my friends moved abroad for some period of years a year ago, and have just stopped renting their furnished home to friends in favor of having some local agency rent their unfurnished home to strangers, which change in status occasions their need to store their lovely furnishings. i felt guilty simultaneously about wanting the few items that i wanted, and about being unable to take more, but i am happy with those they passed into my stewardship not least for how neatly they fit my still-somewhat-fluid distribution of - and need for - furnishings.
Showing posts with label coffee. Show all posts
Showing posts with label coffee. Show all posts
20120819
20120228
roast report
The roasting is coming along, although my production is quite limited and I have yet to use the roaster's log. I've been focusing a little more on listening for the cracks and trying to get all the beans there at more or less the same time. My equipment and technique are not ideal to this latter end. You saw the setup in the prior roast post. To that I have added only a lid for the skillet - which seems to help distribute the roast more evenly among the beans.
My batches are small, about two handfuls of green beans, to fill that little skillet one bean deep wall-to-wall. This is about right for my little Mr. Coffee, or for one attempt at the french press plus one "pour over" with the funnel.
My batches are small, about two handfuls of green beans, to fill that little skillet one bean deep wall-to-wall. This is about right for my little Mr. Coffee, or for one attempt at the french press plus one "pour over" with the funnel.
20120226
roasted!
I am fond of coffee. This is well known, likely to you also, Dear Reader, to the point that I often have to defend myself from charges of being a coffee snob, which I am not because I cannot afford to be: I am a caffeine junky, and, at risk of withdrawal will even seek my fix in soft drinks.
But I love coffee, and have, in deference to my dependency, been careful not to cultivate any highfalutin tastes while developing a broad appreciation for the elixir of the bean. (I will, however, try to avoid burnt coffee, and that which has been made/stored in/dispensed from equipment that is dirty enough to taste.)
Beyond that, I exercise less taste-directed discrimination in my selection of commercial coffee purveyors than antipathy to aspects of ambiance, convenience and personal relation. Thus, I avoid that monolith; I avoid the long lines of uptight office-suits at that monolith's cervine competitor; and go to the little independently-operated bakery franchise because the coffee's fine and the staff are pleasant and -- personally -- personable.
I do choose to make my own coffee well, grinding whole beans each time I brew to maximize available aromatic oils, but don't stress too much about whose vacuum-sealed brick of roasted beans I buy or where I get it (generally, still, avoiding that monolith), understanding that, as a junky, I have little practical ability to influence how long ago that vacuum-sealed brick was roasted. In the end I am happier to have a steady supply of reasonably-good coffee than a small and work-intensive supply of excellent coffee.
Some time ago, I remarked to my sister that a friend of a friend had been reported to roast her own green coffee beans in a skillet as part of her balanced and lovingly-prepared Ethiopian breakfast, and I thought that, while somewhat high maintenance, that sounded interesting, but I didn't have the first idea where to find fresh green coffee beans.
It was round about xmas, and, hearing this, sis got a calculating gleam in her eye, and said, "Oh, yes?" kind of knowingly. And I foolishly suggested that it would be hard to find a satisfactory, low maintenance supply (I am more than averagely chary about conducting commercial activities via the Internet, and don't believe -- or object to the tone of -- most of what I read), even in the unlikely event I should get around to learning the art with a skillet of my own, which she took as a challenge, apparently animated by fervent faith in the ramifying variety of Internet endeavors to efficiently supply any demand.
But I love coffee, and have, in deference to my dependency, been careful not to cultivate any highfalutin tastes while developing a broad appreciation for the elixir of the bean. (I will, however, try to avoid burnt coffee, and that which has been made/stored in/dispensed from equipment that is dirty enough to taste.)
Beyond that, I exercise less taste-directed discrimination in my selection of commercial coffee purveyors than antipathy to aspects of ambiance, convenience and personal relation. Thus, I avoid that monolith; I avoid the long lines of uptight office-suits at that monolith's cervine competitor; and go to the little independently-operated bakery franchise because the coffee's fine and the staff are pleasant and -- personally -- personable.
I do choose to make my own coffee well, grinding whole beans each time I brew to maximize available aromatic oils, but don't stress too much about whose vacuum-sealed brick of roasted beans I buy or where I get it (generally, still, avoiding that monolith), understanding that, as a junky, I have little practical ability to influence how long ago that vacuum-sealed brick was roasted. In the end I am happier to have a steady supply of reasonably-good coffee than a small and work-intensive supply of excellent coffee.
Some time ago, I remarked to my sister that a friend of a friend had been reported to roast her own green coffee beans in a skillet as part of her balanced and lovingly-prepared Ethiopian breakfast, and I thought that, while somewhat high maintenance, that sounded interesting, but I didn't have the first idea where to find fresh green coffee beans.
It was round about xmas, and, hearing this, sis got a calculating gleam in her eye, and said, "Oh, yes?" kind of knowingly. And I foolishly suggested that it would be hard to find a satisfactory, low maintenance supply (I am more than averagely chary about conducting commercial activities via the Internet, and don't believe -- or object to the tone of -- most of what I read), even in the unlikely event I should get around to learning the art with a skillet of my own, which she took as a challenge, apparently animated by fervent faith in the ramifying variety of Internet endeavors to efficiently supply any demand.
20111205
A Spy on the Street Where You Live, pt. 3
But what can I say . . . to make it clear? How can I say that to her, when the groveling started sixteen years ago—or thirty two, if my stars really do point at her—was ineffective then, and has, it would seem, continued, to resurface now? How can I say that, which every brokenhearted singer has ever sung, that every adult has recognized for the screen-kiss kitsch it is, as a vehicle for commercial culture and greater need, to this stranger whose company I crave with a thirst I’d say anything to slake? Never trust a junkie or a crooner: My mama done told me, they’ll both do anything for another hit.
And, how, after all, if she won’t return my calls, who gave up writing weeks ago, who won’t be getting in touch, nor speak to me at all? If the sun refused to shine, perhaps she would return my calls; or if the moon plunged into the sea, perhaps she would call me. Of course, if that happened, phone service would likely be adversely impacted, not to mention low-lying coastal areas, and we, refugees, going nowhere.
And, how, after all, if she won’t return my calls, who gave up writing weeks ago, who won’t be getting in touch, nor speak to me at all? If the sun refused to shine, perhaps she would return my calls; or if the moon plunged into the sea, perhaps she would call me. Of course, if that happened, phone service would likely be adversely impacted, not to mention low-lying coastal areas, and we, refugees, going nowhere.
If it were but a matter of faith,Barring the fools’ unforgivable sin of rushing in and talking out loud; even choosing not to tell her about it, how can I even think I crave such things, and continue to think of myself as a person? No: Must struggle, must ramble on; must . . . resist . . . compulsive . . . romantic . . . hyperbole.
if it were measured in petitions and prayer . . .
but it is not, nor do I care.
20111204
A Spy on the Street Where You Live, pt. 2
And there’s Lerner and Lowe’s Fair Lady, herself also a figment from Ovid as Pygmalion’s Galatea, but, back then, she didn’t have a street, just the pedestal.
The audience of the modern musical, for dramatic development, had to be shown that Eliza Doolittle was not only sophisticated in ladylike civilized artifice, but also filled with the feminine graces known to prompt poets’ odes and lovers’ praises, through the introduction of a rival suitor to the Professor’s as yet unspoken devotion.
Rival suitor sues to see her, and succeeding, has found a reason to sing of enchantment pouring out of every door, has cause for singin’ in the rain, and dancing in the street.
Excised from the arc of plot, this recorded and rerecorded song is simply everyman’s love song. Again, the lyric is not about the beloved, whose presence merely imbues the setting, but a report on the state of mind and heart of, or simply part and parcel of the art of, the singer. As always, at first, I’ve just seen a face and can’t forget the time or place of that first sight. Then, with or without overtures or encouragement, merely because I want to hold your hand and can’t stop my brain, or maybe because I’ve been watching . . . every breath you take, the residence of the beloved is discovered. Then the wooing, the suiting starts, or the stalking—the difference lies in her consent—with the overpowering feeling that any second you may suddenly appear.
The audience of the modern musical, for dramatic development, had to be shown that Eliza Doolittle was not only sophisticated in ladylike civilized artifice, but also filled with the feminine graces known to prompt poets’ odes and lovers’ praises, through the introduction of a rival suitor to the Professor’s as yet unspoken devotion.
Rival suitor sues to see her, and succeeding, has found a reason to sing of enchantment pouring out of every door, has cause for singin’ in the rain, and dancing in the street.
People stop and stare; they don’t bother me,This is before the rain, of course. Properly validated, Liza falls for the Prof.
For there’s no where else on Earth that I would rather be.
Let the time go by, I won’t care if I can be here on the street where you live!
Excised from the arc of plot, this recorded and rerecorded song is simply everyman’s love song. Again, the lyric is not about the beloved, whose presence merely imbues the setting, but a report on the state of mind and heart of, or simply part and parcel of the art of, the singer. As always, at first, I’ve just seen a face and can’t forget the time or place of that first sight. Then, with or without overtures or encouragement, merely because I want to hold your hand and can’t stop my brain, or maybe because I’ve been watching . . . every breath you take, the residence of the beloved is discovered. Then the wooing, the suiting starts, or the stalking—the difference lies in her consent—with the overpowering feeling that any second you may suddenly appear.
20111203
A Spy on the Street Where You Live, pt.1
It is only a woman that can make a man become the parody of himself.
--French Proverb, the Rev. T.F. Thistleton-Dyer
. . . I cannot step out of my home without asking myself whether I’m only going out in the hope of seeing her, here on the street, and knowing that if I do or do not see her, I’ll be looking for her anyway, and judging and chiding myself for it. Let me tell you a little about what I know of me and this fervent furtive infatuation.
Conditioned by love songs to be the perfect American romantic id, in addition to being the paranoid monomaniac ego of me, I am attuned to poignant phrases pertaining to the street where she lives, or some synonymous heterologue, distinct as a singular wandering star in the collective romantic meme-pool of popular music, an ersatz zodiac of coupling if not graveyard of the language and dreams of modernity.
This has been powerful imagery for me since before she moved onto my street.
There ought to be a lot of love songs dealing with this theme, but I can only think of two, and another scenario, to which I add this, my words and tone, my own inept tune.
Yonder window, wherever it is, irresistibly attracts the romantic speaker’s attention, displacing the governor of the dome of the sky, the prime indicator of direction and time throughout human history. That window becomes the East, and Juliet is the sun. Wither she goest, so the speaker’s heliotropic heart and attention, perpetually dawning.
Conditioned by love songs to be the perfect American romantic id, in addition to being the paranoid monomaniac ego of me, I am attuned to poignant phrases pertaining to the street where she lives, or some synonymous heterologue, distinct as a singular wandering star in the collective romantic meme-pool of popular music, an ersatz zodiac of coupling if not graveyard of the language and dreams of modernity.
This has been powerful imagery for me since before she moved onto my street.
There ought to be a lot of love songs dealing with this theme, but I can only think of two, and another scenario, to which I add this, my words and tone, my own inept tune.
But soft! What light in yonder window breaks? It is the East!Not even a love song, but some higher-art embodiment, in perhaps its most perfected form, this is certainly the archetype, the articulation of romantic love that has most imbued the cultural discourse; has so imbued this discourse, that Romeus and Juliet are commonly invoked as exemplary lovers, despite their tragic non-consummation. As if they’d got hitched, bought land, and made it fruitful across the long gloss of their bliss.
Yonder window, wherever it is, irresistibly attracts the romantic speaker’s attention, displacing the governor of the dome of the sky, the prime indicator of direction and time throughout human history. That window becomes the East, and Juliet is the sun. Wither she goest, so the speaker’s heliotropic heart and attention, perpetually dawning.
20111128
work product
i, too, dear reader, have tried to so seize some one thing about each job:
*
ttara haseyo:
"'Sup? What's up? How're you doing?
I'm fine, thanks, and you?"
*
double tall mocha
is that for here or to go
thanks please call again
*
repetitive stress
oh carpal tunnel syndrome
cannot move fingers
*
[template]
*
adenine guanine
crawl around circuitous
perilous word bridge
*
egomaniac
through chemistry may achieve
equilibrium
*
side effects include
vomiting coma and death
call for free brochure
*
read cases take note
then balance utilities
sleep deep and often
*
subject the statute
and facts to analysis;
dispense warm justice
*
[three bar haiku]
*
if you get divorced
you are an honorary
statistical expert
*
code those documents
fast if not well for you may
be cut tomorrow
*
pizza and beer are
in the second floor kitchen:
they are not for you.
*
unknown manager
says her ass is on the line,
demotivating
*
debit issuance
proposal draft with legal
advice appended
*
memo drafted at
counsel’s request re pending
antitrust lit’n
*
we connect the dots
its all perfectly legal
that’s how we do it.
20110321
got my new spring line from hellmark!
i orderedthe new t-shirts,
morbid and wry alike,
and they arrived
today. yay!
wry first. (left)
then morbid. (right)
maybe you've seen "i bought 200 shares of Apple today, adam..." and "hang in there!" before.
i also refreshed some old standbys:
20090604
being there: 11
[Three]that's where i am. i don't have a therapist myself (funny how a parent shrink can so depreciate the value of a paid confidant with a lexicon of norms and deviation), and i don't consult the clergy.
but i have a guru, sometimes, sort of, and i go to yoga classes in the godawful early morning before humping along to earn my daily coffee at my perfectly unisex and depersonal workstation distinguished only by my own oils and dead cells caked curiously on some and not others of the keys and a photo, pinned among the pending paperwork on the corkboard, holding an image of me appearing happy and at ease so convincingly that i could believe it but for remembering in my more honest moments how i seethed under the lens, my mug and my instant messenger and my modular unisex clerical tasks.
continue>
20081214
wish list elicited kibbitzin' with sis
All I need/want cannot really be bought; nor do I imagine any of you are in any position to secure it for me (true, your individual and several love, concern and esteem are within that category, but I'm as confident - barring unthinkable mishap or malfeasance - that I have and will continue receiving those as that the rivers will continue to flow).
Among corporeal objects, as you know, I value little but artifacts containing record of or capable of producing music, and books. At this time, I have access to all I can consume of both at infinitesimal cost.
Which reminds me:
I have access to an immense amount of a quite eclectic range of music.
What do you like?
Among corporeal objects, as you know, I value little but artifacts containing record of or capable of producing music, and books. At this time, I have access to all I can consume of both at infinitesimal cost.
Which reminds me:
I have access to an immense amount of a quite eclectic range of music.
What do you like?
20061014
what is the grind, for sis
the grind
is little plastic espresso “group”-formed cups filled with vacuum sealed robusta
for fitting in the space aged autocoffee doser
which on reflection is not so much advance on the circa ‘60s machines that
dribbled something almost but not quite entirely unlike coffee
or starbucks
both of which more or less mock espresso and obfuscate coffee.
is little plastic espresso “group”-formed cups filled with vacuum sealed robusta
for fitting in the space aged autocoffee doser
which on reflection is not so much advance on the circa ‘60s machines that
dribbled something almost but not quite entirely unlike coffee
or starbucks
both of which more or less mock espresso and obfuscate coffee.
20041029
the HSA blimp
Dear Norm,
You didn’t believe me when I reported the black helicopters, even when their spotlights bathed your own cars on the commute, hovering in the sun while the trees writhed. You suspected I was intoxicated or embellishing when I reported the very bright very quick, crackling, rushing away early one morning as I took the parkway past the C.I.A. I probably did not even tell you how
strange things levitate over the Interstate ‘tween Shreeveport and South Shriver,
where the blazing skies have dazzled the eyes of many a Sunday driver,
so absurdly, so stupidly, unremarkably familiar were those two enormous cake molds, separated by a shadowy grille, dwarfing the strip mall’s garden of glittering industrial lampposts, and the lamps of the interstate, dwarfing those incredibly tall signs gas stations sometimes use so you can see them before the exit lane over the tree line as you rocket down the high. You wouldn’t have believed me; I tried not to believe me and tried not to look at cakes being baked, and learned self-cynical oblivion.
20040123
not the same
i don't think
we're really experiencing the same thing
so much as doing our own thing(s)
within similar, although temporally-dislocated, constraints.
but i could be wrong.
maybe you'll write back and describe to me just how
all the lovely objects of crush
sit near to and yet oh so distantly from me
each grim winter afternoon.
how young the youngsters are.
the swirling of leaves and ash in a cold windblasted courtyard.
sodexho coffee.
we're really experiencing the same thing
so much as doing our own thing(s)
within similar, although temporally-dislocated, constraints.
but i could be wrong.
maybe you'll write back and describe to me just how
all the lovely objects of crush
sit near to and yet oh so distantly from me
each grim winter afternoon.
how young the youngsters are.
the swirling of leaves and ash in a cold windblasted courtyard.
sodexho coffee.
20030905
what happened to CALL?
Scheme is a very small language! Is that really all you need?
What happened to call, Ceci? What happened to integers and strings
and vectors staying the same? People are like "What happened,
call the doctor, or what happened to songs like Little Babies?"
I guess asking anyone who witnessed the shooting or any knowledge
of what happened to call Gurden at Reporter 7. I use blocking software,
can that cause problems? What happened to call of the wind?
If there were some tendency to pessimism in
handset subsidies we would want to judge the market by what
happened to call charges, he said adding that the plenary
presentation would, FYI, answer some of your
comments: Police ask anyone who may have witnessed what
happened to call North Vancouver, chat until the cows come home.
What happened to call, Ceci? What happened to integers and strings
and vectors staying the same? People are like "What happened,
call the doctor, or what happened to songs like Little Babies?"
I guess asking anyone who witnessed the shooting or any knowledge
of what happened to call Gurden at Reporter 7. I use blocking software,
can that cause problems? What happened to call of the wind?
If there were some tendency to pessimism in
handset subsidies we would want to judge the market by what
happened to call charges, he said adding that the plenary
presentation would, FYI, answer some of your
comments: Police ask anyone who may have witnessed what
happened to call North Vancouver, chat until the cows come home.
20010905
java lamp
better than a lava lamp,
the french press pot atop
the oft-repainted radiator cover
deliberately set there by the window
sill to catch and kindle in
the setting summer sunlight
that pours over the roofs and
distant cathedral's hillock to
splash radiantly into my gaping room
i don't have the angle right just now
for the encompassing view of that hill
and skyline, distant and nearer churches' spires,
intent only on the brownian fluid illumined,
glowing in the fire of that sleepy star
and savoring the elixir's anticipated vigor
my studied hours will soon sorely need,
but i know it's there and descry so for context.
it starts clear but hazy from the boiling tumult
but passes through lager and honey before
the pot is poured full, the roiling grounds
seething dark in the steam as the lid is placed;
by the window it is amber, ocher, golden,
strong tea bathed, suffused through in light.
the french press pot atop
the oft-repainted radiator cover
deliberately set there by the window
sill to catch and kindle in
the setting summer sunlight
that pours over the roofs and
distant cathedral's hillock to
splash radiantly into my gaping room
i don't have the angle right just now
for the encompassing view of that hill
and skyline, distant and nearer churches' spires,
intent only on the brownian fluid illumined,
glowing in the fire of that sleepy star
and savoring the elixir's anticipated vigor
my studied hours will soon sorely need,
but i know it's there and descry so for context.
it starts clear but hazy from the boiling tumult
but passes through lager and honey before
the pot is poured full, the roiling grounds
seething dark in the steam as the lid is placed;
by the window it is amber, ocher, golden,
strong tea bathed, suffused through in light.
20001026
0001025/6.here now
I frame my life in coffeespoons and technology interactions, in habits and addictions, I frame my full potentialities for being; my potentiality for being is framed, my me defined conveniently right here right now in my habituated postures, regular activities and addictions.
Each morning I wake. Slowly. Eventually I manage to haul my own sorry ass out of bed. Then, once I've peed and if I don't immediately climb back into bed, I reach for a cup of coffee and a cigarette, or just the cigarette provided I can expect to acquire coffee within an hour or so. Junkie. On normal "school days," I suck a cigarette or two on the way to work, stave down whatever normal impulses of hunger and appropriate bodily function that might still linger about.
I am smoker, I am commuter, I am public radio listener, I am entitled driver of psyche-car pissed off at some other entitled psycho-driver. OK. I suck down cigarettes. I . . . [illegible text] . . . that on the way home.
Get to work, boot workstation (if it's not on - I usually turn it off over weekends but not each night 'cause it takes so damn long to boot and load and logon and finish booting; bad excuse I know) or just launch critical programs: browser, word and e-mail before heading for coffee. Black coffee ( - so, ok then, no actual spoons). First cup without a cigarette over the inbox. Usually within about an hour its time for a cigarette break. Bad policy, lazy and obstructive. Often this is taken working and alone, sometimes with coworkers in idle talk, with another coffee, thanks.
Technology interactions thus far: alarm clock, [plumbing], my car and others', stoplight and road surveillance systems, radio, magnetic key card, computer, coffee maker, computer, the Internet, perhaps telephone. The computer comprises many technology interactions, but the predominant one is waiting, followed closely by reading and then by point/clicking and typing.
I used to think that we were creatures spun of the matrix of belief and desire, but now find fear and habit. Maybe they're analogous. Habit:fear::belief:desire, or fear:habit::belief:desire.
I don't think, when my parents told me as a child I wasn't living up to my full potential, that they meant that I wasn't buying enough . . .
19980305
notice
on working out the notice issue with my short-lived boss
the charismatic ice-chip
eyes
so direct from their seat
in the taut tanned skin of playboy
face
so active below their styled
firmament of coif
usually
dropped
in synch with the
mannered rise of his sealing
hand
as though there were no more
sunshine plan to blow
no grand design
remaining
i felt i was supposed to
feel
i had disappointed
as his lashes tapped
his cheeks
but i didn't
just looked him in the
tie
joined my caffeine clammy
palm to his for the briefest shake
smiled and let go
he was smooth enough
staying the urge to wipe
on his tailored pants
but he was still waving it
dry
as he strode to the next
deal
the charismatic ice-chip
eyes
so direct from their seat
in the taut tanned skin of playboy
face
so active below their styled
firmament of coif
usually
dropped
in synch with the
mannered rise of his sealing
hand
as though there were no more
sunshine plan to blow
no grand design
remaining
i felt i was supposed to
feel
i had disappointed
as his lashes tapped
his cheeks
but i didn't
just looked him in the
tie
joined my caffeine clammy
palm to his for the briefest shake
smiled and let go
he was smooth enough
staying the urge to wipe
on his tailored pants
but he was still waving it
dry
as he strode to the next
deal
19960224
bust'd
Well, yesterday at school I arrived early. I was in the teachers' room. Miss Park came in to talk to me. Mrs. Park (the gossip) was there.
Miss Park started to talk to me: she said that officers from immigration were coming to the school to question me. If they did question me I was to answer their questions as follows: I do not teach any grade-school classes, and I work there only on Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday are taught by Link.
After she had left, Mrs. Park asked me what she had said. I said to her that Miss Park told me that Immigration officials would come to question me and that I should lie. She laughed in response to this, with some comment along the lines of "Oh Oomph, you're such a kidder." With that the subject was dropped. And I headed off to class.
I guess I managed to get about one third of the way through my class- teaching that damn "next to - between - across from..." lesson. I set the kids to practicing the exercises and then went out to go to the bathroom. As I stepped out of the classroom (rm.205) door, I saw three business-suited men go into the office: one of them did a multiple-take - as though trying to decide whether to talk to me or not. He went into the office, and, realizing that the immigration men had come for me, I went to the bathroom and then back to my class.
After a few minutes the secretary lady who does not speak English came and fetched me: she reinforced (with sign language) the lies I had earlier been instructed to say. So I went to meet the men. They asked questions about my employment: when I arrived, where I have worked, where I lived. They never asked the questions about which I had been instructed to lie.
They asked me about my passport. I told them that I did not have it with me. So they asked to see my alien residence card. I gave it them. They gave me a receipt for it, and a summons to appear at the immigration office at 9:30 this morning. Then they asked where I lived. I told them it was about fifteen minutes away by foot. So they let me go back to class.
I had been teaching for about ten minutes when they decided they wanted to see me again. So in came Miss Park to fetch me. Remember, she said, Link: T,Th,S; You: M,W,F. Sure enough, they asked me about my housemates: "Brown. Where is Brown?" I said I didn't know where Duke was, 'cause he left the house before me. "Marks, Link Marks. Is he at your home now?" I said I didn't think he was at home because he had left before I did.
"Where is he?" "I don't know."
Then they asked me again how long it takes to get to my house. I gave them the same answer, "Fifteen minutes, walking."
"How about driving?"
"I don't know. I always walk. I suppose 5 to 10 minutes." So they invited me to go with them to my house.
I left the room to end my class (more wasted time and yet another erosion of my precarious authority), then went upstairs to leave my books and fetch my coat. Miss Park told me at this time that Link was at home. So, while in the teachers' room I called him --, it was busy at first, but upon a second try he answered it: "Ya' Bo Seyo?"
"Link, get out of the house."
"They're here."
"They busted me too, we're coming shortly. They told me here that my story is to be that you work at this Olympiad on Tues, Thurs. and Sat ~ and none of us teach lower than middle school."
"Okay."
"I guess we'll be there soon."
"OK, then I'll see you for skiing on Sunday."
I grabbed my coat and stepped into the hallway. There, about halfway down the corridor, as though searching for me, was the leader. He saw me coming, be-coated, and turned around to lead the way outside (this man's name was Li Teok-ryong). As we went down the stairs he said to me that Link was at my house. My cool reply, "Oh, is he?" We went. Four full grown men in this little Kia Pride car, with me giving directions from the back seat. We got to my house and climbed the stairs.
When I opened the door the first thing I saw was more official-looking Koreans coming to greet the new person. All four of us went in, making it 6 Han-gook sa-ram and two honkies. Everyone was standing around the common room ~ one man was sporadically on the phone. My three agents told me to fetch my passport, so I went to my room, closing the door but not latching it behind me. I went to the drawer where I keep my important papers and began to dig out my passport. By the time I had found it, one of the men had followed me into my room, and was in fact, all the way over to my desk. He took his time going out ~ obviously looking carefully around. This pissed me off.
So we went back out to the common area. We stood around for a few moments while my passport was passed from hand to hand. During this time the same man who had followed me into my room took it upon himself to open Duke's door and look inside his room. As soon as we saw this happening, Link and I both began to say, "Excuse me - you cannot do that," to him.
As I was closest, I pushed the door shut. Now I was becoming more angry. We told them that ours was a private home and they could not go around opening doors and looking wherever they wished. The leader of my group changed the subject. He told us we needed to give them a written statement. I went back to my room and fetched this very notebook, exited, closed my door, and repaired to the kitchen.
What would you like this statement to say? When you arrived in Korea and when/where you started to work. Link and I both sat down at the kitchen table, me giving him a piece of paper. I wrote two lines: "I arrived in Korea on July 27, 1995. I began to work at Olympiad Hakwon during the second week of August."
During the time that I was writing all but one of the men were out in the common room. While I was writing I heard the door to Roy's room close (presumably it had been opened with the stealth becoming of an immigration officer), and just as I finished I heard Duke's CD drawer being opened and closed. That was enough. Like a flash I went out into the common room. There, sure enough, was the agent I affectionately have dubbed "Snoop." Snoop was standing by the TV cabinet straightening from the crouch he would have had to adopt to open the drawer.
"What are you doing?" I must have bellowed. "If you want to see the whole place I can arrange a tour. You want to snoop around some?" I went to the CD drawer, opened it, and gesturing at the CDs said "Oh my! CDs! Are you happy now?" Some of the agents tried to calm me: "No, no." But then one of the men suggested to Snoop that he tell me he had been fixing the VCR cable which was caught in the drawer. (That's not implausible, but 1) Link told me later that the cord had not been caught in the drawer, and 2) even if it had been ~ housecleaning was neither this agent's responsibility nor his interest). So that's what Snoop said. This pissed me off more. "Oh, and was the cord caught in the door too?"
"No, no," said Snoop. But I wasn't satisfied. I went to Duke's door, opened it, mimed peering inside, moved his heated blanket out of the way as though it had been blocking the door, nodded and closed the door again. Then I turned to look Snoop in the eye. All he did was repeat "Do not misunderstand." I was sure I hadn't.
Next the lead officer interfered - "Your written statement, Mr. Oomph. We have to get you back too your classes."
"I've finished that. Here," I ran to the kitchen and grabbed my paper, then returned proffering it at Snoop and the leader, "Happy now?" They read it, decided that they were happy, and got ready to take me back to school.
Having made that clear, he turned to the "Punitive Provisions" section of the book, and had us read Article 94 (max 3 years prison or W10 mil. fine), which applied to the boss but not to us, and Article 95 (max one year prison or W5 mil. fine) which did apply to us. It was section 5 of this article that was relevant: we had violated XVIII ii, and XXI i.
I read fast so I got to scan through the book a little: I found that if charges are to be pressed, they will be issued in writing giving us seven days to pay (art.CII, I think) and that consideration will be given to the defendant's ability to pay and motive (CIII, I think). I stored these for possible use later.
After having tried to make the gravity of our situation clear to us, he left us to wait (perhaps thinking "anticipation of an evil is worse than an evil itself."). Whatever.
He said, "I say five days."
I tried again. This time I got the response, "You are in violation of Korean Immigration Law!"
Aha! I thought, and said (gesturing at that handy little book), "Right, Article XVIII and XXI, the same law which states that the violator will have seven days in which to pay."
This lively repartee lasted a little while, but at some point I found the passage I was referring to and recited it to him. He was upset. Over and over: "You are in violation of Korean Immigration Law!" He also said to forget the book and consider my position (...in violation...). Ah, I love a cool-headed logical gent!
Duke talked to him about calling Mr. Im (Cause Duke didn't have enough money to pay the fine and hoped that the boss could cover it), but didn't get that chance (Mr. Oh told Duke to ask the American embassy for the money).
So that's about how it was left. We were led by Oh to another waiting room and bade wait. I think it was during this time that we talked passports. We said to him, you must give us our passports.
Guess what he said.
Duke and Link were cool and apologetic, I was logical and recalcitrant. Nothing came of this but more success in getting him to raise his voice.
We tried the "Passports are the property of the U.S. Government" line, but to no avail. Finally I asked him his name. He told me and I tried to write it down, and then, as though it were the capping blow he said to me, "I'll give you my name card." (He never did.)
So we found ourselves stranded in an, as yet, unseen room. It had a bench, a desk, two chairs and a safe. And now it had the three Mi-gook-skateers. Here we waited for what seemed like (and probably actually were) hours. At one point Mr. Snoop from the night before offered us coffee. This is the place / time that I began this record (though now that I am nearing the end of my tale I am in class at 9:15 tonight). I made repeated trips to the bathroom for smokes and otherwise mostly paced and prowled around the room. It had a door which opened onto the hallway (the same hallway as the original waiting room), directly opposite the door was a large mirror. In the room, to the left of (provided you are facing) the door was a large window. This, with the mirror, was nice, because I could stand in the farthest left farthest hallward corner of the room, and see much of the activity in the next room. Unfortunately not much of interest was going on there. At one point two handcuffed men were led in, and after a while they went out free. As I was often going and coming from the bathroom I could get a fair view of the area. I saw Mr. Im and his wife when they came in ~ though I could not tell what was going on with them.
At one point Link was called into the room next door. He was interrogated, sort of, and we could hear it all. The interrogator asked Link over and over how long he had worked at Olympiad. Link, courageously, said over and over that the information about that was contained in the statement he had written. The man got angry ~ yelling that Link had, indeed, worked at Olympiad, and that his director said so. Link maintained as long (longer, in fact) as he reasonably could have, but in the end, said the fateful words, "I have never worked at Olympiad."
After that he was allowed to come back in. And a loud argument ensued in a nearby room, presumably over the information Link had at long last divulged. We waited more. We saw Mr. Im's lawyer and another man come in. Shortly thereafter, a voice called out, "Brown, Duke!" Duke went, and a moment later returned, saying that all of our presences were requested with the Director. So we went.
Mr. Im and his wife were there. The man who had interrogated Link was also there. We were told to sign forms which we were told we translations of our earlier-made statements. I think that we should really have been more careful - asking what we were signing more specifically, but we weren't, we didn't. We signed. They gave Duke a receipt for his passport, told us that the "Captain" would make his decision on Monday, and we all went to another waiting room.
Here Mr. Im was full of Optimistic Bravado ~ enough at least to make us laugh some. After his lawyer was done with whatever he was doing we all left. Mr. Im told us over and over that it wouldn't be a big problem. OK. Then he took us out to an extravagant lunch before delivering us to our respective places of employment.
Miss Park started to talk to me: she said that officers from immigration were coming to the school to question me. If they did question me I was to answer their questions as follows: I do not teach any grade-school classes, and I work there only on Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday are taught by Link.
After she had left, Mrs. Park asked me what she had said. I said to her that Miss Park told me that Immigration officials would come to question me and that I should lie. She laughed in response to this, with some comment along the lines of "Oh Oomph, you're such a kidder." With that the subject was dropped. And I headed off to class.
I guess I managed to get about one third of the way through my class- teaching that damn "next to - between - across from..." lesson. I set the kids to practicing the exercises and then went out to go to the bathroom. As I stepped out of the classroom (rm.205) door, I saw three business-suited men go into the office: one of them did a multiple-take - as though trying to decide whether to talk to me or not. He went into the office, and, realizing that the immigration men had come for me, I went to the bathroom and then back to my class.
After a few minutes the secretary lady who does not speak English came and fetched me: she reinforced (with sign language) the lies I had earlier been instructed to say. So I went to meet the men. They asked questions about my employment: when I arrived, where I have worked, where I lived. They never asked the questions about which I had been instructed to lie.
They asked me about my passport. I told them that I did not have it with me. So they asked to see my alien residence card. I gave it them. They gave me a receipt for it, and a summons to appear at the immigration office at 9:30 this morning. Then they asked where I lived. I told them it was about fifteen minutes away by foot. So they let me go back to class.
I had been teaching for about ten minutes when they decided they wanted to see me again. So in came Miss Park to fetch me. Remember, she said, Link: T,Th,S; You: M,W,F. Sure enough, they asked me about my housemates: "Brown. Where is Brown?" I said I didn't know where Duke was, 'cause he left the house before me. "Marks, Link Marks. Is he at your home now?" I said I didn't think he was at home because he had left before I did.
"Where is he?" "I don't know."
Then they asked me again how long it takes to get to my house. I gave them the same answer, "Fifteen minutes, walking."
"How about driving?"
"I don't know. I always walk. I suppose 5 to 10 minutes." So they invited me to go with them to my house.
I left the room to end my class (more wasted time and yet another erosion of my precarious authority), then went upstairs to leave my books and fetch my coat. Miss Park told me at this time that Link was at home. So, while in the teachers' room I called him --, it was busy at first, but upon a second try he answered it: "Ya' Bo Seyo?"
"Link, get out of the house."
"They're here."
"They busted me too, we're coming shortly. They told me here that my story is to be that you work at this Olympiad on Tues, Thurs. and Sat ~ and none of us teach lower than middle school."
"Okay."
"I guess we'll be there soon."
"OK, then I'll see you for skiing on Sunday."
I grabbed my coat and stepped into the hallway. There, about halfway down the corridor, as though searching for me, was the leader. He saw me coming, be-coated, and turned around to lead the way outside (this man's name was Li Teok-ryong). As we went down the stairs he said to me that Link was at my house. My cool reply, "Oh, is he?" We went. Four full grown men in this little Kia Pride car, with me giving directions from the back seat. We got to my house and climbed the stairs.
When I opened the door the first thing I saw was more official-looking Koreans coming to greet the new person. All four of us went in, making it 6 Han-gook sa-ram and two honkies. Everyone was standing around the common room ~ one man was sporadically on the phone. My three agents told me to fetch my passport, so I went to my room, closing the door but not latching it behind me. I went to the drawer where I keep my important papers and began to dig out my passport. By the time I had found it, one of the men had followed me into my room, and was in fact, all the way over to my desk. He took his time going out ~ obviously looking carefully around. This pissed me off.
So we went back out to the common area. We stood around for a few moments while my passport was passed from hand to hand. During this time the same man who had followed me into my room took it upon himself to open Duke's door and look inside his room. As soon as we saw this happening, Link and I both began to say, "Excuse me - you cannot do that," to him.
As I was closest, I pushed the door shut. Now I was becoming more angry. We told them that ours was a private home and they could not go around opening doors and looking wherever they wished. The leader of my group changed the subject. He told us we needed to give them a written statement. I went back to my room and fetched this very notebook, exited, closed my door, and repaired to the kitchen.
What would you like this statement to say? When you arrived in Korea and when/where you started to work. Link and I both sat down at the kitchen table, me giving him a piece of paper. I wrote two lines: "I arrived in Korea on July 27, 1995. I began to work at Olympiad Hakwon during the second week of August."
During the time that I was writing all but one of the men were out in the common room. While I was writing I heard the door to Roy's room close (presumably it had been opened with the stealth becoming of an immigration officer), and just as I finished I heard Duke's CD drawer being opened and closed. That was enough. Like a flash I went out into the common room. There, sure enough, was the agent I affectionately have dubbed "Snoop." Snoop was standing by the TV cabinet straightening from the crouch he would have had to adopt to open the drawer.
"What are you doing?" I must have bellowed. "If you want to see the whole place I can arrange a tour. You want to snoop around some?" I went to the CD drawer, opened it, and gesturing at the CDs said "Oh my! CDs! Are you happy now?" Some of the agents tried to calm me: "No, no." But then one of the men suggested to Snoop that he tell me he had been fixing the VCR cable which was caught in the drawer. (That's not implausible, but 1) Link told me later that the cord had not been caught in the drawer, and 2) even if it had been ~ housecleaning was neither this agent's responsibility nor his interest). So that's what Snoop said. This pissed me off more. "Oh, and was the cord caught in the door too?"
"No, no," said Snoop. But I wasn't satisfied. I went to Duke's door, opened it, mimed peering inside, moved his heated blanket out of the way as though it had been blocking the door, nodded and closed the door again. Then I turned to look Snoop in the eye. All he did was repeat "Do not misunderstand." I was sure I hadn't.
Next the lead officer interfered - "Your written statement, Mr. Oomph. We have to get you back too your classes."
"I've finished that. Here," I ran to the kitchen and grabbed my paper, then returned proffering it at Snoop and the leader, "Happy now?" They read it, decided that they were happy, and got ready to take me back to school.
Aside --> Link says that during the confrontation with Snoop, someone backpedaled saying "You came in here so fast," as though apologetically. I can almost remember that, but not with any meaningful referents. <--
When we left the house Snoop and the others remained with Link's posse, and I rode with Li Teok-ryong only. He dropped me off across the street from the school and sped away. At school I went into the teachers' room for a smoke, then Miss Park came to ask me what had happened.
Aside --> in the car on the way back I asked Mr. Li why, if I could not work legally at Olympiad, he was taking me back there to finish my classes. He said that he could not make a decision until today.<--
I told her as much as I could, finished my smoke, and went to class. After a few minutes she came to fetch me from class. Duke was on the phone. The same thing had happened to him. He was calling from Coco's coffee shop and thought it would be a good idea to meet together after work. I told him basically, "No shit."
But while I was on the phone with him, Miss Park gave me the lie for him: As he had been sick, Duke did not teach at all. I told her that it was too late for that lie, so they came up with another creative lie, this one apparently the one Duke's Shil-jeong-nimh had told the Inspectors: that Duke did not teach the children - he only played with them during their free periods between classes. Pathetic. I finished work and went home.
At home Duke was entertaining Mr.Jeong (from the stand next to the Mandu Ladies'), but only for as long as it took me to make and start eating ramen. Then Dr. Kim and Mr. Im came down. Mr. Jeong left. We all sat and talked for a while about how to deal with the problem. The Koreans were very relaxed, and tried to tell us we had the right to not answer their questions, and, in fact, to not go in at the time we had been told to go. But we didn't buy it.
So, they bravadoed and briefed us for a while, and then we were left to arrange ourselves. At this point it looked like all would be resolved today (I keep allowing myself to believe in quick resolutions although such things seem not to happen in Korea). There seemed two possibilities: 1) Mr. Im said that he could appeal the decision of the immigration officials, thereby going to court for an indefinite period of time (but sounding like everyman's champion). Or 2) We (the honkeys) might have to leave the country for the amount of time that it takes to get a new visa. These were both, at the time, very vaguely formed ideas. I tried to crash - we had all agreed to get up at 7:30. I had trouble sleeping, though, my mind had been set in motion by the events of the day, and I lay in bed trying to put them to rest for hours, so that I could get some rest.
Today I got up at 7:30. It felt pretty good to be up that early ~ though by non I felt mostly like shit. I got up and went to the kitchen where Link was shivering, having just come from his shower/washing. Thinking to help him, I moved toward the heater, but he interrupted me, saying, "Gahseu eopseoyo." Shit. Actually, I wasn't yet particularly cold, so no problem. I sat and smoked a cigarette with a glass of orange juice, then went to do my own washing. I was pretty cold, but not miserable as I usually am of a morning. That done I got dressed - I saw that both Link and Duke were wearing ties and jackets - but I can't go quite so far, so I just dressed... well, Duke said I looked very scholarly. Whatever. I was warm. He offered espresso and I accepted ~ and while the pot was brewing I ran down to the cigarette machine for a pack of smokes.
Roy got up this morning to make fun of us. That was nice. It's always reassuring to make jokes in the face of an unknown danger, and Roy is certainly a good person for that. One cup of espresso and we left.
First we went upstairs, where we were to find Dr. Kim who was supposed to catch us a cab. He told us to wait a little while. How long? we asked. Maybe a half hour or more. (Mr. Im was to have gone to the Immigration office early this morning to work everything out, and then call to let us know.) We said we couldn't wait that long (Duke was due there at 9:00, I at 9:30, Link 10:00). So he finally came out and caught us a taxi - the driver didn't know where the office was, and had to ask for directions twice along the way. By 8:25 we were a-cab and going. We got there and went inside.
The people on the second floor knew who we were, and sent us to the "waiting room." Bars on the window; very reassuring. We were not there five minutes before we were fetched to another room. This one had five desks and a small plastic table in one corner with four chairs. There was a counter and a small computer table. We were sent to the plastic table. A few minutes waiting, then the man from the night before, Snoop, brought us papers and told us to write a detailed statement of our arrival in Korea and jobs, as well as to write our "working conditions." So we did.
I admit we were probably somewhat immature in our interpretation of which information "working conditions" referred to. But, dammit, the other teachers really are nice and supportive! We filled these out, and when asked to sign them did so with names other than our own. I signed Oomph Jason Cavilworthy. Our group demeanor was pretty good today: Duke joked with them, Link tried to engage them in genuine conversation, and I, well, I don't react well when confronted by authority. I pointed out logical flaws in their procedure and was generally recalcitrant. After giving these papers, we got to wait some more.
Finally, Mr. Oh Se-han came over to us with our statements and an English copy of the Immigration Law.
-->This whole fiasco is a result of our having been invited by and signed contracts with Nam Inch'on Foreign Language Institute, and actually working at Olympiad (Me and Duke) and Segyero (Link). It's stupid - they're owned by the same person: Oh Gui-ja.<--
So, we were told that we have acted in violation of Korean Immigration Law Article XVIII, sec.ii, and Article XXI, sec.i. These state basically that [we are allowed to work only for the institute for who's contract we were issued visas,] and [If we should work elsewhere, we are required to obtain the permission of the Ministry of Justice IN ADVANCE]. Well, it was my understanding that we had tried repeatedly to change the status of our Alien Registrations, with the boss cajoling official after official, but to no avail. But we did not mention this to them. We are in violation of Korean Immigration Law.
Having made that clear, he turned to the "Punitive Provisions" section of the book, and had us read Article 94 (max 3 years prison or W10 mil. fine), which applied to the boss but not to us, and Article 95 (max one year prison or W5 mil. fine) which did apply to us. It was section 5 of this article that was relevant: we had violated XVIII ii, and XXI i.
I read fast so I got to scan through the book a little: I found that if charges are to be pressed, they will be issued in writing giving us seven days to pay (art.CII, I think) and that consideration will be given to the defendant's ability to pay and motive (CIII, I think). I stored these for possible use later.
After having tried to make the gravity of our situation clear to us, he left us to wait (perhaps thinking "anticipation of an evil is worse than an evil itself."). Whatever.
--> the whole time we were in this room there were at least four people ~ sometimes as many as 8 or 10 ~ busy conferring and looking up things in the dictionary, and conferring, and making telephone calls, and conferring <--After some conference he came back and told us that we would be fined Five Million Won and then have to leave the country to apply for a new visa. He left again. We bitched and moaned a bit. Duke said he didn't have that much money, and I thought that the punishers had not given proper consideration to the defendants' abilities to pay and motives. Mostly Link and Duke talked; I tried to glean anything useful or illuminating from the bits of information I had and the shreds of conversation that I could hear and understand. At one point I heard Mr. Oh (who had been talking to us) and another man haggle over the amount we were to be fined,
||: Oh: 5million; other man: 2million :|| over and over.And we waited. Finally, Oh came back and told us that we would be fined three million, which we would have to pay at the bank within the next five days, and thereafter we would have to leave the country. "Five days?" I said, "In this book it says seven days."
He said, "I say five days."
I tried again. This time I got the response, "You are in violation of Korean Immigration Law!"
Aha! I thought, and said (gesturing at that handy little book), "Right, Article XVIII and XXI, the same law which states that the violator will have seven days in which to pay."
This lively repartee lasted a little while, but at some point I found the passage I was referring to and recited it to him. He was upset. Over and over: "You are in violation of Korean Immigration Law!" He also said to forget the book and consider my position (...in violation...). Ah, I love a cool-headed logical gent!
Duke talked to him about calling Mr. Im (Cause Duke didn't have enough money to pay the fine and hoped that the boss could cover it), but didn't get that chance (Mr. Oh told Duke to ask the American embassy for the money).
So that's about how it was left. We were led by Oh to another waiting room and bade wait. I think it was during this time that we talked passports. We said to him, you must give us our passports.
Guess what he said.
Duke and Link were cool and apologetic, I was logical and recalcitrant. Nothing came of this but more success in getting him to raise his voice.
We tried the "Passports are the property of the U.S. Government" line, but to no avail. Finally I asked him his name. He told me and I tried to write it down, and then, as though it were the capping blow he said to me, "I'll give you my name card." (He never did.)
So we found ourselves stranded in an, as yet, unseen room. It had a bench, a desk, two chairs and a safe. And now it had the three Mi-gook-skateers. Here we waited for what seemed like (and probably actually were) hours. At one point Mr. Snoop from the night before offered us coffee. This is the place / time that I began this record (though now that I am nearing the end of my tale I am in class at 9:15 tonight). I made repeated trips to the bathroom for smokes and otherwise mostly paced and prowled around the room. It had a door which opened onto the hallway (the same hallway as the original waiting room), directly opposite the door was a large mirror. In the room, to the left of (provided you are facing) the door was a large window. This, with the mirror, was nice, because I could stand in the farthest left farthest hallward corner of the room, and see much of the activity in the next room. Unfortunately not much of interest was going on there. At one point two handcuffed men were led in, and after a while they went out free. As I was often going and coming from the bathroom I could get a fair view of the area. I saw Mr. Im and his wife when they came in ~ though I could not tell what was going on with them.
At one point Link was called into the room next door. He was interrogated, sort of, and we could hear it all. The interrogator asked Link over and over how long he had worked at Olympiad. Link, courageously, said over and over that the information about that was contained in the statement he had written. The man got angry ~ yelling that Link had, indeed, worked at Olympiad, and that his director said so. Link maintained as long (longer, in fact) as he reasonably could have, but in the end, said the fateful words, "I have never worked at Olympiad."
After that he was allowed to come back in. And a loud argument ensued in a nearby room, presumably over the information Link had at long last divulged. We waited more. We saw Mr. Im's lawyer and another man come in. Shortly thereafter, a voice called out, "Brown, Duke!" Duke went, and a moment later returned, saying that all of our presences were requested with the Director. So we went.
Mr. Im and his wife were there. The man who had interrogated Link was also there. We were told to sign forms which we were told we translations of our earlier-made statements. I think that we should really have been more careful - asking what we were signing more specifically, but we weren't, we didn't. We signed. They gave Duke a receipt for his passport, told us that the "Captain" would make his decision on Monday, and we all went to another waiting room.
Here Mr. Im was full of Optimistic Bravado ~ enough at least to make us laugh some. After his lawyer was done with whatever he was doing we all left. Mr. Im told us over and over that it wouldn't be a big problem. OK. Then he took us out to an extravagant lunch before delivering us to our respective places of employment.
19951016
tutor'd
Life continues to change. I used to be fond of saying "Plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose." But I guess for a while I have lost sight of many of the things that made me wise in my youth. (Jesus, look how all the Nietzsche influences that writing). Anyway, I was talking about change.
I've received letters from [redacted] (finally -- hooray!), [redacted], [redacted] and my mom. These are all good ~ now I've got to write back to [redacted] (I already have to [redacted]).
So Saturday morning Yang Sunja (who is one of the women whose outing with Duke and I met while out at a movie with Jisuk, I think I have failed to mention herein ~ suffice it to say that it was quite fun, but I did not expect to hear from them again...) called me.
She said, "I want to consult with you."
We set a meeting time for 3:00 Sunday at Heemang. I didn't know what it would be about. So I went. We went to Co-co's coffee shop, where we talked a bit. She wants me to teach her English, and in exchange, will tutor me in Korean. So we agreed to meet twice a week: One day at my house and one day at hers. So. We went to my house, so I could show her the book I was using to study Korean. She came in, met Link, and seemed mostly comfortable. I was kind of impressed.
Then we left to go to her house ~ despite people's disapproving scowls (Migook saram yamanin imnida!) she did not seem in the slightest bit phased. I didn't get to meet her family as we went only to her studio (in the basement of her family house). She showed me some of her painting, and her English books.
We hung out for a little bit, then went to meet her friend Youngsuk and Link for pizza. Pizza hut was good. Then Norre-Bang ~ which was okay. Then we went to their cafe / hang-out spot: Cafe Loss of Memory. They played blues, Bruce Springsteen "Nebraska", and Santana. The whole decor was very beat and, I must add, quite comfortable. I had a whiskey sour, Link had a screwdriver, and they both had coffee. Oh well. It was all fun - good conversation, some real communication, etc. Then we all went home, our separate ways.
Today Yang Sunja came over for our first lesson. It was fun. We reviewed all of the books I have studied until now. Then we did English. Then we just talked a bit. I enjoyed it and she did too.
One thing - she said she wanted to keep studying at my place because her mom told her that the village people were gossiping. Oh well ~ I don't have a problem with that. As I walked her out we had a near miss with Mr. Im's wife. I guess there will be some disapproval but what the hell. So far so good.
As a final note, I'll add that she asked me about [redacted]'s picture on the wall ~ I'm not sure if I adequately communicated that she is a friend and not a lover (or, for that matter, if that's true ~ something to write to [redacted] about). And I think that she mentioned a boy friend ~ but the topic quickly changed.
More Nietzsche and more Padasana. Had a lot of time with Roy today. Once he's relaxed I think he's not a bad man. He's just a lot of bluster. More later.
I've received letters from [redacted] (finally -- hooray!), [redacted], [redacted] and my mom. These are all good ~ now I've got to write back to [redacted] (I already have to [redacted]).
So Saturday morning Yang Sunja (who is one of the women whose outing with Duke and I met while out at a movie with Jisuk, I think I have failed to mention herein ~ suffice it to say that it was quite fun, but I did not expect to hear from them again...) called me.
She said, "I want to consult with you."
We set a meeting time for 3:00 Sunday at Heemang. I didn't know what it would be about. So I went. We went to Co-co's coffee shop, where we talked a bit. She wants me to teach her English, and in exchange, will tutor me in Korean. So we agreed to meet twice a week: One day at my house and one day at hers. So. We went to my house, so I could show her the book I was using to study Korean. She came in, met Link, and seemed mostly comfortable. I was kind of impressed.
Then we left to go to her house ~ despite people's disapproving scowls (Migook saram yamanin imnida!) she did not seem in the slightest bit phased. I didn't get to meet her family as we went only to her studio (in the basement of her family house). She showed me some of her painting, and her English books.
We hung out for a little bit, then went to meet her friend Youngsuk and Link for pizza. Pizza hut was good. Then Norre-Bang ~ which was okay. Then we went to their cafe / hang-out spot: Cafe Loss of Memory. They played blues, Bruce Springsteen "Nebraska", and Santana. The whole decor was very beat and, I must add, quite comfortable. I had a whiskey sour, Link had a screwdriver, and they both had coffee. Oh well. It was all fun - good conversation, some real communication, etc. Then we all went home, our separate ways.
Today Yang Sunja came over for our first lesson. It was fun. We reviewed all of the books I have studied until now. Then we did English. Then we just talked a bit. I enjoyed it and she did too.
One thing - she said she wanted to keep studying at my place because her mom told her that the village people were gossiping. Oh well ~ I don't have a problem with that. As I walked her out we had a near miss with Mr. Im's wife. I guess there will be some disapproval but what the hell. So far so good.
As a final note, I'll add that she asked me about [redacted]'s picture on the wall ~ I'm not sure if I adequately communicated that she is a friend and not a lover (or, for that matter, if that's true ~ something to write to [redacted] about). And I think that she mentioned a boy friend ~ but the topic quickly changed.
More Nietzsche and more Padasana. Had a lot of time with Roy today. Once he's relaxed I think he's not a bad man. He's just a lot of bluster. More later.
19950912
habituat'd
Yesterday was [redacted]'s birthday. I thought of him a lot, but I did not write to him again because my letter will not get to him before he goes on his NOLS program, and I don't have his NOLS address.
I didn't smoke all day until I got to work, then I smoked a butt from the ashtray. Pitiful. It gave me quite a rush. Then I wrote a letter to [redacted]. A short letter which lets her know where I am and what I'm doing but no more. I do not think it will elicit a response. Oh well. I taught my classes and came home. We received our passports from Mr. Im, and then watched a Jackie Chan movie and went to bed.
Although I wanted more cigarettes, I did not have any.
I got up today at noon. Did some shopping at Heemang, and came home for shower and breakfast. At two o'clock Duke and I went to meet Baik Jisuk at the coffee shop. We, all three, tried to talk, but without much luck ~ she seemed unwilling to talk about customs etc., and got uncomfortable when we tried to persuade her to talk.
When Duke left for work she offered to drive him, but he said she should stay and talk with me. I told her to do what she wanted to do. After much deliberation she decided to stay with me. So we talked over another cup of coffee. She seemed more comfortable with just one man. However, my bladder was fit to burst, so I told her I needed to split. She did say let's do it again. I hope she meant it. I guess we'll see.
On the way home I bought a pack of cigarettes (coffee shop was too much strain I guess). I have smoked one.
It isn't (I still maintain) the nic fit that's the problem, it's the habit. I am pretty disappointed ~ that I want cigarettes so much. But that seems to be the way it is. My new resolution (read, my compromise) is to smoke, but to smoke less. Yeah right. Nevertheless, that's the goal.
When I told Link that I'd try to quit, he wanted to know why. I told him that smoking used to be a meditation; I used to just smoke and do nothing else during. So that is the goal now: to only smoke. I want to not smoke in my house, and to not do anything else while I smoke. We'll try that for a few days before giving up. (oh good attitude there Oomph).
Anyway, with this self-loathing I will go on with my day.
I didn't smoke all day until I got to work, then I smoked a butt from the ashtray. Pitiful. It gave me quite a rush. Then I wrote a letter to [redacted]. A short letter which lets her know where I am and what I'm doing but no more. I do not think it will elicit a response. Oh well. I taught my classes and came home. We received our passports from Mr. Im, and then watched a Jackie Chan movie and went to bed.
Although I wanted more cigarettes, I did not have any.
I got up today at noon. Did some shopping at Heemang, and came home for shower and breakfast. At two o'clock Duke and I went to meet Baik Jisuk at the coffee shop. We, all three, tried to talk, but without much luck ~ she seemed unwilling to talk about customs etc., and got uncomfortable when we tried to persuade her to talk.
When Duke left for work she offered to drive him, but he said she should stay and talk with me. I told her to do what she wanted to do. After much deliberation she decided to stay with me. So we talked over another cup of coffee. She seemed more comfortable with just one man. However, my bladder was fit to burst, so I told her I needed to split. She did say let's do it again. I hope she meant it. I guess we'll see.
On the way home I bought a pack of cigarettes (coffee shop was too much strain I guess). I have smoked one.
It isn't (I still maintain) the nic fit that's the problem, it's the habit. I am pretty disappointed ~ that I want cigarettes so much. But that seems to be the way it is. My new resolution (read, my compromise) is to smoke, but to smoke less. Yeah right. Nevertheless, that's the goal.
When I told Link that I'd try to quit, he wanted to know why. I told him that smoking used to be a meditation; I used to just smoke and do nothing else during. So that is the goal now: to only smoke. I want to not smoke in my house, and to not do anything else while I smoke. We'll try that for a few days before giving up. (oh good attitude there Oomph).
Anyway, with this self-loathing I will go on with my day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)