Ode to Guilbeaux

Ode to Holidays

2008-10-03T23:35:00.000-07:00

The last day of my fall break has officially come to a close. I still have two more days until I start back up with class, but Saturday and Sunday don't count because I usually get those days off. We got but a morsel of a holiday back at the beginning of September, but I was so caught up in the novelty (and cruelty) of law school that I forgot what an important holiday that week was: Fashion Week.

I don't really have a great fondness for Fashion Week. It seems even more trivial that we've got such pressing issues at hand. Never mind the fact that it's a billion dollar industry with a trickle down effect that plays an integral role of EVERY clothed person's life. But it really isn't something I mark on my calendar. I just happen upon style.com and lo and behold I find that I've got a week's worth of mindless clicks. "Next, next, next..." all the way through every single collection. I think if I look at them fast enough, I'll be able to get a better idea of the continuity that the designer was trying to get across in his or her collection. Clicking that fast also makes me feel like there's some greater power over me while I peruse these sites--a compulsion of sorts.

So a lot of people ask me what kind of style I like. For some reason, I always cringe when someone says I'm "trendy" or that I look like I shop at Urban Outfitters. No sartorial pretension here! Trust me. Just a tick I have. But here are some of my favorite looks dating all the way back to the summer when the European men's shows started and I had another welcome distraction from grading papers in Korea. Since I KNOW all of you guys care so deeply about what I would spend my nonexistent, currently-in-severe-debt, money on.

So if you ever see me sporting TWO belts or wearing black hot pants...now you know.

Ode to a Room with a View

2008-10-02T10:24:00.000-07:00

This has been really hard for me. This getting up, clicking on "Sign In," typing something that's worthy of my incredibly intelligent and literary minded blogospeers.

So I'll just give you a glimpse of what I get to see every morning.

Remember that view of the Golden Gate Bridge I'd had back in April on my walk down from a Berkeley dinner. That view that sealed the deal and made me believe that the Bay Area would be my home for the next three years?

Say hello to Sigma Chi.

Ode to Updates

2008-06-28T18:25:00.001-07:00

It's been a long time, so I'll just jump right into it.

My mind is now consumed by two things: 1) What will I eat for lunch/dinner? 2) How many essays must I grade for the next day?

This made much easier by essays such as the following:

Prompt: Do you agree or disagree with the following statement? THE GOVERNMENT SHOULD PUNISH PEOPLE FOR BEING TOO FAT.

Response: The government should not punish people for being too fat...because they are not harming anybody.

Support: "Oprah Gail Winfrey one of famous tv talk show MC. She is one of fat person. She didn't give harm to me. And she will not give a harm to us."

OPRAH-GAIL-WINFREY.

So I didn't think Oprah talked about Gail THAT MUCH, but for the occasional Oprah Show eavesdropper, do Oprah and said BFF become 1????

Ode to Singapore Airlines

2008-05-29T15:38:00.000-07:00

I have waited 2 years for this moment. Ever since I read that Singapore Airlines nabbed the coveted "Best International Airline" award, I've been dreaming of transcontinental flights in the lap of economy class luxury. The day finally arrives and I am ready to be wowed.

Twelve hours from San Francisco to Seoul and I haven't slept a wink. Ok, so I slept for about an hour, but I'll explain later. Calling Singapore Airlines the best international flight may be a bit of a stretch. In my books, it will forever be the airline that made me want to stay awake. They wine (not so much dine) you and entertain. They being Krisworld, their in-flight entertainment system. Now, I come from a house with no high speed internet or cable, so the act of such "surfing" doesn't quite apply. It's more like limited channel selection or checking my email in haste before someone might make a phone call. Singapore Air's Krisworld lives true to its name; it really is ON-DEMAND. This is one hyphenated word that I thought reserved for Business or First Class on my previous Korean Air and American Air flights. A vast array of movies, television programs, and countless FULL-LENGTH albums, all at the demand and command of my index finger and thumb.

Start off the evening with an episode of 30 Rock, followed by 2 more of Sex and the City, a throwback to an episode of Arrested Development, an even further throwback to a frustrating match of Tetris, and finally an embarrassing bout of trivia that scores and lists your name in a database on the flight. Yes, Paul in 33C got 0/10 correct.

Now to settle in for a movie. Or two. Or three, if time permits!

This year's Oscar winner for Best Foreign Film. I love me a good reading of subtitles so I had pretty high expectations for the one deemed the best of the past year by the Academy. Maybe it was the fatigue, maybe it was occasional interruption by the flight crew to announce meals or alert passengers of turbulence, but I was a disappointed. It could also have been the fact that Holocaust movies don't usually sit so well in my stomach, or heart. I couldn't even get through The Pianist. I couldn't take the heaviness at the wee hours of the night, in bed, with the laptop so close to my eyes. It could have been the same with this one. An interesting story, an interesting protagonist (Schindler doesn't have to be the only hero!) but I was eager to get on with the next film in Krisworld's library.

The Counterfeiters: ***1/2

Remember that one hour of sleep I got? Purely the result of a computer freeze. The music stayed on so I settled nicely into Janet Jackson's Design of a Decade, but then the music stopped. After a quick nap, I ring up the flight attendant and he brings me back to life. Krisworld is back! And I'm not taking any more chances. Onto the next movie...

Following a somewhat disappointing run at my first foreign film, I decide to give this French one a shot. Another release that slipped out of my grasp due to my stay in Korea, this one had been on my mind for a while. This one got the Golden Globe, but quite frankly, who cares about the GG. Eddie Murphy sure didn't when he was snubbed of his Oscar. Oscar, or no Oscar, this film was incredible. I won't go on a long tirade of why I thought the artistry worked and how incredible the story is. You must see it.

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly: *****

Thank you Singapore Airlines for making my recovery from jet lag that much harder. It was well worth it. And while I must say I felt a bit perverse kicking back red wine to unabashed European nudity and condom etiquette on Da Ali G Show next to a young child, I look forward to the programming that awaits in July.

Ode to Sunshine

2008-05-06T12:15:00.000-07:00

A recent gift from cyberspace has nestled in my brain and is slowly beginning to colonize my hippocampus. Translation: this song has been looping non-stop ever since I purchased it from iTunes. I think it has something to do with the hand claps.

Readers, get ready to walk away from whatever you're doing, clapping your hands, and heel-clicking down your cul-de-sac.

Enjoy!

"Another Day" - Jamie Lidell

Ode to Getting Older

2008-04-29T12:05:00.000-07:00

When I first heard about Young@Heart, I knew I had to see it immediately. I also knew that it would be the perfect movie to see with my parents without any anxiety over complex storylines or sexual content. But my mom has a tendency to forget the names of things, so from the first time I mentioned it to her, it was henceforth referred to as “The Old People Movie.”

“Mom, the movie’s at 2 pm on Sunday.”
“Which movie?”
“The Old People Movie.”

“Hey, I read another review about the Old People Movie.”
“Which one is that?”
“The one with the old people. They sing.”
“Oh yeah. That looks good. When are we seeing that?”

After seeing this movie, I have to say that it was perhaps the best 2 hours that I have spent with my parents. 2 hours of not saying anything to each other save for occasional comedic commentary in Korean and the stifled snickers of my dad, who tends to laugh and say things to the screen when no one else does.

No, I am not alluding to the fact that my parents are senile because they aren’t. They’re just weird. But I have had “the talk” with my dad. You know, the one where he talks about how he doesn’t have much time left and how I will be responsible for my brother when he’s gone. We’ve yet to cover the birds and the bees. So the thought of my parents truly being old has crossed my mind.

I digress. You must see this movie. You will be reaffirmed of the power of music, and you will also realize that getting older just means that the body is beginning to realize that it can't contain the greatness that is the human spirit.

Young@Heart: *****

Ode to Bears

2008-04-16T08:57:00.000-07:00

UC Berkeley School of Law - Boalt Hall
Candidate for JD, 2011

Ode to Chicks that Kick

2008-04-16T08:53:00.001-07:00

If any of you have seen Almodovar’s All About My Mother, you must be familiar with his extensive use of The Streetcar Named Desire in that film. I didn’t know if it had any direct connections to Almodovar’s storyline but Almodovar did mention how he wanted his film to be a celebration of actresses, hence Streetcar. After watching Streetcar, I definitely agree with him on the strength of these actresses.

Don’t get me wrong. the men were also fantastic. I have yet to see enough to marvel at the “genius” that is Brando, but I think the Academy glossed over him (the sole nominated actor NOT to receive an Oscar) because it was just too hard to understand what he was saying. Maybe it was the dialect, but half of his lines sounded like an ailing automobile whining over its 200,000th mile. Kudos on a strong performance, but perhaps a diction lesson or two from Henry Higgins is in order.

Watching Vivian Leigh, I think it's safe to say that actors just don’t act like that any more. As per one of those ambiguous moments, I had a hard time wondering where they were taking her at the end of the movie (I hope I didn’t spoil that for anyone!), because—I’l just say it—Vivian Leigh is wacko in this movie. A very focused wacko, but I get the feeling that if she were my neighbor, I would be obsessed with spying on her through the blinds, while never actually talking to her face to face, for fear of getting stuck in a long winded conversation about nothing. Either that, or she would most likely mack on me or my younger brother hardcore (again, I hope I didn’t spoil anything for anyone!).

A Streetcar Named Desire: ****1/2

I’m sure if I read the play and return to this film, I will give it a resounding 5 stars.

Ode to Chicks and Flicks

2008-04-09T12:01:00.000-07:00

If I’ve run into you within the past 4 months, chances are I’ve told you about how much I loved the movie In Her Shoes I probably told you about how I cried a lot at the end, and how even if you hate Cameron Diaz, it was ok because you’re kind of supposed to hate her in this one. If you hadn’t seen it, I probably told you to go home right away and rent it, and if you told me you’d already seen it, I probably told you to go home and rent it again because you’d missed all the great stuff that I found so wonderful about it.

What can I say? I’ve fallen for this genre, and I’ve fallen hard. But I hate the term “chick flick” because these days it has the connotation of some terrible film that a girl drags her boyfriend along to so she has an excuse to make “date night” a reality. All of you know how much Kate Hudson irks me on film, and how I loathe Mandy Moore on screen; they’re two of the reasons why I don’t like “chick flicks.”

Among the many dollar-theatre worthy selections, there lie a few highlights, and now I’ve added another alongside In Her Shoes and Bridget Jones’ Diary: The Jane Austen Book Club. I’ve yet to read the book, but I never considered myself much of an Austen fan. I used to scoff at Becky and her desire to watch the complete BBC Pride and Prejudice, and I envied Colin Firth for so effortlessly becoming the heartthrob of literary minded females everywhere. But this one was definitely a pleasant way to spend two hours.

I’ve always found it much more entertaining to watch a group of strong and interesting females than males, and based on film and tv viewership, I think the rest of America would agree. When chicks come to flicks, it’s ok to be confessional, ok to be a wreck, and even when things don’t end up ok, the women I admire so much in film these days seem all the better for their journeys. I think my favorite of the book club members would have to be Maria Bellow’s character. Maria Bello is, in my opinion, seriously underrated, possibly because I just can’t shake her from my memory of Coyote Ugly. Those of you who have seen this can agree or disagree with me.

Sure some of the story lines of the characters are less than believable, but if this little film can make me believe that there is a little bit of my own Austen-baggage in my own life, then I think it definitely succeeded.

The Jane Austen Book Club: ****

If you’re looking for another flick with chicks with a little less overarching narrative, then I would highly recommend is Nine Lives. No, I didn’t cry in it, but you will love it nonetheless.

Ode to Around-ing the World

2008-03-29T09:07:00.000-07:00

How appropriate that after my trans-pacific, cross-continental travels I watch a man and his minority sidekick accomplish the feat in a mere eighty days. I have to admit, I had no interest in the movie other than the notable Oscar in the corner (winner for best picture in 1957) and the elaborate drawing of the hot air balloon on the DVD cover. I have a soft spot for hot air balloons and journeys made therein; Pippi Longstocking did it and so did this French guy in a children’s book I love so dearly.

I’ve had this desire to see every best picture. Something about the Oscar label makes me think watching that film can be a nice snapshot of film in that year, and a good 2-hour investment of a somewhat timeless cinematic experience. A best picture of one year will surely be considered notable for years and years to come, right?

It seems, however, that those years do have a limit. Never mind the sexually charged, perpetually tardy, “ethnic” sidekick (Passepartout is supposed to be Latin?) contrasted with the uptight, painfully punctual, libido frozen Brit Phileas Fogg. And never mind that Shirley MacLaine played an Indian (yes INDIAN) princess. I thought the movie was…dare I say it, boring. I understand that the film was made in a different era, made in the fashion of a genre with strict rules. But watching these three tackle one national obstacle after another, I might as well have been watching a home video of my relatives in Korea battling for the remote

I understand where the movie is coming from and making this film must have truly been an achievement back in 57. Released in a time when people were preparing to send people out into space, the filmmakers must have been aiming for Jules Verne's theme of possibility in all things impossible (I haven’t read the book, actually, so I could be totally off, but that’s what I gathered from the film’s introduction). But to me, this grand and truly timeless theme Verne put forth in his novel definitely did not translate here. It was just, the British guy, the ethnically ambiguous guy with a Mexican accent, and Shirley where’s-your-red-hair MacLaine in traditional Indian garb running through one continental diorama after another.

Around the World in Eighty Days
***

Ode to Recovery

2008-03-06T21:23:00.000-08:00

It’s funny what a difference a small sandwich, fresh fruit, and a small travel-size bottle of wine can make. Well into the PM I now feel much better, if not just a tad bit apprehensive about my impending 11 hour flight. But only 11 hours! I just dipped my foot into Anna Karenina in my last flight from Seoul to Tokyo and it seems promising.

Now I just have to contemplate how many days after my previous post I should post this one. I’m still too cheap for internet, so I will most likely be in NYC by the time this makes it to the cybersphere.

P.S. I am, indeed, in NYC and have just had my first law school reception. More later. Maybe.

Ode to Disaster

2008-03-06T06:10:00.000-08:00

I just got done talking to my friend Ahrum about my love-hate relationship with Korea. She, too, has a love/hate relationship that’s souring more on the hate side at the moment, but we always pull ourselves out of it. That’s how we misanthropes work.

After all the ups, downs, and side-to-sides, I’m really sad that I have to leave the country in this condition. I have just endured the most arduous morning of my entire life. Overdramatic? Ok, perhaps the most arduous morning of my life-long travelogue.

This was supposed to be a winter when I did things on my own. I frequented my relatives every now and then, cooked a ramen now and then, and worked out everyday. Don’t expect to see any noticeable results. I used the gym as an excuse to don shorts, listen to music, and grunt in spin class. But also for the first time, I made it to the airport all by myself. Or at least that’s how I’d planned it.

Tentative plans: 1) Check-in large luggage at nearby COEX airport terminal. 2) Have breakfast at my mom’s aunt’s restaurant right across the street at Samsung Station. 3) Return to apartment and tidy up. 4) Drop off key at Hoyah and walk to the bus stop about 1 block away with my backpack and suitcase.

The turnout: True to form, I tried to stay up all night watching tv and movies in order not to wake up too late. I also didn’t have a cell phone, which mean no alarm clock. 1) Fell asleep at around 4 am. I think my body was still winding down from going out to Club Day on Friday. 2) Wake up at 8 am feeling like a car has just run over me slowly. 3) Take my 2 large suitcases down two steep hills in order to catch a taxi on the main street. One of my bags must not have been packed properly because it kept on turning over as I rolled it down the hill. This made for an immensely frustrating (but probably quite hilarious to bystanders) experience. I actually saw people snickering at my fit of expletives and resorting to just dragging my bags down the hill. 4) Take a taxi to COEX only to find out that they only cater Korean Airlines and Asiana. I’m flying Japan Airlines. 5) Return to apartment only to repeat the entire process down to Hoyah where my “boss” helped me take my luggage to the bus stop.

After a prompt arrival at the airport, things should have been ok. After all, whenever you arrive early, that’s ALWAYS a good sign. Of course there are luggage issues and I have to rearrange my belongings, moving them from one suitcase to another. I know I tend to overreact a lot, but for some reason, going through that process of unzipping my suitcase for the world to see, even if there aren’t flashy undergarments to hide, seems like a complete violation. Like I have to drop my pants for a medical examination at Terminal 3. I know. Overreaction.

To top it all off, Incheon airport is apparently cracking down on carry-on luggage weight. This resulted in my having to pay over $100 to check in my small suitcase. This is criminal! I blame this all on my relatives who sent a year’s supply of dried seaweed and pungent chili pepper paste. No room for my recently acquired purchases –which by the way I am VERY satisfied with.

So here I sit once again waiting for another flight across the Pacific, my macbook succumbing to my fingers of fury over this incredible morning that has just passed before me. I was trying this whole new “positive-in; negative-out” mantra during my spin class because someone here told me I was too negative. So I have to sit here and think that somehow this whole experience will benefit me later on in life, when I’ll look back, chuckle, and say “wasn’t that funny?” Yeah, maybe in my next life as a piano mover.

Ode to "The Best Movie of the Year"

2008-02-15T23:39:00.000-08:00

While film audiences in the United States cheered for this year's "Little Ms. Sunshine," I sat in my room in Korea wishing there was some other English programming on instead of Deal or No Deal. On an evening stroll, I came upon a dvd stand on the street and lo and behold, the film Roger Ebert earnestly proclaimed the best film of the year. So yes, I had high expectations. I'd seen the previews. My friends loved it, the press loved it, America loved it!

So for just a moment, please allow me to be very un-American.

This movie definitely had all the signs of a good "quirky" movie: indie music, cute animations superimposed over the footage, witty dialogue. But did anyone else feel like this was Gilmore Girls on crack?? I'm sorry, but all that witty banter and jaunty dialogue just did not sit well in my stomach. Yes it was directed by Jason Reitman who also directed Thank You for Smoking, but somehow, the nonchalant dialogue and quirkiness worked better for me in Thank You for Smoking than in Juno. Ellen Page irked me a bit in the previews and I was reassured that she was adorable and would evoke the desire to wrap your arms around her and her big pregnant belly (both by my friend AND Roger Ebert!). I tried. I really did. But put Juno in a room with Rory Gilmore and I would probably dig out both of my cochleas and throw one at each of them.

I didn't hate the movie. I enjoyed it. I laughed out loud--a first in quite some time. And Page's performance was quite impressive. No I didn't want to be her friend but I did want to hand her a tissue when she had her breakdowns and went into labor. And Michael Cera! Is anyone else sick of Michael Cera playing Michael Cera in EVERYTHING that he's in? I'm sure he's a cool guy and all, but come on! Do something edgy! Play gay! Do SOMETHING ELSE! Please!

And don't get me started on the music...

Enough of that. I think everyone else in this film has been horribly overlooked. Allison Janney is always hilarious and her husband played a freaky white supremacist on Oz. And Jason Bateman and Jennifer Garner. Jennifer Garner has always passed me like a slice of bland cheesecake, but I was impressed with her in this. If I wanted to extend my arms to anyone in embrace, it was Jennifer.

So for my first film of 2008, I award Juno 4 out of 5 stars. I'll give it credit for the one or two Oscars it'll take home, but a far cry from any best-of-the-year film in my opinion.

Juno: ****

Ode to Comebacks

2008-02-15T23:15:00.000-08:00

This time it's for real. Two new years celebrations, one valentine's day, a journey through a little inspiration and a dive into the black hole, it's time to wax lyrical about all things important and unimportant. I have two more weeks in Seoul and these past couple months have felt like an eerie deja vu of Spain 2007. Except the movies aren't as good. The initial craziness surrounding law school acceptances has passed and I continue to obsess over law school internet forums. One can only read about how "great the people are" at every law school for so long. Immediately after returning home in March, I'll be starting my cross-country trip to visit some of you all and those schools that I poured so much of my heart and pocketbook into this past year.

After reading an article by the Newsweek film critic I was inspired to keep a film journal of every movie I watch. I watched some incredible films last year and regret that I won't be writing about those any time soon, but perhaps I'll see them later in life with a whole new perspective. That said, I haven't written a lick about any movie I've seen in this year of the rat.

So...

Ladies and gentlemen...

Alert the masses...

The film journal starts....

NOW.

But first!

An ode to the best comeback so far:

First a comeback; now for a throwback...

Ode to Country

2007-12-13T17:17:00.001-08:00

Quite possibly the sexiest song I've heard in a while.

Josh Turner - "No Rush"

It's up there with this one:

Ode to Comebacks

2007-12-12T05:54:00.000-08:00

I blame it on the writers’ guild strike. But since Broadway has been resurrected, I feel I should do my part to push the rest of prime time tv writers to end all this. That and the fact that I’m waiting yet again in Terminal D of DFW International Airport waiting for my flight to Seoul via Tokyo. Unlike Cheryl, I’m too cheap to pay for internet at the airport so you’ll be reading this long after I’ve endured a full day of traveling.

That’s right. I’m coming/going back to Korea. This really is the last time. I’ve got a life you know. The blog may not be very representative of that but I’ve got plans. For once. August is set—now I just need to know where. I have grand plans for Buenos Aires or Scandinavia after my law school tour taking the lessons learned from Spain 2007. I may even buy my own car. Baby steps be darned; I’m jumping milestones.

Does anyone have tips for flight anxiety reduction? I’ve flown so many times it’s not even funny. And yet, every time I board that plane, it really isn’t funny. I get that guttural cough stemming from the nervous juices brewing in my stomach. I watched a video clip on the new york times about people whose flight anxiety prevented them from every flying. They were guided through a program that concluded with a cross-country flight. The participants would all support each other, kind of like a lamaze class. I want someone like that here now. I’ve got one in my bag; his name is Advil PM but he has proven unreliable in the past.

The head of the plane is staring me straight on. Three LSG Sky Chefs truck unload our on flight meals. Instead of the direct Korean Air route, I opted for the much cheaper American Airlines. I hope the food is good. I already know that there is no complimentary alcohol. A margarita sounds really good right now but I think I’ll welcome Mr. Sandman with the pill. The sky carries a most welcoming and advantageous blue and here’s that feeling I have when I’m leaving the ground that rumbles all the way to my house 15 minutes away. It’s a strange feeling, but one made much better when I know that I’ll be coming back in 3 months to an uncertainty that for once isn’t all that frightening.

Ode to Action Heroes

2007-10-11T09:26:00.001-07:00

Mom sits on the floor up against one couch and I recline in the other. This is what my whole lotta nothin consists of these days. Thursdays and Sundays are always prime nights for television and if I’m not working, the other nights are filled with random surprises. The other night featured an old Korean drama dvd that my mom missed out on when we lived in Los Angeles.

Before the opening credits began, a blue screen came up with a bunch of scrolling Korean text. I saw the number 15 and my mom said something that involved the number 15. I should mention that a lot of my Korean comprehension relies heavily on context clues. Speak out of context and I won’t understood a single word you say. Immediately I understood this all to mean that after 15 viewings the dvd would self destruct in the dvd player. It happened on Mission Impossible, and that disc self-destructed in a sizzle of smoke after just one play.

I asked my mom in disbelief. She squinted her eyes and threw her head back in laughter. The sad part is that for a split second I honestly said to myself, “Hey, that could actually happen.” My mom continued cackling and didn’t have to say a word for me to realize how ridiculous I was.

Somehow, my boring old, suburban self thinks up these bizarre Hollywood plots in the most mundane situations. Every scenario becomes a worst-case scenario with an elaborate escape plan. What happens if my Cressida goes out of control on a bridge and I crash into the water below? I’ve thought about that, and I’m stuck at figuring out how long it would be before the water pressure kept me from being able to open my door. Airplane emergency landings? I’d grab my clarinet from under my seat and fend off the flight attendants who demand that I leave it behind as I glide down the inflatable slide. This explains why I’m a pretty cautious driver and a border line alcoholic on overseas flights.

The 15 was merely a reference to the recommended viewing age. PG-15. My reasoning skills in such a situation make me doubt my future success in any law school. But right now as I approach the waiting game of law school acceptances/rejections and my friends continue to shake and move, I’ll hold on to my fantasies. Besides, who wants a rated G-life?

Ode to Soundtracks

2007-09-23T12:12:00.000-07:00

Do people still purchase movie soundtracks? The latest soundtrack that I can think of with any widespread appeal was Titanic and before that The Bodyguard. I was quite the fan of the Magnolia soundtrack with all Aimee Mann, but I don't think that caught on quite like "My Heart Will Go On." I'm feeling a little karaoke coming on...

If your life was a movie, what would be the soundtrack?
Instructions:

1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that's playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don't lie and try to pretend your cool... & a lot of the songs fit with
the setting

Opening Credits:
The Feeling – I Want You Now

Waking Up:
Sheryl Crow – My Favorite Mistake

First Day At School:
Keane – Put It Behind You

Falling In Love:
Rent: Original Broadway Cast - Finale

Fight Song:
Scissor Sisters - Ooh

Breaking Up:
The Dixie Chicks – Am I the Only One (Who’s Ever Felt This Way)

Prom:
98 Degrees – Because of You

Life:
Brooks & Dunn – You’re Gonna Miss Me When I’m Gone

Mental Breakdown:
Kenny Chesney – She’s Got It All

Driving:
Real McCoy – Come and Get Your Love

Flashback:
Robin Thicke – Got 2 Be Down

Getting back together:
John Mayer – My Stupid Mouth

Wedding:
Coldplay – God Put a Smile Upon Your Face

Birth of Child:
Beck - Ramshackle

Final Battle:
Norah Jones – The Long Way Home

Death Scene:
‘NSync - Celebrity

Funeral:
Schumann – Fairy Tales

End Credits:
Schubert: Octet in F major

Now I'm not much for these types of internet surveys, but a couple of my friends did it and I was intrigued. A couple confessions. 1) The first song that came up was one that I was far too embarrassed to put on here. So yes, I lied a little bit but keeping that part of my dignity means more to me than "pretending to be cool." 2) A couple Korean songs came up and I just didn't think that would be appropriate for my English-speaking/writing/reading audience.

I'm quite pleased. Breaking Up, Mental Breakdown, and Getting Back Together are nice serendipitous touches. Death Scene? Not so much.

Ode to Boyhood

2007-09-22T09:32:00.000-07:00

Completely and utterly shameless.

Three things to say:

1) You too can purchase my entire outfit for right around $100. (I think quite a departure from perhaps some of the other entries on there).

2) I was checking out an item to my left at the flea market that I hadn't quite gotten to yet.

3) Said item was purchased. Yes, it looks ridiculous, and yes, it may be a woman's shirt. But I'm going to find some place to wear it.

Ode to Chicago

2007-09-08T11:02:00.000-07:00

2.5 days of driving, a short stay in Boston, and then a nice comfortable flight to Chicago, the windy city. Fortunately, there was not so much wind, a whole lot of sun, and best of all, a whole lot of Cheryl. On the other hand, jet lag continued to linger on by a string and I was often met by Mr. Sandman a few hours earlier than I would have liked. Or perhaps that was a result of the wonderful cuisine?

Needless to say, what seemed like a daily tryptophan overdose was totally worth it.

First stop: a bit of Viet and a touch of Thai. I have no photos to document this.

Next, a satisfactory pasta lunch followed by an exquisite lemon Italian ice. Still no photos.

Deep dish dinner, at last. My mom and I were robbed of a first NYC-pizza moment when we took a Korean bus tour of the city. I was not about to let that happen in the city where pizza is religion. No photos of the dinner, but left-overs to come.

And then there was the day where we simply ate:

Starting off with a true taste of Chicago...

Followed by a snack on the Navy Pier...

Dinner in Puerto Rico...

Topped off with Cheryl's favorite ice cream (she has a membership card)...

A final culinary farewell from the windy city: leftovers...

So perhaps this post should be retitled an "Ode to Cheryl," for whom I would not have been able to experience the sights, sounds, and tastes of Chicago.

And now I cleanse.

Ode to Comfort

2007-08-24T06:45:00.000-07:00

It's been a while. I know. And the whole purpose of this blog--at least of late--was to share to the web community those things wonderful and great even in the most mundane of days. Sometimes it gets to a point, though, where things are just so comfortable that you suffer from blogger's block. Life falls into routine and the daily surprises that would otherwise be blog-worthy are so precious that I just want to keep it for myself. Keeping them to myself, and thus keeping them forever in the present without thinking about leaving.

I looked back at my blog post a year ago at this exact moment. I had too much luggage, too many shoes, and too many anxieties. One year later, I've got my shoes under control, just about everything but my toiletries packed, and a Macbook to document the goings-on right as they happen. Still a couple anxieties, but we'll save that for a later post.

An all too familiar scene:

I hate cliches, but this recent voyage to Korea has been a "charming" third time for several people. I would certainly have to attest to this; my third time in Korea, Hoyah chaos and all, has indeed been very charming. Perhaps a bit too charming. Reconnecting with old friends, making new friends, saying goodbye to friends, and promising reunions. But that was all expected. This last time in Korea I rekindled my relationship with the gym, found a great new hair place, and fell in love with hidden retail treasures (i.e., shopped). This wasn't supposed to happen. I was just supposed to teach, make some new friends, and complain a lot. That's what happens in Korea.

I should be sleeping, but there's just too much of this experience that I don't want to end. It was hard enough lifting my fingers to confirm my departure to the blogosphere, but I know that if I fall asleep, tthe process of waking will bring me just that much closer to having to say goodbye to all of this.

Is this what people meant by "charming"?

Ode to Validation

2007-08-01T05:43:00.000-07:00

Two posts in one day! The previous one was short so this is to compensate.

You all have seen this before.

But during a recent perusal, THIS one caught my eye:

Notice the socks and shoes. Everything else is far beyond my price range, but from the waist down, that is ME last week and the week before. This man just might be my couture doppelganger.

Good to see that someone else on this planet appreciates the shorts-black patterned socks-white sneakers combination.

Ode to 'Mo

2007-08-01T05:38:00.000-07:00

What happens when you take one of the GAYEST songs in one of the GAYEST musical genres and then mix it with an equally GAY musical genre?

Quite possibly the GAYEST song ever.

"And I am Telling You" from Dreamgirls, performed by Jennifer Hudson, dance remix.

So the first time I heard it in spin class, I was pleasantly surprised only because I was baffled as to how the spin instructor got a hold of this monstrosity.

Second time, all you can really do is scrunch your face and think "Really? Why does this exist?"

I think I'm addicted to spinning. Prepare yourselves to be dazzled by my tree-trunk legs when I return to the States. August 25th!

Ode to Criticism

2007-07-14T20:16:00.000-07:00

Another grueling session at Hoyah Academy. Somehow I always leave Korea with a nice feeling of satisfaction, a feeling like I've actually done something. I may not have changed anyone's life, but if I can keep someone entertained for two hours or bump a Toefl score up a couple points, my job is done.

After a substantial amount of time with the students, I always hand out my own evaluation. This is just a chance for the students to give anonymous feedback--although many of them foolishly state something on the evaluation that blatantly gives away their identity--and to take up time in class. What can I say? By the end of the session, they're lazy, I'm lazy, and I might as well make them suffer for it, not me.

I give these evaluations out knowing that only a handful will be of any use to me. Some comments are actually useful; others are...either glimpses of the kids' sense of humor or just the students being lazy even with an evaluation that I say SHOULD BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY. I'm pretty sure it's the latter, since very few of them have developed any sense of humor that extends beyond slapstick Korean humor and the occasional bathroom joke or faux-fanity (e.g., Shut the FRont door, You MOTHERFAther, etc).

Just a few of the highlights:

3 suggestions on how I can be a better teacher:
1) You need to smile sometimes.
2) I hope you are enjoying staying in Korea.
3) Speak Korean!
I was quick to mention to this student that #2 was not a suggestion and #3 would not be possible in a Toefl SPEAKING class. #1 I said I would consider.

More suggestions:
1) Eat many protein food. You have to recharge your energy. I think Paul need more energy cause he will get a lot of stresses..
This coming from a student who is one citation away from being blacklisted from Hoyah Academy.

1) Paul should teach how to write essay.
We spent the entire month working on essays.

2) You should learn some jokes.
I don't think this student's parents are paying a fortune for a stand-up routine.

1) Reduce your passion little bit for us.
Can I help it if I'm such a passionate person???

1) I like your style!...but...maybe, change your style?
Is this English???

3) Don't fold the end of your pants. It looks not good. I mean, it looks weird to me.

Ode to Girl Power

2007-06-30T23:20:00.000-07:00

It's official.

The Spice Girls are coming back for a reunion tour that will TAKE THEM ALL OVER THE GLOBE! When I heard about this, I immediately went to the website, registered for my tickets--which will be distributed at random--and sat back, puzzled. Was I really excited about this? For some reason, the sheer insanity of a possible Spice Girls reunion had just gotten the better of my TOEFL-essay-burdened mind and had swept me up into girl power once more.

I do hold a great deal of affection for the Spice Girls. But just about as much affection as I do for spam, McDonald's, topless beaches, Mary Roach Guildbeaux, and all the other ridiculous things on this blog. Sure, I always found Posh quite fetching back in the day with dark hair and was in awe of Sporty's acrobatic skills. Or how about when Scary would create two horns on her head with that wild head of hair? The Spice Girls had invaded the States with a vengeance and I didn't quite mind being recolonized by this 5-some.

I was late jumping onto the spice wagon. When they came out with their debut in the States, I was still into loud alternative, loud ska, loud rock, loudanything. Although my first album purchases were No Doubt's Tragic Kingdom and Alanis Morisette's Jagged Little Pill, respectively, even those were relegated to the back of the cd binder as the Smashing Pumpkins took center stage in the cd player. I was still wearing clothes 3 sizes too big and I was just too angry, too serious, and too insecure to give the Spice Girls even a fleeting glance.

It wasn't until the Spice Girls became the SPICE GIRLS that I jumped head first into the phenomenon. At this point, it was clear that they weren't out there trying to be taken seriously as artists. They were just 5 women--only later to reduced to 4--who were part of some global pop megalomania, out to have a good time. Watching the spice girls fall further and further from their reign as pop royalty, I found myself liking them even more. No matter how bad any subsequent album or single could be, they were and forever would be the SPICE GIRLS. At that point, is it even worth it to care? Is it even worth it to take yourself seriously? Other people lamented the lack of pop ingenuity that defined their early career; I applauded it, as if I, too, were in on the joke.

I'm currently renavigating my way through Proust's Swann's Way. I first read the first installment of In Search of Lost Time my freshman year of college and it all whooshed over my head. Funny how years later, inside a McDonald's eating my weekly Big Mac value meal that my own madeleine materialized. I've already been reminded of my affinity for bad pop music with a recent run-in with S Club 7, but now to have the company of 5 even more special ladies during my Big Mac lunch. And best of all, it wasn't one of their greatest hits. Wannabe, Say You'll Be There, 2 Become 1, etc. etc...they could have been singing to anybody. No. Instead it was Track 7 off of their sophomore album Spiceworld, "Do It." Even I had forgotten that this song ever existed. I may have been sitting their taking in more than half of my daily caloric intake, but mentally, I was back in high school remembering how none of us were too cool for school and that it really was ok to just lay back and have some fun.

Ode to British Cheese

2007-06-16T01:08:00.001-07:00

I was just watching a program here in Korea and the opening credits were accompanied by this song:

Never heard it? Probably better that you haven't. It's S Club 7. Same manager as the Spice Girls. Same cheese. But they didn't quite bombard the United States like the Spice Girls. People had to actually seek this stuff out and have it creep up in the bargain bins at music stores, kind of like how rats brought the bubonic plague. It wasn't until they came out with their more adult contemporary pop friendly "Never Had a Dream Come True" that they were allowed American airplay. How quickly we've vaccinated ourselves from this British invasion and opened our doors to British music with a bit more pedigree.

Sad part is, as the show was starting, I found myself singing along to the song. I know all the words to S Club 7's "Bring it All Back."

Am I proud?

No.

It just reminds me of how badly I don't want to become a grown up.

Ode to Soul

2007-06-07T01:53:00.001-07:00

People really like lyrics. I look at people's facebook profiles and on the favorite quotes section, I often see lyrics. I only know they're lyrics because I've heard the song. Most of the time it's ironic--some terribly cheesy song that's given a dose of gravity due to the sheer absence of any music. Other time's the facebook member is serious. These words are uplifting. They make me happy. They're brilliant. So the facebook member might say.

I've never been one to latch onto lyrics. In fact, I rarely hear the lyrics of a song on first listen. Once I've heard the song several times, I sing along to the song and stumble my way through the lyrics inserting unknown words with a "hmm" or "uhh" in the correct pitch. It all sounds good in my head when I'm driving by myself but I'm sure it appears unsettling to observers.

I don't think a single one of my favorite songs is a favorite because of its lyrics. One song I rediscovered while in Spain was Aretha Franklin's "Giving Him Something He Can Feel." I still don't really know what that "something" is or if it's a love song or a woman-scorned song. I've never had those experiences before. But the introductory bass line was and still is powerful enough to seduce me into the rest of this queen of soul's crooning. This isn't the first time I've been seduced by the powers of soul and rest assured, I have no idea what the lyrics in these favorite songs even mean. I guess I could just take the time to really read through the lyrics, but somehow I feel like that would be taking away part of the mystique.

So imagine my surprise when I see this one lazy afternoon in Madrid:

Ok, so it wasn't really this. I saw the music video; this I found while furiously searching for any video recording on youtube. Her name is Beverley Knight. She sings soul. Does anyone really sing soul anymore? I'm sure many die-hards would say no. I'm hesitant to say that she sings soul because then I would feel like I was giving myself some sort of musical authority. So I'll just say that I think this is soul. Only because listening to this song gave me the same shivers, the same confusing goosebumps that I had when listening to some of Aretha's greats. Confusing only because--as I said earlier--the lyrics mean nothing to me. Korean music has never given me shivers or goosebumps. Actually, once I got shivers but I think it was because I was just appalled.

I quickly downloaded every song off of this album, "Music City Soul." I would've purchased it but the album wasn't for sale in the States nor in Spain. So I think my downloading is justified. I also downloaded many of her previous songs; she is, after all, a multi-platinum recording artist in her native England. Her previous work, however, didn't quite move me and feels overproduced--desperate attempts to get sufficient airplay. And even a new single off of this album was just released with the same overproduction that reeks of casio keyboards and bad R&B. Beverley, please stop. You have found a good place with this album which you recorded in live sessions throughout the course of 5 days. I know it. You know it. I know you knew it when you were making this album.

You make me want to do greater things with my voice, Beverley. Greater things that my voice will never achieve, in part because I'm a man and you are a woman and also because I'm just not that great at singing. But I know what it would sound like if I did achieve it. You make me feel like I understand myself even when I'm singing "hm's" and "um's". And that's why I think you--along with aretha, marvin, otis, and al--have and are soul.

An Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini

2007-06-01T21:37:00.000-07:00

That she only wore HALF of to the beach. I don't think I have to say which half. When I took my weekend away to Alicante I had two things on my mind: the beach and my allergies. I had been told that my allergies would disappear in this coastal port town and lo and behold, they did. It was marvelous. But even more marvelous was Playa de San Juan just a mere 10 minute walk from the place I was staying. Now I'm not much of a beach person and I didn't even go into the water that weekend, but there is something quite remarkable about seeing families and friends gather together under the sun for some rest and relaxation. Perhaps a little TOO much relaxation?

The nation turned upside down when Janet had her wardrobe malfunction and who still doesn't get a good laugh at Tara Reid's red carpet mishap. I mean, jeez louise, they're just body parts. But after my umpteenth encounter with a bare chest I was...not bothered, but...confused. If a couple of ladies can frolic freely bare-chested on the shoreline, if a mother can suntan topless next to her husband and children, all just a pond's length away, what's the big deal?

Growing up there were few things I knew about Europe. All I knew was that there was a place in France where the naked ladies danced and that the European women were known to roam the beaches sans bikini top. We never questioned the fact or fiction of it. In our pre-pubescent/pre-adolescent years, we would take all we could get in a pre-thong song era where a madonna video could send ripples of scandal. By the way, I miss that Madonna. But I guess that's what happens when you have kids and dedicate your life to children's books and third-world adoptions.

As I said before, my first reaction to the plethora of bare chests wasn't shock or intrigue, just plain confusion. Now, ALL the women didn't have their tops off but a fair share of them did. What was keeping the others from taking theirs off? After all, who wants that annoying tan line? For instance, if we saw a guy at the beach frolicking beachside with a shirt on, we would think he had something to hide--ok, so the frolicking might be problematic in and of itself but I think anyone's allowed to frolic on the shoreline. But that wasn't really the case with the women who chose to keep them on; those with bikini tops seemed just as much in place at the beach as those without. So I ask again, what is the big deal? Why can't we bare (almost) all like they do in Spain? Are these Europeans really just a bunch of liberal crazies with too much siesta on their hands?

I'm not sure what sort of legislation the United States has on any kind of public nudity but I do know that in Spain public nudity is legal. Technically, you could walk down the Raval in Barcelona completely naked and not be in danger of any public indecency charges. I guess this issue of coverage and lack thereof in history and contemporary culture is a much contested and researched one; no need to go into that now. But while I was in Spain, I did have someone tell me that I was way too uptight. I don't remember exactly what it was I said or what my reaction was to that remark, but I guess it's true that I am prone to having a stick up my arse at times. That stick up my arse may cause me to be uptight but it's that same stick that's allowed me to live a traffic-ticket-free life. And maybe that's why I find a bit of comfort coming here to Korea. Because here, everyone else has a stick up the arse and I'm the one that gets to wear my bikini sans top--figuratively speaking ofcourse.

**I didn't take my camera to the beaches of Alicante for fear that sand would get in my camera but here are pictures of the beaches in Barcelona**

Happy Birthday, Blog!

2007-05-31T16:59:00.000-07:00

I started this blog as a way to record random goings on during my travels in Korea and one year later I find myself in the very same position. Back in Korea and back to the blog, who knew that in one year I would once again be embarking on my journey to TOEFL education and Korean gym fitness?

But third time's a charm right?

I had plenty of charming experiences the first and second time around so who knows what sort of surprises a third visit will present. I will keep you posted.

Until classes and life start full swing in about a week, I'm going to wax nostalgic about my time in Spain. Because as painful, and lonely, and allergenic as it was at times, I can't help but feel a slight pain in my heart as I look at all my photos from the trip. So maybe my Lonely Planet was right about one thing. I did fall in love with Madrid. I can't say it was always pretty but then again when you're really FALLING for/to/from anything, when is it ever pretty?

In the spirit of my original title for this blog, I'm going to try really hard to stay positive on this blog. Complaints no more. Odes abound.

So here's to you, Madrid. And yes, even to you, Barcelona.

Afternoon Delight

2007-05-16T05:30:00.000-07:00

After one beer, two enchiladas, three chicken fajitas, and two scoops of quite possibly the most incredible mango ice cream ever...

I am satisfied.

'Twas time that I gave into my gastronomic desires and did something to distract myself from my first ever allergy attack. Too bad I forgot my camera.

Now time for a siesta.

Should Have Gone To...

2007-05-10T11:33:00.000-07:00

Stockholm

Breaking Down...Almost

2007-05-03T07:37:00.000-07:00

I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. And I've seen Almodovar's rendition of what women do when they are on the verge: they burn things, throw phones through windows, try to jump off buildings, and put prescription drugs in gazpacho. I only searched frantically for return trips home a week or two early had somehow arrived at the point where spending that amount of money actually seemed worth it. Maybe it would have been worth it. I only have a week in the States before it's off to Korea again and I've already scheduled a short trip to Austin. It'll all be a New York minute in sleepy Texas.

I'm better now. And by "better" I mean that I've decided to stay and save myself the trouble of a wallet full of airline woes. People troubles, language troubles, and roommate troubles aside, I'm not going to give up like this. One hamburger and a side of fries and onion rings later, I was planning out my last couple weeks in Madrid and pining over overpriced clothes and shoes online.

I've already gotten over the fact that I'm not as extroverted as I want to be. I keep thinking of certain friends and asking myself, "What would ______ do?" But thought never follows through to execution and I resign myself to going to the park alone or searching for a good movie to watch. What troubles me the most is how close these "tough" times have gotten into breakdown territory. I don't think I've ever really had a breakdown, but then has any of us?

When I first read about the Virginia Tech shootings on the New York Times, I was completely shocked. And then I continued to check the Times as the saga unraveled over the course of the following days/weeks in what seemed a disturbingly formulaic manner. Were they releasing the information as an imitation of a previous law & order episode, or was the media frenzy inadvertently setting up the next perfect episode? Nevertheless, an unfortunate soul had been pushed beyond the verge and America had to deal with another "breakdown" with devastating consequences.

A couple days ago I had the sudden craving for Taco Cabana. It was intense. Like pregnant lady intense. There was no tex-mex trigger; it just happened on my walk home from class. I could picture the haphazard wrapping of aluminum foil, the bean and cheese mix inside the warm tortilla...the smell...the touch...everything. Whilst salivating ravenously, I had the urge in my fingers, tingling sensations running up arms, to grab someone by the neck and yell, "GET ME SOME TACO CABANA!!!!!!!!" It was all really uncalled for and ofcourse I didn't strangle anyone.

Earlier in the week I had the burning desire to throw my notebook at a group of girls in my Spanish class. This isn't completely unwarranted. On certain days, there are up to 5 German girls--in a class of about 8 total. Mind you, this is a Spanish class and yet these girls speak in German among themselves, WHILE the teacher is speaking. And ofcourse to me, it's all talk of "streudel" and "bratwurst"; who knows what they're saying? I contemplated telling them to shut up but somehow a notebook to the face and perhaps a pen to follow up seemed more appropriate. Remember...I was just on the verge.

Almodovar has an incredible way of making the crazy and abnormal seem completely humane and compelling. Even when a woman tries to kill her husband in the airport, you don't want to send her to an insane asylum; you just want to give her a hug and tell her everything's going to be ok. But I wonder. How long will it be until my nerve tinglings catch up with my brain and I'm suddenly pushed over the edge? It would comfort me to know that I'm not the only that may potentially get my gun license revoked because of taco torture and classroom hit and run.

Hello, Yellow

2007-04-24T12:55:00.000-07:00

When I was an elementary student and a lone asian face in middle of nowhere texas, the other kids had a little saying. They would pull the corners of their eyes and move them in time to a sing-song of "Chinese, Japanese, Korean." For Chinese they would push their fingers up creating a downward slant with their eyes; for Japanese they would pull the corners of their eyes down creating an upwards slant; and for Korean they would pull the corners back up to normal creating a horizontal slit with their eyes.

I was never really offended by this routine. I was too young to know what racism was and I was more confused why Korean eyes were somehow a half-way point between Chinese and Japanese. Since then, I've yet to experience the feeling of being the lone Asian...until now. That's a bit of a lie. But I'll explain.

There's an expression here in Spain: "Trabajar como un chino." Work like a Chinese person. Virtually all of the Asians here in Madrid are Chinese and fairly recent immigrants who live in the "seedy" neighborhood of Lavapies--which borders my street. They live here with all the other immigrants from Latin America, Africa, and the Middle East. And as far as I've seen, and confirmed by Spaniards that I've met, they keep to themselves. The middle-aged couples run wholesale stores, convenient stores, or restaurants that serve bar-style Spanish food. Someone told me that there are laws that keep businesses from staying open all day, but if there weren't, the Chinese surely wouldn't stop working. These Chinese immigrants are Spaniards. They are Madrilenos. Just not the ones I had come to know via my Lonely Planet.

On one night out, a stocky girl in semi-goth waddled over to me and asked in a thickly accented English,"Where are you from?" I told her in Spanish, "I'm from Texas!!!!!" (I was a little tipsy). I knew exactly what she wanted to know, but I wasn't going to give it to her that easily. She asked again (this time in Spanish) "No, no, where are your parents from?" "They're from Los Angeles," I replied. She kept on asking me where "I was from" and finally I conceded and told her Korea because quite frankly I had lost interest in the conversation on first waddle. "Oh ok! Korean. We think you look very Tokyo. My friends and I bet that you were from Tokyo." I hope the winners of the bet got a good deal.

I should have been flattered. I love Tokyo. I've never been, but I'll admit a sense of pride when people in Korea tell me I dress like a Japanese. But it wasn't flattering. I've been called chino on the streets in the most endearing of tones--"chinito!!!"--as if I were a Japanese school girl. And I've also been muttered to as a chino or given sideways glances as if I were the SARS. I'm often the only Asian person in an entire club or bar, and by the way I've been treated at times, I could see why the Chinese here don't make more efforts to assimilate.

Ah, I just used the word assimilate. I promise I won't delve too far into issues yellow. But here in Spain, it's all downward and upward slanted eyes; the only exposure they have of koreans is a potential nuclear threat. There's no room for a Korean that's not an immigrant Chinese or a high-rolling Japanese tourist. But every time I walk by a small bar/grill on the way home and see the chinese owners behind the counter with the Spanish customers, I can't help but think of my mom back at home in her own deli with all her customers. I definitely feel a connection with this community, further evidenced by fleeting moments of eye-contact with other Chinese on the streets, and at the same time I feel the need to dissociate myself from this group that's so looked down upon by the hard-partying madrilenos. The story of my life: wanting to belong, but having to reject. After all wouldn't you rather be, as the Spaniards would put it, a funky Tokyo than a seedy Chinese?

Stomping Grounds

2007-04-20T04:42:00.000-07:00

The summer before I started college I was determined to be able to run a mile without stopping. During my breaks from work, I would go to the nearby park and push myself to finish a mile. Just one little mile under the oppressive heat of the midday Texas sun.

I remember struggling to finish that one lap around the park and thinking to myself, "how did this happen?" I used to be quite the star athlete back in the day--don't laugh. I'm serious. I was a force to be reckoned with on the kickball and wallball circuit back in elementary school. I won several sprints at the Aledo Intermediate School Field Day AND...if that weren't enough, I won the Barnyard Race with my partner in crime (combination of potato sack race, wheelbarrow race, and balance-a-potato-on-a-spoon race). So yes, I will toot my own horn and say that I was on the fast track to high school jock-dom. And here I found myself, the lone runner, in a grass field park, showered in my own sweat, trying to finish...a mile.

Suffice it to say that I can run a mile now. More than a mile if you want. I'm no cross-country star or marathoner but I've taken quite a liking to running. I don't know what about it I like so much; perhaps the fact that you're constantly moving, trying to get somewhere. Something about it feels very much "at home." I don't know why. Falling into rhythm, listening to my ipod, sweating in the sun. It's all very comforting. Even when I look at my anorexic (as the tabloids would say of Nicole or Lindsay) wrists and arms and think "i could really use some more upper body work," it's still comforting.

Since my amateur days pre-college I've been able to feel this comfort, this feeling of being "at home" all over the world. There's nothing better than putting yourself into a routine, whether it be for a mere 30 minutes or over the course of an entire year. A list of my past stomping grounds: Austin, TX; Amherst, MA; Boston, MA; Manhattan, NY; San Francisco, CA; Seoul, Korea...

And now Madrid, Spain. Some pictures of where I've spent time pumping endorphins.

Who's in Your Lonely Planet?

2007-04-12T06:19:00.000-07:00

On the cover of my Lonely Planet Madrid is a picture of a young man and woman kissing passionately in the rain contrasted with a photo of a hallway of some old, traditional building, symmetrical columns leading to some unknown destination. Madrid: the perfect mix of contemporary passion and all things traditionally Spanish. I knew this well before I set foot in Madrid, even before I got on board my flight to Spain. Nights before my adventure to Spain, Lonely Planet had already assured me that my 7 weeks would be the best 7 weeks of my life.

People: "The young, laid-back and sassy Madrid of the 21st century is a radically different world to that of the parents and grandparents...Liberated from the shackles that bound their parents, those who grew up in the post-Franco years did so believing that theirs was a world without limits."

Ok, so I'm not quite convinced that every madrileno lives life with a carpe diem attitude, but now I'm curious. If Lonely Planet came make madrilenos sound this good, let's see what it has to say about some other people.

Korea: "Koreans are a people obsessed with nature, and with mountains in particular. Where you travel, you'll see Koreans out in the open air, clad in the latest adventure fashions, pushing ever onward and upward."

I hate climbing mountains.

Barcelona: "...it's always on the biting edge of architecture, food, fashion, style, music and good times...The people, with their exuberance, their creative spirit, their persistent egalitarianism, will fascinate you."

I respectfully disagree. Too many dreadlocks.

Dallas: "Dallas is the most mythical city in Texas, with a past and present rich in all the stuff of which American legends are made."

Only if Tex-mex is considered a legend.

North Korea: North Korea is one of the world's most bizzare countries...a slew of quirky Kim-centric sights are the reasons to visit."

???

I'm not really sure why the series is called "Lonely Planet." According to the Lonely Planet series, everyone everywhere is pretty alright, even in "quirky" North Korea. So what more is there to these guides than a little bit of reassurance for those pre-travel jitters?

Not to say that my Lonely Planet Madrid hasn't been completely useless. But despite the wealth of insider tips, it's failed to explain to me that yes, you will feel lonely regardless of how extensively we gush about the sights and frights. I'm not going to go too much into this, lest this become another complaint box a la summer 2006, but truth be told this past week has been quite lonely. Not just alone; lonely. The one thing that my Lonely Planet didn't really prepare me for. Anyone could have told me this and my mom did question my desires to come here for 7 weeks but somehow I was already lost in my fantasies of livin' la vida loca with these "laid-back and sassy" Madrilenos.

But all is not in vain. Getting to spend enough time to get to the point of "lonely" has taught me that flying solo into all parts of this lonely planet isn't so much fun. I don't if I'm just getting older, bored, antsy to speak english, or hormonal; life is better with a familiar face, if not to make out with in the rain, then to just have by your side.

Pictures of my street and apartment:

A Large Popcorn with EXTRA Butter, Please

2007-04-06T13:12:00.000-07:00

I was walking around Barcelona in Parc de la Ciutadella trying to think of something to describe my experience and then I came up with it: movie theater popcorn. This may have been a result of a foul smell and my sudden craving for popcorn. With artificial butter. So hear me out.

Going to the movies has become an EXPERIENCE. Sitting in uncomfortable seats, crying babies in rated-R films, cell phones ringing, and to track back a little further, standing awkwardly in the parking lot post-movie for the parentals. What would American adolescence be without the movie theater? And who hasn't had their share of a collective bucket of popcorn greased, and greased, and greased, and then shaken for equal saturation, and then greased one more. I remember when our local theater put out the do-it-yourself butter machines where you could push a button and saturate to your gastronomic desires.

I've never REALLY been of fan of this popcorny. My mom would never let me touch that shit whenever we went to the movies. In fact, we never got to partake in any of the concessions; only snacks from home that we had to smuggle in like contraband. So how could I not, after years and years of health food snobbery, scoff at those who stand in line for edible styrofoam and butter that could just as well be massage oil?

I think that's how it was in Barcelona. I felt like the non-Spaniards that had all come to live in Barcelona, attracted by the warmer mediterranean weather and the no-worries attitude, were taking part in something foul and excessive. Barcelona is renowned for it's nightlife, but it's the tourists that bring the vigor, not the locals. In fact, the many British, Dutch, German ex-pats I met were just...TOO laid-back for my tastes. These would be those poor souls who don't think twice about the buttered popcorn and finger lick without any guilt. Sure going away to the beach and a land of siestas is nice for a vacation, but to use it as a permanent haven from the work and grind in my own country? No thanks. I'll get on that treadmill and count the miles and calories, i.e. go back to America and worry about what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. A life without worries? I'm sorry...I live by the maxim of worrying about life.

I remember the first time I got movie theater popcorn sans parental supervision. I found it extremely difficult to spread the butter evenly and quite overpriced. But that's what you do when you go to a movie theater right? It's time to escape. But not for me. Too much escaping to a land of overt paradise and you just might throw up. Literally. In a bar. In front of your friends (I still really can't let that one go).

I don't really need Barcelona to get any better for me. In fact, I don't really even want it to get better. But at least now I can say I've tried it. It's part of the whole Europe "experience" right?

Some great flatmates who were biding their time in Barcelona before moving on with their lives:

A German, a belgian, a swede, an italian, a dutch, and a fellow american.

Welcome to Barcelona-land

2007-04-01T14:20:00.000-07:00

A while ago I proclaimed my love for Barcelona, in fact the locale for my "heart," and a haven for me to "swim" in paella and "drown my solitude in cafe con leche." I'm in Madrid now. My memories of Barcelona consist of having dipped my foot into too-salty paella and drowning my solitude in absolute embarrassment (ok, so I threw up for the FIRST time, IN a bar but only a LITTLE bit, and hey cut me a break; it's barcelona).

It's funny how we create these obsessions with random locations. I just had a talk with a friend of a friend here in Madrid and he has a crazy desire to see things in China. He's British and lives on a farm and is obsessed with China. I on the other hand have no desire whatsoever to set foot in that country. I would rather cradle koalas and box kangaroos in Sydney, Australia.

I think my obsession with Barcelona began before I saw "The Spanish Apartment." I knew they spoke Catalan, but I still loved it. Having battled Catalan, stumbled in Spanish, guarded my belongings from "gypsies" and dabbled in a little bit of nightlife, Barcelona's a-ok. Obsessed? No longer. My feelings for barcelona are, I would say, similar to my feelings for movie theater popcorn. It's there. It's nice. It's comfortable. Beautiful in its outlandish artificial butter and while I enjoy it, I love to scorn those who love it more.

That's the thing about barcelona. It wasn't the city itself that bothered me too much; it was the people, rarely natives. It seemed like everyone and their mother, father, extended family had made the journey to Barcelona. Not only that, hordes of student groups, EVERYWHERE. Italian teenagers with too much gel in their hair, French teenagers with too much gel in their hair, British men with not enough gel or soap...It's as if everyone had bought his ticket to this fantasy land, and I was just another person strapped in for the pretty scenery and thrill rides. Don't get me wrong; Barcelona is beautiful. The weather was a little chillier than usual, but the architecture, the beach...(the park on the other hand smelled AWFUL).

A few pictures of the movie-theater-popcorn magnificence that is Barcelona. An extension of my weak analogy to come soon...

Drag Queens, Drama Queens, and an Unbearable Cold

2007-03-22T15:18:00.000-07:00

The stars must not have been aligned correctly for this. If I had gone to see one of those fortune tellers in Korea, she probably would have told me NOT to travel in March. It probably wasn't meant to be and perhaps I could have found a wife back home in Dallas. Nonetheless, I ignored the signs, took them as challenges, and made my way to the Spanish gateway to the rest of Europe.

I started with 4 tickets to see the Scissor Sisters in Dallas the night before my departure to NYC. A 4th could not be found, the 3rd had a death in the family, and the 2nd had a last minute cancellation. And the cheese stood alone. So dilemma #1: should I stay or should I go...to the Scissor Sisters? A day spent desperately trying to sell my tickets on craigslist left me with a suitcase to pack and many things still left to buy. Guess who decided to get in the middle of a drag queen sandwich instead of getting a good night's sleep? Ok, so it wasn't a drag queen SANDWICH but some of them got awfully close while trying to get to the front of the stage. I never understood the appeal there. Is there NOT supposed to be appeal? Is that the irony? I have enough trouble worrying about my mohawk on a windy day.

GRIPS?? As in, grips it and doesn't let go? A blessing in disguise, my flight was cancelled and I spent the day catching up on errands. Errands I had somehow created in preparation for my trip to Spain. This was supposed to be my bout of spontaneity. Spontaneous people don't obsess over which guide book to buy, which shoes to bring, and which ties are necessary for a night out. I also had a slight panic attack after reading the deluge of websites warning of gypsies and pickpockets. No drag...just a lot of drama. Unnecessary drama.

3 days with no sleep, a winter storm, and I end up on my Swissair flight as the SICK one. I DESPISE the sick one. The guy who fidgets in his seat and coughs into his hand. Yeah, some good that does in covering up the germs. That flight was just an incubator for my grossness. Travellers to Zurich, Switzerland, please accept my apologies. And now I sit and flood my insides with hot water at night. I need to get better for this weekend. A swedish guy just moved in and he's really into "house". DEEP house. And he says it just like Arnold Schwarz. I love it.

Pictures soon!

The OTHER other white meat

2007-03-06T03:28:00.000-08:00

I never really had a problem with spam. That is, until I publicly professed my love for it and became the object of disdain among my peers circa high school. Was it because spam was "allegedly" meat from a can? Well I always considered it a step up from the equally delectable Vienna sausages. And the Viennese have good taste, no? Afterall, Mozart's from Vienna.

Whatever the reason, I came to hate spam. I hated the idea of spam and the fact that you had to blot cooked spam with paper towels before even THINKING about touching it with a fork. But coming back to Korea, I've realized that I never stopped loving the smell of it and of course...the taste of it.

It's a funny thing, spam. An offshoot of ham, perhaps, but "sp"? What gives? Do those letters stand for "special"? "Spanish"? "Sparkling"? I suppose I could always just look at the ingredients list on the can, but I think it's better not to know, kind of like a hot dog weiner. And I also never knew how it could be prepared as displayed on the label. My mom always just sliced it up and put it in the frying pan (note the above procedure of paper towel blotting). Spam definitely wasn't prime rib in the Park house, but it was substantial. I think it makes quite a swell companion to white rice. Then again, what doesn't.

On the Lunar New Year, it's customary for businesses to give their employees some sort of gift. I saw men in business suits taking home boxes of juice, others with fruit. We at Hoyah Academy received gourmet olive oil. And of course, there were businessmen with boxes of spam. Decorative boxes. With handles. That included multiple cans of spam.

Nobody frowns upon spam here in Korea. Again, it's no prime rib, but it's not the laughing stock of the "so-called" meats. Nobody cares that it's not kosher, and quite frankly, I don't even think anyone cares that spam is an amalgam of....well, I guess nobody really knows the answer to that. Spam is just spam, and the Koreans let it be.

I don't think my taste buds have danced so happily in quite some time. My aunt prepares fried spam for me every now and then. I think it's because they have a spam gift set and no one else in the family cares too much for it. Could it be that I'm enjoying the spam for old time's sake? I guess I'll just have to find out come 20 years or so from now. Anyone care to join me? I'll supply the paper towels.

Third time's...an explosion

2007-02-21T00:17:00.000-08:00

I don't find explosions quite charming. So no. Third time certainly would not be a charm. Allow me to back track a bit.

I walked into my kitchen to find once again, and to much alarm, the gas switch turned on. At least, I THINK that's the on position. I cook so rarely in the apartment that I don't even remember what is on and off for the little knob. But I'm pretty sure it's in the on position, my stomach does a couple somersaults, and then I quickly open up the windows. Unfortunately, this isn't the first time this has happened. It happened near the beginning of my stay here in Seoul as a one-room attendant. That's a "studio" apartment for those of you who are not familiar with korean lingo--which would mean most all of you. I've grown up my entire life with electric stoves, and so the idea that the energy input isn't TRULY off until you switch off that second gas switch is just completely foreign to me.

The first time I realized the switch was left on all night, it was right before I was about to prepare another batch of ramen noodles. Imagine that. In that split second, I could have been blown to bits alongside my freeze dried noodles.

"All they found of him were his flannel pajamas and ramen."

And believe me, I've been on Backdraft the Ride at Universal Studios, so I know the protocall when you're surrounded by flames. I think the floor falls out from under you too.

Imagine if my legacy had been as that one TOEFL teacher who blew up in his own studio apartment because he left the gas switch on. I've since abandoned the stove almost completely and resorted to eating out.

I have two more weeks here in Korea. One more week of teaching and then one more week of...nothing. I may cut that last week down so I can rest a bit in the States, binge on tex-mex, perhaps take a week of the Master Cleanse, and then catch the Scissor Sisters in Dallas. All before I head off to the Big Apple and the Apple of Cataluna, aka Barcelona.

I'm not about to let another foolish mistake keep me from making to the other side of the world. If I do leave the switch on again, and my apartment does blow up, just like it has in my lethal imagination, rest assured my ass will make it back West.

My heart belongs in...

2007-02-17T02:26:00.000-08:00

BARCELONA.

It's official, ladies and gentlemen.

Come March 20th, I will be swimming in paella and drowning my solitude in cafe con leche. It's an odd feeling to be here in Korea and be purchasing a ticket to a destination on the other side of the world. Call it wanderlust. Call it boredom.

Whatever it is...

I've finally crossed something off my life list.

Quiz Show

2007-01-29T23:24:00.000-08:00

I've been quite disappointed with Korean television. Every morning I wake up hoping to catch something uplifting and the only comprehensible program I can find is Sesame Street or a random movie on the movie channel. One morning it was Secretary. Another morning, Blade III. It's just a grab bag of good or bad movies in that short time frame between just-woke-up and I'm-late-for-work. When I return home at night it's either a thrilling night of Deal or No Deal, 1 vs. 100 or if I'm lucky I can rinse my tear ducts with an old episode of the Biggest Loser. As for Korean programming, I usually sit there, unaffected by men with bad haircuts and women who really do look the same. It's not just a Caucasian affliction! We really DO look the same!

There is, however, one program. I don't know when it comes on; it's just happens to come up on the weekends when I sit down with my scrupulously prepared ramen noodles. It's a game show of sorts except the contestants aren't money-grubbing, ass-bearing, aspiring actors; they're middle-schoolers. SMART middle-schoolers. At least the ones left at the end are smart. Kids sit in a grid on the floor and a woman with a pleasing voice calls out questions. Then the students write their answers on their dry-erase boards and hold them up in anticipation of the correct answer. I recall playing a game similar to this. It was called school.

In between certain rounds, the students clear the floor and the teachers of the respective schools and have a competition of their own: jump rope competitions, lip-syncing competitions, who-can-dance-better-in-drag competitions. It's all a big pep rally for...academics. The ousted students cheer on their peers who are left on the grid and eventually the floor clears out save for just one lone student and his/her dry-erase board. I think the point of the game is to get to the final question and answer that correctly, but I've never seen a student reach that level before. The student usually falls just shy of that last question, tears are usually involved, and all of the students surround their champion and console him or her.

Although most of my students lament the extraordinarily strict and rigorous Korean school system, it seems kind of nice that this type of thing is nationally televised in Korea. I've never been on television for playing my clarinet and I certainly didn't get any recognition for my short-lived career as a top UIL speller. My parents never really set me on the track for any sort of televised career. If they had, I'd probably be working out right now instead of releasing meaningless verbal diarrhea onto the world wide web.

Hey you

2007-01-11T01:31:00.000-08:00

I haven't forgotten. In fact, I think about ye old blogger almost everyday. Somehow I just can't bring myself to raise my hands to the keyboard and type away to my heart's content. That and a New York Times contributor recently referred to blogging as verbal diarrhea. I must admit, it did make me think twice about complaining about Korea....again.

But you know what? I don't care what a "New York Times" contributor has to say. I just had my first sick day with a bad case of flu/constipation/I-don't-know-what last week and now conjunctivitus has nestled itself nicely into my left eye. If it's diarrhea I have, then by all means, let the verbal diarrhea flow. (that was gross, I know, but I'm not deleting it).

I forgot my USB camera chord once again at my home in Dallas, so pictures won't be in order this time around, unless I can find a relatively cheap USB chord. Dear readers, I like to think that my health is returning and I haven't been pushed under a rock a la LSAT--which by the way, the more I read about Berkeley's law school, the more I want to go.

I hope the USA has been treating you all well. I think of you guys daily while eating my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and engrossing myself in an episode of Arrested Development.

I promise to complain as much as I can. So much so, that soon enough, all the titles under my "Previous Posts" section will be blog posts written here in Seoul.

See you all real soon.

A House is Not a Home

2006-12-27T21:54:00.000-08:00

I've just completed my first week in my first, very own apartment. It's a studio, with a maroon-tiled bathroom and a shower head that hovers over the sink. The few times I have showered in my own bathroom, it's been basically in the middle of the bathroom holding the shower head as to not have it spray out of control all over the toilet paper and the washer, but thankfully, I take most of my showers at the gym. Yes, my washer is inside the bathroom. And no, I haven't done my first load of laundry yet. And the rarely used kitchen is separated from the rest of the living area by a sliding, translucent door that I guess is supposed to create a barrier between the threatening odors of korean food and the rest of the house. The only odors that have crept out of the kitchen are those of the mountain dew cans, neatly lined up beside the sink. I've yet to take them down to the recycling bin outside. And then there's a floor that heats up when I want, and a bed that is positioned perfectly to have a view of the tv with no working remote. The remote actually just doesn't have functioning batteries, but I'm too cheap to go buy new ones.

As you can see, this studio that I would sell my soul to have at this price in New York City is little more than just a place that I can have some peace and quiet after a day of work. I remember being so determined to get a place of my own if I ever did return to Seoul, and now I've got it. I must admit that it is a bit lonely, and I often look at my Subway, McDonalds, or other unfortunate substitute for a home-cooked meal and I can't help but feel like something's amiss. I never envisioned my future as an independent to be riddled with big macs and take out. In fact, not even my summer in New York was reduced to that. That was because I didn't have any money, but I guess we won't go there. I came here chasing money and placing all my eggs in a basket full of middle schoolers. Middle schoolers. That toxic stage of adolescence when you're in the perpetual state of too cool and yet not cool enough. I suppose if I just sat down and thought about that, I would have known that it wouldn't be so much fun.

But it really isn't so bad. I've already had the class from hell and really, it couldn't get any worse (right?). It's just that at times when I'm sitting alone in my apartment, dreaming of what under-5-dollar meal I'll consume the next day, I kind of wish I was sitting on my bed at home, knowing that my dad is watching tv in his room, my brother is incessantly checking his myspace, my mom is rereading the Joel Osteen book, and that in the next few minutes, I'll feel the vibrations from the next plane landing at the airport near our house.

Right Back Where We Started From

2006-12-14T17:43:00.000-08:00

A mere 7 hours before my first class, I find myself...nervous. Nervous?! Nervous about something I did 30+ hours a week throughout the summer and had eventually willed myself to do on 0 hours of sleep. Not to say that I was necessarily good at what I did, but my nerves certainly had a break for the summer.

Maybe it's just being back in Seoul. Maybe it's my cheap, should-have-been-fine-but-is-now-a-disaster haircut. Or maybe it's just having to deal with my uncle who wants me to stay with him in his comfy apartment with satisfying dialy meals instead of moving into a studio next to the academy.

I'm just ready for things to get moving. And for my hair to start growing. Fast.

Convert

2006-12-05T13:16:00.000-08:00

Ladies and gentlemen, I am officially a mac user. No longer am I a stodgy, bald man in a faded suit. I'm a young twenty-something in a hoodie and dissheveled hair.

So this may have been retail therapy pushed to the extreme, but let me just say that it was an educated purchases with consulting help from my own father.

I also purchased the new iPod shuffle.

take a look at me now.

The misanthrope

2006-11-14T15:45:00.000-08:00

It's official. I hate everybody in my LSAT class. Ok, so that's a bit of an exaggeration, but the people that I do hate, I hate them enough to make it seem like I hate the entire class. Don't tell me that I haven't tried. I've tried everything. Alternating deep breaths with my daily affirmation not to hate people and to be thankful for what I have, eating complimentary mints by the handfull, trying to focus on these hopeless logical reasoning questions that have been plaguing me for the past year. It's all useless. I'm a hater.

Like I said, I don't hate everyone. My teacher is incredibly sweet. She says "shucks and jive" and she has funky, thin dreadlocks that don't trigger my gag reflex like caucasian-dreads. And there is another man in the class who is always so earnest and eager to get the questions right, that it kind of makes me want to be a better person. He's trying to get into law school so he doesn't have to be a fast food manager anymore. And that's just about where my capacity for amity stops. It's just so frustrating because I didn't pay $1000+ dollars to spend 6 hours a day with a botched version of the brat pack. Sure it would be fun if we all shared sushi, danced on tables, and stuck it to "the Man," but instead I leave every class feeling like my heart is being pushed up against the front of my chest.

Allow me to illustrate...there's the recent college grad who overenunciates the beginning and end of his "ums." There's the overenthusiastic Indian man,who says "number A, B, C..." and premise as "pre-mice"(not something I hate him for, just an amusing quirk) and can't control the volume of his voice. There's the woman who always wears velour track/sweat pants and feels the need to tell us every superfluous detail of her life. She even told our teacher after lending her a dollar for a snack, "Don't worry about paying me back. I'm a financial planner. I make money for a living." Maybe that's how she's been able to take this course more times than the rest of us combined. And then there's my nemesis. I don't really know how this girl got pegged as my nemesis, but she is and I'm incredibly ashamed of it. She's smart. LSAT smart. She makes getting the questions right look as effortless as clipping toenails. Yeah, so I didn't say it was pretty. This girl, who unfortuantely is an alumni of my would-be alma mater, talks in monotone, laughs through the roof of her mouth, and blurts out answers before we've even had a chance to talk about the question. She smiles at me when we happen to make eye contact. I don't smile back.

I promise I won't complain about my LSAT anymore after this. I may have said that in a previous post; if I did, disregard it and take my word on this one. But as the course nears its end, I can look at it in two ways. 1) This is a clear sign that I will never be happy in a world of lawyers, both in training and established. Or 2) This is just another obstacle course in life for me that will end in what I hope will be me opening my email to find an LSAT score that will subsequently have me doing a happy dance in my apartment in Seoul. And it's obvious that there's only source of all this hatred. The church would have me call it the Devil, and I'm inclined to agree with them on this one. Ok, so maybe all this bargaining and making decisions in life for the wrong things wasn't the greatest choice, and the Devil may have gotten my $1000. But if all goes well--and I'm talking beyond the LSATs here--none of this will even matter.
*****
On a lighter note, I'm getting my hair cut tomorrow.

And Gwen Stefani's album comes out December 5th.

I'm not dead...yet

2006-11-03T10:15:00.000-08:00

To all (2) of my blog readers,

I apologize for the dearth of blog posts this past month. I can't believe it's been almost a month without any updates; again, my most sincerest apologies. I've noticed while reading many of your own blogs that you've used this as a mechanism for diversion. My sources of diversion in these perilous days of the LSAT, unfortunately, have been sulking, watching movies in bed, and falling asleep, upright in my bed, with the lights on. No blogging.

Please allow me to gather my thoughts a little bit as I pull myself out of this rut. I've already established myself a set of affirmations that I hope, upon daily--or perhaps even hourly-- repetitions will bring me back to my blog-dependancy.

Soon enough, you too/two (o, how I crack myself up) will come to understand these deep feelings of doubt and pain that I've been enduring at home, the clinic and at my LSAT class. Prepare to be dazzled.

Just know that looking at your own blogs have warmed my heart many a times throughout this past month.

Love,

Paul

The little things

2006-10-10T07:24:00.000-07:00

I think I've finally got it. I've finally fallen into a certain groove, a daily routine that gets me from week to week. Sadly enough, it is week to week, as opposed to day to day. Staying at home just doesn't have the daily surprises that come with attending school or teaching kids. As a result, I've had to find other things to keep me entertained and moving to the weekends which have fortunately been a pleasant refuge from dialysis and LSATs. I've spent all summer complaining about...everything. So perhaps it's time for a change. And now, ladies and gentlemen, the little things that before may have seemed mundane and unimportant but are now the reasons I wake up in the morning...

...driving past the crossguard who waves at me for no reason after I drop off my brother at school
...finding a stack of papers at the clinic to file in the records room. The records room happens to be the only room in the clinic that I can be alone and sing to myself
...eating lunch in the break room where I can listen in on conversations spoken in English, Korean, and Spanish
...putting my Sun Chips inside my turkey sandwich during said lunch time
...slipping out of the clinic without saying goodbye to the mean head nurse with chronically pursed lips and the belief that the male patients are trying to flirt with her
...the glorious complimentary mints at the LSAT class
...Sunday evening Amazing Race
...Sunday evening rerun of America's Next Top Model
...Sunday evening Brothers & Sisters
...waving at strangers who are running opposite me at the park
...exercising my vocal chops in the Toyota Cressida en route to Fort Worth and Dallas.

Screw the little things for now though. This Saturday I get to see Yo Yo Ma and Joshua Bell in concert at a big gala at the Meyerson. I just need to get my bow tie to finish off my black-tie outfit. Just one little accessory in preparation for what I hope will be a BIG event.

When life turns to lemonade...

2006-09-25T16:21:00.000-07:00

I am now 22 years old. A week into this new adventure, may I add. I'm sure we've all heard that saying about when life gives you lemons, then make lemonade. Something like that? Lemons --> lemonade. Simple. I've certainly had my share of lemons in life and looking back, I think I've made my own share of homemade lemonade. Not good lemonade. But good enough. I mean...I'm here. Alive.

As I leave behind my undergraduate years, I've decided to take one extra plunge. Why not take lemons and make lemonade? Literally. And drink it. 10 glasses a day. Nothing else. Just...lemonade. That's right, ladies and gentlemen. I've taken on the master cleanse! Also known as "detoxification." I've always been one for spiritual detox, but now I'm undergoing a physiological detox! Well, I think only my intestines and colon will be fully aware of the effects but that's a different blog post.

So here I am. 12 hours into the master cleanse. And I'm miserable. Absolutely miserable. I suppose detoxing isn't supposed to be a pleasant experience, but why on earth did I think that denying myself the pleasures of solid food would be a worthwhile experience? First, I have to clarify and say that this isn't any old Country Time. It's a homespun concoction including fresh lemon juice (I've opted for the bottled lemon juice because I'm too lazy to squeeze), organic grade b maple syrup, water, and a dash of cayenne pepper. Not to mention a quart of water mixed with non-iodized sea salt every morning for--as the website purports--"enhanced bowel movement." All the cues to this endeavor were red flags telling me to stay away and enjoy a toxic lifestyle. Nevermind that my friend quit after 3 days and a subsequent nose-bleed, nevermind the no-food rule, nevermind the CAYENNE PEPPER, which may I add tastes horrendous. I've embarked on a new stage of my life and I'm determined to follow this thing through...Friday. Maybe.

Not only does the lemonade taste like the bastard child of bad lemons and a cajun entree, but the first day has been excruciating. I certainly didn't receive the memo, but it must have been doughnuts day at the dialysis clinic today. There were doughnuts pouring out of every orifice of that bleach-scented clinic. Doughnuts were offered to me by the patients, the other secretaries, the head nurse...there were even some mysterious doughnuts just lying in a chair in the break room. I know the sensual experience of eating original glazed doughnuts inside and out. Thank the Lord these weren't Krispy Kremes because I may have had to gnaw on my hand all day long. But original glazed doughnuts...I know their sticky touch to the fingers, their sugary smell, the feel of that first bite all the way to that doughy after-taste that can only be resolved with a cold glass of milk. I grew so anxious throughout the day that by the time I'd left at 3 pm, I just had to touch one doughnut with my finger. I hope nobody ate that.

Four more days. Four more days to make these damned lemons I've picked for myself and somehow make lemonade that'll go down and enhance bowel movement. Because that's what you do in life, right? Now if I could only get as much publicity for my detox as Kate Moss. What sweet lemonade that would be...

Wedding Crashers

2006-09-12T11:16:00.000-07:00

This past weekend marked the second wedding featuring people who in my mind actually matter. It would be useless to go into the details of what happened, who was wearing what, and how unbelievably happy everyone was for the couple. So I won't. After all, what decent wedding movie actually focuses on the wedding itself or the couple at hand? Nobody cares about that stuff because everyone already knows what's going to happen; it's the stuff that happens on the periphery that matters. My Big Fat Greek Wedding? Who actually gave a flip what happened to that main Greek woman and long-haired Aiden from Sex and the City? It was the supporting cast that made the movie.

So if the bride and groom were perfect, the dinner was perfect, and the artificial reunion with friends was perfect...that leaves the other stuff, which was not so perfect. Ofcourse i was expecting the barage of questions about what I was doing, how Korea was, and "what? LSATs? I didn't know you wanted to be a lawyer." But leave it to just one person to let those questions sour your mood. After I told a friend's mother that I didn't have a job, she let out one of those shrill can't-tell-if-she's-faking-it laughs and proceeded to tell me how her daughter had not only found a job, but graduated from college, AND gotten married. There it was. The ultimate trifecta of success as measured by Texan mothers, and I'd only checked off one. She didn't stop there. She flashed her own left hand and brazenly announced that she too had gotten married just several weeks before her daughter. She stopped herself and laid her limp wristed hand on my arm and asked, "Well did you atleast graduate?" "Yes," I answered sheepishly. I would have judo-chopped her face with a "...PHI BETA KAPPA, you biatch!" but somehow it still pales in comparison to a wedding ring and a steady cash flow.

I'd already been dreading the reception, seeing as how my best friends were all members of the wedding party and that left me with...no one. I purposely arrived a little late and walked in with a friend of mine who'd luckily come to the wedding plus none. We quickly helped ourselves to glasses of wine and sat at the only remaining table, so far in the back that we didn't even have the privilege of sitting in the main hall. May I also mention how this was the only table located in the serving room/bar. Adding insult to injury, the one person I didn't want to sit with us mingled over to our table. I don't know what it is about tax auditors or people in accounting, but you just get the impression that these people are really fit for these ungodly jobs and nothing else. You have a conversation with these people (2 in this case) and think to yourself, "I'm really glad I'm not in accounting." Even if there's a healthy paycheck in it, it's just not worth it. I had the good fortune of being surrounded by people hellbent to avoid that route for the majority of my college career and atleast for this past summer, I surrounded myself with, well...interesting people.

So really just two crashes at an otherwise fine wedding. I don't see myself going to another one for quite sometime. And next time I'll follow through with the wise choice to bring a date.

How much is "not much"?

2006-09-08T07:18:00.000-07:00

Several days after a flight to Chicago, a connecting flight to Boston, a round-trip bus journey to and from Amherst, a much delayed flight from Boston to Atlanta, and a post-midnight flight to DFW, I find myself right back where I started: in front of my computer in my pajamas at 9 AM. I had a great time visiting friends and feeling as if this brief visit was but a mere prelude to packing my belongings and moving into my friends' dorms. I wish I hadn't been such a moron and forgotten to put my newly charged batteries into my digital camera, but suffice it to say, this weekend was simply...great.

I never realized just how much I say "Not much." Especially following the overly banal, conversation-starter "What's goin' on?" And ofcourse you have to respond to such a dull question with "Not much." I think I said that about fifty times over the course of the weekend. "What are you up to now, Paul?" "Oh, not much." I sat around and watched a lot of reruns of My Super Sweet Sixteen, Next, Two-A-Days, and Project Runway. If you asked me, my reunion with cable television was hardly "not much." ButI should really stop kidding myself; I was on the verge of useless, while my friends ran around preparing for their last year of college. I spent an entire two years with Colin's run-down futon (God rest its soul) and somehow felt equally acquainted with the new futon, rainbow tie-dyed mattress and all.

This "not much" doing was, however, exactly what I needed. I really needed this time to actually verbalize my plans for the next several months and convince people that my entire "I have no clue what to do in life" front was just a cover up for a minor plan that would get me through the next few months. And not only did I reacquaint myself with cable television, but also with the eggs from Valentine (both scrambled and over-easy) and the Peter Pan Bus. The latter is something I actually vowed never to do again, but it was really the only way to get from Boston to Amherst.

Now I'm back, and somehow the same answer of "not much" isn't sounding so great. No worries. I do have several prospects for part-time jobs to keep me occupied during the day with LSAT classes in the evenings. And thank the Lord, I've got a couple friends still around the DFW metroplex who will take me around the sights and excites of downtown Dallas--something I never really did get a chance to experience. But every hour that I spend thinking about which gift off the registry to buy or which room in the house deserves to get vacuumed first, I can't help but feel that something went terribly wrong. Something in that plan that started when I filled out all those Ivy League college applications back in my senior year of high school, dreaming of extravagant paychecks on the east or west coast.

I really have no excuse to be so negative. It's just that I'm still on an awful sleep schedule that puts me to bed around 7:30 pm and wakes me up at 4 am. This isn't jet lag. This is me having "not much" to do. That "not much" which was so much fun just a week ago has now turned into a funk that I'm relying on tonight and tomorrow to fix.

Tonight: dinner and drinks
Tomorrow: the wedding

When the jet lags...

2006-08-29T22:53:00.000-07:00

Somehow I managed to escape the perils of jetlag when I flew to Korea. I arrived in the afternoon and managed to go on a nice power walk throughout a neighborhood of Seoul with my aunt. Now I'm back at home, waking up at 3 am and taking 4 hr naps at 3 pm. I've missed Oprah two days in a row! I tried so hard to stay up until 4 pm today but I lost steam around 3:30, probably a result of my 1:30 Taco Bell lunch. So I'm going to stay up for as long as I can here and then go to sleep (hopefully around 2?) and then go on with my day tomorrow just like any other Wednesday in Coppell, Texas. No poignant revelations in this post (not that there were every any before); just my own desperate attempt to stay awake.

It seems that my attempts to break into Hollywood grandeur have officially infiltrated my subconscious. Last night I dreamed that I was making a home video for Julianne Moore, her husband, Greg Kinnear, and Laura Linney at some swank lounge. Now, I did just see a preview for Mr. Juliane Moore's new movie starring Julianne and I saw Little Miss Sunshine with Kinnear earlier this week. But Ms. Linney. That was a wildcard. So what would Freud have to say about this? Well, I'm somehow so obsessed with Hollywood that I would be willing to play fifth wheel and video tape these celebrities...and Julianne is probably my mother who I've suppressed latent oedipal feelings for (I did find Julianne quite fetching in Boogie Nights) and Greg Kinnear...hmm...I want to be him? I mean, he was nominated for an Oscar.

From Hollywood to lying awake in my bed at 3:30 am, I quickly decided that I absolutely HAD to go to Taco Bell today for lunch. So everything I did from then on revolved around how I would somehow make it to the Taco Bell drive-thru after a jog in the park. Mission accomplished. Not really too hard considering it just involved attempting to read a Korean GQ at 4 in the morning and my sitting in front of the computer writing a TOEFL test section until about 11. Slowly reading the GQ quickly turned into just looking at the pictures and TOEFL test writing morphed into finding album art for my itunes and listening to Christina Aguilera's new album.

If this is how it continues on, I'm in deep shit.

But somewhere between Taco Bell and the local Albertson's, I did decide to retake the LSATs in December and take the TestMaster's Prep course starting the end of September.

More deep shit.

Ode to Hoyah

2006-08-28T06:55:00.000-07:00

I started off this blog with a pretty negative attitude and left Korea with a pretty awful experience packing and having to make an abbreviated goodbye to my friends as I left for a Korean island. So this is it then? I'm back in the States...and I've yet to stop by Taco Bell or kiss the ground in gratitutde of the great U.S. of A. In fact, I'm just faced with a lot of apprehension and anxiety. Friends are moving on in life and in school and I'm...still here. Provided it's only been 2 days since I've been back, but still, everything about me at this moment tells me that I should be on vacation. I'm sitting in my pajamas in front of the computer at 9 AM, home alone and a week filled with mindless errands. The last time I did this was...winter break, when I knew I didn't have any homework because the semester would start anew with new classes and old faces.

So all I've got to salvage any bit of personal dignity is to think back on all those good times in Korea. After the incident in the subway station, I was almost certain that that would be my defining moment in Korea. And in a way, it has been. Whenever anyone asks me about my time in Korea, I always think of that one incident, but ofcourse I just give my well-rehearsed, neutral answer of "oh, it was really great. I was really blessed to have that opportunity, even though it was really challenging. But I met some really good people...blah blah blah." I feel like I'm rehearsing a monologue for a bit part on 7th Heaven.

Cheryl, always one to comfort me in my complaining, told me that ofcourse, that one incident would not be the defining moment from Korea. As much as I'd like to think she's wrong, at moments like this, when all I've got is to look at the good times and not the bad, I see that I have some great moments to add to my mental photo album. So what if they consisted of 45 minute lunches at a nearby snack bar or drinking beer on plastic chairs outside a local convenient store? I've realized that I need to make a concerted effort to make my own defining moments throughout all the ups and downs...and finding them is not really as hard as I make it out to be.

Here's to the people who helped make my defining moments of summer 2006:

Juliana: My fellow TOEFL Speaking/Writing teacher in crime. She travels the world AND she's a snowboard instructor. How 'bout that. Thank you for always going to McDonald's with me and cracking jokes about our TOEFL curriculum. Um..and did I mention that she got 3rd place in a dance competition at one of the biggest clubs in Seoul?

Ms. Jenny O: Cheryl is definitely right. Jenny was the girl that all the Korean men would stop to look at (quite inconspicuously), not to mention, also the sleazy American men. Hey, what can you do when you're Caucasian and beautiful. I've often been plagued with the same problem. I like to think Jenny and I are soulmates because we both love country music, mexican food and margaritas. The only thing that keeps us from being ABSOLUTE soulmates is her love of hiking and nature. And Jenny knows that I'm just not down with that.

Ahrum: Remember that movie My Sassy Girl? That movie you heard was so good, but then you watched it, and then you wanted to go and throw up on the filmmakers in a subway, just like the title character does to her boyfriend? Well, I think those Korean filmmakers originally meant to cast Ahrum in the title role because she is in fact quite sassy. Winston, NC is lucky to have her. She was also studying for the LSATs this summer, and we all know how much I love the LSATs.

Hae Jin: I honestly have no idea why our paths did not cross earlier at Amherst. We had many of the same friends but the only interaction I had with her was a drunken high five we gave each other the day before graduation. Rest assured, there were many more drunken high fives this summer. There are three things that I will always associate with Hae Jin for the rest of my life: 1) "Don't Cha" by the Pussycat Dolls. 2) Kim-bop. 3) Pat-bing-su (red bean shaved ice dessert).

Cheryl: I knew that Cheryl was badass when someone at one of the first Hoyah dinners said something ridiculous and we both caught each other's eye with a "what the fuck?!" expression. Cheryl always reminds us young-uns that everything's going to be alright in life. She's also a blog whore so I know that there will always be atleast one person to read over this nonsense that I write. She couldn't have said it better herself: we both love ice cream and Augusten Burroughs. And did I mention that she's badass? See you in Austin in a couple weeks, Cheryl!

Definitely 10 out of 10.

Jitter Bug

2006-08-25T06:22:00.000-07:00

It's that time again. When you're about to leave a city/place/whatever and you have those jitters the night before. You drive through the city one last time and you look around and think to yourself, "Well, this wasn't so bad. I think I'm actually going to miss it." And then you get to thinking of all the things you wish you could have done, all the things you wish you could have done over, and all the things that you actually did. It's like your life flashing before your eyes but in a good teary-eyed, nostalgic way that really puts that final chapter of your adventure to a close.

That's the kind of the feeling I had driving through Olympic Expressway with my aunt to my uncle's house for one last time. Looking at the numerous bridges that had been beautifully lit by colored lights, diverting attention from the muggy waters below to the beautiful cityscape lights above, really made me think about my time here, the relatives I "reconnected" with, and the wonderful friends I made. It's the same feeling I had when I left New York City after one summer and the same thing I felt when I left Amherst--minus the urban skyline.

Leave it to Seoul to really put me from hero to zero once more. I hate to use this blog as an outlet to complain, but Cheryl is no longer here so I have no one to complain to. I arrive at my uncle's to finish packing most of my luggage and I find that my aunt has already packed all of my clothes into one big suitcase. Hmm..now I don't remember ever being able to do that, but I'm extremely grateful. She always does things without my knowing, and more often than not, they're really kind things, such as washing my shoes that I'd intended to throw away and always giving me an extra banana milkshake in the morning. So I was extremely relieved that now I could pack the rest of my things into my other big suitcase that would be checked in at the airport. Little did I know, my aunt and uncle had their own plans of what to put in that suitcase. They had originally told me that there wasn't much stuff at all to send back home with me. The usual Korean fare for relatives going back to the States is just a bunch of random Korean spices and foods that don't have to be declared through customs. Because Lord knows, you can't buy that stuff in the States (you actually can, but it always tastes "better" when it's direct from the Motherland in a suitcase instead of a cargo plane).

But after they had stuffed numerous bags of made-in-Korea food and packages of seaweed, I realized there was absolutely no room for any of my other items, most importantly my shoes and other miscellaneous items. My shoes!! I realized that I would have to take some stuff back to the States but not enough to feed all of North Korea! My goodness. And if you know me, you know that I'm not such a great packer. In fact, I spend the entire night before packing for big excursions and I almost ALWAYS overpack--although I always manage to forget that ONE important item.

So not only do I have to sit there and contemplate how I'm going to get all my crap into a bag, but I've got my uncle making fun of all the shoes and clothes that I've brought, telling me that the next time I come to Korea, I shouldn't pack that many clothes or shoes. Just two or three pairs are enough. Two or three pairs???? I think during the course of a day here in Korea, I've worn three different pairs of shoes. In one day!! And that's not including when I go clubbing! And I sit. Continuing to sweat profusely. Because that's what happens when I get stressed and when I just sit around in general. At one point, I literally just SAT there, looking at my luggage, clueless as of what to do while my uncle continued to talk loudly (not shout) at me, telling me what to put where.

Here's what I've got. 2 big suitcases, both of which I pray to GOD are at the 30 kg mark. And 3 carryo-ons. here's where things get tricky. My uncle just told me to ask an "American" who doesn't have two carry-ons to carry one of mine onto the plane because I speak English well and can somehow cajole some unknowing American into doing that for me. Realizing the potential for this plan to fail, I put my own personal nonessentials into that bag (gifts for two VERY special people included--SORRY!).

Now on top of my usual leaving-somewhere-and-going-somewhere-else jitters, I've got the customs-jitters. Bad enough that they've got the crack-down on terrorism because of that crazy business in London. And I've got the usual flying-makes-me-hysterical jitters because I've seen too many movies and tv shows involving terror and planes. And as much as I hate to admit it, I've got the I-carry-around-too-many-shoes jitters. I mean, you just don't laugh at someone's cowboy boots. They may have been only 20 bucks and they may be too big for me feet, but I love them. I love my boots. I love my shoes. And they love me.

Note: none of my shoes were placed in the nonessentials bag.

Rest and not so much relaxation

2006-08-24T05:00:00.000-07:00

I realize that a blog post is long overdue. In fact, I've got an unfinished waiting in queue on this blogger as we speak. But I've just returned from "vacation" in Jeju, so I figure I might as well write what's fresh on my mind.

So a trip to Jeju, South Korea. I guess that's how I'd write it. I'm still uncertain as to the relationship Jeju has with the rest of Korea. A state? A territory like Puerto Rico? I'm not sure, but somehow, having to ride a plane across a body of water makes it seem more like a Puerto Rico than a Palm Springs. I went thinking that this would be a well-deserved vacation after a hard summer's work at Hoyah Academy. And being in a different country, ofcourse, lends itself to its share of ups and downs. But hey, I just got back from 4 days without internet access. That in and of itself is a major up. Somebody give me a high five.

It's really hot here
my my...it feels like a cloud is suffocating my face. That's kind of how I felt the entire time I was there. And sometimes, the clouds actually were in my face. One minute it would be sunny; the next there would be a huge downpour. Mother nature, how you love to play these foolish games.

Lost
We got to go to an actual, life-size maze. Yes! Those mazes that you only see on tv and in books with other hallucinogenic things, such as playing card men and dodo birds. As lame as I felt asking my relatives to take me there, I knew I'd never be able to find one in the US (or atleast in Texas). As a I began to wander through the maze with my cousins, I started to realize why this sort of "maze park" would never fly in the US. This shrubbery of..."fun" is literally a lawsuit waiting to happen. What kind of person would PAY to get lost? Evidently, a lot of fellow Jeju-do travellers. I tried to impress my cousin by looking at a map and boldly proclaiming that I did know the way out. Not only did I NOT know the way out, but I slipped down an entire flight of stairs in my muddy flip flops. There's just no redeeming yourself after falling down a flight of stairs.

It's noon...I think
There's some old Korean tradition, that I may have just made up, where you absolutely must accept any alcohol given to you by an elder. Yeah, I think I might have made that up, but I think it stems from some truth. It just so happens that by this time during my stay in Korea, I've grown to detest soju. Soju = death. It used to be the perfect companion to good times back in the day (i.e., June) but now all I can think of whenever I drink it is rubbing alcohol. It smells bad, it tastes bad, and one shot of it doesn't even get you drunk. But ofcourse, I HAVE to accept it when my oldest uncle offers me some...at lunch time. Not once, not twice, but THRICE during my stay in Jeju, I felt the effects of Korean moonshine right around noon time. Sometimes, drinking just is not as fun when you know that you won't be dancing it off within an hour.

No speak Korean
So that's kind of a lie. I can most certainly get by with my Korean. But you can't "go on vacation" to a place where the language is not your first language. Sure it's fun to experience a new culture and eat new food (note: not all the food was quite so fun--sea cucumber, octopus, squid...not so fun), but when it's a constant struggle to communicate?? When you can't even crack a joke because Korean just doesn't have the capabilities to sustain subtle American sarcasm?? When you can't be yourself because all your sentences trail off because of lack of language skills?? That's certainly not a vacation. However, I've noticed that a little bit of alcohol--just like a spoonful of sugar--makes the medicine go down and the korean come out MUCH easier. Due to the aforementioned lunchtime soju, I was able to have some good conversations with my relatives. No worries...there was no dancing involved.

Still waiting for that high five
Although I had quite a bit of trouble carrying on conversation like a normal Korean, there were times when I was mistaken for *gasp* an ACTUAL Korean! Ever since I've stepped foot here in Korea, I haven't really felt like an ACTUAL Korean. Some of my relatives judge the basis of my Korean-ness on my ability to eat kimchi, while others expect me to eat crazy things because I am by some default, KOREAN. Walking around Seoul, I've never felt like one of these people. I stand as an outsider, a man from across the ocean, and thus, I'm free to judge and criticize and even laugh at these so-called Koreans. But there is this sense of satisfaction when strangers do think you're one of them and even through a slightly botched accent, they seem to accept you. People would ask me questions at the hotel and on the street about how much things cost or where something was, and after hearing my response would either ask me more questions or politely thank me. They think I'm Korean!! I just gave myself another high five right here in front of this computer.

A couple more days and I'm back in the States Back to being "Korean American" and back to the real world. First stop...Taco Bell.

From heat to beat

2006-08-15T22:41:00.000-07:00

In a high-paced city like Seoul, my mood can go from one extreme to another in a matter of minutes. It's funny how life can be like that sometimes; one second you're on cloud nine and in another you're eating dirt. The one thing that really does it for me is heat. Standing in a subway station with absolutely no fans or a/c makes me want to poke an eye out or even jump in front of an oncoming subway train. There's just something so awful about standing in place letting the sweat trickle down your neck and back as it sticks to your clothes.

Despite my heat spell in the Hongdae subway station yesterday, I contemplated what a great day I had actually had. Sweat stains and all, I had learned to water ski in the morning/afternoon, gone shopping in Hongdae, and spent time with some of my favorite Hoyah teachers. The picture perfect Korean Independence Day.

As you could have guessed, here's where my faced gets shoved into the dirt. HARD.

As I preparedto turn the last corner up towards the last escalator to the subway station exit, a man came up to face and looked me hard in the eyes. This man was either under the influence of some chemical substance or checking me out not so inconspicuously. As we got closer to each other, he grabs my bag and asks me, "You know who I am? Don't you know what you've done? Come with me!" Being the silly materialistic that I am, the first thought that races through my mind is "Holy shit, my ipod, wallet and recently purchased star-patterned neck tie are all in this bag!" But I held to my bag and simply told him I didn't know who he was nor did I know what I "had done." The man simply sneered at me and insisted that I come out of the subway station with him. If Oprah has taught me anything, it's that you never let the aggressor take you to that second location. I have seen several episodes where people have presented their own testimonials on this survival fact. You do NOT let him/her take you to the second location!

I quickly turned around as he continued to hold onto my bag and dragged him towards the top of the escalator I had just come up from. I figured, if I block this escalator, people who had to use this escalator would surely put an end to this nonsense. Instead, the man continued to yell some uncomprehensible words (due to my limited Korean and state of panic) and held on to my bag as he threw his fist back in preparation to fight. As he did this, the people around seemed to pay no attention to my terrified eyes and merely slipped beside onto the escalator, without even a raised eyebrow. Hello??? I'm about to get punched in the face by a stranger!! And then the man got out his cell phone and told whoever was outside the station to come down because he "had found the person."

At this moment, my own worst fears, fueled by my grandmother's very first piece of advice about Korean "gangsters," began to materialize in my overwrought imagination. I could picture it now. His entire gang would come down the stairs and beat me to a pulp while the main aggressor took my bag away, ipod and all. I did have limited knowledge of taekwondo but that would have only come in handy if this man's face was a 2-inch thick wooden block. Perhaps I could try to get him to punch, dodge his punch, and then pull out a judo chop on the back of his neck. Or I could just stand at the top of the escalator and continue to convince him that I had never seen him or done anything. He continued to ask me, "If you didn't do anything, then why are you trying to run away? Come out of the station!" Hey, you big fuck. Asking me that kind of rhetorical question is the universal question to get some idiot to actually follow you. Obviously my imagination has been tainted by the harsh cynicism and crime-ridden plot lines of American tv. I knew right then and there that I would be the topic of some night-time Korean news program: "Korean American in pink polo found beaten to a pulp inside Sangdo station. " Let those bitches at CSI figure THAT one out.

I finally heard the pounding footsteps of someone coming from far away to catch this "person" who had done "something," and instead of being a troupe of Korean bandits, it was a young woman in heels shouting at her boyfriend, "He's not the one!!! It's not him!!!!" The man continued to hold my bag and shout at me until the girlfriend came up to him and pleaded with him that I "wasn't him." The woman apologized profusely for the mistake and the man simply let go of my bag and told me to go away.

Hold the FUCK up. JUST...HOLD...UP! Not even an apology??? Ofcourse I was far too shocked to ask for one, so I simply walked away, ashamed of this man, ashamed of the people who did nothing to help me, and ashamed of myself. If there's anything I got out of this, it's this:

1) Korean men suck.

2) I am an utter wuss. Not only was I unable to stand up for myself, but I completely lost control of my senses in the face of this ridiculous man.

3) Maybe I'm not quite so ready to be in the real world by myself. I, who for so long have longed to just be on my own and brave the harsh realities of life, can't do it. Not just yet. I need to go home. And have the comfort of my family. And know that there are always friends to back me up just in case a random man threatens to kill me. I'm only 21--almost 22. Just give me a break. I'll be ready for life...later.

Food for thought

2006-08-11T05:30:00.000-07:00

Almost worth it

2006-08-11T04:59:00.000-07:00

Emails from students of mine who recently ended their run in my TOEFL course:

"Thanks for teaching me SKILLS. I will see you somewhere around Hoyah."

"Thank you for taught me. Lets keep touching each other with e-mail." (nevermind the serious grammar mistake there...)

"Paul. I will miss you. Thank you for teaching me."

At this point, I don't even care if these boys' parents forced them to send me a thank-you email.

After a long hard day, these little messages really do make the blood, sweat and tears--ok, so just A LOT of sweat-- worth it.

Korean glaze

2006-08-07T20:31:00.000-07:00

Upon arriving Seoul, I have indulged myself with a total of three Krispy Kreme Original Glazed doughnuts, two of which have been given to me free of charge. Apparently, in an effort to copy all things American, the Krispy Kremes here have a red circular light that when turned on indicates that any passerby may come in and enjoy one free doughnut straight off the oil and confectionary conveyer belt. This red light also appears in Krispy Kreme doughnut shops all across the United States?

With each bite of these delectable delights from heaven, I've been reminded of home. Reminded of the time our marching band sold them by the dozen for fund-raising. Reminded of the time I bought a box for myself and made myself sick. Reminded of the time my mom used to take me to the store after my SAT-prep class for a post-study doughnut. Despite the once sick-spell, these doughnuts have come to symbolize all that is good in life and the ultimate symbol of self-denial; surely something this good can't be THAT bad for you.

And so one orgasmic bite after another, I long for the days that I drove around Coppell, Texas in my royal blue Toyota Cressida and partook in my daily afternoon nap with Oprah. Nevermind that the Krispy Kreme I most recently frequented was in the basement floor of an upscale department store. None of these Prada/Chanel/Burberry-clad Koreans can distract me from my nostalgic journey across the Pacific. Proust had his madeleines. I've got the ORIGINAL GLAZED!

It wasn't until I was standing in the subway looking up at an ad for Krispy Kreme that I realized something was really off about these magical doughnuts in Korea. This ad featured four young Korean twenty-something (maybe thirty-something) females sitting around a box of Krispy Kremes a la Sex and the City. Nothing would have made me happier to see an ad for Krispy Kremes with four attractive young ladies eating away their man troubles. Or perhaps a late-night munchies run? Carrie & Co. would have been so proud.

But instead, not one woman had the doughnut anywhere near her mouth. Not...one... One of them with just a tad more plump arms (not that there is ANYTHING wrong with that--but perhaps a calculated casting decision done by the ad agency?) was holding the doughnut in one hand and appeared to bring it up to her mouth, while the other women just sat around laughing. Laughing as if the thought of eating one doughnut was absolutely preposterous. No wonder the one woman with the doughnut in hand looked hesitant and not quite as exuberant as the other three. They were probably making fun of her!

Why won't these women eat the doughnuts? It's not a beer ad. They are completely able to bring the doughnuts to their mouths and really feel the fat in their bodies congeal into extra pounds. But no. This ad, the product of psychological conditioning at its best, was made simply to associate good times with doughnut. Doughnut + people ( - consumption) = good times. And true to form, I've once again become disappointed with all things Korean.

These doughnuts, the source of goodness in my life, have become vehicles for commercial globalization, thereby sacrificing their luscious flavor and post-consumptive consequences. No one should be wearing Prada with a Krispy Kreme. Just a Cressida. And perhaps a shoulder to cry on.

You're so vain

2006-08-02T05:25:00.000-07:00

Admit it. Every time you walk past a reflective surface, you take a quick glance at yourself. Maybe not even a quick glance. Sometimes you may even stop to fix a stray hair, fix your tie, or even just stop and admire your goddamn beautiful self.

I do it.

Not excessively. Not that it's anything to be ashamed of; it's a completely natural human inclination. Funny that I just read a lecture to my students from the TOEFL book about animal self-awareness. Apparently, chimpanzees increase self-grooming and touching when shown a reflection of themselves. These TOEFL books are just chock FULL of knowledge; those kids just don't appreciate the academic goldmine that lies in front of them.

The other day, I may have crossed the line. It's one thing to fix a stray hair or a lopsided faux-hawk. But as I stood in front of the mirror in the locker room of California WOW, I made a clear leap-frog over self-awareness into the realms of utter vanity. As I changed into my clothes after a shower, I stood in front of the mirror and almost by sheer accident, by some uncontrollable twitch of the body, my left hip jutted to the side and...I struck a pose. A quick pose. But a pose nonetheless. I could have done Tyra proud.

Just to make sure that this hadn't been one of those bodily twitches that occurs because of fatigue, I slowly repeated the motion and confirmed that I had, indeed, struck a pose. Madonna told us to strike a pose because "there's nothing to it," but there is something to it. As ashamed as I am of having given the mirror at my gym a split-second show, I like to think that I'm just a victim of this image-obsessed society. You may think this is all just mumbo jumbo, academic broo-haha. Quite the contrary, I am surrounded on a daily basis by the pressure to look "good." My students, for example, never fail to point out something about the way I look.

"Why are you always trying to copy David Beckham?"
What are you talking about?? Beckham totally stole the faux-hawk from me!

"Why do you cuff your pants up like that so much?"
So I can give you idiots a nice view of my hairy ankles.

"Whoa, I can't believe you're wearing white shoes!"
Why don't you shut up and work on your essay before this white shoe ends up in your face.

That's my defense, and I'm sticking to it. I'm a victim of a society where clothes truly make the man/woman. And this ridiculous pose that I can't get out of my mind--which I hope was really just a private encounter between myself and the mirror--must be some sort of sign that the critical Korean eye has crept into my subconscious. Crept in and started breeding a nasty strain of severe self-consciousness and the bodily/sartorial obsession.

I may return to the United States and comment on how your legs look fat in that skirt or how you might look better with a different haircut.

Just remember, it's not my fault.

I smile no more

2006-07-29T05:52:00.000-07:00

My entire post that I just put up somehow disappeared because I can't understand the blasted Korean words on this site.

I am doubly angry.

And I will sulk in this dank PC room.

To sum up the post: this day has been a complete waste.

I need a drink.

A Halli Galli Jolly Ole Time

2006-07-23T22:48:00.000-07:00

Adventures at a board game cafe.

It's not me; it's you

2006-07-23T05:14:00.000-07:00

Massachusetts. New York. There's really not that much of a difference, right? Both in the Northeast. Both have gorgeous falls and brutal winters. Just a three hour drive from Amherst, MA to New York, NY; in Texas, that'll cover the diameter of a single metroplex. But for some reason, whenever my grandmother asks me for the name of my college that's "somewhere in New York," I become outraged. The conversation always goes a little like this:

Grandmother (in Korean): Can you write down the name of your school for me? All I can remember is that it's in New York.

Me: My school's not in New York.

Grandmother: It's not? Where is it?

Me: Massachusetts.

Grandmother: Mass....what?

Me: Massachusetts.

Grandmother:....

Me: The same state that Harvard is in.

Grandmother:...

Me: 3 hours north of New York.

Grandmother: (smiles)

And with that smile, I know that I've lost. That smile is her way of telling me, "No, I refuse to understand what is coming out of your mouth. Look how satisfied I am with knowing that your school is in New York."

Wait a minute. Shouldn't I be the one in this country that's not supposed to know what's going on or what this and that word means? And shouldn't I be the one sending these uncompromising pleasant smiles to people to let them know that as a foreigner, "I refuse to understand!" Mind you, I've had this conversation with my grandmother more than 5 times.

So today I set out to end this once and for all, for my own sake, for my grandmother's sake and for my alma mater's sake. And so for the 6th, 7th, xth time...

Grandmother: Can you write down the name of your school for me again? I keep forgetting it and all I remember is that it's in New York.

Me: Grandmother, my school is not in New York. (notice the emphasis on "not")

Grandmother: Really? Then where is it?

Me: (here it goes) Massachusetts.

Grandmother: Can you write that down for me?

Me: (writes down) See. Mass-a-chu-setts.

Grandmother: Is this in New York?

Me: No. It's 3 hours north of New York. Did my mother tell you my school was in New York? Because she's been there twice.

Grandmother: Yeah, she did. She went up to New York for your graduation.

Me: Well, Massachusetts is not New York. My school is an hour and a half west of Harvard.

Grandmother: I always thought Harvard was in Washington, D.C.

And all I could do was smile. Smile and take another bite out of the sliced watermelon that my grandmother so dutifully prepares for me. The K.O. smile that indicates that it's over and that no one will succeed, in either the understand or the explaining. I'll just have to live with the fact that my grandmother will never be able to say "Massachusetts" and let her believe that Amherst College is really in the Big Apple--a fact that my mom may already have been aware of.

The week is about to start anew, which means....another week of TOEFL and another week of combatting blank stares from young Korean adolescents.

That place called home

2006-07-20T23:46:00.000-07:00

CHS Class of '02

Leslie, Myself, and Michelle. I think every picture I have of them involves this couch at the Kogler house.

What you've all been waiting for

2006-07-20T22:48:00.000-07:00

"NOW that's what I call Korea..." Part I

This has got to stop

2006-07-18T22:06:00.000-07:00

Or else I will be missing an eyebrow.

I looked in the mirror the other day to find that a portion of my right eyebrow was lacking in hairs, almost as if I had taken a piece of scotch tape, taped it to the corner of my brow and haphazardly ripped it off. But it's not a case of the phantom eyebrow that gradually disappears until I wake up to find a bare brow. I know why the hairs are missing...thus making it all the more pathetic that I haven't found any measures to stop it.

Everyone has his or her way of relieving stress: blowing air out, wringing hands, twisting hair. I rub my eyebrows. Rub them to satisfaction until the individual hairs land on my shirt. Sometimes I place one index finger on one brow and my thumb on the other and then slowly bring my fingers together and apart. Other times I put one index finger on each brow and lightly scratch as if there were mosquito bites beneath my brows. I don't know why I do it. It just happens; just like biting ones nails...only a little...cleaner. Kind of.

I don't know what would be worse. Having a single uni-brow traveling the length of my forehead or two half brows acting as the visible artifacts of my stress. Either way, my patchy brow has now become the symbol of all things bad that have happened here in Korea. As much as I would love to love my students and love to love my daily commute, it is hard. And I have the missing eyebrows to prove it!

The other day I was riding in a crowded subway, body parts mashed together and face in someone's hair (luckily, I happen to be above average in height, so I can usually escape the face in the armpits). Basically, within these close comforts, I have gotten to second base with every morning commuting Korean that rides the Number 2 line. It's quite satisfying if you think about it. I've been groped, squeezed, pushed, breathed on..and if I'm lucky, perspired on. But as I'm standing there holding my work bag and my gym bag, I slowly turn my head only to find in front of my eyes a mole. A mole with a hair. A long wiry hair seemingly growing from the mole as I look at it, almost begging for me to just pluck it out. It's probably a good thing I couldn't reach my eyebrow, otherwise I would have lawn-mowed it away in one clean swipe.

Despite my persistent complaints, I have plenty to be thankful for. I work with some amazing people. People that make me want to glue back those wasted eyebrows and erase any signs of my having complained for being in another country. One more month and my services here at this academy will be complete. One more week after that and I'll be back home in the United States. With a pair of luscious eyebrows.

I feel pretty

2006-07-09T06:04:00.000-07:00

"It must be nice to be pretty like a girl."

Says my uncle.

Over dinner.

What am I supposed to say to that? "Thanks. I try really hard to keep my skin clean and legs smooth. It's tough but that's the price you have to pay to look beautiful, right?"

If anyone had said this to me in the United States, it would have given me reason to karate chop that person on the back of the neck. But here, it's a compliment from uncle who says that must make me really popular at my academy. As much as I would like to believe that my looks alone have kept my students returning to class day after day, I really hope they don't look at me and think "What a pretty girl. Coulda done Audrey Hepburn proud."

The Korean standards of beauty have been a source of entertainment, intrigue, and confusion for me these past four weeks. Men with perms and eyelid surgery. Women with...more perms and eyelid surgery. Men in tight clothes. Women in silly hats. Men in silly hats. It's not actually quite as jarring as I would have hoped, but it is quite a sight to see all these men standing naked in front of a vanity "bar" of sorts in the locker room blow drying, moisturizing, and post-work out re-accessorizing. And when I say "sight," I mean that I kind of feel sorry for these people who feel like they have to be a certain image every single second they are visible to the eyes of other Koreans. As much as I would like to raise my head in disdain at these pathetic, materialistic mutants of brand merchandizing, I too have now become more conscious of what I need and should wear to and from the gym.

But it's the price we all pay to be pretty, no? And evidently, being pretty means you're popular AND you have lots of money (as some of my students would put it).

Then a pretty lady I shall be.

I'm off to get some beauty rest for my upcoming week.
******
Thank you to my wonderful cohorts in karaoke this past Saturday. And thank you for having the good sense not to get plastered at a dinner with co-workers.

10 out of 10

2006-07-01T05:37:00.000-07:00

Mary Roach. You have officially been bested.

Although your heart-wrenching rendition of Carol King's "I Feel the Earth Move" earned you a self-professed 8 out of 10 and the undying admiration of a handful of college students, the events from the previous night have out done your vocal eccentricities and forced hand motions. And if you can believe it, even your zipper-laden white pants.

Hoyah and co. made its trek out to Hongdae for the once-a-month "Club Night." As trashy and juvenile as that sounds, somehow everything is better when it involves an arm bracelet worthy of Six Flags and a free drink--all for approximately $15! The festivites began well before the taxi ride to Hongdae with gallons of soju from a watermelon. Cheers to Hae Jin on another year alive on this wonderful planet and to plans for greatness in the world of dentistry. A twenty minute cab ride later, we find ourselves at our first club, NB. I have no idea what that stands for nor do I have any idea how the letters "NB" relate to any type of dancing, hip-hop, or any good times in general. All I can say is that although the club was packed and the people weren't really dancing (rather just swaying from side to side to the beat of the music), a passable dance remix of "Best of My Love" by the Emotions immediately set the tone for what would be the best night out that 15 dollars could buy.

But how could a minute's worth of the Emotions trump the infamous hands-to-the-hip done so elegantly by Ms. Roach, you ask? The fun certainly did not end there. We stumbled into a random bar/club that played Chumbawumba, "Come on Eileen," and MMMBop. MMMBop! I would ask the rhetorical question, "Did somebody get the memo to play ultimate DP music?" but this time I am absolutely positive that there was no memo to be sent! It's as if this cheap adhesive bracelet that I paid $15 dollars for knew that I needed this music. Music that you could only shamelessly dance to drunk or alone in your bedroom. There will be many more fun times to be had at this joint. An 11 out of 10, perhaps? I don't even know if I can go there.

******

In other news, I witnessed my first Korean verbal cat-fight. On one side: woman with absurdly abrasive voice who had decided to park her car on my grandmother's lot. The other side: my grandmother. All I can say is that it...was...amazing. Screw MLK's "I have a dream" or JFKs...um...whatever it was called. Students should be required to study the rhetoric of cat-fights. Prospective thesis project anyone?

Let's talk about sex, baby

2006-06-27T01:40:00.000-07:00

Actually, let's not just talk about it. Let's watch it, gossip about it, laugh about it, and be seventh graders about it. Not even an even an Amherst degree can keep me from chuckling whenever I hear the word "nuts." What can I say? It's funny. It's TABOO!!! (speaking of which, I'm dying to play that game with someone right now, here in Korea).

But that's just the thing. Sex is so taboo and yet in the US it is EVERYWHERE. And what better place to get your night full of innuendos than the good ole television. When people slam doors and cry tears and point fingers at the opposite sex, it's because he or she slept with someone, gave an STD to someone, or *gasp* got someone pregnant!!! These tried and true plot mechanisms are so cliche and yet we tune in season after season, show after show to see who's sleeping with who and who's daddy is the actual baby's daddy. When people in Korean television shows slam doors and cry tears, it's because of....something else. Lies, perhaps. Or maybe even *gasp* bribery! Like I said...it's something else; my Korean's not so good, but trust you me, it's not because of any sexual misadventures.

Come on, Korea! We need you to broadcast things on weekly dramas that create a sense of escape, a detachment from reality. What are the chances that you'll be in a group of some of the most prominent surgeons in the world who sleep with each other, give STDs to each other, AAAAND coin nicknames starting with "Mc." It's just not fair! But it isn't real life. This is TV. Korean TV is not TV. It is what we see everyday with our parents and dare we say it, our grandparents. No more tears please, unless you've just hooked up with your best friend who's had a crush on you for ages and has now moved onto a sexy ethnically ambiguous vixen.

I know this is very immature of me and I'm sure some of you are going to roll your eyes and remind of how much a prude I really am. But sexual innuendos ARE FUNNY! And I can't say a single one in Korean! I walk by a clothing store on my way to the gym called "le coq sportif" and yes, you got it, I give a little chuckle every time I walk by. Sexual innuendos are my cigarettes; they're my "harmless" (as some of you may call it) way of being bad. And they don't cost a thing...except for perhaps a bit of my dignity. And I am not about to start smoking.

* Getting ready to tear up Hongdae with my dear friends from Hoyah Academy this Friday. Felix cumpleanos, querido Hae Jin!

I am not from mars

2006-06-24T19:38:00.000-07:00

It's an odd thing to meet up with relatives that you've never seen before. Relatives that you didn't even know existed. And then you open the door to your grandmother's house and you see her and her daughter or daughters or sons; two or three or four more people to add to your family tree. I never thought it would be strange to meet someone that you're related to, someone who shares some small part of your genetic make-up, from a different country. But evidently, these people think I've just stepped off a spaceship from some far away land absent of any trace of ANYTHING Korean.

"Do you ever use metal chopsticks in the US?"
"Do you have Korean melons in the US?"
"Do you have rice cakes in the US?"

Or these remarks of absolute foreignness take the form of these:

"Wow, you eat kimchi so well!"
"Oh my goodness! You know how to wrap your meat with lettuce!"

Note to relatives, seen and never-before-seen: I just crossed an ocean to get here; not an entire galaxy. Also, both of my parents are indeed Korean and have not completely shed their Korean ways. Just because we have Taco Tuesdays and occasionally spaghetti on Thursdays, does NOT mean there are no more days left in the week for Korean food.

In other news, I made my first trip out to Dongdaemun and my head literally exploded from having seen too many clothes. A future blog is in store for the next time I go to Dongdaemun alone to actually buy stuff.

I thought I could read Korean...

2006-06-18T22:30:00.000-07:00

But it seems I can't really understand it too well. For some reason, I accidentally erased the blog post that I'd typed in a couple days ago. It was pretty darn good, to0, so I apologize, everyone. I don't know...I clicked something and then proceeded to click "yes" until "poof!" My blog turned from 4 posts to 3. So for lack of time and for fear of losing yet another blog post, here are some recent musings and observations:

1) Men get PERMS! One of my students admitted to having his hair permed regularly (so that's how their hair stays curly!).

2) Europeans in Korean clubs still smell like Europeans in any other club.

3) I kind of need my own apartment...or atleast a little nook to call my own and have "me" time.

4) One of my students called my hair "mohican-style."

5) California WOW is...wow-inducing in both good and bad ways.

6) My legs are REALLY hairy; Colin where are you when I need you most!

7) I need a cheeseburger.

8) Soju is definitely better straight up.

Once I buy a camera cord, you all will be able to see my adventures thus far (not much, don't worry). Your postcards are in transit...to being in transit. Sorry, ladies and gentlemen.

And then she laughed in my face

2006-06-08T05:11:00.000-07:00

I suppose it was about time. Ever since I've stepped foot on the streets of Seoul, I must confess that I too have been snickering to myself. Snickering at the ways of these people across the great Pacific, their hair, their makeup, their inability to pronounce the letter "f." It's quite satisfying to walk around knowing that I possess the linguistic skills that they would all kill for! Oh to covet the ways of the American!!!!

And then it happened. I know my Korean isn't great. But I didn't realize it was THAT bad. My relatives have been fairly patient with me even though I literally make up words and sprinkle every sentence with "ummm" and "errr" and sideways glances. But to think that a complete stranger would laugh (mouth covered of course) in my face! I had merely gone to a nearby gym--not California WOW, of which I will soon be a patron--to ask if they had spinning. And when the receptionist looked back at me in complete confusion, I proceeded to explain what spinning was in Korean, in what I thought was fairly coherent and grammatically correct Korean. The look of utter confusion explodes into full blown, hand-covered laughter as she tells me she can't understand what I'm saying because of my American accent.

How am I supposed to talk to anyone in Korean ever again? This woman at Amazon Fitness has created in me another reason to be self-conscious. Isn't it bad enough that my hairy legs have already been gasped at and that I don't have the cool/yucky haircut???

I'll just have to take my American-sensibilities to California WOW...where I will proceed to spin my troubles away.

Your postcards will be in transit shortly. I apologize for the delay, my friends.

A series of unfortunate events

2006-06-05T18:07:00.000-07:00

Ok, first I must say that everything on this site is in Korean and only through an arduous trial and error process have I made it here to update. I'm such a pathetic Korean...don't even know my own language. So yes, I've arrived and am now sitting in an internet cafe typing to my heart's content. And while I realize how blessed I am to be sitting here in another country with a job, there have been some not-so-great moments that I must now elaborate...

1) Only ONE hot towel on the plane. What gives Korean Air??

2) After taking an Advil PM (NOT dramamine as I had mentioned earlier--my bad), I proceeded to fall asleep ONLY to wake up but a mere 2 hours later. 2 HOURS!!! And on top of that, I woke up in the middle of Failure to Launch. Now I'm never going to know what happened to Sarah and Matthew in the first of that dreadful movie.

3) The sky here is GRAY!!!! And the air is really awful. I miss Amherst and its beautiful blue sky.

4) Staying with my grandma has been a little more difficult than I had expected. It's great that she wants to see me and take care of me, but today when explaining to another one of my relatives why I couldn't come visit, she flat out lied about my whereabouts to make it seem like I was to blame for not being to visit. Way to be, Grandma.

5) My breath really stinks. Now I know why Asian girls cover their mouths when they laugh. Why does Korean food have to be so spicy and smelly? I need some curiously strong mints, NOW!

No more complaining. I miss Texas and Amherst and Ultimate DPs and Valentine breakfast food. (that doesn't count as complaining does it?) And can someone tell me how to put pictures up here?

I hate packing

2006-05-31T22:12:00.000-07:00

I really do. I hate it with every ounce of my body and soul. I think it's the one thing that I can't boil down to some concrete method--like I do with dish-washing. First you do the plates, then the bowls, then the silverware, and depending on the kitchen set-up, you can scrub the dishes and place them into the adjacent sink to rinse later or do it all in one sink while the faucet's running. But for some reason my mind goes completely insane when I pack. I'll pack some clothes, walk around my room, go to the living room to get something, forget what I went to the living room for, go back to my room, remember what I needed, get sidetracked by a trip to the kitchen, and then I pick up some socks and then place them back down because I don't know what to do with them.

In any case, I'm leaving in exactly 12 hours for Seoul, Korea (that's SOUTH Korea; I can't believe a certain someone had the nerve to ask if I was going to North or South Korea--idiot). I wish I had a picture or something to share but the only image of me at this moment would be me shirtless wishing there was a fan blowing air on me. Texas is so darn hot. I promise to update this thing diligently (I was quite the xanga protege) and you all besta comment. By the way, does anyone know a good site I can use to upload pictures?

So off I go with my paperpack Da Vinci Code, Possible Side Effects by Augusten Burroughs, iPod, and dramamine. Oh! And did I mention that I did a little shoe shopping?? I finally have some white bucks and some silver pumas. They're glorious!!!

I can't wait for the hot towels they give out on the plane...