A great start

One kid lost a tooth, having something to do with another kids foot. They both cried. Traci's hard drive came back from the service center missing 20gigs and I'm still without a proctor. But its Tuesday glorious Tuesday . . .

loyal animals

I have a terrible time with this blog. When I'm in the middle of something and have actually remembered my camera and care to take it out and use it, I think 'this would make a good blog entry.' This is the exact same as a few years ago, when driving or drifting off to sleep--sometimes at the same time, true moments of inspiration--I would think of a great idea for a story or an article for a paper or magazine, only to forget it.

Thus I forgot the glorious day when Traci and I rode the blue steed to:


For those of you unfamiliar with a landmark such as this, it's remarkably close to:






These next 8 photos recount the story of the heroic bovine dazzingly.


A farmer is plowing his field, minding his own business, unaware of the evil tiger lurking in the background.


The furious cat soon set upon his cow. The farmer brandishes a stick with all his might, though to no avail.


The tiger pounces upon him too.



The cow, being a might stronger and more heroic than our poor farmer, deals the tiger a counterattack the likes of which it has never seen.



The tiger is forced to flee, while the poor farmer lies dying.



Due to its bovine-inflicted wounds, the tiger also dies.


After the farmer dies, the cow is so grief stricken that it spends its next three days lowing instead of eating and also dies.


He and the farmer are buried next to each other and lie there happily ever after.




Further down the road we stopped and walked through an ancient cemetary of mounds the road mercilessly bisected. Larger, yes, though it lacked the heroic grandeur of the first grave.




And here is a random picture of me with a plate of food, taken during our children's day fest by the photographer the school hires for each event.

I videoed this same place when it was a kids photo factory, though I got greedy and it's too big for youtube. You're all probably beating your chests and gnashing your teeth in misery.

장마시작한다

It begins--a month of rain being a constant nuissance. More than one person has said that it will only last 2 weeks, but they, I believe, are too optimistic. Last year, the rain fell for 5 or 6 weeks, seeming never to stop. Intermittantly, the tail end of a typhoon would aggravate the showers, turning them into downpours.

I rode my motorcycle every day last year, donning my waterproof hiking boots, ski pants and jacket before heading out. This year, my bike with one uncovered tailpipe has already claimed the lives of two pair of synthetic pants. Neither of them mine though.

So last night I made a relatively short jaunt across town during a lull after the first downpour I was caught in. As luck would have it, on my way home the rain had resumed. Not a part of me, from my socks to the inner recesses of my wallet, was dry. I took it rather slow due to my fishtailing through puddles whenever I hit my rear break. At one point, however, I tried to pass a truck that was moving slower than me. The overtaking coincided with the passenger side of the truck hitting a lake in the middle of the road. This sent a tsunami into my eyes, blinding me, knocking my fogged up visor down. Surprised to find myself still upright, I lifted my visor just in time for another wave and an increase in rain. It hurt more than I remember rain hurting. For the rest of the ride home I was preoccupied wondering whether or not I had black eyes.

Procrastinator

I just ate lunch in a noodle stall of questionable sanitation where the woman manhandled my noodles with her possibly washed hands. I wanted to eat in one of the restaurants that surround the open area of the market near our house, but thought different of it. First meal of the day and though lovely in a visceral way the smells just weren't doing it for me. Outside these restaurants there are usually old women washing or boiling skulls, or doing some other handicraft involving bones, offal or other parts people in America don't consider worth eating.

I ordered a cold dish--it was damn good, but left me hoping my immune system is up to par. We'll see what happens.

Just like we'll see what happens at 3:30 when I see Jack again. His schedule coincides with mine, so that I'm going to the climbing gym and he is crossing the intersection just outside of school when I am. Dressed in his hapkido clothes, he usually gives me a full bow before one of our lights turns green. Friday just after he bowed deeply, neither of our lights turned green, though no one was in the intersection. Impatient and proactive I did the only responsible thing a pillar of the community should and would do. I blew through the light with my unmuffled pipes ringing off the surrounding buildings.

Sunday, I went climbing with a few of the guys from the gym. We first went south to a rock in Uiryang-gun.



I just climbed the same route as the uppermost guy in the middle. I had to rest, and put a little weight on the rope at the crux move, but it was the first time I've made it to the top of a 5.10d. 5.11 is just around the corner; my goal actually seemed in sight. (I want to be leading 5.11 by the time I leave Korea, our friend Daeyoung's definition of a good climber)


It was nice area, and not too packed, but the manure smell got to the rest of the group and we had to flee. A little cow dung scared them off and yet this country eats makchang which reminds Traci and I of a pig farm, but in your mouth.

After some ice cream and driving and invitations to noraebangs we arrived at Doyakdae, a site infinitely more crowded than the first.


The middle route here a mere 5.10b, did wonders to deflate my sense of accomplishment from the last wall. This rock was much less textured than the other rock. I could feel the sweat building on my holds and my hands giving way. I fell a few times swinging across the face and hitting other climbers with my rope, something I'm sure they loved. I made it to the top once, but it took me a long long time and lots of advice aimed at my poor technique shouted from below.

And it's Monday. Still no math studying, no shower. Traci is even muttering things about it being a Jenga Monday.

Online School

It's not that easy; and I haven't even started yet.

I registered for two classes this past week. One seems to have gone through difficulty free, though the example of the second causes me alarm. Two separate phone calls at 1:30a, got me registered and paid up (my online pin did not work, precluding the easy method--will this be a recurring problem?) Emails and web searching found my books (during which one stock of half-priced used books ran out) They are usually shipped in 24 hours, but Friday morning's devilish powers ran interference and I received an email saying they would be shipped on the twelfth, still 50-some odd hours hence. Even express takes a long time to get here. 50$ gets me 14 business days, which gives me my books, hopefully, the Monday of the second week of classes. The email also informed me of unnamed tariffs I may be subject too upon arrival. Maybe the books will be held in some warehouse for another week while I sort out where they went. And now I get an email from one of the Profs saying I will have 4 proctored exams. The websites didn't mention proctored exams, only that I needed to be able to use certain software on a daily basis.

I was under the impression that many foreign teachers in ROK went to school online while working. If two classes for me is this onerous, what type of horsecrap do people have to go through to get a degree this way? And who are the people who get online degrees anyway? Are the majority students who live just down the road from the University but are unable to make the class times?

Aside from hoping that pans out without much difficulty, it's a nice day today--somewhat clear, with large white, grey and silver clouds rolling across a vivid blue sky. I was going to ride to Daegu to fix the seat on my motorcycle, but I'm not feeling it.

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

The Good
I wasn't as hungover as I was yesterday. I wasn't hungover at all really. I watched a zombie flicked that could only be described as rubbish, and found some nice sites on the internet. My favorite: http://wafaabilal.com/ Really--copy and paste the link. An Iraqi performance artist locks himself in a room with a paintball gun attached to a webcam. You can participate in the performance by shooting him. Unfortunately he seems to have left the room for the hour my trigger finger has watched.

The Bad
Today sucked, in that the answer I've been waiting to hear for over a month turned out to be a bad one.

The Ugly
Will was here all weekend.