-missing-American-television hk. And disturbed-and-upset-so-seeking-diversion hk.

I found out something yesterday that I don't know what to do with. I think that someone I know is making a very, very bad decision. I am torn between wanting to respect that person's choices and telling that person that this is a monumentally big mistake.

Sorry, no other details will be forthcoming. Just... the world is unfair, friends. I know, big news flash, huh? I've been so extraordinarily lucky, I haven't experienced much unfairness personally. But I'm a big proponent of fairness. And I wish more than anything that life would be more liberally dosed with it. Everyone's lives.

Today I told the human resources fellow that I wanted to take four weeks off in September/October. He seemed to think this was possible, noting hesitantly that "it's very possible that [you] will not get paid." Well, of course I wouldn't!

It sounded promising when I talked with him, but as it's not really up to him, we'll see if they tell me not to bother coming back in October. I think, though, that since he doesn't want to take the trouble to find a new editor, I've got a good shot at keeping my job.
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Witch doctors and fortunetellers are still quite popular among older folks in Korea. There's the mudang, who communicates with spirits and can cleanse your house for you. I remember my mum hiring one in L.A. when I was young; she (mudangs are usually women) told my brother to get rid of all his red shirts. And there are also jumjengi, who take your birth year, month, day and hour and tell you your fortune based on these four factors. Parents of a couple who intend to get married may still opt to take the four factors (sa-ju) of both kids and ask a jumjengi if the match is advisable.

The funny thing about fortunetellers is how the younger generation has adapted this tradition. A friend of mine at work told me that there are sa-ju cafes, where you can pay about 10,000 won ($8 or so), enter your four factors into a computer, and read the results. Kind of like the old gypsy fortuneteller quarter machines at fairs and stuff.

I so want to go.

The friend who told me about this, Soonji, is planning to apply to business school in Singapore. She thinks that she probably will live abroad after going there, as job prospects for women over 30 in the Korean business world are limited (they're just going to get married and have babies and quit in the end, you see). Strangely enough, a jumjengi that her mother consulted some time ago did predict that Soonji was going to live abroad. Even stranger, her mother's a Catholic, but that doesn't mean much when it comes to superstitions that don't die; Soonji said that she'd heard of a Catholic priest who did sa-ju consultations!

[Aside: I read an article recently that described Korean Christianity as "this-worldly." Meaning that while Korean Christian leaders talk about the rewards of the devout Christian's afterlife, they also support the idea that being a good Christian has its rewards right here and now, in the form of good health and wealth. Much like Korean Buddhism, which combines the teachings of Buddha with a healthy dose of prayer-for-favors, Korean Christianity is quite practical. Personally, I gotta wonder how much God/Buddha/etc. cares about the minutiae of our lives, and whether G/B/etc. is really saying, "Hmm, I see that M just prayed for good digestion of her food [I've actually heard a friend pray for this]; make a note to especially encourage her small intestine to work hard tonight." In Buddhism, there is a Buddha of Compassion to whom many Korean Buddhists pray for favors. Wonder if the Big Three delegate prayer fulfillment to angels at all. Like, "Okay, Gabriel, your turn to answer the prayers for getting into first choice colleges this week." "Aw, I always get stuck with the college requests!" "Hey, I don't make up the schedule; you don't like it, you talk with the Big Guy." End aside, as verging into (too late?) blasphemy.]

Another friend, HJ, told me that when she saw a jumjengi, she was surprised at how accurate the jumjengi was about her personality and past (for example, the jumjengi knew how many siblings she had), but that she was less impressed by the predictions about the future. Apparently the jumjengi said that HJ would definitely get married at age 28. Like, positively and FOR SURE. Of course, HJ ended up getting married at age 32.

Vivian, a woman from Taiwan I met a few months back, is considering marrying her Korean boyfriend and living here. The whole story is far more complicated and weird than I can explain, but the fortuneteller part of it is that she wants to delay the wedding until the end of next year, because a fortuneteller in Taiwan said if she got married before then, she'd definitely get divorced. Unfortunately, her boyfriend gave her a deadline of next spring, so... we'll see what happens.

As for me, I asked my dad if a jumjengi had ever been consulted regarding me. He said that there was one time when the jumjengi said that people like me were unusual, going to so far as to say that for every 30,000 people born, there would be only one person like me. I really want to know how the jumjengi got those statistics. My dad, calculating quickly, said, "Let's see, so there are about 50 million people in Korea, so that divided by 30,000 -- so there are only 150 people like you in Korea!" So that means....? Absolutely nothing is right. But it's always nice to be told that you're one in a 30,000.

Secrets

Usually people feel better about telling their woes to a shrink because the shrink is unconnected to their world, a supposedly unbiased source of advice and validation. Recently I've become the recipient of a lot of people's secrets, and it occured to me that they don't mind telling me the things they do because I'm an outsider. Just like a shrink.

It's all work people that I'm talking about. All Koreans. And I'm sure I'm not the only one at the office each person has told their individual secret to. But I get the sense that I've talked rather intimately with people that might not confide in each other.

The secrets range from little etiquette things to bigger future-related plans. H, with whom I meet twice a week to practice my Korean and her English, has asked me not to tell others that I've been to her house for these lessons, since she hasn't invited anyone else to her house yet. M has a boyfriend that her parents set her up with, but she doesn't want anyone in the office to know, as they'd doubtlessly start firing questions at her. W is planning on applying to divinity school in the States but doesn't want anyone to know, while HJ's thinking about law school and S has her sights set on business school in Singapore. Just the other day I had a rather weird lunch with an assistant team director, who confided that she wasn't really big into publications (her team's work), but that she really liked industrial design.

I'd like to think that I'm the sort of person who invites confidences by way of possessing a gentle, open disposition (so they THINK! MWAH HA HA!), but I suspect strongly that it's the Outsider element doing the trick.
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Yesterday it rained violently and periodically, and today was a gorgeous, cloudy, cool day (even with humidity, not past 80 degrees Fahrenheit, I'd say). First time the mirrors in the taekwondo studio weren't completely steamed up. Still sweat up a storm, though.

Went to Tex's apartment for a next-to-last fitting for the bridesmaid outfit for One-Armed Maggie's wedding. The skirt looks beautiful but the top needed work. Amazing how complicated a little ole top can be.

Anyway, borrowed Tex's copy of Pride and Prejudice and am loving it all over again for, what, the 10th time? It is just a beautifully written book.

Listening to: Not much these days. Bought a copy of Yoon Do-hyun's greatest hits. This is the guy who came up with the Korean theme song for the World Cup. He's a rather famous rocker in Korea. Not sure I'm liking the sound. I like the name of one of his songs, though: "Cigarette Store Girl."

While I was in the mall the other week, I listened to the new Michelle Branch CD (all things American come out here too) and liked it -- I've had a weakness for her since "Everywhere." Was tempted to buy it, but my usual "Must. Not. Spend. Money. On. Fluff." attitude kicked into gear. Returned a few days later and almost bought it again, but while listening to it again, suddenly felt Memory of Relationship Moment creep up and pounce on me. On our last trip to the Shenandoahs that J and I took last year, pretty close to when J left for L.A., "Everywhere" was playing in the car as we headed home. Nearly cried, right there at the listening station, and hastily took off the 'phones and took off, thinking ruefully, "Man, I can't handle Michelle Branch. Am I weak or what?"

I just sent off an email update to my family about what I've been doing and what my plans are for traveling this fall and winter, and I couldn't help wishing that some members of my family would be a little more chill about me doing my thing.

I'm thinking about traveling in SE Asia during my winter break, for example, and not coming home for Christmas, and when I wrote that, I tensed up, thinking about my relatives' reactions to that: worry, stress, fretful anxiety, mixed in with some anger, some feelings of abandonment and sadness about me not being there for the holidays.

I wish we didn't have this tradition of being so tightly wound up in each other lives. Not that we are, actually; sometimes I feel like we're even more like strangers than actual strangers, not knowing what we should know, not speaking what we should speak, not showing what we should show. But despite this odd distance, this masking, the bonds of family and obligation are like tentacles of a giant octopus, against which I'm struggling, down to my last breath, to escape. The guilt holds me underwater where I can see the gently undulating surface, filtering light in uneven patterns, so promising and tantalizing.

I know I sound ungrateful. It's always a battle, balancing irritation and a desire to run with an appreciation of all the love I've been blessed with. I try to remember that. Even as I tensed up, thinking of their reactions to my plans, I thought too that this is their form of love -- no, that this is an outgrowth of a love so deep that perhaps it hurts to show it too plainly. I think that's possible, don't you?

So I update everyone, and I try to be honest and straightforward, and I try to appreciate. That counts for something, doesn't it?
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Epilogue to the Pointless and Gross Skeeter Story:

Hanging out with Maiko and Etsuko on Sunday, I told them about trying the Japanese method of dealing with mosquito bites, only to have it backfire on me and create the Foot from Swollen Planet.

"I guess 'cause I'm Korean, the Japanese method doesn't work for me," I said.

Etsuko, laughing, said, "It's not that you're Korean, it's that the mosquitoes are Korean! The Japanese method apparently only works on Japanese mosquitoes!"

Heh.

Apparently Japanese mosquitoes are tougher and more vicious than Korean ones. Remind me again to never go to Japan in the summer.

Late Saturday night, after a fabulous dinner of shabu shabu (thinly sliced beef cooked briefly in boiling water at the table -- a Japanese dish), I came home and turned on the TV to find Return of the Jedi being broadcast. Dubbed in Korean.

Last week, the same channel had broadcast Empire Strikes Back (hands down the best of the trilogy), so I guess they were running a Saturday night Star Wars series. No complaints here; I used to love love LOVE the trilogy as a kid. I mean, words cannot express how much I loved Star Wars.

As I watched Return this weekend, I reconfirmed that Mark Hamill cannot act. Neither can Carrie Fisher. And Harrison Ford, though the least egregious of the main characters, was really not very good either. Come to think of it, the non-human characters were the best actors: Anthony Daniels -- besides deserving a special award for wearing a tin suit in the middle of Tunisia -- imbued 3-PO with more humanity than Hamill, Fisher, or Ford.

The writing speaks for itself. I really shouldn't have been so surprised that Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones were so horrendous -- the original three were terrible as well! And yet, perhaps because I watched the original three as a child, they have a magic to them that shines even through the bad writing and the wooden acting. Who didn't want to be Luke, or Leia, or Han? Save the universe, meet your father/brother/love of your life, and hang out with good friends at the same time?

(Aside: It's rare for me these days to feel anything close to the wonder, the feeling of being absolutely taken away by a film or other piece of art. I think my over-the-top reaction to Wonderful Days a few weeks ago was because I hadn't felt that kind of raw amazement and total absorption for years -- where you walk around afterwards in a daze, because you don't want the rush to end, you don't want to return. I know it's partly a function of becoming an adult, and living in the world of rationalism and taxes and responsibility. But -- hot daaamn! I'd forgotten how it feels to be swept away. I wish it were easier to access. Is this why people take drugs? End aside.)

The dubbing was the funny thing. Having seen the movie so many times before, I knew the dialogue and could translate it even when I didn't understand the actual Korean words. But the really amusing thing was that Luke Skywalker actually sounded better as a Korean. Why? Because if you recall, Mark Hamill cannot act, first of all, and second, his voice, while not as squawky and adolescent as in Star Wars: The New Hope, still has a whiny quality about it, especially when raised. Since Korean starring roles for action heroes are all played by manly men, Hamill's voice was replaced by a deeper, richer Korean one. Which sounded, frankly, more like what a mature Jedi should sound like.

Princess Leia's voice, however, suffered in the dubbing process. Whereas Carrie Fisher is not, as we agreed earlier, a good actress, her voice in Return had a rich, husky, sardonic quality utterly missing in the dubbed version. Her Korean voice was, like all Korean dubs of women's roles, higher, softer and hella annoying. In line with Korean social standards, the Korean Princess Leia used the respectful form of speech toward her male counterparts, which of course the American -- er, Alderaanian Princess Leia would have sooner kissed a Wookie than have done. (Ooh, awful sentence. But you see my point.)

Han Solo sounded pretty much the same, as Harrison Ford owns a nice, deep, rumbly sort of voice.

Threepio, funny enough, made a very good Korean, as he sounded just like a fretful, crabby Korean ajumma (older woman).

I visited the Picasso and Yoko Ono exhibits again this weekend, with my language exchange partner, and was slightly more interested in the Picasso this time, but again nowhere near as excited as I was about Yoko Ono's show. (I believe it has already finished its American run, unfortunately, for those who didn't get to see it.)

A slew of factors are responsible for my enjoying Ono's show more -- Picasso's prints (and prints in general) are just not as flashy as his paintings; the show focused on his art and loves, which meant we got a lot of self-imagery (Picasso, young and virile, as Zeus! Picasso, old and impotent, as voyeur!); his background and experience are fairly alien to me, etc.

Ono's works, though, as conceptual art will do, engage the viewer and force you to reevaluate your ideas about art. Against that (plus the recent and powerful personal history interwoven into her art), Picasso's prints, pornographic as they were, had no chance.

Had shabu-shabu on Saturday night with Maiko and her Korean friend Gyung-dok and Gyung-dok's mom, who was in town visiting. Gyung-dok and his mom were very affectionate, not just with each other but with me as well -- his mom took my hand in hers when we met, and walked to the restaurant together like that. Gyung-dok asked us if his mother's skin wasn't wonderful, and patted her face affectionately.

Later in the meal, Gyung-dok's older brother joined us. He was sweating from the heat of the sulty summer night, and his mother dabbed at his face with a napkin as he talked with us.

After dinner, Maiko, who is Japanese, stood outside with me after they'd gone and looked shocked. "I've never seen that kind of relationship between mother and son," she said of Gyung-dok. "In Japan, we'd say he had a mother complex. And his brother! With the sweat and the dabbing!"

She shook her head. "I don't think I could ever marry a Korean man," she said.

I finished the boring-ass informatization article today. You know how sometimes you can read something over and over and you realize you're not paying attention so you really bring your mind to fore and you STILL don't understand what the hell you're reading because it makes the U.S. tax code look like bedtime reading for five-year-olds?

My brain kept insisting "You just have to concentrate, Helen" and I kept answering, "It's not me!" and it kept replying, "Puh-leez, nigga! Don't even be trying to pull dat shit" so I resorted to disapproving and slightly snotty remarks about appropriating another culture's vernacular, to which my brain smugly pointed out that in the end, I still had to read the stupid article, as it was my job.

So I didn't do a very good job, but that'll be between you and me.
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Pointless and Gross Skeeter Story

A couple of days ago, I was standing on a subway platform when the skin of my foot sent a message to my brain (annoying git that it is): "Slight burning sensation down here, B. Better have the eyes do a look-see." I glanced down to see the scourge of mankind, Mosquito, slurping happily away and automatically swatted it with my copy of Of Mice and Men. I think that's the first time I've ever killed a mosquito that was currently feeding on me (which doesn't include the times that someone else has killed a mosquito feeding on me for me, most memorably on the ninth grade class trip down the Colorado River: dusk, Sarah's Hand O' Vengeance, my own blood splatted across my arm, mixed with mosquito body parts).

So I was feeling pretty smug about that, since I don't know how many times Ms. Skeeter's bitten me without me noticing until the bite section swelled like Klaus Baudelaire after eating peppermints (Lemony Snicket ref) or Harry Potter's Aunt Marge (yes, I only read kids' books which is funny considering I hate kids).

The following day, the bite mark looked a little more bulbous than other bites, and I wondered if maybe Ms. Skeeter's proboscis had maybe gotten left behind when I whacked her out of this existence.

I was immediately grossed out by the thought, and remembered what my Japanese friends had told me that their mothers used to do when they got bitten as kids. Basically, they'd take their thumbnail and press it firmly twice into the center of the bite location, making a plus side, in order to drain the wound. So I decided to do this and lo and behold, some liquid came out, so I felt all, "Go Japanese moms!"

Until the next day.

When the bite mark featured a blister the size of the Goodyear blimp and my entire foot was feverish and swollen.

More amazed at the reaction than anything (I have a strange fascination with any wounds I have, self-inflicted or no), I just washed my foot and put some medicine on it and left for work. Later in the day, as I mentioned I was thinking of doing in yesterday's entry, I went to Gangnam and studied in a coffee shop for a while, then looked around in the Eigenpost store (which I've heard is part of the Gap? the clothes look like it). While I was debating buying a lime green tank top for 7,000 won (about $5), I absently swung my bag near my foot, and immediately felt a stab of pain.

The blimp had blown up. And the passengers, all carrying liter bottles of water, were strewn across my instep.

Okay, that's a bad metaphor. And this is a sick thing to describe. But you see what I mean. Blister. Broken. Lotsa liquidity. Grody to the max.

As of tonight, I think the swelling's gone down a bit, while the bite site has become curiously hard. I dunno. All's I know is that I'm not doing as the Japanese moms do. I think I'll stick to what Korean moms do, or at least my mom. To stop the itch, she would hit whatever part of you that had gotten bit with the flat of her hand.

Smack!
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And finally, I just had to write that last night I went for a walk with my dad on the banks of the Han River, and we stopped at a playground and played on all the equipment. We did the seesaw last, trying to get the "down" person into the "up" position from a motionless state, and laughing a lot. I think I might remember doing that til the end of my days.

It's strange. I know that my dad's a flawed man -- his past actions have proved that. But somehow, because we have similar senses of humor and (in certain aspects) similar personalities, I seem to have gotten over the fact that he's very flawed. Forgiven him, I guess. Or at least forgotten.

Is this why people are so willing to give George W. a pass for lying when they couldn't forgive Clinton for Oval Office sexcapades? Because they identify with him?

In any case, as my ex-shrink pointed out many months ago (is it strange that I keep in touch with my ex-shrink? she would probably tell me that it doesn't matter if you think it's strange, since I like it), even if I accomplish absolutely nothing else, getting along with my father again was worth the trip here.