Yahoo! I love you! Because you provide me with 100 MB of space, for free, out of the blue, and for no particular reason at all! Because I now don't have to worry about topping out on a measly 4 MB account! And because emails from certain somebodies bring up a grin the size of Alaska on my face!

Glee! Joy! And shit-eating grins!

Sorry. It's just that I can't jump up and down and laugh maniacally in the office.

Man. I must be really bored to be so excited by an email.

UNBLOCK the BLOG!

I mentioned yesterday that I haven't been able to access my own webpage for the past several days. So I emailed those nice people at Blogger and got a very prompt reply today that:

I'm afraid that the South Korean government has been blocking all BlogSpot pages from being shown within that country. I'm sorry about that, but I'm afraid there's not much we can do. If you have access to another server,or if you would like to purchase a hosting service from another company, you can still use Blogger to publish your blog there, and you will probably be able to view the results.

So it appears that I can write my posts, but I can't view them up. If there's anything funky about my page, you'll tell me, right? Thanks.

In the meanwhile: why the bloody sodding HELL has the South Korean government has chosen to block blogspot pages? I've been viewing my page without problem for the past 20 months. Why now?

Got another email of interest today, from the U.S. embassy, with which I registered last year:

In addition to the numerous anti-U.S., anti-troop dispatch demonstrations precipitated by the tragic death of a Korean citizen in Iraq and mentioned in our recent warden message of June 24, 2004, local authorities have informed the Embassy of new demonstrations scheduled for June 29 and June 30, including nationwide rallies by the Korean Federation of Trade Unions (KCTU) to protest the Republic of Korea government's plan to send more troops to Iraq.

Please note the dates/times for the following demonstrations that have been scheduled at the Kyobo or KT buildings in Seoul (one block south of the US Embassy):

6/29/2004, 1600 hours, 1,000 members of the Korean Confederation of Trade Unions - to protest troop dispatch to Iraq and later to join the candle vigil to protest hostage killing

6/29/2004, 1900 hours, 3,000 individuals, candlelight vigil to protest hostage killing

6/30/2004, 1800 hours, 10,000 individuals, candlelight vigil to protest hostage killing

The following demonstration is scheduled for Jongmyo Park in Seoul (3 blocks southeast of the Embassy):

6/29/2004, 1400 hours, 3,000 individuals protest troop dispatch to Iraq.

Demonstrations may also take place in other locales and at other dates in June and July, specifically in the vicinity of the U.S. Embassy, U.S. military (USFK) bases, and universities or downtown civic centers
throughout Republic of Korea. In consideration of U.S. July 4 Independence Day celebrations and the Iraqi governmental transition period, American citizens are reminded to maintain a high-level of personal security awareness, especially in areas where large numbers of American citizens congregate.

Political, labor, and student demonstrations and marches have on occasion become confrontational and/or violent. American citizens and their family members should exercise caution and avoid gatherings of large groups in order to minimize risk to their personal safety. Streets may also close without warning on orders of the local police.

Getting these alerts from the embassy here reminds me that I am a citizen of the world's most hated nation.

Another coinki-dink?

Can't get onto my page, dammit. Wonder if anyone else is having this problem?

The usually uber-reliable Blogger is chapping my hide.

Not so much to report this Monday. I went to another party, but it was very different from the Smeagol thing of last weekend. Curly threw it at his guesthouse, and until 11 or so, there were eight people there. Etsuko and I arrived at a little after 9 or so, and we paused outside the house, wondering why we couldn't hear anything. Upon seeing the paucity of shoes in the foyer (remember, we take them off before entering houses here), we looked at each other and smiled a little. "Not like old times, is it?" Etsuko asked. "No, not at all," I answered in regretful tone.

When KB and Borough were still living there, if you'd arrived by 9, there was usually no more space in the small foyer to leave your shoes -- you had to take them off on the steps outside. And the inside of the house would be so crowded that separate little parties appeared to be taking place in the bedrooms.

"As we always knew," Etsuko said, "[KB] was the popular one in this house." It's true that KB had a lot of acquaintances, being the friendly, open sort of guy that he was. Feeling rather badly about the implicit comparison we were making, I said, "Well, there was [Borough], too. And the turnout isn't that bad for a one-host party compared to three."

The party was very quiet, and conversation a bit stilted. Some more people came around 11, but we left at 11:45, when I begged off with the excuse that the subway was closing (true, but in the past, of course, I would have just slept over at their house).

That was pretty much all the social interaction I had this weekend. Even my grandmothers were out of town, so I stayed home alone, intermittently watching American movies and working on this damn reference book job.

But wait just a blessed moment, Batman! Holy moly... I just had a brain fart and looked up an old entry to confirm that yes, those coincidences, they keep a'comin'. At Curly's party, one of the glamorous Russian twins showed up. The twins, both thin, blue-eyed, dark blondes who dressed to the nines each day, smoked like chimneys, and rarely smiled, like the good Bond girl prototypes they were, both graduated from language school with Curly last year. They were famous in school, as much for their language ability as their style.

So a year ago? To the day? Oh yes, and I ain't lyin'. Not only did the same twin show up at a party I was attending on Saturday, June 27, 2003, KB and I walked her home before I stayed over at KB's again. I remember saying to KB, as we walked back to his place, "There are just these nights that you don't forget, and I'll never forget this night, walking a pretty Russian twin home with you at 2 in the morning in Seoul."

Indeed, I haven't forgotten. What's more, I haven't seen Irina since that night a year ago.

Goodness gracious, St. Ignacius!

History repeats
(or, Freaky Coincidences)

So! Law school for the class of 2007 starts on Tuesday, Sept. 7, 2004.

First-years, however, have orientation and registration from Sept. 2-3.

I hate orientations. They're like camp, and I hated camp. There's nothing more effective than an institutionally enforced atmosphere of friendliness to get me to shut down all my charms, clam up and start glowering. When I was a dismayingly socially awkward 13-year-old camper at Camp Conifer -- the camp for Korean Americans! oh yay! -- I was admittedly pretty short on charm. But now, 15 years later, I've acquired some! And I won't be able to display them, because I'll be too busy resenting the fact that I'm supposed to act all friendly and interested in people for two days just because we're gonna be sharing some classes together!

Ugh. I really hope I can be mature about this whole law school thing.

I got a last-minute editing job yesterday morning -- a professor of history for whom I did some work before asked me if I could edit a 10-page paper by this afternoon. Sure, says I, half-asleep, but, uh, the fee, since it's, uh, a really quick turnaround...

Okay, I'll pay 50 percent more than your usual rates, he offered.

Done! Fate seems to have taken a hand; my payment for this job is exactly the price of the two pairs of glasses I saw with my grandmother last Saturday. Which means I must now go buy them, of course.

As an added bonus, the paper was a pleasure to edit. It's so much easier to do good work on a piece that's well-written to begin with and needs some tweaking here and there and clarification and maybe some reorganization. His specialty appears to be the history of electrical engineering, and I actually enjoyed learning about the Edison effect and Fleming's valve and all sorts of things I'd never voluntarily read about.

God, sometimes I think I should just get a grip and go to history grad school already.

Speaking of history grad school, I learned last month that the wife of my old history T.A. died after a sudden illness on May 23. I didn't know her at all, despite going to their wedding (albeit as a very desultory guest), but I had kept in touch with my old T.A. over the years, so I was deeply saddened for him. His wife, like he is, was in her mid-30s, a professor of Classics at Yale.

I don't know the nature of her illness, having simply sent a condolence card to Ted, but I gather it was sudden.

There's no reason why you should know this or remember me writing about it, but in late May last year, I was shocked to find out that a former colleague of mine at the Justice Department suffered a heart attack and died almost immediately. He was 45 years old. He died on May 15.

It is only a sad coincidence in timing, that I know. But the fact remains that as of yet, I haven't personally known many people who have died. In fact, I have only been to two funerals in my life. One was my uncle's funeral last year, in early June. He died after a long battle with cancer. And the other one was my maternal grandmother, who had a stroke on Memorial Day weekend in 1998, entered the hospital, was told she would be fine, and then died a few days later on May 28.

Why write about this? Why even presume to think that there's any sort of cosmic connection whatsoever, when life is random and people die every day and some happen to die in May?

Well, for one, I'm reading Paul Auster's Red Notebook, which is full of stories like this, so just now, I'm primed to view coincidences as fraught with meaning. And for another, well, last weekend, there was that other repeat of history, when I ended up sleeping over at Curly's exactly a year after ending up sleeping over at KB's. Same house, same circumstances, same day.

A reviewer at the centerforbookculture.org, in a review of the Auster book, puts it this way: "unlikely coincidence and the odd ways in which fate brings people together. ... These are preoccupations of anyone interested in creating a coherent narrative out of the chaos of life." I never could accept the theory that everything in life is random and meaningless.

"Independence" is a relative term

Went to the Independence Memorial in Cheonan yesterday with my grandmother and my great-aunt. The memorial complex (eight museums, two massive sculptures, one tiled building the length of a soccer field, ponds with carp as long as my arm) was set in the mountains, which were the best part; the museums were sort of blah, but the scenery was beautiful.

We set out at 8 am, took two buses, and got to the Memorial around 11 am. Took a look at one museum, had lunch that my grannies had packed, and took a look at four more museums before calling it a day and walking out to an immense (one might even say continental!) sculpture signifying the tragic, extant division of Korea. There was a covered pavilion nearby, and we took a nap before heading back to Seoul. Lying on a wooden pavilion in the quiet mountains after a cultural day has got to be one of the best experiences ever.

As you might expect, the museums focused on the treatment of Koreans by the Japanese in the Japanese colonial era (1910-1945), and the struggle for independence. My own grandfather participated in the remarkable peaceful declarations of independence that took place across the country on March 1, 1919, which were brutally repressed by the Japanese government. The repression was virtually ignored by the rest of the world.

It's history like this that sets the ground for how Koreans react to current events. Koreans are very proud of Korea and being Korean, but they're no fools. This week's kidnapping, videotaping, and murder of Kim Sun-il, a 33-year-old translator, by terrorists in Iraq, is the talk of the nation. It's widely acknowledged that the additional 3,000 Korean troops being sent to Iraq are more a symbol of Korea's continued support for the United States than anything else. The dispatch is extremely unpopular.

When I saw my politically active friend Soonji on Monday, she asked me if I knew about Kim Sun-il. I said that, realistically, I thought he would be killed, and that realistically, it would have no affect on anything the Korean government did. She agreed. "I'm really worried about him," she said. "But," she continued resignedly, "Korea is just too weak." I reminded her that half of the American population, the half that voted for Gore, also felt disenfranchised and helpless. She nodded, and then said, "You'd better elect a new president."

From your lips to God's ear, my friend.

The Day of the Sun Is All about Fun

(Clunk. Clunk. That's the sound of this post as it limps along, burdened by a most unelegant title.)

Instead of trying to come up with seven different ways to say "I'm bored" yesterday, I should have told you about my Sunday, the day after the "I Had Sex With Smeagol" party (by the way, I have stickers from that party -- if you want one, let me know).

I woke up around 7:30 or so on Sunday morning, lying next to Curly (who's Canadian, so in some way I'm getting closer to my ultimate goal of becoming a transnational 'ho) (by the way, nothing happened with me and Curly, so I guess that's not quite the step toward transnational ho-ishness that I characterized it to be in the previous parenthetical) (FYI, the phrase "transnational 'ho" is TM by BC) (are this many parenthetical statements in a row allowed?) (who cares? transnational 'hos transcend grammatical and structural rules for mere mortals) (oh. good).

So like I wrote two entries ago, I missed KB all the way home (d'oh! I really was going to try for a whole entry without mentioning that guy), and when I got home, I purged the night out of my system by writing the post for June 20 ("No, I Will NOT Have Sex With You, Smeagol!" Just love that title. Thanks, Cesar, for coming up with the idea of having sex with Smeagol! Did I mention I have stickers with that phrase from the party? Let's take Smeagol Sex international, baby!). Then I went to church.

No, it wasn't an act of atonement for a night of Smeagol sexdom. Two Fridays ago, I had arranged a dinner with Father Peter, with whom I had three classes. Tall, stoop-shouldered, and gap-toothed, he radiates gentleness and warmth, and everyone adores him. Hank (from Taiwan), Etsuko, Mayu, Yoko and her friend, and I went to the far western end of Seoul (it's actually another city, I think) to have chicken and beer with Father Peter. Father Tamlat, from Ethiopia, also joined us, we had a pleasant few hours with the two priests from Africa, who invited us to come to the services for the Day of Consolation.

The Day of Consolation was this Sunday last, and after getting home from a fairly sleepless night in Curly's room, I thought I'd have a couple hours to sleep before traveling the hour and a half to Father Peter's residence, but writing the post that day took up more time than expected. So that might explain why, after arriving late and finding Etsuko, Hank and Liwei (from China) already sitting on mats in the basement of the residence, I quickly zoned out of listening to the sermon, and began getting annoyed.

Why, I wondered, do women here cover their heads with white lace veils before going into a cathedral/church/basement o' sermons? Why can priests drink when nuns can't? Why can't nuns give sermons and bless the wafers and all that? As I understand it, nuns are equivalent to monks, and no, you don't see monks drinking or giving sermons either, but then why aren't there female priests, then? That sort of thing gets me mad, and distracted me from appreciating the fact that the church -- which, incidentally, isn't really a church, I think, but a residence for visiting priests from other countries: as well as Kenya and Ethiopia, Italy, China, and at least one English-speaking nation were also represented among the circle of priests at the altar. (The presence of the African priests explained the painting of a black mother in African garb and her son, in classic Madonna and son pose, next to the Renaissance-style paintings of the Virgin and the Savior.)

However, after the services were done and lunch was served, Father Peter and Father Tamlat spent some time with us, and I forgot about those things, because they are such lovely human beings. Being busy men of the cloth, they could only hang out for 30 minutes or so, to thank us for coming and to chat a bit. Then they went inside to do priest stuff, and we were on our own.

I was tempted to go home and sleep, but more tempted, in the end, to go and play with everyone. We ended up going to Hongdae, a party part of town, and going bowling. I am very bad at all games that include round objects, and bowling is no exception: scored dead last, while Liwei, who had never bowled before, broke 100 points and took first place among us.

After bowling, we went to a Baskin Robbins and ordered four different flavors in a quart-size bucket, and proved ourselves to be Asians by liking the green tea flavor best. I confirmed that in the States, five friends wouldn't think to order a quart-size bucket of four flavors and sharing it. But hey, it wouldn't happen in Japan either!

We then took a vote, and it was decided that we would go to a boardgame cafe. This trend started last year (probably when pet cafes were taking a dive), and it's more fun than it sounds. You pay by the hour, per person, and you can play any number of several dozen games, each of which a cafe employee will explain to you.

We played four games, I think, and liked the last the best -- a stock-market trading-type game in which you try to collect all the cards of a suite as fast as you can, while avoiding the bear card (if you get the bull card in conjunction with all the cards of a suite, though, you double your points). Basically, it's a lot of "Two cards! Two cards! Who has two cards to trade! I need two cards!" and "No, I don't want your one card -- you keep giving me the bear!" and "You can't give me that -- they have to be the same suite!"

We got so loud and excited that when I unwittingly dropped a card on the floor and a cafe employee kneeled to get it, I accidentally whanged her on the head in a heated moment of trying to grab someone else's two cards. Oops. She seemed to forgive me, though, 'cause she took some pictures of us later (which you can see on ofoto.com).

After two hours of playing boardgames, it was nearly 11 pm, which is when I have to get on the subway, lest it turn into a pumpkin (at midnight) before it reaches my home station. I caught the last train, and walked home having had a very varied weekend: shopping with grandma, not having sex with Smeagol, going to a Consolation Day service, losing at bowling, and slipping other people "The Bear" in a boardgame cafe. So if I was a little bored on Monday, it's only because there's a limited amount of Fun, and one person can't hog it all the time.

Bored. Bored bored bored. A baker's dozen of bored. Bored on the right and bored on the left. Bored in one size fits all. Bored straight and bored batting for the other team.

No work at work, which is nice, but trying to do this freelance job, which is -- you're a genius for guessing -- boring.

Once in a while, you have one of these days. No matter where you are, what you're doing, or how many people you've met who have had sex with Smeagol, there are just some days that are boring.

No, I Will NOT Have Sex With You, Smeagol!

I hung out with my grandmother yesterday for several hours. I had asked her to take me to an eyeglass shop she knew, so we took the bus to Namdaemun Market and strolled through the light rain, picking up various things here and there: a power strip, scissors, munchies.

The eyeglass store in fact did offer a much better price than the place I went to last weekend with Etsuko -- almost alarmingly so: last weekend I was quoted a price of 115,000 won (USD$99) for a pair of wire-framed glasses with mid-range priced lenses; yesterday I was quoted 150,000 won (USD$130) for TWO pairs of glasses (one plastic frame and one wire) with (as far as I can tell) equivalent lenses.

There's a saying in Korean which, directly translated, means someone has a "wide foot." It's used to describe someone who is well connected. My grandmother informed me later that the owner of the store was actually her cousin.

Grandma has a very wide foot.

Grandma is also 75 years old, and on Thursday I woke up to find her vigorously cycling away on the stationary bike in the corner of the living room, and that night I was most amused to find myself sitting across the table from her as she cheerfully announced, "Well, I can't seem to fall asleep tonight, so I think I'll have a drink." And then proceeded to take out the 21-year-old Ballantine's that J1's dad had bought for my dad, and pour out two fingers or so. And drain it.

What can I say? Grandma is cool. I asked her how she looks so young (really, she looks more like she's in her early 60s, and that's only because her hair is gray), and she said, "Oh, from living stress-free. Just accepting things and people for what they are."

I like my grandmother.

After we got home from the market, I loafed around for an hour or two, trying to decide whether to go to this party. I'm often reluctant to go to parties on the best of days, and yesterday it was pouring rain as Typhoon Dianmu (named after the Chinese goddess commanding thunder and lightning) moved from southern Japan toward Korea. About 200 millimeters (7.8 inches) of rain hit the southern part of the peninsula; Seoul got much less, being inland and closer to the western coast, but it still rained cats and dogs starting from the late afternoon.

The party was organized by an employee of the Spanish embassy, and I'd received the invitation through Olga, the Ukrainian woman in my taekwondo class (her boyfriend works at the Spanish embassy as well). Since most of the people were likely to be Spanish speakers, I had invited Curly, KB's old roommate, a couple days ago; Curly majored in Spanish and French in college.

After sending Curly a text message around 7:30 pm, I waffled some more, but finally decided to honor my old maxim: "Shut up and get out there." After all, as BC is wont to say, you're not going to meet anyone by sitting at home. (And if you do, you should probably run.) So without hearing a confirmation from Curly, I pulled on a skirt and tank top and headed out.

I was standing at the entrance to my building, staring glumly at the rain, when the phone rang. Curly said he'd meet me at the metro near the party, and I hung up and stepped out resignedly into the downpour.

The party was in the top floor of Hannam Tower, the tallest building in the Hannam neighborhood. With nothing more than that to go by, we spent 20 minutes floundering around in the rain before finding the place. In the lobby, I changed out of my rainboots into a pair of strappy heels, put up my hair, and we went up to the penthouse.

The elevator doors opened, and the first thing we saw were two plastic mannikin heads sitting on a side table. With a fluorescent light stuck through their foreheads.

I looked at the man who had shared the elevator up with us. We both raised our eyebrows in the international symbol for "thaaaaaaat's interesting."

Just to the left of the elevator, the doorway to the large, airy suite had been draped with two squares of hot pink fabric that read: "I HAD SEX WITH SMEAGOL."

Thaaaaaaaat's interesting.

We entered the penthouse. There was a tall box in the middle of the room, covered with paper stating "I had sex with Smeagol," with another head on it, also stuck through with a fluorescent light tube. (Later I realized that the box was in fact the refridgerator.) On the far wall, two full mannikins were pierced with light tubes through their breasts and rear, respectively. And on the wall behind us, a red neon sign declared that it too had had sex with Smeagol.

For the first several minutes, Curly and I stood around drinking our sangria, the way that you do when you don't know anyone else at a party except the person you came with. I caught the eye of a guy sitting and smoking, and introduced myself and Curly, offering conversation starters such as, "Oh, you're from Boston? I'm going to be living there this fall!" and "You're interested in living in L.A.? I grew up there!" and "You arrived in Korea in late 2002 and you have family here? How funny, so did I?" Now I admit, these aren't the most scintillating comments, but they are perfectly servicable beginnings to party chatter. There are times, however, when you come up against a perfect lump of a log who doesn't understand the social contract. (Later, with a couple of shots in him, this same guy was much friendlier. But really.)

Curly and I split up at some point, and I made my way through some people, starting with the man who had been in the elevator with us. He turned out to be a Brazilian chef. He introduced me to his wife, who is a professor of Portuguese at a university here. She then introduced me to one of the other two Americans at the party, who happened to be sitting by a gay German embassy guy. And then Olga (the Ukrainian woman who invited me) showed up and introduced me to the host of the party, one bald artist/diplomatic attache named Cesar, who wore a black tank top imprinted with the message that -- yes, that's right! -- he had had sex with Smeagol.

Curly, in the meantime, had been sharing shots with Lump On A Log, and by the time we met up again, he was on his way to being happy. As you probably know, when some people get happy, they tend to get touchy-feely. It wasn't entirely unpleasant to have an arm around my waist or shoulders, but I started worrying about his expectations.

Around 11:30 or so, my feet were screaming at me "Why the three inch heels, hk? Why why why?" and so I sat down in a corner and watched the crowd. Because of the rain, there were only about 50 people or so in a room meant for 100 (or 150, since we're in Korea), but there were plenty of characters to watch: a sullen-looking Korean woman in all black, sitting alone and chain-smoking; a European-looking woman in a red jumpsuit with slits up the sides of the pant legs up to her knees, who was dancing with a couple of her friends; a tall black Brazilian gay man dancing sexily. And the room alight with Europeans, Koreans, Latin Americans, and Americans speaking in Spanish, Portuguese, English, Korean.

As I was watching the fray, the Brazilian chef came up to me and took my hand. He leaned toward me and said, "You arrrre verrrry beautiful! A beauuuutiful girl! Do you have a boyfriend?"

Thinking, "what IS IT with this week?" I smiled politely and said no.

He looked at me with drunken eyes. (At least, I hope he was drunk, and you'll see why in a sec.) "This is impoooossible! You arrrre verrry beautiful!"

I shrugged and smiled, and he, smiling back, left to talk to someone else.

A few minutes later, he came back. "I wannnt to talk with youuuu, but my Engliiiish -- it is not so good."

I indicated that his English was a hell of a lot better than my Spanish, which I demonstrated by saying "Hola." "Donde esta el bano?" "Yo tengo hambre." (Hello. Where is the bathroom? I am hungry.) (Which is not, now that I see in in print, the most fortuitous of phrase combinations.)

A bit out of the blue, he asked me for my phone number, which I gave, and gave me his. And then: "You will call meee, yes? Caaaaall me."

Um, sure, I said.

He leaned in conspiratorally. "My wife," he said, "she is going oooouut of town next month. Caaaaall me then, yes?"

Utterly dumbstruck, I stared.

He smiled and winked. "Caaaaaall me, okay?"

I managed a half smile before he left to talk to someone else.

I sat stock still for a minute before doubling over with laughter. Then I sought out Olga and, out near the elevators, told her that a Brazilian man had just asked me to have an affair with him. She doubled up in laughter too, and said, "Those Brazilian men, they're dangerous! That's why you shouldn't get married to one."

"Don't worry," I said, as we flung the pink squares of Sex With Smeagol aside and strode back into the suite, "I don't think there's any danger of that."

After that little interlude, I started chatting with the other taekwondo student Olga had invited, the English-born Alan, and finally met his bubbly and generous dancer girlfriend. Curly joined us, and while we were talking, a short Korean man whom I'd met earlier in the evening, took my arm and pulled me away from the group.

"Mumble mumble mumble." (At least, that's what I heard.)

Sorry about my lack of Korean ability, I apologized and said I didn't understand what he was saying.

"Mumble mumble why are you with those foreign men? I don't like that."

For the second time that evening, I stood stock-still. Then, realizing that he was still holding my wrist and that he had no fucking right to be, I wrenched my arm out of his grasp, smiled icily, and said, "I understand." Maintaining the smile, I bowed slightly, turned on my heel, and marched back to "those foreign men."

I told Alan, his girlfriend, and Curly about that little exchange, and a few minutes later, when the Korean man came up to our group, Alan tried to divert his attention by handing him a beer. When the man tried saying something to me, Alan's girlfriend very nicely tried to deflect the tension by toasting "Cheers!" and clinking glasses. Curly came over to me and murmured, "If you need any help with this guy, just look my way." I looked at him and replied: "I can handle him."

The guy did apologize, but again, I lost what he was saying due to language barriers and the loud music, and I only got the barest gist of what he was saying. At a bit of a loss, since I didn't understand him, I looked at him and suddenly said in Korean, "Okay, I'll just forget about it, all right?", clinked his beer can, and walked away.

Yeah, I don't know either. But how would you have handled it?

There were no other unusual incidents, unless you count the half hour-long "conversation" with Julio about the difficulty of being married to a Korean woman (he's actually very sweet, but I might as well have been one of the mannikin heads), or meeting my first Korean-Brazilian (I'm gonna collect 'em! already have a Korean-Danish on the shelf). The party wound down around 1:30 or so, and Curly and I went with Alan and his girlfriend to grab a bite to eat in nearby Itaewon. Curly nearly fell asleep at the table, and barely spoke a word, so I proceeded to have a very nice conversation with Alan and his gf about living abroad. At one point, Curly, clearly looking for the bathroom, wandered outside, and Alan's gf said to me, "You should go after him -- he's your fella, isn't he?"

I clarified that point emphatically.

After a lovely meal, we were set on going to another bar, but it turned out to be closed, and seeing that it was nearly 3 am, we called it a night. There was a bit of an awkward moment when Alan's gf asked how I was getting home, and I said, "Well, at this time of night, I'll probably go to Shinchon too" (where Curly lives). I should have explained that my dad had advised against taking cabs so late at night by myself, because she got a confused look on her face and said, "But where will you be staying?" I jerked my head toward Curly. "With him."

"Oh!"

I looked at her. "Not what you think," I added. But probably to no avail.

The ride to Shinchon was much shorter and much cheaper than a cab to my house would have been. As we walked the familiar streets back to Curly's house, I was assailed all over again by memories of KB. (I know, KB again!) Saying goodbye to KB at the end of June last year when he left Korea for the summer. Slipping and sliding and smiling beatifically through the thick, heavy surprise snowfall of March to hang out with KB, Curly, Borough, and Borough's girlfriend. Walking to KB's farewell party by myself nearly four months ago, and practically hyperventilating out of nervousness. That awkward moment at the end of the farewell party when everyone else left and I (cough cough!) said that I'd be going a wee bit later. The big hug after everyone finally left.

You get the picture. It was like going back to the scene of a crime.

But! Another time, another party, another room, another bed. At this point, I still didn't know what Curly's expectations were, but those were made pretty clear when, in the dark, he put his arm over my stomach. Oh dear, I thought, and in what I hope was not an unkind voice, I said, "Go to sleep," and simultaneously shifted myself and his arm to separate positions.

I woke up early, as I always do in a strange place, and debated trying to fall asleep again for about half an hour before giving up and getting dressed. I shook Curly awake and said, "I'm leaving." He turned over onto his back, smiled, and -- oddly -- touched my face with his hand. "Okay, see you," he said in Korean.

"Yup, see ya."

While walking to the subway, I suddenly remembered the old Sinead O'Connor song, "Nothing Compares 2 U," and softly sang the few lyrics I could recall as I headed down the stairs of the station. I missed KB all the way home.
-----------------------

In one of those odd coincidences that keeps me guessing about the existence of fate or God (and just how much of a jokester fate or God is), I happened to check my appointment book from last year today, and I realized that on June 22, 2003, I had woken up in the same house, in the room next to Curly's, after partying too late to catch the metro. The first time I spent the night at KB's was exactly a year ago.

Perfectly horrific

Yesterday I saw my friend Hyo-jong's baby for the first time, and it's confirmed: I have no maternal instincts.

I may have mentioned this before. I even gave a speech in class to this effect. Perhaps it was growing up without young children around, or perhaps it's a genetic predisposition (both my parents aren't especially into children either) -- whatever the reason, it doesn't matter: I'd take a puppy anyday over a kid. Yesterday was no exception.

Hyo-jong's three-month-old baby girl is cute, I suppose, in a roly-poly, chipmunk-cheeked, helpless sort of way, but -- oh lord, I can't do it. I can't bring myself to lie that way. I didn't think the baby was cute, okay? I'm not saying she was ugly -- she looks like every other baby I've ever seen -- but whether I was watching her sleep, walking back and forth with her in my arms, or stroking her skin, I at no point thought, "Awww. Baby."

Instead, when I was watching her sleep: "Man, it would be so boring to be kept slave to the whims of a miniscule being who doesn't even recognize me." When I was walking with her back and forth: "Man, she's HEAVY! My arm HURTS. How does Hyo-jong do this?" And when I was stroking her skin: "Very soft! But -- ew, don't touch me with your slimy fingers, Miss Spitty!"

Another friend of Hyo-jong's came by, and my lack of mothering desire and capability was thrown into even further relief. The friend has a baby that 16 months old, and she was just all over Hyo-jong's chipmunkster: cooing, singing, massaging her legs. She tried to get me to sing a song, claiming that it magically soothed fussy babies, and I, feeling like 12 kinds of idiot, began singing, only to be exhorted to sing with feeling. I shut up at that point.

My mother has said for years that I'll feel different about my own children. My answer has always been, "That's a pretty big risk to take." Hyo-jong, who was sort of unsettled to find out she was pregnant a year ago, said that she also had doubts, but that she did feel absolute love for her baby. But then she told me about her 36 hours of labor, and that did it.

I'm sure my face was a perfectly comic mask of horror throughout Hyo-jong's retelling of her journey of torture (her word, not mine). She said that she thought of the Bible (she's not religious, but still) and how the curse of childbirth was the special property of women. She agreed it truly was a curse. Of really unfair proportions. I mean, what's a little work in the fields compared to 36 HOURS of torture?

To be fair, her labor took longer than most, and sounds like it incorporated the worst of the worst: at one point, because she wasn't dilating, the nurses gave her something to induce it, which was accompanied by extremely painful and nonstop contractions; then, at another point, because the baby wasn't dropping, the nurses got on top of her and pushed down; and then, when the baby's head crowned, the doctor finally came in and did an episiotomy (an incision made to the perineum, the muscle between the vagina and rectum, to widen the vaginal opening for delivery) and the baby popped out. (This procedure has come under fire in the last twenty years or so as unnecessary -- you can read more about it here -- and has dropped in frequency in the States. It seems to be very common in Korea, though.)

Hyo-jong said that she became a lot more understanding and sympathetic toward her own mother after giving birth. An admirable result, to be sure. I think I'll try to appreciate my own mother without going through that particular hell, though.

On somewhat of a side track: I came to Korea in October 2002, and since then, three good friends in the States and two in Korea have gotten married; two more are engaged to be married this fall; one good friend gave birth; and another is pregnant. Sometimes it feels like time has stopped, but just for me.

To go farther afield: on Wednesday night, I saw a great Thai martial arts movie starring "the next Bruce Lee," Tony Jaa. The usual "country boy trained in deadly martial arts by a monk who exhorts him to never use said arts except in defense goes to big bad city to retrieve a precious relic belonging to the village and gets totally bad ass with the bad guys" story, but the moves are amazing (and 100 percent real!) and the music's thumping, and I think Thai cinema's on the verge of busting out. No doubt the film aficionados are rolling their eyes and sniffing, "Yah, we were saying that in 2002, loser," but hey, we can't all be video store clerks.

Never the twain shall meet

I got another big editing job from the Foundation, so I am trying to be good and space it out over a week and a half by doing about 30 pages or so a day. It's a reference book on Korean art and archaeology, which sounds like it should be interesting -- well, no. No, it doesn't sound interesting at all, and it's not.

I edited a 40-page art history thesis last month which was fun because it was well-written and informative, and I didn't have to hit the level of nitpickiness that a reference book requires. Being that anal is exhausting. Even for an owner of the Chicago Manual of Style and Bryan Garner's, uh, reference book thingee. (See, I'm not really that anal.)

I'm a bit tired today because I got in at around 1:15 last night. Etsuko had gotten a random phone call from one of our former classmates (we're talking like a year ago), who set up a meeting for her with Mig, the friend of KB's whose house KB stayed at when he was here in February/March. This was totally out of the blue, and Etsuko and I were intensely curious, because she isn't close to Mig at all -- in fact, has never exchanged more than a few words with him (his Korean isn't very good and her English isn't very good).

A little nervous, Etsuko urged me to come as well, and I ended up doing so after taekwondo class. I admit that I wanted to see Mig myself; he and I had a few early morning talks that I had enjoyed, and he was a link back to KB, after all (yeah, yeah, I know).

So we meet up with Mig and his friend in Shinchon, and go to a bar, and after a few moments, I learn that Mig and our former classmate had been drinking heavily when they decided to call some Japanese girl that had attended one of their parties some time ago. "Actually," Mig admitted sheepishly, "Etsuko isn't the girl I thought we were calling. But don't tell her that, okay?" (I'm going to tell her, of course.)

I can well imagine what went on that night -- Mig and his friend were sitting around getting trashed, when the fact of Mig's single status comes up. They dig around in their brains for a pretty girl to call, and settle on someone. Unfortunately, they don't know her number, so they have to call another old classmate of ours to get it. Then, Mig's friend, who knows Etsuko better than Mig, calls her up and arranges a meeting. Unfortunately, they've got the wrong girl.

Sounds like the synopsis for a routine Hollywood romance: Janeane Garofalo as Etsuko! Heather Graham as the pretty girl! And Donal Logue as Mig!

Donal Logue, with his oafish and beefy but good-guy image (though he's actually a Harvard grad -- no wait, that doesn't mean that he's not oafish and beefy. or a good guy), is a good match for Mig, but Janeane Garofalo isn't, on second thought, a good match for Etsuko. The reason why is that Janeane Garofalo seems smart, which Etsuko is, but she is also world-weary, cynical, and wise, which Etsuko isn't.

It doesn't come up often, probably because I have more Asian friends than western here, but at times I am stunned by the gap in experience betwixt the two spheres. Yeah, of course I can't really relate to Mig's childhood of shooting rabbits and deer and whatnot, but I'm vastly closer to their experiences and lifeview than Etsuko and Mayu, my Japanese friends.

For example: Mig explained that, where he grew up, people sometimes go out and shoot wallabees at night. Immediately, I think of cow-tipping (and how bored people must be to inflict death or injury on such easy prey -- the wallabees apparently freeze up when confronted with bright light at night). For Mayu and Etsuko, there's just no comparable act in Japan. For one thing, even officers of law don't carry guns here or Japan. (For the record, the Japanese think that all Americans carry guns around.)

Another one: Someone brought up drugs, which are very hard to find in Korea (no, not that I've looked). In Mig's country, though, like in the U.S., recreational drugs are very common. Heck, even I, the original wallflower in high school, had friends who smoked up then, and among my friends today back home, mighty few are those who have never experimented even once. But in Japan and in Korea? Nein.

And another one: That whole casual sex thing? No. Yes, of course it happens (Korea has a surprisingly high abortion rate), but there's a reason why I never talked about KB with my friends here -- sex isn't a topic of discussion. It just feels wrong. (Which is at odds with the very strange recent phenomenon of high school girls in Japan prostituting themselves to businessmen for money. I've heard it happens in Korea too. Where there's repression, there's a way.)

East is East and West is West, and to the East, the West contains sex-crazed, gun-toting drug-sniffers. Because that's what we are, of course.

------------------
Apropos of nothing

Twice in the past week I have been asked if I had a boyfriend and then, when I reply in the negative, the questioner says: "Why not?"

It is somewhat flattering, and I don't deny getting an ego stroke from it, but really, what are the possible answers to that question?

- I'm coming off a very bad breakup, and [sobs begin] I'm [sob] just [gasp] not [hiccup] ready [sob sob] to daaaaaaaaaaaaate!!!! [wailing begins]
- I'm having too much fun having wild monkey sex with -- gosh, how many men are there now?
- I'm a call girl, and having a boyfriend is distracting to my work.
- Um, I'm a man.
- My girlfriend isn't into threesomes.
- Because I'm repulsive, all right?!! No one in their right mind would want to date me! I'm a miserable excuse for humanity and men can sense that! [run bawling from the room]
- I'm saving myself for Prince William.
- I actually do have a boyfriend, but [look around cautiously] he's invisible.
- My ex is a drug lord with mafia connections and -- no, we're totally still friends! -- he kind of takes a brotherly interest in any new men I want to date. Come to think of it, I don't know why that would be a reason. [blink vacuously]
- I'm entering the sisterhood.
- Oh baby, are you offering?
- I find it difficult not to emasculate men with my rapier wit, lingerie model body, and stunning intellect. I can usually rope them in with my Kama Sutra-like knowledge of sexual positions, but after that... [heave deep sigh, drain drink, leave room]
- It's all because of that fuckin' incident with the knife in bed. Fuckin' media!
- I have been promised to the chief of my clan when I turn 16.
- The mothership has not yet signaled that it is time to acquire a mate.

Well, that's totally bizarre. My post from yesterday has been partially erased and replaced by someone complaining about their difficulties serving a military ministry post, apparently.

Huh.

I think I'll ignore it and hope that Blogger magically fixes it.

In the meanwhile, have you noticed that my posts have gotten less frequent but much longer? Yeah, me too. I used to write every weekday, a little blurb about something I saw, or a fun turn of phrase on a milk carton, if nothing else. Now, it's a long-ass entry or nada.

Heaven and fate

I went with Etsuko on Sunday to the World Cup Stadium in the northwestern part of Seoul -- the exact opposite of where I live -- and ate at the Carrefour (!) there, then strolled around one of several little park areas nearby. We climbed up Trash Mountain, which sounds like an amusement park ride, but is a wonderful example of ecological creativity; the mounthill (between a mountain and a hill) is made out of -- you guessed it -- trash. The top, unlike the steep and craggy natural Korean mountains, is level and expansive and covered with several types of long grasses, giving it a rather European feel, actually. I told Etsuko about the opening scene of Sound of Music and did a little Julie Andrews twirl myself.

The park at the top is called Heaven Park, and it it, I think, one of my favorite parts of Seoul. One of my other favorites is Olympic Park, where I used to walk everyday last year for several months. I'm such a nature girl inside.

We ended up going to Shinchon for chicken barbecue at the same place where KB, Borough, Maiko and I started our evening of trashedness (hey! trash!), which ended up, as you know, in the muddle of emotion I'm currently trying to wade across. And after dinner, we again went to play Ninja Assault at a nearby orakshil (amusement room/video arcade). That shoot 'em up business is fun! Ninja Assault, like my one and only true love House of the Dead, features goblin-like monsters rather than human foes, so I don't feel bad about mowing them down with my plastic gun of ninja vengeance.

I think the woman who runs the arcade recognized us, because Etsuko and I had gone to play Ninja Assault on Saturday night as well, in an attempt to forget a rather annoying fortunetelling experience. On Saturday afternoon, you see, in a fit of boredom, I went with Etsuko to see a fortuneteller. Fortunetellers in Korea don't hunch over crystal balls or deal out cards with pictures of people on 'em -- they take your birth year, month, day and time, and consult a book or a computer to figure out your fate.

We went to a saju cafe near Ewha Womans College (the area supposedly has the best fortunetellers) where a couple of these fortunetellers were entertaining customers. We saw a woman in her early forties, I would say, and didn't hear too much to please either of us. According to the woman, I appear to have leadership qualities, but am on the inside timid and shy; I don't have much luck in the way of men; I also don't have much luck in the way of parents; I have luck in surrounding myself with people who are willing to help me but I don't use that help; I should never go into business; the men I meet this year until September or so won't be good for me; and if I do get involved with a man come the fall, I won't be able to study very well.

On the up side, I do have an ability to study; I should go into teaching work or work involving speaking; I have luck in traveling overseas; and there is a possibility I will get married and have two children.

And finally, in the neither-good-nor-bad/I'm-not-sure-how-to-react-to-this category: constitutionally, I lack water so I should be sure to drink lots and to surround myself with water; the north and east are good directions for me (in relation to Korea); black and blue are good colors for me; I should go to [ ] rather than Mongolia in August; and I'm not really a westerner at heart. Yup, that's right, my fortune says I'm a tried and true Oriental, and that my husband, should one come about, will be also.

Etsuko also received the news that she doesn't have much luck in the way of men or parents, plus that it was a good thing she was far apart from her boyfriend this year.

Yeah, I know.

The family wagon

Pojangmacha, literally translated, means "covered wagon" -- the sort that traversed the American midwest in the 19th century, carrying whole families and all their worldly possessions (pojang = awning or curtain, ma = horse, cha = vehicle). Here, a pojangmacha is a street food vendor. In the old days, it was probably a wooden cart pulled by a horse, but now the carts are metal contraptions pulled by metal horses (cars, duh), covered with plastic tarps to protect vendor and customers alike from rain and snow. They range from simple one-cart affairs to family tent-size covered areas with tables and plastic stools, to massive barrack-sized outside I am taking the meeting at our Corps! This is worrying me. I have never been through a time like this, and hope I never do again.

I also read that usually God has a purpose for you during this time. It doesn't feel that way right now I can tell you. But I really do hope that's the case, because I want to learn something from all this that will be positive. One of the things that has been annoying and fuelling this time is the increasingly strained atmosphere between my officer and me (as CSM). There is no communication; she never asks my advice or brings Corps related decisions to me; and it seems I'm there to make her ministry look good.

So, I've made a decision: after the meeting on Sunday, and when the officer returns from her break, I will hand in my commission as CSM and remove myself from uniformed status. This sets me back three years, but I really think this is what she is trying to accomplish in many ways. It's a sad time, but it has to be done for my own sanity if nothing else. I love the people in the Corps and it breaks my heart to do this. I really felt things were going well between us, but it seems that power corrupts.

If you pray, then please remember me in those prayers this coming week or two. I really need them.

ou pray, then please remember me in those prayers this coming week or two. I really need them.

Do you really want to make me cry?

First, an hk haiku:

Oh new shoes, new shoes,
Why it is that you hurt me
When I love you so?

Thank you.

Well, I think I should probably explain the last entry (see today's earlier post below). Not that random drunkenness necessarily requires an explanation. But if I don't, what other triflings would I bend your eye with?

(Oh, just as a warning, this is sort of about KB. Yeah, it's an update too, but since KB's been on the mind, he pokes his head up throughout the post, which, in the course of its life, takes a couple chance meetings and extrapolates big and possibly illogical conclusions. It meanders through a couple days and the meaning of life and ends up winding itself around and around KB, until he's covered up in doubts, self-reflection, deep sighs, several cups of booze, indignation, and finally, a Gloria Gaynor-type dismissal. We can always hope the dismissal is of a lasting nature.)

After seeing bigbro and J1 to the airport yesterday morning (it seems like ages ago), my dad dropped me off at school, where I met Vivian, my Taiwanese friend, for lunch. In the cafeteria, though, I heard my name called out and turned to see Curly, KB's old housemate. Vivian generously asked him to sit down with us, even though he had finished eating and even though she and I haven't had a good talk in weeks.

Curly, who's attending graduate school here, is quite bored these days, since most of his friends have left for their homelands. He was quite close to KB and to Borough (their other white guy housemate), and both of them are gone.

(In an interesting side note, Borough left Korea last week, and Curly's interpretation of his departure was this: to escape having to deal with the consequences of breaking up with his Korean girlfriend. Borough and his girlfriend always seemed so in love when I saw them, but Curly said that her jealousy got on Borough's nerves -- he could never hang out with mixed company without her insisting on coming along, for example. Borough and his girlfriend were the couple whose lovey-doviness precipitated my confession of like to KB that fateful snowy night in March, because I saw their open affection and closeness and was reminded of how much I'd settled for with KB. And now, three months later -- poof. Over, gone. Have a nice life.)

So. Curly's bored and chatty, and I casually ask if he's heard from KB. He shakes his head slowly in mock disgust.

"KB called Sang-hui a couple weeks ago -- you know Sang-hui, right?"

"Uh, no."

"Really?" Curly looked quizzical, and then shrugged. "Well, he called Sang-hui last week, and when Borough and I complained that he hadn't called us, he said it was because we've been in email contact. So since then I haven't emailed him."

Curly adopted an air of petulance. I adopted an air of amusement.

And I asked myself, "Who the hell is Sang-hui?"

KB does not keep in touch very well; we all know that. But someone he actually took the time to call...? Who else could it be but the woman he'd fallen in love with?

After lunch, I went to my Chinese character class, where as usual, I enjoyed the concentration required to learn the complicated ideographs. After class, I went to study on the eighth floor lounge, and as I was studying, someone came in and said, "Hi, Helen." It was Rather Handsome British Man, from taekwondo.

"Have a seat! Drink your coffee!" I gestured to a seat next to me.

"I will, but I'm going to go have a smoke first," he said.

"Ooh, can I have one?"

"Sure!"

So we went to the smoker's stairwell and had about 5 between the both of us, while talking about the usual -- longterm residents of Japan and their rights; the difference between the terms "England," "Britain" and "UK"; being surprised by one's mother-in-law whilst lounging nearly naked in bed and picking one's toes; how hairiness was considered a sign of barbarity by the Japanese; Iris Chang's book The Rape of Nanjing. (Talking with RHBM always makes me feel so intellectual and well-read.)

This pleasant smoker's interlude was followed by Vivian arriving for our afternoon date, along with Gyung-li, the girl I visited in Beijing in January (Gyung-li was there to borrow some money from me). After Gyung-li left, Vivian and I started discussing whether I should go to KB's homeland or not.

"If you don't go, you might always wonder if you should have gone, or what might have happened if you had gone," she counseled. "You never know what's going to happen. You might see him and think, 'oh no, what was I thinking'!"

We laughed.

"Maybe I should just ask him what his expectations are," I wondered out loud.

Vivian shook her head. "No, don't do that, because then what can he say? He won't want to build your expectations or hurt you, so he won't say anything. Besides, that's the kind of thing you need to ask in person, so you can see the other person's face."

She paused for a moment. "You know, I was in a similar situation once, with a guy I liked a lot, who had a girlfriend. We got to be really good friends. We would spend the whole day together -- people thought we were a couple.

"We went abroad to study English -- he was in Florida and I was in Canada -- and I tried really hard to bring us closer and keep our friendship alive. For two years, I would be anxious whenever I sent an email, waiting for him to reply, and I would analyze his emails whenever he sent them. Finally, he eventually came to visit me, and he confessed that he liked me too.

"Unfortunately," she continued with a grin, "by then I had decided that enough was enough and decided to move on.

"Anyway, I'm telling you this because these things can work out. But if you don't go, then you'll never know.

"Just go," she advised. "Don't think about it too much. Just look at it as a trip to a nice country, and a way to see a good friend, and see how it goes."

I looked at her with, I'm sure, a comically tragic face. "I'm anxious about it. I don't want to go there and be completely disappointed and get all sad again like I was this spring."

"Why don't you write to him and tell him you'd like to visit, and ask when a good time would be? Then you can see how he reacts," Vivian suggested practically.

I brightened up. "You're a genius," I told her, "you problem-solver, you."

I left our conversation feeling cheered, but a few minutes after we parted, I suddenly realized something. Vivian was basing her advice on her past experience (which, as we already know, is no guarantee of future performance), and that past experience was rooted in an eastern culture. The funny thing about this whole KB situation is that the people here with whom I can talk know KB, but they come from Asian cultures, where, for example, the phenomenon of casual sex is not that widespread. The people in the States I can talk to about this probably have a better grasp of how KB thinks, but they don't know KB.

So I thought about Vivian's story, and how she'd been close with this guy with the girlfriend, etc., etc., and I suddenly realized, ya know, KB and I are not that close. We're not. We've never spent the entire day together. We've never been mistaken for a couple. KB himself pointed out that we had not spent that much time together, despite our sharing three classes over the course of a year.

I've been agonizing about going to see someone who was a glorified crush.

The problem, of course, was sleeping together. Not only just the last few days KB was here, but the handful of times I spent the night lying next to him last year when I stayed too late in Shinchon to catch the subway home. That kind of physical closeness distorted my perception of the relationship -- which was a nice, friendly sort of classmate closeness -- elevating it to something it wasn't. The final five nights KB was here completed the distortion.

I finally understand why sleeping with someone too early in a relationship is unadvisable -- it builds a false sense of intimacy. And that's exactly what I've been fooling myself with. The illusion of intimacy.

I kept thinking about this as I rode the subway to taekwondo class, which we ended a bit early in order to celebrate RHBM's February wedding and imminent departure from Korea. After class, we stood around and had fried chicken and beer. RHBM had brought a bottle of Chilean wine, which reminded me how nice it is to drink something soft and fruity instead of hard and malty or hoppy.

During the eats, I'm afraid we probably committed a faux pas by sneaking out to have a smoke outside -- it doesn't do to have the guest of honor slip out for 10 minutes. But I'd do it again, if only to collapse into shocked and highly amused laughter one more time when RHBM said "Excuse me" and proceeded to let loose a 10-second-long, fried-chicken and beer-inspired belch.

No, it really was 10 seconds long.

If the burp wasn't sign enough, I knew that RHBM and I were friends when he asked, "Do you want to get a beer somewhere after this? It's my last time in this area, after all." Mindful of etiquette (and unsure if he meant just me), I asked if he wanted to ask other people to come, and he agreed.

About 10 of us went to a karaoke bar, the same one we'd gone to a couple weeks ago, and our taekwondo master surprised me by telling me to please smoke comfortably in his presence (not too many 49-year-old Korean men would). So everyone alternated between singing in our given room, and sitting companionably in the hall, smoking. RHBM insisted that I sing Love Me Tender with him, which I did quietly, since I really don't know the song.

As the guest of honor, RHBM paid for the chicken and beer, which he expected to, but he didn't realize he'd have to pay for the karaoke place as well (I didn't know that either). Since he hadn't brought enough, I chipped in. We discussed going to a third place with everyone, but when I pointed out that he might be expected to pay for that too, that decided him.

"I wouldn't mind another beer, though, would you? Do you want to go somewhere and grab one?" he asked.

"Um, sure," I replied. Our taekwondo master said he'd see everyone off first, which meant several very, very awkward moments during which I volunteered that RHBM and I were going in the same direction and therefore would be going in the same cab, at which point someone piped up, "Wait, didn't you go in the opposite direction the last time? Don't you live in Kangdong-ku?"

"Uh, yeah," I stuttered in Korean, "well, uh, I don't know. No, I'm, uh, staying somewhere else tonight. I mean, I don't know." And with that eloquent declaration, I hurled myself into a cab.

You'd think RHBM and I were going to go off for a tryst or something, wouldn't you? Well, it was all very easy for HIM to play ignorant about rule of etiquette, but I definitely felt rude about continuing the night with the guest of honor without the group.

In any case, we went to Itaewon to a sports bar he knew, and sat around talking for the next two hours: Kerry's chances in the upcoming U.S. election, how to inspire people from disadvantaged communities to take advantage of federal programs, Michael Moore, what the hell Tony Blair is thinking, touchy-feely Korean brother-in-laws getting teary-eyed and grabbing one's hand and thigh during taxi rides, how there has to be another agenda for Britain's support of the war in Iraq, U.S. foreign aid to Israel, Irish Rovers, Jack Black, the costs of higher education in the UK and U.S., how an "American breakfast" is really an English breakfast and other things that Americans do that annoy the English, passing gas freely in public, and "sharts".

(If you don't know what the last item is, you don't need to. RHBM has a surprisingly great fondness for scat humor.)

He also thanked me for chipping in for the karaoke bar fee, to which I replied, "Well, I'll be sure to call in a favor sometime. When you're a high-ranking diplomat, I'll give you a call and say, 'Hey, remember that night at the karaoke bar in Seoul in 2004....?"

"...yeah, airlift me out of Zambia!" RHBM laughed.

Oh yes, and certain gutless fellows who fall in love and don't say anything to the object of affection. That was rather pleasing, and because it was so pleasing, I'll tell you how that part of the conversation went:

"So, do you have a boyfriend?"

"No. I told you that before."

"Sorry, but I couldn't help overhearing you when you were teaching English to your friends at school one afternoon. Someone asked you about your boyfriend, and you said 'No comment'."

"Oh, that was someone else."

"Really?"

"Yes, really! I don't have a reason to lie. I just don't have a boyfriend."

"Huh." Pause. "Why not?"

I rolled my eyes and shrugged wearily. "Ask the male population of Korea."

RHBM laughed. "Do your parents care if you marry Korean or not?"

"Nah, not really. But ideally I'd like it if my partner had some experience living in Korea or some exposure to Korean culture."

"Then maybe you should stay here; there's a smaller chance of finding someone with Korean experience in the States, isn't there? Except for Korean Americans."

"Yeah, maybe." I looked at him and considered. "Actually, I broke up with my longterm boyfriend about six months after I arrived here, and for a long time I didn't feel like dating. And then when I did, well, the pool of eligible candidates isn't very big."

"But the language school -- there's quite a diverse crew that goes there, isn't there? There wasn't anyone?"

Marveling at the pinpoint precision of RHBM's guess, I slowly said, "Well... there was someone..." I paused, trying to figure out how much to say. "... but he went back home."

"Ah," RHBM said. "Well, that's the problem, isn't it, with expats."

"Yeah," I said, still thinking. "Well, as I may never see you again, I'll tell you this: he's from [ ], right? And he was supposed to be here for another year, but he got a job back home, and decided to take it. But before he left, he came back for a visit for a few weeks, and we hooked up. But it turned out that he was in love with someone else, and had been for the past two years."

"So..." RHBM furrowed his brow, "he was still going out with her?"

I shook my head. "No, he never told her, because he didn't want to ruin their friendship."

RHBM's face took on an expression of puzzlement and disbelief.

"So, RHBM," I laughed, "this is the point in the conversation when you're supposed to assure me that this guy made a mistake, of course, because how could anyone choose someone else after meeting me? I mean, really."

Grinning, he replied in a teasing tone: "Well, of course, he clearly did, hk, because no matter how marvelous of a guy he is -- and he clearly must be if you think so highly of him --" (I laughed at this point and he broke up a bit too) "-- no matter how marvelous of a guy he is, he's probably not a guy you want to be involved with anyway, because he sounds just a bit ... gutless."

"I know, huh?" I said. "The funny thing is that he just emailed me last week and asked if I had any plans to visit [ ]."

"That's rather non-committal, isn't it?"

"Exactly! If he wants me to visit, he should say so! What's with this 'any plans to visit?' business?"

RHBM poked fun at me: "Right, and he should get it signed, sealed, and --"

"-- and notarized, damn it!" I finished, and we both laughed.

RHBM and I sat in the bar until 3 or so in the morning, finishing up with an Absolut vodka tonic (yum). Outside the bar, a cab was at the curb, and he told me to take it. "I'll probably see you at school next week."

"Yes," I said, "but in case I don't see you..." I trailed off, not sure what to say. I had a really great time getting to know you these past few weeks, and I hope we'll stay in touch? Thanks for a lovely evening and by the way, I really admire your guts in staying out til the wee hours with another woman when you just got married in February?

RHBM completed my thought smoothly, "I'm sure I'll see you. You usually study --"

"--on the eighth floor, right."

"-- and I'll be sure to get your email address then too."

"That would be nice," I beamed. He opened the cab door for me, laughed when I said with false emotion, "Ah, chivalry's not dead," and then I was off to home, thinking about how pleasant the night had been, and how nice it was to talk about serious and low-brow topics through the course of a conversation, and finally, how, when you take the physical stuff out of the equation, RHBM is a far better match for me than KB.

And with that, I let go of KB. Poof. Done, over, have a nice life.

(Please bear with me as I roll on the floor for several minutes, howling with laughter.)

Whew! Thanks. Look, of course it's not that easy. But -- the positive effect of pheromones and likker aside -- Thursday was an illuminating and oddly freeing day. KB is a crush who is more than a crush, and I still have feelings to sort through, but I'm carrying far fewer illusions about him now. I doubt I'll go see him, but I'd be really happy to have him as a friend.

Following Miss D's advice, though, I'm not gonna answer for a good long while, though. I may be gaining wisdom by the truckload here, but I'm proud to say I still have plenty of pettiness to go 'round. Whee!

I am a bridger of peoples! I am an example of an American the rest of the world doesn't want to throttle! I am warm and witty and and cute and smart! and I am charming! enough to drink until 3 am with a junior junior junior employee of the the Britihsh embassay until 3 am! yes, I reapeated 3 am -- twice! -- because it was 3 am when we left the bar! in Itaewon! after the karaoke bar! where i san g "Love me tender" with the junior junior junrio diplomat! who's married! and leaving town in two weeks! and whom I tought was rather handsome from the start! because he kind of is! and I'm going to see him at school next week when he'll be sure to get my email! so we can be the bestest friends -- internationally! and when he's an all-important English diplomat, I can call him up to airlift me out of Zambia because I chipped in for the karaoke bar when he was short! and bought him a beer!

and I'm totally not going to [ ] to see KB because I don't need that kind of fuckig heartache, and if KB wants to see me, he can damn well say so, and not beat around the fuckig bush! and also because if he didn't have the balls to confess his love for a woman after two years, then -- although he's no doubt a marvelous guy -- he's not worth it! yay me! i'm fabulous! screw that rotten mind-game-playin KB! he don't know a good thing when he sees it! whee! and... yeah! that's right!

and I'm very drunk

but not so drunk that I can't recognize that I'm drunk

only drunk enough to realize that I'm going to pay tomorrow.

today

But that last vodka tonic tasted so good.

!

PS. To the Ringleted One -- I'm sorry for thd runken phone call! and congrats on your new pad! and have a great party! if I were there, I'd definitely swim on your floor.

We're in the money (but soon we won't be)

I never used to understand the concept of retail therapy, but I get it now, because that's exactly what I've been doing these past couple weeks, with the 9 bras and multiple pairs of underwear and three tank tops and wrist sweatguard and track pants and pair of shoes.

I have to transfer trains on the way home from taekwondo at Wangshimli Station, and there's a cornucopia of shops down there selling cut-rate sandals and sneakers and handbags and knicknacks and books and sunglasses and hairbands and clothes. I never used to look at these subway vendors before, but in the past few weeks, I've started looking forward to my transfer, because I'll spend an hour in the subterranean shops, looking around and eventually buying something under $5.

Out of the maybe 10 times or so I've done this, I've only bought one thing that cost more than 5,000 won (USD$4.31), and that was tonight, with the 10,000 won (USD$8.63) pair of shoes. Because everything is so cheap, I don't feel bad about buying things, and because I don't feel bad about buying things, I tend to buy a lot (for me), and because I tend to buy a lot, I've unwittingly spent close to 40,000 won (USD$34.50). Now even I admit that that is a bargain, but -- wait. That really is a bargain. That's a frickin' amazing bargain. For under USD$35, I got 8 bras, 3 pairs of underwear, 3 tank tops and a pair of shoes (the other stuff I mention above I got at other places). What the hell am I beating myself up over? Shit, buy away, hk!

Oh, wait. I remember why. Because I got my financial aid package from Harvard. The thought of going into massive, massive debt led me tote up all the things I'd like to purchase before starting law school (computer, digital camera, a trip to Japan, electronic Korean-English dictionary, a trip to a certain English-speaking country where an erstwhile fling lives -- ha ha). I then calculated how much I would have in hand by the end of the summer if I didn't spend one won more than what I have in my little red wallet now.

As it turns out, there isn't much of a difference in the sums. Unfortunately, I kind of need that money to give to Harvard. Which means if I want those fun things, I'm going to have to take out a private loan to cover part of what I personally have to contribute this year (that's not counting the $26,500 in loans I'm taking out from the feds and Harvard!). Now you might say, well, what's another couple thousand when you're going to come out with $100,000 of debt anyway? And you'd have a point there. But being in debt, or even the prospect of being in debt, has a strange effect on me. I start worrying. I start pinching pennies. Or won. I deny myself things (which I didn't need, yes, but acquiring things is fun! say it with me boys and girls! buy buy buy! it's so jolly being a consumer!).

I came out of college with the full amount of federal debt you can get into as an undergrad, plus a thousand or so in credit card debt. I paid the card off in the first three months of work and have never carried a balance since. Paid the $20,000 in undergrad loans off in a little under 5 years, and for two and a half years, have grown increasingly secure and assured about buying things that I like or want, without scurrying into the beancounter's office in my brain and calculating how much that shirt or book would affect the amount I sent to the loaners that month.

In Korea, with so few expenses, I've become entirely spoiled. I basically swept my bank account clean to go on the trip to Southeast Asia, which became one of the most memorable and important parts of these past two years. I feel entirely free to take trips around Korea, buy things when I feel like it (of course, most things I want don't cost more than USD$8.60 or so -- more than that, I balk), treat people to meals on a whim. I haven't become a spendthrift by any means, but I've stopped being so damn nitpicky and stressed about spending money. It's a great, great freedom, and I'm really, really, really going to miss it.

And I have to ask, what the hell for? It'd be one thing to charge into the red so dramatically if you're sure that you want what you're buying. But I'm not sure, and I am entertaining Doubts (not just a nuclear family of 'em, but the whole freakin' clan), and the whole argument of "not wanting to regret not going" is starting to sound paler and paler. Sometimes I feel like I'm on the verge of figuring it out, what I'm supposed to be doing -- "supposed" my arse, I mean, what I want to be doing -- but I just can't seem to get my fingers around it.

It does seem rather late to be entertaining, doesn't it? I've two more months here. And the time for what I have been doing is over -- I'm done with language school, I'm ready to quit my job, most of my friends have already left, and that era is naturally closing. But there you have it. The Doubts that have overstayed, but that won't go away.

I'm going to go hug my new shoes now.

Of Trophies and Games

Went to my taekwondo buddy Olga's birthday party late last night, and saw a glimpse of the Spanish embassy life. Olga's Ukrainian, but her boyfriend is Spanish, and they live the beautiful life of beautiful people in their two-story house with a garden (unheard of in Seoul, at least for Koreans) behind the Spanish embassy. Olga is a stunning Russian beauty -- bright blue eyes, tousled tawny hair, golden skin, figure of a lingerie model. She majored in Spanish and (I think) met Javier in the Ukraine (apparently they had a house there too), and moved with him to Korea, where she gives private lessons and does the housewife thing, cooking lunch and dinner for Javier.

Forget the Foreign Service Exam -- I'm gonna get MARRIED to a diplomat! That's the real ticket. Well, except the cooking and stuff.

I went with a work colleague, and we only stayed an hour or so, but it was still very interesting. I sort of felt like I was in a different world. It reminded me a little bit of the parties that the Ringleted One has -- the guests varied widely in age and professional status. I usually feel a little awkward at those kind of parties, and by all rights should have felt really weird at this one, but I just sat in the garden, drinking my sangria and smiling at the sky, and felt happy.

It could have been the several glasses of liquor I had at dinner before the party, I suppose.

While eating cake, drinking sangria, and smoking Marlboros, I people-watched. There were two Latin-Korean couples there; in each, the man was fat and Latin and the woman was young (or young-looking) and slender and Korean. One woman said she used to work at the Chilean embassy in Korea, where she presumably met her husband. Another older gentleman, who kissed my and my colleague's hands when we came into the party (Ja-young was so funny: she whispered to me, "Well, even if there are no handsome men here, at least I got one kiss"), was German but spoke Spanish and some broken Korean. He was rather elegant-looking, with graying hair and a tall, trim build. He also had a girlfriend (wife?) who looked about 25 -- another Russian beauty like Olga, with white blonde hair and a dress cut down to there...

I just happened, I think, to be sitting with the age disparity couples, because there were other couples who were about the same age. On the way home, I asked Ja-young, my colleague, what she thought about the older man-younger woman couples, and she said, practically, "Well, I just think that they wanted something that their partner provided."
-------------------------
The TELL hk WHAT TO DO! game

Speaking of wanting, um, stuff, I have a fun and delightful task for you. Is it as fun as, say, whitewashing a fence? Even better, if you can believe it!

The thing is this: yesterday, I got an email from KB. A flirty, short email, two months after I wrote a flirty, long email. At the end of it, he asks (translated from the Korean):

"So, what are you up to these days? Do you have any plans to come to [oops, almost wrote the name of his country!] You know, to learn real English?

"Um... in any case... write back... I'm wondering.

"KB"

Your task (look ma! hk in seoul is going interactive!), should you choose to accept it, is to tell me what you think I should do. Should I make the farthest and most expensive booty call in history? Should I wise up and spare myself the inevitable heartache? Should I ask him what -- ahem! -- his intentions are? Should I propose a trip to Papua New Guinea instead? (I'm joking. Kind of.)

Let me know what you think on the guestbook. Your reward for playing the TELL hk WHAT TO DO! game? Why, the glory of having some input into the life of the most famous blogger who writes on Korea and has an "hk" in the title of her blog!

Oh, all right. I'll also buy you a bowl of kimchee stew (offer redeemable only in Seoul, Korea).

Oh, okay, so you don't get anything (unless you're in Korea, in which case, I will buy you the kimchee stew). But it is a chance to tell me what to do, which might be kinda fun for you, and helpful for me. Tell me by next weekend.

The Teen Beat Goes On

Eeeek! Squeal! Aaaaack!

Aaaaaaand... KB has finally written me back.

And it only took two months!

It just goes to show ya that life has a wicked sense of humor. Because yesterday, if I hadn't updated about the Tuesday Night O' Family Fun, I would have written about meeting British Man's Perfect Wife and realizing that hey, I don't actually hate her, and moreover, I've stopped looking at every pretty Korean woman with green lasers shooting out of my eyes, because I'm over KB. Over him!

Okay, not completely and totally I'd-shut-the-door-in-his-face-if-he-showed-up-cuz-I'm-SO-over-him kind of over him, but you know, your basic kind of "it was sweet and it was three months ago, and time to move on." No more walking down the streets of Shinchon feeling like the landscape was littered with memories, each of which dug little pincer-like claws into my heart. No more reading and rereading the last email, looking up at the heavens, and asking silently, "Why? Why? Why no response for five days/3 weeks/a month and a half? Why?" No more sitting in the subway and looking over the text messages that sum up the five-day fling and sighing heavily. And most tellingly, no more looking at pretty Korean women with hatred, wondering if the woman KB had fallen for shared any of the same characteristics.

I met Rather Handsome British Man's wife yesterday night when she came to taekwondo. It was sort of through my meddlesome ways that she was there; a couple weeks ago, I unknowingly let the cat out of the bag about RHBM's February marriage. It wasn't a secret, exactly, but RHBM and wife had kept it hush hush so as to try to keep the guest count down (even so, 420 people showed up where only 400 had RSVP'd yes). Well, in the course of a conversation about giving good memories to the foreign students in the class to entice them to come back to Korea, I absently mentioned to our taekwondo master that RHBM was likely to come back to Korea anyway, since his wife was Korean.

Our taekwondo master being the effusive good fellow that he is, put on a display of mock outrage and taking offense. I think he was genuinely just sorry about not having the chance to congratulate RHBM, but since RHBM has been taking lessons for about four years, it also contained a tinge of real indignation.

In any case, one thing led to another, and the master insisted that RHBM invite everyone over for drinks, so that they could all celebrate his marriage. So RHBM's wife showed up last night as a courtesy call, and I met her.

I mentioned before that RHBM met his wife in class, when he was her student. (She was teaching foreigners Korean.) He mentioned something about her growing up all over the world as her father was transferred from place to place, so I suspect that she's part of the Korean nobility, as it were -- her father is probably an executive at one of the huge conglomerates, and she can speak English and Korean fluently (English with a barely discernible and unplaceable accent), so Korea is basically her playground.

Anyhoo. I introduced myself as knowing RHBM from language school, she said she'd heard a lot about me, I apologized for not keeping my mouth shut, she laughed about it and suggested I help her cook for the gathering as punishment, I said that would be punishing for others as well as for me, and blabbity blah blah, pleasant small talk. She is this perfect, delicate doll of a woman, big eyes and long hair and red high-heeled sandals and all, but with a charming openness. I rather liked her. I'm happy for them. And I didn't feel a twinge of resentment.

I DO so like it when I'm not bitter.

Absentia Explanum

With bigbro being in town, I didn't have much time to update in the past three days or so, but here I am, okay? Ouch! Stop that! Hey, I mean it. Cut it out! Jeez. You MUST chill.

Oof. Hungry. It's 11:40 pm, and I got back from taekwondo about an hour ago. I should have gone to sleep, but I felt all guilty and shite about not updating. I'm reminded of Matthew and Robin, the American pastor couple, who Wendy and I met on our amazing kayak trip in Halong Bay, Vietnam. They were making their way through India, China, SE Asia and parts of Australasia and South Pacific, and kept up extensive journals, separately. They'd go off to update, sometimes for two hours or more each day. Robin showed our group parts of her journal -- she'd draw pictures of things she'd seen, cut and paste photos or parts of adverts, and of course write and write. "Yeah, I'm kind of a slave to my journal," she said in her slight Northwestern drawl, smiling.

(Hey, I'm just telling a story. It doesn't MEAN anything.)

(Heh.)

Anyway. bigbro and J1 arrived on Tuesday, and I met up with them and dad and grandmum at the temple that our grandfather helped set up. We paid our respects to granddad, ate some temple food, and then headed home, where we hung out a bit. Then, after the grannies went to bed, we all went out: me, J1, bigbro, and dad.

We strolled through the alleyway market, keeping an eye out for a pojangmacha (an outdoor food vendor tent where you can sit down), but none were to be found. So we defaulted to a bar with a most promising name: "The Day to Fall into Alcoholism." (No joke.) And drank. And talked. And smoked.

The family that smokes together stays together.

We tottered out, full of beer, soju, peanuts, dried squid, and Korean ring crackers, and went up a block to a karaoke bar, where we belted out various songs in both Korean and English. I provided the contemporary aspect of the evening, with the five relatively recent Korean songs I know. Dad, after an initial hesitancy that I can't decide was genuine or not, busted out some classic Korean songs, the kind that require much heartfelt vibrato and closing of the eyes while standing up at the end of the song due to the overwhelming emotion sweeping over the singer. bigbro and J1, who are damn good singers (who knew?), sang, among others, "Endless Love," complete with Diana Ross-like breathiness and Lionel Ritchie-type smoothness. They had obviously done this before.

The family that sings together stays together.

After an hour and a half, we had two minutes left on the clicker, and I frantically flipped through the English songs, looking for the perfect song to end the evening. And, if I may say, I definitely found it. J1 and I did our best to imitate the inimitable: "Well shake it up baby/ Twist and shout/ Come on, come on, come, come on baby now/ Come on and work it on oooout," while my dad suddenly got up and started boogying. Well, insofar as he boogies. Let's call it a gentle kind of boogying. I wasn't looking that closely anyway.

Was it the soju? The last glass of beer in the karaoke place? That kooky sense of humor? Or maybe just happiness that bigbro and I and J1 and he were all together? Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that bigbro was still sitting on the seats, while the three of us were belting out the tune, and while I didn't see his expression, I'm sure all four of us were feeling and thinking the same thing.

The evening didn't end there; we went home and tried grandmum's pine and berry soju (tasty!) busted out some fancy Scotch that J1's dad had bought for our dad (gross, but I freely admit that I have no appreciation for dark liquors. Unless they're dark with pine and berry extract). bigbro and dad started talking about bigbro's business, and J1 and I, after signalling that we were b-o-r-e-d by the b-i-z-t-a-l-k, slipped out and finished off the cigarettes. We finally went to bed around 3 am.

Ooh, and speaking of late hours, my, it's past midnight. Must to bed -- I took Wednesday afternoon off from work to roam around with the guests, and have to make it up tomorrow morning by going to the office by 9. In the morning!