That Voice

I must let this be known:
I heard this song by clicking away at links yesterday morning.  I have not stopped listening to this band since.  They aren't my favorite band in the world, their sound isn't the most unique or face-melting, but the combination of the song they chose, the style in which it was done and holy hell this woman's voice...I can't get over it.  Since discovering it I have bought their catalogue and am listening to it on repeat right now.  Again, it's probably a passing mood, but if one can't honor the mood when it comes, one cannot say they're doing anything with their soul.

So if you wanna hear a beautiful song made beautifuller, check it out.

Lake Street Dive
"I Want You Back" by The Jackson 5

-LS^2

My Dad, Genaro Lopez Dinosaur, a few years back.

Scavenge for the Game

It was innocent enough: get your picture taken with a monk.  This was a mission on our Halloween Scavenger Hunt on Saturday.  And wouldn't you know it, there was a tiny temple just a mile or two from my home.  So we took a cab on over and hiked the hill.  As we came upon the temple (more of a small compound), a woman answered the door.  The Korean talkers of our group made the request, and within minutes a monk emerged.  He invited us in.  He let us take his picture.  Then he asked us to sit, along with his wife and grand-daughter who is also a student of mine.  And then he made us tea in the traditional Korean ceremonial way, exacted all the way to cleaning the cups, heating the cups, the way you hold the cup, the way you fold the napkin, the order in which you sip.  It was beautiful.  As we drank a few cups, he told us stories and opened up our minds to some aspects of his culture.  I did not understand a word, but I looked him in the eye anyway, and he spoke directly to me at times.  Respect, Yo.  Before we left, his wife gave us some nuts, some apples and a plethora of beads meant for different types of goodwill.  I teared up at the shear beauty and kindness of the whole matter.  We decided not to get a photo of Veda hiking in high heels (+3 points on the mission checklist) so as to go out on a wonderful note (this decision ended up costing us first place, but it was well worth it).

Then I thought "Wait a shit...monks can't have wives."

It turns out they can on rare occasions.  So there you go.  What a guy.

Self-betterment does not need to be a big picture.  You needn't only make the end result the goal, but rather the moments that may eventually lead to one.  This is what I'm learning in a number of different ways.  Many people here are beautifully gifted.  As writers, as artists, as learned scholars of foreign lands or the way our bodies metabolize complex carbohydrates.  Or bread bakers.  I meet these people and I think "Wow, I'll never reach their level of expertise in _________.  Why bother trying now?"  This is the attitude that has killed many spurts of inspiration for me.  And this is the most evil of all resistances.  The inner-scolding that there is some invisible reason that you cannot move forward.  The extenuating circumstance that sits somewhere out of sight and therefore can't be refuted by anyone, so fuck off-I'll listen to it.  My friend Jonno has a note on his door that says something to the tune of "You may not be able to become the best in the world at something, but you can damn sure get better."  I dig it.  I could use that somewhere visible to me constantly when I'm in my apartment.  I think hanging in the window would be the best bet, 'cause that's where I spend a lot of my time.  Or over the washing machine, where I eat.

In other news, have you ever seen the Diff'rent Strokes episode with The Bicycle Man?  It's wicked crazy.  Arnold and Dudley almost get molested by, well, The Bicycle Man.  If you have a spare hour, check this out.  You won't believe it.

Okay, readership is way down and I'm personally bored with this post, so I'm done.

Lovelovelove.

-LS^2

Most Beautiful Campus in the World pt. I

Most Beautiful Campus in the World pt. II

Can you find my name?

Big Kyeong's Batting Cages and Sexual Assault Emporium

Clementines and Nag Champa Ashes

I used to cry on Sunday nights.  'Roundabout the 4th grade years when all I was expected to do was dick around and occasionally tackle an impossible spite-spawned homework assignment from Mrs. Phillips.  I would hang with my close tribunal for two days straight, play Sega, drink Coke and eat macaroni.  I'd find my way into some demented impulse rental from the local video store and spend the late night/early morning hours cultivating my imagination's complex over-sexualization via the single Playboy hidden in Mark's basement.  And sure enough, come Sunday night-once the sun started to deflate over the basketball hoop, my mind would spiral into blackness, the tears would shimmy loose from the ducts and I'd become a mess of perceived injustice.  My justification (even at such an age, I felt this descent needed to be analyzed and diagnosed) was that it was unfair that I was able to pull such beauty from my free time only to have it put to an obligatory halt by the legalities of mandatory schooling.  Why couldn't I be trusted to run free into the wild and create my own world?  Why couldn't I throw myself into the ether and make my own way in this lump of a world and show each and every one o' you's just what I could make of myself?  Then, you know, come home when I got tired and watch wrestling.

Well, I'm proud to say I've grown up, though I won't say that I don't still relate to that little dreamer.  The workaday world is something that I think could be largely revamped, but I guess it's the world I live in, and escaping to Asia hasn't really changed that.  But no matter-I came here to work and I'm'a work.  I just happened to have had a wonderful weekend and wouldn't mind a few more consecutive weeks of it.  Drinks and pasta followed by lengthy conversations about Oasis on Friday, another trip to the Mungyeong Saejae Apple Festival and wine-soaked duck on Saturday, and today was a day of open-market shopping in search of the perfect mushrooms and Halloween costume.  Happy to say I found a satisfying place-holder for each.  So boom.

There's a lot of life to live.  Within it and outside of it, there are infinite things to ponder and learn.  Today: how my penis and testicles look tucked into a mini-skirt.  Tomorrow: the world.

Think about that, and contact me with any questions.

Namanasty, y'all.

-LS^2

Byum Jin drawing exactly what I told him to draw,

which is a pumpkin man, a big carrot, a small carrot,

a cow and wind blowing on all of them.

Popular opinion.

Haku and Harley (probably).

My niece Lily, just 'cause she's a bad ass.

Toes Totally Cut Off

11pm.  Where do the days go?

I often say that I hate to be a flake.  I follow this up with a justification that I'm actually not a flake but that this was a special circumstance.  Sly fox move, Bub, but it doesn't work.  If you flake, you flake.  Now this isn't to say that if you cancel a plan that you flaked.  They're separate issues, but often tied up real tight 'round one another.  But I flaked on the beach today and I felt bad doing so.

That being said, had I gone I would not have felt relaxed.  'Cause I had shit to do.  Biggest frog on the plate?  Clean the incredible amount of mold off of my wall.  It was pretty gruesome and I only discovered it recently when I tried to make use of the perfect little shelf conveniently blocking the patch of microscopic filth.  But some with my amazing improv skills as well as my power of assumption ('cause I have yet to learn "bleach" in Korean), I've turned that Incredible Hulk into a mere slab of sad wet looking cedar in the foyer.  I'll call it a foyer.  I also bought a half-ton bag of rice and an exfoliating loofa.  I might actually be a real person now.  To celebrate this, I preemptively ate an entire Hawaiian pizza last night.  On the way home from the parlor.  Call me King, my people.

I do feel, however, that I could be doing more to make sure this experience is as fulfilling as possible.  I could study more of the language and check out more of the culture.  This can be made difficult with such a rich community of other foreign teachers ("White Devils" as they've been spraypainting on our backs as we rest in the parks) and the all-knowing-all-omnipotent social-networking mediums in our pockets and homes.  I do justify this in that I'm still trying to wrap my big ol' head around the giant beehive that is the curriculum under which I teach.  It is a testament to the fact that even in this digital day, there are some systems in which paperwork is thriving as a means to victory.  And if that system fails, no matter: you simply add more paperwork to the equation!  My only qualm is that I don't understand it yet.  Once I get it, I'll own it.  And once I own it, I'll ruin it.  At least that's what I do with anything else I buy (shoes, nice hampers, quirky sunglasses...the list goes on).

Just kidding, Boss and Co-Workers.  You're all safe from my eventual status as #1.  As for the rest of you...

I almost bought a $40 box of apples at the Mungyeong Saejae Apple Festival on Saturday by accident.  Had Min Young not noticed my trembling knees knocking at the skirt of the Ol' Apple Lady tent, I would have been linguistically powerless to convey that I only wanted one fucking apple.  She started packing up a box, took my 50,000 won note and exchanged it for the 10,000 won note she gleefully handed back to my Dur-Stricken facehands and ignored my whimpers of protest.  That would have been a delicious bummer.  Lucky for me I have friends in Korean places.

A'ight, Yo.  It's 11:20 and time to begin my slow, distracted descent to sleep.  I should be proper laid out by 4am.  In the meantime, I'm'a go organize my hat or put on a second sock.

Be well.  Think forward.  Help kids.  Listen to Tame Impala or Honeycut.  Get a cool watch.  Learn to do something entertaining.  Write short stories.  Build a robot (if you can).  Learn to build a robot (if you want).  Learn to want to build a robot.

-LS^2

A beautiful park in Saejae.  I want to go back and

hike all around it, which means I gotta

grab some funky hiking garb.

Watching New York Minute at a hamburger joint.

I've never:

a) seen such masterful screenwriting, and

b) felt so much a part of this majestic culture.

What you do with your garbage.

Also, what I do with my garbage.

Zach and Kelly.

Pick Yourself Up, Dust Yourself Off

It's 2 minutes shy of midnight on Wednesday, October 10, the year of our Gourd 2012.  I sit in my APT in a shirt, slacks and a hiking hat I found in the hiking mountains (whilst hiking) just a little bit under the glass and satisfyingly under the shrimp.  That's right, Children, someone else was buyin'!

It's a good day today.  And this "Good Day" is not measured in quantity of stresses encountered, number of guitars I was able to play today or hours of sleep had ('cause in that case I'd be feeling right sour), but moreso in knowing that I'm conquering.  I'm stretching and trying and jumping and failing and learning and persevering and and and and...I'm stressed, but I'm good.  Had I not left LA, I'd still be working at a photo lab, wearing whatever I wanted, acquiescing to the smallest minds imaginable, remaining just barely above water financially and ultimately upset with myself for what I'm becoming.  ***by the by, Liberty taught me how to spell "becoming."  Weird, right?***  But here I am: fucking up, sweating bullets, incapable of communicating with my community fluently...and I'm stoked.  I dig it.  Not because that's an acceptable state of things, but because I'm getting better.  And better.  And meeting beautiful people.  And gaining all sorts of goodness that I'll eventually be able to bring to my permanent profession as a poetic gas station attendant.

Last night I had pizza.  I don't doubt that many of my strident legion of fans did also, but for me this was huge.  Well, not "huge," but big.  'Cause I had been having pizza dreams for a while and I was becoming (see that Liberty?) ravenous in my quest.  But last night James told me how to do it and Rebecca called me a pussy and the combination of confidence and degradation resulted in me eating an entire Hawaiian pizza at a bar and all the while retaining all self-respect and Studliness Factor.  Had anyone given me shit for that, I'd've surely broken them in thirds.

This song has been my mantra the last few days.  If you don't know The Janks, you're an imbecile for not attempting to do so.  I love The Janks.  I love The Janks.  I do.  Listen.

I miss Marco.  He means more to me than anyone in the world.  My love to him is constant and unconditional.

Sometimes you lose control of a classroom of 7-12 year olds.  I know, I know-you wouldn't think it!  But it happens.  And that's when you have to get creative.  Me?  Well, I act the fool.  I act the clown.  I do this for 2 reasons:
1. They're fucking kids.  They don't want a stodgy old den maurm, they want to be entertained.  So I give them that Suha Jamb Style that keeps them engaged and all the while thinking they're at a circus.  And
2. Because it's all the more powerful when I say "Okay, STOP!"  9 lives were halted today when I put down the hammer and for those 20 minutes I was Zeus.  Say what you will, it was powerful.  You fucking try it.

Oh, and I have a smart phone now.  I hateyouloveyouhateyouloveyouhateyouloveyouyoustupidfuckingbeast.

In conclusion, if you have pita bread, a guitar, interesting shirts or an exfoliating luffa, please send them to me.  If not, please tell Shayne "Hello" for me and find the Cancunian who stole my video camera in 2002.  Or do nothing, and be a part of what's wrong with the world.

That is all.  Be well.  More later.

-LS^2

Like Shaq on a B-Ball, I could palm my classroom.

Fungus.

3rd graders slam-dancing to King Washington.

Wonderful pic of a wonderful woman.

Melissa (co-worker), Aunup (11 feet tall) and Rebecca (English).

True Stuff and Made Up Stuff

Ugga ugga.  That's how I assume ODB would start a blog entry.
It's been a topsy turvy week, kids.  The long break meant I got to jaunt up to Busan and meet a friend of a friend who I am happy to call a Friend now.  No degrees of separation anymore.  One degree?  Either way, we slept in past noon, drank beers on the streets, wandered around some ancient temples and ate Mexican food in the afternoon.  All in all, that's a pretty rad way to spend the first few days of eternity.  Almost fairytalelike, no?  On the train there and back, I wrote letters and tried to sleep in what is now a growing catalogue of Uncomfortable Body Positions in Which I've Slept in the Last 2 Weeks. What a demented catalogue that would be: you could purchase my discomfort.  Eerie.  I think that's a Phil Dick novel.  I call him Phil.

I'm unsatisfied with my wardrobe, especially when I see 7 year old boys and 99 year old women with some of the sickest outfits ever.  I used to think hipsters had it going on, but now its the polarity of the Korean population.  I want to wear it all and ditch the button up shirts that fit better before I started wearing my championship belt all day every day.  That's what I think about my wardrobe.

Monday starts my official start to teaching classes all by myself.  I think it's safe to say that I am grossly unprepared.  Not through complete fault of my own or those around me, but a real group effort for sure.    I have a pile of folders in my bag next to me right now, and to be honest I'm not sure if I was supposed to take those out of the school or not.  I'm operating on the same instinct level that a newborn puppy may: walk toward the street into traffic until someone tells me not to.  Not knowing what I've done wrong, I'm equally likely to walk in the sidewalk or turn heel and walk to the other road.  I'm going to rely on the good students to inform me if I can in fact smoke pipe tobacco in the classroom or pick at my forearm scabs.  If I pay enough attention, I'm sure I'll start to notice a pattern.

Speaking of things, some of these stories I'm reading to the li'l muppets are downright bleeding with adult-themes.  To me it's quite heavy-handed, but see for yourself...

-Magic Marker - Cat named Maxi and parrot named Taco use their magic marker to make drawings come to life, save the day and trick Mrs. Black (the witch).
--More like two acid-heavy hoodlums with delusions of grandeur create chaos at their leisure while terrorizing an old woman.  Mrs. Black claims that the marker is hers, but our young "protagonists" just fuck with her.  What right do they have?!  They just happened upon the fuckin' thing in the forest!  The power of The Marker is no more theirs than anyone else's, and they're not making the world any better by drawing balloons or alligators.  If anything, this teaches children that you can hallucinate your problems away, which I only half-advocate.
-The Land of Ginormous - Big fat monster named Hopian comes to Danny to beg for help as Tristay has stolen all the color from The Land of Ginormous.
--Hopian has been given a thick Native American accent and is powerless to stop the perpetual and catastrophic rape of his land.  To make matters worse, he has been relegated to imploring the help of an apathetic white child with no real incentive to risk his life.  If these kids can't see the message being conveyed, I will help them.
-Little Envelope's Big Trip - A hopeful young envelope details her trip from a little girl's room to an elderly woman's nicer, comfier home.
--The young envelope is clearly a naive girl being sold into the sex trade.  Comments like "Open up my flap and put it inside me..."  or "Open me up--OUCH!  Be careful," are only the tip of the iceberg as this poor girl has been promised a life of servitude to the wealthy and seemingly gentle.  The harrowing honesty in which she details being herded through careless customs in the company of hundreds of equally powerless, paper-thin parcels breaks my heart.  Boggles my mind, it all does.

In the meantime, I'm going to have some drinks tonight to celebrate my trainer's last day, probably have more than I meant to, most likely talk louder than I need to, walk home later than I want to, sleep better than I deserve to and wake up that much closer to my imminent demise.

Take Care!

-LS^2

Trying out our new faces at the Andong Mask Festival.

Maskdance.  Dude's sniffin' her pee.  No joke.

Bear Hands and burritos.  Korean tradition.

Creepy as all fuckout.