렌이 lew homeward bound

You're a Real Artist Now

2011-11-06T00:37:00.000-07:00

"Are you selling these?" Says the businessman.

"You can have the digital copies. I will send them to you," Han Joo says.

"No. I want to buy an original."

"Lauren, what do you think?"

"Yeah, I mean, sure. Why not?"

"I want this one." The man pointed to one of the portraits of Kristin. "How much is it?"

"Uh...I don't know. Just whatever you're compelled to give, sir."

I expected a dollar, maybe five.

"Can I take it now?"

"Why don't you wait until the exhibition is over?" Han Joo suggested.

"No. I want to use it in the lamb restaurant I'm opening. I'm paying for it. I'd like to take it now."

He reached into his wallet and handed me a stack of bills. "Really? It's too much," I said.

He waved my response away. "I'd like it, now, though."

"All right, sir. You may take it today. I'll try to find something to put it in."

What the what? My first sale. I'd sold my sister for 111 dollars.

"Wow," my friend Rory said, "You're a real artist now."

A thought-provoking speculation.

Other casualties of the evening were the portraits of mette, jason l, margen, me as queen, scott s, haley beard, and jung. What a weird weird world.

Playing dress-up as an artist was fun. I'll probably keep the red skirt around, and I have tons of orders to fill while I'm waiting for Kristin to get home from work. IN THREE DAYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wish my family and friends who are stateside could have come by for the opening. It was pretty fantastic.

It's your incorrigible encouragement and enthusiasm that keep me doing things I never thought I would that make me feel pretty happy.

I'll be sappy in person in a few days.

All my lovin',

lew

Recordings of a Mash

2011-11-02T02:47:00.000-07:00

If anyone's interested in hearing the first (and possibly last) performance of Lauren E Walker's Tiny Breakfast, you can hear it here: http://soundcloud.com/yogiga/sets/booogasari2011#. Also, Joe's awesome collaboration as Awkward Binoculars with Ee Bong Gyo Aboji and Han Joo's wicked death metal band (LIVE EVIL) are also featured. You can also hear a little of my hosting shenanigans. Yikes.

And! Good news of the day: my loop station that I bought this summer and used once and then thought was broken is actually not broken and all the little songs I thought I'd lost forever have been waiting for me in their little red pedal!!

and a shoop ba woop and a shoop ba woop!

Said the middle-aged woman to all of us in the restaurant,

2011-11-01T03:25:00.001-07:00

"Never eat cucumbers and carrots together."

The video's name is "Beengle Bangle Gurin Gurim."

(round and round the drawn drawings)

it's for my creepy exhibition this Saturday. preparation's in full force, as you can see.

i fluctuate between feelings of excitement and self-doubt. but. whatevs. it's something I've never done, and that's good enough for me. are there better creepy drawers out there? you betcha. but that don't mean a thing to this chicken wing. if anything it's making the time i'm waiting for home go by more quickly. and if I remember my good self, the one that doesn't look to others for self-validation, it's just work for a fun gathering of friends.

the halloween benefit was a major success, by the way. we raised a lot of dough for defectors, filled out every last petition card that I brought, rocked out to monster mash, tributed daniel johnston's "casper the friendly ghost," invented monster mucus, and threw candy in friend's faces. banner bulgasari.

my yogiga life will lapse in about a week and a half. what will take the place of people making instruments out of wood and soda straws, inventing their own written languages, and rolling giant leaves into cigarettes? oh, right, the wacky walkers and friends. no sweat.

Good morning, we're moving.

2011-10-27T20:13:00.000-07:00

Last night I practiced "monster mash" in Anyang and walked home in the leaves. Han Joo bailed for our gig in Daejeon, meaning I have to play alone, and I sat down on the escalator as it dragged me underground. and back to Seoul. and to my home. and to my bed where I slept for seven hours. and where I suddenly discovered I was growing ears out of my hips.

I heard noises as I slept and I came to a little. then the grandmother came bursting into my room. "Daughter," she said, "we have to move today. Today we move. The other person is going to come live here today."

I don't think I really responded. Maybe a weary, "진짜?" It was the moment I'd been dreading, but I never thought it was going to come while I was sleeping.

I threw my clothes and weights and adventure books and pamphlets and paints and instruments into bags and put on my new orange fanny pack. I brushed my teeth for the last time in our little house next to the park. The move worries me: will I have my own room still? Are we going to live with the grandmother's boyfriend?

Will I move into the place I've been calling the tattoo room for the last week and a half that I'm in Seoul?

Will I just float towards the sky in a gloomy balloon?

I cannot wait to go home. I cannot wait to see my sister. I cannot wait to roll around on the carpet of my youth.

My creepy exhibition is coming up. For those of you who won't be able to see your images live, I thought I'd post a few of you.

mette

margan

krit

thurm

We're All a Little Bit Pregnant

2011-10-23T06:18:00.000-07:00

Lest you spazz out prematurely: Even though my best friend and my 있다 언니 and my brother's wife are, I am in no way pregnant.

But I was.

Just for a couple of hours.

Friday, for MBC's "Surprise", I had my favorite shoot of all time: I played a Yankees fan who runs over a Red Sox fan who taunts her. (Cannot tell Boston buds about this one...)

My costume was awesome: A huge Yankees jersey that I could have worn as a dress without any fear of being inappropriate. And a hat.

The shoot only lasted a couple of hours and I was back at Yogiga in time to see Joe and hear about his happiness tour.

While hanging around with weird Malaysian tobacco and cacti I received the text: Sunday I should meet at 12:15pm for another gig.

I thought it was "Surprise" again, but as I met my manager and was escorted inside KBS (a different broadcasting studio in Korea), I realized I wan't in Kansas no more.

I made the transfer. I'm syndicated. I'm branching out. I'm "Edita". Or something like that. Everyone kept calling me "Edito" and for the first couple of hours I thought I was playing a fetching lass with a career in publishing. Then I was given a wig. And a purple dress only a grandmother would love.

I was married to a painter, whose first several scenes included another, far more fetching, woman. She was not wearing a giant purple blazer. She was wearing red. And stockings.

But I was the one who scored the ring. And after being engaged for about two minutes (long enough to get a nice tight shot of my emerald ring), we learned I was six months pregnant. After being pregnant for about ten minutes (long enough to let my husband feel a "kick" or two and joke about how my shadow looked like an ewok) I was dead.

Engaged. Married. Pregnant. Dead.

While engaged, I imagined how people that want to get married might react. People that wore huge purple jackets and might have thought they would never find someone that would love them despite their ewok-ish hair.

While pregnant, I thought of Thurm and Ape, and tried to waddle when I walked. And get that magic look over my face that the woman in 101 Dalmations had when she was pregnant. I was so in character that I felt a wave of morning sickness I think.

While dead, I thought of my version of heaven. Kristin and I were running over cartoon hills and pointing at distant lands, "Shall we go to that hill over there?" "No, that one!"

After I was resurrected, while washing death off my face, I nearly lost my wedding ring down the sink.

I thought about leaving my makeup on until Halloween, but that's still a week away.

I ripped off my giant velcro belly like it was a giant band-aid. A giant, life-filled band-aid.

I am not ready to hatch a kid. But it was a pretty fun day.

이 집시 거렁뱅이야..

2011-10-09T00:03:00.000-07:00

Moved in with an awesome grandmother.
Not my grandmother, just a grandmother.
Walked back to my old neighborhood.
Accidentally joined a cult.
Was sore from bowing during initiation.
Bought plane tickets home.
Began heavy metal guitar lessons.
Had dreams that the cult was after me.
Constructed the wire frames for a plan.
Was required to speak French for most recent TV role.
Was also required to wear a wig.
Looked like Davy Crockett.
Finished automotive text book freelance project.
Played a show for a group of professors in Cheonan.
Played a show at FF. Heard an audience member ask, "What's her name again?" She was pointing at me.
Shouted "I heard you, jerk" to said audience member. :)
Laughed hysterically on the phone with my brother.
Listened to Black Oak Arkansas in the tour van.
Sat in the front seat sandwiched between Han Joo and Sato Yukie and operated the tape player.
Felt like I was on a family vacation.
Had a picnic in the park.
Went to Alice in Wonderland-land with a kindred spirit.
Trespassed.
Was caught.
Acted surprised.
Asked permission to stay just a little bit.
Permission granted.
Was then offered job at Alice in Wonderland-land.
Declined position.
Was shown to a room where there was stuff built upside down on a very high ceiling, like the stuff of dreams.
Found a drive-in theater.
Wondered if bicycles count.

Sketches of home:
November 9th: NY
November 10th: Camden
November 11th: Camden
November 12th: twinvention
November 13th: twinvention
November 14th-21st: Wilmington, etc.
November 21st-22nd: North Little Rock
November 23rd-....: Lufkin, TX
and then Arkansas
and then
and then
and then
probably trip on back to Korea and get my master's.

"But you like this, right?"

2011-09-19T20:43:00.000-07:00

"It's sort of like if I burnt down your house. You were angry and threatened to sue. So a couple of days later I offered you a donut. And coffee."

"...."

"Do you see what I mean?"

"Yeah."

"I mean, it's a bit hyperbolic. But that's the situation I'm in with this company. They screwed me out of three months' work and housing, a substantial paycheck. After stringing me along for months. And to keep my emotions at bay they've offered me a ridiculously low-paying textbook writing project. That will last for one week. During which I will live with my boss's great aunt."

"...."

"What the mess. I'm going bonkers."

"Just come here."

"Why?"

"So we can discuss a plan."

"I've been coming and going all day. That's another hour in the subway. What kind of a plan?"

"You know. A method."

"....."

"Just come here ok? I can't leave yet, so just come here."

"ugh. Ok. I'm on my way."

But I wasn't. I was leaned up against a giant green column watching people choose the stairs that would take them on the right direction of the subway.

I'd spent the morning saying a final goodbye to the clusters of old women who'd come to know me in my pink pajamas uniform. My last morning living at a construction site.

I'd spent the early afternoon at a conference on the subject of South Koreans who'd been abducted by North Korea since the armistice. More on this soon.

I'd spend mid-afternoon in the car with a person who is kind of my boss, and kind of the person who has finally told me the truth. I can't work here. Until the FBI gets the docs in.

She talks to me about her interest in the brain and asks me what it is I want to do.

I tell her what my plan is was.

She expresses her discontent with the situation I'm now in.

"Yeah, that was my employee, but I don't know what she's doing. She doesn't have experience, recruiting, you know, so I think she just didn't know what she was doing."

I don't know how to respond. I mean, on the one hand, I kind of knew this was going to happen. I don't know why I'm acting so surprised. Part of me even wanted it to fall through, a sign that I should just go home. But I was scrooged over. I should say something. I should do something. I should be compensated somehow. I should be given justice. But that's this project. It's all they could scrape together.

I get on the subway. I listen to a song from college and feel better. Everyone's at Yogiga. I start studying the prototype text book. Then there's a stern counseling session.

"Just get the visa the television show promised you."

"Yeah...but they haven't even paid me yet. Which is another reason to call them... 'Hey, could you pay me? And give me a visa? Oh, no, I can't work this Thursday because there's a protest in front of the Chinese embassy..' "

Bonkers. I'm bonkers.

People are interested in my drawings, though, so that's a gnarly new thing. One of Han Joo's illustrator friends said my work is not typical and I should make a children's book.

I have an idea for one about a mop. So. That's good.

Buses pass by with ads for whiskey, cute boys smoke cigarettes, a woman with a multi-colored purse smiles and swings a black sweater. A little Chinese umbrella. An old man pulls a little building with doves on the side. The little hair he has blowing in the wind. It's fall all of a sudden and it's enough just to be around to see it do that thing it does.

전화를 멋 받았다....

"응?"

"예. 이따가 올거야?"

"아마도. 왜?"

"인진언니의 친구 일 하는 사람 필요한다고."

"진짜? 무슨 일인데?"

"거기 가페에."

"예? 정말...난 바리스타 안인데."

"시워. 알려 줄게."

"그래요..."

"이따가 오면 이야기를 하자..."

"알았어요...고마워.."

........미치겠다.....

Scathing Emails Get the Grease

2011-09-15T06:15:00.000-07:00

Flip the script.

After sending a rousing email to the agency, I've now been offered a potential position with their R&D department doing in-house proofreading, text writing, and etc. Shazaam. Things may have taken a turn for the "this is why we wait a little while to freak out, lauro."

Just an update fer ya. Also packed a barbecue sauce and cheese sandwich and had lunch on the island. And painted a lot. And my families, Korean and Walker, are taking great care of me. It's been a good day.

The Vegetables Are After Me

2011-09-15T00:34:00.000-07:00

Well, I was screwed over by a carrot. "Carrot English", to be precise, the firm with which I signed a contract with, the contents of which now mean less than carrot juice. Which means, my golden plan to work as a consultant for three months at a uni in the middle of nowhere, cash out, and be home to see my nephew Elliott hatched, and x-mas and everything has disappeared.

I'm at an interesting point. I feel like I said this a few months ago. When I also had a sort of non-plan.

While I was in Thailand I had the personal realization that it may be good for me to get out of Korea for a while, anyway. As my heart is kind of in a pulled-pork era, and my head is a fish bowl.

It's been kind of a rough patch, to be honest. The last few months. As I've said, I've been paying rent nightly, and sleeping on the floor, and gathering my things from a locker. And bringing them back again. I was waiting for something that didn't pan out. So do I find something else in the neighborhood, or do I cut my losses and just fly home?

The last month was not a complete waste, after all. It saw the beginning of my Korean acting career, new events and new developments at Yogiga, a (finally) final and satisfactory resolution to conclude an almost three year long relationship, some good North Korean human rights jazz, the band and friends.

But, also quite a lot of kind of bullshitting around.

Being in this weird place in my life has illustrated to me just how very fragmented I am. Should I choose one thing to devote myself to? Do I just let myself become weirder and weirder and more and more momentary? Do I only live to write down the dreams I have at night?

There comes a time, everywhere I go, when it's just time to leave. Usually it has to do with something emotional. Something that should have been stupid but became a big deal.

Being someone who sees life as just this really weird thing, but also wants to help people who are currently in pain is kind of this bizarre dichotomy. Life makes no sense, but I know people are suffering while I am meandering around painting Barbie t-shirts in the smoking lounges of bars. So I have to do something. But I don't usually know what to do.

I want to just follow where the wind blows. But where the hell is it blowing me right now? It sort of feels like it's blowing me home. But it sort of feels like I'm just dehydrated. Don't people usually say it's good to go home when you've suffered a lot of heartache anyway? Just recuperate a little. Sit behind the green curtains in the computer room reading old journals from when you were even more of an idiot than you are now. Even when that's kind of hard to imagine...

I feel like I'm in the midst of playing a family game and everyone's yelling at me, "It's your turn! Your turn! Go already, Lauren. Geez!" And I'm all panicky because I can't decide what I want to do. What move I should make.

But nobody's yelling at me. Nobody's bogged down waiting for me. It's just me. Waiting for me. Bogged down by me.

It won't always be this way. I've been telling myself that for years now, in various phases of existence, so I should just enjoy it.

And I probably will.

The happiest I was in two weeks of a wicked Thailand tour was the last day, in the airport convenience store, when I was ~~stealing~~ reading Mad Magazine, seeing a little boy struggling to wiggle ice cream out of one of those freezers that goes too deep for some kids' arms to reach. I walked over and pulled out the vanilla with chocolate chip I thought he was aiming for. He shook his head. I put back in the tiny vanilla with chocolate chip container and pulled out the chocolate. He snatched it from me, satisfied, and darted off to the cashier. I had provided a service. I had had arms that were long enough. If there were a job just helping people reach ice cream out of a freezer, I guess I could do that and be happy for the rest of my life.

Lauren E.
Ice Cream Reacher

The Month of the Homeless Actor

2011-08-24T03:45:00.000-07:00

Like Maria Van Trapp, I walk down the streets of Hongdae, swinging a tan pillow instead of a guitar case.
In a bag I have shampoo, deodorant, a razor, a travel-sized toothbrush and toothpaste, a clean shirt, and underwear.
Where I will sleep depends on how charming I am after a show, or how willing I am to sleep in a sauna with a hundred pink-clothed women.
Having no permanent residence is an adventure, but it has its downsides. Everything I own is stowed at Yogiga. I come in, take out the trousers with the least dirt stains, rub on some cologne, and work. Some days, I take a mat and a blanket from the cafe and sleep by the river.

I feel a little guilty claiming the label "homeless." Usually, when people ask me where I live I just say I'm "a little bit homeless" or I "kind of have nowhere to live." I have funds, and I have friends, neither of which I'm desperate to use.

Besides, the sauna's a pretty rad place to camp out. You come in, put your shoes in a locker. They give you pink pajamas and a towel, and a key. You store everything, and walk naked to the showers. Then relax in bubbling hot tubs to your heart's content. Then you put on your pink pajamas and explore. There are different rooms with sand and rocks and televisions and microphones and computers and people drinking iced tea out of big plastic bottles.

I sleep in the women-only rooms, for obvious reasons. Although, a couple of days ago, a man wandered in "on accident." He pulled his mat up about two feet away from me and said, presumably to himself, "잘 자." (Sleep well.) Grrrrreat, I thought. Just great.

Luckily an older lady heard his baritone voice as well, and like a silly movie, all the women sat up with a start and cried, "A man! A man!" He was none the wiser, either completely drunk, or already asleep. Finally he heard. Jumped up. Murmured a hurried apology and ran out of the dimly lit room.

I spent a few days this week in Cheonan, where I actually got to sleep in a bed. I bought a basketball from Toys R Us to entertain myself while my friend was at work, and rode a motorcycle for the first time in my life. I'm either becoming a more relaxed individual, or I just care less about dying. It was pretty thrilling, though, like riding a giant roller blade through a neon video game, like the carnival level of Sonic the Hedgehog.

It's a good thing I came back to Seoul last night though, because I got to Yogiga just in time to participate in the grand finale of an awesome Bulgasari special. And because tomorrow I have work.

I am working. As an actor.

I don't have the time to divulge every magnificent detail about this racket I've found myself in, but to summarize: The show is basically like 'Ripley's Believe it Or Not' made into miniature dramas. This is a show on Korean television I used to watch expressly because the acting was so terrible it was hilarious, and the stories are pretty gnarly.

To put it bluntly, when the directors and viewers tell me I'm one of the best on the show, I'm not sure whether this can even be taken as a compliment, but it is certainly a relief.

There are no auditions. No rehearsals. Rarely more than one take. You receive your script minutes before your scene, if you're lucky. The work is from 7am until the work is finished; sometimes we get back at 10 pm, sometimes midnight.

The first time was pretty awesome because it was a wild adventure. I knew nothing. I was terrified. I had a pretty sweet role as the traumatized daughter of an alleged murderer. I had time to Google her, become her, and shout angrily at her father who was a child molester. I was nervous, upset, or angry in ever scene: it was the role I was born to play.

Second week: not so great. I played a mother with a water allergy and had to do a scene wearing only a towel.

I wrote everything down in minute detail the first week, and will issue the tale in its more humorous episodic nature in due time. For now, though, the time has come once again to prepare my worn out partner in crime, my overnight bag.

In a Puddle of My Own Blood

2011-08-16T01:32:00.000-07:00

I was ~~boiling water to make ramen noodles~~ cooking, when all of a sudden I heard a crackling sound and turned off the gas and looked down.

To my own horror, I was standing in a puddle of my own blood.

It was kind of cool, and terrifying. And I almost fainted--->thanks, dad.

I thought of all those naysayers who say since I'm a veg-head, I will die of anemia. But I didn't die.

I did the only logical thing a person in South Korea who is dripping blood like a faucet from their toe would do, I called my mother...in America.

"Don't panic," I said, "but I'm kind of bleeding."

For once, my mother didn't panic. It was actually kind of disappointing since Han Joo nor Kristin had answered and no one was around to freak out that I might die. And what life would be like without me around wanting everyone to freak out that I might die.

I let the water drip over my toe and watched the blood rain out. I called Han Joo ten more times and he finally answered. He didn't panic enough either, so I told him not to come over, I'd just accept gangrene with a smile.

After the bleeding subsided, I went around the apartment digging up the little piles of blood with a pair of scissors, looking for the piece of glass. This way I would know it wasn't still in my foot. I didn't find the piece of glass, but I did learn that blood is really cool.

Han Joo took care of my toe really well, and Hyunnie drew on my bandage with her lipstick.

My toe has healed, and I'm amazed at how quickly I grew this whole new glob of skin. My body forgets as easily as my brain...

Fast Food Art 페스트 푸드 미솔

2011-08-16T01:15:00.000-07:00

hey dudes

this is some stuff I made for nitsirK's birthday.

"Krit as Dinosaur"

Audience Q&A with Kimjongilia Documentary Director NC Heikin

2011-06-30T00:57:00.000-07:00

The first time I saw Kimjongilia, I was in the refugee center office near Yangjae station, huddled around a computer monitor with a North Korean Human Rights activist named Robert Park. It’s been almost two years since then, but I still remember that moment vividly. And since I have the memory capacity of a grapefruit, this says something about the power NC Heiken’s documentary holds.

Kimjongilia is an artistic piece that gives us a very real and emotional perspective on the humanitarian crisis in North Korea directly from those who know it best, the North Koreans who risked their lives to escape it. The film interweaves the unbelievable experiences of a dozen North Korean defectors with evocative music and dance.

That fall so many months ago, when I first saw the film, I remember being excited that we were among the first to see this documentary that many believed could become a great asset to our awareness raising efforts. I remember the anger, the pain, and the sense of urgency the words of the witnesses conjured. I remember wishing the whole world would be confronted with their stories, and I remember hoping that their stories would make the world move. And now, two years later, the movie has finally found itself in the high-rise theaters of Seoul.

On Tuesday, June 28, at 7pm, Kimjongilia had an opening at the Daehakno CGV movie theater. There was no red carpet for the “stars” or directors of the film; there were few, if any, members of the press. The lobby boasted no signs advertising the film or the “Cinema Talk” at which the director would speak. The film was shown in the basement. Isolated from all of the other, happy films.

Because the film should be seen and not merely discussed, I’ve settled on recounting the dialogue which took place during the Q&A. The following is the gist of the dialogue between the director and the audience, which also includes a few comments made by the director’s husband, Robert.

MEDIATOR: Thank you so much for coming here today. Would you please tell us a bit about yourself and give us a brief introduction as to how you became aware of the North Korean situation and how you came to work on this project.

NC HEIKIN: Thank you. First of all, I’d like to thank you all for coming. I’m thrilled to see such a great turnout. I hope that you will tell your friends and the people you know about it as well.

I am so appreciative that Mr. Chae, the activist who spent four years in Chinese prison, Ed Lee, our volunteer interpreter, and Sol Lee, one of the dancers in the film, have all come here to be with us tonight.

I was first introduced to the crisis when my husband was invited to attend a North Korean Human Rights conference in Tokyo by his friend, Pierre Rigoulet, the co-author of Kang Chol-hwan’s book Aquariums of Pyongyang. At the conference, I heard Kang Chol-hwan’s stories, basically those of a child being dragged from his home and taken to a concentration camp, and I was deeply disturbed. I come from a Jewish background, I’m Jewish, so the mention of concentration camps was very upsetting. I felt a personal responsibility to do something to ensure that what happened in the Holocaust did not happen again.

MEDIATOR: When did you first come to Korea?

NC HEIKIN: I first came in 2005 and met Sunny Cho, the Korean producer of the film, whom I am so grateful to for her support. Without her there would be no film.

In 2009 I came back and showed Kimjongilia at the Busan film festival. The response was incredible. People said, “why don’t we know about this?” and “what can we do?”

To be honest, I was very afraid of what the South Korean reaction would be, since I’m American and there’s quite a bit of anti-American sentiment in South Korea, well, everywhere. But I’ve had overwhelmingly positive responses. In fact, in Busan during the Q&A, I listened nervously as a woman went on and on in Korean, with what I thought was criticism. However, the interpreter told me she’d only said that since the film was so scary she’d expected a big man, but instead here I was, “kind of little” and “kind of cute.”

MEDIATOR: Were there other important North Korean Human Rights films before yours? If so, what sets yours apart?

NC HEIKIN: Yes, I think one movie in particular, Seoul Train, a film focused on the “underground railroad” in place to assist refugees making their way out of North Korea, was very important. Many of you may have also seen Crossing, a dramatic version of a true and very tragic story of a refugee and his family, or Yodok Stories, a musical theater piece put together by North Korean defectors, who then made a movie based on their experiences with the musical. I think Kimjongilia is different from these films because it’s the first film where we just hear the North Koreans tell their stories. People are shocked just to see that these people are human beings, to see their humanity; this has really helped to open people’s eyes.

AUDIENCE: In South Koreans minds, this is a very political film. What do you have to say about that?

NC HEIKIN: Well, I tried to keep the focus on human rights, but there’s no way to say you’re not accusing “you know who” of crimes against humanity. We did our best not to talk about left, right, the cold war, the past. But there’s no question that putting children in concentration camps is a crime against humanity, and no one made Kim Il Sung or Kim Jong Il do that, not the Americans, not the Soviets.

ROBERT: If you expose the concentration camps, you expose the regimes. It was the same thing with the Soviet Gulags. When they were exposed it was a massive blow to the system.

AUDIENCE: Is Kim Jong Il like Saddam? Has the North Korean army been so brainwashed that we need something like the United Nations to step in and abolish the regime, assassinate the leader, like they did with Saddam?

NC HEIKIN: It’s not my place to send American or South Korean or United Nations troops to war. If there was a magic bullet, for sure… I don’t know enough about Saddam to say how comparable he is to Kim Jong Il, but I think the UN would do something if they could; I think China is blocking a lot. It’s a very difficult problem.

AUDIENCE: Thank you very much for your film, but I want to play devil’s advocate and talk about the role of the dances in the film. I think the dancers could have made a fantasy for western viewers. I think this is Orientalism and I wonder if that was necessary. The dances didn’t seem true to what North Koreans would have done. It was very weird for me.

NC HEIKIN: You know, I don’t exactly know what “Orientalism” is but I used to be a dancer. Mrs. Kim, one of the main “characters” from the film was a dancer in North Korea. I decided to put dancing in the film because this is an emotional film. I was hoping to not throw the viewer out of the emotion in between dialogues. I wanted to carry the audience through. Often in documentaries you get these reconstructed scenes. You always know they are not real, so you leave the emotion. Dance is abstract, so I thought maybe it could carry something along.

The costume one of the dancers wears was based on the costume worn by the North Korean traffic cop you see in images of Pyongyang. To me, she looked like a dancer in the middle of the street. The other dance is based on that of a real-life South Korean dancer. I was making the film in Paris, and there happened to be two South Korean dancers there, Sol Lee, and Yumi Ahn. The movements they did were from their own hearts.

The style of dance in North Korea is socialist realism dance, so I don’t know how “real” that is either.

ROBERT: It’s one thing to know there’s a dictatorship in North Korea and one thing to hear their stories. There’s so much horror, so much emotion that the viewer has the potential of pulling out. One of the roles of the dancers in this film is to allow the viewer to absorb the stories, allow the viewer to breathe a little.

AUDIENCE: Why did you conclude the film the way you did, with the defectors giving their thoughts about their homeland, their future?

NC HEIKIN: I wanted to show what they thought about the future. That many of them love their country, have hope, want to go back and build a bright, shining country. I think that’s good to show.

AUDIENCE: I totally agree with you. And I think Kim Jong Il and his family are the core of the devil. Above all, thank you very much for making this film even as a foreigner, a dancer, and actress. I pray, and we pray, for the spreading of this film all over the world and Korea, and I pray for Kim Jong Il to be assassinated soon.

NC HEIKIN: Thank you, it’s moments like this that make being an artist worthwhile. Thank you. But I want to say, I’m not a foreigner. I’m a human being. This is a human being story.

ROBERT: When a North Korean is killed the whole of humanity is killed. During the Holocaust, a famous Jew said this, “when a concentration camp prisoner is beaten, the whole of humanity is beaten.”

AUDIENCE: Given North Korea’s isolationist nature, what function do you see your movie playing?

NC HEIKIN: The movie can inspire people. That’s what movies can do. This movie can inspire. Human’s hearts must be engaged to action.

I hope you’ll see Kimjongilia and support it, and tell your friends about it. For more information about Kimjongilia, or to become involved with the North Korean Human Rights movement, please check out the following links below.

www.kimjongiliathemovie.com http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YTragUC8AnY https://www.facebook.com/pages/Kimjongilia/115390404984한국어: http://blog.naver.com/kimjongilia

www.justice4nk.org

I Graduated Today

2011-06-23T08:31:00.000-07:00

In a manner of speaking.

I bowed to the president. Probably too many times. I received a velveteen encased certificate.

The president opened his speech saying he didn't know how much we'd be able to understand, it being in Korean and all. I laughed, but I was a bit insulted.

I said a short speech into one of those microphones they have at the United Nations, you know the snakey kind, at every desk, in front of every delegate.

I said I'd been at Geumgang for three semesters, and had studied Korean joyfully. Even though I still have a long way to go, I said, I was off to a good start. When I go to Seoul, back to America, or somewhere else, I will always tell the tale of the unique Geumgang University. I will carry the charitable vibe of this place as I go.

We got a rose and a small nicely wrapped package. Even though it was a little bigger than the standard pen case, I knew it would be a pen.

It's not the kind of pen I would use. It doesn't smudge easily.

After the ceremony I took off the black pair of high heels reserved for these, and only these, sort of occasions. I took off the black dress that I inherited from the German girl who left in a hurry, and I put on the grey shirt I inherited from Sarah, the mustard vest I inherited from Erin, and the black jeans I inherited from Ma, almost a year ago.

I am a life-size rag doll.

I went to lunch and walked outside. I wanted to walk around the pond but there were office people there, taking a break from their office lives. And I didn't want to interact with them. Especially the one who always tells me he loves me, as a joke. I think.

So I went uphill and sat in the middle of the road and watched Buddha. He wasn't doing much, but he remembered me.

The colored lanterns were gone and he looked sort of empty. I know how you feel, I thought. And I wrote in my journal about a writer I met last Saturday while I was volunteering at a home-brewed beer stand.

He'd asked me my name.

"Bertie," I said.

"Really?"

"Yes," I sighed, "Why do people always say that?"

He told me I was interesting and if I were lucky he'd put me in his next novel.

"Are you going to change my name?" I asked him.

"Yes. Of course. I always change the names of real-life characters. For example, in my last book there was a girl named Laura. That was the name I gave her."

"What's her real name?"

"I can't tell you that. She's a drug dealer."

"You can't tell me her first name?"

"You never know."

"Fine. What would you name me, then?"

"Maria?"

"Maria?? Really?"

I lost interest at that point and he wandered off to sleep in the deck chair of a Phillipino market, already drunk at 1 o'clock in the afternoon.

That Saturday, last Saturday, I saw a turtle cross the road, the rear of an old drunk white man, and an angry police officer who took pictures of, and then canceled, our concert at Carmen's.

I met a tiny cat and accidentally flipped the tiny cat in the air when it peed on me all of a sudden.

I also talked to my brother for an hour and a half on the phone on a curb. And kind of proposed to Han Joo. In a manner of speaking. It was a banner Saturday.

Question: Where did the ghost go for vacation?

2011-06-08T01:27:00.000-07:00

I got good news. I watched TV. I took the bus to Daejeon.

I walked to the store. I called HJ to ask, "Blue earphones or black with little flames?"

His phone was busy. He was calling me to say, "Sun Gil's selling headphones. Did you buy some yet?"

The exact same second. The exact same topic. Doppleganger or PG?

I stood in the sun with the Supremes and met the other band on the train.

I learned a lot about Dungeons and Dragons. I ate a fourth of a cookie and came up with a business idea.

We stood by a fountain and took a cab to our hostel. It was in the same building as a concert hall, an English hakwon, and a protestant church. Certain people could get language, musical, spiritual, and housing needs all in one building. I went straight to the roof.

Hung around the university area handing out fliers for the shows, but only to people who met our stringent "desirable" requirements. Almost Famous, the venue for Saturday's show, was showing the movie Almost Famous on permanent loop, well, fifteen minutes of it. I felt like I was on a hipster merry-go-round.

We argued about politics and I yelled.

Saturday we went to a fraudulent International Food Festival. It was not International and there was no food. If there was a festival, it was a festival of espresso machines and marketing staff.

We had to fill out forms to enter. Remus Schlauvin, Director of the Eccentric Jewelry Department of Samsung, does not like filling out forms. But Remus Schlauvin does like his/her new personalized nametag.

For my three dollars I had a wafer of rye bread and a mouthwash-sized cup of red rice wine. It was an expensive and irreverant communion. My friend almost ate a worm. This was the quality of the available food at the "festival."

I split up with the teamsters for my first ballgame of the season. I was meeting Fish. A guy I have an interesting and short history with. These two qualities are unfortunately disproportionate.

We saw the game. It was great. A nice guy gave us better seats and we were right on the first baseline. We had pizza and beer and I was instructed to tie an orange trash bag on my head. Like everyone else was doing.

Then there was the soundcheck. Fish fell asleep. I bought Fish dinner. Fish took me to the seaside where he goes running. There were horribly drawn pictures of horse carts going in and out doors on the seawall. We went back to Almost Famous. He Said She Said played. They're awesome. We played. I wore black gym shorts and my black Mime Fest shirt. Black socks. Black shoes. I was the spitting image of the son, Sigmund "Siggy" Marvin, played by Charlie Korsmo, in What About Bob? (Incidentally, Korsmo currently serves as the Domestic Deputy Policy Analyst for the House Republican Policy Committee. And that's the way the cookie crumbles.)

We all danced around, ridiculously. And Fish asked to talk to me. Alone. I got that "I'm in trouble, again" feeling and marched along. There was a lot of fruit salad. And a lot of talking. And the fruit salad had tomatoes in it.

And I got in trouble for being confusing. And I apologized. And played with my fruit salad. And wanted to go back with my friends.

We walked and took a cab to the beach. It was probably 3 in the morning. It should have been romantic, but it wasn't really romantic. People were chasing each other with sticks and a girl walked by like a zombie, asking where Hye Jin was.

Fish fell asleep. I sat up and counted mosquito bites. I woke up the fish and said I was going home. He put me in a cab and we agreed to never see each other again. "I won't change my mind," I said. "Just pretend I'm a ghost."

We had brunch by the ocean, I buried myself sitting crosslegged in the sand and told a whole group of new friends that I had paranormal powers. They believed me without hesitation. "Have I really gotten that weird," I thought.

Our new drummer did ask for some proof and as I gave examples, only fabricating one of several, I realized I sort of do have paranormal powers. They've just been pretty useless so far. Like someone who has a talent for knowing exactly how many gumballs are in a giant jar at the fair.

We went to Club Realize for our metal show. I hung out with my new metal friends who treated me as a real, live Korean and wouldn't let people speak English to me, saying it was weird to speak English to a Korean.

We played a kind of weary set. I was riding the rails of about eight cups of coffee and a single cigarette which had been given to me at the convience store from which I'd bought the coffee. It was "mojito" flavored. A free sample. Of gum disease. But a taste that made me think it had actually cleaned my lungs, instead of the reverse.

We hung out until late again, making each other laugh, and drinking wine made out of daisies.

The next day it took me ten hours to get home.

Answer: Boo-san

An Average Day, The Kind Which Usually Goes Without Reportage (Now You'll Know What You're Missing (Or Not))

2011-06-02T09:03:00.000-07:00

Eggs for breakfast. and pasta salad. and kimchi. and dwuinjang with grass

Class. My teacher wore my hoody like a shawl because she was cold and seemed a little disappointed to find that we had the same results on the Mysers/Briggs Test. She's 35, extremely confident, gorgeous, a very concrete individual. "So do you think we have the same personality?" She asked looking doubtful. "Well...," I said.

I, too, was surprised that my "score" had changed quite substantially since the last time I took it, about ten years ago at Governor's School. Back then, as far as I can recall, I was an ENFJ. Now, I'm ENTP, The Inventor Type. I'm extremely pleased with the results. But given my capricious nature, I may change my mind about this. There should be a rather hefty margin of error since I did take the test in the Korean language. And I kind of lied so that I wouldn't sound quite so emotional and sensitive.

Went for a run while listening to a Korean spy drama. This will be repeated. Running around, listening to music where it sounds like people are chasing you, watching you, while being in the country, where people are actually watching you. Because you're white. And blonde. And running.

Then heading to the gym where Monkabatu the Monk realized that I am the exact same weight as Tama the Monk. We then measured our heights: also the same.

Thus proving the old adage that all vegetarians with Buddhist leanings will be exactly 53 kg and ask each other, rudely, if they want to die (a Korean manner of cussing).

It felt good to be back to my old summer-sponsored red I-just-ran monster face that used to scare the dickens out of Mom, and now scares the dickens out of my little roommate.

I taught myself Chinese, in order to shock my classmates to pieces and actually pass the conversation quiz. I studied so intensely that I fell asleep at the computer desk. Woke up. And mistakenly thought class started at 5:15 instead of 5, like it's always been, thus missing the quiz completely.

I ate rice with gravy, salad(?) with kiwi dressing, soup, and kimchi for dinner, using the one Chinese phrase I remembered to entertain a buddy from Taiwan.

Taught Sherlock Holmes to my, last, Thursday Partnership Class. One of the students needed to study "Silver Blaze" for a test. After we went through the first few chapters, I flipped to the end to see whodunnit. No kidding: It was the horse.

Interpreted for my Convenience store Older Sister (Korean) and her Professor Boyfriend (American). That was Awesome.

Yours canceled the Daejeon show. Tried to recruit BbiSoriWho to cover, but HJ is too busy to come down to Daejeon. Probably for the best since exams are the week after.

My sister called. (miracle) And then another miracle.

Tomorrow Busan with the bros.

How Many Twins Do You Have?

2011-05-31T08:09:00.000-07:00

Next week is the last class I will teach to my beloved English partnership students. I finally found a demographic I enjoy teaching: college girls.

Completely Irrelevant Photo from my Sunday Set

I think they're funny. They think I'm funny. They are goofy. I am goofy. They say ridiculous things. I love hearing ridiculous things. There are no downsides. Except it's the end.

I can't say that my introduction to the benefits of studying basic Greek and Latin roots was a crowd-pleaser, exactly, but...I nipped that in the bud pretty quickly and launched into an Opposites Day-like activity. Uproarious.

"If you can be born again, what would you like to come back as?" ---Sulgi

"A chair." --Banana

"Why?"

"I enjoy the feeling of another person's hip. I am happy that I can help them by them sitting on me."

"What if it's an elephant?" --Me

"That would be the softest and loveliest."

Next question:

"Are you sad Lauren is leaving?"

"No. She is not my friend. In a minute, I can forget her. I will not visit her."

Yearim has a twin sister, too. So after she was finished "hating" hers, I showed them pictures of Kristin.

"How many twins do you have?" --Banana

"Just one!"

Banana, pointing to one of Kristin making an extremely weird face, "No, this is you."

All told, we discovered that Banana would like to die this very moment, Yearim will eat her professor (she meant to say "eat lunch with him"), Sol had a plane crash in the grand canyon on her way to visit me, and Sulgi stole a ferrari during middle school in an effort to learn how to drive.

I miss those boogers already.

Whatever It Is, It's Gonna Just Come to Me, The Way it Always Does

2011-05-31T00:52:00.000-07:00

To copy-cat off Kristin, which in all fairness, I've been doing since I followed her out of the womb several years ago, I will now embark on my own list of blogs entries I wish I'd written.

January: Quarantined in a green apartment

February: Quarantined in a month-long Chinese firework war
End of February: Leaning up against a parked car at the airport and throwing something away
March: Kicking my stuff back to Geumgang. Being in a terrible mood for a whole month. Being like another person.
April: Being in a terrible mood for a whole month. Thinking if I'm ever like this again, I will see a shrink.

May: Going to, and coming back from Hong Kong. Coming back happy. When I came back, I was happy. All of a sudden, I was ok again. I hate being enslaved to my emotions. Sometimes I feel my whole life lays in the random balance of the biological cocktail of my body and mind.

There was a beautiful island in Hong Kong, where Petey and I spent the whole day tracing the outlines of its shape, seeing its telephone wires, swimming in its shark-ridden waters.

Also of import was our neighborhood hangout. The restaurant that spilled onto the sidewalk that we went to every night. Our last night in town, the owner would hardly let us leave. I talked to him about HK's history.

"What was it like in 1997? Were you happy the Brits left? Or were things better before China took over?"

"Happy??? What is happy? How is happy? From UK to China...how can we know happy?"

I agreed. However, all said and done, the owner seemed to be one of the happiest people I've come to know.

Getting back to Korea, I've been playing a bunch of shows with Yours. It's getting more fun now that I actually have a part. I also started a new project. I played a sampling of it at this month's Bulgasari, with pretty damn good results. Will expand upon this soon.

This weekend was the Chuncheon Mime Festival. It was amazing. My buddy from school came with me and bought devil horns and we danced in a giant circle with other demons holding hands.

Then I sold my soul trying to dance for a marble that would allow us to enter "the shantytown." My ballistic dancing did win us a marble, but my friend was not so lucky. Instead we made art at the reproduction safety booth and waited for my band bros.

We were actually not supposed to play the festival. We were substitutes. For Sighhhborggg. But the message did not get through to the directors of the festival, so I was instructed to pretend to be Sighhhborggg when picking up our passes and artist packets.

This was fine, kind of exciting, except that I was to bear the brunt for our lateness, our rehearsal missing, our lack of the appropriate number of passes and t-shirts. Luckily my Korean won us a little leniency. I managed to negotiate for extra passes, even scoring one for my buddy who we said was our band interpreter.

The stage setup was another stresser, but other than that: it was perfect. The festival was full of giant red papery structures and dancing cigarettes. We practiced by the river sitting on pages torn from magazines. We went on at 4am. Afterwards people asked to take their picture with me and said I had a beautiful voice. They asked all of our names, like they were going to put us on a K-pop poster, or make us a fanzine. I wish we played more for Koreans than foreigners. I had planned to sleep at the jimjilbang and then go into Seoul, but with all the adrenaline, sleep would have been impossible.

So I slept on the bus, next to our captain telling me stories about how he wrote such and such song for his girlfriend's birthday.

good golly, too much happens every day for me to even begin to write it all. this is life. I really like it.

Got stood up...

2011-05-12T04:34:00.000-07:00

not one of my ten students showed up for class today.

intro to english poetry.

watched the clock and wrote haiku about a laughing mosquito,

drew greek on the marker board,

taught iambic pentameter to to the fifth-floor ghosts,

and walked to the book cafe in the pink light of buddha's birthday lanterns.

at the door i mumbled to bukowski in my backpack,

"we'll get'm on tuesday."

Banana, the Big Pink Pen, and the Ring of Lies

2011-04-28T06:14:00.000-07:00

After a recent blue period of Korean humiliation and self-doubt, tonight was just what I needed to remind myself that I'm an ok son of a gun.
This semester I have ten college students. This is an increase from the four of previous semesters, but it has turned out to be a most welcomed development. I love it. Truth be told, whereas I used to dread Partnership, as it is called, it is now pretty much my favorite part of the week. I shed my weary chucks and put on a pair of shiny black flats, part of my earnings from "the German girl who left in a hurry." I bring my beaker and instant chai tea latte mix (thanks forever to Krit), use tri-colored dry erase board markers, and pretend I am a professor for two hours.
It is spectacular.
This week, after a terrifically pre-teen conversation about one of the student's Floridian pen-pals, I taught Dramatic Structure. Exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, denouement, "every whole has a beginning and end" (thanks forever to Aristotle)...and etc.
For an example, I used my student, her English name is Banana, and her cherished pink pen that is topped with a plastic hand. The pen was left behind one fated morn and then stolen by the antagonist, her best friend, who refused to admit her deceit. They fought to Banana's death (tragedy), or fought to the conclusion that Banana should keep the pen and the antagonist be left with a large pink hand print on her face (comedy).
Afterwards they created their own sketches based on my prompts:
(1) You find a magical ring that once donned forces you to tell only lies.
(2) Your friend has become obsessed with an inanimate object that she/he pretends is alive.

Their performances:
(1) The ring-bearer alleged to be engaged to the friend's boyfriend, then announced she was a man herself.
(2) The obsessed friend's pencil case was referred to as her "brother, Joey, who was thrown on the floor in a desperate effort to rid the friend of her psychosis. Having seen "the cold dead body" of Joey lying on the classroom floor, this scenario ended in suicide attempt from the 5th floor window.

An through this cathartic, if you will (and I will), teaching experience, I was reminded to hold onto my Trojan horses; I'm not even into the third act yet, just finishing up the expository details. Foreshadowing has always been something to ignore. As have most puns.

If life is a stage, I'm glad I was cast as me. And not Orpheus.

4월 4일

2011-04-04T03:30:00.000-07:00

(English translation below...)

4월 4일

남자들이 나무를 밀고 있다.
남자의 화는 소리가
도서관 위에서 날다가
풀에 앉혀서
깨진 나뭇입 처럼.

사람이 없는 벤치,
사람이 없는 들판,
사람이 없는 하늘,
사람이 없는 날.

나의 직물 밑에 있는 풀의 색은
나의 어릴 때 노란 머리가락 비슷하다.
커지는 풀이야? 죽는 풀이야?
누가 알고 있다?

어떤 사람이 쿵쿵거리며 걷다.
쉬어 가면서 나아가서
작고 노인 자동차 처럼.

"당신이 나무를 지운 남자야?
아니면, 특대 구두닦이 신 딸이야?"

친구의 소리는
햇빛에서
도 사랑스러운
소리예요.

the fourth of April

the men are pushing over trees,
their pained sounds fly over the library
and settle in the grass
like a tree's broken leaves.

person-less bench,
person-less field,
person-less sky,
person-less day.

below my blanket the grass is the color yellow
the same color yellow as my hair when I was young.
is it grass that is growing? is it grass that is dying?
who knows?

someone is clomping noisily this way.
they start and stop like a small old car.

"You, are you a tree-erasing man?
Or a daughter wearing far-too-big boots?"

in the sunlight,
a friend's voice
sounds much lovelier.

Updates: Opening Ceremony Edition

2011-03-02T06:50:00.000-08:00

Tiny Magenta Spiral

11:06 am - drew a Buddha who glared judgmentally at me from a large tapestry above the stage.

11:07 am - Buddha looks surprisingly similar to my third grade teacher.

11:09 am - clapped apathetically

11:10 am - clapped robotically

11:11 am - a babe cried out, presumably out of boredom

11:12 am - a monk clapped alone. he looked around, ashamed.

11:14 am - the Buddha floats barefoot on rhombus-shaped lily pads green like a cartoon crocodile and is buffered by pink-red heart clouds in a piece that might well be titled, "Enlightenment in the World of Care Bears."

11:17 am - monk at microphone wears white gloves, presumably destined for an-after ceremony cotillion, where he will panic about others' ability to identify his own body odor, and where he will dance with too many redheads.

11:19 am - person on my right battles the urge to sleep or has invisible headphones connected to a nine inch nails record.

11:35 pm - accidentally type "Buddha" in "message recipient" e-mail text box. intended recipient: myself.

Let's Look Beyond Ideology

2011-01-11T23:47:00.000-08:00

I don't want to get into it too much here, but for the sake of my own personal freedom of the press: I'd like to post the op ed posted by the Chosun Ilbo as I intended for it to be published. Not as an attack on a political party, but as an appeal for the rights of North Koreans, refugees and otherwise.

After a friend translated my article and sent it in to Seoul's leading paper, it was shortened and resubmitted to me for my approval. Han Joo helped me change the title to something less dividing, and we changed a few of the sentences to make my objectives more clear, given the allotted space. However, the conservative paper ignored the changes, pretending not to have received my email. Inanely, I had not called to ensure this had happened, and I regret that.

Anyway, I do appreciate that the word was spread, though somewhat spun in the process. I should mention that the labels "conservative" and "progressive" have very different meanings in Korea. And are just as banal as they are in the United States, in this radical's opinion.

(I'm posting this here instead of at www.seouldreamers.com because it's been the victim of a viral attack I just can't seem to shake...)

Let's look beyond ideology.
이데올로기를 넘어서 생각해 봅시다.

로렌 워커 Lauren E. Walker
북한인권 활동가

자국 정부가 평화를 해치는 데 대해 시민들이 반대 목소리를 높인다면, 인권운동가라면 누구나 이를 환영할 것입니다. 그러나 지난달,
2000여명의 소위 진보주의자들이 북한의 연평 포격을 유발했다며 한국 정부의 ‘적대적’ 정책에 대한 반대 시위를 벌이는 모습을 보고
생각했습니다. 그들의 주장이 옳고 그르냐를 논하고 싶진 않습니다.
서울에서 불과 60㎞ 떨어진 곳에 역사상 가장 억압적인 체제가 존재합니다. 북한 주민의 절대다수는 기본적인 인권을 빼앗긴 채 살고
있습니다. 그럼에도 한국에 사는 지난 2년 동안 북한인권을 위해 단 200명이 모인 시위나 행진도 보지 못했습니다. 2000명은 고사하고
말입니다. 한국의 소위 진보주의자 중 상당수는 북한인권운동에 반대합니다. 북한인권 참상을 모르기 때문입니까? 아니면 정치적인 두려움
때문입니까?
한국과 국제사회, 언론에도 비난의 화살을 돌릴 수 있습니다. 수십년 동안, 국제사회와 언론은 북한의 인권참상보다 핵위기에 더 관심을
기울였고, 이는 김정일 정권에 21세기에도 학살·고문·기아로부터 국제사회의 관심을 돌릴 수 있다는 것을 가르쳐 줬습니다. 수십만명이
정치범수용소에 갇혀 있고, 수백만명이 영양실조에 놓여 있습니다. 이것은 숫자가 아니라 사람입니다. 그리고 거기에서 도망온 탈북자들을 바로
한국에서도 만날 수 있습니다. 탈북자들은 오히려, 내가 아는 한, 북한에 대한 ‘인도적 지원’에 반대합니다. 그 ‘지원’이 어디로 가는지
잘 알기 때문입니다.
한반도에는 진정한 평화가 없습니다. 한반도에는 하나의 부유한 나라와 하나의 절망적인 나라가 있을 뿐입니다. 기자들이 평양을 방문하면,
그들은 거대한 인형극을 볼 뿐입니다. 평양에서 맛있는 음식을 접대받고 친절한 사람들과 만나는 것은 디즈니월드에 가서 미국인의 삶을 느끼는
것과 마찬가지입니다. 만약 북한이 궁금하고 북한 주민들의 삶을 알고 싶으면, 북한에서 직접 살다 온 사람의 말을 들어보십시오. 내 친구는
탈북하면서 독약을 품고 강을 건넜습니다. 북한에 돌아가느니 죽는 게 낫다고 생각해서지요.
대한민국의 ‘진보’ 여러분! 나는 여러분이 자유와 권리를 누리는 것이 좋습니다. 여러분이 북한에서 태어났다면 어땠을까요? 한국 정부도
문제가 없진 않습니다. 그러나 내가 몇 마디 잘못 말함으로 인해 3대가 정치범수용소에 끌려가지 않는 것에 대해 감사하고 있습니다.
저는 여러분들과 사상의 벽을 넘어 인권에 대해 이야기하고 싶습니다.

Someday I'll Be Too Old to Open Presents Manically...

2011-01-10T04:38:00.000-08:00

..But that day is not today.

All hell has calmly broken loose (more on this later). I took a ride for forty minutes to the bus terminal in gangnam. Brought a couple twixes to bring to my friend for his birthday and got on a bus. I got off the bus after two hours and ate a cheese and vegetable "toast" and waited for another bus. An old man nagged me for not answering his question about how much it costs to live in America for a month. I pretended I didn't understand Korean well enough. But really that question is just too vague for me to answer. Are you a Walker? A spendthrift? Are you staying at the Ritz, or are you living off Ritz Crackers? How the hell should I know?

I got on another bus for about an hour. Got off the bus and walked up toward the mountains of home, the scent of manure sweetly assuring me I'd chosen the correct stop.

Met my director, filled out a form, and trudged to the dormitory. I was about a month late changing my key, moving my junk, and in my last interaction with the dorm manager he'd called me a mannerless good-for-nothin'.

But...nothing happened. He smiled, asked me where I'd been, casually inquired as to why I was so late changing keys. Gave me my new key and showed me my packages. He seemed really excited for me, that I had packages. Probably because it's my first mail after being here a year. He's probably happy to know that somewhere some people love me, even if I am a mannerless good-for-nothin'.

Like the little fat mouse from Cinderella, I tucked the packages under my chin and strode up to my new room.

Idiotically, I'd exchanged my new key for the old without removing my stuff from the old room, so sheepishly I went back to the office, now deserted. I checked in with the nurse, she couldn't help me much, but made sure I checked into get my packages. Evidently, everyone at school knows about these abandoned parcels.

I went back to my new room and sat at the desk. Just a backpack and a laptop, and presents from America.

I started with Talihana's gifts.

I tried to take a picture of the gift with the mountain in my window, as in, gee, look how far your gift made it!! But you can't really see the package..

box and window

After opening. This face is not post David Sedaris and DVD euphoria. My eyes don't water at any old sitcom (ok not any old sitcom. And, yes, I am ashamed to name it here.) This image is the direct result of childhood photos of me smiling, and Dad eating cereal, and Dad pushing his children and nieces and nephews over during a "Where's the Bear?" routine. This face is from Mom's handwriting on the return address. I really miss you boogers.

Maniac McGee begins the unraveling of box number 2.

It surprised me that I actually stopped to consider opening the package first without reading the card.

It's amazing how people become monsters when they're alone.

Look how beautifully this is packaged. Thurm, you shouldn't have.

But I'm stoked you did. Totally needletooth.

Pants on head.

After realizing I actually did open a package from Meghan without reading the card...oopsers.

Ah yeah!!! Murakami!!!

Kritty-baby, you did me right. (All was stashed in the second drawer of my desk. Chocolate covered raisins consumption began on sight. Later the natural organic cheese rabbits were tested and found totally wantable.)

The loot!!! As we used to say around a green tree in Arkansas, I racked up.

Anything sappier I need to say, I won't say it on the internet. Suffice it to say, thankers beyond thankers. A mannerless good for nothin' like me doesn't deserve family like you, but that's the way you like me.

PS Your present pile has been growing unseemly in the backroom of a experimental gallery in Seoul, South Korea. If I don't mail them soon, I'll have enough to open my own mini-mart.

Don't hold your breath, though, I'm gonna mail 'em as slow and cheap as possible.

(Is it some consolation that I know I'm a cheapskate?)

Everything I Needed to Know I Learned from a Rice Krispies Treat

2010-12-14T04:35:00.000-08:00

my worried face

I finally learned how to worry in Korean,
just in time for tomorrow's Civil Defense Drill.

but, as the beach ball boys would say, don't worry baby,
everything's gonna turn out all right

then again, they also said they wished all girls could be california girls. which is not only rather dull, but geographically impossible.

my worry over drills stems from a childhood fire drill,
when the teacher asked me for the three simple words we learned to help us remember what to do if we ever caught fire, my nerves took over.
"unfortunately," she said after my response, "Snap, Crackle, and Pop will likely not be around when you're in an emergency situation."
what did she expect from a kid who used to include tony the tiger in her nightly prayers?

Turned out all right in the end. I've never had the experience of catching on fire, but I've had many experiences eating Rice Krispies.

Highlight of the day was bombarding my family members with my newfound ability to conference call on skype. Brent received a cacophonous message in his absence. Dad was chided over repetitive story-telling tendencies. I stirred up an old argument from last week so I could have my daily dosage of parental bickering. And no one asked Kristin how she was. Since she lives in America. It was a wonderful Walker moment. Concluded with my dad's own words of warning about civil defense drills:

"loosen your clothing (not sure this is really one...)
kneel down on the floor
tuck your head between your legs
and kiss your ass goodbye"

(of course dad didn't say 'ass' ...and now I'm going to get in trouble from Mom for not "watching my language." Another cozy feature of our AR-DE-SK conversation.)

Another reason why I sing in the stairwells:

Family. namely, mine.

an izardless, wizardless thanksgiving

2010-12-01T21:08:00.000-08:00

breakfast:

rice with honey mustard (the honey mustard is set out for the meat, so my combination using rice causes a strange stir among the other students. you would think I'd mixed it with hair the way they react.)

sweet potato and vegetable mash

broccoli with sweet red pepper paste (candy, absolute candy to me)

root soup

lunch:

before i realized the soup contained fish

lunch:

after i realized the soup contained fish

rice with seaweed bits

ketchup

bananas 2 (fruit is a definite rarity here, and the nutritionist gave me an extra! she must have sensed it was a holiday.)

fried vegetable fritter things!

Looking at these pictures, you may be getting the impression that it's your pity I'm after. I assure you this is not the case. There was food a'plenty. Taste a'plenty. And no lingering post-feasting guilt.

It was a terrific thanksgiving filled with the obligatory passing around of my cell-phone encapsulated self...poems written in honor of my absence...and songs about fast food joints sung in two-part harmony.

which just goes to show: there ain't no such thing as walker not home fer the hollerdays. wherever you may waller, we'll find you, and we'll love you, damnit.

yure all thanked for, loved and missed, and elephant kissed,

lureignian

Bbi Sori Who.../Thanknology

2010-11-24T01:05:00.000-08:00

tulululu.. from seul on Vimeo.

삐 소리 후. This means "'bee' noise after." (Think telephone robot language, "after the beep.") I named the band we formed this. So far, I'm the person who's found it most clever, but I'm uncharacteristically fine with that.

We've had a few shows in basements, factories, and bars called "Santa Claus." Being that we usually plan our set on the way to the set, there's definitely room for improvement ?or is there?, since we're largely improvisational... much to the loathing of my sister who infamously replied to my invitation "I wish I could be there, kind of..." my gasp was followed by, "you guys get kind of weird sometimes..."

For Saturday's show we opened with a tune I humvented weeks ago. 한주 liked it and started humming it, too. We've been humming this every weekend in his car on the way to yogiga, on the way to the train station, on the way home, eating breakfast, tying our shoes, making difficult decisions...

It's sort of like our pet kitten, or our friend ducky from The Land Before Time.

I can go for days on a good hum, maybe even years...

Our set on Saturday was pretty good and we drove back to Seoul late into the night falling asleep during car games and having dreams about weird castles the kind you have to run away from. There was an Indian restaurant involved with way too many dead flies in the bathroom to pass any kind of public safety standard, even for flies.

Sunday we had a good mind to mind and went to a museum showcasing Buddhist paintings stolen from Korea by various people from various countries with various malevolent intentions.

Naturally I bought two stamps based on the patterns from the paintings, afterwards, since clearly the only time I don't get a panic attack by the thought of shopping is when I want to buy souvenirs for two of my good friends at school who happen to be Buddhist monks.

It was a museum in fall day, the lovely kind, where no other word but "lovely" really works, and people kind of look at you weird because you are happy (or because you're a foreigner with large teal glasses).

I was deposited at the terminal after that, distracted for several minutes by an oddly placed flower shop, and, finally, reminded to buy a train ticket. The train was inhabited by an old person singing angrily.

(When I said "old person" in that last sentence, what did you picture? A man, a woman, or the word "person" decorated with stringy, silvery hair?)

Monday I had my interview to stay at my cult and Tuesday I took a test and Wednesday I got the test back. Thursday I will hold a thanksgiving feast in my own lonely honor. It will consist of a collection of images from the world wide web of

green bean casserole

broccoli casserole

rolls

stuffing

sweet tea

and maybe a slice of pumpkin pie (if I'm not too full...)

for dessert maybe I'll visit google earth and actually stare at my home using "street view" like a forlorn scrooge with his ghost of christmas past. :thanknology:

giving happy thanks and thanks happy giving,

lauren's breakfast bash

Life a Little Blessing

2010-11-19T05:37:00.000-08:00

Polishing green radishes over a large red barrel, wearing long pink dishwasher gloves, and bright white rain galoshes outside of a rest home for the mentally "hurt," I thought to myself: I am not even surprised to find myself in places where I would normally be surprised to find myself anymore. But I do find myself happy.

I was useful in a tangible way. The radishes I carried, cleaned, rinsed, and adored will be chopped, fermented, and eaten. I didn't have to raise any awareness about the radishes. I didn't have to teach people how to eat the radishes. I didn't have to ask for money so that people could eat them. I just had to sit there, mechanically, like in my ne'er forgotten wine bottle labeling days, and listen to my "little sisters" talk about the frustrations of being college students.

I was an "old woman." Fit with rolled up pants, a modest sense of aged wisdom, and a bad back.

Our toes were cold and our hands were cold and I taught them how Krit and I survived our year in Boston by using reverse psychology and rolling up our sleeves like we were in the tropics. Only one of them cared to adopt this method.

After we finished we loaded up the bus with the rest home residents who would be performing a concert in Nonsan, while we were to provide morale and clapping support.

I was glad I dragged Petey along because the whole day was about eight hours, and Petey is good to have around. Naturally, we caused a subtle scene, being a pair of long-legged foreigner-types. After confirming I was not his girlfriend, and he was not my husband, things settled down a bit. I was hoping that someone would eventually guess our relationship was mother and son, but he's only one year younger than me, (which he prefers to lie about, believing that because he was born in January he can choose whichever age he wants.)

The concert turned out to be for the deaf community in Nonsan. Each performance was done in sign language. There were raps, stories presumably about small chickens, and songs signed by reindeer antler-bearing girls and old women. I was unavoidably time machined back to Park Hill's large blue choir room where four mischievous teenagers created their own alternative "sign language" and lyrics to a number of hymns and anthems. ("When the world is shaken, we can put our faith in" having been changed to, "When the world is shaken, we can eat our bacon...")

Our rest home friends' performances were the best, naturally. We thumbsed-up all our thumbs. We hooted and hollered and swayed to the music. We learned the Korean sign language equivalents of "thank you" and "baby" and I recognized that the sign for "Jesus" is the same in Korean sign language as it is in American sign language. (More handy leftovers from my Christian childhood.)

As we exited we were given crystal glasses as an "anniversary present." (I was planning to send these as a Christmas gift to someone in America, but I guess their origin's now been disclosed.)

On the school bus home, I hummed and stared out at a purple sky over gray fields of fall. It was one of those days where you say, yeah, this, this kind of thing is why I like life. Why people are good. Why I skip when I walk. And laugh when I talk.

All my love and radishes,

ren e.

smaerD

2010-11-18T00:40:00.000-08:00

Sometime after getting in trouble for leading some guys on (one with big glasses and some guy I used to work with), I was asked to be in a race. There were four of us, but we needed six. I walked around the tourist town in my seventh grade yellow and blue track uniform asking random girls in souvenir shops if they wanted to be on our team. I was mostly denied and mostly relieved, but I ran like a rocket down the street for practice. A woman called after me, "Yeah! That's how you do it." I smiled, but I kept on going full blast ahead and we both knew I was wasting my steam before the big race, so then she called out, "Ok. Stop!" I don't remember if I stopped or not. But I ended up at this tall skinny white house with a veranda. At a table was a guy who went to the same church as me when I was a kid. He was probably about five or six years older than me. We weren't really friends, just knew each other. But anyway, he was sitting at this table in front of the door and the weather got all gloomy all of a sudden.
"Are you drinking whiskey?" I asked him. There were about thirteen glasses of light brown liquid on the table. Some of the glasses were empty. Some were half empty. Some were half full.
"Yeah." He looked depressed.
I started to sit down and have a drink with him. But I thought maybe he had a serious problem. I started to go into the house but I was stopped by a sheet of rock that rolled down from the top of the wooden door.

I used the bathroom, changed my underwear, put on corduroy pants, and went down for breakfast.

(Φωτογραφία από την Ελλάδα στην Ολυμπία, γύρω στο 2006)

Pakistan Wishes Under an Expansive White Sky

2010-11-16T22:25:00.000-08:00

Today I wish to do nothing but express my gratitude to the country of Pakistan, where I have a maintained a readership of 42 this week alone. This week, more people living, operating computers, and frequenting blog sites in Pakistan have read Seoul La Ti Do than those living in any other country in the world. Pakistan, thank you. Pakistan: A place to read a blog written by an Arkansan in South Korea.

Greetings, Cards!

2010-11-16T04:02:00.000-08:00

Today during class I wrote a play about a Cootie named Hubert.
Hubert climbed the stairs of a dusty brown old building to find a set of Siamese twins.
He said, "I'm Hubert, a Cootie."
The Siemese looked at each other and replied, "No offense, but you're not that cute."
"No," he said, "Cootie. Coo. Coo."
"Coo, coo," the biggest half of the Siamese twin repeated. After a brief pause, the half continued, "Sorry, we've only got one working ear."
"It's all right," Hubert said, "it's easily confusable."
They three went on to exchange fairly annoying pleasantries until finally a half asked, "So, you're here to apply for the position you read about on Craigslist, I assume."
"I guess so," Hubert shrugged.
Well, had he heard about the job on Craigslist or hadn't he, the twins prodded. Hubert wondered why they cared so much, and they said they didn't want to hire the sort of person who would find out about a job on Craigslist.
"So why did you place an ad on Craig's List in the first place?"
"Everyone does it," they replied.
"Well, I just saw the sign outside. That's what referred me. The little sign outside."
This delighted them. "Well, just what was it about the sign that caught your attention, do you think?" They asked Hubert.
"The 'Now Hiring' part, probably. Yeah, that's it."
They frowned at one another.
"Can you tell me about the position, anyway, then?" Hubert asked.
"Oh, right. Well, we're looking for a third," Half grinned.
"A third? Like a siamese triplet?" Hubert took a step to the door.
"No, no. Nonsense. We'd like a third, you know, for cards."
"Oh, right, for cards. But, tell me, what sort of game requires a threesome, for cards?"
"It's not a game, really," Half said.
"Well, it's kind of game," the other Half said.
"Just tell me what kind of cards you're playing," said an exasperated Hubert.
"Greeting cards," they said.
"Greeting cards?"
"Yes, greeting cards."
"Like Birthday, anniversary, I'm sorry..."
"Precisely. The way it works, see, is that we pick a random name from the phone book and then we throw the calendar on the floor. Whatever holiday's closest we send that themed card. If there's no holiday within a ten day range, it's a bereavement. If we're feeling particularly giddy, we make it a birthday."
"What about 'Get Well Soon's?"
"Never thought about that before. Looks like you're just the man for the job, then, doesn't it?"
"But what happens. After you send the card. Do you ever hear back? Do people, like, actually respond to these things?"
"Just wait."
"Yeah, we just wait."
"Wait?"
"Wait."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Not a too effective way to learn Korean during class, but a very effective way to dream Cooties into existence.

A Friend's New Video Game

2010-11-15T00:29:00.000-08:00

It looks like a shooting game. But it's not.
Uh huh.

See, I need to go through this wall, so I shoot it, see. That portal opens and now I can go through.
Hm.
But now look- I need to get through that door, but I have to press down this red button in order for the door to open, but if I step off the button the door will close, so, I need that brick over there to hold the button down.
Oh, I see.
So I shoot the brick and it goes through the portal and lands right behind me. Now I can put it on the button and go through the door.
So, it's like a maze?
Yeah, see now they're telling me that they won't be monitoring this level, but after I complete the level, they'll tell me they actually were monitoring it, but that from now on they won't make any more fabrications.
Right. How long does this go on for?
On and on and...
Wow. Well, I'm sure it's good for your synapses.
Yeah, I don't usually play video games.

Nervous Nights in White Satin

2010-10-19T20:07:00.000-07:00

During my speaking mid-term this morning, amidst a round-table of chairs and teachers, I drew the topic of bad luck. Basically Murphey's laws in Korean. I guess they're a part of the international protocol.

After my reading, I had the improvisational portion. I drew "family."  I started by saying there were five people in my family.

A dad, a mom, a brother (one), and a sister (one.) I said the ages of my mom and dad and some other boring stuff and I started getting really nervous.

"And also, my father is a magician who works at the top of the stairs of a large building in Arkansas," I began.  "My mother's health is not good, but she's a teacher at a high school." The half-lies started tumbling out and I don't where they came from, but I hope I'm not bringing any future bad luck or Murphy's laws upon my family.

"My brother produces many famous and funny movies. My sister writes weird songs in Delaware. My brother lives in our hometown and was married last year and has two things of dogs." (The professor corrected me, while laughing.)

"Our family is very funny and here's why. They're very nice and always making jokes and telling funny stories. I miss this family all the time. I'm very worried because now my grandfather is ninety-nine and I should call my family more but I don't call them very much and when I call they tell me to call more."

I was rambling, viciously, to a little track stopwatch while she took notes.

When it was over, I had the uncomfortable feeling when you know you can do better, when you always do better, talking to random people in felt hats, or coffee shop owners, bus drivers, or friends. But I was so nerveled.

The professor complimented me a lot.  "You always speak very well, Lauren. Very well done, not perfect, but very well done. Your pronunciation isn't bad either. You need to work on how you say you're worried. That part is incorrect."

I thanked her and told her that class was fun and interesting but sometimes I have other thoughts in my head during class.

She told me to send in the next student.

I'll go in peace, I said.

I have a problem because I'm listening to a lot of music again: Daniel Johnston and Beat Happening and Moody Blues and Dan Deacon and they always make me think things are possible and that I should just get out of here and really get in here and fight.

It's possible I'm a little lonely under the mountain. But it's so blanking beautiful. Could be I'm just lazy.

Meetings are in place for a new, unusually (for me) tangible, project. The right connections have been made.  More soonish.

Can't

2010-10-19T08:08:00.000-07:00

study
look at pictures of Conor Oberst
stop doodling pictures of dinosaurs with only two legs and stomachs that say "I'm too cute to die."
figure out the world
believe it's almost midnight
get excited about tomorrow
remember important facts from important peoples' lives
stop a little stomachache
ignore notebooks
understand the random woman with the hat who stopped us in the middle of the street for English tips
get back on the bus
get coffee anywhere within an hour's walk from here
refuse
refute laws of gravity
teach mom how to use skype
face another dream about drinking in bars in foggy lands of murderers wearing half a dress
keep a promise to myself or anyone except Smokey the Bear
talk about saying goodbye at airports in class anymore
picture the front of our house without the two bushes that used to carry large broken christmas lights
bid you goodnight to your face

Electrocutionist

2010-10-18T05:31:00.000-07:00

I know I still owe you half a book, but after my mild electrocution, I have elected to have a friend repair my live wire, I mean power cord. And since my laptop doubles as my pc, camera, and phone, I may have been a little out of touch lately.

My favorite thing about my life these days is that I made up a song called "쓰래기 피자 먹어싶어." This means "Trash Pizza I Want to Eat It." Basically, it's about a practically full pizza I found in a pile of trash oustide of Yogiga on Sunday morning. But I think there's something else there if you look below the surface, or crust, if you will (and I will).

There was an awesome event yesterday at a Women's Uni in Seoul with a bunch of kids from all over Asia. My friend from NK spoke. I also held a screening at Geumgang Univ last Wednesday, as well. But these are North Korean Human Rights related events. So don't worry, I'll spare you my broken record heartbreakingness for seouldreamers.com.

The weekend was pretty wicked. Last weekend too. Played a show in an industrial district for an art festival. Stayed out all night talking to kids in the park and dancing in a cave. The next day I ran to Itta and Marquido's wedding in the same clothes I'd worn the night before (not to mention the previous days). My shoes were more holes than shoe. I was panic stricken and late. I saw a shoe store and tried to get shoes but came out only with directions. I ran singing the mantra "My mother would be horrified. My mother would be horrified. My mother would be absolutely and irrevocably horrified." This continued until I reached a gorgeous sand filled palace fortress something and found all of my artisan family standing outside underneath a tent, Sato Yukie loudly singing a love song and strumming his guitar.

I looked around and saw G.T. Arpe, Russ, and an artist name Borami who carries a stuffed bear everywhere she goes, and I looked down at my shoes. Not a soul in the space would even notice. I smiled and let a little undeserved love fill my little heart as I watched two people on a small stage.

This weekend was Stophe's birthday. I introduced another friend as my brother, as if Brent had come to town, which was funny at first, but just made me really bummed and empty at the end. They also didn't play our requested "Jock Jams" tune even though we asked politely.

I called Kristin in the morning and sang Oklahoma on her answering machine and played my guitar on the roof, but she didn't answer, and a dog started barking at me, and it didn't sound like "encore" so I went inside and drew pictures in my workbook until everyone else woke up.

Not too much happened today, but I've been trying to study for finals a little, after the better part of my day was wasted on buses. More importantly, though, I've been working hard to remember old songs from elementary and junior high school days like that one about wanting to lay with you by the mountain (or ocean or something) and going through Ten Things I Hate About You in my head.

I'm a little bit stressed about what to do next semester. After consulting Chinese dieties, it seems I should stay at Geumgang and avoid exploring other opportunities. But I'm not ruling out the opinions of dieties from other countries, should they wish to present themselves in a form similar to what happened to Tom Hanks in the movie Big.

We're all in this little world together, and wherever you are, you can rest assured that this one kid you know is exiting buses with giant sunglasses, wearing the same tight black pants every day, and singing "Fire and Rain" on overpasses to ladies carrying birds and having places to go in a little country town with its own Dunkin Donuts.

My Korean Children's Book: Part the First

2010-09-29T06:09:00.000-07:00

We have to change our name because it's uniquely unoriginal, but we performed for the first time at Yogiga for this month's Bulgassari. During our set I read my newly created (very short) story. On the way back to Nonsan, I took the slow bus by mistake. Imagine taking a local bus through an entire, though rather small, country. Instead of ending my life, while also lacking the proper tools, I made some illustrations to accompany my story.

My family tree is lazy.

But, from the front of my family tree, the view is beautiful.

During the third year of high school, I made a plan.

I had a hard time.

I had a hard time!

There were too many rules, so I had a hard time.

I stopped wearing shoes.

A police officer was very surprised.

The next day, again, I had a hard time.

I had a hard time!

To be continued.

(I hate to keep you on the edges of your proverbial seats, but I have to finish illustrating the remaining eight sentences.)

With A Hint of Bedraggledness, And A Lot of Rain In General

2010-09-22T08:34:00.000-07:00

miss

my house in bangbaedong on the street whose name I never knew
working
writing in the giant black journal that doesn't even know me anymore
that shirt that made me look like a Newsie
VirtuaFighter
the Weekly Walker
my mustard yellow typewriter
perfect freedom
enjoying lazying around
encyclopedia browne
soccer in the backyard
wearing bugle boy jackets
fall
that "in love" feeling
that one pair of diesles I bought in san diego that I wore until they molded and rotted away
family vacations
cap guns
pinatas
bonfires
zoombinis
when my room was clean
the day our umbrellas ran away with us (you'll know the one)
looking forward
hot dogs
sneaking our kittens inside in kleenex boxes
microwaving tv dinners and vegging out with the parents gone
being treated like an adult
being a child
getting stuff done
pretending to be sick to get out of band
running track
making breakfast for my cousins
making up creepy stories with my sister by rivers
swinging on the welch's yellow rope swing in St. Louis
throwing darts at the lakehouse
that sound dad makes when he hits his ring against every light pole we pass while running
snow ice cream
tearjerkers
woods
school mail
swim parties with little ceaser's during softball season
reading angel stories while waiting for piano lessons
walking to mcdonalds with the mcmillans
the summer fan feeling
that ski game on our first computer where you could make the dog poop by running over it with your mouse
putting on monologues for my poor parents
videotaping our christmas ornament stories
trying to record my friends' scandalous lunch conversations during high school
working in the library
meeting kristin
jonesboro
nighttime
gin
static
rummaging through drawers for hidden family secrets

will miss later: (or, what happened in the last few days)
sitting inside yogiga while an experimental video on exhibition played the same song repeatedly until I almost lost my mind
changing lyrics from said song from "take you on a trip" to "take you on a F******* trip"
drinking outside with hanjoo and youngmin
recording Black Korean Cocktail with Silent Partners
listening to music in the yogiga office with the buds
rain
feeling useless
a movie?
studying
drawing on my arm
inventing the best drink ever
watching han joo make dinner
being kind of rude in general
being kind of a sourpuss while not actually wanting to use the word "sourpuss"
going to a clinic to have my breast examined
going on a not so crazy adventure to get my money back from the korean government although we did go into a room i'm pretty sure was classified
talking to christopher and getting on and off of incorrectly perceived correct buses
going to a four day event organized by koreans for foreigners
directing our talent show entry
breaking into the pool at night
being the older sister to belgian, french, and japanese students
volunteering to be spanked at a historical site
being oddly shocked by the pain after said spanking and shocking fellow tourists with unstoppable howl
playing my guitar in the rain
visiting han joo's father's hometown
being proud of the tradition of respect for the dead
learning about ancient belief systems
wondering if the killer bee house in the side of the grandparent's tomb is a sign of anything
--->like, what happens if your grandson is an artist or dates a foreigner or something
not sleeping
writing letters in english
writing in my journal in the closet
sleeping in the car
wanting to move away from the planet for a while
eating the best bibimbap of my life in the gongju bus station
surprising han joo by showing up in seoul
missing a nk human rights protest because of rain
drinking a soy latte in my older sister's coffee shop while people floated by under umbrellas
thinking a hell of a lot ado about nothing and not a drop to drink

can i do
am i free
which is free

On A String For Forty-Eight Hours

2010-09-12T05:53:00.000-07:00

48 of the best hours of the summer.

Doesn't get much better than palling around with my brother when he's got his camera and a plan. Here's our entry for the 48 Hour Film Festival in Little Rock. We were up for several awards, and we ran away with Best Writing. I'm proud to say I had a little do with this.

Bean, if you're going to go around looking for a bridge with water underneath it, I hope you'll take me and Krit with you for the ride.

Mommers and Deeds had great cameos as they tried their best to play my "parents" (it was kind of a stretch). Kristin was also typecast as a robot. And Tigger did an awesome job playing the role of several purple balloons, but he didn't make the credits.

I was ecstatic at the premier when two local celebrities, Margen and Andrew Sever, happened to pop by. Margen asked me to sign her PT Hater shorts, but I was too nervous.

The best part, though, was during the Q&A when Brent made me look like a drug addict. It's like they say, good writers have at least one vice, and bad cleaners have at least two mice.

I can't watch this video too much because it's home and I'm not.

Sending this post by way of a big bright balloon.

,Ellery

On a String from Brent M on Vimeo.

To Read the Students the Song Into The Wall

2010-09-12T05:32:00.000-07:00

GREATNESS OF THE MUSIC

BECAUSE IT CAN BE MAGICAL

(in the spot where I usually attach a picture, I'm attaching this instead.

an example of Han Joo's musical greatness:)

"Renny Song"

For a laugh, I google translated my Korean homework into English. Instead of writing a diary, I decided to write something for my artists friends who are teaching music workshops for kids in the farming village of Anseong. Just a few pointers. I'm going to have a friend look at this before I turn it in, but I sure hope it's not as bad as "Google Translate" makes it sound. On the other hand, this is probably one of the most inadvertently funny things I have ever written.

Raren this.

Sunday September 12, 2010

Teacher advice

Our friends at the obvious next Saturday, and taught the younger students. Then I had a lot of measuring. This chungguneun is primarily a music teacher. Using this advice, but also hope in some classrooms.

1. Every teacher would like students to serve as the first rule I need to meet.

2. I'm gonna have a simple rule. To read the students the song into the wall.

3. Students can write the rules. Hamyeon students have ownership of this.

4. The rules require that: banchinguege respected and admired teacher, please.

5. "Joyounghi" Make a sign: "If you can deureul do once the box."

6. Place a desk or place is important. Students need to sit down every seongsaengnim jjukeuro.

7. Do not try to use instruments that do not. I can hear the students play the instrument.So, go ahead.

8. The teacher is supposed to be an instrument to talk ttaehaksengape.

9. Have to create lesson plans. Attention span of students do very jarbahseo bakkwaya activities.

10. To encourage every student.

11. If you can sit in a circle. Haksaengssik that you can join.

12. If a student is waiting for me in office.
Game ideas:

1. A simple adjustment of one line per student mandeugo Sing.

2. Musical chairs

3. Frozen dyaenseu

4. Mime Ensemble

Energy is a teacher, I can do that. Greatness of the music because it can be magical!

라렌 이.
2010년 9월 12일 일요일
선생님 충고
이번 토요일에 안성에서 우리 친구하고 어린 학생들을 가르쳤다. 그때 계량 생각을 많이 했다. 이 충구는 주로 음악 교사이다. 하지만 이 충고 어떤 교실 안에 사용 하면 도 좋겠다.
1. 선생님마다 학생들이 대접하고싶지만 처음 만날 때 규칙을 해야 해요.
2. 단순한 규칙은 만들어야 해요. 벽에에 넣고 학생들하고 읽거나 노래 하세요.
3. 학생들이 규칙을 쓸 수 있어요. 이렇게 함연 학생의 소유권이 있어요.
4. 필요하는 교칙은: 선생님에게 존경 하고 반친구에게 존경 하세요.
5. “조영히” 사인 만드세요: “드를 수 있으면 한 번 박스 하세요.”
6. 책상이나 자리를 배치가 중요하다. 학생마다 성생님 쭉으로 앉아야 해요.
7. 악기를 사용하려고 하면 바로 주지마세요. 학생들이 잘 들으면 악기 칠 수 있다. 이렇게 말씀하세요.
8. 선생님이 이야기 할 때학셍앞에 악기를있어야 돼요.
9. 수업 계획을 만들어야 돼요. 학생의 관심 스팬은 매우 잛아서 활동을 바꽈야 돼요.
10. 학생마다 장려하세요.
11. 할 수 있으면 원 안에 앉으세요. 그렇게 학생씩 참여 할 수 있다.
12. 학생은 기다리고 있으면 직무를 주세요.

게임 아이디어:
1. 간단한 조정 만드고 학생 마다 한 라인을 노래 하세요.
2. 뮤지컬 의자
3. 동결 댼스
4. 마임 악단
에너지 있는 선생님들이 잘 할 수 있다. 음악이 마술이라서 위대함 할 수 있다!

Play Your Mandolin in the Soccer Field Day (Tuesday)

2010-09-09T00:28:00.000-07:00

Friday, I waited near Samchungdung in front of the palace for an hour and a half or so. I was sitting with my left leg over my right and with my head perched on one hand. I looked across the sidewalk and there was a golden buddha across the way doing the very same thing. And so it was confirmed. I'm sort of a prophet.

Later I watched Old Boy, the famed Korean film I always pretend I've seen, and still managed to evade its power. I really really really wanted to watch it, but my eyelids had other plans. And so the two hours became the weridest trip of a psychological thriller interweaved with dreams of a land I had to get to by a certain time or I'd be separated from someone? everyone? forever, and when a bell tings that's it. (None of which is actually in the movie, I don't think). Anyway, I'll watch it someday. It was a pretty wicked dream, at least.

Saturday, I was hoodwinked. I became obsessed with fighting my sinus infection with something other than a deadly red pill white pill cocktail. So, Han Joo delivered me to an Orinetal Medicine Clinic, this is the code phrase for Shoot You In the Face With A Lot Of Needles Place, which I presume, far less people would patronize. Imagine a little black cat who realizes he's just been tricked into the bathroom where a nice watery bath awaits. That is precisely the manner in which I scampered out when I was told the true purpose of the joint. "I feel better! I feel great!" I ran screaming to the door. Han Joo grabbed the collar of my shirt and dragged me back to fill out eight thousand questions about my nose's medical history. I gave Han Joo an undeservedly hard time as he translated the form. The doctor stuck my hand with pins several times before injecting my forehead, cheeks, and mustache-would-be area as Han Joo and the nurse watched the little weakling tears roll down my metal-whisker bedecked cheeks. I was then sent, whiskers intact, to bask in my dooziness in the waiting room, wishing I wasn't so much like my blood-phobic father. Han Joo, naturally, thought the whole thing was pretty hilarious. As we left they gave me some green ointment and stabbed it up my nose to make sure I'd know how to inflict such pain upon myself appropriately in the near future. We had a lovely little lunch of sundubu on the floor of a neighboring restaurant and Han Joo walked me to the bus.

Insa-dong, once again. The bliss of seeing the old kind of friends that are family. Three hours of performing as a North Korean refugee on the main drag with a black hood over my face. People staring. Giving money. Taking pictures. I thought about the family I'd just seen at home. What would I do if they were sick, dying of hunger? I'd do anything for them. I hope I'd be as brave as the people our performances symbolize. I'd hope a crazy rascalian would tell people about my fate, and that of my family. I'd hope the part of our legacy, the maltreatment, the misfortune would be remembered, but never repeated. That's what I think about while my legs and barefeet scratch the pavement of Korea.

Thanking the tremendous work of the other volunteers, I ran to the subway. I rode line 7 almost to the end, I rode with a smile for Victory, my new little sister. My Onni's neice. The one who'd been in hiding in China, after escaping North Korea. I walked a little faster, and took all the steps two at a time. Meeting my Onni and her older sister was beautiful. And little Victory, her English name, was a sight to behold. The adorablest ever. If not for my serious respect for my Onni and her family, I would have snatched her right away. Luckily, I was content to read to her about Bert's Beautiful Sites, from a Sesame St. book Mom bought for me to bring Victory. She loooooooooved it and she thought I was hilarious. They cooked me North Korean noodles, which Onni had been saving for my arrival. Victory and I sat together at dinner and got in trouble pointing out the colors of every. single. thing. on the table. Her idea. Then they piled me with all sorts of random gifts that of course I'm too helpless to buy myself: toothbrushes, hairbrushes, towels. This, is family.

Sunday, I tooled around in the rain, studying a little and giving myself the fake tattoo that came out of my cereal bag. Then I went for this awesome international dancer at Theater Zero. Han Joo and our friends were backing the dancers with their "sparkling music" (as one French dancer put it). I didn't think my rainy day brooding was up for the radness, but it finally broke through to me, climaxing with a Japanese dancer pulling me from my bench onto her back for the finale.

Afterwards, Han Joo slept and I watched the stupid American film he picked out. I still can't figure it out: Why was this made into a movie? Was it supposed to be funny? Was it supposed to challenge stereotypes? I justify Han Joo's selection due to the language barrier, it must be that the Korean subtitler is a poet and changed the entire concept of the movie........

Monday, he sang me back to school, a Korean Children's song, here is my direct translation:

Three Bears are In One House

Three Bears in One House There Are,
Daddy Bear, Mommy Bear, Baby Bear
Daddy Bear is Very Fat
Mommy Bear is Very Thin
Baby Bear is Way Too Cute!
Kiiiiisook Kiiiisook
Very Well Done!

Everyday, I'm meeting cool new people with fascinating views and non-views on life, North Korea, and snails. I love being called "nuna," which means "older sister," and I'm trying to study well. I'm also working extremely hard by watching a semi-ridiculous Korean Drama called Kim Tak Gu, King of Baking (see picture below). Anyone interested in suddenly craving large quantities of bread, seeing excessive crying scenes, and learning a little Korean is encouraged to find the show on mysoju.com.

Peace and love love love!

(Thanks for all the kind remarks, bee tee dubs. After all, my ego's gotta eat, too. ^^)

(Oh! Yeah. I'm feeling spectacular! Is it the witch doctor, or my new dairy-free, packaged-food-free nutrition arrangement? Who bloody cares? I'm alive!)

Back By Popular (and occasionally malicious) Demand

2010-09-01T23:54:00.000-07:00

mette, me, raph, and flany duking it out at mette's birthday particle.

I'm back at Geumgang University, fighting dragons and drinking 쌍화탕 while holding my nose. This brown liquid, a combination of lizard's breath, ginseng, and barbecue sauce, was given to me by the school nurse. Twice. The liquid is my secret weapon in the war I'm waging against the alien species that has invaded my nose, more specifically, the right nostril.

This cold and/or allergy adventure has led to a very interesting sleeping pattern which happens to be in direct opposition to my new roommate's sleeping habits: She going to bed at halfpast three am, sleeping at odd hours during the day, waking god knows when. Me hitting the pillow at the matronly hour of 9 or 10 pm waking up every few minutes, due to the light and/or laughter emerging from her computer game playing, and waking finally and merrily at 4 or 5 in the morning, at which point I creep down to the computer lab in stairwells lit by a creepy green light.

In non-mucus related news, I am very happy to have returned to my little melting pot in the mountains, seeing old friends, missing the traitorous old friends who've moved back to Denmark, Canada, Japan, and the United States, and re-engaging in my little big-hearted effort to learn Korean. It's so exciting! This learning stuff.

Today was the first day of class. The class was a bit preoccupied with my glasses, but I managed to regale them with the tale of my newly acquired mandolin, leaving out some of the more incriminating parts of the story.

Being in the intermediate class and understanding everything the teacher is saying is a gift like none other, and darn good proof of how much I learned last semester after I swallowed my pride and sallied forth to the beginner's basement.

I'm currently in South Korea as a "tourist," after having nearly been repatriated due to the expiration of the visa my program director had allegedly extended. This presented a rather hilarious situation at immigration, whereby I managed to squeeze through the doors with a bit of bewildered charm and the promise of the tears to come, should my pass not be awarded.

Han Joo was waiting for me at the airport, having killed time speaking to a Cabotian, of all people, thereby compelling me to exclaim "of all the gin joints in all the world!"- which no one ever gets, but I refuse to remove from my vernacular. I didn't swap names and places with the Cabotian, who'd picked Han Joo out because of his Ozark Traditional Folk Village t-shirt, but it was nice to see another Arkansan in Korea. There's quite a little colony of us now, what with the sheer numbers of Joe-recruits alone.

I feel guilty even mentioning home here because of those I failed to see while in the Americas. It was a truly wonderful and rushed adventure and I regret that my planning director is dull-witted traveling finatic.

All of the ones I did see in all of my little homes across America, and the rented home of Toronto, were completely magical. Those homeland novellas will have to wait. I've got studying to do.

And under the category of "Why the Hell Does Everything Almost Make Me Cry?" of the day:

Flash Mobs:
Sound of Music at the Rail Station in Belguim. Youtuble it. If you're weird, watch it with a box of kleenex.

Well, old diggers, thanks for staying true and truly staying.

다시 만나서 행복해요,

루

ALERT: This Blog Has A New Home!!

2010-04-19T04:20:00.000-07:00

Thank you very much for visiting and supporting this blog.
With warm regards I invite and urge you to visit my new space at: http://seouldreamers.com/tc/!!!

Shoelaces, Anyone?

2010-04-12T08:00:00.000-07:00

Please check out www.seouldreamers.com for more information.

Lovers and dreamers unite and goodnight.

,love Lewbug

Mom, I Made it Home

2010-03-28T08:24:00.000-07:00

I Went to Daejeon with the Express Purpose of Finding a Small Cafe (which we don't have within an hour's bus ride from campus) and Studying Relentlessly.
It worked for the most part, with only a few major/minor distractions: a festival, a freezing concert, a two-hour walk to find breakfast, a two hour walk to find a PC room, a daydream about my sister...

An abbreviated account by way of quotes....

Saturday

"Each of us is a flower."
-in song, Chungnam University International Students raising money for orphans, some while wearing leopard-ear headbands and cornering festival-goers in the park, in a kindly musical herd of about twenty.

"There's a glasses place. I want to get my eyes checked. ... Is that weird?"
-Me, to Alex, while walking around waiting for the Global Festival to start.

Glasses Guy: Do you know what an astigmatism is?
Me: I used to. I wore glasses for it, but when I lost two pairs of them my parents decided I must not really need them.
Glasses Guy: Well, you have one in your right eye. And astigmatism in your left eye, too. Also, in left eye, you are short-sighted.
Alex: I think he just insulted you.

"Thanks for dancing while I played."
My friend Nicholas, of G.T. Arpe, after his outdoor concert on Rodeo Street.

"Rock them with your weirdness!"
Audience member, during G.T. Arpe's performance.

"Ma'am, this is a trifle expensive. Do you have any cheaper rooms?"
Me, attempting to haggle at my first solo hotel experience not paid for by an airline.

"It's Saturday; other places will be much more expensive."
The hotel lady, after booking a room for a couple staying only two hours.

"I can't shoot a reindeer!"
Bart Simpson, of the Simpsons, after deciding I should just stay at the freaky, overpriced hotel. At least there were free vitamin drinks (Vita-Up!) in the mini-fridge.

Sunday:

"How much is this?"
Me, referring to an orange and brown traditional Korean dress I found at a thrift store.
It was about ten dollars. I didn't buy it.

"Sorry, but you didn't find a cell phone did you?"
Me, about an hour and a half later after discovering my phone was missing. It was buried beneath a pile of children's clothes, where it was likely scoring the numbers of Lilo and Stich and Winnie the Pooh.

Friday I initiated a spontaneous ice cream consumption party at GGU in the drinking room (the only place where males and females can congregate after dinner). Afterwards the girls played MASH and listened to David Bowie in Mette's room.

My first choice in the Life Partner category of MASH was my sister, Kristin. It was an unsuccessful venture, which I'm sure Mom (usually weirded out be such revelations) will be relieved to hear. Unfortunately, my second choice, Han Joo, was eliminated as well.

I was lucky enough, however, to score a pet chameleon to serve as conductor to my metro to the world.

Tonight we had the inaugural meeting of GGU's only secret society: 한울. Success.

Check out www.superforest.org for a review of the New Friends' Party and Jam Out last Sunday. It's a very kind and creative account with audio and visual documentation by Super Forest team member Drake Baer.

I'm in the world, and I'm a little dreamer,

Lauren E.

What I Do In Between Epic Study Sessions

2010-03-26T04:26:00.000-07:00

Part One:

Type every Spanish word I can recall (in no particular order) into Google Translate. Results as follow:

todas los vidas en la palabra esta poco loco gato iglesia comida como estas muy picante cinco huevos luche

all the lives on the floor this little church crazy cat how are you very spicy food five eggs fight

Am now considering creating a band called "five eggs fight." Although, "this little church crazy cat" is extremely tempting.

Part Two:

Submit Essays on Arkansas in Kroean to My Online Readership Populated Mostly By Arkansans Who Know Way More About Arkansas Than Me in the First Place

For the benefit of my Korean-able readers (population zero-ish) below is my report from last Thursday. All editing credit to 이한주 (Ee Han Joo).

라렌 이. 워거

2010-03-22

기이한 아칸소

안녕하세요. 대부분의 사람들이 아주 작은 아칸소에 대해 알고 싶어해요. 오늘은 제 고향 소개를 하고 싶어요.

아칸소은 미국 남부이에요. 작은 장소에요 하지만 그게 매력적이에요.

기름에 튀긴 메기하고 바비큐가 유명한 음식이에요. 여름에 밖에서 가족하고 친구들이 요리를 해요. 날씨가 더워서 레모네이드를 많이 마셔요. 밤에 우리가 반딧불이를 붙잡아요.

아칸소의 전통 음악은 고요함이에요: 두께 버컬하고, 깡깡이(fiddle) 하고 기타. 몇 년 전에 많은 사람 스퀘어 댄스 했어요. 지금은 불행히, 그 인기가 아니에요. 내가 어릴 때 그것을 배웠어요. 재미있지만 어려워서 잘 못 해요.

오래된 방앗간은인데 유명한 장소이에요. Gone With the Wind 영화를 주연으로 했어요. 요즘, 여기에서 사람들은 결혼 해요. Bill Clinton하고 Johnny Cash하고 General McArthur 아칸소에서 왔어요. 그리고 2009 아메리간 아이돌 그리스 엘인. 제 친구가 그릿 엘인의 아내이에요!

아칸소에 오면 하나만 것을 배워요 돼요: 돼지를 외치기. 미국 축구 팀을 위해서 지지해요. 우리 소리 “워우우우 픽 수이! 워우우우 픽 수이! 아칸사 라저백스!” 언제 올 “해이 야을” 말 해요 돼요. 이렇게 인사로 “안녕!” 아칸소에. 같이 갑시다!

(There were two pictures attached, one of me kayaking on the Arkansas River, the other of the Old Mill. Unoriginal, but my classmates aren't entirely familiar with central Arkansans' complete overuse of a picturesque spot famous for it's .4 second appearance in the opening credits of a half-century old film.)

My report is called "Quaint Arkansas." And I took every one of my journalistic licenses, painting Arkansas as the land it is on the ideal end of the spectrum: fried catfish and BBQ. a long tradition of folk music with "thick vocals, fiddles, and guitars." square dancing. lemonade consumption on fiery hot nights spent catching fireflies. calling hogs. greeting strangers with a "hi ya'll."

That's my Arkansas. And I'm pretty damn proud of it.

As for poverty, discrimination, and abuse to humankind: I'll save it for another paper. For now, let me have my lemonade.

My classmates seemed a little unimpressed with what I considered a highly entertaining report. They perked up when my teacher demanded I give a sampling of our traditional music. Naturally, I could remember two things:

one line from the first song I ever learned on guitar:

"cornbread and buttermilk, and good ole turnip greens!"

and some country song that is not from, nor about Arkansas, nor would I ever dream of considering it a traditional song of Ozark folk heritage. but, I knew more than eight words of it, so I sang a bar or two, loudly with a heavy accent, like molasses, very thick clichéd molasses. The very accent my Lebanese friend said made me sound like a rubber band some years ago:

"Way down yonder on the Chattanoochi,
never knew how much that muddy water meant to me,
but I learned how to fish, and I learned how to swim
a little 'bout women, and a lot about love..."

And there you have it,

a little 'bout women, and a lot about love,

Lauren E, missing you and signing off...

Ahhhoooh Something to Smile About

2010-03-16T15:45:00.000-07:00

I kid thee not:

Iin my dream last night, a Teacher's Assistant who was supposed to check my poem and dialogue, swaggered into my room and announced she had accidentally used my work as toilet paper.

(The poem and dialogue, which really exist in real life, are currently being held for grading by my professor)

One Day at School: Ten Quotes:

2010-02-17T07:37:00.000-08:00

1. "You got your hair cut!!!!! I don't like you anymore."

Cathy, age 4.

2. "Why new teacher no?"

Steven, age 4, after being told yesterday he'd have a new teacher in next week. He's clearly torn apart.

3. "You look like a centipede."

Rachel, age 4.

4. "Teacher, I want to miss you too."

Steven, age 4, after I told the class I will miss them when I go to Nonsan.

5. "For Teacher Sister!"

Seung bin, age 4, after making the rash decision to donate his green heart sticker to Teacher Kristin, who visited about ten months ago, but maintains a high regard in his little heart. The sticker had been awarded for his speedy preparation for "home time."

6. "Teacher, I don't want sliding."

Irene, age, 4, slightly obsessive about her hatred for my sliding of the math books across the table, rather than handing each book directly into each student's hand.

7. "What does Tetris mean?"

Tony, age 12, in the middle of a lesson about water shortage.

8. "I want to give card to daddy because I am boy."

Chan, age 4, after making a Valentine's card during Art Class.

9. "Chan, you can give your card to your dad because you love him, not because you are a boy."

Me, age 24, trying to instill gender-free theories into the consciouses of four year olds.

10. "Teacher Lauren."

Hye Yeon, age 4, after I inquired as to the name of the plastic horse she toted around during playtime. My response was to revive my old bonanza theme song serenade, to which she replied, "Teacher, it's a girl." So, I sang it at a higher pitch.

Dagnabbit, I'm going to miss these little boogers. But only a little.

Impulsive Bus and Hair Day

2010-02-15T15:02:00.000-08:00

"I'm gonna take a bus somewhere and study."

"Where."

"I don't know."

"Ok. If you get somewhere, call me."

"I don't have any minutes on my phone. But if it's possible, I will call."

An hour and a half of gray streets, end of the line bus terminal, and desperate bathroom search later:

"Older brother! I found a big market! So, no coffee shops have I seen."

"Where are you?"

"I don't know. I'm near Soeil College."

"Really?" Laughter. "That's very far away."

"So, come hang out."

Laughter.

On my Impulsive Bus Day I determined several things would happen by chance. I would enter the first non-chain coffee shop I found. If I passed a salon I would cut my hair. If I passed a clothing store I would force myself to look for something to wear to meet Han Joo's older sister, nephews, and brother in law, and to once again see his parents and younger sister, this time for the occasion of Lunar New Year.

As it turned out, I ended up getting coffee at Lotteria, the Korean McDonald's. It wasn't bad and it was inexpensive and I really studied hard for about an hour and a half. Then I took the subway to Naebang.

I had suddenly reached the point where life with my hair had become intolerable. It happened so out of the blue. One day, the shagginess was fine, even cool, in a seventies kind of way. But then, I could hardly move, as if the long straggly strands of my hair were chaining themselves to cracks in the cement sidewalk below. It was time for a change. And I wouldn't rest until change happened, this time, in a completely non-social-progress way.

It was a holiday, so the many beauty salons I passed daily and gave looks of disgust were now closed, in an unintentional wave of retaliation for my snubbery.

Finally I found one, a second floor establishment called Toni and Guy. It was everything I typically avoid in a place. Nice, modern, showy, professional.

I walked in nervously having not washed my hair in at least two days. I was a pair of dirty vans. A big red schoolgirl coat. And an old green backpack.

"I need a haircut," I said, "but I have no idea what it should look like."

I told the stylist I wanted something not too girl-y in the traditional, though personally loathed, sense of the word. And I wanted it to be kind of original. And short.

She wanted me to go with something longer in case I hated it at first sight, but I mulled this over during my hair washing and thought, I'm here, and it might be costing me a hundred bucks. I might as well get it really short in order to get my money's worth.

"I haven't gotten my hair cut in over a year," I said, "so I'd like it to look different."

"I think you will leave a change person," she said after standing speechless giving the other stylist a wide-eyed look. "Why you not cut your hair? Very busy?"

I wanted to tell her I had been holding my hair hostage barring a visit from my personal stylist/best friend of my heart Katherine Grant.

I had also planned to donate my hair once again to Locks of Love. However, the split ends of my split ends had split ends, and something had to be done.

In the end, it's all right. It being my hair. Not as drastic and cool as I wanted. But, it'll do AND most importantly, it was less than thirty dollars!

I asked her, "Do you think it's boring?"

But she misunderstood. "Yes, now you're hair is not boring anymore."

So I didn't push it.

Koreans are pretty conservative in style, in general, so I guess I'll fit in a little more now. Yeah, probably not.

"Where are you going tonight after your new hair is done?"

"Probably just home; I'm meeting my boyfriend's family at 7 AM."

"Oh! Wow! I think he be very surprised."

"Yeah, I didn't tell him I was getting it cut."

More shock and amazement.

I went home. And then I went out. I looked too cool to stay home. I was ready for my free head to see the town.

I had a great time with a soon-to-be-leaving chum who shares a fellow love for dancing any way we darn well please, to actual good music.

The most interesting moment of the night occurred when I felt a nudge and turned to see a guy pointing to the floor of a club where a band was playing. There was a bill worth about five dollars there and I picked it up and handed it to him, thinking maybe he had scoliosis, or was afraid of bumping into me to pick up his money.

"No, no," he refused, waving his hand, "for you for the dancing like this." And he imitated my crazy dancing.

I said I couldn't take it, but I didn't try too hard to give it back, and in the end, I bought Cheryl and I a jack and coke with what I called "the proceeds of our dancing."

It was a good night.

We made it home by four. And Han Joo picked me up promptly at seven.

Nerves supplied adrenaline.

I, all hair, walked proudly to his car.

"Happy Valentine's Day," I said through his rolled down window.

"Wow."

I walked around and got in on the passenger side.

"You look younger," he said with a hint of despair.

Not exactly the response I'd hoped for, but true nonetheless.

"Well, I just thought I should do something to look nicer for your family."

"Yeah, of course. You look beautiful."

I was disgruntled for about five more minutes of the car ride. And then I snapped out of it. I was about to spend the most important Korean holiday of the year with a very special family, and though I wished they were my own, I had plenty to be de-disgruntled about.

Climbing up the stairs to his house, I whined one final time, "How come you didn't say 'Happy Valentine's Day' to me?"

He paused, "I didn't know it was."

A Valentine's Day without Valentine's Day. It was my best Valentine's Day ever.

More about Lunar New Year at the Ee's to come.

Saehae bok mani badussaeyo!

Please receive many good things this year!

Love to all!

Ori Kajok Wassoyo! (Our Family Came!)

2010-02-14T20:14:00.000-08:00

(Nami Nara Republic: Uncle Tom, Rob, Little Red Riding Hood, and their friend Bob, a great new friend.)

My cousin Rob:

Doesn't he look like he's being hatched from a large ice egg?

The week before last Rob and my Uncle Tom came to Korea. Part business, and part family. I was the family part.

I had been counting down to their visit with great expectations, although I must admit the prospect of visitors to my new home always comes with a small batch of anxiety. Will they like it? Will my planning be sufficient? Will I have enough spare time to spend with them? Will we have enough to talk about?

As in each previous case, my fears were completely unfounded. Uncle Tom and Rob had a great time; my planning proved perfect in its insufficiency (thanks to Han Joo's assistance); we had adventures and made memories; and there was never a moment of silence, in fact, there was always far too much to say.

Most importantly, though, I had family.

Racing to the Shilla hotel after work clutching a bottle of persimmon wine and Soul travel books, I was filled with that feeling in the pit of my stomach: Love. I was going to see my family. A bit of home transplanted into Korea.

I've been so busy this year that I've had very minor homesickness, supplemented by my dust-mite-inspired chronic sinus infections. Now, though, it's been almost a year and it's really starting to get me. The complications of life and beginnings and endings and responsibilities making me wish more than ever I could hide behind the thick green curtains covering the ledge of my Talihana study's window. I wish I could just sit there and think while watching my lazy Arkansan street. A car or two, maybe a stray cat would pass by, some tricycles.

But as yet, I cannot go home and so the anticipation built as I met Han Joo at Dongguk Station and we walked quickly to the Shilla to meet my relatives. I ran down the hall to their room on the fifteenth floor, Han Joo calling, "Andae!!" behind me. It's a very nice hotel, but I was not swayed from my determination to see my family in an expedient, although perhaps obnoxious, manner.

Uncle Tom opened the door and immediately embraced me in a much-needed bear hug. Rob came in wearing his classic expression, never surplussed, never caught off guard. He picked me up and swung me around and I felt like I was at my grandmother's house, standing in her foyer, waiting for my Aunt Robin, Caroline, and Rachel to come in, following the other members of their family, laughing, maybe continuing a good-natured argument they'd been having in the car.

We sat down and I breathed in family. Familiar accents, patterns, clever storytelling.

Uncle Tom gave me the gifts from Aunt Robin, the most beloved of which being allergy medication. She had folded each gift snuggly in its bag so she could fit more in, and I sensed her trademark thoughtfulness instantly.

Han Joo directed us to a nearby restaurant and I forced Rob to try some Korean rice wine, which he immediately detested, much to my great disappointment.

Rob would go on to disappoint me on two more Korean-alcohol related occasions: he was equally unimpressed with soju, the Korean fermented sweet potato harder alcohol. The greatest shock came, though, that he did not hate Korean beer, the subject of my frequently quoted opinion:

"Korean beer tastes like band-aids. Naturally, I've acquired a taste for band-aids."

Lest you think all I did was force gross liquids down my younger cousin's throat, I must add that we had our own escapade attempting to meet one afternoon after I finished volunteering.

To make an arduously long story short, I will simply say that one should take great care directing a guest to visit Naebang Station, when Maebong station also exists.

Rob and I had dinner on Thursday night, then I showed him my bachelor pad. "Don't you mean bachelorette pad?," he asked. "Wait until you see the place," I warned him.

We met up with some of my friends and went to Namdaemun night market. We sampled delicious fried food and were swindled into trying and buying (others would call this shopping) an assortment of strange chocolates ranging from kimchi flavored to seaweed flavored desserts. I bought some steamed ginseng chocolate things for the Welchs still stateside, which came with a disclaimer from Rob: "You know Dad and I are probably just going to eat these in the hotel room."

"I'll risk it," I said, handing over the bag of puffy treats. Rob bought Uncle Tom some red pepper flavored chocolates, which I thought was sweet...or mean, depending on your taste.

Friday night I took Rob out after he shmoozed with the fellow CFA-ers. First, I showed him Han Joo's expression gallery.

"This looks like something from an Andy Warhol film," he said.

If you know Rob, you won't be surprised that I couldn't tell whether this was a statement of dislike or approval. Either way, his description made me laugh.

Saturday they spent some time on a city-wide bus tour, which allowed me to continue the Insa-dong awareness campaign tradition. Rob lacked the bravery to go out with me again on Saturday night, so I went out to a favorite old-man restaurant with some activist friends. After which I fell asleep on the bus to Hapjoeng and wound up in the middle of nowhere, or the middle of the land way past World Cup Stadium, mostly comprised of sky high rise apartments and empty streets.

I chased a bus or two, unsuccessfully, and finally spotted a cab. Gratefully, I chatted with the driver about falling asleep on the bus and about the crazy drivers on the road at this hour.

Sunday was the banner day of the visit. We traveled to Nami Nara Island, "a fairy tale world," as namisum.com puts it. An "independent republic" within Korea and a popular filming site for sappy Korean dramas (think American soaps soaking merrily in two tons of molasses), this place fell out of the sky for us.

I got to catch up on those parts of family gatherings I strangely miss: being teased, eating too much, getting pushed around by a cousin twice my size, taking goofy pictures, making fun of family members not currently present...

As the Welch and Walker family took a very memorable family vacation together to Colorado, there were moments that their visit felt very similar to this time. I kept looking around for Kristin and Brent. I kept expecting to hear my mom and Aunt Robin's similar voices coming up the path behind me, sounding like one person talking to herself and laughing in surround sound.

It was great to share Korea with loved ones, great to feel their encouragement and support, and that understanding that comes only from talking to people who know exactly where you came from, who you came from.

It was also nice to talk to Uncle Tom about his work as a CFA and with the Institute, something I'd never done before, but was completely fascinating. I was also supremely proud to see his picture and quotes in several Korean newspapers, and loved hearing about how he'd been recognized by his tour guide, ("Didn't I see you in the paper this morning?")

However, even I was unprepared when Han Joo told me several of the friends he told about my uncle's visit were sore because we hadn't introduced them. Evidently they are CFAs themselves, or candidates pending their examination and had read all about him. Hilarious.

I didn't want to let them go, but I had to.

Four and half months until home. And counting.

Thanks are in Order! (Order in the house???)

2009-12-15T02:32:00.000-08:00

A "Thank You" in Pictures for Thurman and Marg:
Thought you guys might wish you could be here to see my face as I opened a box full of your hard work and love...

Day After Receiving Nose, Throat, and Ear Infection Diagnosis

Five Minutes After Recieving Marg and Thurm Christmas Special Care Package

Immediately Adorn Box Tie

Sees Inside of Box: Green and Red Wrapped Packages:

Dang, these kids do me right even when they can't take me to CiCis.

Marggen Got Each Orderer A Bracelet in Ireland

It Looks Totes Mystical, Too

Sees Roach in Box.

Aforementioned Roach

"How Did They Know I Needed A Christmas Tree I Could Grow in A Little Pot?"

(Wow, This Picture is Seriously Frightening)

Realizes She Seriously Has the Best Friends Ever

Misses Said Friends; Gets Mildly Weepy

Not Quite the Same As Actually Being Together

Yeah, Still Wearing Box Tie.

I love you guys.

Seriously, I don't deserve to have you in my orbit. But that doesn't mean I won't keep you. Can't wait til Christmas to take the rest of the presents out from under my potted tree.

All my lovin',

Lauren E.

We Shall Overcome

2009-12-10T10:02:00.000-08:00

There's something surreal about marching with your arm around the back of a North Korean defector and human trafficking survivor who's wearing the uniform of a North Korean soldier while singing, "We Shall Overcome."

Everytime I say or even think the words, "Deep in my heart, I do believe, we shall overcome someday," tears sting my eyes. Somehow, despite the lack of response by the majority of the South Korean citizenry, despite the media's refusal to cover the North Korean Humanitarian Crisis consistently, I still believe there is hope for the liberation of North Korea.

On the 10th, I un-celebrated the 61st Anniversary of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights by sharing a microphone with another defector, speaking in Korean.

"Annyonghaseayo? Bukhan Inkwon Juseo," she repeated. "Hello. (this translates directly to, "Are you at peace?") Human Rights for North Koreans, Please!"

The organizers asked me to speak alongside her in English to alert the foreign passerby to our purpose.

So it went something like this,

"Tonight we remember the promises made in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights."

"Annyonghaseayo? Bukhan Inkwon Juseo."

"Despite the many changes these statutes have seen the world make since 1948,"

"Annyonghaseayo? Bukhan Inkwon Juseo."

"these grand articles remain empty words for millions of our sisters and brothers across the world."

"Annyonghaseayo? Bukhan Inkwon Juseo."

"Our brothers and sisters in Burma, Guantanamo Bay, Sudan, Tibet, Palestine, and in many other countries and places around the world."

"Annyonghaseayo? Bukhan Inkwon Juseo."

"But today we are here, specifically, to stand for our neighbors only fifty miles to the North."

"Annyonghaseayo? Bukhan Inkwon Juseo."

"We stand in the rain, knowing our discomfort will end in a matter of hours."

"Annyonghaseayo? Bukhan Inkwon Juseo."

"We have heat, food, and families to return to."

"Annyonghaseayo? Bukhan Inkwon Juseo."

"This is not the case for our famlies in North Korea."

"Annyonghaseayo? Bukhan Inkwon Juseo."

"Point by point, the North Korean regime ignores, abandons, disgraces, the thirty Rights set forth in the Declaration of 1948."

"Annyonghaseayo? Bukhan Inkwon Juseo."

"The Right to life and liberty: crushed by the North Korean's regime's mismanagement of agriculture and aid."'

"Annyonghaseayo? Bukhan Inkwon Juseo."

"The Right to live free from torture or cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment."

"Annyonghaseayo? Bukhan Inkwon Juseo."

"The Right to live free from arbitrary arrest."

"Annyonghaseayo? Bukhan Inkwon Juseo."

"The Right to move freely within their country."

"Annyonghaseayo? Bukhan Inkwon Juseo."

"The Right to leave any country, including their own, and return to it."

"Annyonghaseayo? Bukhan Inkwon Juseo."

"The Right to receive asylum from persecution in other countries: still refused to refugees who escape to China, a UN member."

"Annyonghaseayo? Bukhan Inkwon Juseo."

"The Right to a nationality: deprived by both North Korean and Chinese governments to the so-called "Stateless Orphans" born to refugees in China and refused citizenship ."

"Annyonghaseayo? Bukhan Inkwon Juseo."

"The Right to freedom of thought, conscience, and religion."

"Annyonghaseayo? Bukhan Inkwon Juseo."

"The Right to freedom of opinion and expression."

"Annyonghaseayo? Bukhan Inkwon Juseo."

"And so we speak for those who are forbidden to voice their displeasure with their government. This is not simply our duty. But it is our right."

"Annyonghaseayo? Bukhan Inkwon Juseo."

Unfortunately, most people passed by without giving our demonstration much more than a double-take. And I must admit I've grown rather accustomed to this response. For myself, it is occasionally disheartening to repeatedly face apathy. It grows harder to feel and show love for the individuals who ignore the tragedy in North Korea. But as I stand side by side with refugee and South Korean activist friends who have risked their lives rescuing fellow defectors by helping them make the tranist via the modern underground railroad in China, who have lost family members or friends due to various policies of the regime in North Korea, who have spent time in Chinese and Vietnamese prisons for their "humanitarian crimes," my resolve is firmly strengthened. Here they stand, smiling while passing out fliers to their own distant relatives, who frequently refuse to accept their small sheets of paper, who neglect to respond to their greetings. I find myself wanting to cry and scream and beg.

"Don't you know who these people are? Don't you know they are heroes?" I want to shout.

But, I don't shout. I smile. And tighten my grip on the poster I've been handed. It's an image a boy drew of his life in North Korea. Stick figures watching a public execution.

For every ten or so people who accepts a flier or a greeting, there is one who says, "thank you," there is one who gives a thumb's up sign to our work, there is one who gives a second thought, asks a question, does her or his own research, gives her or his own time, her or his own money to support North Koreans, refugees, and Human Rights.

We shall overcome.
We shall overcome.
We shall overcome someday.
Oh, deep in my heart, I still believe:
We shall overcome someday.

Practice Calls and Other Monsters

2009-12-09T10:11:00.000-08:00

These days, my English One curriculum for my kindergartners is based on lessons by characters from Sesame Street. Flashbacks of the Count watching bats fly in and out of his window, Big Bird having a mysterious Asian adventure, and Cookie Monster devouring bags full of our mutually favorite snack have been distracting me in a major way from my lessons. But today Sesame Street references took on a whole new dimension.
One of my favorite Apples (the same mentioned in the last post) walked goofily over to me in the middle of math class and said, "But, Teacher Lauren, I need to tell you something." I bent down so she could whisper/spit in my ear. "You have a very long nose," she said. I was so impressed with her sentence structure that I almost let it slide. "Oh, really?" I laughed and pinched my nose longways, "Does it look like a hot dog?"
"No," she said, "You look like Herry Monster."
Picture attached.

Later today when I made my monthly practice calls, one student said she hoped Santa Clause would bring 'Teacher Lauren" to her house for Christmas, another made me sing "Angel Band," and a third forced me to sing every verse of "We Wish You A Merry Christmas." I felt like an ESL singing telegram.

I was surprised that there were no orders to give an Apple-made rendition of "Frosty the Snowman." Admittedly, I've forgotten the precise words and have added my own twists, but I never thought it would lead my students to their own bizarre alterations:

"Frosty the Rachel"
"Frosty the Teacher Lauren"
and my absolute favorite,
"Frosty the Number 5 Bus"

I'm actually going to miss the heckfire out of these little monsters in a couple of months.

I played my protest songs at the demonstration tonight...the microphone aimed at my mouth fell and fell until the only sound it was picking up was trash rustling by my brown tennis shoes...
Tonight in Korean Class we met our new Wednesday instructor, whom I immediately insulted by speaking to her in an informal politeness level. Not to worry, I won her over with my charm and question about baseball. So, I think all's forgiven.

My friend Joe recommended this: http://pitchfork.com/tv/#/episode/2049-wesley-williss-joy-rides/1
It's about Wesley Willis: a man who rocked, drew, and dealt with chronic schizophrenia. Seriously incredible dude.

It's three a.m. I should either go to sleep or practice teaching with my eyes closed.

Angel Band

2009-12-07T14:46:00.000-08:00

   It was too cold to jog this morning, so I sprinted what should have been a jog. The scale wasn't working by the park and my mp3 player died. People took off their masks to see what kind of idiot was running in the cold. I ran like I was running from someone. His name is Winter.
     Yesterday Apple Class had their first Christmas performance rehearsal. In lieu of better classics, I was somehow obligated to select "Angel Band" as one of their pieces. Trust me, it's not as rad as it sounds. The only cute part is the choreography. To demonstrate what an angel was in clearer terms than a "flying person wearing a long white thing," which sounds eerily similar to a ghost's definition, I drew a person with long hair, wings, and a halo connected by a rod on the marker board.
    "It looks like your sister," one of my favorites said.
     "You're right," I said, grinning. "Because, my sister is an angel."
     Writing this makes me sound like a weepy Hallmark commercial from the Sarah Plain and Tall Hallmark Movie Special, but whatever. My students also named a picture of a monster I drew on the board after her, which is not Hallmarky at all, just hilarious.
     Sunday we made a trip to my friends' new coffee shop in Incheon. The owners are in my favorite band, Anakin Project, and their names are Sun Gil and Hong-shine. Their coffee shop is called "Bbyong Coffee," which means something like, "Suddenly! Coffee!" Dig.
     It was a little boring while the customers were there so I went on a walk from their coffee shop to the GS25 where I bought coffee and read the Korean book for five year olds I carry around.
     The cooks among us made tortilla pizzas while I doodled from my stoop practically on top of a heater.
We cheersed their new shop and Han Joo and I sang them their theme song, in the event they should ever spring for a commercial. You'll need to refer back to their names to appreciate the entire significance:

"You are my Hong-shine, my only Hong-shine,
You make me coffee
When skies are gray,
You'll never know dear,
How much we love you.
Visit Bbyong Coffee today!"

Today Joe and I will practice for Han Joo's Hongdae artist of the year ceremony and I'll prepare for Wednesday and Thursday's human rights vigils/demonstrations. And I'll teach, and study for Korean class and go to Catacombs, and hum the Eagles' "Bells Will Be Ringin'" as I ready my heart for its first (Walker/Order) family-less Christmas.