Ode to Around-ing the World

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

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

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"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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.