Updates (and pulled plug)

Amazing how much you can get done when your internet is pulled. One of the "bad" things about moving apts is that I got reamed for 100 bucks of penalties on intarwebs because the new building won't accept Inet service from my old provider...

So they came today to take my porno away! This meant no random searching around for internet meaning.

But, it did mean that I got my list of things to do.. well.. done...

I have a good "moving towards final" draft of my paper, I fixed up my CV.. and here is Seoul, brother...

Heck, tonight I might even read something!

First, two quick pictures from the night before. Here is the OAF posing by the river. And, as we walked along the river we saw, under each bridge, some kind of entertainment and crowds of Korean couples and families. I think I’ve mentioned it before, but one of the truly grand things about Korea is the amazing amount of public entertainment and the Korean pleasure in going out and doing social things in public. Even in the shittiest weather you can find Koreans under bridges, playing cards, drinking, sleeping, fishing, whatever. That was certainly true this Saturday night. Under one bridge there was some flute music, and under the bridge in the picture, someone was showing cartoons on the opposite wall.

Sunday was a quick trip to the Starbucks and then up to Insadong. The OAF had been to Insadong twice before, but on a previous trip she wasn’t really happy with. This time, with sun beating down, she happily bounced up and down the cobblestones saying, “I’ve never been here before,” and “They didn’t have all these cool things before.” I didn’t point out to her that if she had never been here before she could scarcely remember whatever cool things might or might not have been around. After a couple hours wandering about, we had tea in the same tea shop, several years ago, that Ed first introduced me to Mrs. 신 – who promises to be most helpful in my efforts to get that next job.

On our way out the night before we had noticed that the “Restaurant That Serves The Ickiest Soup Ever” was now swaddled in the framing and cloth that Koreans put up prior to demolition. The Maitre’ D however, was sitting outside the cloth sheath and when he saw my look of befuddlement he quickly walked us through an alley and to the new version of the old restaurant (which, mysteriously, was mentioned in the translation that BKF and I just worked on). So, if you want some delicious hemmorhage soup you’re gonna have to come to me for directions. ;-)

Then it was a walk back to Cheonggye Plaza and the food festival. This was a major disappointment. There were only about 20 booths and they were all standard festival faire, by which I mean non-food festival fair. The OAF had some corn that was so soggy we tossed it out. When the New York Hot Dog is the tastiest food at the Korean Food Festival? Something went a bit wrong. I hung around for a bit and watched people get a shot at the ttok-dough (entirely different from Dokdo!). You had to really pound the crap out of it in order for the smallest bit of dough to fly, and it was interesting to watch people try. Then it was off to the Texas bar for a beer and to Seoul Station to get the OAF back to South Central in time for her work the next day. I also bought my ticket for the next day – but this time I got a 새말 ticket, which is much cheaper and the trip, as it turns out, more scenic if a slight bit longer. I went back to the Hotel and was so tired that I didn’t go back out again. So when I lay my head down at about 10:30 it came as a considerable shock that I couldn’t go to sleep. Just could not.

Finally dozed off sometime near 1, woke up at 3:30, and then woke up again for ‘good’ at 6:30 the next morning. I spent the whole day in a semi-coma. The day was highlighted by a sweaty trip to KLTI to drop off the BKF’s translation and then a trip back to Seoul Station to discover that I had purchased a ticked from Daejeon to Seoul and not one for the direction I wanted. The nice ticket lady exchanged these tickets with minimum fuss although I did have to wait an extra 40 minutes to catch my train. The ride down was nice, except for about 20 minutes of atrocious behavior by a child sitting behind me. Then it was home, off to the CafÈ Idee for two glasses of wine (French! And for only 5 bucks a pop) and back home for some sleep which came quite easily.

I woke up the next morning to discover I had lost my electronic dictionary, which was a bit of a bummer, but I was soon to get over it.

Catching Up: Part Three - Good Kwangju-ju

A pano of lovely Kwangju from the road up Mt. Mudeungsan

Then it was time to head down to Kwangju to see the "family." 종규 swooped down on Saturday morning and picked us up. Other than nearly being crushed by a bus, it was an uneventful trip down.

We got down there and, Korean style, headed straight out for lunch. It was up to Mt. Mudeungsan and a brilliant outside restaurant that served boiled chicken and the Korean equivalent of Buffalo Wings. It had been raining, but the rain broke just long enough so that we could eat. While at lunch I busted out the magazine with my photo-essay of the BKF's marriage. Bringing that was probably the smartest thing I could do. Both parents loved the pics and immediately asked if they could keep the magazine. This, and the soju, started the visit off quite well.

After, we trekked up to a temple on the side of the mountain, and then further up the road to a little watering spot. This was all extremely beautiful. That picture up there on the left is from the parking lot of the temple. The building is what the OAF would call a "temple" but most people in Korea know it as a 화장실 (toilet). Over to the right is a picture of what I think are prayer requests? I dunno, perhaps the BKF can drop in and help me on that. Finally, from that temple, below left is a bit of art that struck me as odd. This type of art was on the outside of the main building - it was on all the exterior panels. I'm not sure why it struck me. I don't think I've ever seen temple art done solely in this kind of blue-mood and the style strikes me as a bit different. I'll have to look back at my other photos to make sure I'm not imagining this.

It could also be the result of my narrow experience with Korean culture, but these panels stuck out to me.

Then off to find a love hotel for the OAF and I. 종규 knew of a good one called Shilla and so, for 50K won we settled in there. It had a big old flat screen TV, good AC and also a computer which could be run to the big old flat screen if desired. Being that it was a love motel it also had, directly outside our door, the requisite vending machine full of improbable looking devices to improve the sex-act. As the OAF and I are not married, we cannot indulge in such shennanigans and instead I took a photo of the thing.

Then it was off to a tuegi-galbi dinner which was extraordinary. I got to practice my shitty Korean on the Lee's who were excellent hosts and even better company. We managed to make due with the language gap. 종규 did what he could to translate, which was often pretty good. His English has improved since I met him in the States.

Then it was off to the Shilla and sleep.

Next morning we went over for lunch at the families' house, this time including an Uncle I remembered from the wedding. Same deal with lots of friendly chatter and Korean practice for me. Eventually though, we had to head back to Seoul, with the promise that we would return for Chusok next month. Should be (other than the legendary Chusok trafic) fun.

The lovely pic to the right is of one of the traditional Korean bells. Its picture will certainly show up in the "Heavy Metal" advert in my series of imaginary magazine advertisements for Korea.

Until then, however, with my photoblogging at least a little caught up, it's time for a lovely soju-based cocktail and some rest.

All in my new place, photos caught up, and another rev of "Camel Pouch" back to the BKF. That's enough of a day for anyone!

Catching Up: Part One - Second day in Seoul

Was grand...

Got up and the alien wanted to go bookshopping, which we did a little of and then got involved in a pretty cool event across from the bookstore.

Saw a very large pavilion/temple with some traditional guards massing outside it and wandered across the street to check it out.

After something like a changing of the guards, we were invited up into the pavilion for a bell-ringing ceremony. Being more interested in taking photos, the OAF and I lurked around the edges. At a certain point the guy leading the thing caught me counting along with him in Korean. He stopped his spiel and asked me if I spoke Korean. Which I do just well enough to recognize that question and answer that I don't speak very well. Still, it was funny to watch the two "LA" (OAF's characterization) Waegukin stare at me like I was some kind of funny monkey. Of course they had no idea I had just exhausted all my Korean except for taxi directions and food orders. ;-)

We stayed for the bell ringing and then headed out to Itaewon, where we visited What a Book, the largest used-bookstore for English-speakers. I got two books which will be quite useful for my upcoming paper. On the way up a hill laced with bars, the OAF struggled behind me a few steps, so the bar-girls (there is probably a more precise term) thought I was alone. As the only guy walking up that particular hill, I represented interesting trade, and they hollered various invitations to drink. On the way back down I had the OAF walk next to me.

As something like protection, I guess.

I'm easily influenced, you see.

We wandered a bit more, had some Galbi for late lunch, and then buggered off back to South Central.

New Pad

I'm excited to be moving, as I always am. I really like tossing things out, and since I have to walk all my belongings down three flights of stairs, up three blocks and then up five flights of stairs, this is a good chance to shed some things.

Also, it will be a relief to move out from underneath TMS. I'm sure that since I'm such a noise-pansy I'll find something to dislike in the new place, but for now I am optimistic. The place is a bit messy (rice strewn here and there, bits of fluff on the floor) but I like it. When TSR was in the place he had a couch, and there was some rumor that he was going to leave that for me. When he left, however, it was unclear who would get the apartment, so he apparently gave it to someone else. This turns out to be a bonus, as it makes the place much more spacious (the picture to the left somehow makes the place look smaller than it actually is).

I'm also glad the new place has an area I can dedicate to the computer and books. Sharing a table between computer gear and dinner never really worked out for me. The "kitchen" in the new place is minimalist - 1.5 electric burners, a sink, and a dormer fridge, but I've dealt with a lot less than that in the past, so I don't think that should be an issue.

For today, this all just means a lot of trips up the hill with various furniture and with my suitcase on wheels.

It's a heck of a way to spend my vacation!

;-)

SeoDajeon Station to Seoul

On Saturday we headed up to Seoul with the intent of checking out some bookstores in Itaewon. I tried to get on the Saemaul train (as noted yesterday) but we ended up on the KTX. Then it was a quick hop to our Yogwan, which was a little difficult to find. But as we stood outside the Jongno-3 subway station looking at the map, I noticed that one of the other bookstores (Kyoungpoong), one we hadn't planned on seeing on this trip, was actually just across the street. So that was rather a bonus...

We got to the Yogwan and checked in (as the art photo of OAF in the mirror demonstrates) and went out for a walk.

Out the backdoor, down the alley and ......aaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiyyyyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeeee! There it was! The evil soup-store that I had written about three years ago - the one that served hemmorhage soup! (NOTE: The pictures are gone from that post, for whatever reason). I snuck by Hae Jang Kook place, nearly retching as I did so. We wandered about just a bit more, down past the US Embassy which, as always, was surrounded by Korean troops. And then, in a bit more good luck, we ran across a second bookstore that we had not intended to visit - the Kyobo. So we ate some delicious broiled duck and I headed back to the Yogwan to watch history channel, while the OAF bookshopped.

She returned at about 7:30, but it was far too rainy to go any great distance, so we headed to a club across the street. I ordered a Cass, but then noticed there were some draft beers at the bottom of the page. Using my poor Korean and pointing to the menu, I asked if there were draft Cass. The waitress "anio'd" me and ran off to make the OAF's hot chocolate. She returned with the hot chocolate and a massive shot of Tequila! I'm not sure how the waitress got tequila from a menu page that only had beer, but in the interest of international amity, I gulped the thing down anyway. Of course that came back to haunt me later, but at the moment all was good.

Then, one more club, and back to the hotel to watch some TV and prepare for the big day in the bookstores in Itaewon.

Weekend in Busan...

On Saturday, despite pouring rain, the OAF decreed that I must spend a lot of money and take her down to Busan. This "request" was despite the fact that a Friday-night full of bar-hopping left her incapable of reaching my Deajeon love-pad before noon on Saturday.

But she was insistent, and so we trundled down to the yeok, and hopped the THX to Busan. In any case I wanted to get down to Busan to meet James Turnbull, who writes the rather excellent blog, "The Grand Narrative." And a trip on the THX is rarely a bad thing. Trains leave frequently, they are clean, they rock (reaching nearly 300 KPH at times), they include a tray service that serves beer, and the Korean countryside is just spectacular at this time of year. Oddly, I also seem to get my best language study done on the train. So down we went, me with my nose in my Korean language book

It took just less than two hours to get to Busan and when we got there the skies had opened up and I, of course, had left my umbrella behind. We scampered the 120 meters from the train station to the subway. We were heading to Haeundae Beach, where James had told us of a nice and inexpensive yeogwan. By the time we got to our stop on line 2, rainwater was coursing down the marble steps out of the station, and running like a river down the smooth marble of the overflow troughs on either side of the stairs.

So we went out and got wet. And I got an umbrella. We wandered down to and then along the beach for a bit, eyeballing places that we could eat, and then called James to find out the name of the yeogwan. It was "Bridge Motel" and, of course, it was at the opposite end of the beach from us. We walked back over, got a room, and dried off a bit. The room didn't face the beach, but it only cost $48.00 and was quite serviceable - it even had a Western style tub.

Then it was back outside, where it was still raining, but not in sheets. At a third story boite with a lovely view of the entire beach we had a beer, a strawberry smoothie and the "peaches" side dish that many bars have. Ten bucks for a can of sliced peaches in syrup that are tossed out onto some ice.

One of the really pricey food options in Korea.

Then it was a walk down to a brilliant Galbi place which was old-fashioned enough that the toilet was outside and there were no smoke hoods over the barbeques on the tables. The other truly odd thing was that no Kimchi was served with the meat.

Anyway, the pictures are here.

Finally we left the restaurant and called James. We agreed to walk back to our hotel and meet him there. Then it was off to a bar-girl bar. A bunch of young women in reasonable scanty clothes serving, and sitting and talking to, men or groups of men. They ignored us completely as we were with a woman and waeguk as hell.

James told many an amusing story, often with his Black Russian pressed against his forehead, but I think those tales are not mine to share. ;-)

Then, at James' suggestion, the OAF and I walked back to our hotel. Once their we decided (by which I mean the OAF forced me) to go back out to the beach and it was a wise decision as the rain had cleared and celebrants were shooting off unsafe and insane fireworks (conveniently sold, by a man on the beach, from a cart). We finally wandered back to the hotel at about one and sank into dreamless sleep.


On the way back we came across a guy who didn't quite make it to his own house. If you look to the left of his feet you can see, in the dark damp and disturbed sand, the troughs in which his feet struggled, without success, for some last bit of balance.



DAY TWO TO FOLLOW....

Finding Icheon; Losing my Camera

So this was the weekend to visit Icheon, which I had narrowly averted missing the previous weekend as I traveled up to Incheon to pick of the OAF. OAF came over about mid-day on Saturday and watched me frump around and not get much done towards moving in the direction of the Bus Station. Finally, with some sub-nagging, she got me going, and we headed to the office to get my long-lens, to the bank to get some big bills, and to the barber’s because I was beginning to look like some kind of hideous savage. The barber ajumma was asleep on her couch and it took a couple of seconds to wake her up. Certainly something unlikely to happen in the US. She gave me a pretty nice haircut and then a post-haircut shampoo in cold water. Because it was over 30 degrees outside, the cold water served as a tonic for this troop.

Then it was back home to pack our stuff up, and a taxi-ride to the bus station. The bus was scheduled to leave at 2:20 and we made it with at least 10 minutes to spare. We both napped a bit on the way up to Icheon, and as we finally pulled into town I could see the Hotel Miranda, which is the “western” style hotel in the town. “Western” style typically means that you pay more than three times as much as you should. We got to the bus station and bought our return tickets for the next day, just in case there should be a stampede of people returning from the Ceramics Festival to Korean Home Town. Then, it was out the back door of the bus-station and on that street, as is normal, there were a fistful of hotels. We went to the HillPark and got an adequate room for 40 bucks.

There had been no maps or information at the bus station, but I suspected the Hotel Miranda would have some. We tried to grab a cab, but the cabbie gestured to the other side of the bus station and when we walked around it, lo and behold, the Hotel Miranda was three blocks away. We walked over, past 5 barbeque joints, including at least two whose specialty was bulgogi. The Hotel Miranda is also a water park, so on the left side of the Hotel entrance there were families of Korean sitting on the sidewalk eating lunch and drinking beer. We went into the hotel and, as I had hoped, there were tourist maps and pamphlets.

We grabbed one of each and then headed back for an early bulgogi meal. This was the first time that I had ever eaten bulgogi without the BKF and I felt like even more of a cheater when I ordered a lovely icy bottle of soju to wash the thing down. There was only one bad moment, when the OAF ate a piece of garlic and hollered, “oh, that was terrible onion!”

The garlic was such a terrible piece of onion that the OAF sat, stock still, for 5 minutes, sweating and trying to will herself to vomit. It was one of her oddest restaurant performances, and I was lucky enough to be present. In a few minutes she was back to OK, and since it was still early, suggested we head out to the farthest-away site on the tourist map. We grabbed a taxi and headed to Icheon Ceramics Village. This was half-closed, but still had plenty open. We wandered in and out of shops and bought a few gifts for folks in the back-home.

Then we walked back towards town until a taxi could find us. There was still daylight, and the OAF was keen to explore, so we decided to go to the lake. The lake was also the front of Seolbong Park, which contained the Ceramics Festival and a couple of museums. We hied hence to the Festival and wandered around figuring the layout, watching the “make your own pottery” site, and then back to the traditional Korean kiln that was on the right side of the entrance. It was in full flame and I took some pictures of the mouth of the thing. This required me to lay full out on my stomach, and when I got up and brushed off my shirt, a man walked up to me and waved me over to a table surrounded by other Koreans, a few in traditional kit. He offered me a cup of Makgeolli, and I’m never one to turn down a drink. I had read about this drink, it’s just a bit above beer in alcohol content, so it was good to taste it. We sat around and talked about the kiln, ceramics, and Icheon in general, until it was time to go back. It was a good thing the OAF had us drop by, as the next morning the kiln had been shut down to cool the ceramics inside. Since one of the reasons I had come to Icheon was specifically to get a shot of a functioning kiln, this would have been a bummer.

Not as big a bummer as losing my camera with the chip inside. Which was what I immediately proceeded to do!

We grabbed a cab to the Bus Station and got out to wander around. I wanted to take the OAF to see a building with lit sailing rigging. So we walked over to it, but there wasn’t a good spot to take a picture. Finally, all the way around it, there was a break in the trees and I opened the backpack to get the camera….

…. Which of course was not there. Logically, of course, since I had left it on the back seat of the cab. ☹ Wonderfully, I had no identification on the camera or (and I only figured out that I should do this right at that moment) file on the camera-card saying how to contact me.

I had this crazy thought the cabbie would swing past the place again, looking for me. So we headed back towards the Bus Station and, a little bit down the way, both realized that we hoped

a) The cabbie had got into the cab queue at the station (once in, you can’t get out until you pick up a ride) and

b) No buses had arrived.

We got there and searched all the cabs in the queue… about ¾ of the way through the line (which I idiotically did from the back of the line) the OAF said, “don’t look in that one, the cab was white.”). And this made things quicker as I ran up the queue and only looked in white cabs.

None of which had the camera.

But the time saved.. ah.. the time saved. ;-)

The cab stuck at the traffic light, turning left? It was our white cab and two Korean guys and one very confused cabbie were trying to figure out how the hell they would track down the stupid Waegukin who had left the camera in the cab. The guy in the front seat spotted us and started waving the camera out the window. We rushed up and grabbed it, exchanges some heartfelt Kahmsamneeda’s and parted.

You get 200 Koreans together and god knows what you’ll get – it could be a party and it could be an anti-free-trade riot. As a group Koreans will believe most anything: Say, fan death, or Mad-Cow in the streets. But any individual Korean (or group small enough to make a conscious moral decision)? You will have some of the most honest people in the entire world. This is the second trip I’ve tried to lose something quite valuable (passport and money two trips ago) and in each case it was returned to me. Try being that forgetful in the United States (or any of the countries BAX has put his camera down only to find it gone in a trice).

In celebration of the loss of the loss, we headed to the WA bar where I had two San Miguels, the OAF had a coke, and we shared a lovely plate of iced peaches and orange slices.

Which left us with one more day at the Ceramic soiree.

ZOOTOPIA!

Aaaah.. I'm back home and actually doing this from the Monkey Bar at the local airport. It was so tragic to miss this on the way out.

On Saturday I bailed on the conference and set out on a walking expedition of the park, which began with the zoo.

The zoo was clearly marked with a Stonhengian “ZOO” sculpture so even I couldn’t miss the entrance. It was a nice zoo, but it was also a Saturday so the place was full of kids. All having important formative moments, no doubt, but running around like the mad-chilluns they are. It reminded me of why I prefer the zoo during the week.

The zoo is free – a very nice touch - so you can wander in and out of it as you see fit. There is plenty else to explore in the park, my hotel guy said it is bigger than Central Park in New York. Having never been there I just nodded my head as though I knew what that meant.

I believe he thought I was a man with intercontinental experience.

That's the only way I can explain the fact he followed me to the men's room every time I .. er.. 'went.'

Anyway, I had “breakfast” at the zoo, a tasty hot-dog, a truly awful hot-pretzel (most of which ended up in the garbage) and a Bud Light of epic proportions. Because the Zoo is a semi-educational venue I should note that I learned something I never would have suspected. Turns out there is a “season” for cotton candy. And when the cotton candy fields lay stripped of their crops, a few forlorn cardboard stalks poking uselessly in the air? When the seasonal Cotton Candy pickers have packed up their jalopies, tattered belongings, and sad families to move farther south to pick the Kettlecorn and Corndog crops? The Zoo has to stop serving cotton candy.

Who knew?

I also spotted this water-fountain with a dedication that seemed strangely apropos. The water fountain was donated by the Sippy family, who do good the only way they know.

Also, they had been hard at work on the Blue-Monkey Extermination Project as dozens of the savage brutes were hung like bunches of fruit at each concession stand.

Then it was a continued walk down the hill. This was kind of interesting because I walked past probably a mile of unused street parking as people headed up to the $10/$20 parking lots. Oddly, when I finally walked back, I walked on the inside of the park, which was pretty jungular. Here, people parked at least a mile away from the zoo and happily walked to it. I guess it's the difference between walking alongside a freeway and walking in some lovely green stuff.

On the way down I passed a big old metal sculpture that would look tacky at the Tiki-Room in Disneyland and looked even weirder on the side of the road. I suppose it represents the brass balls, steel will, and iron determination....

...aah.. I really have no idea..

Another mile or so down the road is the Science Center which is on both sides of the freeway (the freeway is spanned by an enclosed bridge which contains several amusing displays including radar guns so you can actually put a number to the lawless driving of the unconcerned Mid-Westerners out here). This is a really cool place and you could spend at least a whole day there. They had a Gemini capsule and although I knew from high school textbooks that they had been small, standing in front of the thing was amazing. It looked like something from a carnival ride. Which, I suppose, is about right.

There were dinosaur exhibits, a massive Rube Goldberg device and probably hundreds of hands-on things for kids to do, which kept the ankle-biting down. A bunch of cool things cost money and were scheduled (they have one of those plastinated people exhibits) such that I’d have to wait around.

It also included the "ice cream of the future" which is (as I noted before) the inspiration for the add campaign of a competing college.

It was completely cool, but with a blister developing on my little toe (yeah, I'm a wimp) I decided it was time to start the hike back to the lovely half-price bar. It had been three or four hours of tromping, and I was ready for a chilly one.

Just a final note about that bar. I did all my eating and drinking there from Thursday night to Sunday morning (when, alas, it was actually closed!) and this totaled $64.00. The bartender says the owner is re-thinking the half-off policy and I can figure why. But I was lucky enough to be around while it was still ending.

The life I freaking lead!

In The Outer Circulatory System of Darkness...

The journey of a one mile, much more the journey of one thousand miles (roundtrip, you skeptic), begins with a cocktail. This is folk wisdom I am sure I have noted elsewhere. And so it is that, yet again, I found myself in the Monkey Bar in the Big City Airport. This time I arrived at the airport sober, so I could actually make some judgments on the drinks. Well, the two I had, which were both margaritas. Excellent. Baby crushed the limes in front of me and I sat there working on my conference paper. The flight was a bit delayed, so I was able to order the second one.

When I got to the gate, the little Filipino dude who took about 30 seconds comparing IDs to tickets (yet oddly never once looked at the ID and compared its picture to the person presenting it) pulled out something like a mascara pencil and made big old circles around the two instances of SSSS on my ticket.

Turns out I’m a potential terrorist.

I always suspected this.

Sadly, as usual, I squandered any potential I had, and after something resembling a heavy-petting session with an even older Filipino than the one at the gate, I was let through. The nice woman at the gate warned me that this would happen again on my way back, as I had purchased my tickets within a week of my travel.

Huh?

So terrorists don’t plan their attacks? They’re just sitting in the cave, partying madly for guys who don’t drink, do drugs, date women, or shave, and all of a sudden Abdul jumps up and yells, “Hey, Abdul! And Abdul and Abdul and Abdul and Abdul Mohhamed. Oh, OK, even you Abdul! Let’s get tickets on some planes, before the weekend, because my uncle Abdul is visiting on Saturday, and we’ll do some terrorism! Let’s go!”

That doesn’t make sense…

I realize that I’ve typed more than a page of academic text here, and all that tells me is that I should have had one more drink. It’s far too early in the day for me to get into any of the codeine or few vicodins that I have as a result of my various joint pains.

On the other side of this flight I have to pick up a rental car and part of my strategy there is to be able to speak and have control over my drool, bowels, and eyelids. Mixing drugs with these drinks would be bad (I hasten to add that they would be bad only because they would result in denial of my rental car. Let no man claim I’m against any kind of mixing of things that alter mood. All by responsible adults. Of course.).

But I swear to god.. if they push this flight back anymore than the 20 minutes they already have? I’m swallowing everything in my kit bag, including the shaving cream and slightly soiled thong underwear. And for those of you who are grossing out at the thong underwear? Of course I don’t wear the things. What kind of idiot do you think I am?

I found them in the airport parking lot.

And now, with the flight complete it is really only about a half hour late, not nearly as dire as the leaving an entire hour late might have suggested.

Why I Shivered Myself To Sleep Last Night

Gutted, like an Alien would suck the goo from an otherworldly bug on the shores of a tarpit, on a planet far, far away.

Run to the Hills

Aaaah.. a trip up to the Lovely Sister's pad to see the parents, in town from some island right off the shore of the country. The ride up was completely uneventful, although it took far longer than it should have. I was looking for a certain kind of Swiss Army Knife (SWAK) to replace one the the Replacement Dad had lost during airline travel. That alone is a funny enough story, as once at the airport RD realized he had the knife on his person and ran over to the airport folks to figure out what to do about it. They wrapped it up, bundled it in a box, and checked it into luggage. Upon landing, RD and Moms picked up their luggage, with the wrapped box intact.

Except now, mysteriously, it was empty. Which means that one of the fine TSA folks who protect us from terrorists (well, them and permanent incarceration without charges at Guantanamo, CIA torture, and the death of habeas corpus) now has a lovely SWAK.

But the RD didn't and so I had a task I had to perform.

As usual, I failed completely.
My attempt to find the "Explorer" model led me on a merry chase. Which means I stopped at ever sporting goods store, gun store, and camping store on the way from Big City to the hills. And they had lots of SWAKS.

Apparently Swiss Army makes something like 5-Brazilian (ask George Bush, the lesser) different models of knives. Heck, I learned that some of them even had two toothpics built in. This is in case you and a close friend ever both need toothpicks, but your friend is some kind of clean freak who won't use yours.

The stores I visited had the:

Discoverer
Mangler (every blade is the double-toothed saw. So is the handgrip)
Hunter-Gatherer
Murderer (Came with duct tape and plastic bags)

and every other knife known to man.

But no "Explorer."

Besides that, the only thing of note on the trip was two gas stations who had gasoline for under $3/gallon. This does not happen much in the Golden State and so I took a picture of the prices just to prove this to any sceptics out there.

Once on the hill, it was food and wine and party til nearly midnight. Past my bedtime really. But fun. The food was outstanding and I drank wine until about 10:30 and then guzzled as much water as I could until we went to bed about an hour later.

Slept in til 8:15 or so and spent the morning working with MLS on some political mailing pieces she is working with. The local folks have good intentions, but at the local office level there is no one with any marketing or design experience and the pieces they want to send out, unfortunately, show that lack.

Today it was all about wandering around the meadow-lake and bothering small insects, many of which I photographed, so that's the pictures.

Then, a return to the home of MLS and a bit of hanging out with the parental units. It is a pretty chill day if your big issue is whether or not you should stay home and eat yesterday's leftovers, or go down to the local greasy-spoon and soak up some of that good old-time charm that typically manifests itself in bland food that is too hot, bland women who are too cold, and beers at over $4 a pop.

It's an outrage, but it's a local one, so I suppose I am ok with it.

Tomorrow, the long ride back down the hill, and I shall leave as Aurora's golden fingers lightly open the doors of my eyes...

....and reveal my hangover. ;-)

USA!

Fuck Yeah!

And to Japan..

Fuck Yeah!

Thus ends our 4th of July minute of xenophobia and chauvinism!

Remembering the Word Count Days

Aaah.. those happy days in which my struggle was to create enough output for this thesis thingie. Now the beast rests at slightly over 17,000 words and I must have cut at least that many out in drafts.

Anyway, I have done three revs this weekend. Obviously it gets easier as it gets better. And between coffee bars and the old-fashioned kind, I have had the sit-down, sit-up and write time that is necessary for this thing.

I think it will go out to my informal editors at the end of this week, and then to my advisor next week. Could it be concluding?

Would be nice. Then off to Korea for a year or so and some more writing.

Or something. ;-)

Vacation Land(ed)

When, last spring, my friends (the three of them and some barfly acquaintances) heard that my mother would be flying me and my BAG to Mediterranean climes they chimed in with a lot of jealous palaver.

If by jealous palaver you mean hatred, despair and wishes that I would die.

If I had a dime for every time someone claimed that the Continent would be wasted on me or…

Oh.. wait, they said I’d be wasted on the Continent and they were dead right.

It’s my mom for god’s sake. It’s the Continent for god’s sake. And with all else moms and I share there is also the love of the grape. And there we were, with all that lovely grape juice, pops with a pipe, and the BAG with bookstores. So we all fed the beasts within.

We wandered from lovely place to lovely place.

I, as is my wont, snapped pictures.

I think I’ve covered this elsewhere, but I hate pictures with people in them. To me a picture of an architectural or natural wonder with people in it is like a picture of a porn star with her yeast infection and tattoos showing.

Just wrong… a kind of defilement.

“Hey look Palookaville! I’m here in front of something that dwarfs my pathetic life. But the group tour stopped here before we went to the Microtel (outer) Rome!”

er… this wasn’t supposed to turn all bitter.. the point is..

some of the photos came back to roost in a semi-lovely university publication…

this would be a screen shot…

and this would be a link to the pdf…

as if you stupid tourists care..

I’m off to base-jump into a undersea cavern filled with lo-cal rum, the best margaritas you have ever had, a native guide with a well-stuffed loincloth, slivers of the true cross, and food as the savages themselves kill, prepare, cook, and eat.

Later?

I’ll parasail out with a fistful of antiquities.

So.. like… your vacation sucked compared to mine..

;-)

The Long Ride Home

The next day we were crippled. We limped into Yosemite and did very little things. One thing we did was take a small diversion. On both highway 120 and 140 I had noticed a little road named “Foresta” and it seemed to run off to an area where there had been a serious fire. There was also a meadow and some A-frames. Over the serious whining of the BAG I cut off here and we drove down to into the meadow. We found, go figure, a moribund town named Foresta which consisted of an apparently abandoned fire-station and a lightly occupied cemetery named the ‘Foresta’ cemetery. This made the BAG happy – since she has me as an older boyfriend she is always happy to see where the old go to die.

Took some photos, wander about, and headed to the valley. We walked to Bridal Veil Falls. This is an epic journey of up to .25 of a mile (if you stagger as seriously as we did). We headed out to Mirror Lake, where we had been a few years ago in the dead of winter, with a trio of Koreans, slipping, sliding and falling on our dumb asses as we struggled up and down the last icy quarter mile. When Yosemite is dry the walk is trifling and we made it in a trice. We sat up there for a while and that is where these tricky "mirror" pictures come from. At some point the BAG grabbed me by the shoulder and had me take the picture you see at the bottom right. That's right. No vapor trails. I don't get it either.

After that it was to the Yosemite Cemetery where the BAG fruitlessly searched for the grave of a Native American. She took it badly when I suggested that anywhere in the US she looked was pretty much the grave of a Native American. They are pretty testy considering all the Government cheese we’ve squandered on them. I was happy to see the gravestone (pictured) with the phallic headstone and the inscription:

“Ah, that beauteous head if it did go down, It carried sunshine into the rapids”

which is pretty much how I feel about getting good head.

It was getting late and the BAG wanted to go back to Yosemite Falls so that I could take more pictures. I didn’t want to walk anywhere and we bargained for an hour and a half of time sitting on the valley floor. If there’s a better place to read a book I don’t know it. So we headed to Groveland and the Charlotte Hotel. A lovely place and we settled in. I wandered across the street to the Iron Horse Saloon and had two beers. The BAG went back to the hotel to check out dinner at the restaurant there. I headed back as well and we read for awhile. Then it was an excellent dinner. I know that I’m comfortably off now, because when the bill came in and they’d missed a glass of wine I drank, I mentioned it to the waitress so that she could add it in there.

Later, on the way to the car, or something.. perhaps to pick something up for the lovely BAG, I heard the band in the bar across the street playing “All Along the Watchtower” and was seduced by its mighty beauty. I shot across the street and sat in for just three songs (after all, the mighty beauty of the BAG was still in the Hotel and she would clock me a new skull-hole if I didn’t come back in a timely fashion) and slugged down a quick shot with a beer back. It was a beautiful thing.

Next day we had some lovely breakfast and the BAG asked to see the map. She picked out a path home that I had been considering – highway 49 to Jackson (we know of a bar and bookstore there) and we decided to take it. I was slightly impressed by this, since the BAG is not a map-reader at all, and there’s a tangle of roads right around there. Anyway, we had agreement without discussion, which is the sign of a happy couple or a fascist government – perhaps I have switched the adjectives there? This path took us back through Jamestown, Sonora, and up to Jackson. On the way I saw this lovely sign indicating a pleasure pit off to the left. I also tried to get some pictures of Hawks on the wing, but this is like sobriety – it never works out for me.

We had lunch, she headed to the bookstore and I to the bar. The bar had this lovely old-school machine offering devices of pleasure for less than one dollar. The dispensing slot in the middle actually suggests that I purchase all 12 "extenders" and "pleasurers." Like I want sex that much anymore! An hour later I was done with the bar slightly before she was done with the bookstore. Just slightly though, since as I drove down old Main St. to the bookstore, she was walking back.

We rolled the Delta and ended up home. It was a splendid nature adventure.

You only Yurt the Ones You Love

The next day we headed back into Yosemite. The sign for services/stores which had previously said “services open on Friday” now sported a penciled-in “at 5pm” which we both found a bit disappointing. We ate some breakfast from cellophane containers and headed for the Mist Trail. Getting off to bus we were treated to a couple of deer doing that dear thing that only deer can do. I snapped some photos and then we started up the trail proper. The trail was lovely. I was told the trail was lovely. I could not see beyond the stinging sweat pouring into my eyes and all I could hear was the threat that the explosion of my heart might overcome the thunderous rasping of my lungs. Since this was wintertime, the Mist Trail itself was closed (that is the inside bit of the trail that runs up next to Vernal Falls), so we were forced to take the Muir Trail loop instead. It is considerably longer and much less scenic if you are interested in hiking waterfall trails in order to see, well, waterfalls. We trod mightily to Clarke Point at which case the BAG’s hip was tightening up and I was in complete systemic failure. We took a couple of photos with Nevada Falls in the background, a few little nature shots (the bluejay, for instance), and then headed down the hill. All the way we were either right in front of or right behind a single-mother with a hideous little gang of children who insisted on throwing frozen snow at each other, and when that wasn’t available resorting to sticks or dirt. I almost nobly offered, to the harried harridan, beating the little shits soundly for their misbehavior, but decided it was her cross to bear. At each turn of a switchback, Yvonne looked up to the sky and cursed whatever vapor trails she saw.

Eventually we made it back to the bottom of the hill a process which, surprisingly, involved a minimum of falling.

Despite how painful it had been, this entire ordeal had only consumed 2 hours or so of the day. By the time we were done, of course, we were too weak to do anything but screw around in Yosemite Village and hang out in the meadow and take 8-million shots (SmartCard in camera!) of a Red Robin, which was the only the second animal (see bluejay above) stupid enough to get within three miles of me the entire vacation. Well, at least when I had a camera and there was a card in it.

Eventually, wounded badly, we headed out on 120 to the fabled Yurt-Hut. About as soon as we left the park boundaries (with the odometer set to 0 again, so I could get a 5-mile notification) the BAG and I both began to have a squirmy belief. She was sitting in her seat kind of twitchy and so was I. As we began to round familiar corners, I believe it was the BAG who first said, “you know, this is going to turn out the be….” And then we saw it. Yosemite Lakes was the very same store, gas-station, and Inn that we had stopped at two days previously. We had been unable to find it DESPITE HAVING BEEN THERE less than 48 hours earlier. I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry. The store, of course, was closed, so after driving down to check in, we had to roll to Groveland to get some vittles for fixing.

The good news was that the Yurt was nice, very big, and on a sort of scenic rise. The bad news was that the folks in the yurt next to us were a bit loud – we heard their TV blaring as we came in. We ate dinner, watched a bit of TV (the yurts had TV’s, stoves, refrigerators, full bathrooms, and skylights – not your Mongolian father’s yurt).

We went to sleep at exactly the time the folks next to us, well, a woman anyway, went mad with either her lover or her vibrator. The young woman had an astounding line in profanity. I, still unused to having a hand-held recorder, was a bit tardy in remembering that it was in my computer bag, but eventually I did and recorded one of her lesser outbursts here (mp3 (smallish) or aif (largish)).

BAG watched the full moon through the sun-roof and we eventually drifted off agreeing there was no way I was making it back into the valley in time for my photo-walk. It had been doomed from the start, and now it was official. Opening the 6th Heineken was merely the christening of the event. The lovely fireplace/heater was also complicit and the BAG had her evil role as well. All in all, a pretty good day.

Into Yosemite and Out of My Mind (Day 2)

The next morning we took a quick walk around Jamestown, and I photographed the BAG with every wooden statue I could find. Then it was a quick trip up behind Jamestown to check out the Railroad Museum which was astoundingly boring. I headed down a west-ish cutting road which I reasoned must cross Highway 49, since we had crossed 49 on our way up. We drove just long enough for me to begin regretting I hadn’t gassed up in Jamestown and then, lo and behold, I saw from above the big stinking reservoir below Priest’s Grade. The mystery road had cut neatly back to Highway 120 and within minutes we were shooting up New Priest’s Grade. Got to the top and passed the first gas station at Oak Flat as well as the one at Groveland. I knew there were gas-stations in Buck’s Meadow as well as another one just before the park entrance. Got to Buck’s Meadow, pulled in and was just starting to get out of the car when a Cooter-esque dude sweeping the gravel off of the.. well, the gravel.. said, “them pumps are empty.” This was also true of the other gas-station in Buck’s Meadow and now I was getting a bit uneasy. We shot on for another 11 miles or so and, lo and behold (really, "lo and behold" twice in the same post? Three times now?), there was the other store/station I knew about and we quickly skipped off the road which revealed to us --- the “closed for inventory” sign. Down the road there was an Inn, but it was deserted, so I pulled around and back onto the highway.

We made Crane’s Flat without any trouble and gassed up, but some aspects of the closed gas station and store would come back to be amusing later.

Anyone who’s ever driven into Yosemite knows the feeling you get the first time you see Half Dome neatly tucked between the two walls of the valley. So we had it. There was road construction everywhere, but the park was essentially empty as that photo on the left shows. That is the road to Yosemite Village and we were literally the only car on it.

We drove into the Village and as we did I pointed up to the sky where two vapor trails crossed, “look,” said I, “it’s a cross.” That seemed uncontroversial, but in that very moment the BAG developed an unwavering and psychotic hatred of the vapor trail and every time a plane crossed the valley (pretty often since it is on the way to Sacramento, Oakland, San Jose and SF airports, and that’s just going west), the BAG bristled like a rabid dog and hissed, “there’s another one, why do they have to do that?” Sometimes her finger pointed shakily into the sky, sometimes her little fists were balled in rage, but each time her voice and body shook. I began pointing vapor trails out just for fun.

After a bit of time in the village (and signing up for a photographic walk at 9 am on Saturday that I was certain to miss by sleeping in) we headed off to Curry Village which was essentially closed for the season. Again, a weird scene since it is normally packed tight.

We headed off to view Yosemite Falls and when we got up to the top viewpoint I took out my camera and started taking pictures. Other photographers were there as well, and since I had a cooler camera and bigger lens in my bag, I took them out and began using them. I also clambered on the rocks and scrambled up towards the fall to take even closer pictures. The other photographers, I noted, were in awe of my equipment and skills and looked at me with something approaching reverence.

Too bad I didn’t have a SmartCard in the camera I was using. So. No pictures of that. Vastly over-rated in any case. A bit of bad landscape.

This is getting to be a disturbing habit.. I change cameras and don’t make sure they can actually take pictures. I later discovered that my newer camera has a setting that doesn’t allow you to “take” pictures without a card in the camera and I set it that way. I hope this helps. I could use the help..

After a short visit to the meadow, it was starkly revealed how much help I need. The night before I had realized I had left the cord to my iBook at home so I was only opening the laptop to download pictures to it or to access the screen-shots I had taken of our hotel reservations. This is my normal technique for saving such things and I was a bit confused when I opened the screen-shot for our lovely two-night stay at the Yurt-Village and the screenshot had no phone number, no address, nothing but the name of the place, “Yosemite Lakes.” Fortunately I did recall a little about the web page and knew that it was located 5 miles from the western park entrance. No problem, I’d shoot down 140, set my odometer to 0 at the park entrance and start eyeballing places about 4 miles down. A brilliant plan, but it revealed nothing. Between 3 and 7 miles down the road was a lovely stretch of river and trees, nothing else. I stopped at the El Portal store and they had no idea what I was talking about.

We rolled back up to the park. Back down 7 miles, back up to the park. Trying to phone anyone we could as eception kept cutting out. We finally reached the BAG’s brother who in a quick (and wildly inaccurate) Google search informed us that we had reservations in Modesto. This was not gonna do. We stopped back at El Portal and this time there was a guy who made the previous day’s Cooter-esque dude seem positively like Cary Grant. But he said he knew of a place like the one we described and in fact had applied for a job there. I paid half-attention, more fascinated by the mossy cave-opening he had by way of a mouth and the teeth that wobbled loosely in their settings, shining green and black in the waning sun. Well, those teeth that were still there, anyway. But the place he was talking about was back on 120 which is not, as everyone knows, the west entrance. This sounded a bit better than Modesto (so does Hell, to be honest), but since the guy was cradling a half-empty fifth of Vodka in a brown-bag I wasn’t gonna take his word for it. So we rolled back up to the Cedar Lodge (a hotel we had noticed along the way) and the very helpful Cara Googled “Hillside Yurt” and “Yosemite” and, wondrous thing, old snaggle-tooths had been dead on. By this time it was getting dark and the BAG was making a remarkably wide variety of snide remarks about my navigation skills. I decided to get a room at the Cedar Lodge, call the Yurt-hut and say we’d be in the next night. This cost me the price of the Yurt for that night, but it was worth it to get off the road. Cara, impressed by our tale of woe, upgraded us to a room with a big old spa (that little head in the "spa" pic is the BAG) and we spent the night there, BAG spa-ing and me cursing the Yurt-Hut for calling 120 the “west” entrance (I cursed them because it couldn’t possibly have been my fault for not having their address or phone number).

The BAG proposed that, according to a theory that I have long held about terminal degrees - they produce stupidity not education - my day without a computer cord, without a SmartCard in my camera, and with no direction home was the result of my proximity to my MA. I think I only hit her once. So that's good.

I’m sure the stars were out, or something… but I focused on drinking myself into oblivion and so largely missed them.

The next day, we were to head for the dreaded Mist Trail...

To Jamestown

I was scheduled to get out of work at 4:30 and to my complete amazement did. The trip from Big City to the Delta went relatively easily and by the time we hit Highway 5 we were contemplating possible hotels for the night. I had seen a bed-and-breakfast somewhere out in “Fish Something or Other” but I had no idea where this might actually be. I knew that once we were past Escalon hotels would get scarce so I stopped at a gas station, gave the BAG a $20 bill and asked her to purchase a map of California. 5 minutes later I was still sitting in the car and the BAG had not reappeared. I stepped into the store to enquire and there in the corner, under a large mound of opened maps (most of which were of Sacramento) the BAG struggled to breathe. I refolded most of the maps and stopped the BAG from continuing to drill through the rack with maps of Sacramento. I pointed out that since one map of Sacramento was pretty much like the other, it might be time for other options. Unfortunately, none of the other options included California or Northern California. As the BAG continued to juggle maps she lost track of the $20 bill and left it behind for the lost (“lost?” by the map racks? Irony baby) homies of 7-11.

She has a loose way with money. If it is mine.

We could neither find “Fish Something or Other” nor raise the hotel on the telephone and thus we soldiered on after determining (a bit of mathematics based on road signs) that Sonora wasn’t too far away beyond the turn-off to Yosemite. We stopped a bit short of that in Jamestown and found a lovely little hotel (The RailTown Hotel) which charged less than seventy dollars for the evening. As we walked in I nearly had a heart attack as a savage canine of massive dimensions gathered itself to leap at me from the bed. Reeling backwards I stepped aside and yelled, “take the Indian! I’m a heart attack waiting to happen.” Perhaps I also pushed the BAG in ahead of me. She has one version of the story and I have another.

It was a stuffed animal, but I could have used a bit of warning. You can see a picture (over there on the right) of the savage beast completely sucking up to the BAG. Shameless. Both of them.

We went around the corner and had a lovely dinner before retiring to bed. I locked the stuffed animal in the bathroom, just to be safe. The BAG kept getting out, so I finally gave up on her...

Holiday in the Sun

Turkey Day came fresh and bright, which was a nice thing after the rain-squalls of the previous night. The lovely BAG had been poking around in the little envelope in which our cabin key had been packed and, lo and behold, she pulled out two squares of paper. Each piece was a free breakfast at the restaurant at the campsite and so our question of where we would be having breakfast was solved.If the woman who checked us in had mentioned this little bonanza, neither of us had heard her do so and that made this a lovely surprise.

I drank the wine that I hadn't spilled the previous night (yeah, I know, complete wino move) sent the first post from yesterday off and we got our stuff together to go out a-beachin!

That picture over on the left is the carefree BAG heading down the hill from our cold cabin. You can see it was pretty darned nice. If by nice you mean puny and windswept. But, you know - nice.

The thing over there on the right is the Eye of Sauron from the lovely semi-sculpture, semi-garden place between the restaurant and the store of the campsite.

Breakfast was good and we headed on out.

The f irst beach, which the BAG INSISTED we visit, turns out upon internet research, to be a nude beach. This would explain the old fat guy walking around nude. It still doesn't quite explain why the BAG enjoyed it so much. Unlike the last time we stumbled (well, me anyway) across a nude beach, I couldn't get the classic pic of the guy washing his hands in the creek. Those proto-Neanderthal shots are the bomb!

Anyway, the second beach was very nice as well, as the pic to the right should hint at. At about 2 it started to get extremely windy and cold, so we headed up the highway towards a road along a creek that had been recommended by the campsite hosts. It was incredibly boring and the road ended abruptly, which we took as a sign to head back to the campsite.

By this time we were a bit hungry but since we had reservations for a complete Thanksgiving dinner we didn't want to eat much. So we grabbed some cheese and pemmican (can't escape from the BAGs essential Cheyennese nature!) and headed back to the cabin to eat.

We opened the pemmican and it was wondrous "State Miracle Pemmican!" The first piece I pulled out is over there on the left - an exact representation of the state of California (with the lines of fat which laced the meat exactly describing our internal waterways and freeway system). It was a complete miracle and I celebrated it by scarfing the stuff right down.

About 30 seconds later the BAG pulled out a piece and started laughing.

She had pulled Montana.

Later, I caught her chewing on yet another piece of the meat in a vain effort to turn it into something resembling Texas.

But the first two were legit, and if this ever happens again I believe the BAG will have a strong argument for three different miracles and thus an induction into the ranks of saints in the Catholic Church.

The lord moves in mysterious ways.

After this it was all just waiting for dinner, which was quite satisfactory and one thing about getting a plate at a restaurant is that it interferes with gluttony. This is a good thing. Dinner didn't start until 7:45 and by the time we got back to the cabin it was time to get under the covers, fire up the matress heater and cling together ("cuddle" as the BAG insists on referring to it) for heat.

Not quite a Thanksgiving like the epic one in Death Valley, but better than staying at home and watching football games.

HAPPY BIRD-EATING DAY! (Featuring hot, bird-on-bird action!)

Amusingly, when the BAG and I arrived at the first beach (mis-named "Bonny Doon," at least for one of the seagulls in the picture) we came across this lovely Thanksgiving tableaux.

And we wish the same to you and alla yours!

;-)