well, maybe with some lysol

It wasn't easy.

I arrived here seven months ago (was it eight? I've lost count) and, after a bit of shuffling, moved into my very own apartment. And it was, entirely and wholly, wonderful. I'd never lived by myself before, and as lonely as it could be sometimes, and as much as I missed my family or my former housemates, it felt great to be the master of my own domain. My bed, my fridge, my bathroom, my, well, bed. That's a really short list because, despite its glory, the apartment was far from furnished.
For awhile the spartan white walls were a welcome contrast to the 1970s-gone-wild acid trip decor basement apartment I had just evacuated. High ceilings, marble floors, window wall: this is what it feels like to be a real person.
That feeling didn't last forever, however, as I realized that real people don't eat standing up at the kitchen counter and real people don't dry their freshly laundered clothes by lying them flat on the floor. Purchases were made. Now I eat at an old restaurant table (table 11!) that is one foot tall and dry my clothes by hanging them on a classy metal rack that I lean against the wall when not in use. Pictures have been enlarged and now adorn the walls. I have plants. My life is more or less comfortable. Real personhood, finally, could arrive, right? Wrong! It seems that my lack of seating options disqualifies me from such distinction. The floor or bed are not desirable options to offer guests.
Tonight, however, everything changed. It seems that Koreans have a cultural aversion to re-using things that others may find useful. I, being the American that I am, have no such reservations. Enter the couch.
It wasn't easy. We went for a drink to our regular post-soccer dive bar and, lo and behold, three mini-couches were stacked outside, complete with labels for garbage pickup. It was a gold mine of person-seating potential. I won't describe in depth the process that was taken to bring the red fuzzy bar couch the five blocks to my apartment building, mainly because it would involve more cursing than I care to admit. The upside of the trek was that whenever we got tired, we had a couch to sit on while we caught our breath. It wasn't easy.
At any rate, I now sit comfortably in my apartment writing this not from my bed, but with my bottom resting where only 9248 bar patrons have sat before. My feet rest on table 11 which, as it turns out, is the perfect height for such a task. My eyes occasionally drift to the metal skeleton where my most recent load of laundry begins the painstakingly slow process of drying, but I prefer to let them drift to the enlarged photos of Korean mountaintops and Adirondack holidays. This is what it feels like to be a real person.

Dusty

So, I just wanted to provide a bit more background on the yellow dust I mentioned the other day. So here's a link to the ever-factual wikipedia article.

It usually comes out looking like a hazy smog, as seen in a recent picture I took in Seoul:

Sprunging

It isn't official or anything, that is, aside from the banner I hung from my window and the parade I organized for Saturday, but the Korean spring is definitely making itself known. Here and there, springlike things are happening. The perverted version of soccer that includes headless mannequin torsos as goals that we foreigners play in the middle of the night has resumed, indeed I already have one goal under my 2008 belt; the Daejeon "professional" team has resumed play with an awe inspiring 2-0 loss yesterday, although the cheering section's new Daejeon Citizens (insert - Korean usage leads the team name to be most often pronounced "Daejeon Shitizens") song to the tune of "Karma Chameleon" somehow made up for it; the weather is projected at 60+ degrees this week; yellow dust from the desertification of China and Mongolia has begun its annual springtime assault on Korea, resulting in stuffy noses, aching sinuses, and, of course, a hoarse voice. We are also now finished with the third week of the spring term at CDI (realtime pronunciation by unknowing Korean students- "Shitty I"). My classes are much more difficult this term, as I am working with the higher-level students. It makes things much more enjoyable for me, but at the same time it also means a lot more work.

I have a ton of pictures of the past few weeks to post, but I'm too lazy to do it right now. Sorry.

Flashback

I know that items exist as memory markers for all of us; there are select sensory triggers that put us squarely back to some point in our life history. It's universal, and I recognize that. Somehow, however, they seem stronger to me here. Perhaps it is the simple fact that so much is foreign, or at least it was, that it is the unusual experience to encounter something that sucks me back more than seven months. The bread is sweet, the pizza has corn and sweet potatoes, and the coffee is instant with sugar and cream pre-mixed. There isn't much like that that reminds me of home.

The Daejeon Costco just began carrying Honey Nut Cheerios, or, at least, I just noticed they carry them. I have found that it is impossible to eat them without being in the house at 24 Aberdeen Road at 7:30 in the morning begging, from the bottom of the stairs, for my parents to get out of bed and entertain me because Katy is watching TV so hard she hasn't blinked in twenty minutes. It's funny where things take us.

serving fresh culture with quasi-frequency

Boriam Temple - Namhae-do from ali on Vimeo.

Not too long ago I found myself at a Buddhist temple on the top of a mountain on an island in southern Korea. The intricacies of the temples, palaces, gates and other traditional architecture here are stunning, especially when one stops to think about the treacherous trek builders would have had to make in order to construct such masterpieces. This particular temple also had a very large and heavy looking bell. In addition to such traditional items, the site now features a side, drive-up exit. I must say it was a bit of a blow to finally make it, sweaty and panting, to the top only to see families in their lunar new year best running around and making a general ruckus. (sorry the video isnt the best. my camera is a camera, not a video recorder. who knew?)


Looking for a quieter location from which to view the scene, we chanced upon this rock covered with both leftover ice and tons of small statues. Perhaps it is indecent of me, but I couldn't help but think that these few below look like they are drowning. (note also that the lifeguard buddha has Lennon glasses).