Dok-D'oh!

Dokdo is a heap of pumpkin seed islands, each no bigger than a baseball diamond. Korea and Japan both claim Dokdo as their own. The Japanese call it Takeshima, and others call it The Liancourt Rocks. Dokdo has become a focal point for unproductive Korean nationalism/anti-Japanese vitriol. I've seen small kids wearing shirts featuring the ever political Snoopy, proclaiming that Dokdo is Korean. Parents will teach their 5-year children to hate Japan, before teaching them other important lessons, such as 'don't eat snot'.
So the owner of this bike decides to slap a trendy "Dokdo is Korean territory" decal on his bike, so passers-by can presumably look at it and shout 'Yeah, what he said!'. Fair enough. Then, the rocket surgeon also decides to put a Mitsubishi decal on the gas tank (it's not a Mitsubishi bike). Way to go, retard.

Geogrify

And I thought I was sore yesterday. This morning I literally couldn't move, I was so sore. It took me 10 minutes of thrashing around in bed like a newborn giraffe before I managed to get to my feet.
I swear Kristie Lu Stout looked right at me this morning, and I saw her see me. Her squirrels are almost ready.

Jeju City

I went to Jeju City on Saturday, to play ultimate frisbee. Being awkward both physically and socially, I often passed to the wrong team, and didn't talk much. Today my whole body feels like ouchy rust. I'm badly out of shape.
Afterwards, I wandered around Jeju City for a few hours. Jeju City is just like any other city in Korea. There's a Paris Baguette, Dunkin' Donuts, Face Shop, and SK store on every block. It all looks the same. Bigger Korean cites are loud, busy, and fast. Most of the time I'm glad that I live somewhere quiet, boring, and slow. I got a kick out of watching the iconic Ajumma divers in action. They're old ladies who free-dive for seafood. Zoned out for a long time in the harbor. Outside a restaurant in a tank, swam a fish that looked far too neat to eat.
I've been listening to a lot of Bedouin Soudclash. I know they're only supposed to be for teenage girls, but I'll be damned if they don't make great walking to work music.
Yesterday 'Bittersweet Symphony' shuffled in and I started knocking over Koreans on the sidewalk. It felt great.
In other news, I've developed an alarming crush on CNN anchorwoman Kristie Lu Stout. It's not a weird obsession or anything, I just enjoy her dorky smile in the morning. I am thinking of sending her a shoebox filled with mummified squirrels for Valentine's Day. I think she'd like that, and she'd know we're meant to be together.

More silly signage

Stupendous menu options

I will have an order of Boiled Spawn, and a steaming bowl of Anything. Awesome.

Jeju oranges

Jeju oranges are called 'Halla bong', because they are said to resemble Halla Moutain. I do see a resemblance. There are orange trees everywhere on Jeju. Everywhere. I think this has led to a subconcious devalutation of oranges in the minds of many Jejonians. I see unloved and unwanted oranges in the most random of places. Sitting on a window sill. Lying next to a fence. Alone in an empty field. Mouldering on a dashboard. Floating in the ocean. I suspect Jeju is a huge organism that perspires oranges. They taste great by the way, and are dead easy to get into. Simply tear off the nipple (nub?), and the skin practically falls off on its own. When I first got here, I absent-mindedly bought oranges from Chile. Chile? Why the hell would the Jejusians import oranges from far-away Chile, when you can't walk 10 feet without tripping over one? Whatever. The Chile oranges sucked. My brain is fevered. A cold. My head is a flaccid ballon, my feet are bricks.

Korean courtship dance

Blue Rock Thrush

This little guy is rad. He has become my new spirit guide.

Tractoriffic

I love these haggard old things. Old-timers can be seen putting around town on them, oblivious to the fact that a city now sits where crops once grew. These things are what Korea is all about. Flashy new cars parked next to run-down old contraptions from the past. Ignoring each other, the drivers of each vehicle head to destinations in different centuries. So deep.
There's one of these beasts regularly parked outside the Toddler Towers, that belongs to a box collector. The driver and I often exchange comically exaggerated military salutes in the morning.

Signs of Ilsan II

Signs of Ilsan

Sunday walk

I went for a walk yesterday, 2/3 of the way to Seogwipo World Cup Stadium, along the coastal road. Great day for it. I get the impression that not too many folks walk on this road, as quite a few motorists slowed down to look at me like I had two heads. My destination was a stream that has supposedly been home to vagrant Plumbeous Water Redstarts in the past, but no luck. I zoned out on the rocks for a good hour. Nothing beats zoning out.

The Boor Chicken guy

Looks really freaky, and I have to walk past his freaky, smiley ass every day.

Cheesehenge

I made a henge out of the embarrassing amount of cheese I brought back from Ilsan. At Costco Koreans were looking into my cart, and when they saw how much cheese I was buying, they gave me the 'you're worse than Hitler' look, as opposed to the usual 'who farted?' look Koreans give me when they realize I'm me.
I don't know what head doctors would say about this, but I enjoy making henges, and will do so at any given opportunity. It started early, with Blockhenge, Eraserhenge, Legohenge, and Jengahenge. If there are henge-shaped objects lying in front of in henge-able numbers, I will soon craft a henge.
Here are some pictures to illustrate my henge-mentia. There's VHShenge, an impromptu henge set up to celebrate the bottling of a batch of 'Sparrow Solstice Ale' I made with my father in September (yes, I own 'Iron Eagle 3' on VHS, so what?). Then there's probably my best henge yet, Beerhenge. I made that on an island called Muuido about two years ago, at 3 in the morning. It made the locals visibly uneasy, and they knocked it all down at first light, after pointing at it and discussing it in small groups for about an hour.

I don't know anything about fashion...

...so I'm in no position to make a comment about this picture, but I could swear that lad has got a purse there, hanging off his right arm.

Powerful new laxative discovered

75 cent street hamburgers.

Randoms

Where are you from?

When I see a random, grinning Korean kid running up to me armed with that question, I try to beat them to the punch by asking them where they're from, in Korean. The old turnaround, always good for confused looks.
A group of chatty Korean guys fell upon our happy reunion last Friday and started annihilating us with that question, and the other standby, 'How old are you?' I gave a Jeju orange to Black Hoodie, and he became my instant new best friend. He put his arm around me, and didn't let go for 20 minutes. He rested his head on my shoulder and kept mumbling 'chingu...chingu' in my ear. Apparently his girlfriend had just broken up with him, so his buddies took him out to get impaired. Reminded me of the Finland story from the movie 'Night on Earth' (watch it today).
T-bagz had worse luck, as he was later double-teamed by two guys, who gang-banged him from both sides with endless variations of the two questions in question.

Claw machines, scooters, SPAM, and a stolen bike

I used to be a predator at the claw machines, pulling out lighters at will. Sadly, my clawing skills have atrophied during my time away, and all of my claws came up empty. We pumped way too much money into this particular one.
B-dawgs was nice enough to let me drive his little 125cc scoot around. Nice! I loved my scooter in Taiwan, and I miss her. I have to get one on Jeju, soon. B's helmet was large, but of course it didn't fit my misshapen melon. I was once told by a wincing and apologetic Taiwanese helmet monger that my head was too 'long' to fit inside the available helmets. I ended up settling for a special Great Gazoo helmet.
SPAM is still given as a gift on special occasions in Korea. I suspect it holds a special place for older Koreans, as it was probably the only meat widely available right after the Korean war.
When I left Ilsan I left my old bike for T-bagz, but he never bothered to get it. As we walked by my old apartment (BoBo County, great name), I checked to see if it was still there. Gone. The next day, I walked by a beat up white Alton chained to a post. I stared at it for a while. It was my bike. Ilsan is not a tiny city, so the odds of this happening, especially a year later, are pretty small. I toyed with the idea of waiting around to confront the new owner, but in the end I figured it looked like my old ride was getting well-cared for, so whatever. It was a piece of crap anyways. I paid 100$ for it new, but then I basically bought it again piece by piece, as each component failed in turn.

The Sleepy Millionaire

Interesting cast of characters in Ilsan. At one point we were introduced to a staggery Korean business man and his two cronies. Apparently he was very well off and connected, so we were warned to be on our best and most polite behavior. He promptly fell asleep in a big way, the endless whiskey shots getting the best of him. His friends got bored with not talking to us so they tried to drag off the big shot, at which point he threw several wild overhand rights, one of which connected with a surprised face. Whap! His friends then threw him down, and showered him with rib punches and verbal abuse, before leaving his inert ass there.
We mulled our options. Should we also leave his ass there? Should we drag him into a cab and toss him in? Should we throw him into a wood chipper? We selected the cab option, but our first few attempts were met with more wild right hooks. We soon gave up, and threw him into a wood chipper.
That same night we were treated to a lame-errific impromptu karaoke/trivia contest. I dig the Beatles hairdos that are popular in Korea these days. I want one. I want hair.