blue sea glass

the two writers

2010-03-04T08:32:00.002-03:30

"For instance, this blustering , arrogant, self-assured, muscularly disdainful writer who belittles and brushes you aside, what is he, really? When illicitly spotted facing the lonely glow of his computer screen, he is no more than a helpless milquetoast paralyzed by the prospect of having to begin a new sentence."
-Cynthia Ozick

it's not just the kimchi I miss

2010-03-03T21:27:00.008-03:30

Hi! Dana~ Well...I was wondering your mail. But finally I decided to send you a mail.

I hope you don't forget me, Emily. Well...Now I love English more. Because...Do you know 'FRIENDS'? That is America sitcom...That's not accurate, but it is a sitcom. 'FRIENDS' was finished, but I have 'FRIENDS' DVD. So I'm learning speaking skill from that program. I really love it! It's fun and...good! i just love it! Veeee~ry much! It already finished in...2004, Oh! And 'FRIENDS' has a lot of seasons....1 to 10!

I'm sorry...I think that was my advertisement. HaHa..But I think you would like that. If you know Jennifer Aniston, Courteney Cox or Lisa Kudrow, it'll be more fun. And Matthew Le blanc, Matthew Perry or David L. Schwimmer, that will be more more fun! Ha~ Ha! Because they are in that program. Oh, I forgot about story. Three girls and three boys are friends, and they made fun episodes. We can feel their friendship.

Back to the e-mail...I hope you reply me. I'm wondering your news.

Bye-Bye then...

Forever your student, Emily

the light

2010-02-24T01:03:00.003-03:30

the traffic is never-ending on water street. all hours of the night, the rev of engines and subwoofer bass, girls screaming. I'm 27 and ready to give up. I could quit now, pack it all in, consider it finished. it wouldn't mean much. wake by 7, work by 8:30. paycheck to paycheck. I've forgotten what it's all for. 27 and tired. 27 and is this it. this can't be it. water street is full of hacks. but they've learned to get by while I'm awake on prospect, ready to give up. awake, dreaming of sleep. waiting for morning. dreading morning. I've forgotten what it's all for.

cousin Tone

2009-11-23T21:24:00.002-03:30

We used to hang around together when we were 14, 15. I remembers one night Tone and I were out and I had come down the hill, heading for home and I left Tone at the gate there not far from his house and I went on home. I was home and in bed when mudder calls out to me, "What happened to Tone?" He was always getting in fights those days, and not with kids his own size. He was 14 and had to be getting in fights with fellars who were 17 or 18. I yells out "I left him at Ada's Gap there and came on home." She bawls out, "Aunt Winnie's on the phone, says Tone never came home." It must've been 3 or 4 in the morning. We all gets our coats and boots on and goes out looking for him, calling out his name, checking ditches, didn't see no sign of him. Eventually we went on back to the house, wondering if we should call the cops or what. By and by we gets a call from Aunt Winnie. She says Tone was home the whole time. Came on home and crawled in behind his sister. When she looked in to check on him she never seen him. We gave her a hard time over that one. Poor Winnie.

happy halloween

2009-10-31T07:53:00.001-02:30

Schatz,

2009-10-06T23:13:00.003-02:30

I need to be told often that it's not the end of the world.

piss-ant

2009-07-16T00:41:00.001-02:30

is not the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind.

2009-06-30T20:54:00.002-02:30

I was in the waiting room at my doctor's office today. I found myself being strangely drawn to a stack of children's books. They were Little Golden Books mostly. Seeing them there, at the doctor's office, on one of those little kid-size tables, made me recall the multitude of visits I made to the old Janeway when I was little. Every 3 months from the age of 2 until I was about 9. My mom and I'd be there for hours. We must've read every book in the building. I remember looking on all the tables for ones we hadn't read or looking for ones I wanted to read again. My mom was probably sick of me asking for another.

When my doctor looked into my ears today, checking for infection, she said, "Oh my, you've got more scars in this ear than I've ever seen in one ear before." I said, "I know. I had a ruptured something or other in my ear when I was 2. I had tubes from then until I was 9. Back and forth to the Janeway all the time." "I could tell," she said, "who was your doctor?" "I can't remember his name. He was Chinese." "Was it Chang?" "Yeah, that's it!" "He's still there, you know." "Wow, he must be close to 80 by now. He used to call me Donna."

Then, again, I remembered the Little Golden Books. I read a few on my way out: The Saggy Baggy Elephant, The Happy Man and His Dump Truck, and The Kitten Who Thought He Was a Mouse.

For Dad

2009-06-18T21:32:00.013-02:30

Horsey

In a family of six children,
how the horse survived 
I can only imagine. 
But it did. I’ve seen it in the attic. 

Here it is, mid-September, 1959, 
smelling of new, untarnished tin –
that pungent and musky rush to the nostrils
mixing and mucking with the smell of 
birthday cake and blueberries and jealousy. 


         Poor girl! How she pouted! 
         Stomped her foot in the dirt!
         Threw Dolly down in disgust! Cried at the injustice!
         Hated the world! And wailed for Mommy!

While he sat proud,
The Birthday Boy high-and-mighty,
a head above 
his older sister
         (that spiteful young tot
         who’d protest his existence
         by pinching  him in the Sunday pew 
         when no one was looking),

and, in his glee, giggled
and rocked and galloped, 
and forgot she existed, 
until Mother interjected, broke the spell,
and insisted 
            he get down 
            and let his sister 
            have her turn. 



Copyright © 2009 by Dana Evely

excerpt (for Schatz)

2009-06-15T14:33:00.005-02:30

Stars and stars and stars
keep it to themselves
Have you ever noticed how private
a wet tree is
a curtain of razor blades
Love me because nothing happens

-Leonard Cohen

shithead

2009-06-13T13:09:00.001-02:30

I'm real sorry, Joel. I feel like a nob.

the month of June

2009-06-05T10:09:00.002-02:30

It's June. Blair Harvey's Meltdown Tour is over. Tuesday nights at the Cat will be put on hold for a bit. And my sweetheart left on a tugboat. Well, alright. Here's what I'll do:

-Write. Got some challenges to set for myself. Some calls for submissions that sound interesting. Send me a challenge if you'd like.

-Knit. In the summertime. It makes me feel productive.

-Bike/Hike. I took my bike out for a run the other day and it's my new favourite thing to do. I'd also like to get a few East Coast Trail jaunts on the go soon.

-Read. The Meltdown made it hard for me to finish a book. Now the nights won't be so late.

The month of June won't be long going. I'm enjoying the ride.

the broken ones

2009-04-26T01:03:00.003-02:30

How do you get back there?Once you've left a place for so long -- moved on, grew up, buried the hatchet, deadened the nerves, with a good riddance and fuck you anyway -- how do you get back there? How do you get back there to the place where it all started? If you don't get back there, how on earth do you figure out where you are now if it someday occurs to you that you've forgotten or you've lost all feelings but can still faintly recall the hurt and the anger that was so plentiful back then that it would bubble over and pour out of you and you hated it at the time but now you'd give anything for a taste of it for the small hope that you're not numb and vacant and empty but that you are still capable of screaming bloody murder at the bullshit fuckjobs and the day-to-day hassles that make this existence so goddamn painful--

Where are you if you don't know where you are?

The Woman from Badger's Quay

2009-04-16T22:01:00.006-02:30


"Let's see that pretty smile."

"Go away wit' ya maid.
No one wants to see that."

With that smile maybe I could stop drinking,
buy a house,
tend sheep,
raise kids,
spin yarn,
hook rugs,
wash dishes,
and then
put out the laundry.

II.

Her smile made me think of
something I had written
when I was in love
       and sixteen:

         You make me smile, full, 
           with lips spread and teeth seen 
           standing at attention, 
           like white-clad military men. 

Drivel, I think now. Only because I know
more about broken hearts
       and less about bliss.

III.

Even if her teeth aren't real
there's nothing false
      about that smile.

April: cruelest month.

2009-04-15T23:28:00.004-02:30

Birthday blues.

Fear of cancer.

Multiple tests.

Pray for parasites.

By myself.

* * *

2009-04-09T04:08:00.000-02:30

April 9th/88 -no wind this morning but it's very foggy. Can't see the other side of Carbonear. Just finished breakfast. Maisie is sleeping away. Phyllis is working today. Dana's birthday is today but celebrated it yesterday. She is 6 years old. If it clears up & gets warmer maybe go for a walk. It's now 5:10 a.m.

(from the journals of Gordon C. Chislett, my great-grandfather)

another year, schatz

2009-04-08T19:31:00.003-02:30

Somehow I made it. Somehow I always make it.

Suddenly, I'm 27.
Tomorrow.

Got nothing else but that. Got no one else but you.

dull

2009-03-04T20:03:00.002-03:30

I need something fun and exciting to happen.

For Schatz

2009-02-14T18:20:00.004-03:30

I saw the sun spread itself across the snowy hill
and the hill in turn light up
with a fire.

They held that embrace for an eternity, the fire burning brighter,
waxing ardor, as I held my breath
from the window.

Copyright © 2009 by Dana Evely

Look Homeward, Exile (excerpt)

2009-02-11T07:15:00.002-03:30

I remember my Creator in the old ways:
I sit in taverns and stare at my fists;
I knead earth into bread, spell water into wine.
Still, nothing warms my wintry exile - neither
Prayers nor fine love, neither votes nor hard drink:
For nothing heals those saints felled in green beds,
Whose loves are smashed by just one word or glance
Or pain - a screw jammed in thick, straining wood.

-George Elliott Clarke

the 30 minute poem returns...

2009-02-03T00:19:00.004-03:30

how easier it would be to give up

to lie limp, to wait it
out

your body slack, and peaceful,
still, as in a coffin,
still like a ship at harbour

but, no
you had to fight tooth and nail, useless

a small thing against a pack of wolves,
their noses fixed on the smell of blood,
their teeth ripping in to skin like bullets
the pain made worse by moving

then after, a heap of burned open flesh,
the raw remains of insides fought for,

lost,
left now for the vultures and crows
to peck at

their claws holding down
the nerves still twitching

the game of life

2009-01-02T00:04:00.001-03:30

"Don't the moon look good, mama,
Shinin' through the trees?"
-Bob Dylan

It's funny how songs appear from somewhere in your head, by some trigger, at some random moment out of the day.

I'm chilled to the bone on Prospect Street. I can't sleep because I'm thinking about the coffee I'll have in about 7 hours.

Life is good though. Even more so with board games.

And life is hard.

this poem is not very Christmasy...

2008-12-25T08:11:00.006-03:30

X

you have this habit
of just showing up, out of the blue

what it does to me I can compare to a room

inside this room
the items are carefully chosen and placed

a dated calendar left hanging on a hooked nail
an orange plush chair with its arms opened
untouched for years

pictures adorn the walls, the captured moments
lie comfortable in their frames

the room stands on edge
always clean and waiting

until, out of the blue,
you walk into it

your arms swinging and
legs dancing across the carpet

you sit on all the furniture
and pick up things carelessly

and lay them down in the wrong places

when you leave, I try to fix it
with lemon-scent and alcohol

but your fingerprints are hard to find
and the room goes back to waiting

Copyright © 2008 by Dana Evely

moonlighting

2008-12-22T16:28:00.002-03:30

I think that when I start my job in January, I'll have to do most of my writing at night, as well as most of my knitting.

I have a "knitting line" sketched out - a line of knitted items that I think would be fun to make and lucrative to sell. I need a name for my "business." I have brainstormed the following:

-yarnlove
-

Well, that's all I have right now.

Ideas?

haiku

2008-12-16T12:24:00.001-03:30

You can't drive crying.

It's bad enough with the rain.

Pull over, foolish girl.

2008-12-16T02:06:00.001-03:30

I've been told that I am "a very serious person."
I can crack a joke or two.
It's not as though I mope around the house in sad lounge pants, contemplating the meaning of life.
I mope around the house, yes.
Someone's got to keep the dog company.
And I get in dark life-contemplating moods from time to time.
Someone's got to wonder what it all means.
I do, however, make a point to be respectfully attired.

It's unbelievably windy today.

Here's a joke:

Q: What did the mayonnaise say to the fridge?

......

A: Close the door please. I'm dressing.

Here's another:

Q: What's round and dangerous?

......

A: A vicious circle!

So it goes.

'tis the season for plans

2008-12-15T13:56:00.002-03:30

I spent the better part of 4 months dealing with reverse culture shock (it's much sneakier than its counterpart) and kind of hanging in a suspended state of restlessness. It has been a strange 4 months. During those 4 months my Korean wons have dwindled and it's time for some serious action. But, hey! I got plans!

I have landed an ABA therapist position that is going to allow me to happily scrape by in St. John's. I figure I can work this job, do some writing, and slowly immerse myself into the social scene again, until around August. At that time I am going to land a real teaching job and begin my "working towards retirement" life. Perhaps.

I feel very happy about these plans. They seem about right.

Unfortunately, these plans require start-up cash. I am now in the need of a get-rich-quick scheme that will allow me to get settled in St. John's until I start getting regular paychecks. Ideas?

pet peeve

2008-12-11T11:19:00.002-03:30

I cringe every time I see (or hear) someone refer to Newfoundland as "Newfieland." This is particularly cringeful when it comes from a Newfoundlander.

It's not a pride thing.

It's not even a correct use of terminology thing.

It's the sound of it.

Newfieland. It's dreadful.

Newfieville. Newfietown. Newf City.

They all sound better.

Or perhaps we can leave it alone. Newfoundland. That's lovely sure.

god love 'em

2008-12-02T07:32:00.001-03:30

hi! This is Jinny. I'm in Canada. In Vancouver(Pitt Meadows in Maple Ridge)-lI think. It could be wrong but I'm sure that I'm in Pitt Meadows.I didn't send you a mail for a while.Sorry~ I forgot it.Are you in Newfound land or in SEA? I miss you. I hope I can meet you. I didn't wanted to go but I had to go because of my mom. If your in Newfound Land, can you please send me a picture of Chipper? I'd love to see it.I miss him too... I can still remember we gave a present for his birthday. I hope his fine and you too! Bye~! If I can, I'll send you other e-mail next time~!!!

-from your old student, Jinny-

tell me why I don't like Mondays.........

2008-12-01T00:03:00.004-03:30

"I can't go get my bloodwork done, looking like this."

2008-11-29T21:57:00.002-03:30

My grandmother is home from the Health Sciences Centre after having heart surgery and a collapsed lung. She is doing well, but needs someone with her all the time. So, we all take turns. I was over there today.

So was the lady who does my Nan's eyebrows.

That was unexpected.

Fridays are for fun

2008-11-28T02:16:00.004-03:30

Remember in highschool when all the skeety b'ys in the corridors would yell, "It's Fryyyy-day!"

Right fried, they were.

After a family supper (I cook, these days. Weird, wha?), the old man is at the table, Coors Light in hand, talking about fellars at work and how young workers these days are useless, stoned out of their trees, smoking joints this fat (he holds up his little finger) on the commute in (that'd be 7 in the morning), when he pulls out this gem:

Father: One fellar came in the other day, best kind right, and he brought in pictures to show me 'cause the day before he had talked about how he was an outdoors type like myself, and he starts hauling out these pictures. 15 moose lined up along the guardrail, shotgun in his hand. Hunt anything, he would. Caribou, bear, birds, rabbits. Anyway, he comes to this picture of him on a Honda...bike something like the one I got there, actually...with two moose racks on either side of the front end, big grin on his face, hunting cap on his head, and you'll never guess what was on his hat...
Me: What?
Father: A pair of moose ears sewn on to the sides of it, straight up in the air. Big grin on his face.
Me: Why would he put moose ears on his cap for?
Father: He likes moose I s'pose.

er.

2008-11-22T15:59:00.004-03:30

I don't know what is wrong with me today. I can't seem to get in the mood to do anything. I don't know what to be doing. I've walked all over this house. I've gone from room to room. I've sat in chairs. Got up again. I've picked up car keys. Put them down again. I've tried to settle in to read my book. I've gone through pages without taking in the words. I've looked in the cupboards, hoping something would appeal to me. I've sat and stared at the wall. I've lain down to stare at the ceiling. I've begun menial tasks and abandoned them. I've failed to wash dishes. I've tried the TV. I've skimmed the DVDs. I've sat down. Got up again. Perhaps it's the dullness of a week of rain. Perhaps it's PMS. I really wish it'd stop.

Writing Through Pictures

2008-11-21T21:04:00.002-03:30

I am not going to Black Tickle, Labrador. They shower with salty well-water. Instead, I am going to try and do the one thing that I really want to do: a poetry course at MUN called Creative Poetry: Writing Through Pictures. In order to be considered, I have to submit several pieces of writing, as well as an introductory note about myself and my writing. You can't help me with the written pieces, but, you can tell me if this sounds alright as an introduction to Dana Evely:

Dana Evely: Introductory Note

I am a 26-year-old female from Carbonear, Newfoundland. I have a B.A. in English, as well as a B.Ed. I am currently working on my Honours degree in English. I’ve always been an anecdotal writer, but never took it seriously. For the past year and a half, I was in Seoul, South Korea, teaching ESL. It was not until then that I began to write for enjoyment and satisfaction, rather than just the need to record stories and events. The bottom line is, right now, at this moment in my life, I want to become serious about my writing. I want to see if I have what it takes. I’m not interested in this course for credit, or for the once-a-week time slot. I want to take this course because I hope it will challenge me to take greater risks with my work. I want to take this course because I need to see if I am any good as a writer. At the very least, I need to get this out of my system. If it turns out that my writing is abysmal, maybe then I can give this up and become a highschool teacher.

I mostly write poems.

I have never taken a writing course.

*****

Well, what do you think? This means a lot to me.

“The Second-Best Escape Artist”

2008-11-21T00:22:00.018-03:30


Morning comes
And I am the only one here

This room is too empty
For you to be hiding behind anything

I can trick myself into being
surprised until

I remember that this is not the first time
You left the door unlocked

The real tricky part comes
When I must leave this bed

       Suddenly
       I am no longer one
      with the bed sheets

       I too am abandoning it

Perhaps if I hunker down
The cleaning ladies will not notice

me between the sheets

That way
I won’t have to look at the landscape paintings
Or at myself under the horrid light of the bathroom mirror

       I can hide in the hamper like an escapee


Copyright © 2008 by Dana Evely

early in the morning, yet so late

2008-11-18T03:30:00.000-03:30

listen, my love.

are you done feeling bad?

Listen here.

2008-11-16T20:55:00.002-03:30

I need my fix.

C'mon now.

2008-11-15T21:29:00.009-03:30

how many times did we leap out of sleep
to feel our hearts stop dead in our chests
or worse
get stuck trying to flee through our throats

all it took was a raised voice
one good CRACK, one good curse word
in the middle of the night

all it took was a single muffled cry
before the air turned angry and all hell
broke loose

stewed rage and indignation
bawled and blared
against the silence

how many times did we forget to breathe
listening in fear, listening for MURDER
through a keyhole
through the floorboards
from under wet bedsheets, afraid to move
afraid to stop listening, afraid to be heard

how many times were we paralyzed
faces pressed into wet pillows
waiting for morning
waiting for it to be over
waiting and all the time wishing

for our own death

Copyright © 2008 by Dana Evely

ta-da!

2008-11-15T10:40:00.002-03:30

My Trinity Bay in November Vest is finished!

...

I am the oldest young person that I know.

2008-11-13T01:30:00.002-03:30

I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t quicken
at each passing word.

My eyes grew hands and gripped them;

tore the sentences apart wildly
in search of something hidden,

wildly searching for parts of my own name
strewn across paragraphs.

With the sickness of a wild-eyed junky
I ached for the climactic fix,

the calm of satisfaction,

the one word

that could offer itself

only to me.

Copyright © 2008 by Dana Evely

it always comes back to this

2008-11-10T23:50:00.002-03:30

"We live together, we act on, and react to, one another; but always and in all circumstances we are by ourselves." -Aldous Huxley

you & me both

2008-11-08T13:44:00.002-03:30

"He wrote nothing and the books were closed. He walked much, out in the hills, and loafed long hours in the quiet parks. He had no friends nor acquaintances, nor did he make any. He had no inclination. He was waiting for some impulse, from he knew not where, to put his stopped life into motion again. In the meantime his life remained run down, planless, and empty, and idle." -Martin Eden (London)

Wait

2008-11-04T00:37:00.019-03:30

"HEY! Wait. Don't just walk away from me."

I can do whatever I goddamn please.

"Wait up, luh. Listen. ...I forgot to tell you...how awesome you are."

The words came out awkward and clumsy, like a poorly-delivered punchline. They sounded juvenile and silly; a last-ditch effort to keep the night alive, and therefore, an outright mockery of the seriousness of it all. The night was black and calm. Leaves rustled as the trees shifted their weight discreetly, in the likeness of an audience settling into their seats gingerly, for fear that sudden movement would draw attention, and therefore disrupt the performance.

Fuck. I don't need this tonight.

She stops but doesn't turn around. He considers it a small victory and proceeds. "OK. That's not what I wanted to say. It's true, don't get me wrong." She prepares to lash out with a snickering laugh but is stopped at the start. "Would you just listen to me for a minute. You're awesome, sure ya knows that. I can say it better than that though." He fumbles for the next thing to say, searching his mind for a prepared speech that would cover all bases, one that could possibly rectify all the damage he's caused.

It doesn't matter, it can’t change anything. The whole thing is already gone to shit.

"See, it's like this. Life is full of a lot of bullshit. It'd kill a man, it would. But, you. See, you're different. You're one of those shining lights, or whatever. You're something else. She never meant a thing to me, I swear." A groan came from the voice inside his head. Who does he think he's talking to? She'd never fall for a desperate line like that.

Fucksakes. Where is this going?

He continues the ramble shamelessly, finding comfort in the fact that he can't make it any worse. "You mean so much more to me than her. You're....real. You're like...like a good book, one that you can get into. One of them books that asks you to come on in, even if you've been there before. Come in, it says, I'll give ya shelter from the storm. Just like that Dylan song, that's what you're like."

As if hearing its cue, the wind picks up hastily and blows a strong breath through the buttons of the coat he's wearing. She lowers her head and braces herself against the cold. The trees are shaken momentarily, but settle themselves in again as the wind exits as hastily as it arrived.

How long can this go on? 5 minutes? an hour?

Clearly he has no plans to ditch his efforts and go home out of it. They had come this far into the woods. He wasn't leaving without a clear conscience. He wasn't about to keep this all in. "But, even then, that's not all I could say. Now, don't let this scare you. Listen to what I have to say. Look...do you remember that time, up at the cabin...when you read those poems aloud to me, and I made fun of you for wearing your grandfather's old cap?" He knew she wasn't going to like a direct reference from the past. To her the past was dead the moment he left her for the brunette on the northside. She had only one image in her head, and she was nowhere in that picture.

Ah, shit. That’s it. I ought to walk away. I ought to get the fuck out of here. I can't go through this again.

"Now, listen, I'm not trying to bring up all that again, I'm not. I just want to tell you that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for making a joke of it. For not appreciating you, or whatever. It scares me sometimes, when the sunlight catches your eye...Nothing else in the world exists but that light and your eyes...." He is startled by the truth of it. He hopes it sounds as good to her as it does to him.

She glares at him with hardened eyes. The moon offers no light and remains veiled by a cloud. The night stays dark. The leaves on the trees are eerily still, waiting. He doesn't feel the piercing glare. He talks to fill a pause. "Life has a lot of bullshit, like I was saying. It can get a person down sometimes. When I get down like that, I search my troubled mind for a clear memory like that of you. A few words you wrote. A look you gave. The way you tell it like it is." At this she stops listening, shuts down. It's a tired speech and one she's heard before.

What am I supposed to say? It's too late for sorry.

"Now, wait. I'm not finished. You got to let me finish. See, the thing is, you're there, out there in the world, and if you walk away now and I never see you again...well, the world is a better place just knowing you're in it." He has arrived at what he wanted to say all along and feels relief at hearing it. She can take it or leave it now. There's nothing more he can say or do.

What the fuck am I doing here again? How long can this go on?

He chances a step toward her. Her eyes soften slightly, as she moves from anger to hopelessness. He misreads her look of despair as a look of longing and warmth. "I know it sounds cheesy, but don't give me that smirk. I'm serious, luh. I don't have very much to rely on, to live for, but, I got that. I know I didn't say it very well. I bet someone wrote a poem or a song that says it all, says it better than I can. I'm gonna find it...and...if I can't find one that says everything I want to say, I'm gonna write it. Either way, I'm gonna read it to you. It'll say everything I want to say. Just you wait and see." He imagines a single word, a single line, that could change everything. With the right words he could erase the mistakes he made, he could win her back. It's not impossible. She could forgive him. She's hurt and angry now, but things could change.

That’s it. Put an end to it. Walk away....just walk away.

"Just you wait...."

The outline of a figure can be seen leaving the clearing, taking the dirt path back to town. She'll come back. He kicks at some loose rock and wonders if the b'ys have left the lot yet. A flask of whiskey in his pocket tells him he can forget the whole fucking ordeal. The leaves are breathless, compassionate. The night is at its darkest. The silence that remains in the clearing is painful and it ticks on for several seconds before it is suddenly broken by low erratic bursts of sound that fall dead and foreign on deaf trees.

Copyright © 2008 by Dana Evely

mmmuffins

2008-10-28T16:50:00.002-02:30

we are sisters under our skins

2008-10-28T00:28:00.006-02:30

I've really let it go too far. Her name gets mentioned and I fall off the deep end. Every time I think about how I was pushed aside all those years ago, I lose it. I lose it and she comes waltzing back in. Every time I get caught in that same rut I go and do something stupid. I let my defenses down. I stop fighting for my own dignity. I lose all regard for myself. I feel as though I am nothing, so I watch that nothingness walk through this city and lose herself in another dark alley. I almost wish she'd disappear. I watch her walk away and hope that she doesn't come back. I do nothing to stop her. I do nothing to warn her of the dangers. I hope that she's destroyed. But, when she comes back bruised and broken, torn from the insides, I realize that she's never going to leave. I'm stuck with her. I'm the only one there with her when she bleeds. I watch her crumpled figure on the bathroom tiles. I hear her fingernails scratching. I see the nails turn white. She's just a girl. She's just a girl whose been done wrong. She was sinned against and I hate her for it. I hate her and I'm the only one she has. I have to pick her up off the floor. I have to keep her from killing herself. But, she does nothing to thank me. She'll go out and get hurt again. She'll cry herself to sleep wondering why the world's so cruel. I'm all she has and it's killing me.

2008-10-25T10:58:00.002-02:30

" I -I -I grew up in Dullsville /On the windowsill /With my head in my hands "
-The Novaks

I've got to get out of here.

Open Line

2008-10-16T11:17:00.011-02:30

well, you really are fuckin saucy
ain't ya?
puts up no fronts I tell ya
sure I was only lookin
havin a gawk at Mr. Newfoundland Author
can't say I even recalls any of it
was after drinkin a bottle
at this point sure
it's not as though I was meself
yer missus can put
her claws back in
I don't make no habit of lookin for trouble
it sure as fuck can find me
on its own
so you can saunter up all ya wants
with yer permascowl
and yer spurs
give me lip like some punkass
blue-eyed highschool bully
I ain't too worried about it
(I'm a little worried about it)
It was a fucked up night
hell, it ought to be forgiven
I'm as harmless as they come
and I'll still buy your
twenty fuckin dollar books
so long as you'll write them sure
ya knows

Copyright © 2008 by Dana Evely

your one window

2008-09-16T14:36:00.004-02:30

In such a busy city
It’s hard to find a place
Where you can gather two thoughts
Out of the day
To hold them like a kite against the skyline

From every window
Is the wall of another building
And every night we get lost
In the lights of the boulevards
Or in the four walls of our one room apartments

Every day, with a thousand others,
We attempt the daily routine of
Streets, subway cars,
Crosswalks, stairwells
And the shoddy elevators of office buildings

But in the early morning light
From your one window
Our thoughts find us easily
So we struggle to hang on to them
Afraid to see them get lost amid the motion

Copyright © 2008 by Dana Evely

2008-08-31T23:50:00.003-02:30

The Dory Buff Boat
(a tribute to William Carlos Williams)

so much depends
upon

a dory buff
boat

trimmed with chrome
green

amongst the eager
seagulls.

Copyright © 2008 by Dana Evely

Schatz,

2008-08-26T16:23:00.004-02:30

Are we the only ones who know exactly what we'd be missing?

Town-A-Thon Top 5

2008-08-23T23:21:00.005-02:30

Town-A-Thon is what Maggie and I have dubbed my first week back in St. John's, Newfoundland. We had a lot of things planned and the city really delivered.

1. Signal Hill Hike - Maggie and I did a few hikes on Signal Hill, the best being the North Head Trail. We did this 1.7 kilometer hike in the a.m. on a beautifully sunny day. From the Cabot Tower parking lot, you descend (almost 500 m) down some rather steep steps. A lot of them, actually. From there, you hike across some rough rocky terrain, through some shrubs, over some windy hills, and along some steep and unsafe cliffs. There is one area that is nothing but a goat path on a cliff, above the Atlantic Ocean, where the only thing preventing you from falling over the edge is a chain anchored to the rocks that you can hang onto as you pray for your dear life. Your proximity to the ocean is breath-taking. The workout you get on the ascent back up to the parking lot is also well worth it. The only downfall, is that once you make the 45 minute hike along the cliffs, from Cabot Tower to the Lower Battery Road, you just have to turn around and go back again. It doesn’t loop around nicely. But, the hike is so beautiful that you really don’t mind doing it again, with a slightly different view. Plus, after making it up all those stairs back to Cabot Tower, you feel just like Rocky. For anyone who would like to see more, you can search North Head Trail on youtube.com. There is a lovely slideshow that shows some excellent shots of Newfoundland.

2. Bowring Park - I found myself at Bowring Park several times, and always with good company. It’s nice to walk through some green, open spaces with a friend or sit by the pond with a coffee and a bagel and a conversation.

3. Live Music - As always, St. John’s did not disappoint with the number of shows going on this past week. Maggie and I took in Dr. Peter Narvaez and his rowdy blues at The Ship, some much-needed, long-overdue Ian Foster at The Rose & Thistle, Blair Harvey’s surprisingly jovial Sunday open mic, Chris Kirby’s dirty blues guitar at The Fat Cat, Mick "his guitar sounds like love" Davis at the Cat, the lovin’ it Kurt Moyst open mic at The Musician’s Bar, and am I leaving out anything there, Maggie? I also saw Ian Foster and the Thieves play a free show mid-day at Harbourside Park, before driving back out to Carbonear. It was delightful. I could have relived it a thousand times.

4. Batman.

5. Sightings - Unlike Seoul, St. John's has such colourful characters: Joel Hynes looking mean at The Rose, Ron Hynes sauntering down Water Street, Blarvey and his little boy, Townes, at Bannerman Park, Jamie March at Hava Java, Elliot Dicks in several locations, and Kevin Kelly at Harbourside Park. Good characters all over the place.

All in all, Town-A-Thon was a huge success. There were equally awesome things that didn’t make it on the list. I suppose it would have been fair to make a longer list. Well, here they are: Montreal tickets!, wheatgrass shots, hiking boots, sleep-over parties, wine, dresses, India Gate, Guinness, new people, old friends, Cora’s, toasted cheese sandwiches, walks, and, last but not least, Moo Moo’s ice cream. I should move to town.

For those who had a role in Town-A-Thon, feel free to add a story or something that I may have hastily left out. Also, let's do it again sometime.

Put da kettle on, mudder.

2008-08-11T08:29:00.001-02:30

Newfoundland is bloody cold.

It's August, lard dine.

Don't cry for me South Korea.

2008-07-27T21:08:00.002-02:30

I fly back to Canada in a few days. I don't have plans to return to Korea, but you never know. Here's to good times, wonderful memories, and new adventures to come! See you back on the Rock.

The Little Canadian Teacher

2008-07-24T20:43:00.007-02:30

Once upon a time, there was a little Canadian girl who decided to move to South Korea and teach English. After much research, she chose an English academy called Sarah's English Academy. She chose this academy for a few reasons. First, the acronym spelled out the word sea, S-E-A. This little teacher really had a love for the sea. Second, S.E.A. could also stand for South East Asia. This little teacher loved homonymous acronyms. Third, she thought the name rather quaint and hoped the school would be familial and close-knit, unlike one of those big hagwon chains. She thought it sounded like just the place where she would be appreciated. It was all very exciting. The little teacher had never been to Korea before. It took her some time to settle in, but she instantly loved her classes and was so happy to teach such eager students every day. This little teacher loved the English language, and was quite content to teach her students how to spell cat, or to teach more difficult concepts like the third conditional. She was so happy to go to work. I suppose there were some bad days, but there were so many good days, and she met so many nice people, that eighteen months went by. One morning, after eighteen months, she woke up and realized that it would be her last day of teaching at S.E.A. The little teacher had to go back to Canada, where her little family and her little black-and-white dog were waiting for her. She was sure going to miss all of her students. She knew that it was going to be a sad day. But, she put on a brave face, and told herself, "You will always have the wonderful memories you've made this past year and a half, and, even though it is sad to leave, you will always be able to look back on this time and be proud of yourself for being a little Canadian teacher who decided to teach in South Korea."

Thoughts on Nightclub Complainers

2008-07-20T23:03:00.003-02:30

Disclaimer: This entry is not intended to attack those who attend nightclubs, it is intended as a commentary on those who attend nightclubs scantily-clad and then later complain about not being treated with respect by the opposite sex. It is really a declaration of my inability to understand what goes on these days.

I am sat in my apartment on a humid Sunday afternoon, the middle of July, with my one small window open wide, listening to the rain’s pitter-patter on the pavement. It’s the rainy season in South Korea. I just walked back from the late afternoon coffee run when the rain started in heavy. The air feels cleaner, smells sweeter, and everything feels a little sharper, the edges less wilted by the sickly heat of the cars, the people, and the sun. My Sunday plans were rained out so I’ve spent the majority of the day in a kind of lackadaisical stupor, my thoughts preoccupied and introverted.

I realized last night, as the result of a conversation I had at a friend’s place, that I am out-of-touch with the times today. I don’t mean the bigger picture. I read the news. I mean socially, specifically with the power politics between men and women. I don’t go clubbing. I don’t get dolled up on the weekend, and hit the bar scene, with the sole purpose being to meet guys (or girls, for that matter). I’m not a recluse. I go to bars from time to time. I see what goes on. Women play the part of the sensual goddess; men play the part of the conquering warrior. If I were to count the times that I’ve seen women shaking their “assets” on the dance floor and the times that I’ve seen men become persistently one-track minded they would probably add up to the same number. I’ve also, as of last night, heard women complain of the off-putting nature of the come-on lines of these men. There is a whole world out there of sexual politics that goes on at nightclubs and bars that I just can not relate to. It’s not just that I don’t understand it. I can not relate.

This epiphany of sorts that occurred last night got me thinking. At first I felt antiquated, oblivious, like an outsider. Then, I felt mediocre, boring, like an old brown shoe. These women, the ones that wear short skirts and made-up faces, are fully aware that they have sexual power. They can use this power to their advantage. The men that are attracted to these women have their own power and this power consequentially makes these women feel appreciated and attractive. These women and these men feed off each others’ power, each believing that they have the dominant power and, thus, control. I want the same thing as everyone else. I want to feel appreciated and, dare I say, desired. But, I wouldn’t go looking for it on a dance floor, under a black light, in an inebriated crowd. If, by some chance, I did, I would never complain later that I get no respect from guys at nightclubs. I certainly wouldn’t sugar-coat the dance floor or my intentions, by saying that what I’m really looking for, in my short skirt and heels, as I grind with strangers, is appreciation. If you want appreciation try putting on some respectable clothing and cruising the book stores or coffee shops. If you love getting dressed up and going out dancing, there are more respectable establishments than the ones where ladies drink for free.

I feel as though I am waiting for the rest of the world to grow up.

zzz

2008-07-07T15:21:00.002-02:30

I truly hate tossing and turning and trying to get to sleep. I hate knowing the next day at work will be exhausting.

I do, however, find comfort in the fact that I don't understand, and may never understand, the surrealistic work of David Lynch.

Schatz,

2008-07-02T21:29:00.002-02:30

Isn't the sound of rain on the pavement beautiful at 6 a.m.?

hapless

2008-07-02T12:08:00.002-02:30

If I had not extended my contract and returned to Korea to teach for 6 more months(and thus, overextended myself) I would not have missed out on the following events in beloved Newfoundland:

1) Leonard Cohen at Holy Heart
2) Bob Dylan at Mile One (on his birthday, no less)
3) The Stanley Cup/Canada Day/Dan Cleary Brouhaha in Harbour Grace

We are a mere 6 months into 2008 and it's already been one hell of a year in NL.
There are other festivities and events that didn't make it into the top three.

I intended to rant about my soft spot love for Leonard Cohen and how I've always answered "Dylan, most likely" whenever asked who I'd want to see in concert if I could see anyone, but it seems to do nothing towards forgiving Lady Fortune. It has truly been some cosmic joke that is more cruel than funny. (I have no qualms about missing the Cup. We all know I'm not a fanatic sports fan, but I needed a third in the list, otherwise it would have looked sparse).

The last 5 months have been great though. Don't get me wrong. It's just, couldn't Cohen and Dylan have come to Newfoundland while I was there! C'mon! It's so bloody inconceivable that it's almost funny. Almost. Brilliant time to come out of seclusion Cohen, brilliant. Thanks buddy.

It's July. I come home in July. :) Let's share a walk along some rocky shore.

sometimes my arms bend backwards

2008-05-22T21:00:00.006-02:30

It was a Monday night. It was colder than normal, less stifling with city heat, because we had just had a thunderstorm the day before. It breaks up the air, as they say. Quite recently, I had taken to watching Twin Peaks, a 1990s TV series about the investigation of the death of a high school homecoming queen. I never saw it back in the early 90s, so I was eager to find out just what happened to Laura Palmer. Anyways, it was on this particular Monday night that I had watched the episode where Agent Cooper has the dream where he is in the room draped in red curtains and is talking to the Man From Another Place and the deceased Laura Palmer. Both of these characters had been filmed backwards and spun forward, the result being freakish and sort of disturbing. The Man From Another Place dances to a jazzy song, the deceased Laura Palmer, when asked if she is Laura Palmer, says "I feel like I know her, but sometimes my arms bend backwards" and whispers the name of the killer in Agent Cooper's ear.

It was on this night, at 1:00 a.m., after watching the strangest dream sequence ever, that I had gone out in the cold air to take out the garbage, and thus, witnessed the strangest thing I have ever witnessed. I placed the garbage in the bin, raised my head and was about to turn to walk back inside, when I saw it. Ten feet from the garbage, in the middle of the road, lying horizontal and rigidly straight across the pavement, was a girl. She had on very white sneakers, jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt. Both of her arms were behind her back, her long straight black hair was splayed across her face. My immediate thought was "Oh God! This woman is dead." Her position, in the middle of the road, looked almost staged, like she was part of a scene in a movie. At the moment when I was deciding whether to scream or call 119 (Korea's 911) she moved. There was definitely a slight movement of the head. Then, she spoke. "Minseokkkkkk, Minseokkkkk." Then, a not too distant voice replies from the shadows "Neeee" ("Yesss"). Having decided that neither voice sounded distressed, hurt, angry, or alarmed, I turned around and walked back to my apartment, not wanting to be privy to whatever was happening. Once inside, I realized I was shaky. The image of her lying on the ground, in that disturbing position, was straight out of a Korean horror movie. I had to go back out and see if she was OK. I couldn't just leave her out there, in the middle of a road that is often busy with scooters and taxis. I went back out, bravely turned the corner, looked up and down the street. Nothing. Not a single person. Not a single sign of anything ever happening. It was bizarre.

It still gives me chills.

Schatz,

2008-05-17T00:36:00.002-02:30

I'd rather stay awake too.

up the wazoo

2008-05-16T23:29:00.002-02:30

After a year and a half of living in this shoebox apartment you'd think I'd have complained already...but it seems I haven't. Not only is it small, it's just one room. I am sick of this room. If I sit on the edge of my bed I can lean my feet against my fridge. My mini-fridge. In fact, I can pretty much do everything by walking 5 feet or less. Now, I do have a second room. The bathroom. It's about 3 feet by 4 feet and it's also my shower. The toilet paper rack thing is broken, the whole bathroom gets wet if I take a shower, the toilet is broken much of the time, and the door is a folding door, much like you'd find in a camper. In addition to the bathroom, my hot water tank is old and has to be reset by me every time I use it, which involves me going out to the smelly "balcony" which smells of the street I live on, which smells of meat and sewage. I'm making a pretty decent salary, this apartment is free, I shouldn't complain. It's just that I feel like I'm living in a dormitory. Only I have a landlord who is consistently creepy and likes to ask his white female tenants out for drinks or Chinese food, and questions like "What's your drinking capacity?"

Then, I think about having no place to live come August, and having to live with my parents until I figure things out.

Sure...I do things.

2008-05-12T08:29:00.003-02:30

It seems that my lack of blog posts suggests that I don't do anything. Sometimes this is in fact true. But, here's what I've done lately:

-Muuido. Due to the 3-day weekend (thanks to Children's Day), I went to Muuido last weekend. If you recall, I went there last year about this time. I had but one buddy this time, but we were able to rock Muuido in style. How glorious it was to get out of the city and into the salty air! Bungalows, sand, beers, all the kalguksu you can eat. Divine.

-Seodaemon Prison. I went to the Japanese Prison Museum here in Seoul this weekend. It was built by the Japanese during the early 20th century when Korea was under Japanese occupation. Despite the fact that it has grueling replicas of prison torture and an eerie haunting air, it was oddly quite a cheerful museum. There was lots of laughter, holograms with fairies that came to save the day, and an interactive execution chair. I felt very unsettled during it all.

-Buddhist mountain. Across the street from the prison museum was a Buddhist mountain that you could hike up. It seemed to be a Buddhist village built into the side of a mountain. Having hiked up during the weekend of Buddha's birthday, it seemed rather fitting. There were a lot of birds.

-Cat Bar. I finally had the chance to go to the famous "cat bar" in Hongdae. It's a rather hip bar with a wall of records and floor seating, with a few cats roaming about nonchalantly. It was fun.

I have about 2 1/2 months left. Hard to believe.

I couldn't have said it better.

2008-04-27T15:41:00.002-02:30

"And then along came Hemingway. What a thrill! He knew how to lay down a line. It was a joy. Words weren't dull, words were things that could make your mind hum. If you read them and let yourself feel the magic, you could live without pain, with hope, no matter what happened to you." -Charles Bukowski, Ham on Rye.

Costco

2008-03-17T09:48:00.002-02:30

-cereal
-cheese
-pineapple
-postmodernism
-salad in a bag
-salsa
-coffee (x2)
-crash helmet
-new chords
-nuts

With feet dangling over the edge...

2008-03-14T11:45:00.003-02:30

I'm not really sure if you'd call it busy. It's not as though I have a crazy hectic schedule that leaves me with 5 hours of sleep and a constant need to rush everywhere. I do have many "to do" lists. But, it's not as though they are comprised of time-consuming, all-important projects. Mostly, these lists are reminders to wash clothes, pay bills, clean the bathroom, make a test for A4 class, call home, buy light bulbs, etc. And, it's not as though my job is stressful. Yeah, I teach 12 classes, get asked to do things on a daily basis that I really shouldn't have to do because hey I'm not management, correct nonsensical tests and essays from a pile that never seems to get any smaller, deal with hearing whiny kids yelling "teacher, teacher, teacher" all day long, run around like a proverbial headless chicken because not a day runs smoothly at S.E.A. (oh, our songbooks are lost? OK; oh, the mini-whiteboards aren't here, OK).... But, it's not really stressful. It's not anything that would keep you up at night; it's not even something you'd bring home with you. And, aside from work, I don't have an insanely busy schedule. I don't go to a gym, I don't take yoga class, I don't hook rugs. I schedule time for reading, time for walks along the river, time for writing. I practice guitar, sometimes. I knit, sometimes. I paint, sometimes. I socialize, sometimes. So, why do I feel so busy? Why am I exhausted? Why am I on edge?

I partly blame the city life. Everyone's busy. Everything's moving. It's like that Kinks song, you know the best Kinks song ever:

Dirty old river, must you keep rolling
Flowing into the night
People so busy, makes me feel dizzy
Taxi light shines so bright
But I don't need no friends
As long as I gaze on Waterloo sunset
I am in paradise

I really feel like I need a weekend out of the city. It's like that Don Mclean song, you know the best Don Mclean song ever (though, only if it's the good version of the song):

But how can words express the feel of sunlight in the morning,
In the hills, away from city strife.
I need a country woman for my wife;
I’m city born, but I love the country life.

Perhaps what I need is sun. Some good ol' Vitamin D. Or a cloaking device and a Valium.

Schatz,

2008-02-20T20:24:00.004-03:30

I can't keep from thinking either.

you are wearing pink!

2008-02-06T05:04:00.000-03:30

I've been back in Korea for about 2 weeks now and aleady I have a holiday! It's soel-nal! Happy Lunar New Year! It's perhaps the most important holiday in Korea. For me, it means 3 days off work. Though I don't really need a holiday yet.

For you, it means that I have time to tell the following story:

So, last weekend I was at the Gangnam Bus Termnal, putting my cousin on the airport bus and seeing her off to Newfoundland, the best place on earth. Ahem. Anyways, it was early afternoon and I had time to kill so I decided to take a walk through the Gangam Underground Shopping Arcade. First of all, this shopping area is underground; it's like a narrow tunnel with rows of small narrow shops and kiosks, very flea market style, where there are never two items alike. Second, it's always packed with a sea of people that like to jab you in the back and push you around. For some reason, this was something I wanted to go through. So, I'm down there, taking a stroll, when I spot this t-shirt on a rack. This t-shirt had various musical instruments on it (cymbals, violin, saxophone, etc.), each one labeled in what appears to be German. The t-shirt was black on pink. Never one to like pink, I decided a while back that I was going to give pink a try. Funky pink shirt with a musical theme...I saw this as my opportunity. So, I buy this shirt. Feeling a sense of accomplishment, I head home. When I get home I try it on. Doing so, I see the following words on the back of the shirt (if there is anyone under the age of 18 present, please have them leave the room):
"MUSIKLIEBE UND MUSIKALISCHE INSTRUMENTLIEBE call-to-arms for all chunkily-penised boys to do her right and do her good - still mattered. Slut literacy was at its most defiant. Sorority school feminism ruled. Into this genuinely radical cultural milieu a white-label 12 dropped at the end of the year that neatly blew the rest into dust. Kelis Caught Out There became the toast of the town. An infidelity drama in one act, its hook"

WTF??? This is a prime example of a Korean-Let's-Write-Something-English-On-It-Tshirt. You'd never see this anywhere else. The strange thing is that it's not the first t-shirt I bought here with references to the R & B singer Kelis on it. My "It's a Post-Modern World" shirt with the newspaper-style print on it--all about Kelis and L'il Kim. Why? I have no idea.

"Your shirt's too loud! Turn it down! You are wearing pink!" Trailer Camp, anyone?
Can I really wear this shirt in public? Musical instruments, German, provocative talk, the color pink...it's a 5 dollar gem!

2008-01-12T13:41:00.001-03:30

Even with strep throat, being home is deadly awesome.

I'm currently going through what is supposed to be a cleansing process by throwing out all those things I've clung to for so many years. Remember the white bear with the red scarf and hat that I used as a pillow, tissue, and friend for years? Gone. The poor thing was found crumpled on the floor of my closet with bits of stuffing coming out of him.

It's OK. I'm a big girl. I can cry myself to sleep in a bottle of wine now. (I'm kidding, folks).

2008-01-06T01:46:00.000-03:30

Now that another year is over, perhaps it's time to lay this fairytale fantasy to rest. Let's throw it out with the tree.

Why can't thoughts and feelings be stationary? Why can't time stop long enough for things to happen? Why is it so hard for two people to find each other? You can just write the happy ending. You can put them on the same page.

It's got to be fate that's doing it.

Jesus girl, don't you know that this is only the start of it?

when she left

2008-01-01T17:02:00.000-03:30

When she left the Delta it had just begun to snow. She was staying in a room that overlooked most of downtown St. John's. She could see clear on out to the harbor, if she wanted to. But last night she stared out at the black streets below, lit up like a Litebrite, and wondered which light was his. If she concentrated real hard would he sense that she was back?

Now, in the light of morning, such hopes and fancies seemed silly. The harsher truth seemed caught by the wind, only to fall with the snow. Her name was no more than the sound of her own frozen footsteps echoing along Water Street.

home

2007-12-29T15:03:00.000-03:30

After a lengthy flight (4 different countries in 1 day) and a delayed landing in St. John's (3 hours), I found the ground beneath my feet. Arriving in St. John's is something I can't even begin to describe. I was home. In every sense of the word.

People keep asking me how it feels to be back. I have the same answer for everyone: "it feels good." But, the truth is, it feels right. If feels like a warm embrace.

I wholeheartedly regret extending my contract until the end of July. But, I suppose it'll give me something to look forward to. Can the anticipation of coming home and reliving that sense of security and relief, be a reason for leaving again? I am happy here with the smell of the ocean and the harsh winds that crack with cold. I'd like to stay in this fairytale moment forever. If only every day could be like coming home...

I find it hard not to stare at everyone I see.

13 sleeps

2007-12-11T00:05:00.000-03:30

"Busy, busy, busy everyday! Busy, busy, busy, I can't play!"

It's so very close to the end now. I've been souvenir/Christmas shopping like it's going out of style. The next 13 days are going to be insane. With the packing, the forgotten sightseeing, the picture-taking, the distribution of unwanted goods, the cleaning, I have a lot to do.

I went on my last weekend trip outside of Seoul this past weekend. Five of us went on a 4 and 1/2 hour bus ride to Gyeongju. It was wonderful. I'd tell you all about it, but I've no time (Google it, though...it's really something).

I feel like I am only now adjusted to Korea, and I have to leave. It's a strange feeling. This past year was mostly a blur. If I could go back in time and do it all differently, I would.

But, right now, I only have to concentrate on arriving home safe and sound. I'm thinking it'll all be okay once I'm home. Home, AND with gifts! It's going to be awesome! It's going to be just like.....well, Christmas.

P.S. I fly into St. John's airport at 11:58pm Christmas Eve, after a lot of air time and stopovers in several countries. Wish me luck and pray the weather holds up!!

one month

2007-11-23T22:17:00.000-03:30

So, I have about a month left! It is hard to believe that the time has gone by so quickly. But, when I think about it, a lot has happened this past year; not all of it good, but not all of it bad. I guess I have mixed feelings about my time in Korea. On the one hand, there are places in Seoul that I'm not ready to leave and never see again. The Han River has been a favorite thinking-spot and I spent a lot of time there just looking out on the water. Many places north of the river have been good to me too. Many days were spent in Insadong and Dongdaemun and Hongdae, just walking around amongst the people and the architecture. There is also so much of the city that I won't get a chance to see. On the other hand, there have been incidents this past year, which have been the subject of previous posts, that have led me to be preoccupied with the inhuman and unpleasant aspects of this world. I thought I could go through this year without being reminded that this is a cold and cruel world. Now, these incidents have absolutely nothing to do with Korea. There are heartless and selfish people everywhere. It's just unfortunate that my fond memories of Korea have been tainted by unfortunate circumstances that could happen anywhere.

I'm really going to miss cheap cab fare and the convenience of the subway system. Not to mention the convenience of convenience stores every few feet. Oh, and the lack of snow. Definitely going to miss that.

tired

2007-11-11T12:12:00.000-03:30

I want that world. I want the world with the nice home, clean yard, and complete absence of fence. I want the freshly-brewed coffee, timed to start its drip at 8 a.m. I want the sunlight through the windows, the sunlight on the patch-work quilt made from outgrown pajamas and old flannel sheets. I want to see the ocean from the kitchen window. I want the old saltbox house with brightly colored trim around the window frames and doors, a generation’s worth of paint layers, shiny and about a centimeter thick. In that world, I am older, wiser, calmer. I am a collector of ceramic tea cups of a rustic nature or perhaps porcelain figurines from the 1950s and the 1960s. I wear hand-knitted sweaters in earthy tones and I read the paper. My furniture was bought at yard sales or was passed down and none of it matches. I share that house and that furniture with a brave, kind soul who shelters me like a blanket, like a second skin. In early autumn, I walk the Atlantic beach. I climb over worn rocks that are flat and warmed by the sun. I sit and write and walk and scour the sand by the shore, looking for treasure and stories. In that world, everything is simple. Everything is clear and good. I want that world. I want that world, not this one. Not this one – with all its pain and sadness and suffering. Not this world with its selfishness, its corruption, its murder, its rape, its drugs, its politics, its suicide, its weaponry, its curse words, its ammunition, its torture, its injustice, its cruelty, its barbarianism, its confusion, its diseases. Not this one. Lord, I don’t want this one.

poem

2007-10-27T02:56:00.001-02:30

You arrived in full costume
You are tended to by busy hands
You are fed and given drink
You deceive the young maids
Who clean and bathe you
They know not that you are a
Mad savage
Bent on destruction and a fine feast
You fooled all of them
With simple sheep’s clothing

Things that are pretty awesome at this very moment:

2007-10-12T14:50:00.000-02:30

1. Sweater weather. No need for A/C.....which leads to,
2. Scarves. And knitting season.
3. Red wine at way past midnight, and solitude, which will eventually lead to,
4. Sleeping under freshly-washed sheets.

Things that will be pretty awesome tomorrow morning:

1. Coffee. Lots of coffee. Vietnamese weasel coffee.
2. Reading in bed.

After that, it's an attempt to stay on your feet while being pushed and poked and prodded by the subway rabble; it's an attempt to stay on your feet when you suddenly realize you've become another pusher in the herd, elbowing your way to the front of the gate.

But sweaters, tea, knitting, reading, yes.

Midnight Train to Busan

2007-10-06T09:46:00.000-02:30

Last weekend I took a trip to Busan after work with some friends, to meet some other friends who are hiking across Korea. In order to get to Busan, which is on the south-eastern part of the peninsula, we took the KTX train. The super-highspeed KTX train, reaching a speed of 300km/h, will get you to Busan in about 3 hours. Busan is Korea's second largest city and the number one trading port. Houses along the harbour are built close together, along the hillsides, like St. John's, only on a much bigger scale. Highlights of the trip:

1) Trains. Riding across countrysides and through cities on a super-highspeed train is just cool.

2) Jagalchi Fish Market. We ate some amazing raw and baked fish here. And some little octopi. Plus, some of us were interviewed by a film crew.

3) Haeundae Beach. Every big city should have a sandy beach.

4) Mokkoli. We drank a lot of mokkoli at a really cool house/bar that had a straw mat for a door. Mokkoli is a traditional milky drink made from rice. Very delicious. Just lovely with some boendegi.

5) U2 Bar. This is where the magic happens. In the words of Dan Galway, this is the dance floor.

I could go into detail about these and other adventures in Dynamic Busan(fashion jeans, gun fights, channel 2, George Thorogood), but really, what's the point.

excerpt

2007-09-15T10:44:00.000-02:30

"And slowly, as I grew older and raised my eyes from the sand and beyond the conventional weekend pleasures of snack vendors, and boys shinning up coco-palms, and racing camels, I heard a new voice speaking to me, not in any language I had ever learned, but in the secret language of my heart.
It was the sea. Its come-hither murmur, its seductive roar. That was the music that could wash my soul. The lure of a different element, its promises of elsewhere, gave me my first intimation of something hidden within me that would pull me across the water, leaving my parents stranded. The sea, the wine-dark, the fish-rich. The lap and suck of waves dying on sand. Rumours of mermaids. Touch the sea and at once you're joined to its farthest shore..."
-The Ground Beneath Her Feet, Salman Rushdie.

blue mood

2007-09-09T12:35:00.000-02:30

Nothing new to report. Just feeling stressed and on edge lately. Feeling hurt, but not sure why.

I really wish someone would tell me a story....

Fashion Show

2007-08-26T22:55:00.001-02:30

I was teaching basic verbs to a fairly basic class when I came to the verb 'to walk.'
To show "walking" I did a slightly exaggerated walk around the classroom. One of my students shot up his hand, sprang to his feet, and shouted, "Teacher! Fashion show!!" Then he pranced around the room doing his best catwalk moves.

Then, we all pranced around the room doing our best catwalk moves.

Priceless.

My future's so bright....

2007-08-26T22:02:00.000-02:30

A lot of things have gone unwritten. My only excuse is that I am busy. Sometimes lazy. But, mostly busy. Here are some things that have been happening recently (Vietnam trip excluded--it will get its own post and has sparked a slew of stories):

PAINTING
I have taken up painting. I don't really know what I am doing, but I think it will work out well. I have yet to finish the first painting, but I'll let you know how it goes. I was an avid painter when I was young. It'll be interesting to return to it after all these years and to move beyond watercolors and my blue paint box with the clown on the cover.

READING ON BENCHES
One of my favorite things to do now is to read on the benches in parks. When I get one of those cool mats that all the locals have, the number of places to read outdoors in the sun will increase significantly.

HIKING/WALKING
I left school one night last week with my life-coach (see below), walked across the river and then hiked up the mountain to Namsan tower. This pleasant trek has sparked other interesting walks around the city. It seems ridiculous now that I failed to see that you can in fact enjoy a long walk in the city. It ain't no walk in the woods, but I feel much more like my old self when I do it. I am also doing some yoga.

KOREAN FOLK VILLAGE
Spence and I went to Suwon yesterday and had an enjoyable day with two new Korean friends. I was not in top shape from the late night before, and my throat was a little sore from singing "Helter Skelter" with too much gusto at noraebong, but I had a lot of fun. The kimchi chun was especially good, as was the kong gooksu. The equestrian feats, the acrobatic tightrope walker, and the seesawers were impressive.

NEW LIFE STRATEGY
I have acquired a semi-professional, semi-serious life coach that has resulted in the birth of a new life strategy. Without going into details that might be embarrassing, at the core of this strategy (perhaps stratagem) is the trial of new perspectives, new ways of looking at and evaluating the things around me. Also included in this strategy: a limitation on reading and computer time, more social activity, the increase of Korean lessons, the decrease of self-deception, the increase of walking/exercising, and a ban on countdowns of any kind. I see good things for the future.

2007-08-04T12:02:00.001-02:30

I left the comfort of a clear night
When the stars seem close.
I left the warmness felt inside
When a breeze cools the skin.
I left a lost soul all alone
When the stars had gone
And I went home.

If the shoe fits?

2007-07-15T10:54:00.000-02:30

I bought new sneakers today. There's a pretty good shoe store here called ABC Mart. I immediately spotted a pair of Pumas for pretty cheap. The display shoe was a US size 6, which is my size, so the nice sales lady helped me try it on. After slipping it on my foot, I attempted to tie up the laces, but she motioned for me to stand up, and told me "you can see in mirror" and walked me to the mirror. Instead of looking at the mirror, I just held my foot out a little and glanced down at it, to see how it looked from my perspective. She was not satisfied with this. She forced my foot down and turned my leg so that I could see the side profile of the shoe in the mirror. The shoe was still untied. Refusing to buy the shoe based solely on how it looks from the side, I attempted again to tie the laces to see how it fit. She took the laces from me, I assumed in order to tie them herself. I was wrong. She tucked them into the side of my shoe so that the shoe was very uncomfortable, fixed the leg of my pants over the shoe and turned my foot sharply again and pointed to the mirror. Clearly the comfort of the shoe is not as important as the actual look of the shoe.
I bought them. They sure look good from the side.

How to Procure a Husband

2007-07-03T13:31:00.000-02:30

I told a story awhile ago about my students, one in particular, telling me that they need to find a husband for me. Well, consider this a sequel.

I was in this same class this evening and there was a new teacher observing the class. Now, this is perhaps the most difficult class I teach, consisting of mostly prepubescent boys (one who's been appropriately nicknamed Konglish Boy) all of which like to make nonsensical utterances like "pong pong pong" or sing, what they have called The Dana Song, "dana-dana-dana-danadanadana..."

So, at the end of the class, I give them 4 minutes to talk to the new teacher, David. One of my students, the same one who made the husband remark, said to me, "Teacher, can I ask you something?" I say, "Sure." He gets out of his chair, walks up to the front of the class until he's a mere 5cm away from my face and whispers, "Dana, I think that you had this teacher come into your class because I think you are trying to meet a husband." I say, "What? I think that you should share this theory with the new teacher." After initial embarrassment, he says to the whole class, "I think that you met this boy and you asked to come to your class and watch you teach so that he will like you and you can meet a husband."

Quite the theory. Impress them with my expert teaching skills. 'Tis not so easy, JiHo. 'Tis not so easy. Nor would I be smart enough to think of such an elaborate ploy.

Happy Canada Day!

2007-07-01T03:30:00.000-02:30

Canada Day celebrations included:
-an amazing shrimp and chicken salad at Outback Steakhouse.
-All You Can Drink at FF in Hongdae.
-The discovery of a new band at FF. Saint John The Gambler. They did some terrific originals as well as some covers. Dirty Old Town. They had a fiddle and an accordion. Kicked arse. They have a Myspace, if you're interested.
-Noraebong in Hongdae.
-Escorted home in a soused state.

All in all, Canada Day was not fun. It's much more fun at home, with fireworks and BBQ.

Noryangjin Fish Market

2007-06-28T13:20:00.000-02:30

Over a month ago now, I guess, all the teachers from my school went to the Noryangjin Fish Market. I haven't written about it and I guess I should give a brief word.
The Market is located across from the famous 63 Building. It smells, as you would assume, like fish. More accurately it smells like the area around 63 Southside Lower Road, Carbonear, Newfoundland, on a hot summer's day in the late 90s when the wind is northerly. The smell of prosperity, as they say. The market is huge. Thousands of square feet. The ground level is full of fresh fish in bins, alive and for the buying. Along with your tuna and your flounder, you have octopus, squid, king crab, prawns, clams, oysters, sea cucumber, pink sea-slug things, you name it. Once you pick out your sea creature of choice, the nice young man fishes it out of the bin with a net and throws it onto the floor. The fish then flails about for what seems like a cruel amount of time and then finally dies. You then get your fish sent up to one of the half a dozen restaurants on the second floor. They then cook it, or not, and serve it to you with, in our case, insane amounts of soju. You sit on a cushion on the floor at a long table, with your shoes off, amongst all of your coworkers, and right next to your boss, and down a shot of soju and eat some live, squirmy octopus that's attached itself to your chopstick. Which seems absurd now, thinking back on it. Which is why, I guess, it was so much fun. I ate a lot of raw fish, and the best king crab I have ever eaten.

After the feast comes the dessert. The fish-carcass soup. The restaurant will make a fish-bone soup out of the remaining parts of your fish. Head included.

After the fish market, we continued our escapades in a bar called the Tree Hof in Gangnam, and then, I believe, went to noraebong, and then had an apartment dance party. I am not sure the party ended. But, I know we all had to get up the next day and teach. Which, it seems, is what Korea is all about.

The Big Update

2007-06-28T12:45:00.001-02:30

I guess I should start with the immediate.

Last week, at some point, quite randomly, I noticed that my back was hurting. I must have moved a certain way and felt a burning, shock-like sensation. I don't really know. I can't recall an exact moment. There was no sudden movement that caused me a great deal of pain, a movement that I can pinpoint as being the precise moment when I strained my muscle. But it happened. It's quite possible that it happened in my sleep and it was realized the next day. But, what is certain is that it hurt. It hurt to move, it hurt to type, it hurt to hold a book. It hurt so much when I sneezed that the pain in fact snuffed out that sneeze. Shut it right up before it could even get out. It flattened yawns on the spot.

The worst part was the spasms. With a certain movement, my back would cease up and the pain was unbearable. I imagine that's how it would feel to turn into stone. Your muscles contracting and hardening. I went two days like this. Two teaching days. I had to sleep sitting up. I was defenseless against the mosquitoes that are so rampant now. I was bloody useless. There was no more dancing in my classroom. My students were long-faced. Confused.

I went to an acupuncturist. Though more practiced in treating lower-back pain, he said, "We'll try it." They shock you during acupuncture. I don't know if this is common knowledge, but I had no idea. They "electrically charge the needles." My acupuncturist was Korean. He used the word "shock." After this, there was physical therapy. This involved some sort of mechanism clamped to your back that performs a massage. A massage similar to going into convulsions. This was followed by heated clamp things suctioned to the back. I know this is vague. But I could see nothing. I am just judging by touch. The whole procedure took about an hour.

I was actually feeling much better. I slept sound that night. And the whole weekend (I had acupuncture on a Friday). By Monday, I was nearly top notch. Until I went to work. I could feel the pain slowly creeping back. Tuesday, with a prep class, typing on the computer, I had my first spasm recurrence. I am certain this pain is the result of repetitive strain.

So, I went back to the acupuncturist. He did the same procedure. This time, though, without the convulsive massage. The result: no improvement what-so-ever. The conclusion: massage is the answer.

I am going back tomorrow to ask for just that. Acupuncture with a double dose of massage. A sleepless night between then and now.

insults

2007-06-23T09:58:00.000-02:30

Old man: Dirty way-gook.

Me: Your mother's a dirty way-gook.

"any escape might help to smooth the unattractive truth..."

2007-06-18T14:40:00.000-02:30

It seems like I haven't had a good night's sleep in weeks.
Tonight, I have Chuck Palahniuk to blame.

"You'd be surprised just how fast you can close the door on your past. No matter how bad things get, you can still walk away. Learn needlepoint. Make a stained-glass lamp." -Lullaby

Easy as pie.

This appears to be an entry full of deep cryptic meaning. But it's not. It's just about a girl and her hair. And pie. There's a little bit about pie.

It was actually supposed to be about the disturbing nature of Palahniuk. But, as it is, I am tired. I am tired and I'm not liking my hair.

I will write about things you care about soon...promise...talk of learning needlepoint, noraebong, soju, and my new found love of galbi will appear in the near future.

2007-05-24T12:22:00.001-02:30

You could make a soul
Leave its body
To fight in a war
For freedom and song

2007-05-10T10:22:00.000-02:30

Last class today. Students are rowdy and full of chatter. The teacher (Dana)is about to start class.

Student 1: OH! It's funny teacher. This is funny teacher.

Student 2: No no no. This is evil teacher....Evil-ly.

Student 1: No, funny teacher! She is silly. Pong Pong Pong. (The teacher gives the student a quizzical look after this last remark).

Dana: Why am I the funny teacher?

Student 1: Because you dance and do funny face. And you do 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 thing at the end of class. (This is an attempt to get these rowdy students to be quiet for as long as possible....Once you think that they are going to make it to the count of 5, you do some sort of funny gesture, and see who cracks).

Dana: Oh, I see. So, you save all your energy and bad behaviour for me, I bet. You think I am the funny teacher, so you can do whatever you want in this class?

Student 1: No!! I think you are teacher we need to find husband for.

Students laugh. Teacher puts on an over-emphasized expression of shock and pretends to be offended. Students laugh some more.

Being 42 (I like to tell my students I am 42) and husbandless is not so cool here.
Husband??? geesh.

FREE HUGS

2007-05-09T11:14:00.000-02:30

I got some.

2007-05-06T22:43:00.002-02:30

It took a minute to hear the ocean
Conquering the rocks
The gentle waves driven by passion and purpose
But it was there
The waves lapping against rock and sand
Full of strength and constancy

I was concentrating on the
Rugged rock beneath my back
Hard and unrelenting, each crag fighting against
The weight of my body
The warmth of the sun kept me there unmoving
A blanket tucked in too tight

That, and I knew you were above me
Like a treasure from the ocean
So I listened to its determined cadence
And lost myself in the yearning

Muuido -skeet, skeet

2007-05-05T23:08:00.000-02:30

Last weekend I went to an island outside Incheon, called Muuido. There was a group of seven of us who left after work on Friday night, caught a train, and stayed in Incheon for a night. In Incheon, we got a few rooms at a love motel and went out for food and drinks. We ended up at a place with beach rocks for a floor, patio furniture for tables, and gold plates signed by people who had eaten there all over the walls. Here, we ate, drank, and discussed the many definitions of the word "skeet." Enlightening, let me tell you. skeet, skeet.

The night would also move on to include some mild fireworks, some bar drinking, some noraebong, and drinking on the Viking.

The next day, with what I have often referred to as "dryer stomach," I managed to eat very little, and prevent (the otherwise inevitable) throwing up on the two ferries and two buses it took to get to Muuido. Along the way in all this traveling, we saw some pretty interesting sea life at a little fish market. Getting outside of Seoul leads me to believe that Korea really is, as Ash has told me, a lot like Newfoundland. Well, not so much as Newfoundland today, but more like the Newfoundland that I remember when I was very young, and you would still see fishermen coming in off the water and cleaning and gutting the fish on the beach.
I want to travel outside of Seoul every weekend now. I'm not a city girl.

So, we arrived at Muuido. We got three more rooms, this time three bungalows that are pretty much boxes on stilts. But they are on the beach. And the beach is lovely.
I'm going to cop out here. I have to wrap this up. Busy day ahead. So, I'll give you the bare bones. This beach adventure would eventually include a rocket launch on the beach, a hovercraft, a beautiful sunset, fireworks, a crashed party, pissed Brits, the conquering of "Plymouth rock," and the eating of raw clams. A story about these clams will appear shortly. I had quite the ordeal, and I felt it deserved it's own separate story.

Alright, got to bail out here. I've got a productive day planned. Let's see how it goes....

2007-04-24T10:16:00.000-02:30

I just got home from work. I stopped into the convenience store (Buy the Way) to get some milk and water. While browsing in the deli section, amidst the standard ham and cheese sandwiches, a sandwich of dark-colored bread catches my eye. Upon closer inspection, in between these dark brown slices of bread are strawberries and what I can only assume, is whipped cream. This leads me to believe that the bread is chocolate-flavored. I am not at all surprised by this.

A wave of the hand and a simple,"Gee that's weird"....Just like the horse and buggy in Insadong, with the man playing his tape of real horse sounds, while the actual horse was disinterested, and in all appearances, a little annoyed...nothing really surprises me anymore.

A student told me matter-of-factly that I looked ugly with my hair tied back. He was trying to say this, not quite getting his meaning across. So, I said, quite jokingly, "you're saying that I look ugly like this (pretends to tie hair back)?" And he said, quite bluntly, "Yes."

This is how I live my life. Insults, followed by desserts in the form of sandwiches. God Bless Korea.

"sniff sniff"

2007-04-17T12:00:00.000-02:30

Still sick.

Been to the doctor twice and planning a third visit in the morning.

This really puts a damper on things.

Reading lots though.
I miss home.
Someone tell me a story....

2007-04-11T18:04:00.000-02:30

I can't fight this sickness. I am in absolute misery. Currently, it is the middle of the night and I wonder about my chances of survival should I fall asleep. Fits of coughing leave me choking and there is a moment of not breathing that truly scares me. I also have a fever again and the dreams are strange and harrowing. I wrote "I am a fighter" on a piece of paper next to my bed as though it would somehow ally with me and stave off this illness, or else be left as a proclamation that I tried my damndest.

Now I lay me down to sleep;
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.

My brother and I used to say this prayer every night when we were kids. I was always a little disturbed by the last half of this prayer and I would spend many nights trying to stay awake, for fear of dying in my sleep. But it was always a comfort to know that my brother was across the room in the other bed. He moved to his own room when he was about 6 and they'd find me in the morning, asleep at the foot of his bed or on the floor.

I haven't said this prayer in 10 years or more. But tonight it has run through my head half a dozen times. I know that I am being irrational, but I am sick. Thoughts run rampant.
I hope all of you are healthy and happy, wherever you find yourselves.
xo

Undurraga

2007-04-09T12:01:00.000-02:30

So, I went to the Rocky Mountain Tavern tonight (the Canadian Bar here in Seoul). I was just going to have a glass of wine with a few friends from work. And yes....what should their house wine be....? That's right....Undurraga. What are the chances? Clearly this was the place I was meant to celebrate my birthday.

So...a quarter of a century. Some old, wha?

When I was about nine I had the chicken pox on my birthday and I couldn't invite anyone to my party...only the friends and relatives that had the chicken pox before...It was basically me and my brother and a few relatives. So, this year, I did not have the worst birthday ever. But it was a little sad.

Thanks for the package and all the gifts though. Made me happy. xo.

yellow dust storm-please stay in or get a mask from a pharmacy

2007-03-31T22:21:00.000-02:30

I just awoke to this message on my phone.

I had to google "yellow dust storm."

This is the lowdown: it's sand from the Gobi desert that is carried by strong winds over parts of Asia in the springtime. It settles after rain (we just had a heavy thunderstorm)and it is full of toxic chemicals that have been known to cause respiratory illnesses and skin aliments. It causes the sky to become hazy and, judging from various googled images, it settles on cars and buildings, literally blanketing the city. It does not get as severe in Korea as in other parts of Asia. Korea did, however, have the worse reported yellow dust storm in 4 years in 2006. It is advised that you stay inside or wear a face mask, goggles, and a long-sleeved shirt if you go outside. It is also necessary to wash your face, hands, and feet when you come inside. Drink plenty of water.

I have a whole day plan which requires me to go outside.

So folks, beware of deadly yellow dust...

P.S. This is not an April Fool's joke.

"there's a joke here somewhere, and it's on me...."

2007-03-20T20:58:00.000-02:30

Been busy. Not much time for recreational writing. Especially when spending that time reading.
So here is an update:

-I went to my first noraebong. Basically, noraebong is what happens when you drink too much beer and soju cocktails, and you decide you are an incredible singer, so you go rent a karaoke room with your friends, sneak more beer and soju in, and sing your little heart out. It's much more fun than I had previously imagined. But only with the right group of people. Favourites of the night: Dancing in the Dark (Springsteen), Delilah (Tom Jones), Famous Blue Raincoat (Cohen, a cappella...it wasn't in the songbook). Who knew that Dancing in the Dark was so bloody hard to sing....

-I finally bought a rinky-dink guitar for 70 000 won (about 80 dollars Canadian) at the Nagwon Arcade. Anyone interested in music who happen to find themselves on this side of the world should definitely check this out. It's a large building, with over a hundred shops dedicated solely to musical instruments of all kinds. It takes several days to fully explore. I needed something that I can use while I am here, seeing as I never brought my guitar with me. So, I bought a very cheap guitar that came with a free pack of strings, a case, a capo, and picks. What does it sound like? Well, it sounds like a guitar that cost $80 and came with free strings, a case, a capo, and picks. But I don't plan on taking it with me when I leave. I plan on smashing it in the middle of a subway station at rush hour so all the Koreans can say "look at the crazy foreigner, she's so crazy." In the meantime, I'm going to learn a few songs.

-I was about to tell the story of the grown man and his posse of forty-year-old women who barked at me in the subway, but perhaps it's best to put that behind me. It's weird being the minority. Not only am I a foreigner, I am a woman and this country is not so up-to-date on issues of equality. I'm putting it behind me, really.

-I had a tofu soup with a little tiny pickled baby octopus in it. He was about the size of a large coin. I didn't know he was going to be there. I ate around him.

I know there's a lot more to tell...
Busy busy busy.