A Window

Part of the problem with blogging while abroad is that there are too many things to blog about.

There are so many crazy new things (eating tons of fish bones! insulting people by pouring things incorrectly! doorbells attatched to restaurant tables! it’s okay to spit on the floor, but not to play cards inbetween classes!) that each merit their own explanation, and they pile up until it would take 400 pages to explain how everything is and how it all fits together and by then it’s too late and you’re overwhelmed and you have to actually separate your garbage instead of blogging about how Koreans separate their garbage (to be fair, my understanding of how Koreans separate garbage is tenuous at best).

Anyway, now that I’ve been here a little while, I feel slightly better equipped to sort through all the things that are new, and actually write a post that can tell you something about my life here.

First off:


School. Before we get started, if you’ve heard anything about Korean schools (the crazy exams, the incredible diligence of the students, the after school academies, the sleep-deprivation), then you know how seriously Koreans take education. However, you can pretty much forget all that stuff, because that is NOT how 93% of my students live. As you might expect, the closer you get to money/Seoul/money in Seoul, the more that is true.

This is my school, Gyungun Middle School (pronounced, Kyoung-oon June-Hackyo):

According to Google translate, that says “A Happy, Loving School”. Ehhh, I don’t know about that exactly… we’ll say some days more than others. (Don’t get me wrong, I love my school, but c’mon, it’s a middle school.)

The Korean education system is made up of a blend between the American public school system and the Confucianist obsession with exams. Middle school is 3 years (1st grade (7th), 2nd grade (8th), and 3rd grade (9th)), and high school is 3 years. Elementary/ middle schools are assigned by area, though kids seem to move around for all kinds of reasons. Each school only plays one sport, and there are no school-sponsored sports for girls. Our school is a baseball school, which is pretty neat. These two hooligans (and they are def. hooligans, are the starting catcher (2nd grade), and a right fielder (1st grader).

My school is located in the Duryu Park neighborhood of Daegu (post coming on this). Despite being 4 subway stops (~8 min) from downtown, this is a relatively poor area. Most of the kids have parents who are doing manual labor. Some of them are beat by their parents, don’t eat breakfast, some don’t have money for the bus, which means they have to walk 40 min to school. That said, they have unbelievable amounts of energy, and most of the time, they’re hilarious, but as you might imagine, all that stuff can lead to behavioral problems (but not from these two girls, who are actually awesome, especially the one on the right, who wears giant bear feet slippers).

But we still have fun.

(I know you can’t tell, but this is a photo from the drag king/queen show that was part of the school festival. I can’t possibly convey to you how astoundingly awesome, weird, and really really weird this was. But it was maybe one of the best things I’ve ever seen.)

P.S. You may be asking why the kids grimace in these photos– it’s because they’re cool with me taking their photo, but they don’t want to try to look gorgeous in it because they know they “won’t” (I’m not going to photoshop them like everyone does with every picture of themselves!) (And I’m serious, the girls in the second to last picture literally told me in their limited English that I was not allowed to show their photos to Koreans, only my crazy waygook friends/family), so, in many pictures, they make a face/hide their mouths (also because of possible giggling).

The New Stuff

So, there’s a lot of new things going on. Most of this post was writtena while ago, so I’ll try to identify what happened where. GO:

Little Things:

Korean classes: I can now get through exchanges at the Family Mart in broken Korean. I’ll probably take another class soon, but things are bustlin’ right now!

Stuff To Do:
I was beginning to go nuts, because when you get out of work at 4:30 pm and you stay up irrationally late, you run out of things to do pretty quickly. So here’s the stuff I’m trying out now:

Mina
I was volunteering as a mentor/tutor for a girl named Mina. She’s from a muti-cultural family (her mother is Chinese), which is a pretty rough* spot to be in Korea, and the YMCA decided we’d be a decent match. She’s a fifth-grader, and a little bit of a pisser. We started to get along though even though she clearly finds me to be a bit of a hassle. I think I’m taking a semester off from Mina, though I may go back in a little bit.

Sports
I’d really been struggling with finding an entertaining way to get off my ass, but I may have found the beginning of an answer. I’ve taken up with a bunch of folks who play gaelic football once a week, which has been really fun. The Asian Gaelic Games in Seoul (well, Suwon) are coming up, which are sure to be totally crazy (over 50 football/hurling/other teams, I almost feel hungover already) will be congregating. Also, in winter I’ve been thinking of taking up boxing.

Theatre
There’s an ex-pat theatre troupe in town, and I am currently stage managing a production of A Streetcar Named Desire that’s going up this weekend! We’re holding it in a classroom, which makes the tech kind of insane, but I think it’s gonna come out really well.

*(As an example: In 2009, a survey of elementary and middle school students in Gyeonggi-do (and this is Seoul… the most liberal and multicultural part of Korea BY FAR) revealed that only 5 in 10 students believe they could be friends with a multicultural child (this is the PC term of choice here), and 1 in 10 believes that they could never be friends with such a child. Check out .

BIG Things:

Careers and Grownuptitude:
It looks like I’m gonna be here another year.

The D of Ed for the city of Daegu is offered to essentially pay for/pay a bunch of us to take a 180-hour TESOL course run by the SIT people. It’s a a $3000 course, and in order to take it, I have to hang for another year, so I’m doing that. The way I figure it: this way, I can pay down more debt and return (triumphantly) to the US with two years of teaching experience and my sweet-ass TESOL cert (the stuff of JOBS (I hope)). I may have even made some headway on the whole “career” question, which is like a whole ‘nother animal.

–Today, after school, I’m gonna try to wander around and take pictures of the neighborhood. I promise more pictures soon, in typical fashion I’ve been slackin’

This Video Is Important.

So, I started a blog post today, which was another blog post about how I’m sorry that I haven’t been blogging at all in the past few months. I was gonna talk about all the new things here in Korea: I’ve seen Seoul, I’ve picked up a new sport, I hopefully start Korean classes later next week, and I feel dangerously close to having a career (more on these later). However, through a collusion of Kitty mentally bringing me back to Mac (avoid the obvious Mark Morrison joke here), Makgeolli (ooh, lordy, a whole ‘nother post there), and circumstance, I wound up watching this video (if you’ve seen it before, read the rest of the post, and then go back and watch again. If you are of the class of Mac ’11, make some time for this.)

While I didn’t see this speech in person (I may have been finishing a paper I don’t even remember, and editing my portfolio for the speaker in question), it was a welcome smack watching it a second time.

I am 22 years old, and I’ve already been hunting for a visible road to hopefully-debt-free retirement. Worse, I may have found a feasible one.

Oh boy. I used to have such a set of balls too.

See, the funny thing about teaching in Korea, is that for me, it’s not that hard. It’s not easy, I work for my money, there are specific challenges that are fun to overcome, but it’s become comfortable much too easily. And I’ve been here under 6 months.

Don’t get me wrong, I may do this for another year or so, gain a marketable skill, kill off a little more debt, but I’m officially plotting my arrogant, entitled, rise to where I want to be, starting now.

At the very least, I thought this would be interesting food for thought, and I thought that perhaps, those of you who did attend this speech could use a reminder.

Also important: I may have been on the makgeolli when I wrote this, but I’m posting it because I expect you all to hold me to it, and I know that you’re the type who will.

Love all around,
–Sunshine

Dude, Asia’s Weird.

home sweet home?

For someone who majored in International Studies, there were always regions of the world I was never really that interested in. In fact, being the asshole that I am, I managed to sneak through the Mac major with the most requirements (in terms of number of courses and random guidelines), while still playing to my little pet areas (Central/Eastern Europe/Latin America).

I like the big issues, the world-wide institutional issues and the human rights-type stuff. The only times I’ve ever been interested in theory is in human rights/development strategy. Honestly, I don’t even think I know as much about my little pet areas as I should. For some reason, with Africa, the Middle East, Asia, I would read the case studies in my courses that had no specific geographical focus, I had a basic working knowledge of some issues or history involved, but I was always a little “meh” about the whole thing. I really think I was the most “meh” about Asia, to be frank. But now, here I am, signed up for a year, and, at least at this point, totally comfortable with the possibility of spending 2 or 3 here.

So, why? Confucianism is the name of the game here (for those who don’t know, this is an orientation lecturer’s quick and dirty definition: i) man>woman, ii) old>young, iii) tests are awesome). There’s more to it than that, but, on a fundamental level, does that sound like me? Add in a deeply ingrained cultural obsession with appearances, and an odd blend of passive aggression and saying rude shit directly to your face, and I’m really not at home (okay, maybe those last two parts, but it’s different here than at home). I can’t have bare shoulders and I’m gonna have to wear scarves in New Orleans-style humidity. I don’t even like fish and chips or red pepper flakes, never mind spicy squid soup or anchovies in a sweet sauce with almonds.*

Ask the former Shang employees, I don’t even know how to use chopsticks.**

Especially because, Christ, I just did the culture shock thing, man. That was the better part of a year, wondering if I was going insane, having panic attacks, and spending incredible amounts of my time hunting the white whale of all Caporales videos, even falling so far as to watch some of the ones that emigrants are making in Virginia (hey, they’re a serious drop in quality!). [I’d like to take a moment to apologize to Dan Truchan, who bore the terrible brunt of that video obsession.] In that case, what the hell is going on?

*Those aren’t crazy weird abnormal dishes, those are both selections from Thursday’s cafeteria menu. The squid is still kinda hot for my taste, but so is everything ever, and it’s not that bad. You get beyond the texture/fact it looks like squid, and there’s really not much taste. The anchovies aren’t my bag (yet), but they aren’t that bad either. By the way, our cafeteria food wouldn’t win any awards, but it isn’t half bad either (told you it was weird here).
**I can use chopsticks now. Fairly-okay. It’ll get better.

Well, Christ, calm down, I’ve only been here like three weeks, it’s all still fresh and crazy and new. Truthfully, I think Korea is gonna be like vitamins for me. I’m gonna learn to live without a giant crazy family all up in my grill all the time (shout out to all three of my crazy families, my actual crazy family, my crazy Mac family, and my crazy Harp family). This is the first time I’ve actually lived on my own (a dorm excluded). Don’t get me wrong, I’ve made friends. Pretty awesome friends who live within walking distance. But we gotta be up at 7, and spending all day listening to a language that you’ve no PRAYER of understanding gets tiring, as does being completely unable to do small things like go into a store and buy something without looking like a complete idiot, so I don’t see them every day. I’m gonna get used to looking like/being an idiot anyway and sucking it up and moving on, all by myself. I’m gonna learn to control pissy 14 year olds who do not give a FUCK about the present progressive or about my powerpoint.

I’m gonna learn to work with people, who, at the end of the day, have every right to be more than a little annoyed that I’m here: I’m an immigrant who speaks no Korean, has no experience teaching, has not had to jump through one of the million hoops that they have, who probably would get a worse score on a grammar test in their native language, who can’t even READ the textbook, who has a miniscule workload in comparison, works less hours, is beloved by the students for no known reason, has tendency to probably drink to excess and be all weird and western, and who makes BANK doing all of it (while asking LOADS of stupid questions). [As a side note, to give you an idea of how good we have it, there are many middle/high schools right now who are faced with a difficult decision: the salary of 1 native English teacher OR free lunch for all students (3 grades, maybe 1000 kids). Yeah, it’s like that.]

I’m gonna hike up some mountains (that’s not a metaphor, there’s like 3 in the middle of the city). I’m gonna stay out really late. I’m gonna enjoy watching the Discovery channel and having a cup of tea in bed. I’m gonna learn another alphabet. I’m gonna see some other crazy places. I gonna learn to cook with no oven, with ingredients bought on the street. I’m gonna get a marketable skill. I’m gonna get some of those teachers who have no reason to like me, to like me. I’m gonna see how a third half lives.

Yeah, I’m gonna do all of that. All right, Asia, let’s do this.

P.S. Help me test my mail! Send a postcard to: #307 Happyday 351-2, Naedang-4dong, Seogu, Daegu, South Korea. I’ll send you something weird baaaack

My Corned-Beef Love Letter/A Korean Teaser

I promised a Harp entry before I left for the mystic east, but in typical fashion, I didn’t take the pictures for a bit, and then my camera cord went wonky, but now I finally have time. I know you all are anxious to hear about Korea, but I need to take a few more pictures before I have a whole entry on that. So this entry will do a bit of both.

If you know me at all, you’ve probably heard me talk about the Harp quite a bit. If I’m in the state of Massachusetts, I’m usually in my house sleeping/knitting/watching movies, working/drinking at the Harp or singing with the band. In fact, sometimes it seems like time for other things (like errands, or getting your Korea paperwork stamped) isn’t really there. While a few of the Minnesoters have had the luck to visit the place, the Harp has a charm to it that isn’t easily described. If this means anything: I LOVE working at the Harp when we’re getting murdered, but I like drinking in it best when it’s hovering around 10 people (4 of whom have never been there before/only come in once a year, 4 of whom are people even I, Ms. Back-of-house, know by name, and 2 of whom are in 3 nights a week.). It’s a dim place, and great for conversation when not overrun by UMASS hooligans. This is a Harp Thursday from a few weeks ago:

This is The Harp:

The view from our stoop/the deck looks like this:

Visuals like that one are among the few things that makes me actually homesick, which is not a feeling I have to deal with often.

This is my boss/owner/general manger, the infamous Harpo Power. He didn’t want me to take this picture, but I told him it was for you guys and he said okay:

The kitchen is small, and mostly focused on fish (fried and broiled), burgers/chicken sandwiches, and fried food, though we also do homemade stews and chilis.

This is my chili and beef stew, hopefully made to his specifications:

On Thursday nights around 3 or 4 in the afternoon, Irish Seisun starts, which means that local musicians come and play/sing folk tunes. We have it Friday night as well, but Thurs. is when lots of strings come, and the sound is a bit fuller. They play until somewhere between 6 and 8:30.

Around 9, folks set up for karaoke and we prepare for the kids to arrive. My mother waitresses that night, and Kayla and Mr. Brian Blaney (who also sings in the Friday seisun, his voice can fill up the whole bar) come on to check IDs at 9:30.

Kayla and Gabie being…. Kayla and Gabie.

Mr. Blaney himself

But eventually, we boot the fools and get to work (and have a shiftie):

Then we go home and get ready to do it again. That’s my home away from home!

(For the record, I don’t really work till close on Thursdays, but I usually stay when I get out at 11:30 so I can hang out with these fools. Unless the kids are really bad, it’s a great time. )

I’m going to work on a post about the band as well, because my last show was at the lovely harp, and I have some nice pictures of myself and the ladies. For now, though I will leave you with a picture of the view from my balcony in Busan, where EPIK’s spring orientation is. Keep in mind that I am living in a college dormitory:

Till next time, dollfaces. Anyeoung haseo!

Snow Day/Welcome to MA.

So, I know that I’ve been really really bad about updating ye olde blog over here. Frankly, I didn’t quite know what to say. These days, I pretty much cook up a storm/consider exotic and edgy knitting tricks/ occasionally sing with dear old dad’s band. Then we got a Kayla and we were working and having some adventures. But now, thanks to my dandy new Cybershot, I can promise a little more Bilbo Blogginz. So, this post will be some shots of the blizzard (we’re about 15 hours strong), and part of a small introduction to the MA.

The snowstorm started last night, we actually had to go dig my dad out on some crazy back hill dirt road, where he had burned off what little tread remained on his male-pattern-balding tires. But this morning, I woke up and saw this:


pardon my screen.

One thing that’s nice about Wmass, is that in tiny hick (hick is a relative term) towns like mine, there are more snowplows then people. So, we only had to dig a little, because Peter, the across the street neighbor, comes with his giant tractor and plows us out.

our street!

our house!

They’d done some shoveling already, but Kayla, Ma, and I still suited up.
shovelshovelshovel ( I promise I helped too)

not sure what SHE’s so happy about.

Kayla is pissed that we had to dig out the car last night. So she menaces it/sells L.L.Bean.

But with three people, pretty soon we were done, and got to play around a little.

SnowToad.

Straight Flake-Chasin’

GLAMAH SHAWT!

So far, that’s been the Snow Day. For next time… The Harp.

Ben Gibbard is SO Pissed He Didn’t Think of This Shit

http://www.thewildernessdowntown.com/ (if you’re gonna watch it, I would close everything else you’re doing, it takes up TONS of space).

The Arcade Fire, along with google and some nifty tech folk, has created an interactive music video. You type in the address of your childhood home, and they googleEarth it into making what seems, at the start, to be a standard “faceless hero” moment into about you. (I mean YOU. Like the YOU that won Time’s Person of the Year). A series of windows pop up and down, merging footage for the music video with google earth pans of your childhood home address (note address; somewhere someone is plugging in the address for what used to be a cute little ranch house and finding a home depot there), even managing to integrate the two a little bit. It’s a really cool idea, and technically speaking, it’s quite impressive. While not being particularly the most up-to-date person on trends in technology or art (never mind technology in art), it seems like this could evolve into really interesting projects.

Even though, when I typed my address, I knew that this was essentially booting up a heartstring-puller (c’mon. Arcade Fire? Shots of your childhood home? Together? during BACK TO SCHOOL WEEK?), I was surprised by how effective it was. The address that I used was only my home till I was about 2 years old, while I remember some things about living there, nothing too traumatic happened. I’m pretty sure I slept through a lot of it. But, of course, that’s what the piece is designed to do, and it worked. It’s worth noting that one of the windows that pops up invites you to write a postcard to old you, something that is gag-me-with-a-spoon predictable, but I have to admit, it got me for a minute. (At the end you can “respond” to your advice if you wish).

As soon as it ended, I thought, wow, that was cool, and kind of sad, and gee, the Arcade Fire is one of the only bands big enough and small enough to get google to do this (an official “chrome experiment)… and then it hit me. No it isn’t.

It’s one of many bands big enough to get google to do this. Shit. Not that I care if they find a way to make it look like Justin Bieber is driving to YOUR house in some video, but if the Arcade Fire can make a video all about you, then so can Apple. Or Comcast. Or Ore-Ida. Or Pfizer.

Is this what’s next? The internet seems to be moving gradually towards several major sites (Facebook, Google, Twitter, etc.) being able to completely integrate your tastes and as much of an individual’s online activity into categorizable, searchable, exploitable aspects of a personality makeup. Is this what facebook offering me weed-themed t-shirts because I like to read Hunter S. Thompson is going to end up as?
Because that scares me.

Advertising works, particularly when it makes you feel like the “voice” knows “you”, but that’s not the scary part. The scary part is when the “voice” is coming from inside “your” house. If you haven’t already, go plug in your home address and watch the video. Now imagine that instead of promoting a band, that video was promoting the shoes that faceless hero was wearing. Or the hoodie. How long until they can do something similar with your facebook photographs or videos that you’re tagged in? Because somewhere, right now, a modern Don Draper is figuring out how to make it do exactly that.

And iPhone people, god help you all. After that Futurama episode came out a few months ago, I found myself relieved that I was not an iPhone owner (though I’m as mesmerized by their capabilities as the next guy), but this spells even crazier shit for you all, because as it stands now, I have to go to a site and give them my address. So do you. But I bet soon there’ll be an app for that.

Okay, gang, less paranoid rambling about consumerism next time, I promise. I hope you are all well and excited to start a new school year/normal month. I miss you all.

P.S. Here’s my version: http://www.thewildernessdowntown.com/#346+Greenfield+Rd,+Deerfield,+MA+01342,+USA

Summer Department Store Playlist ’10

Well, I’m officially in the MA now, far away from the mystical land of Macy’s and all the terrifying comforts of the MOA. However, when I was still in the shit, ducking and rolling behind stack of 45% clearance items, the dept. store playlist definitely helped set a tone. And, of course, department store music is one of the most easily identified squeaky-clean irksome things about a dept. store. Honestly, some of the music wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be. There were even a few songs you probably know…

1) Let’s Start Slow: Lee DeWyze

American Idol twit covers one of U2′s more catchy/yawn-inducing singles, sounds like a male Sheryl Crow. Standard Department Store fare, really.

2) Sounds exactly like you’d expect it to: Sia

Apparently it was for a car commercial. The Church must be rolling over in its grave.

3) Sacrilege: Jamie Cullum

(insert Please stop the music joke here)

4) This one’s for you, Middle America:

Muuuuuch less threatening then that scary black guy who interrupts Taylor.

4a: ?

Anyway, that’s all this time kids. After my first night’s sleep in four years with no worries about homework or rent, I can only think about having two or three more before making any sense. I hope you enjoyed the blog equivalent of a clip show, hopefully the next one will be more awesome. Also, cherish your pop songs, lest someone one day make “Adult Contemporary” versions of them.

Why I Hate Kobe

DISCLAIMER: I’m a wounded Celtics fan. I don’t even claim to know a ton about basketball or the NBA. But I do know a douchebag when I see one. And sorry, this might be more for me then for ya’ll.

For years, watching Kobe play (typically in the playoffs) has given me a nasty kind of tight feeling in my stomach. Disregarding games where the C’s are involved, I still get that feeling when it looks like he might beat other teams. I just kind of hate seeing him get what he wants. But why?

I don’t think it’s a sheer talent/watching my boys lose thing, I really don’t, because I don’t hate Pau like this (even though he looks like a recreational heroin user). I never hated Shaq like this (even though Glen Davis is my favorite +6′ first grader). Like Derek Jeter: sometimes I hate what he did to my team but hearing the man’s’ name doesn’t get my Irish up. Kobe is… different.

Long ago, sometime after he refused to sign with the team that drafted him and bitched his way onto a team with a more obvious playoff shot, but before he nicknamed HIMSELF “Black Mamba”, Kobe decided that he was gonna be Michael Jordan. (By the way, he nicknamed himself “Black Mamba” AFTER he was charged with sexual assault. Awesome.) I don’t mean play like Jordan, put up numbers like Jordan, or win rings like Jordan, I mean BE Jordan. If you don’t believe me take a closer look at Kobe’s vamping anytime ANYTHING happens (this man abuses the fact that cameras are constantly on him for reaction shots more than any player I’ve ever seen, something in the LA water has made him realize that every play is a future poster opportunity). Or how he’ll grab his teammates heads and scream inspirational bullshit at them. Or how he hangs onto Phil Jackson (a man who he nearly ran out of town, who has called him “uncoachable”, and who revealed that Kobe used to sabotage his own high school games to keep them close) like a newborn with a tit.

Apparently unsatisfied to simply play amazing basketball, something Kobe does do well, and let the sportscasters make the comparisons, he instead decided to focus on constructing an entirely fake image for himself. I don’t know if Michael Jordan was a good teammate or fun to be around. I know he never ran a teammate out of town (shit, he managed to help keep Dennis Rodman on planet earth), he never called out a fellow teammate as a cheater in an attempt to get the cops to drop AND hide your sexual assault charge (oops, sorry Shaq, it slipped out) and he never looked some kids with a camera in their faces and bitched out a member of his own team “Andrew Bynum? What the f—?” Bryant says in disgust. “Are you kidding me? Andrew Bynum? F—ing ship his ass out. Are you kidding me?” (how the fuck does Bynum continue PLAYING with this asshole?). Now, because Kobe has learned that passing earns him a different kind of gold star, and he calls his teammates his “brothers”, we’re supposed to pretend he’s a team player.

What we’re really dealing with here is a spoiled brat, raised in Europe and pretending to be from Philly, who refused to earn a reputation on a small-market team, hissy-fitted his way on to the Lakers, where he proceeded to get whatever he wanted (after a year or two) because Shaq was about to be old anyway, and then took his very real, unbelievable talent (along with Jerry Buss’s willingness to give him whatever he wants and the league’s willingness to give the Lakers whatever they want), and bought himself some “brothers” with the promise of finals rings (and some help from the Celtics). Maybe that’s why I don’t like Kobe… all of that privileged attitude, inside-fixing, and “brotherly” play-acting just reminds me of L.A.

Oh, wait.

A Love Letter to Hunter S. Thompson

So, on a whim, I bought “Gonzo” from the Barnes and Noble bargain section a week or so ago ago. It’s an oral history biography with over 100 sources. Jann Wenner is the editor, which, honestly, at this point, is a strike against the project, but from multiple sources and my own creepy assessment, he’s one of under five (most likely under three) people who could tell Hunter “no”. Also, reading the book on the bus everyday and then rotting in a kiosk produced the following:

Dr. Thompson:

You sniveling, greedy, mewling, childish, pig-bastard. I have a bone to pick with you. You,a bumbling street-freak, have somehow, quite incredibly, cast a spell on the less desirable elements of this great country, and has proceeded to use them to drag this country down the stony path towards European Maoist Communism. No doubt, whatever small degree of “fame” or “success” you may have achieved is similar to to that of a donkey born with its head upside down: at first, everyone gathers around to see the freakish ass, but soon, as you will realize, Dr. Thompson, they realize that simple ogling produces no understanding, merely disgust and pity, and then everyone backs away slowly, hoping not to startle the animal and attempting to forget the whole incident.

I have read a hearty portion of your work, more than a hearty portion, and despite my best efforts to the contrary, various bits and pieces have stuck like a speed freak’s frantic spittle when he realizes that They are coming this time, and within minutes, a thousand cops will be breaking down doors seeking vengeance and fresh necks to stomp. This just goes to show us that it is rare that we can choose what we remember: as much as we might like, life is not a New Ivy fundraising event, where a few calls to the Right People can reveal an open bar, even without access to a 6-figure check.

That said, to this day, there seem to be a number of kindred-spirit Dope Fiends, criminals, hippies, roustabouts, and otherwise unsavory characters who see some sort of “Wisdom” or “Truth” in your work. This strikes me as USDA-approved Division I codswallop, but there they sit on street corners or in public parks for hours, smoking opium and cackling at your virulent drivel, only to expose mud-covered teeth and bleeding gums, each one filed to a jagged point. Cazart!

Personally, I have never been one for opium, preferring cold whiskey, but I suppose I must give you credit for keeping the wild-eyed vagrants amused and out of my hair while I deal with Matters of Import and Questions of the Soul.

Jesus. Is this what we’ve come to? Using dead men to navigate some sort of Internal Landscape? As a means to clarify the line between Truth and Fiction, or beyond that, to decide if that line even matters if people Understood?

Maybe so, but it seems there is still time to pull back from the edge, pour another Seagrams and Coke (my god, man, didn’t the Wild Turkey bills add up? I suppose those of us without access to Jann Wenner’s expense accounts have to make due.) and come to terms with the facts: Despite the unacceptability and unpleasantness of your personal character, personae, and demeanor, you somehow tend to come out on the right end of things on many of the aforementioned Matters and Questions. I admire your understanding of the fundamental importance of immediate, meaningful, decisive action in the face of monolithic Insanity, regardless of questions of scale or size. When the bastards are coming, they’re coming, and the only thing left to do is to arm ourselves and shoot until enough people have dropped. Otherwise, the scum-suckers never learn, and we would be forced to wait out some sort of Strange and Conciliatory Mercy, no doubt leading to disenchantment and the further water-logging of what little brains remain in the American Public.

May there be all the Wild Turkey, .45 Magnums, and Vincent Black Shadows a Doctor of Journalism could ask for in what comes after.

–Sarah