a smattering of blog

Saying goodbye comes in all shapes and sizes. (As do cliches and puns so be wary)

Some goodbyes are calm and collected, others involve yelling and screaming, while some are simply a whisper. Some are welcomed, some are hated, and some are merely part of the transaction. The ones that don't involve a burger at the drive-thru, tend to manifest differently on the people involved. It seems that every artist I've met--from musician to painter to writer--has a goodbye piece. In some way it as if the goodbye must be made tangible in order to deal with it. We have to be able to hold it and see it and feel it.

And goodbyes are not just about people. Many times, I find the leaving of a place and the experience is just as difficult as saying goodbye to the people.

Korea is one such place.

This quirky, difficult place has given me so much understanding of myself as a person and an artist.

Saying goodbye is becoming a bit difficult.

And my 'bye' isn't even for good. . .it is simply a bye for now. It's a nowbye. (at this moment, I would like to direct your attention the very first line of this blog)

It is this year of life in this place I am saying goodbye to. By leaving I am altering its effect on me. When I return, I will be different, not only because of my future experiences, but also because when I return, I will be approaching this country with a prior experience. . .not an expectation. . .never. . .but a knowledge. I wonder if this knowledge will be burden or a gift?? Only time will tell. I am anxious for it, and nervous as well.

All this said, I believe my goodbyes become tangible through the process of it. It comes in the form of . . . "this is the last. . ." moments. Doing so creates a much needed zenith to the experience. . .(I know it is also fueled by my desire of drama and story, which is encouraged by movies, literature, and music). However, it also allows for a type of resolve--a gradual serenity with the inevitable. . .and it allows for the piece of the experience to take shape in me.

And so, my process has begun. Today, I said goodbye to one of my loveliest students, and one of my worst. I indulged in Bon-juk, and an evening on my roof. Each day will be a "this is my last. . ." and I will welcome it and hate it.

Goodbyes are inevitable. I like them because they mark a new beginning (remember the first line of text?) I loathe them for the same reason.

At the moment, I have a very loud, very drunk Korean man outside my window. . .struggling with his friend, I think on whether or not he should drive. These are the moments I won't miss. . .but alas, yes I will.

Korea. . .in the words of e. e. cummings. . .I carry you in my heart.

In the way of quotes. . .I feel, I should leave you with something funny, seeing as this is a bit of darker blog. . .so one of my favorites my furry friends:

"He felt is whole life was a dream and he sometimes wondered whose it was and whether they were enjoying it."

Why I love, no, adore, Korea

I recognize, I am a terrible blogger.

It's not that I don't have much to say. In fact, my head is brimming with random facts, figures, and unimportant happenings all the time. For example, today I saw a button on the sidewalk, and I, for a good five minutes, thought about the life of that button. . .where it started, how did it end up on the sidewalk, what would happen to it, and would the person who lost it, even know it disappeared? Then for a brief moment. . .I thought about writing a play about that button's life. Yes, these are my daily thoughts. . .sometimes, my thoughts are profound. . .

But most of the time, they are ridiculous. And I like to keep them that way.

However, my conscience laments littering. . .and I feel expelling random, everyday thoughts about buttons and such, into cyberspace is a type of litter. . .so I wait until a good thought comes along, and then I share it.

Which to sum up my point. . .makes me a terrible blogger.

That said. . .I have a good thought. . .

Korea, I love, and like any amazing relationship--it challenges me, seduces me, and infuriates me.

Two weeks ago I was leaving the Doctor's office and I get a phone call from a number I don't recognize. On such occasions I typically don't answer the phone because the caller usually hangs up on me the minute I say "hello". . .and who needs that kind of rejection on a daily basis. However, I was feeling spunky, know a tad Korean, and thought I would give it a try, so as I sit myself into the taxi, tell the driver where to take me, I answer. . .

Me: Yabaseyo! (hello!)

Man: ahhh hello Terahhhhhrynaaaah?

Me: Ney (yes)

Man: . . .all sorts of Korean I don't understand. . .201-uh?

Now I am thinking, "My god. . .this guy is actually trying to do something at my apartment, he knows my name. . .what the hell do I do?" Meanwhile, cab driver is speeding down the road while watching TV.

Me: Kahm-Sam-Ni-Dah (Thank you) I don't speak Korean (I don't think this needs translation)

Man: No English-ah

Me: No Korean-uh, Hangul, anni-yo (No)

It continues like this for a bit.

I hang up. (What else was to be done? We established multiple times that no logical conversation was going to take place)

I tell cab driver to take me to my house. . .after all this random Korean was there.

Please note: I explain this story in a manner suggesting I was calm and collected the entire time, but that was not the case. I was frustrated and on the verge of tears because I should be able to communicate! Shame on me. And. . .shame on this guy for calling on a Monday morning after I got out of the Doctor's office and for not knowing English. Really. I am there to teach it, come take a class. (Not really, but it feels good to lay blame elsewhere in these moments)

Note aside. . .I arrive at my house. He is not there. I decide to go to work. . .early!. . .and ask a Korean staff member to call back and find out what is going on. Simple plan. . .

Need I remind you, I'm in Korea. Nothing is ever simple. (and I assure you there is no exaggeration in this statement) This man continues to call me. . .each conversation resulting in. . .

Me: Yabaseyo!

Man: No English-uh, 201-uh?

Me: Anni-yo Korean.

Five times. Five!

I finally make it to work. A staff member calls. The poor man is a mail man. . .and he is just trying to deliver a package. That's all.

On hearing that story. . .many would say, "I bet you are excited to be done with that place! Damn, to be back in good ol' America where things are easy and make sense."

And to that, I say. . "nope, not at all."

Because the end of that story. . .

Postman arrives the next day. . .at 9AM. . .rings my door, then calls me, and then knocks.

Me: (Just out of bed, hair all over the place, pajamas every which way) Anyang Ha-sey-o

Man: (hugging me quite hard) American! No English (gesturing to himself) No Korean (gesturing to me).

Me: Ney. Mee-Ham-Ni-Dah (Sorry)

Man: You pretty. (hugging me quite hard again and then handing me a package) For you.

Me: Kahm-sahm-ni-dah.

Then he bowed, got on his scooter and rode off into the morning.

And that just pulls at my heart strings.

There is no way to describe the wonders of this place. The people are ridiculous and fun and annoying. I find myself cursing them in one minute and loving them in the next. Korea is a land full of generous amazing people who believe in not only working hard but playing hard. They may sometimes miss steps and jump the gun, but it is the heart--the sincerity of these people that sets my heart a flutter.

I've seen it elsewhere. . .but Korea. . .Korea is like stepping foot into a silent black and white film. . .You never know how the scene will play out, what exactly is being said, or what is going on. . .but, you find yourself caught up in the mayhem and entranced by the hilarity and the ridiculousness and unable to stop yourself from joining in on the shenanigans. There is a true sense of life here.

Granted stay away from most of the westerners (unless they love the ridiculous as much as you) and surround yourself with Koreans.

Koreans do not understand mediocrity or just getting by. They embrace extremes. I adore this and envy them for it.

Land of the Morning Calm (a bit of a contrast to the actual place) I will miss you with all my heart and soul. . .but I will return to you.

So, lessons to be learned: Don't ever send packages to my residence. . .and when annoying gets going, sit back and laugh. . .

My furry friends, a quote. . .

"Traveling is like gambling: it is always connected with winning and losing, and generally where it is least expected we receive, more or less than what we hoped for." --Goethe

Blog Cream

Right in front of you, there is a bowl. In this bowl is your favorite flavor of ice cream.

Perfectly soft. Perfectly silky. Perfectly smooth.

You look closer, only to discover that drizzled on top of this perfection is your favorite ice cream topper (mine is caramel). The silver spoon is in your hand. All you have to do is dip it into that bit of delicious.

Take a moment.

You’ve been anticipating that first bite.

Not just anticipating. . . . but actually putting off this first bite--knowing that to wait. . .well

You thought about ice cream earlier in the week, but decided to wait because waiting only makes you want it more—only makes that moment of the first bite that much more exhilarating. There’s been a lot of thought put into this bite. . .

The flavor, the toppings (did I mention caramel), the surroundings. . .

Now, there it is right in front of you. Ready for the taking.

The stars have aligned.

The time is now.

Your favorite ice cream, and favorite topping (hello, caramel), is there. . .in front of you.

Your spoon dips, turns, and scoops up the perfect morsel, the caramel drips, a bit lands on your finger. Your heart accelerates as this delectable delicious decadence touches your bottom lip, and. . .

Oh my god. . .it passes on to the tongue, and. . .and. . .and. . .

Yep, it’s ice cream. Just as you expected.

And that moment becomes much like your first sexual experience. It was the foreplay on your mind’s part that made it exciting. . .the actual moment. . .

Meh.

**Note: I equate most everything about life with food. We could get all philosophical on this and pretend that it’s because food gives me life, and in essence by loving food I am loving life. . .but whatever. . . .

Food. Delicious. There are no ifs ands or buts about that. . .I love food. I love life. I love sex. This is probably why I run. In order to enjoy all three of these things. . .you should be athletic. (Also, my family and I take food extremely serious)

Moving on. . .

Back to ice cream. . .

You enjoy your bowl of ice cream. It is sweet and succulent, and well worth the wait. You make your way through. It. . .savoring it. Thankful for its presence. . .but you find yourself reaching the end. You are saddened by this prospect, but know it is inevitable. . .However. . .

Suddenly. .

You scrape the bowl for those last bits. . .the leftovers. Not much to them. . .just (what you think will be) some cold milky ice cream and topping (caramel) mixed together. . .you fill your spoon with these icy bits. . .then bring it to your mouth. . .

And behold. . .

Your heart stops. . .

You have just experienced the best bite of the entire bowl of ice cream.

Sure the first bite was wanted and anticipated. . .

But this last bite. . .this last moment of delicious. . .all the flavors combined into one special specific moment. . .well, that. . .

That. . . .

Was unexpected.

And that made the walk to the convenience store in the bitter cold to get the ice cream. . .the walk to three (THREE!) grocery stores to find the (perhaps I've mentioned this) the caramel. . .the getting home. . . the scooping. . .the drizzling. . .all these efforts were well worth that very last bite. Not the first, but the last. That last glorious bite that combined your efforts and your flavors into one final perfection of a moment.

And truly, my life is that bowl of ice cream. It’s not a box of chocolates. . .it’s ice cream. It is a scattering of bits. . .the moments that I think will be gorgeous turn out to be “meh”. . .and the moments that I think will be the end. . .turn out to be extraordinary. As I scrape that bowl, things I don’t even remember being there end up on that spoon. . .

Just as that ice cream becomes more delicious and more desirable than I remember. . .

So does life. . .

We all have our life metaphors. . .I have a lot. . just think for a moment. . .Your favorite painting--how many colors does it have in it?

You favorite song---how many instruments?

You favorite story—how many words?

Your favorite food—how many ingredients?

All the best moments are really a collage aren’t they? That first kiss. . .there were a lot of elements mixed with it right?

And the best kiss, was when that person, you and the surrounding elements mixed perfectly. . .maybe it didn’t look pretty (like that caramel mixed with ice cream) but it felt and tasted perfect.

I am a theatre practitioner who hates reading plays. There, I said it out loud. I think a play should be combined with all the intended elements. Just like a song. . .Yes, the words are great, but filling them in with guitar and bass, and oh my, drums. . .well, I’ve just blushed. . .

The same goes with food, love, and life.

The more ingredients, the more mixing, the more you combine those experiences, the greater it all becomes.

You are alone right now. . .or you are with someone. . .you are planning your next move, or you are in the middle of your next big thing. . .all these things are little moments. . .all of them mixing together. . .no matter. Because in between all of them you will have several lone moments. . . where you sit on your couch (or perhaps in a bar or on a bench in a park or on a sidewalk in a bustling city), and your thoughts will wander and all of these moments will come into the foreground, and you will find yourself smiling because your wandering thoughts have allowed you to taste the best bite of your life. . .

And you know what??

That’s only the end of one bowl.

You have countless more waiting to be filled with your efforts (three stores for caramel!) and hard work.

At least I do.

I am a lucky person. I have a family and friends who love me. They love me.

They actually do. And I am sure of it.

Wow.

(taking a moment)

So, I spent my night watching a silly FX show called Archer, which I adore. . .and then I trampled out into the cold for said ice cream, and this blog was the result.

Not bad for a night in Korea.

And now a quote, as I wander on. . .to my next thought. . .

"One cannot think well, loved well, or sleep well, if one has not dined well." --Virginia Woolf

and even kings understood the importance of a good pun. . .

"For its merit, I will knight it, and then it will be Sir-Loin." --Charles II

my furry friends, be well.

a blog-gent

Forgive me cyberspace, it has been a while since my last confession, and alas. . .

It was an interesting day. Actually, it's been an interesting couple of weeks. I've done nothing extraordinary--nothing to change the world or my place in it. But I've come to recognize some nuances, some tidbits that make my life worth pondering to, well, me. . .and I suppose that's something.

First, let me properly blog about current events. I say "properly blog" because I suppose that is what a blog is. . .telling of one's life events. If you are an avid reader of the 'flibbertygibbit', you must know I never follow protocol. I simply just do. Not saying it is better. . .just explaining. uh-oh. . .found myself in a tangled tangent. Let's right this. . .

deep breaths.

. . . . . .

okay now I have no thoughts. . .

wait, re-reading. . .

ah yes! back again!

So recently, I found myself amidst a flurry of art in all forms. These arts consisted of music, paintings, and bathing. (Yes, there is an art to bathing.) I was bewitched by the talented Cocorosie on a tiny stage in Seoul. They combined their lyrics and chords with the beats of Tez, a man who has the ability to make all sounds ever conceived with his voice. He was actually able to vocalize the bass, the drums, the guitar and lyrics of Prince's You Don't Have to Be Rich. And it was a dead-on impression of the purple man's voice.

**Note: Whenever I think of Prince, I think of him being this tiny purple man, so I call him the purple man. . .there is no justification here, just explanation.

We should move on. I feel myself getting lost in another tangent. . .

Tangents! They are like a plague discoloring the perfection of my memory.

So, Cocorosie was simply extraordinary. Everything about the night was excellent. We got to eat burritos (said in an uber-texan voice: 'real mexican-american burritos!'), we drank vodka, we saw schnauzers, and we were enveloped by a delicious performance that involved melodious voices, body beats, and a harp. It was delicious both physically and mentally.

The next day we saw Chagall's works, in all their glory displayed at the National Museum. Leading up to this spectacular moment was snow and some misdirection, but so it goes when you travel. In all, wandering around a museum surrounded by the 'Magician of Color' was like being lost in someone else's dream--which I must say is fascinating, and worry free.

I must depart from this thought for a moment to say this. . .I like watching people look at art. I like watching couples and singles and families. The reactions are all so different. I have to admit, I found myself watching the people more than the paintings at some points. Have you ever watched people look at art?? I used to do it on my days off in NYC. . .I would go to the Met, and just linger. . .and since then, I find myself doing the same at all museums. I do take in the art! After all it was the Chicago Art Institute that introduced me to the Old Guitarist by Picasso, which is now my favorite painting of all time. . .(hence the picture on the blog)--

creeping tangent. . .divert the eyes!!. . .

People are so great to watch at museums. They all view art differently (of course!). . .There are the people who linger at each painting. . .sometimes you can see it in their faces that they are forcing themselves because that is what they are supposed to do. . but if you keep with those same people, you can see the change when they linger on a painting they want to. . .wow, that's beautiful! Then there are the people who skim over each painting. . .and suddenly, get mesmerized by a painting. . .then there are the people who just talk the entire time--staying for the appropriate amount of time at each painting--professionals. Of course, in my Aristotle categorization of these museum patrons. . .I ask myself the question. . .which one am I?? Are you asking yourself the same question?? Let's ponder together. . .

hmmmmm. . . .

yes. . .well. . there's that. . .

but, there's also that. . .

hmmm. . .

okay, well. . .

have you assessed your museum personality?? I have mine. . .

and truth be told. . .I am not sure. Each experience is different for me. It depends on the artist, the company, and the situation. . .and hands down (where did that saying come from??). . .that's true for everyone. The people I've had the privilege to witness at any exhibit are having their own personal experience in that moment, as am I.

But, isn't it interesting, that all those moments are simultaneous across the globe with different artists in different museums?? I think it is. . .but that's just me.

The same goes with concerts and theatre. . .but these two things are so much more personal for me, that I don't find myself stepping out of the performance to evaluate the audience--because I am entranced in my own personal experience. I certainly look around before and after a concert or a play. . .but during. . .I just can't. I am always thoroughly involved in my experience of the performers and the performances--perhaps that is the manipulation of education.

Other than that adventure. . .most things have been the same. I venture downtown from time to time, get exceedingly wasted, stumble home, and laugh. Perhaps it sounds like a sad and confused way to live. . .I like it all the same. People fascinate me. . .they always have. I fascinate myself. . .I always have. Yes, I have moments where I wish the people I connect with totally on this planet were in the same room as me, so we can share a look from across the way, or a laugh, or a stumble home. . .

And this thought brings me into a tangent I want to explore. . .I've been traveling for the better part of 10 years. . .and the parts I always forget are the lonely parts. I am in the midst of one of those right now. The thing is. . .travel is amazing. I will never stop being a traveler. Yes, I will settle into a home base. . .but I will always venture into the world--which I hope will involve a husband and children. As of now, however, the problem with travel, is it can be lonely, and travelers forget that. We always remember the extraordinary moments--the hikes to waterfalls, temples, the the sleeps in hammocks and at old people's cottages. . .we forget the times when we are sitting in a bar alone with no one to talk to--I liken it to a woman forgetting labor, all she remembers is the pregnancy, and the beautiful baby in her arms. . .not the pushing, and the blood, and excruciating pain. I think of travel that way. . .we forget the excruciating moments--and I'm not talking about the uncomfortable moments when a man annoyingly feels you up on a bus in the middle of Panama (cuz that's a funny story!)--no, what I am talking about is when you find yourself in a moment all by yourself and all you want is someone to look at across the room who instantly (without words) can laugh/cry with you in that moment.

I miss that.

So, I find myself in a state of longing. I long for family.

My sisters.

My mother.

My father.

My friends.

My travel buddies.

Remember, family comes in all forms. Especially for me.

And I miss the hell out of you! Those of you who aren't here.

I think that is why I have this silly blog, so I can share my thoughts with my family. It is such a strong part of who I am--to share my ramblings.

When I lived in New York. I couldn't share anything with anyone. I was all by myself. I was doing this amazing job, having these amazing experiences, and there was no facebook, no cellphone, no nothing. There's this one story, where I was completely lost, and I was scared to death. . .only 19 mind you. . .and I had no idea what to do. Wandering around Bleeker Street, trying to figure out what to do. I didn't have a cellphone, and all I wanted to do was talk about what had happened. I knew that would make it better, and I had no one. So, in the middle of the night I hunted down a pay phone and I called my parents. And my narcoleptic mother picked up. And I told her and my dad about the ridiculousness that is their daughter. . .

I've done it on many occasions. . .from Ireland, from Turkey, from New Zealand. And they have always laughed with me, and comforted me, and sometimes, they've just sighed.

My point is. . .travel is so much better with someone who gets it. My parents are conditioned to get it over the phone. . .so that's something.

And I've called them every Sunday, since I was 23. That's a lot of Sundays and a lot of funny conversations.

With that. . .and it being Sunday, I must depart. . .but I must leave you with a quote. An inspiring quote. . .

"Sometimes the gods have no taste at all. They allow sunrises and sunsets in ridiculous pink and blue hues that any professional artist would dismiss as the work of some enthusiastic amateur who'd never looked at real sunset. This was one of those sunrises. It was the kind of sunrise a man looks at and says, 'No real sunrise could paint the sky Surgical Appliance Pink.' Nevertheless it was beautiful." --Terry Pratchett

And that is a truly an inspiring quote.

Be well my fury friends.

Let's recollect and let the blogger reflect

And now the time has come. That common life moment. Some dread it, others relish it, and still others scoff at it. I tend to embrace all three of these reactions. But, in all honesty I believe it is an essential life moment that all of us should welcome. And since I have space times infinity on the internet, I decided to share it. . .lucky you.

It is that time honored moment of nostalgia--a reflection of the past year. . .doing so creates laughter, sadness, and lots of "oh yeah, that did happen this year!" Feel free to discontinue reading at this point. . .but I will continue writing, and I look forward to seeing what comes out. . .and what my year was made of. . . .

The year started simply--in Boston, drinking tea and wine with Amanda Palmer, Neil Gaiman and Sxip Shirey. Performing as the carnival barker for the Jane Austen Argument at the Boston Pops, and listening to my lovely friend Tom Dickins play his heart out on the piano in the enchanting attic of the cloud club. The days following this extraordinary moment were filled with walking in wintry streets, on frozen ponds, and inside a world globe. . .drinking coffee at the Cafe Pamplona and catching up with an old friend.

And it only got better from there. . .

I went back home, jobless, and started working at my favorite greek restaurant. . .where I found new friends, and indulged in delicious food. . .in my spare time I went up to New York and gallivanted around the city as well as intensively worked with Patsy Rodenberg, who taught me everything there is to know about my breath and how it affects every facet of my being and performance. She taught me a lot about Shakespeare too.

I also rediscovered Greenville, and it's sweet spots. Enjoyed many concerts, including Drive-by Truckers (twice), Lucero, Ingrid Michelson, and a variety of local Greenvillians strutting their talents on the teeny tiny stage of Smileys Acoustic Cafe and the rather large stage at The Handlebar--my two favorite bars.

I then packed up and moved to Daegu, South Korea, not really knowing why I should go, but knowing it was an important move. Life certainly continued to delight me, especially as it kicked into high gear during the staggeringly hot summer months. I was privy to some of the best moments life has to offer. These moments included (but are not limited to) hiking to buddhist temples, swimming in my clothes in a rather filthy lake during (what I think) was a music festival, wandering to strangers homes at wee hours, getting excessively drunk with some of the loveliest Koreans in the world, watching/hearing Steve Leaf mellifluously perform at Communes, and enjoying the culinary artistry of Kayla F. Warrens. All the while, teaching English to very precocious and adorable Korean children.

And in the midst of all this gratifying chaos. . .theatre remained with me. I managed to create a theatre program--complete with an original script--for my hangwan. I also performed with the Daegu Theatre Troupe, which involved a variety of loud rehearsals as well as late night rehearsals on the schoolyard steps.

As summer waned and fall approached life became considerably calmer. I began to focus on running and writing. I found a pen pal in the lovely Bridget Farr, a fellow actor, and surprisingly reconnected and mended two failing but precious friendships. And I swam with sharks--literally.

I also welcomed a beautiful new nephew--Joseph Sadat--into the world. Talking to my sister who was surprisingly calm while in labor was definitely a highlight of the year.

I read a few books (not as many as I should've), read some plays, saw some plays, saw a few movies, and was introduced to a lot of good music.

As I reflect on these moments, many more come to light. . .but so does the thought that I find myself once again away from my family during the holidays. My life choices do this to me. However, I can't help to think how grateful I am for every one of the above mentioned moments as well as the ones in between them.

In the days leading up to the holidays, this fear of physical pain rises in me. How will I physically survive not hugging my mother, cooking with my sisters, and laughing with my entire family? And every year, I am delighted to discover that there is no physical pain, there is only the mingling of traditions and people, which results in a charming splendor that I've secretly begun to relish. My Christmas Eve was raucously splendiferous and my Christmas Day was blissfully calm--both full of good people and my favorite holiday movie--A Muppet Christmas Carol.

Of course, technology helps all of this. . . .It worked diligently to connect me with the people who make my life great.

All in all. . .Life is good. (an aside: Why did some company find it necessary to market, mass produce, and profit off this simple saying? Now whenever I say/write it, I feel superficial and trendy.) Life is very good. (there I feel a little better)

In the coming year, I will once again set no resolutions, but hope for and work towards many wonderful things. There are a few artistic endeavors on the horizon that make my heart all a flutter when I think of the possibilities.

I must leave you with the list. . .

The List:

Top 5 Books (I may have only read 5)

The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle - Haruki Murakami

Water for Elephants - Sara Gruen

Girl with the Dragon Tattoo - Stieg Larson

Norwegian Wood - Haruki Murakami

(developed a slight obsession with Murakami this year)

Top 4 plays

Aliens - Annie Baker

The Vibrator Play - Sarah Ruhl

Cymbeline - Shakespeare (re-read, so fun)

The Train Driver - Athol Fugard

Top 5 Movies

Inception

Iron Man 2

Resident Evil 3D (more for the laughter involved)

Shutter Island

Harry Potter

Top 5 Albums (not sure if they all came out this year or not--just what I found myself listening to. . .and can I just say, this is extremely difficult, and ever changing. . .)

Mumford & Sons - Sigh No More

This is It - The Strokes

Jonsi - Go do

Daisy May Erlewine - Mother Moon

Broken Bells - Broken Bells

Andrew Bird - Noble Beast

(and so many more. . .so many more.)

And of course a quote. . .

"Life loves to be taken by the lapel and told: I'm with you kid. Let's go." --Maya Angelou

And you get a poem. . .

once a snowflake fell

on my brow and I loved

it so much that I kissed

it and it was happy and called its cousins

and brothers and a web

of snow engulfed me then

i reached to love them all

and I squeezed them and they became

a spring rain and i stood perfectly

still and was a flower

---Giovanni

Now furry friends. . .you should reflect on your year--at least your Top 5 lists--and share them with me.

ps. . .I think I will start adding pictures to blogs. . .but I have to do some figuring out/cleaning up on this silly computer.

Something blogging this way comes!

Lachrymose.

This word appeared on my screen saver, and since then, it has been haunting me. Sometimes I find it wandering in the bathroom confused by the shower. Other times, I find it on the streets sitting next to the old woman staring at her doubled reflection in the dingy window of the alley. Sometimes it seeps out of the melodies shifting in my ipod, and still other times, it makes itself boldly known in emails--and inexplicably in the absence of emails. It creeps and conjures doubt--self and artistic.

Status Update: I'm writing, and writing, and writing. "The difference between the right word, and the almost right word is the difference between lightening and a lightening bug." --Twain

Recently, I've been blessed with an artistic endeavor, but I can't make heads or tails of it. I have so many ideas, but no path. I think I have a mind that craves boundaries, but I refuse to give it any. I've always encouraged it to wander, telling it anything is possible, and anything can be done--in doing so, I have let it down. In short, I've spoiled my imagination, much like a wealthy parent spoils a child.

In the past, my artistic inclinations were always shaped by the people closest to me--my artistic colleagues in school, theatre, and life. I would divulge my ideas, and someone would help me shape them, help me root them. I've never been without a gardner. (ooh, clever). Their absence is beginning to take a toll.

So are the upcoming holidays, and the a lack of family.

And with the recent lachrymosity hauntings. . .well it's been interesting.

Status Update: I appreciate you, wine, and your ability to placate whine.

As the artist in me balances precariously on the edge of "the nothing" with a glass of red wine in hand and a bottle in her back pocket. . .let's take a gander at the general life happenings, as I haven't been to this little nook of the internet in a while. . .

I've been running. I run a lot. I can't stop running. And I don't really go a day without talking about running.

I love running.

No metaphor intended.

I am not running from anything or to anything--except perhaps towards a sleeker more healthier self. I simply enjoy hearing my breath, pushing my body, and clearing my mind. I wish my knees enjoyed it a little more. I've been having trouble with my knees due to concrete's inability to absorb any kind of shock. . .so, I've been reduced to the hamster life--I run on a treadmill most of the week. But on Sundays and Wednesdays. . .I get to run as far and as long as I want outside. It's perfection.

I also have pretty new running shoes that should help shock absorption, and knee issues.

Additionally, I've had a variety of adventures. I went up to Seoul, and then on to the DMZ. This was a fascinating part of my travels here, that I wasn't expecting.

I never really planned on going. I have felt that things like the DMZ are a side show for military junkies. That said, I admittedly have gone out of my way to visit Gettysburg and Nuremberg. Perhaps it is because those battles took place (what seems to me) so long ago, and they were by-products of growing pains in countries without identity. Or more likely, and less poetically, they were mentioned in history books, and the Korean War isn't something I was ever really schooled on, so I wasn't much interested.

Either way, I went. . .it was amazing. One of the largest and most pristine nature preserves in the world exist in the DMZ because it is land that is unable to be developed--to me that is perfect dichotomy. The Freedom Village that exists within its borders, and the 212 farming residents bring in over $100,000 a year per household because their rice and ginger (and even water) is some of the most sought out goods in South Korea because there are no pesticides or pollutants.

You learn of these nuances as you drive towards the demarcation line--the line separating two very different governments.

But the people? The people share ancestry.

Let's talk ancestry. I don't think my words in this blog can illustrate the bond between a Korean and his ancestry. This is a culture where the people know who they come from. They don't need a website or an over-zealous relative to discover their genealogy--oh no, because each family preserves its past through generations, simply through the art of explanation. There is a whole holiday--Chuesok--where families flock to visit their dead loved ones. And their loved ones are not simply buried in a grave in the middle of the city. Nope. See, in Korea, family members' burial sites directly affect the descendants, so they are buried on mountain tops and beautiful valleys throughout the country.

With that said. . .when the Armistice was signed, Koreans had to choose a side. They had to decide North or South. Many rushed to the North and many rushed to the South. These people left behind the graves of their elders--their ancestors. And, so at Chuesok on the South Korean side there is a designated "wailing wall". . .

For someone who finds her family to be her most valuable possession (yes, I know I am thousands of miles away from this most valuable possession, but that's another blog). . .the thought of Koreans unable to properly visit their ancestors breaks my heart. To them their family (past and present) is the focal point of their life, and two governing bodies drew a line in the sand, and said "Nope. You can't move past this line because those people over there don't like the same things we like."

I know I am trivializing it, but it some ways, these government actions should be trivialized. When the Armistice was first signed. . .some poor soldiers had to use masking tape and branches to mark the line from one side of the peninsula to the other. . .I did that in the bedroom I shared with my sister when I was 8. No branches, but I used the tape. Because she wasn't as neat as I was.

I find stuff like this frustrating and stupid.

The Tanner side of my family attributes that last comment to my bleeding heart liberalism.

I attribute it to my lack of understanding of people.

Status update: Wisest is she, who knows she doesn't know.

Korea is lovely. I really do like it.

I do have a confession: I find myself at odds with this blog. I created it in January as a New Year's resolution. Hoping that writing in a public space would force me to be creative and to explore--basically a place to hold me accountable and keep me moving forward. Much like my performance theory class forced me to write a paper each week. . .it keeps the brain active and contemplating.

But, when I made this site, Korea wasn't in my foreseeable future. I was moving to Chicago in a couple of months. I was pounding the pavement as an actor.

Also, I thought it would be easy recounting the efforts of a struggling artist.

It's not.

Especially since I am removed from my family and friends--the select few allowed to wander in this head of mine.

I have to sift through what to share and what not to share. Basically, this blog is becoming one of the most scattered, and difficult papers I've ever had to write. Thankfully, I am not presenting it at a conference any time soon.

Hmmm. . .lachrymose has wandered off for the time being.

It is important to note: I am not a sad person. I love life so much, and I adore my life here in Korea.

Also, I am forever thankful to the creators of the computer, skype and the internet--without them my world would not be possible. I would be in a home down the street from my Mom and Dad, and although that would be lovely, there would be a part of me desperately desiring more--and that is the foundation for a lachrymosity only a razor blade and a warm bath can cure.

I believe now it is time to leave you with a quote. . .

"Words are finite organs of the infinite mind. They cannot cover the dimensions of what is in truth. They break, chop, and impoverish it." --Emerson

Be well furry friends. . .play often and love hard.

a blog within a blog

Forgive me internet, it's been weeks since my last confession. . .

I have only one confession. . .I find blogging narcissistic--because it is. . .ooh, I am so deep and profound. . .but I think that is why I haven't done it in a while. . .I feel, I dunno, egotistical. . .

I come to this vacant page in cyberspace, fill it with my ramblings, and post it for all the world to see. Then, I post it onto my equally vainglorious Facebook page to ensure people know about it.

Perhaps, I am not as humble as I think I am.

I do like to hear myself write.

. . .even more so, I adore writing sentences that make no sense. . .

The things you ponder while living in Korea. . .ah yes, Korea. . .let's get on to that, shall we? Or you can simply stop reading here. . .your choice, but don't you want to know about the orangutan? Read on. . .

Simply put--I am enchanted with Korea.

I admit, I was not sure at first. I felt overwhelmed and very unsure. The language--frustrating, the culture--intimidating, the ex-pat scene--typical and somewhat nauseating. The isolation from all my physical and familial comforts forced my introverted self to come out swinging (I appreciate the oxymoronic image in this last statement, and am keeping it on flibbertygibbit principle).

But time slowly went forward and so did I. . .

I have friends, have had some adventures, and I find myself venturing more often than usual. And in doing so, am growing to love this place.

The people here are incredible.

Last night, two friends prepared a traditional Chuesok (Korean Thanksgiving) meal, which consisted of shark, kimchi pancake, rice dumplings, something delicious wrapped in egg, and bi-bim-bap. The conversation was decadent and entertaining, and I found myself walking away quite content.

When language is limited, simple conversation becomes an event. Especially for me. Words are chosen carefully, ideas become fuller. Always looking for the precise word to perfectly clarify the meaning. I feel at times like it is an olympic sport. It is truly delicious. . .and daunting.

I have only made it out of Daegu once. . .and that was to go to the Haesina Temple, which is gorgeous and well worth the journey.

My lack of travel bothered me at first. . .how dare I be in this new part of the world and not explore every second of every moment??!?! But, the thing is. . every day is a new discovery--and I don't mean that in the cliched-mystical-hippy way (blah!). . .I mean, that every day, I find out something new. . .for example, I recently discovered the museum--so cool! And before that, I learned that in order to buy produce, you must first give it to the little man who puts it in a bag and then gives you a number--you cannot simply take an apple to the cash register. . .this causes the whole system to shut down and people to vocalize their frustration at you in seemingly incomprehensible utterances. . .(I'm just saying)

Also, I really like to chill at home. . .in my own space. . .MY OWN SPACE. . .have not had that for ages. . .and I relish it.

I do have a trip to Busan planned for next weekend, and a trip down to an island where some friends live. . .so I am getting out there. . .

I think I needed a period of adjustment.

Some other snippets from the goings on in my life here. . .

Every day I stop in at the Caffe Bene and see my sweet little crew of baristas. . .they ask me how my day is, and say things like "you are my friend." and "enjoy. delicious." They make me happy.

I found a lovely restaurant that serves up a mean pig spine soup, that nourishes and cleanses. . .

The heat is dwindling, and cooler air is on the horizon. . .

I've learned three chords on the guitar. . .

I am running six days a week, and hiking/walking on the seventh day. . .

My students give me the giggles on a daily basis. . .on a critical thinking project last week, they had to design a tomb for a pharaoh--complete with security features. One group designed a tomb that lived in the ocean, the section on the surface was shaped like poo and had an odor. In the top of the "poo" was a fake mummy-pharaoh, and the real one was stored at the bottom, which was 100 meters below the water's surface. . .it had a maze, and a three-headed snake. The drawing is impeccable, and will be going on my wall in my future house.

Also, I had an amazing performance theory moment. . .we were discussing whether or not words mean something if there is no action to back them up. . .and I brought up the ideas of J.L. Austin's--How To Do Things with Words--and his concept that words do perform. For example, saying "I do" at a marriage ceremony. . .simply saying those words change your state of being. Not metaphorically, but truly. . .uttering those two words in ceremony change your status. . .(it's more complicated than that. . you should check it out). . .either way, I explained the simple form to my students, and they got it! It was a really cool moment. . .

I got to be in a play with the Daegu Theatre Troupe. . .

Perform a monologue. . .

Coach a friend into an amazing performance of his own. . .

And create a theatre program at the school. . .and the kids were amazing.

So, I am in Korea and I am still able to make theatre central to my life, not only that, but I am allowing new experiences into my life to help shape my art.

So, I guess these snippets, and random thoughts culminate to the following life conclusion in this moment:

I am still an artist. . .I thought, for a time, I had put that aspect of myself on hold. . .

But I didn't. . .I can't. . .and I am relieved to know that.

So, I guess these narcissistic inclinations that cause me to blog also allow me discover bits about myself I didn't know before--and all I had to do was fill yet another small micro-section of this infinite internet space. . .that's positive for me, and I hope in a small way for you. . .

My furry friends. . .two quotes. . .as sleep beckons me. . .

"if a man knew anything, he would sit in a corner and be modest; but he is such an ignorant peacock, that he goes bustling up and down, and hits upon extraordinary discoveries." --R.W. Emerson

"in wisdom gathered over time, I find that every experience is a form of exploration" --Ansel Adams

Play on. . .Game on. . .Party on. . .

Oh, and about the Orangutan. . .um, read Murders in the Rue Morgue. . .*grin*