Shirt

My boss bought me a shirt in America and gave it to me today. I was happy because I need a new summer polo shirt.

I opened the package. The shirt looked big. I unfurled the tag and read the three letters with a smile: XXL

I wear large.

Daily Life In Korea

I have lost all perspective of what I should or should not expect in life. Part of me says work hard and be thankful that I have a job in a down turned economy but another part of me says that my daily routine is absurd.

Monday-Friday

Wake up at 6am in a pool of my own sweat.
Walk to work at 7:30. Arrive at work with a red face and sweat dripping from every pore in my body. Fantasize about having talcum powder.
Teach my first class at 8 AM from a tiny TV studio in a 4 ft. by 5ft closet. (Door shut)
Walk home again at 9 AM and eat breakfast and use the restroom. 10 AM to 12:30 PM Teach in said closet.
12:30 to 1 PM eat good, but admittedly, strange food consisting mostly of fish and garlic for lunch. My workmates speaking Korean and me not participating in the conversation.
1PM to 2:30 PM. Get caught up on emails and class prep.
2:30-4:00 Teach in the closet.
4:00 to 7 PM teach at onsite center. 90 percent of that is just getting the kids to settle down and show me an ounce of respect.
8PM Finally get to go home, unless there is a meeting.
10PM: G chat with American Staff. Today I was guilted into signing up for an on line college course for an ESL certification that all our workers are participating in.
11PM Check face book every second hoping that I have a friend.
1 AM sleep.

Saturday and Sunday

Head to the office around 10 write text books until 8PM.

Miscellaneous

Learn today that I need to design a summer intensive course by next week.
Participate in meetings where there is a major major language barrier.
Get stared at constantly for being sweaty and red, not to mention a towering giant freak.
With less than one minute notice get called to an online presentation to show our product to people wearing ties.
Have students draw pictures of me as a bald man.
Worrying about a possible nuclear war.

I can't tell you how good I feel when I finish a task. I think, If I can survive this then I am the strongest person alive. And after locking myself in a tiny room at the office on the weekends and finishing my stories for our books, I feel so proud of myself. I enjoy being in the fantasy worlds I am creating for students, and I'm so proud also to have the opportunity to publish my work that will be read by thousands of people. That is a good feeling. But I just pray that there is a reward at the end. I know that is selfish but I hope there is a reward. I am tired of being alone, and tired of sweating, and tired of not being able to communicate...I am tired. I don't know if I am whinnying or doing something that few people ever do. I just am not sure.

Lunch

"Matthew, do you like ja-jen-myuen?"

"Is that the black noodle stuff? Yeah, why?"

"Ji-hyun is not here today, so we order food for lunch-a."

"Uh, so, no woman means no food?"

"Ha ha, that's right, we order today."

Hypothetically Speaking

During lunch my workmates talk about a possible conflict with the North. I can't understand the language they are speaking but there is no mistaking their concern.

Today waking up to more bad news about the north I asked my American roommate, "Hypothetically speaking, what would we do if war broke out? How would we get out of here?" "I guess we'd have to wait it out on the military base and be evacuated from there."

Top Ten Signs That You Are a Zombie

I am amazed at the major rise in media hype recently, from something small like hyping a piece of garbage movie like The Watchman to the hysteria of the swine flu. But what really gets me is how these ideas, opinions, and doctrines, that first appear on the Internet, soon become the mantra of the public.


Here is a list of topics that I think people have lost their minds over, they don't think about them anymore, it is just cultural fact and to question it is a grounds for being called "small minded", "backwards thinking", "neo-con" or the ultimate insult-- "Fox News watching Bush lover":

1. Gay marriage--If you so much as utter that marriage is a union of man and woman, well forget about it, you should die.

2. Global warming--Science said, Science said. You're not coming to the BBQ on saturday.

3. How Did Everything Come to Be?--A once important scientific question is now settled. Dude, it was The Fly Spaghetti Monster.


4. Anything to Do With the Middle East--Go watch the video blog posted up on Democracy Now, then we can talk.


5. Teenage Vampires, Goths, and Other Trendbots-- Memo to Teachers: When talking to a student in a black cape wearing vampire fangs, pretend that it is normal, we don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. Failure to comply carries a sentence of one week of sensitivity training during your lunch break.

6. Hollywood Movies-- It's so subversive. And oh, go see Slumdog. It's a movie from a different country.

8. Organic Food and Bottled Water--Don't I look cute with this hemp shopping bag.

9. Wanting To Start a Revolution of Responsibility--You're using the word wrong man. Revolution means sex, drugs, and rock and roll. I don't know "t-e-a-p-a-r-t-y". You must mean tea-bag.

10. The Simple, Happy Life--What a naive ignorant person you are. Let me direct you to hand full of literature, most of which is online which points out everything bad about the world, like how the world is going to end in 2012 because of solar storms.

Star Trek Review

The best part of this movie was when it was over, when Leonard Nemoy says: Space, the Final frontier....To boldly go where no man has gone before...

Sadly this movie didn't take me anywhere new. Here is yet another Star Trek movie where there is an evil alien dressed in black who is bent on destroying the earth. Oh yeah, and time travel for the sake of bringing back an old cast member.

I did enjoy seeing it in Korea though as I was able to arrive 10 minutes before the movie started, buy nachos and a large coke for less than five dollars and get a good seat! I didn't have to wait in line for three hours with a bunch of mouth breathing nerds.

I love Star Trek but I am not buying into the hype that this is a fresh start for the franchise. It looked like a lot of the same stuff that has come out in the last 10 years. I really would like to see a Star Trek movie that could show us "new life and new civilization", a life not yet imagined, a visionary movie. Not this comic book garbage! I am sick of nerdy comic book movies.

I get to be a kid for a living...

Yesterday I asked the students to write their own stories. They had to decide on characters, setting, and action by answering some simple questions. We took notes before actually writing the story. This one girl, She is probably 15 years old, was cracking me up. You probably had to be there:

Who? Waterman

What? drinks water

Why? thirsty

Where? Jejudo

Mountains

I want to see mountains and hike deep into the wilderness. Dry mountains are preferable to wet ones. I hate it when this feeling of restlessness comes on. I want to get out of here, go somewhere real. The mountains seem real.

Sunday Evening Thoughts

I have been enthusiastic about the future since I was young. Star Trek probably had a lot to do with that--watching the crew of an intergalactic star ship cruising around on diplomacy meetings with aliens and meeting far out aliens with strange god like powers. Who wouldn't be excited about that? I might not be able to go Vulcan but Korea was as far as I could reach for now. Educating children has also seemed attractive to me if for no other noble reason than to see if I could do better than those teachers that so miserably failed at inspiring me but also to honor those few that did really blow my mind and encourage me.

But today, alone in Pohang, I've had a few thoughts about the world we live in. One thought comes from the pastor's sermon today from the book of Romans chapter 7. The other from hours of mindless Internet surfing that came after the sermon.

First: There seems to be this truth that I find absolutely true in my life and I think if people are honest they will acknowledge is true in their own. That I try and do good but I end up doing bad. Why is that?

Second: I am convinced that the best education is a father walking with his child through the woods, or a mother cooking with her children. All the gimmicks we come up with only lead to more stress and in the end. I have to wonder if, for example having a global online education actually increases happiness. I am pretty sure it doesn't.

So if my efforts to do good so often end in failure and the global project to advance technologically and culturally are not a means to happiness than what is it we are all doing when we work so much?

I saw a movie called "Knowing" yesterday and the narrative has become all too common today in art and culture. Man fouls up the world so bad that it brings about destruction but aliens or angels or both step in in the final hour and save us from certain destruction. It is a sad and helpless plot line.

So again, I'm coming at this from around the edges, whittling away at the corners, but I can't help but feel that this project we have all agreed to work so hard on is in the end a lie. And today I have this urge to tear it down and start over, start fresh. I'm not looking for aliens to save me or angels. I'm simply wondering where the wild at heart go these days when it looks as though more and more people are becoming face book drones and work-a-holics. I want to go to a wild frontier, not to control it but to be part of it. There is something wild and powerful and AWESOME that my heart longs for but I can't find, it isn't in Korea and it isn't on Deep Space 9. But it is there, in the old poems, behind wardrobe doors.

The pastor gave it a name today, and I shifted in my seat when I heard it named. I realized, yes, that is what I've been looking for: Grace. I want to find Grace.

Gee

Last year it was The Wondergirls and I guess this year it is Girl's Generation. I have to admit these K-pop girl bands sure are catchy and the girls sure are cute. I went to to a restaurant tonight and this song was on a loop. I kid you not. Over an hour of this song over and over and over again.

The Watchmen: A Total Piece of Garbage

I had little else to do yesterday than wander around like a Yankee hobo in the orient. I ended up at a theater and to my disappointment there were only two English movies playing. Benjamin Button and The Watchmen. One of which I had not seen. I paid for my ticket and sat down in the enormous theater by myself. A few couples sat here and there around me.

I am not a comic book kind of guy. I find it hard to relate to people in tights fighting crime. It is something that was interesting to me when I was 6 but not so much anymore. But one thing that is highly disturbing to me are the dark comics that are being adapted for screen.

The only super hero I think is worth a damn really is Superman. An extraterrestrial living among us, a god, come to earth, who looks after humanity with humility. But The Watchmen are different, the movie was different. It was filled with anger, violence and sex. Superheros with broken psyches and emotional baggage, who live in a world of relative morality--mercenaries. Who has time for such garbage. When we make our superheros as fragile and weak as men, what is super about them anymore? Lose the costumes and just make a Life Time channel drama.

There is geek and then there is demented, live-in-your-mother's-basement-watching-porn-and-playing-dungeons-and-dragons-all-day geek.

I've had this experience many times in the last couple years: watching American movies and TV in a foreign country. I always feel shame watching these things with Koreans. I want to tell them that not everyone in America is that dark, is that violent. And would you feel anything but shame, when the people in the audience gasp and turn their heads, as characters are sawing each others arms off?

Does anybody have the guts to create something beautiful, something new, something to rally around, a piece of art that lifts people up in troubling times. Are there people like that out there? Are there people who are willing to dream, that see people not as animals in dungeons but as children playing in green fields? Is everyone scared of being gay? What's the deal?

The Watchmen: a total piece of garbage and truly small.

The Most Beautiful Woman on the Planet

No Fear

I was taking an online questionnaire yesterday to entertain myself and this one question popped up, what do you fear most: #1. giving a speech #2. meeting the president of your company #3. taking a long road trip with a stranger #4 being alone in a foreign country without speaking the language.

I felt kind of proud. I have been terrified of all of those things to the point of near insanity. No joke. I used to turn red and almost poop just thinking about talking in front of a group. Now I've given some speeches and speak in front of people for a living. And then just two months ago, I crossed two more off the list. I had to ride in the car for eight hours with the president of our company who I had just met! And flip, the last one is an everyday occurrence. I felt pretty good about myself after reading that.

Then today happened. I had to get my physical for my alien registration card. I hate going to the doctor. I hate being touch and examined. But what I really hate are the machines that can see right through me. I can compose myself for the most part for people but the computers know when my heart is beating fast. The computers know if I have been eating bad. That's the stuff I don't want people to know.

Everyone stares at me, which is hard to get used to, but having everyone stair at me while holding a cup of pee is really hard.

I lived. I like that I am conquering my fears.

Gym

I don't know if it is a fault, I think most Americans are this way, we like our privacy, our individual space, we like to be left alone. I am extremely that way. I am a private person. It is nearly impossible to live that way in Korea.

I joined a gym today. I did this so that I will have something to do in the evenings. So after work I went to my new gym. What I wanted to do was put my ipod on, run on the tread mill and space out but it didn't work out like that.

When I arrived, I saw that one of my Korean co-workers was also there. I told him that I had joined this afternoon and he had went and joined too. A work out buddy! A woman trainer greeted me on the way in and she used my Korean co-worker to translate. She told me all about the gym. Now honestly, these were my thoughts: I've been to a gym before, let me work out in peace. Before I knew what was happening her and another man were pulling me to a scale, measuring my body fat, hooking me up to a computer to see my muscle mass and vital signs. I was dumbstruck. So much for my space out time.

I am a fat flipping old guy now and when the computer spit out my health chart, she giggled, telling me that I needed to loose 14 Kg. I didn't need a computer to tell me I'm a fat ass. So after that station, she pulled me to a stretching chart and we did stretching together. Then we were carted off to the bike where she set the timer and speed for us and pushed my back in so I would sit up straight. I'm not going to fight it. What's the use, I'm part of the collective. When the bike timer went off she whisked me off to the tread mill and, same as before, set all the settings for me. When I had jogged for a good half hour, she took me over to a strange vibrating machine. I stood on and it just vibrated my guts out for five minutes. I could feel every fat roll on my back jiggling. It was amazing.

Off to the showers.

I'm not a shower in public sort of guy. Here in Korea people bathe together for fun. So I'm in the locker room with my co-worker and I know I am being awkward but I have to pretend I am cool being naked in a locker room full of young buff Koreans who I know are staring at me. I know they've never seen a guy with red pubic hair. A guy comes up to me half naked and sticks out his hand. "Hello, nice to meet you," he says. I shake his hand. I shower and get dressed. When I am leaving a young guy follows me out and says the same thing, "Hello, nice to meet you." His name was Jahoon. I have to remember that for tomorrow when I see him again.

I prefer to be a loner, but you know, the alternative isn't that bad. I love the Korean people.

There and Back Again

Well I am back in Korea. I got in early Friday morning after over 24 hours of air and bus travel.

It was surprisingly easy traveling this time thanks in part to the virtually empty plane I was on. I had a whole row of seats to myself.

After clearing customs, I headed outside into the cold. I lit up a cigarette at the bus station and guarded my mountain of luggage. Was I really doing this again? I just couldn't believe that I was back in Korea.

After a five hour bus ride, I finally arrived in Pohang. It was after midnight. My new workmates picked me up and wouldn't you guess, took me to McDonald's. Afterward it was off to see my new home.

I have two roommates. One is my boss, a twenty six year old Korean-German American, the other is young Korean guy who speaks maybe a word or two of English. Both really nice guys.

I did almost cry when I saw our apartment. It is so small and I have never had real roommates before. I'm sleeping in a twin size bed. The first time I have done so in over 15 years.

With no friends and nothing to do this past weekend, I took another five hour bus ride north up to Seoul. I visited my old neighborhood and learned a sad lesson. I got off the subway and there I was, as if I had never left. Janghanpyeung. I walked by my old work, past my old apartment, past the GS 25 food markets. It was all there but it was different somehow. It was just as weird and strange and backwards as ever but my buddies weren't there to understand the weirdness with me. I do have two buddies left there and as I waited over three hours for them to show up, I couldn't help but feel as lonely as I ever have in my life. It was like being Holden Caulfied from Cather in the Rye--everything just looked so sad and lonely.

I realized then what I have realized before. You can not go back to happy times. You have to create them constantly and that is life. Maybe not the purpose of life but a reality of it. When I went back to Bellingham the same thing happened, except less extreme. The place was the same but the people were gone, or different. I was different and there was no going back to college.

There is no going back to those times in Seoul.

Once I met up with Brandon and Laura, we met some new people and had dinner and beer. Then it was cool.

It's all about the people you surround yourself with.

Today was a great day. The sun was shining and I took a long walk on the beach. Pohang is a beach city. I have a feeling when the weather warms up I will be spending my mornings on the beach with a book--if I can find an English bookstore.

So yep, here I am. Korea. My last year in my twenties. It is going to be a good year. I'm not scared, but I do know how long a year really is.

Hell's Kitchen

I was watching that cooking show called Hell's Kitchen with Gorden Ramsey. People are yelling and cussing and practically having heart attacks. Chef Ramsey is calling everyone an f-ing doughnut and throwing steaks against the wall.

Went out to eat with my brother the other day. He pulled a hair about three feet long out of his salad and then just went on eating.

I think those guys in Hell's kitchen are taking it a bit too serious.

Bragging, Maybe a Little

This visa thing is taking forever! In the mean time I started work at home yesterday. It felt so good to work after weeks off! I felt that it was a dream come true actually, the beginning of something awesome! I will be designing a weekly reader/magazine thing for the school I work for. I was stressing out about it and you know, when I sat down to start writing, (I'm being paid to sit at home and write!!!) a story just came out. It wrote itself! I didn't even have to try. And then I started working with Andy on the lay out and we were in his humongous room/art studio, listening to music and writing and drawing.

I mean this is what we've been working for, right, and it was happening. We sent it off this morning and kids all over Asia are, this morning, reading our story book! How awesome is God's plan!

Donut Shop

I can see the donuts being fried in the vat in the kitchen. It's late, after midnight, and the man says we can pick any donut we want, he'll just go in the back and get them for us. Give me a maple, I say, and how about one of those sprinkles too.

While he's in the back getting our fresh hot maple bars, Andy and I are waiting by the counter, making small talk about the Vietnamese decor on the walls, but I can tell he is really excited about getting the donuts. I'm happier than I can remember, I can barely stand the anticipation. I can't even contain my smile and laugh out loud. This is awesome, man! I can't wait to get our donuts!

The man comes from the back with two bags, each with a maple bar sticking out a little bit. He's holding them like they are antique glass-ware. Be careful, he warns, rough up the bag and all that hot maple will come right off. He puts in a couple Christmas sprinkle donuts and we order a milk to boot. It's the highlight of my night.

In the car, I'm opening the milk with one hand and shoving a bite of maple bar in with the other. It's hot and gooey. There's sticky maple all over my face and fingers. It's warm in my mouth and so sweet. A gulp of cold milk washes everything down--even enhances the flavor on the back of my tongue. I'm not kidding, I'm over joyed to be eating this donut. Andy and I are eating and describing the eating and comparing descriptions. There are multiple layers of pleasures expanding and carrying me to unexpected levels of contentedness.

We drove to the next city to get these donuts and have them polished off not five blocks down the road. Man what a night!

Another Night in Paradise

Jack's Tavern.

Third time in four nights the police have come to good ol' Jack's. This time the shouting and cussing starts up. Andy and I turn off all the lights and run to the window. Let the good times roll. This time a drunk middle age dude starts running at the mouth. A real classy chick has about enough of it so she slugs him in the face. The man pushes her and starts swingin'. Her gang of dignified suitors immediately jump the guy and start beating him. "Don't hit a girl man!"

With in seconds, five police cruisers pull up and surround the place. People start running. They take the lady to jail.

I am losing faith in women today. No one should hit a lady, ever. But come on. Be a lady. These broads are thug life!

One result of the smoking ban means that all these people that need a smoke after a few beers end up out on the street drunk. No bouncers, no security to keep them in line. Once these girls start running their mouths, then the guys have to get into it and wal-la--no sleep for me.

Jack's Tavern

I'm awaken at 2:30 AM to shouting outside my bedroom window, same as every night. Bunch of drunks. I lay in bed and listen. The shouting gets louder, guys calling each other f@#ers. One guys says, "Come on mother f@#*er!" There's crying. I get out of bed open my blinds and look down into the ally next to the very classy Jack's Tavern. A totally sauced chick is curled up sobbing on the wet pavement while her low life boyfriend is rolling around with two guys, punching and kicking. One guy runs up and kicks the low life boyfriend in the face with his boot. "Don't hit a woman, man!" Apparently the boyfriend had just hit his girlfriend, thats why she's laid out on the ground.

A car pulls up and a woman in the passenger seat rolls down the window. "It's New Year's guys. Stop. Don't do this. Peace and love! It's a new year. Peace!"

The men are still fighting. Fireworks are bursting in the sky above them lighting up the whole scene in a festive glow.

I lean my head out the window, "I'm calling the cops! Knock it off! I'm trying to sleep!"

Andy is in my room calling 911.

Last night one of these drunks busted out my front windshield, looks like with maybe a bowling ball, and now tonight a massive brawl below my window.

I hate bars. I feel bad for these people. What a way to ring in the new year.

Someone Broke my Windshield Last Night

Dear Robert,

You have to go see the movie Grand Torino, starring Clint Eastwood. In the movie, Clint Eastwood is this old school Marine. He received a silver star for his valor in the Korean war and now lives as an old man in his house that he spent 50 years working for at the Ford plant. In essence, he represents the greatest generation, a caricature of our grandparents ethics. Slowly the white working class has moved out of the neighborhood or died off and ethnic minorities have moved in. This once Americana Michigan neighborhood is now a place where blacks, Mexicans, whites, and Asians all have to live together without a clear purpose or role to play. They have unique cultures but all share in a culture of violence. I think that in itself is very representative of our nation as a whole. Eastwood's family turned yuppy and moved out of town up to the hill and their children are spoiled emo kids that have no inkling of the hard work that their grandparents put in to build what they have.

But the thing I loved the most is that Eastwood is a marine throwing racial slurs around galore but he isn't a bad guy, not a racist, in fact he is the hero of the movie. It isn't cool that he is throwing these slurs around but that he can still be a hero in spite of this shortcoming. He does'nt compromise his values by adopting political correctness. He is a man's man. The gangs are threatening his neighborhood and he doesn't wait for someone else to fix it. He doesn't stand on the corner with peace signs or write his representatives. He reacts. He basically takes on the gang himself and by doing so saves the neighborhood from violence.

After Andy and I saw the movie last night we strolled around the mall and I wanted to puke when I saw all these fairy looking young men with studded belts hanging off their waists and gay looking hair styles shopping with slutty looking girls in pink. I thought, what would Clint Eastwood say to these boys. I am so sick of men being unmanly. A man doesn't use violence but commands with his voice. A man works for a living, providing for himself and his family. A man doesn't apologize for being himself but tries and better himself. A man is honest and open and says what is on his mind. When a man sees wrong it is his duty to make that wrong a right. A man leads. An older man councils the younger man. A man does not break windows out of cars in darkness of night and then hide or flee!

I am so sick of the wimpiness I see all around me. and, as I've said before, I'm sick of waiting for a real man to fix things. I'm at the point where I am forced to believe that I am the man! You are the man and together we are men of the west! Grab your sword my brother, look people in the eye, give them a firm handshake, hold yourself with dignity and speak out against those that would be lesser men! Together, ourselves, we can make this world a better place. We don't need Batman, or Clint Eastwood, or Barak Obama, we need to become our selves men worthy of history! They may take our lives, but they will never take our freedom!!!

Sincerely,
brother Matt

Insecurity

I went and saw "The Curious Case of Mr. Button" tonight. Andy and I dug my old Suburu out of the snow and hit the road. My windshield wipers do more smearing than clearing and my headlamps are so dim it's like driving by candle light. But we made it up the road just fine.

We found our seats twenty minutes before the movie and as the place started to fill up a man about my age with a bald head and big arms asked if the seats next to me were taken and I said, no, please, have a seat. So, he motioned for his girlfriend and soon the two of them were getting comfortable next to me. I had to uncross my legs. She was a girl about my age too, very pretty. And as the advertisements and previews played they talked away. I always have a hard time not listening in to other people's conversations.

I heard that she worked in a retail store selling perfume. The man said that he didn't know what he wanted to do yet. He was working his job for two reasons, he said. First, because it was easy and second he worked with his friends. She said he should do what he loves--find a career. He agreed, but again, what was there to do, he wondered? She got quiet and the lights dimmed. He had his hands on her the whole time. She cuddled into his shoulder.

The movie was so good. You have to see it. But as I was sitting there watching this movie about life and love, I kept seeing the man's hands on the woman's legs, caressing her thigh, patting her butt. He couldn't stop touching her. And every time I started to really get into the movie, to let my mind fall into fantasy, I'd hear them start to whisper.

Made me suspicious I guess, why the man was so handsy. What was he going to do for a living? That started to trip me up. Another man's life, a strangers life, started to worry me. Would she leave him in a few months because he wasn't ambitious? How long would they cuddle before they didn't any more?

It scared me a little bit to think about being that guy. I am that guy or something like him. But tonight I wasn't worried about my career, about my future. I was just watching a movie the day after Christmas with my brother and we drove through the snow. I guess what I'm getting at is that the best way to watch a movie is with someone watching the movie.

Cute

If an extra-terestrial archelogist were to come to this planet in the far distant future and dig through tarnished ruins of human civilization and were to unearth this letter, what would that being think about the people that once lived here? This is a relic of cuteness that has no rival. If I were a great king I'd make it the crowning jewel of all my kingdom!

Jiwon has to be the most beautiful creature I have ever come across in my life. Going back to Korea is going to be a trial. There will be loneliness, displacement, unrest, hardwork. But how could I say no to working with creatures such as these!?

Yuppy Chain Mail #3

Dear Friends,

Happy Winter Solstice. As the year comes to a close, I want to take this time to fill you in on what I have been up to in 2008. I can only hope that this year has been as good to you as it has to me.

The weather is turning colder now in the Pacific Northwest and snow is even in the forecast this weekend. How ever cold it might be outside, I urge you not to get in your car. I have found that taking the public transport saves me money and, moste importantly, saves the planet. It makes any errand I am running at least three times longer and sometimes I only accomplish one small thing a day but the pride I feel sitting on that bus is all worth it. So please abandon comfort and sacrifice for the earth this Solstice. I do.

I am still single and for a large part of the year I was without a job. This was not wasted time however as I created an account in Second Life. Second Life turns out to be more exciting than my real life because in the game I can fly. Which means I can look for wives and jobs all over the world without any carbon footprint. I bought a piece of virtual property and put a building on it. It kind of looks like an old Gothic chapel inside and at the far end is an alter made of stone. On the alter is my resume. It is really cool because it is an interactive document and employers can actually click on it and stuff. What I'm really learning is that employer's don't have time to look into your eyes and search for something concrete like honesty or integrity, but what they're really looking for is that you have the ability to market yourself using modern software. Oh and get this, my avatar in Second life has long jet black hair. The hair graphics are sweet, especially when the wind makes individual strands blow around.

I also bought a new pair of jeans in October. I was watching Project Runway and America's Next Top Model on-line, sometimes devouring entire seasons in one day. And I guess I started feeling things I had never felt before. I'm not gonna say "gay" feelings, but definitely a feeling that fashion forwardness is important, possibly the most important thing about my life right now. I went to Fred Meyer and looked through all the jeans and finally settled on a low rise skinny leg jean with faded patches on the thighs and butt. The waist is low enough that my love handles stick out and in the crotch region it appear that I have a man camel toe. When ever I bend over my butt crack totally hangs out. I'm not going to say that I'm 100 percent confident wearing them yet but watching "Tim Gunn's Guide to Style" is really helping with my self esteem. And also, you know, I just think that style is a reflection of my strong belief in tolerance. I personally think celebrating and embracing collective androgyny is as important as maybe even the civil rights or anti-war movements of the 60's.

Lastly guys I just want to say that, "Yes we can". This election year something amazing happened. A nation of people with one goal in mind, to be "progressive" elected a man that embodies the future hope of our nation. I hate it that he smokes, in fact that might even be a deal breaker for me, but lets hope together. Happy Solstice everybody!

Love,
Matt

Washington State

I live in one of the most whacked out leftist regions in the country. The attitudes that people have here astound me. Living in Bellingham, a college town, I thought perhaps the ideologies being preached from the street corners were perhaps just a result of young university students lost and immature. But I see the same ideas being espoused by full grown adults in Everett, a working man's town, and even from the governor of our state.

Here some examples of what I mean: 1) An irrational hatred for George Bush.
2) A proclamation of tolerance by those that are so intolerant that they call those that see differently from themselves "bigots".
3)Rejecting the idea that there is objective truth
4)A victim mentality

The president of our country is an elected official. The highest office of service in our country. It is not the president, but the people who make this country strong. People seem to forget that we do not live under a monarchy or tyranny. If we do not like the job that the president is doing we vote him out of office which is what has occurred and which points to the health of our democracy. Anyone who when asked what they are doing to make the world a better place responds with some rant about George Bush makes me want to cry. I don't know what to do for a person that far gone.

I have a certain world view. Mainly that I want the government to stay out of my way as I try and make it in this world, taking responsibility for my own destiny. What others do with their life is their own business and I wish people would be more private about it. There are some that believe that government should run our lives for us. That is their preference and if one holds to this ideology, fine with me, my brother! We can debate the issues civilly and sway our country men to our own points of view letting our voice be heard through the democratic process of voting. And this: I don't have a problem with someone being gay. I don't care. Let me say that again. I don't care! Just don't try and change definitions. Get a job.

For some there is no such thing as truth. None at all. You believe that way if you want but that is your truth. My truth is something else. Yeah maybe you have different tastes, for example you like dark beer, I like light beer and so on. But your computer, the highway system, even crowd control is governed by universal truths. Science! Don't politicize it, please.

And finally victimization. Anyone who can't take responsibility for his own life, who blames others for where he is at is not a viable part of our free democracy but a prisoner of his own mind.

Beatles

I'm up late reminsicing.

There is this pub down an ally way in Janghanpyeung called Beatles. The walls are covered in slips of paper with notes and song requests. On one of those slips of paper is a picture I drew one very late night. It's a little home with a pathway leading from the door and winding through the grass yard and out the little picket fence that surrounds the scene.

The man who runs the place has a huge room filled with old records. He sits in the room all night and plays the records. His beautiful daughter would bring us plates of fresh fruit as a gift. Sometimes we wouldn't leave until sunrise just listening to music.

I knew it was special and a lot of the times I'd just breath it in trying to hang on to the moment but it was always so slippery.

Pohang

It is interesting how life unfolds and how things done yesterday create unexpected challenges and joys today. I am headed back to Korea.

This year will be much different than last as I will be not in the big city of Seoul but the smaller beach city of Pohang. My responsiblities will be greater and I am half scared to death that I might fail. But a door has been opened and I am going to walk through and trust in the Lord to help me.

Next week I will be in Washington DC, and then Christmas at home, and then over the Pacific, to Korea.

Merry Christmas!

Housing Market Crash

The value of a home is not the resale value. A home's value comes from it's ability to keep you warm when it is cold. To bring comfort after a long day's work. A solid ground on which to rise a family. A castle to call your own. Many homes put together create a community, a government, and finally a nation. Home is where the heart is. It is a place to ache for when you're in foreign lands. A home is filled with memories, with smells, with laughter--sometimes unrest. Babies become boys, become men, become fathers and grandfathers in a home. A home is inter-generational, a place to plant the family tree. Homes tame wild lands and wild hearts. The value of a home is not monetary. Ultimately our home is not in this world but in heaven. Our homes are reflections of the otherworldly, a manifestation of our spirit. A gift.

A home is not a market bubble.

I have been priced out of the home market for sometime. It is exciting to think that in the future, I too, might, through hard work and blessings, be able to afford a wood house to indwell with my spirit and perhaps to start my own family in.

Set Free

Andy and I were in the work truck taking the long way to the job site. The man on the AM radio was talking about the violent shootings that happened this weekend in the Seattle area. Eleven shootings, three dead, some wounded--possibly gang related. The shooters were in their teens.

I sat there thinking for a while about how to solve such a problem. I found a solution but it sounded pretty terrible. How could I have such a thought. "Listen, I know this sounds very evil but hear me out. These criminals are destroying society. Do you think it's wrong, in an attempt to rid society of these kinds of people, to kill them before they kill us? Like a Batman type character who just roams around killing bad guys!"

It sounded terrible as soon as I said it. But it is a solution and we thought about it some more. The guy on the radio moved on to more stories of violence and rebellion.

Criminals have to pay for their crimes, don't they?

Part of me wants to believe in rehabilitation but another part of me knows that every crime has a price to pay and then it struck me for the first time ever. It really sunk in. We're all criminals. I've lied, cheated, thieved, I've hurt other people, I'm a criminal, maybe my crimes are not as severe as some other crimes but they're still crimes. And it hit me, I deserve death. The world only offers death. People have built systems of repentance but they always come up short. That really made me sad.

My mind wandered to The Book of Revelation when the Mighty Angel asked, "Who is worthy to open the scroll?" And no one was found worthy and there was weeping and great sorrow. But then the lamb stepped forward, and only he was worthy to open the scroll.

I am called to die to myself and be reborn through the blood of the lamb! After all my searching, and man have I searched, I've finally found something solid, the great hope--Jesus, the son of God, who payed the price for my crimes on the cross!

We spent the rest of the morning working on roof tops with the November sun shining down on us.

She told me not to take any crap, to be a man, to stand up for myself. She said it plain as day, taking puffs on her cigarette. We were at the Irish pub. I thought that was cool. It felt good to have someone on my side. I didn't get to know her as well as some but I'm glad I knew her exactly the way I did.

Waiting for the Cable Guy

I'm waiting for the cable guy to come. That's what I'm doing. It isn't very exciting but neither is the handy-man business I've been working for the last couple weeks. It pays well, for now. I've at least fifty resumes floating around and a couple interviews lined up.

I put the coffee on a while ago and now I'm here at my new antique writing desk, a mug of coffee is steaming away next to me. The salt water smell from the marina is coming through my window and mixing with the coffee smell. It smells like a nice morning. I can see the navy base from my window and the destroyers docked in the bay. Every morning at 8am the navy base plays the revelry.

It's been raining a lot too. Today looks like it might offer some relief but the rain is ugly and I've been dreaming about sunny places, like maybe just packing up my stuff and heading to Arizona or Texas--maybe even Dubai.

I got a notice from a social networking sight notifying me that one of my friends has joined a women's group against Sarah Palin. In the newspaper a college age woman says, "At least [Palin] is a good role model for women. Oh wait, no she’s not—she doesn’t support abortion or same-sex marriage, and she relies on her looks, not her brains." I guess I'm at a loss as to what people consider role models.

My buddy texted me yesterday while waiting for his lunch in a pizza parlor. Out of eight women in the pizza parlor, seven were obese. I don't know how that relates to Palin or handy-men or rain or even if it is relevant, but in the handy-man truck, heading slowly south on I-405, I looked up from my phone and counted, four out of eight women sitting in traffic were big girls.

How Can I Be Sure?

I went to the Alderwood Mall yesterday and was just tripping out on the future we now live in. Andy and I are balding men too old to really be checking out mall chicks. I remember when that mall was just a dark maze and we were young bucks and all the girls were blond and blue eyed. Now it is some kind of multicultural hub of wealth. There were so many Arabs and Indians there. The girls at Macy's were wearing head scarves. And the few white people waddling around were obese. This is the only country in the world where you would see so many different kinds of people walking around. I'm not saying it is good or bad just that it was tripping me out after seeing so many Koreans over the last year.

I went to the ProActive Solution cart and bought some skin products because I am addicted to them. We were walking through the halls and I was thinking out loud, "what a trip the future is bro, two late twenty single guys roaming aimlessly through the mall buying beauty products so that one's face will look pleasant on his job interview to teach kids on the other side of the world English from his living room. And look, all these people drinking 5 dollar-frothy-sweet-milky-mocha's. It's like adults are still suckling from mommy's teet."

It was a kind of out of body experience. You know that old song, "How can I be sure, in a world that constantly changing?"

Homeward Bound

How do I go home? Who will I be when I get there? Talking about my year in Korea will bore people after ten minutes and I don't want to talk about it too much anyhow. All the memories I've made here will be just that, memories and all the people I call my friends will be scattered around the world. The few words I've learned, the subway map, how to catch the 2112 bus downtown, the polite gestures, the conversations about work--they'll all be meaningless at home. Can you ever really go home? What was this year but a strange dream? In a week I'll be home in Seattle eating scrambled eggs and I just hope I'm not strange to the people there.

Monsoon Season

We open the front doors to our neighboring apartments at the same time. The doors click behind us as we step into the day. Rain, lots of it, comes town in hot torrents. I start sweating immediately. Our eyes meet. He has a lost look in his eyes. "Yep," I respond to an unsaid remark. Here we go. Gesturing wildly at the brown sky, Steve says, "I got home last night and had six shots of whiskey one after the other."

We open our umbrellas and walk through blocks of 30 story apartment buildings and fish markets. The whole neighborhood smells like fish. My sweat smells like garlic.

Open Doors

Being in the subway is like being rocked to sleep by a giant metal mother. My head is nodding, my eyes are heavy. I open my eyes suddenly. I'm made out of wood. I can see the grain in my arms and legs. I'm a giant wooden man. Children are poking me. They are young children one of them only has one eye. I don't speak their language but they don't know there is more than one so I smile. This is my stop.

The doors hiss open. I step out of the car but I'm not in the station. I'm walking on a desert plain. Dust on my boots. Ecstacy of Gold. Is this where I should be? Is this my destiny-- to live forever in fantasy?

Love

You ever stop and think about being human and get fuzzy inside? Between rushing from this place to that, bashing this politician and the next, when we aren't reading the paper or talking about steroids in sports--do you ever love yourself for being weak and ignorant and start to love other cause they are just like you?

Being away from home has made me love it all the more. I love my country. My State. My city. My friends. My family. I got a box from my mom today in the mail. She sent me some sweaters and some candy but on top she put a calender from my bank back home that came in the mail. Its just a junk mail calender with pictures of Bellingham in it. If I were at home I would have hucked it straight in the dumpster but here it's a piece of home. I showed my students the pictures and hung it on my classroom wall next to my desk. I kept looking over at it every five minutes. It is humbling being a foreigner.

It's humbling.

I love my home.

Valentines Day '08

I get an email this morning from my bank back home. The teller wants to know how to reach me. Her name is Samantha. We write back and forth all morning. This concerns my account, she writes. It's the closest thing to a conversation with a new woman I have had in months. I think about sending her chocolates for Valentines day.

Let it Be

Gold with a hint of rose, that's the color of light pouring in the classroom windows. The students mention that they are tired. I'm tired too, I tell them. They don't know how far from home I sometimes feel, how much of my life is consumed thinking about them and preparing their lessons. I'm tired too. I understand the Korean devotion to education even less than they do. I want to tell them that the sunlight on this morning and their childish innocents are all I have.

Let's get back to our books, I tell them, we're in this together. And I swear this really happened: one student starts singing "Let It Be". It's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. Other students start singing too and before I know it I'm singing with them.

Kimono Dragons

It is twenty three degrees outside and I've locked myself in my room with a cup of coffee. The window is all fogged but I can see the sun clearly through the trails the water droplets leave as they run down the window pane.

I'm teaching this new speaking course on Saturdays which I find ironic being that speaking classes were my greatest fear in school. I'm actually designing the course. This is exciting because it allows me to use my creativity while also building my resume. Bad news is, no weekend for me. I'm working six days a week. I feel that my boss is taking advantage of me--paying me the same as last term except giving me so much extra work. I've talked to some Koreans about this and they have told me that it is the Korean work ethic. That one does what the boss says for the greater good of the company. Who has the greatest good in mind? The boss. The Koreans work like maniacs, on average working about 60 hours a week. Forty hours a week is considered part time.

And forget about sick days. I have never been sick as often as I have here. This is my fourth cold in four months except this week I've had a terrible flu. I told my head instructor that I was feeling sick and that my voice was pretty much gone and asked if there was anyway I could get someone to cover my classes. He said he'd see what he could do. Two minutes later my boss is in the room asking me if I had been out drinking the night before! NO! He gave me some Aspirin and told me to go get 'em.

Even the kids come to school sick. That is why I am sick. The other day the students were coughing and hacking not even covering their mouths. I was at the front of the room looking like death, squeaking in a hoarse voice. Time seemed to stop and I was looking around as if in a dream... Swimming all around me are countless germs in the shape of Kimono Dragons. They are Virus's that have been mutating and adapting for millions of years, attacking the bodies of Orientals, shaping their thoughts, philosophies, changing their history--and then--me, a foreigner with a very different history. A body built to resist the chicken noodle soup cold not the spicy beef variety. I realize this epic biological drama is happening all around me and I'm losing. My body demands that my mind fight back. "Class," I said, "please cover your mouths. Understand that each time you cough your germs are going up my nose into my lungs, into my blood and making me sick. Please, you're making Teacher sick. Cover your mouths!!!"

I've always wanted to be the kind of person that could be nearly dead from illness and people wouldn't even know because I'm so strong. But I've never really been like that. When I get sick people know and it becomes a topic of conversation. What is really frightening is broadcasting my sickness for sympathy on a blog.

Dixie Cups & Paper Plates

It is the end of class, our last day of the semester. As soon as the bell rings the students run out the door dragging their backpacks behind them. They yell, "bye teacher," mouths still full of the pizza I'd bought them to celebrate their last day of fall semester.

Three of the brightest students hang around a bit--pack up their books slowly. "Teacher, I love you." one of the girls says. "Yours-a is-a the best-a class-a I've-a ever had-a in-a my entire life-a. I'm going-a to miss-a you!" They leave with waves, "We love you Teacher."

I'm left in the room, picking up dixie cups and paper plates.

I'm exactly where I should be.

I'm smiling.

Captin, My Captin

Have you ever lived a life time in a nights slumber? Have you ever felt like a refugee when waking, like a displaced citizen of a kingdom that only exists in dreams? Have you ever mourned a lover who never was? Have you ever teared up while watching Star Trek?

The Claw

After work we get some people together and head out to find something to eat. We end up eating at our favorite chicken joint where they cook a stew in a pot on our table. The beer and the Soju flow like milk and honey.

We're cheerful after dinner, after the drinks. Phil tells me that there is a lot of money to be had here if we don't waste it on frivolous stuff like beer and women. I would never buy a woman. I'll leave a wealthy man.

After dinner we head out onto the street. We're Foreigners in ties, blond haired giants. A man passes us carrying a passed out hooker on his back, maybe to a subterranean neon lit cave. We start the walk home, our shiny shoes clicking on pavement, splashing in the puddles. On every corner there are claw machines. I've seen them back home at bowling alleys and carnivals, places where people in greasy amusement craved frenzies hang out. My neighborhood, the red light district, Janghanpyeung, is like the inside of a bowling alley. A very gigantic, sprawling bowling alley.

We see a machine and head there for entertainment. We put in our spare change in turns. Ion wins a lighter. How exciting. We head to the corner liquor store to exchange our bills for coins. We feed the claws on every corner. Each machine holds a prize that will improve our life: a pistol shaped lighter, a golden mermaid with butane filled breasts. I fantasize about lighting cigarettes for hookers out doors in beer gardens. The waitress would bring us squid and kimchi.

More coins. Bigger bills. A few cheap trinkets keep us hooked. Soon we've created a game. Competition. A hunt. Who will bring home the most prizes? And our journey begins through alley ways behind brothels, past chicken restaurants, the hof that serves pork spin soup. Our wallets get a bit lighter after each intersection. I've turned my pockets inside out leaving trails of lint like Hansel and Gretel. I'm on a pathway away from rationality.

Phil remembers, he'd seen some men stocking a claw machine a few blocks away just this evening. There was a Nintendo DS in that machine, designer watches, pots of gold, the fountain of youth. We're buzzed now. It's agreed we've got to make it to the fabled claw. Past trolls, witches, and prostitutes we'll travel. We're crossing an intersection our stroll has turned to a brisk power walk. I've lost my umbrella maybe at one of the countless claws machines somewhere behind us in the night.

"Phil remember what we were talking about at dinner. Remember what you told me. He smiles. "Yeah, don't spend money on stupid shit. Here we are doing stupid shit."

We make it to THE machine. Sure enough there is the Nintendo DS. Underneath is a torch lighter. A violin lighter. A pair of work out gloves. A friggin power drill! We each have a go. Three bucks down. Another round. I finally win. It is a drink coaster with a disco light that twirls inside. A martini would become a beacon of cool atop that coaster and already I'm imagining having a party. I'll need olives.
Maybe decorations--possibly party hats. A punch bowl for sure.

Phil goes next. He wins the work out gloves. He has no need for them. Never dreamed of needing such a thing but he swears he's going to take up boxing, no, taekwando.

Ion's excited. This legendary machine pays out but he is out of money. He needs to break a ten. Lynn gives him the look. She reminds him of his promise that he had made to her, his wife, when we weren't listening, that his next turn was it. He says, you only live once. This is Korea. She's pissed. I can tell.

He wanders off to the dark bar next door.

I want to win that violin lighter. I used to play the violin. I need that violin lighter. But all I have is a ten. 60 turns for 10 bucks. It is tempting. Lynn says I'm crazy. Gives me a look. I admit I feel shame. "Phil I'm putting in 10. Pay me back 5 tomorrow. 30 turns each, Okay?"

Yep.

The claw carries the violin to the lip of the tray, to the edge of our happiness. Each time it falls short. Each time we try again. The turn counter is counting down from 60 to 45 to 30. The sense of urgency is higher each time. The chemicals flooding our system are more dangerous than any bottle of soju or whore. Phil's turns count from 30 to 12, from 9 to 4, 3, 2, 1. Oh! Oh! Yes, Yes, YES...aww. We let out sighs--our anticipation replaced by guilt. The shame. I can feel Lynn's look.

Where's Ion?

Moments later here comes Ion with two plastic sacks. "Hope you guys are hungry," he says. "What's in the bag Ion?" from Lynn. She's had enough of all this. Ion has a sheepish grin on his face. Embarrassed but sober. We look in the bags. Two huge bags of soup. Soup!

He had gone inside the bar to get change for a ten. Without Korean he had resorted to making clawing gestures with his hand to communicate his need for change for the machine. The woman had motioned for him to wait and given him some free coffee to wait as she went in the back to fetch what he assumed would be a bag of coins. She came back with two bags of soup.

What a wholesome turn of events.

Claw Machines, hookers--the hunt...maybe it's frivolous. Maybe not. They make for good stories on winter days in kitchens, with friends sitting around bowls of hot steamy soup.

Redemption

We were done with chess. I won, barely. The room was filled with happy people, drinking, lounging, eating, some even settling into their beds laid out on the wooden floor. Charles and I went to the front door and put on our shoes and stepped out on the porch for a cigarette. We were up near the Northern border outside a beach town for our company weekend retreat. It had rained all day. The wooden deck was covered in beads of water. We lit our smokes and exhaled. We stood in silence for a minute. I was listening to the wind through the trees, breathing in the clean air, face red with drink. The Crickets chirped. I can't remember ever being as content.

"mmm, You like, ah...wait, wait," He took his cellphone out of his pocket and with one hand typed a Korean word into his English dictionary. I watched the screen in anticipation. The word popped up. Romantic. "Ah romance," I said. Yes very much. He was smiling. He told me he likes to be romantic with his girlfriend, how he can't wait to marry her. "Where is your girlfriend? Why is she not here?" I asked. "No come. Work." "Ahh." "I come, I drive in car four hours to see you, and Bryan and Ben. You good friends. Your mind, my mind, same." I smiled, same minds. "Thanks Charles. I'm glad you came."

"You want to walk?" So we walked down the dirt road that winds through small rice fields and eventually climbs over a little hill covered in pines and slopes down into the Pacific. "You know what is awesome Charles, that I can come from over the sea and meet people like you, people with like minds. We don't even speak the same language but we communicate through games like chess or through music." I drew the word communicate with my fingers on the air. "I'm glad you made it tonight." "Ah, mmm hmm," he said.

"You have tattoos?" He asked.

"No tattoos. You?" He told me he had one on his back. It meant something, peace I think he said. "Are you going to get more tattoos?"

"Yes. I want more."

"What is it about tattoos that you like? mmm, Why do you like tattoos?"

Ah, he said. "I don't like my life. Tattoos, mmm like, mmm, ah..." he was frustrated. "You don't like your life?" I asked slowly, perplexed.

His brow creased at the center and he looked up and searched right and left in his brain for the right word. "I get tattoos, because I don't like my life. I get tattoos for..." and he brought out his cellphone again and typed out a word. The light on the phone monitor was bright in the country night. There was a word on the screen that made my stomach twist and my eyes nearly fill with water. Redemption. "Ahh, redemption," I whispered.

"You know word?"

"Yes. I know that word."

You get tattooed for redemption. I understand. Yes, I understand."

I patted him on the shoulder, and smiled. Come on, let's get back to the house."

Charles, my new friend and I walked back to the house, like minds, like hearts.

Weekend On the Coast

Glimpse into a Generation or Just A Bored Aspiring Actor?

You Decide


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Harder Than It Looks

One of the words on the children's vocabulary list was chemical. Chemical--n. a substance. "Who can give me an example of a chemical?" I asked them. Blank stares. “Okay how to illustrate this one,“ I thought, like I do so often these days when explaining something that to a native English speaker is second nature.

I went to the white board with three different colored pens in hand. I began by drawing a simplified periodic table, filling in the first box with an H for Hydrogen and the second with an He for Helium and so fourth, after each box looking back at the kids to see if I was enlightening them. Blank stares.

Do you know what the periodic table is? No? It's a chart listing elements from the lightest to the heaviest. "Has anyone heard of the hydrogen atom?" No, no one had heard of Hydrogen. One boy in the back asked, "Teacher, what is atom?" Oh gosh, "An atom is the smallest bit of matter. Here, let me draw it for you. I turned back to the board and drew a circle inside a circle with rings around it. Turned again. Nothing. I put an "e-" on one of the rings to illustrate the concept of an electron shell. Each time I turned I saw the same horrific glossy eyed stare coming from my students which compelled me to draw anther interesting chemistry model.

After about five minutes of this madness I became aware of my surroundings, that but for the squeaking of my furiously moving pens there was dead silence. I told myself, "Stop, your being paid to teach ENGLISH. It is okay if they don't know chemistry yet, they just hit puberty.” I looked at the board and for a moment was terrified. It could have been taken from the wall and hung in a museum of modern art. I abandoned my effort and repeated to the students again, "a chemical is a substance. Everything we can see and touch, everything in the universe is made out of chemicals. I left it at that and moved on. They half smiled.

After class a Korean staff member came up to me and said one of the students had complained that my vocabulary was too high. I had to laugh. If the staff member had seen what I’d done to the white board, I probably would have been fired.

@#$! it.

Like Roger Clemens, I am back from retirement. Thanks for understanding.

Keeping an Inn On Ramandu

While drinking Cass beer on couches at a bar that looked like the Cantina from Star Wars, my new friends and I discussed the internet. If not for the internet we would not be here in Seoul. It's true. The world is very small.

As soon as I got the internet hooked up recently I visited Micheal's site, Yummy Brain Gravy, and was very surprised to find that he had retired his blog. He said that he felt trapped there. It is strange to think about a code trapping you, or choking your creativity. Just exactly how does an immaterial object obstruct you? I'm not sure but I feel as Micheal does.

I love Adventscribing. It is nostalgic--it is where I grew up. I can remember walking the streets of Bellingham thinking about literature and politics. I wanted to change the world and make it a romantic place where my ideals would grow like a vegtable garden. I would sit down at my computer and my hands would move like a blur. The words would just come out. It hasn't been like that here for many months. I'll type and then delete half the line and then type some more and delete. It is slow going. I've always thought of this blog as a story. I've shared with you pieces of me that when put together add up to something. I'm not sure what. The themes in my life now are very different than they were when I started this blog. Maybe I'm not as confused as I used to be. But I want to get my fingers moving again, and so I'll say good-bye, maybe not forever, but until I find exactly how these two chapters in my life relate to each other. Until we meet again, good-bye.

Seoul

Hey,

I made it. I am in the Orient. These people are going to be our overlords. Get ready. Let me tell you about my trip so far. So much has happened in the last three days, I feel my ninja skills going up:)

I got on my first plane. Andy said that I would love it. I hated it. Going to jail for 24 hours would be far easier than being confined on that plane for eleven. I watched Mr. Bean episodes on the TV in the seat. I did have this tripidelic experience over southern South Korea though as we descended out of the clouds and did a bank. I looked out my window for the first time since Seattle and saw out my window something glorious that I didn't understand at all. Streaks of gold whimsically dancing beyond the wing. My mind just did not understand what it was seeing and I could feel the struggle in my brain to comprehend. UFO's? Angels? Then it clicked. I realized I was seeing cities dotted through out the country and that the gold was sunlight reflecting off all those windows thousands of feet below. It is funny what the mind can dream up when it doesn't understand something.

I was so happy to get off of that plane that I didn't even mind dealing with immigration and customs. I talked to a few American's at the airport, one of them a military guy who started talking about strategic missions up north and deployment and everything. I think he thought I was a soldier because of my new short haircut. So I jumped through all the hoops then it’s just me, by myself, in Korea. I stepped out of the airport in to Incheon and was struck immediately by the humidity. It is like a bath-house here. I started sweating immediately. I lit up a cigarette. Every male here is a damn chain smoker in public. This college girl comes up to me as I'm smoking and shows me photos cut into heart shapes of her and her friends holding hands in a circle. She spoke terrible English. Everyone here so far speaks terrible English. She told me that her English name was Victoria. She talked about the unification of all religions for world peace. She made me smile and I thanked her for welcoming to her country with words of hope.

From the airport I caught a bus to Seoul which is about a one hour drive or 30 miles. Incheon and Seoul kind of form this one huge megatropolis as Seoul has about 11 million people and Incheon has about 6 million. To put that in perspective, Washington only has 5 million. So take everyone from Washington, Oregon, Idaho and Montana and squish them between Seattle and Tacoma and you have something resembling here. I have to tell you though that on the bus I was looking out the window and the sun was setting, the sky was orange and some of the city lights were beginning to burn. Between Incheon and Seoul looks a lot like Everett or Tacoma. There are pockets of skyscrapers. I thought for a moment to myself, "Is this it? Is this all you could muster, Sauraman?" But the skyscrapers began to multiply and the space between them grew smaller. My God! Okay, you know how when you drive through Seattle, downtown only takes about five minutes to pass by? Well imagine driving from Marysville to Seattle with nothing but downtown Seattle’s to pass by. The East is going to take over the world. So at this point I'm blown away. Other thoughts and observations were happening at this point but this is a letter not a novel. I get to the bus terminal. Am too stupid to figure out how to use the pay phone and a nice person let me use her personal cell phone. I got a cab to my hotel and checked in. When I opened my door I was happily surprised. A nice little pad. Went downstairs for some fresh air. Met a fellow English teacher, Jordan, fresh off the boat who was from Seattle himself and so we started talking and soon enough the conversation turned to Bellingham and the Horseshoe. Apparently he's been there a lot. What are the chances? First person I meet? I was exhausted but we went out for a drink. The streets were filled with people and neon signs everywhere. It smells like fish and spice here.

I walked a lot yesterday and sweat my ass off but am starting to see how my environment connects and God willing will be able to navigate my way to my first day of work tomorrow.

Today I was up before dawn. I called up Jordan and we went across the street to this massive mall which is under the world trade center. We went into this little restaurant with two middle age women running shop. The place was no bigger than maybe my living room and kitchen at home. The woman asks us what we want. We are dumb though, don't have a clue what she is saying. We smile and point. I point to the cheapest thing on the menu, 5000 wan or roughly 5 dollars. Jordan didn't order anything. About ten minutes later the woman brings out a tray with about five plates on it. Then she comes back with three more plates and two bowls, one of soup and one full of eggs cooked in a way I have never seen. Ten plates! for five dollars!!! I made Jordan help me out and we both left full with food still left on the plate.

One thing Koreans are not is hungry. One thing they are is damn fine dressers. I was on the subway today and the most powerful smell attacking my sense was that of makeup. Women here take care of themselves. Very stylish and the men look like mafia dons. I am probably the most scrubby person in the country.

We went on the Subway today must have been an hour to the other side of town to this park called Seoul Forest. I wanted to lay in a park and see trees. It wasn't much of a forest I have to say. Looks like an ecological restoration over a couple city blocks. the trees were only about ten years old but I imagine in another fifty it will be quite a forest. A supplier of shade even. The last two days have really been fun and I have only met one guy. I imagine tomorrow will be better as I meet my peers at work.

I was told that a lot of people here speak English. I haven't found that to be true at all. But I will have to keep and my ears open and definatly take this opportunity to learn their language. It is difficult to not be able to use words as enamored with them as I am. People here seem to be really nice. I can't explain it. It isn't a different planet. There is still earth and sky. Just a lot to get used to and I am excited about that.

Thanks for reading. This is as close to conversation as I've gotten outside of my new buddy in the last three days. Peace, my friend. Write me back let me know how your doing.

With Love,
Matt

Ramandu's Workshop

Ann Spam has my mind reeling with her inventions. Right now I am in the process of burning all my music on to my hard drive and as I listen to each of of Cd's, some of which I haven't listened to in years, I'm whisked back to meaningful points in my life. It is fun to think about the sound track of my life.

I've come up with my own invention involving music and life. Here is how it works. Sophisticated sensors monitor the rhythms of your body. These could be as simple as small sensors sewn into your clothing or perhaps even ingested. The data, your heart rate, body temperature, bowel movements etc, will be converted into music. You can listen to the music on your i-pod in real time. This is actually more profound than it sounds. Say you are feeling sentimental, your body will create very sentimental music as the sensors pick up the swelling of your heart. As you listen to the sentimental music you will become more sentimental which will produce even more sentimental music, in turn making you more and more sentimental until perhaps your so sentimental you melt. Maybe your feeling more enthusiastic than all that. The percussion music of your beating heart will cause your heart to beat faster and faster, the music increasing into a crescendo of pure excitement. This invention is comparable to the Wright brothers air plane except instead of taking man off the ground it rockets man into the extreme realms of emotion.

"So Much Depends upon a Red Wheel Barrow, Glazed with Rainwater, Beside the White Chickens"

Good-bye

Today was my last day at work. For the last year I've been a Grounds Maintenance worker. In a month I will be a foreigner and a teacher. Until then I am just a bum, but a reflective bum trying to soak up as much of my beloved shire as I can.

I have gained a deep respect for the working man. My dad is a working man. My grandfathers and their fathers were working men. There is something satisfying about going to work everyday and working hard with your hands. If there are jobs in Heaven, I hope to be a gardener. My boss, a squat tough east coaster extended his hand to me this afternoon and wished me well. He appreciated my work and I know that he is a bit sorry to see me leave. You don't know these guys I worked with, they are just normal guys, but I tell you, they come to work every single day, rain or shine. They visit the chiropractors more than some and they smoke cigarettes and talk shit but I've never met such honorable men. And if an employer asks about my experience as a maintenance man, I will say this to him, "Working as a ground maintenance man was not glamorous. I didn't learn any new software. It barely paid the bills, but it did toughen me up. It was a struggle against nature. It was very quite but the trees spoke and the flowers asked for water. And the men I worked with were good hard working men. It taught me more about myself than four years of college."

The Computer

The computer has arguably had the largest impact on human society. In the vast stretches of time that man has roamed and settled the corners of the earth, computers are comparably a new tool, but one that has, unlike any other, drastically aided in the increase of knowledge, communication, and innovation. It shapes nearly all aspects of modern human culture. It’s full impact is yet to be seen but for better or worse, the rapid increase in computer technology that we are seeing in our day is changing the very way in which we as people see ourselves and our place in the universe.

For thousands, if not millions of years, man followed the migrating beasts of the plains as hunters and gatherers. Around ten thousand years ago some of the people stopped following the beasts and did something that man had not done before. Settle. They planted fields of grain, domesticated the wild beasts, they built cities with stone walls. Hunters became farmers and soldiers and merchants. Governments formed to manage the trade of the grain. Life went on like this for nearly ten thousand years and knowledge increased slowly, rising and falling like an incoming tide.

About five hundred years ago something changed--man invented a process of enquiry that became known as the scientific method. With this new approach to the natural world, man’s knowledge increased greatly and produced greater and more powerful tools. Then, just over seventy one years ago, a very sophisticated mass of vacuum tubes became known as the computer, a tool used for calculating. Aided by the computer, man’s knowledge is now exponentially increasing, accelerating faster than it ever has before. Where it took man one hundred thousand years to learn to farm and ten thousand years to become industrious, it has taken but fifty years for him to become a space faring race.

Computers now sit on nearly one billion desk tops around the world. Paired with telecommunications, the computer and the world wide web, allow people from all walks of life to share themselves in community and network in ways that promote connectivity and creativity which in turn spurs innovation. The computer redefines space and time, making the world smaller and move faster. There are some that speculate that computers will themselves become human, that artificial intelligence will emerge, perhaps not a tool but a companion.

It is fascinating to think about where the computer revolution will lead man in the end. Perhaps the world will move to fast for his liking or he may adapt and become something else all together. Man is organic, imperfect--beautifully small in comparison with the cosmos. Man is by nature a poet. As computer technology continues to advance, man will probe deeper into the subatomic world, to the outer limits of space and beyond. The hugeness of our universe, almost impossibly large to comprehend might be made just small enough for a person to put on his desktop next to a vase of flowers and picture of his family.

Mr. Antolini

I've been reading my favorite books again lately. The books are the same, but each time I go to them I am different. I finished one of my favorite books tonight, The Catcher in the Rye. I've read it several times but I was always Holden Caufield. Reading it this time I found that I was able to relate to Holden but for the first time understood Mr. Antolini.

Like Holden, I can see the people running through the rye towards the cliffs all around me. I can relate to him in that. The world is full of phonies. But I never realized the beauty in Holden or that spark in him until now. For all his criticisms, he's just another kid playing near the cliffs. I understand why Mr. Antolini strokes his hair and watches over him as he sleeps. Mr. Antolini is a catcher in the rye!

When Holden is nearly at rock bottom in the living room with Mr. Antolini, smoking cigarettes and drinking cocktails in the dark, Mr. Antolini says something very profound--something that speaks to me. He quotes William Stekel: "The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of a mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one."

That is encouraging. Perhaps the cause can be won in the end with a good attitude, a firm handshake, a hug, getting up everyday and working with a smile, picking up those that stumble.

Leather

My shoelace broke today at work. At lunch I stop at a corner market to buy a new pair. I ask the clerk if she sells shoe laces and she says yeah and directs me down isle three. There they are, and to my surprise there are a variety of styles to choose from. There's a pair of laces for $2.19. Just what I need, but next to them is a pair of hardy leather laces oozing with ruggedness. They're tagged at $4.49. More than double the price. I had the adequate laces in one hand and the manly laces in the other. I pay double for the lumberjack laces as a treat to myself.

I get out to the truck and my partner sees the laces and comments on how hardcore they are. You bet they are. I even say the word extravagant out loud to describe them. I'm really excited, no kidding. I've got one boot tied up real snug and I feel as if I could hike Mt. Rainier--or, get in a knife fight in loose gravel. Beaming, that's what I am. The laces in the other boot aren't broken but I take out my clippers and cut 'em off anyway. I don't even bother untying them. They're weak, old. I start threading the second boot up with the leather straps and my partners watching me, grazing on his sandwich and cheese crackers. I get the lace through the second eye and give a firm tug. The strap, the leather man-lace rips! "You've got to be kidding me!" I scream. My partner laughs at me. He's crying with laughter. I'm crushed. $4.49. Down the toilet.

I head back into the market still with only one boot laced up.

The Two Well Mannered Anarchist

I'm sitting on the front porch browning in the brilliance of the sun. Two young men walk by. Scrunny but cheerful chaps they are. One is wearing a brimmed hat pushed back high on his forehead and in his hands holds a silver trumpet. The other wears thick glasses and carries a great tattered flag over his shoulders. It is a red rectangle above a black rectangle and the two colors are held together with a strip of elctric tape. They stop at the end of the walk way in front of the porch, eyeing Beth's boots that she had put out on the curb.

"Are these free for the taking?" the trumpeter asks?

"They are," I say.

He's happy for the gift and with boots in hand, continues down the street.

"Hey," I call, "What does your flag mean?"

They look back smiling. "Anarchy", they say and turn back away.

I chuckle to myself. Anarchist politely asking if they can hall away a free pair of old boots. They aren't very good anarchist.

Hope and joy in unexpected places

I know quoting texts can be dull but there is much here that I want to share:

"When shall I see a sign that it will ever be otherwise?"

"Turn your face from the green world, and look where all seems barren and cold!" said Gandolf.

Then Aragorn turned, and there was a stony slope behind him running down from the skirts of the snow; and as he looked he was aware that alone there in the waste a growing thing stood. And he climbed to it, and saw that out of the very edge of the snow there sprang a sapling tree no more than three foot high. Already it had put forth young leaves long and shapely, dark above and silver beneath, and upon its slender crown it bore one small cluster of flowers whose white petals shone like the sunlit snow.

--Tolkien, Return of the King

Free Market

eHarmony is being sued for not offering their services to the gay community. This is like someone suing McDonald's for not serving pizza. If a business does not serve your needs then go somewhere that does or start your own business to rival the competition. Come on. This is just common sense people!

A Thousand Words

I invite you over, pour you a drink in a smallish crystal glass with clinking ice cubes, tell you to relax and from out of the back room I come with my slide projector and screen. You roll your eyes and throw back your drink. A little bit of bourbon dribbles off your lip and on to your white shirt. Your in for a long night. Enjoy!

Mt. Baker and the Twin Sisters brooding over our fair city


The Bridge


Innocents!


Frodo-Son


The wonder years.

Subterrianian Death Chamber/Space Interogation Room

If you're like me, you're heart beats just a bit faster each time you open a door. There is always that thrilling chance that on the other side you'll find another world. I've visited such places before, if only in dreams. This evening I opened my microwave and to my astonishment, found myself in a strange and unfamiliar world. It wasn't the golden wheat fields I long for but one can hardly be picky when magic manifests itself behind doors. The history of violence in that brutal den is terrifying. I stood dumb struck, frozen burritos in hand, between two worlds.



Here, flip it upside down and you see what I'm talking about.

Frank Brikowski

There is this hermit woman that lives across the street who in our rowdier days would would scream at us to keep the noise down. She lives in a house made out of siding that looks like fake brick. We started calling her the Fake Brick House Lady. That eventually evolved in to Frank Brikowski. Frank for short. We were at the Co-Op the other day and ran into someone from a different circle that mentioned Frank Brikowski. I wonder how far this has spread:)

The Return of The King

Today was an absolutley wonderful day. My parents came up this morning to go to church with me. I am a major Lord of the Rings nerd right now as I'm reading it again (this is one tradition I started five years ago and want to continue through out my life and pass on to my children: to read The Lord of the Rings every spring). So I was reading them one of my favorite passages when my neigbors came down and saved my parents from my ramblings and whisked us off to church. The first thing I saw when we got into the church was that some in the congragation were waving flags with orange and red and yellow tongues and the choir was singing a Jewish song and there were bongos! It is Pentacost! To see the banners waving and people singing like that just filled me to the brim with overflowing joy! I have been walking on clouds all day. I can't wait for the Return of the King! The flags, the confettii, the laughter and the song. After the service, when we all spilled out onto the stone steps outside, underneath the stain glass, I longed for a trumpet in my hands to blow a mighty note!

Cinco de Mayo en Bellingham, WA, USA

I'm sitting on the porch watching the youth of America stumble down the street shouting profanities. The people on the porch are probably the only sober people within a four block radius. I'm struck by the horror of it, how maybe I'm stuck in one of the modern zombie flicks like 28 Weeks Later. Where are the flags that were waving, the horns that were blowing? Where are the men of renown? The women of honor? Where are the humble, the chaste, the wise?

In the Garden

I've noticed something peculiar about people. They seem to always be incomplete presently, but participating in a program towards completelness. This makes my heart ache. I wish we were all fully realized beings.

Essence

It is getting late but I wanted to jot some things down before turning out the light. I've been thinking about truth and magic in story. I was talking with my brother and made a few discoveries that I can't wait to explore more when I have more time. See, that story I sketched out the other day about Hawaii and the color of my face, I've learned something important about it. My first reaction to the woman's question about the redness of my skin was defensive: she was pointing out an imperfection. But that's just silly. Here is what I think was really going on, the old woman at that breakfast cafe with her over ripe husband and ancient mother, sat in a heavy silence on a bright Sunday morning. Perhaps she sat there and watched me, a young man, talking passionately with my brother, slurping cup after cup of coffee--maybe she saw youth or charisma. Maybe it brought back memories, fantasies. Maybe she saw my red face and smile and thought of somewhere tropical where the sun always shines. And so when she asked me, where I'd been to get such a tan, maybe she wanted a story of adventures at the equator--snorkeling, pirates, coconut bombs, grass skirts. Maybe my answer, though a lie, was exactly what she needed. I'd like to think that I gave her a dream of sand and sun and she went home to cook a spicy dish for her aged husband.

And that is what writing is about. Gifts of visions--this is the essence of fiction. I'm more of a liar than a writer but it is awesome when truth presents itself so clearly.

I've Never Been To Hawaii

I got up from the breakfast table at the cafe and started to make my way to the door when a woman in a window booth caught my attention. She was staring at me with what looked like questioning eyes. "Hello." I said, and waited for her question, searching my memory to a clue as to who this woman was. She was a big woman, a stranger, and she began to speak, slowly..."where have you been?" I looked blankly at her. "Your face, it is so red. Where have you been to get that sunburn?"

I've heard this question many times in my life. I am red. I have sensative skin. What can I say?

"Hawaii."

"Oh fun. How neat, Hawaii."

"It was absolutely beautiful there, mam. If you get a chance you should visit. Enjoy the rest of your breakfast now."

I say to my brother when we get outside, as he is looking at me with a smile, "It's just easier that way."

Dating Game

I recently re-entered the dating scene. It is a loathsome place to be. I want a cabin with a fire place and two cushioned arm chairs side by side. The smell of must mixed with tea and honey--boots caked with mud by the door--by oversized parkas hung on the coat rack. Dating strangers is rather, like being in a factory from the 19th century and the workers have a look of desperation in their eyes.

I don't want to date. I just want to be human and meet other humans. Real humans. Not ones with shinny pointy shoes and earings to bring out the color in their eyes.

I've exited the dating scene. It was a loathsome place to be. I'm on a star ship with my cat and I'm hurtling through the cosmos with a crew of dwarves who shovel coal into the hyper drive while singing old mining songs. I'm a house plant physician who wears a stethoscope and a beeper. I give lolipops to saplings when they've been brave. I am a walker who has journeyed to the edge of the world and tossed pennies into the abyss for luck. I tend bar at a club shaped like a raindrop off a parkway made of cobblestone. It is a watering hole for telepaths. The jazz band is made up of one guy who wears a thin black-waxed mustache. He sits at a round table against a curved red wall and folds paper into nouns.

Caution, Work Crew up Ahead

Driving the work truck down a country road with ditches on both sides and beyond, fields of tall green grass, wet with the mists of spring, I'm deep in conversation with my partner, Yonk. I tell him about a movie I rented the night before called "The Holiday". "Maybe you've seen it. It's a chick flick," I tell him. "One of those emotional porno movies that women watch with their girlfriends while passing a quart of chunky monkey ice cream. It wasn't the feminine flavor of the film that struck me, that is why I rented it. I want to study romance stories. What stuck out," I say while gesturing with my hands--the truck swerving over the divider line--"is how the movie writers created characters that were movie writers. Hollywood is stuck in Hollywood. I mean there were palm trees and beautiful people and lavish mansions and Mexican house keepers, and..."

Yonk removes the lid from his thermos and takes a sip of steaming gas station coffee. "Authors don't speak for us," I say. "They write stories about powerful attorneys in powerful suits who manipulate the world from their offices atop skyscrapers and the young idealistic intern, a lone wolf, who fights back with guns and cell phones. Or, there is the story of the poor, the impoverished victims of society who overcome their troubled past, their sexual abuse, drug abuse, gambling addictions. But who is writing our story?" Another gas station is coming up on the right, a breakfast stop for construction workers. Everything they sell there is fried, sugary, or caffeinated. We pull in to use the bathroom before getting to the work site. Inside, I break down and buy a coffee and maple bar.

I turn on the windshield wipers after starting the truck. I move my lunchbox and thermos making room for my breakfast. Yonk caved in too. He bought a sausage muffin with cheese. I pull out onto the highway behind a port-a-potty truck. "So? Who is writing our story? What is our story? What does it look like?"

He thinks about it for a minute, a long minute, breathing out of his mouth, steam coming out it as he chews on his fried sausage sandwich. Finally, "We're in a comedy," he says. I laugh. "Really," he says. "Remember that movie with Emilio Estevez and that other dude? They are garbage men and they get into all these comical situations. That's us."

"Your right! Our lives our comical."

"Yeah they are. I don't mind being in a comedy. It's better than a drama."

We're still driving, only slower now because we've come to a work zone and a flagger is standing in the road holding a sign that reads, SLOW. She's smoking a cigarette. We sit silently--the truck wipers squeaking a bit as they rub abrasively against the thin mist. I break the silence, "Yeah man, but I mean our lives are more meaningful than that, right?"

"Well, I'll put it this way, there isn't much for drama. If a Hollywood producer bought our story he'd have to spice it up quite a bit. There'd have to be a love interest first of all. Probably one of the chicks at our work site. A really cute girl in need of a make over. She'd probably have an abusive boy friend and a drug addiction. The greedy governor would condemn her building to put in a race track and her boyfriend would be selling drugs to the Gov's daughter, maybe even boinking her. We'd come on the scene in our landscaping truck most likely packin' heat, maybe a rocket launcher mixed in with the rakes and shovels. There'd be a lot of explosions and one of us would rescue the girl and the other would choke the Governor out and put the fear of God into him with our hedge trimmer. Something like that. This job just isn't exciting enough, man."

"Your probably right. None the less, we have a story without the guns. I wake up everyday to the sound of my alarm clock. It rips me out of dreams. It's friggin' traumatic, man. I pull on my trousers, brush my teeth, and come here to work. This is noble. It might be invisible, but it's noble, right? I mean this is epic. We are the working poor. We are America. We have a story!"

He laughs. We pull into the job site. We inspect it out loud: the grass has grown quite tall in a week. The side walk edges are furry, the Fontainea hedges need to be trimmed. "Alarm clocks don't sell movies," he says. "We tell stories about men in castles and princesses that need saving. We're living out a comedy, man."