I've been feeling very Harris Burdick lately. I feel like this blog should start with an author's note explaining that the manuscript of this blog was discovered in some sort of Victorian local and that its authorship is unknown. That's the kind of mood I've been in. And it's not even autumn yet. Could be an interesting year.
I stopped writing for a while because I didn't feel like it, then suddenly, about the time I normally go to bed, I felt like it again. It leaves me a little concerned at what I'm going to come up with here. Hopefully I'll have the good sense to not post if it comes to that, but I doubt i will. History indicates ...
I've become a little weird about my blog that last little while, too. I've grown uncomfortable with the idea of people reading it. Silly, since I post it on the internet. The other day at work a coworker mentioned that he'd read it. It didn't bother me at the time, but now it's bugging me. If you're reading this Chris, I'm feeling self conscious about that. If you're not reading, I have no way of knowing that right now, so I'm wasting perfectly good comfort, as well as a lot of second person pronouns.
I'm going to try and get past all of that, though, and just pretend no-one is listening (which shouldn't be too hard for me.)
It's been a pretty good while. I went to the opening ceremony of the Hi Seoul festival a week and a half ago. It made for a pleasant kind of evening, the kind where you eat meat off of sticks, learn dances from middle-aged men, listen to performances entitled 'A Scent of Sophisticated Pop Ballads' and address intoxicated Australian girls with sentences like 'It's not my intention to try and convert you tonight, so you can put down the balloon.'
Good fireworks, too.
School's been going pretty well. I laugh a lot, at the children.
The other evening I went to the sauna with a coworker. We only went to the dry part, since there was no naked there. (We walked past the wet part and the naked there was prolific.) It was a splendid way to spend a Friday evening. It was like wilderness camping, but inside, and with your choice of wildernesses, and everyone is wearing white jammies. I liked it.
On Saturday I intended to find the Mt. Umyeonsan nature conservatory and then hit the Seoul Art Center for their children's book illustrations of the world display. I got lost looking for the conservatory. I actually always knew where I was, but the conservatory's location was much more elusive. After regrouping, I gave it another try and got lost again. After four hours of roaming the streets of Seoul I realized that I wasn't going to find the conservatory without better directions, and that there was no time left for the SAC, since I was meeting a friend for dinner.
No dreadful loss, though. I like being lost (as long as it's only temporary) and I wandered through some lovely places. I still have a couple more weekends to hit up the art show, and as far as I know the conservatory isn't going anywhere (though I wouldn't be surprised to hear that it roams a bit. There were several times I knew it was just around the corner, but it was gone by the time I got there.)
I stopped at one point to photograph this piece of pottery (because I wanted too, in case you were wondering) when a police car snuck up behind me and startled me fiercely with it's loud speaker. The police men apologized and drove away laughing. I mention this for two reasons: firstly, the story somewhat justifies the existence of the photograph and secondly, the exact same thing happened to me once in Rexburg, Idaho. It makes me wonder if there are patrol cars all over the world sneaking up behind young ladies just for the heck of it. Those little universialities. (This is not a word, but it should be.)
I still feel like writing, so I'm going to keep going.
There was a quail in my flat this week. I was sitting for a friend who was in Hong Kong for a bit. I was excited, initially, but that went away pretty quick. For one thing, that bird had a wicked sense of humor. I discovered this on the first night when it leaped onto my bed during the wee hours and hopped about on my posterior until I shooed it away. It fled laughing into a corner until I fell asleep again and it could repeat the process. It happened three times that first night. After a few days I managed to lock him in the bathroom. This was especially nice because it was much easier to clean up the quail poop in my little drain-basin box of a privy. The day before Jasmine got back into town I actually got the bird back into its cage. Unfortunately, the first thing Jasmine did when she showed up to retrieve her pet was open the cage. Trooper darted under the bed and we spent 30 minutes trying to coax him out again. She finally got him. You can see her here at work. You can't see the bird in the last picture, because it's under her blouse. More and more I realize that It's not cats and dogs that disagree with me as pets; it's anything that requires more from me than regular watering and sunlight.
That was a long paragraph.
I'm finished now.
And after a lifetime of searching Liza and the talking caterpillar swore they would safely keep the secret of the Thompson Garden Gate blog entry, and they did just that.
Family, isn't it about time?