A Seoul Day in Snarky Review

This old woman with sand bag titties walked by with a shirt that said “Glacial Greed Pussy.” This is the kind of shit you see from time to time in a country where people put foreign words to print and then spread those words out into the wide world without bothering to check with an English speaker. Or maybe they know exactly what they are doing and they got that old lady good. I’d really like to start manufacturing shirts of my own here. Ones that say things like “I have no idea what my shirt says.” and “I’m wearing this cus Engrish is kitcheny,” or “If you speak English, point to my left tit and laugh wildly until I look at you.” Or maybe make shirts with Korean curse words for myself and then look at people blankly when they get offended and scream Korean at me, pointing to my shirt. Then I can give a look of recognition, flash a smile and say, "Kamsahamnida!" (Thank you).


    There is this ad that comes on the subway car TV screens from time to time. An ice cream scoop dives lightly into a bucket of cookies and cream and creates the perfect curl of a wave. Next, a woman’s finger is dipped into the cream and circles round the rim, creating a little mote. Ice cream porn, right before my very eyes. I just saw those Summer's Eve feminine wash commercials that are airing in the states now with the talking hand pretending to be a vagina. Honestly, I’m in the wrong profession. Apparently in marketing you can just do whatever crazy ass thing pops into your head, and show it to the whole world and it’s like, cool ok. That works. Let’s do it! Genius!


    I picked a snail up off the sidewalk today to move it to the bushes. I was afraid I was going to rip its shell off the way it suctioned to the ground but eventually the whole thing popped up and I set it gently down in the dirt. I walked away feeling like I’d done a good deed for about half a second until I realized perhaps there was something very important it was trying to get to on the other side and I just set it back in progress a whole hour or two. I don’t know how fast snails move. (One site says about 0.03 mph, good lord, I'm a monster!) There I was trying to save it from getting smashed but really... wow. What an ego the human mind has. I can imagine myself just crawling along and all of a sudden, pop, I’m lifted a million snail heights into the air by an unknown force, and put back right where I started from. Monica Snail writes “FML” in snail goo on her wall over the course of 3 hours and starts off again. Reminds me of how I feel like after every hard break up. What? I gotta start back at the beginning again? Screw this. I’ll just camp out right here a while. Uh uh.  No way. You can’t make me move. Oh what's that over there? Shiny...

Mimosa Pudica

Mimosa Pudica, the sensitive plant. It's leaves turn down when it's touched as a defense mechanism. I was once compared to this plant, so we have a sort of kinship I suppose. I planted some seeds weeks ago and there was one lone survivor. None of the poppies made it, and most of my vegetables didn't make it either. Maybe that plant is stronger than it looks.

I took my little wisp of a Mimosa plant home for summer vacation today, cradling it in one arm like a baby standing on the jerky city bus. I wondered if I looked funny, taking such care a few down turned fronds sticking out from a bare sprig. The ajuma (old woman) standing next to me offered me a small black grocery bag, holding it out and open as we were stopped at a red light. I didn't want it, but you don't say no to a kind ajuma, so in the plant went. I grabbed the handles of the bag and it toppled over immediately. My heart jumped.  She rescued it then had me hold the pot as she tied the ends securing it upright. I held it carefully like this all knotted up, feeling sorry for the it all shut up in the dark. Imaging myself unwittingly being surrounded by a suffocating blackness. At the next red light she insisted on helping me put it in my tote bag, on top of my random vitamin bottles and food items.

I arrived home to find the top of the mimosa mangled, sad, far beyond its normal defeated look after having been touched. I had to take some scissors to the top with hopes of sparing the base.

Sometimes the best of intentions still backfire so tragically.

Light up, strange ones.

There is a point on the Gangnam main road, where the buses going opposite directions are right next to each other. I sat in the window, looking out, listening to my music on shuffle for a change instead of buried in a book. As bus after bus passed in front of my view I reached one conclusion: No one is happy on a rush hour bus ride. I saw sad faces, tired faces, passed out faces, zoned out faces, a large portion of which were sucked into some gadget or another. Very few books, one woman studying a paper, her lips moving with the words. And one wide-eyed woman doing the same as me, drinking it all up inside. We caught eyes and it was a lightening shock. You pass face after face and even the ones that are looking out avert their eyes. But we caught each other dead. I kept fighting the urge to pick someone to stick my tongue out at. Social rules kept me in check.

I stepped off at my bus stop to see an ad scream at me, "Light Up!" I looked down at the photo beneath it, expecting to see a pack of cigarettes. It was cereal.

Light up. If only all we needed was a box of cereal to do that.







People Are Strange just came on my shuffle. Mmm how apropos.






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