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     There is a definite lapse in my updates, everywhere. Infrequent emails, less frequent phone calls to family, normally missing wheynne.com updates. It is really rather depressing.
     Wheynne.com is dead; long live something else. It was really to time consuming to keep up with the scripting and coding, AND attempt to put in actual content, AND work/play in my normal life. After a bit of harassing I finally talked hostingu into pulling the plug. HostingU is a good provider. Lots of uptime, and I think the prices were fair, but they never read their emails...
     LiveJournal of course has not been updated in nearly a year. Actually, since last July, just after I tasted the vegimite. This is mostly because the style I was using in my LJ posts does not lend itself to my experiences in Korea. In Americus, everything was normal and comfortable and complacent. The style reflected that, and then screamed at it, kicked it, and attempted to rip it down. Of course writing, drawing, painting, singing, screaming, drinking, nothing can really pull down the sameness of your life, except for starting over, completely. Sometimes, when the screen locks up, you have to press the reset button.

 
Ego: Mid-life crises anybody?
Id: No thanks, I have plenty.
Superego: How can you have any pudding if you don't eat your meat!

 
     Anyways, I don't want to shift the style of the journal from the singsong-bic-in-the-ear format to a more didactic periodical so it will simply retire unless I get a fresh inspiration for a vignette.
     Blogger will be my new posting system of choice. http://wheynne.blogspot.com/ will be the url, and there is a link at the bottom for an atom feed. Unfortunately, Google has it set to walk you through installing the feed url directly into your newsreader, so I can not just post the actual atom link. The good part about Blogger is the integration with Picasa, which gives me a gig of free picture space (I'm not sure if it will support video, but I'm likely to try Youtube for that) so I can still add photos of South Korea and where ever else my travels take me.

 
wheynne.blogspot.com

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Touch me I'm feeling: zen

She was from Australia. From Perth to be specific. She smuggled veggiemite into Korea. It was Kraft veggiemite in a tube. Like sickly brown toothpaste. In a yellow tube. We bought some Korean saltines. Or something similar to saltines that were made here in Korea. She squeezed and spread the veggiemite about the crackers for me. "The secret is to not use much at all". There was just a hint of the gooey brown gunk on the pale crackers.

I like veggiemite on Korean pseudosaltines.

     I was in Insadong the other day watching a man doing calligraphy in the middle of the road. I noticed all of the foriegners in the area, tourist, and possible students, and possible teachers. All of them looked similar. They all had their camaras raised, snapping pictures of the man in the wooden shoes who painted jet black characters that streatched nearly a meter each. All of these white people watched over the heads of the Korean spectators. It was the largest group of foriegners that I'd seen in once place aside from Incheon Airport. I watched them as I watched the man paint his clean and expresive lines. I could tell that they were mostly seperate, spread out into diads and triads. I watched the foriegners and I thought, "I wonder if the locals associate them as being all together. I wonder if the locals associate me with them."

     I was chatting with John the other day when he typed, "What's your favorite part of living in Korea?"
     "Drinking"
     "Ah, you've been enjoying the sweet potato vodka?"
     "Just a little of the soju, but I mean everything else."
     "Oh, the gregariousness and traditions, yeah, that really sounds like it'd be cool."
     "No, no, no, I mean the drinks. They're just freaking wierd. I had a soda the other day...it tasted like yogurt...."
     "..."
     "Exactly"

     I'm used to the curious stares. They are just part of being a minority. The stares, the conversational pauses, and the quick glances as I walk by. I'm used to them now. But these stares were different. These were the stares I'd get when I wore my bath robe all over Americus. These were the stares I'd get when I would suddenly start laughing at some catastrophy caused by the inner workings of my mind.
     I was walking through the back streets of Gumi-dong with a friend the other night. We stopped at the cnvenience store that was just down from the Idlosyncratic Cafe to buy some ice cream and a Crunky Chocolate bar. On the way home she looked over to me and said, "I want to control someone's pacemaker." Such a simple statement, said perfectly deadpan and frank. The statement was so serious, so poetic, and so devious that my motor skills failed me, but everything became so bright and clear. It was a 'Cellar Door' moment. A moment that James Joyce may have called an epiphany. A moment when most people would cry 'Ah-Ha!'. A moment that held time at arms length while I slid down to the side walk. I laughed at my mental image of this seemingly sweet lady zapping someone's ticker with a remote control.
     I sat there on the sidewalk laughing while the locals looked at me as if I was a monkey with a surgically attached pet cat.

Early this morning I was sitting in front of the GS25 sipping my cold canned coffee and eating a red bean danish as I read and watched the traffic go by. There was a group of drunken kids at the table next to me. They had piles of beer cans that reminded me of ancient temples from around the world. The girl in the plaid skirt started yelling at one of the boys. The other girl eventually soothed her into sitting back down behind a particularly moving rendetion of Angkor Wat I read another chapter but looked up when their chatter died away. They all eased themselves up from the plastic furniture and ventured haphazardly into the street. The busy four lane street with lots of trucks and scooters out making their early morning deliveries. Horns blared, tires screeched. The lights were not in their favour.

I told myself to get lost the other day. I picked a random direction and started my walk. I went through a park and passed by a group of men playing a game that is one part soccer and one part tennis. I came out the other end of the park at a river so I followed the flow of all the couples holding hands and exercising older people. I went through another park, and down some roads. I found a neat walk way between some buildings, so I walked down it. I had my first "rockstar" experience with children stopping their soccer/tennis game to look at me with wonder.I came out at another park with trails up and around a large, steep hill. I took the five kilometer trail and got lost on one of the side paths. I eventually found my way out of the woods at a large hospital near Migeum Station. I wandered around the shops and was amazed by the sheer number of Hagaan Das stores. All stacked up together. I eventually found a road sign pointing me towards Ori Station so I followed it. I was at a crosswalk a block away from my apartment when a teenager gained the courage to greet me in English.
"Hello." We was nervous and was fidgeting with his book bag.
"Hello." He beamed happily at my response.
"How are you?" I asked. It was to much for him! His smile drained out of his face, and he bolted across the road just before the light changed.

I say "..." alot because I don't understand most of what is said to me.
I say "..." alot because I don't know how to say what I want to say.
I say "..." because there are restraunts with tanks full of live octopae in front of them; and really, what else can you say about that?!
I say "..." because half the time I don't know what I'm eating or drinking.
I say "..." because what the hell am I doing here?
I say "..." because there are whole channels devoted to video games.
I say "..." because I don't know why I didn't come here sooner.

Safe and sound in Korea. I won't have my first pay check and therefore my own computer untill mid July-ish so I'll be writing here instead of wheynne.com for a while. Luckily the PC 방 's aren't too expensive, 1000 KRW per hour, (about a dollar). If you can't read the Korean characters you'll need to activate the East Asian character set in your operating system.

Current Schedule:


  • Last day at Underwood Trucking will be the 19th. (may only work 1/2 the day)
  • Spend evening of 19th untill morning of the 22nd at Mom's.
  • Arrive in Atlanta sometime on the 22nd.
  • Get my work visa on the 23rd/24thish.
  • Fly to Korea on the 25th/26thish, depending on when E-Park books the ticket.
  • Start work at my new job on the 29th.


Wow, it's all happening so fast....

     I told my boss, "I put the bills from that load in the Greenman folder in my drawer." He was fidgetting with the papers behind his desk. I'm pretty sure he wasn't trying to get any real work done because his light was off, and with the blinds closed it was too dark to read. Although, I'll admit his son was standing at the end of the desk looking over his homework, so I it might not have been as dark as I thought.
     "Oh, OK," was his only response. I decided now was as good of time as any.
     "I'm moving." He stopped fidgetting and looked up at me with a way that can only be described as 'heart attack'.
     "Oh?! That's sudden!"
     "No, not really, I've was thinking about it for several months, and I've been working out the details and planning for the past two months. And I'm giving you three weeks notice, so the nineteenth of May will be my last day."
     "Wow, so where are you moving to, Atlanta?"
     "Oh, goodness no, I don't like Atlanta. I'm moving to Bundang, South Korea."
     "Will you still be working here?" the son asked.
     "Sure, I'll commute eight thousand miles everyday."

When the Romans won the Battle of Lake Regillus, did they proclaim, "We're number I?"

     Man, it's really been over a month since I've updated. Alot has happened since then. Lots of story time potential. Gay porn night, being sick for four days, little snippets of conversations I've had, or heard, lots of story fodder. But this isn't a story, it's an announcement. Indeed do many things come to pass.
     Although I haven't written any new stories, and don't plan to for a few months, I'm still playing with the old stories. I'm copying them off of LJ and putting them onto my very own site. This is a long process with lots of cutting and pasting and glue huffing, but I'm nearly caught up with myself. Nearly. On top of the glue huffing I'm in the middle of several life crises. Maybe mid-life. Maybe indenty. Maybe. The crises are the reasons why I'm not updating at the moment. I'm busy making arrangments for my eventual break down and hopeful recovery. Indeed do many things come to pass.
     In the mean time, there will be no further developements here, but there may be some things going on HERE. Indeed do many things come to pass.
     Although I lose the fantastic ability for input, there is a forum (linked through the contact page) that anyone and everyone is welcome to use. Indeed do many things come to pass.
     Whee!!!! Indeed do many things come to pass.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vj067ZFWZAw&search=Firefly

     John Cadigan stopped by to see me the other day. "Wow, that storm sure is movin' in quick like!"
     "I was driving Mister Hankey Bambino the Christmas Car home the other day, he was just wailing and carrying on, just this long squeeeeeee!" John was looking at my deformed frog puppet stuffed in a cubbyhole of my desk.
     The lightning began to flash out side of the windows. "I got to that stop sign at the end of Brady, and smoke began to bellow out from under the hood. I figured it wasn't anything to worry about and continued on my way."
     "Aren't you suppossed to be headin' up there to Atlanta soon?"
     I nodded, "Right before I got to Two Eighty, the squeeeeeeing stopped, and Mister Hankey Bambino the Christmas Car just started driving nice and smooth. Like a new car!" John seemed to be figuring out what the thumb part of the puppet was suppossed to be since the fingers formed the four legs.
     "I was going to look under the hood when I got home, but I saw smoke still coming from under it, so I thought, 'if I pop the hood and there's fire it'll just flare up with the oxygen.' So I left it alone and went to bed, I was tired."
     Just then a bolt of lightning struck the building killing all the phones and making all of the computer screens turn pink.

     I was prancing about the office in my poofy pink dress yesterday, hair standing on end from the lightning and rain and sheer energy of the day. I was prancing about when she asked, "why are you prancing about in a pink dress?"
     "I'm going to Atlanta on the 11th or the 18th or both, and I'm getting excited, so I'm prancing."
     "And the dress?" She had one eyebrow cocked up in that way that makes me think I should buy stock in aspirine.
     "It's February Second."

I awoke at five this morning. It's not just that I woke up at five this morning, but I woke up at five this morning with the knowledge of how to divide by zero. It's not just that I woke up at five this morning, knowing how to divide by zero, but I retained the information. I excitedly called John, I was courtious enough not to call and wake him up at five, instead I waited and called him at five-forty-five. I excitedly told John about my genius, with many references to me being smart in the head, and how everyone else is quick like a slow gorilla. John just grunted some affirmations and I was eventually raving to a dial tone. I came to work and explained to everyone how to divide by zero. They all just said, dividing by zero is undefined, I said that I have defined it, that it's all semantics, and the rest of the world has looked at it wrong. They just laughed at me and shook their heads.Collapse )

     It was the end of a Saturday. I was sitting on the floor, in the dark, drinking kulhua and trying to clear out all of the jumble from my head. Nothing special, just trying to relax at the end of a long day. However, there was one odd thing this evening. I had a pretty young woman in my bath tub. I wasn't near the bath tub. I was in the floor of my front room, drinking kulhua mixed with frappuccino, listening to some really good rock and roll. I wasn't too concerned about having the woman in my bath tub shaving her legs. I often have her streatched out before me eager to recieve a massage. Instead I was concerned with lyrics like If I scream to myself and no one's there to hear me do I really make a sound? And I was concerned about when the annoying dryer buzzer would sound again; summoning me to come fold the laundry. And I was concerned about about how much I'd get back for my taxes this year. And I was concerned about the little things in life. The woman in the bath tub was in the back of the apartment and the back of my mind, but she did add a little twist to the evening.
     Eventually she was sitting in my living room freshly scrubbed and shaved and dressed. I had my green lamp on so it wouldn't be too dark. We talked about computers and schools and allergic reactions and then she went home. Do you dream when you're sleeping, or just close your eyes? I had been sitting on the floor drinking home made kulhua mixed into frappuccino and thought it was time to go into my own bathroom because a bladder can only take so much abuse.
     My bathroom door apparently had a towel bar on it at one point of its life. Each stone that I lay is just blood and water, and I know that I'm not fooling anyone. There are two sets of two screw holes on the inside of the door. Holes that I never think about. Holes that do not go all the way through the door. Holes that apparently worried her enough to twist some toilet paper into them to stop them up. Toilet paper that left me feeling a little bit offended.

     I was standing in line at the fast food restraunt again. Evidently they mailed out coupons to bring in the masses so the line was long. I was leaning casually against the bumper that that dictates where to stand, vacantly looking at the middle distance, thinking about the word thwarted. The zebra walked in next to me with it's shining metallic eyes and told me that the poets need to take back the word skyscraper. I told him, "the poets need to take back alot of words, but first we need more poets. We've become stuck in a land of gray that feeds sameness of prose, but starves the stark extremes of poetry. We need more poets, armed poets! to raid the bookstores and coffee shops to recapture, NO! to liberate the words that are bound in the tomes of useless prose! A crack team of black turtle-necked militant bards keeping step in that crazy haiku metre being bopped out on a bongo! They'll be lobbing cafe grande grenades and shooting all the cheapshot CNN, Timelife, Reader's Digest, 'here's a hundred weepy photos from our latest woe' and 'self-help' books right in the spine! We'll free our minds from this double-think-think-crime culture that we've become!" I looked over at the zebra, breathing heavy after my rant, my throat was a little sore, and I realized that I had been yelling at an old man that asked me a trick question.

I like the word thwarted, it sounds like someone just got beaten by a wet stick.

     She saw me dancing in the breeze that blew the sunlight in through the office window. I had the Beatles playing on my computer and was doing a little jig that was one half the twist, one half river dance, and one half fits and seizures. She looked at me a little astounded and said, "what the hell is wrong with you?"
     "Flowers and sunshine!"
     "It's the end of December!"
     "Look out side, the birds are chirping and the sun is shining. It's a beautiful day." I gave her my best mischievious grin before singing every third word to Penny Lane.
     "Yesterday you were talking about the joys of strangling the life out of drivers. About the simple pleasure of their larynxes popping under your thumbs and the way their eyeballs bulge out and turn bloodshot. Today you're dancing and singing bits of, of, what is that? Penny Lane?"
     "Yesterday was cold and cloudy, today is cool and bright." Hey Jude was the next song enque, I love Hey Jude.
     "That's not right, I know your not acting like this because of a few less clouds. Now what gives?"
     "I'll make it quick, because Hey Jude is next. I love Hey Jude. Usually when I give a woman a compliment, they quickly tell me that I'm not their type, or that I'd make someone a good wife, I don't know why they never say husband, but they say I'd make a good wife, that they just want to be friends. They get this huge wall of defense up because I gave them a compliment. It's as if they think I say nice things about them just to get in their pants. Well, last night, instead of putting up wall, and distance, the woman I payed a compliment to, returned the favour. I few kind words can put me in a good mood, just as easy as a popping larynx and bulging eyeballs."

     "Have you ever met someone famous in person? Brad Pitt, Clive Barker, Hobo the Clown? It's very disconcerting to see these people out of their context. Out of their little boxes that frame their heads perfectly, out of the specially selected camera angles, and out of the carefully composed backdrops; they don't seem so important. They become people, not icons, they become common, not brilliant." John nodded at me while he filled in a few boxes on the crossword. "Then there are people you meet in real life. People that you have never seen in the significant rectangles. They turn the corner, they open the door, they appear in front of you when the crowd seperates, and bam!"
     "Bam?" He tilted his head like a curious puppy.
     "Bam!" I insisted!
     "Heh, yeah, bam." He filled in a 'b' and an 'm' on either side of an 'a'.
     "It's like the winter clouds give way to summer sun. The world heats up from some siesmic tremer going on in your stomache. It's these few people that keep your life interesting."
     John looked up from his crossword. "Are you high?"
     I looked him in the eye, "I love you man."

     I noticed that I had green mark on my knee. "You should never turn down a blow job," she said, "it may be the last one you're ever offered." Just some smushed, smeared cray-pas, but it looked like a miniture elf's stamp of approval. "I mean, wouldn't you hate to turn down the last blow job you're ever offered?" A little green check mark. "Even it it's not a good one, it could be the last one." I wondered where in my apartment the cray-pas came from. "I'm just saying, you shouldn't turn one down." Nothing to worry about, I liked my little green check mark.

     "What do you think of this movie?" I asked, holding out the case for R.S.V.P for John's approval. We were trying to find a movie so we wouldn't have to spend an hour waiting in the lines at the front of the store.
     He glanced at the case that I held out to him. "That's another Rope rip-off." He went back to seriously studying a case for what appeared to be Blue's Clues.
     "Do you have your own copy of Boondock Saints yet?" I read the blurb on the back to make sure that it said the same thing as my copy at home.
     "No, and that's another Rope rip-off." I noticed he had now moved onto Bob the Builder. "Have you ever seen Rope?" He glanced at me while I gave a quick shake of my head. It was as much an answer to his question, as it was trying to clear it from getting lost in the twenty seven seperate Friends DVD's on sale; every season, and special platinum super-dee-dooper edition ever released. More Chandler existed in this one Wal-Mart than there should be in the entire universe.. "It was originally a play, but Alfred Hitchcock adapted it for cinima. I thought 'oh hell, he used the word cinima, it's lecture time. "It's about a couple of college friends that decide to kill one of their buddies. They then throw a party in a room containing the dead body. They invite over one of their professors, Jimmy Stewart, who flaunts the belief that certain priviledged people should have the right to kill anyone they thought deserved death. I'm positive that the majority of action movies, and some suspense movies, follow this belief. In Boondock Saints they clearly say that murderers should be punished, but the brothers are somehow exempt." He was still looking around the kiddie shows.
     "Then how about Survivor: Season One? We can pretend that it's not recorded!" I knew it was a bad idea so I was already looking elsewhere.
     "Bah, that's just a rip-off of Stephen King's The Running Man. He wrote it under the pseudonym of Richard Bachman. Lets get this one." He held out a copy of Elmo Saves Christmas.
     I gave him a small grin, "That's just a rip-off of Theodor Geisel's How the Grinch Stole Christmas. He wrote it under the pseudonym of Dr. Seuss."

     She looked at me covertly, "you know what this means don't you?" I shook my head and sipped my tea while I doodled a hard-shelled unicorn. She leaned closer and whispered, "It's over." I nodded and sipped my tea and drew. "She's going to do it just to prove that she will." I shrugged and sipped my tea and smudged my graphite. "What are you going to do?"
     I smirked and I sipped my tea and I set my pencil down. I looked at her warm brown eyes. I considered her olive skin and her half smile. I took another sip and set down my plastic cup. "I once knew a guy that tried to commit suicide by cutting off his penis. Only he never got it totally cut off. He did this in front of a bunch of us. We were outside his window watching him, pleading in whispers for him to stop and think. He sat there on his bed, jeans around his ankles, clutching his penis in one hand, and an ugly pocket knife in the other. We were afraid of waking his parents. I didn't watch him mutilate himself. Once I saw that he was set on doing it I turned and walked home, there wasn't anything else to be whispered, and I hate to watch people self-destruct."

     I watched them walking to the restaurant from the parking lot. Not that I was watching from the parking lot, I was in the restaurant. They were walking from the parking lot, I assume from a car parked on the lot, towards and eventually into the restaurant. They were a mother and daughter. The mother was instructing her daughter. I assume it was her daughter, it may have been someone else's daughter either stolen or borrowed for the duration of lunch. The elder woman seemed to be instructing the younger one. Talking in a way that urged the girl to listen. I couldn't hear what was being said, but I thought in my head, 'she's instructing her how to be a cold mean bitch. She's telling her to not take shit from any man or woman, and to aggresively make her way through the world.' I smiled at the thought of this young nine, maybe ten, year old girl taking the older woman's words to heart, and ruling over her friends in class. Then I thought, 'maybe that's not what she's instructing at all. Maybe she's telling the girl to watch her figure, and to be sure not to over cook her husband's supper. Maybe she was telling the girl to lay supine and open, because as long as he cared for her, she should do what he wants even if he does smell of Miller Lite and someone else's cheap perfume and he can barely get it in her because of his bulging belly.' I almost couldn't finish my lasagna. It's hard to tell what she was telling the girl; it is 2005 but it is also Georgia.

In another day


     I was going through the drive through of a local fast food restaurant. I was going through the drive through because I can't park at this particular restaurant, all the slopes point in the wrong direction. I was sitting in my car behind a few pick'em up trucks and I was humming the theme song to The Brady Bunch while I thought about toasters.
     I wasn't necessarily thinking about toasters, I was thinking about Maximum Overdrive. I loved to watch the movie as a kid, and for some reason it will often pop in my mind while I'm driving Mister Hankey Bambino the Christmas Car. As a child I would giggle when the electric knife would try to carve it's wielder. I would laugh when the soda machine would kill the baseball coach. I would cackle at all of the death and destruction our devices of comfort wreaked on our frail forms. But I would always feel a little sad towards the end when the mechanations realized they were still dependent on their makers for power.
     While I was waiting in line in the drive through of the fast food restaurant, I got to thinking about toasters in the movie, Maximum Overdrive. I was wondering, was there a berserk toaster in the movie? I couldn't remember. It's been many many years since I've seen it. What would a toaster do to get it's revenge on human kind for the years it spent in toasting slavery? Would it burn toast even on the lowest setting? Would it refuse to pop out the bread untill it resembled a thin charcoal briquet? I think the toasters in the alternate diminsion of Maximum Overdrive would have little choice but to go a little kamikazi, suicide bomber. All they would be able to do is to convect their heat untill the never emptied crumbs sitting in their bellies burst into flames. Then hopefully the flames would spread to the tastefully blue curtains over the kitchen window and the whole house would soon follow. I laughed at the thought of a kamikazi toaster, and I'm certain Mister Hankey Bambino the Christmas Car laughed with me, but, to tell the truth, I'll never trust a toaster again.
     Finally, it was my turn at the drive through window. I was reading all of the notices and watching the lady through the glass. I wondered if it was bullet proof. The window opened and the lady held her hand out for my money. I gave it to her, but I said, "I want you to tell the manager that I'm very upset." The lady's face dropped. Her eyes bulged. She stammered for words.
     "I, I, wha..wha..what's wrong?"
     "Tell the manager that the Christmas Decorations are up entirely too early, it's still weeks before Thanksgiving." She let out a sigh of relief and then laughed and said that she agreed with me. I told her thanks for my food and change and drove home humming the theme song to The Brady Bunch and thinking about Christmas toasters.

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