Counting down the weeks until Dave’s family gets here. The spare room is still a disaster area, never even re-organized after Mary’s visit in October. In fact, it is worse than ever since I decided not to formally put anything away after Mary’s visit, always thinking I would do a some kind of mega-organizing event for the room. Thus, everything in there has been just tossed onto the floor.

I’m trying to get things organized.

First and easiest order of business is a pile of CD’s designated "outta sight, outta mind" by the occupants of this house. I’m caging them all into nice little cardboard boxes I bought at Ikea in Taipei last summer. Found a Robert Plant CD I listened to constantly that year at Oberlin. Listening to it again reminds me of so many things: Shopping in downtown Cleveland at the Galleria, riding the bus from Oberlin to New York City, walking under shade cover of big old trees on the residential streets, my roommates. The song title containing my name was playing when he sat so close to me I couldn’t speak for revealing all that I felt. If he’d asked me to stay - to stay for him - I would’ve. But he didn’t. And so I came home the next summer and started school at UW.

Not long ago, The Princess Bride was on TV. I must’ve watched it a hundred times before I was twenty, but I haven’t seen it since. It’s still awesome. Well, I was walking down the street when I heard that familiar sound endemic to Seoul: "Hcchcchcch…" It is always followed by the sound of spitting. This time, it reminded me of the Fire Swamp and how Wesley and Buttercup were able to survive because of the sound preceding the burst of flame. I realized that I use the same technique in the Seoul Swamp. Seriously. There is always some guy behind me hcchcchcch-ing and when I hear it I sidle a little left or right, or just brace for impact, depending upon the circumstances. I’ve never been spit on but sometimes I worry that this time will be the time some xenophobic guy decides to take out a little aggression.

I had to record that before I forgot.

I started laughing out loud when I thought of the Fire Swamp. It happened when Dave and I were crossing the street and I heard, "Hcchcchcch," and instinctively veered in the opposite direction of the sound. We both giggled for a long time.

I mean, you really have to appreciate just how much spitting people do here. I’m always looking down at the ground trying not to step in it, and I try never to set anything on the ground because I know someone has spat there at some point. It’s really a disgusting feature of this culture, though much more tolerable than the splats of vomit decorating the sidewalks in the morning. Now that’s really disgusting.

Decided to cook dinner tonight. Haven’t been in the mood the last couple weeks for any kind of cooking. Instead, I’ve been encouraging sacrilegious activities like ordering from Pizza Hut. Ick. Just not good. Still, it didn’t stop me from eating the last two pieces for breakfast this morning.

Well, cooking means groceries. After tossing all the stuff I bought last week that had since rotted from neglect, I went shopping. Just down the street a ways from my apartment complex, I heard a loud boom followed by seeing a puff of white smoke. There are always loud booms, unexplainable ones that I’ve just come to expect from living here; it is unusual to see one. Anyway, the source was a little street vendor guy who makes little puffy snacks - like cereal, but bigger - and sells them in large bags from his flatbed motorcycle. By the time I got down to where he was, the smoke had cleared and he was working on the contraption that makes the snacks. I guess that's what blew. No one was hurt. I got a good look at his tri-motorcycle with the flatbed attached. Nice one. Looked actually like a large modified dirt bike: It had humongous shocks and a big knobby front tire. I bet he’s a sight tear assin’ around the city on that thing, his snack contraption ridin’ free behind him on the flatbed portion between the two back wheels, his hair flowing in the wind.