don't know where I'll be for the next while...so this captures my last excursion to New York, post-Korea.
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Daft Punk "Da Funk"
Nouveaunoise "Japan"
Gilles Peterson "Why Can't There Be Love"
Prefuse 73 "Styles That Fade Away With a C"
Caribou "Bowls"
The Ruby Suns "Closet Astrologer"
Philip Glass "Channels and Winds"
Madvillain "Fancy Clown"
Daedelus "Succumbing To"
SO. I'm going to bend the rules a little on this one and extend it to several songs that remind me of several certain someones.
**Please note I've excluded all those I'm in daily contact with: all you Korea ppl. That you are not on this list does not mean you are not worthy of being on it (quite the opposite.) Also, for those of you that are in the States and feel jipped for not being on here: we need to listen to more music together! I couldn't think of a song for you...
Also, I really could just be talking to myself at this point. Not sure of who really reads this thing. Except for you Brandon-- you comment on everything!
You know who you are.
You will forever be the closest person to me. Even when we are squabbling about knitting needles in the Old Lady's Home for Frisky Feminists we'll be living in...even then.
You know who you are.
<3
You know who you are.
Dive bar. Homo hill. The early days in Seoul. Dancing to this.
Spacious 2. Video projector on white quilt. Christmas. Sugar plums, sickly sweet wine and asian dust. Dancing to this.
Kingston, Ontario. Winter reunion in the western world. Hopefully dancing to this. ; )
You know who you are.
I'm sorry.
You know who you are.
Do you remember that Rasberry Beret album I got you? Well...just listened to that song again-- and that is a bad song. Seriously.
Can you still do the Prince falsetto? Cos I remember it being pretty spot-on. I hope you're keeping it up.
You are still the *only* person that's visited me in every locale I've lived in! If anything, I'm glad I've given you the excuse to travel-- though it will take many years before I even half-way catch up to all the places you've been. Something to aspire to...
You know who you are.
And for the final time, she was *not* flirting with you.
Still the wittiest person I know. Also, cannot wait to see the new stacks of books in your apt. and the new disparaging comments about absolutely everyone... ; )
You know who you are.
Not the exact version, but good enough.
I will forever be indebted to you and your apartment for helping me to finish my first script. And indebted for helping me through some tough times in New York.
Can't wait to go to Tom's again!
You know who you are.
I know you're a Steve Earle die-hard, but...somehow it's always Townes that reminds me of you.
I met you on my first *ever* night in NYC.
Aside from the big names that pass through, you are quite possibly my favorite comedian in New York. Seriously.
Also, you introduced me to the other Mr. J -- and even though he's a huge (huge) dork, he's one of my few film counterparts in the city. We must get g&t's in September at La Negrita-- or I guess some snobby hipster bar now that you're in fancy Brooklyn.
You know who you are.
While we haven't listened to this album together yet, you must be as in love with it as I am, considering you're the biggest Albarn fan around (aside from Ms. J, of course).
You might also have the biggest (bleeding) heart of anyone I know. ; ) I am continually inspired by your mere day-to-today and cannot *wait* to visit all those weird (but of course, enlightening and awesome) one-off events we go to.
I remember walking around Harlem late last June, aghast at the heaviness in the air-- as if it was the second coming of JFK's assassination. The news of Michael Jackson's death had spread earlier in the day and already the scaffolding around The Apollo was covered with in memoriam posters of the great, newly deceased, MJ.
A couple days later on my way home from work, I was coming up on the 125th street stop and was pretty sure I was witnessing a resurrected MJ dancing to "Bad" on the platform. Present: red leather jacket, the one silver glove, fresh white socks, shiny black shoes, aviator glasses... I figured out it wasn't really him after he tipped his glasses and winked after I dropped a dollar into the hat next to him (though, as I remember, MJ was pretty well off and more or less agoraphobic, so those were clues as well).
West Harlem that day was a glittering spectacle of all things Michael Jackson. Rollicking masses of people moving past booth after booth of MJ paraphenalia: t-shirts, jewelry, pictures, posters, dvds, cds, fake tattoos... And then there was the Wailing Wall.
Rather, shoddy white paper slapped onto the scaffolding and corkboard walls surrounding The Apollo where people could leave their last words to the late and great.
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Went to an MJ dance party this past weekend in Seoul. Along with the obvious choices of songs like "Thriller" , "Beat It" and "Rock With Me" -- they also played some Jackson 5, which was a particular treat, having not actively listened to them in quite some time. And it made me happy.
And so-- Day 1: A Song That Makes You Happy: The Jackson 5: "I Want You Back"
So in the hopes of being a bit more regular with this blog -- I'll be doing my best to keep up with the below 30 days of music list (which I found on this awesome guy's music blog.) Except I'll be cutting out all days with 'favorite' in the title as there's no way I can choose my favorite anything. It will be 25 days in that case.
Serviceman #1 (S#1), short and rotund, severe sweet tooth, had declared himself the “bossman” of serviceman #2 (S#2), tall and skeletal, who was doing all the heavy work in replacing the heating system in my apartment. S#1 then told me about his wife (all this translated through my head teacher, Ms. Kim, who was seated on my bed) and how they’re both the same age and how she was a student at the school I teach at and isn’t that great. He then took a handful of the butterscotch candies that I’d been using for decoration for the past six months (large hands). He undid the wrapping so meticulously it was as though he was giving each candy a tiny funeral before shoving them into his mouth and ultimately, to their death. S#2 was all business and thank God, otherwise I’d have been stuck chatting awkwardly on my bed with the head teacher for more than the 2 hours it ended up taking.
Ms. Kim is nice though. Her English is a bit halting, but she seems comfortable with this and isn’t as afraid to make mistakes as most of the other English teachers are. She’s a bit older, married, two teenaged children. Sometimes she will talk about her husband at lunch and will be surprisingly familiar with me. Her disclosure is heartening of course, but now I can understand what’s behind her eyes when she smiles and it doesn’t look quite right.
“Migook?” S#2 had finished and decided to take an interest in the strange foreign girl who’d been watching him swim around in the watery cesspool that was my kitchen yesterday. He was wearing my shower shoes.
Ms. Kim answered for me. “New York City!” S#2 brightened and pointed to his shirt, some (fake) faded print of that shot of John Lennon. I gave him a thumbs-up. He seemed happy with that.
On their way out S#1 pointed to the butterscotch candies and said “is ok?”. Of course it was ok, I said with my hands. For all their trouble (or rather, all of S#2’s trouble) I gave them the two ice cream cones I had in my freezer, making sure to hand them to S#2 so he’d have the choice. They said thank you in English and Korean and were gone down the stairs in two seconds flat.
There was still that watery cesspool to deal with and Ms. Kim had quickly taken it upon herself to clean up the mess for me. I felt a bit uncomfortable with this and told her so. She smiled a real smile and told me that there is a saying in Korean:
“AJUMMA IS STRONG.”
Not wanting to take away the glory of her sentiment, I backed down and watched her dirty her extremely nice cream slacks as she scooped up the mangy water and put it down the sinkhole. This took a good twenty minutes, during which time I studied the new ondol box, exceedingly easier than the old model and pretty with its purple background light. I hope the next tenant appreciates it.
I’ve now been in Korea for close to 10 months. It was only until recently that I fantasized daily about leaving early, going back to New York, back to a place I could understand and love wholly if only for the capacity to understand it. That’s not to say that I’ve really tried to understand this place, more like willingly stood on the sidelines of each day, watching in perpetual disbelief of how things continue to confound me, this Korean world and my place within it…
But now as I reach that ticking clock period—these last two months or so—the reality of the American world that awaits me looms larger and larger. As does the unexpected presence of recent factors: the fact that I’ve finally realized that I do love my students and that I will miss them after all—meeting some lovely new people (like, really lovely) and firming friendships with people that have been here with me since the beginning. Not that I’m totally unfamiliar with drastically changing my surroundings, but this whole switching continents business is some pretty new stuff.
And admittedly, I am a bit…scared. WOAH—vulnerability!! (FYI: I get a free pass since I’m writing this on my birthday.) Excited to see all my American (and Canadian!) people of course, but still scared. NYC can eat you alive if you’re not looking and I’m afraid I’ll be so distracted with learning how to live in America again, re-learning the joys of rent and all that bothersome adult crap, re-learning how to be a broke college student, re-learning me, that one day as I’m walking around Central Park oblivious to everything except the trees, that some city official will come up behind me, tap me on the shoulder and sternly tell me that I didn’t pass the test and that I need to leave. Now.
So, there’s that.
“I’m 26 and unmarried. Now you know everything.” Eva Marie Saint in Hitchcock’s brilliant North By Northwest.
Today is my birthday. Never really know what to expect aside from feeling vaguely (or full-on) disappointed, but…this weekend was nice. Some moments more nice than others (like, amazingly nice), but all in all…I feel older. And now I have joined the ranks of Ms. Saint’s ice-queen character in the above-mentioned NXNW. 26 and unmarried. (Now you don’t know everything… rarely do I include my marital status when describing myself, really just on tax forms, but I guess I just like the line.)
Older, not as in God When Are the Wrinkles Coming older, but…older as in…feeling the accumulation of experience upon me. Looking back and feeling the weight/presence of that rainbow-like catalogue of experience in these last 26 years. I still don’t really know anything, but I do know where I’ve been, for better or worse. And even though I still approach things (even those things that I feel somewhat closer to thinking I know) with some degree of hesitation and anxiety, I’m still approaching them. Still willing to get hurt or get happy by them and I think that’s important.
And I realize that last bit sounded really self-helpy, but…oh well. Judge me if you will. I’m older now and I (think) I can take it.
