home | homelessness

As many of you know, I have been largely unemployed since graduation (thank you for the copy editing work, Matt!!) and also worried about what I jokingly, yet fearfully referred to as my impending homelessness, since I've got to move off-campus in less than a month. Well, I am still jobless, but it seems I will not be homeless after all.

The word is intriguing to me: homelessness. It conjures up such an abstract melange of imagery. It suggests a lack of something, not rooted, necessarily, but certainly something deeper and more meaningful than the mere presence of a house. A home is a space in which to flourish, or retreat-- a space in which to do any number of things really, but chief among them involves this sense of home. More than a possession, or dwelling, a home represents a space where one belongs and can feel at ease with being one's self.

Considering I recently overheard another woman being attacked within earshot of my bedroom windows (that's two consecutive summers now, for anyone keeping count) I am really looking forward to living with R and to feeling more at ease in the space I have chosen to reside. Plus, my new landlord is also a writer, with the same degrees as I have, and seems like a pretty decent fellow. And with that, half my stress has just melted away. I have a plan, a place to put my things without building a fort from my books underneath a bridge. My kitties will get to run around outside again.

And, while I still won't have a gas stove (beggars can't be choosers, the saying goes) I do have a nice expanse of hardwoods, just blocks away from an urban winery, a park, a liberal arts college, plenty of new slacklining trees, and a rhododendron garden.

optimomentusm... or something

So, I did it. I came to the end of the path I'd chosen over four years ago when I quit my corporate job (first, and probably last) at which I made more money than I've ever made (though, having worked a lot in bookstores, certainly isn't saying much) to return to school full time.

I now have two degrees that I didn't have back then, three in total: an A.A. in Liberal Arts - Multidisciplinary Studies (too liberal with my arts to get a proper liberal arts degree); a B.A. in English with a minor in writing; and finally a M.A. in Writing (primarily for poetry, but I've dabbled in fiction and nonfiction writing, though, perhaps regrettably, not technical writing, which is, it seems, where all the paying jobs are).

I was graduated with honors. I was optimistic. I'd planned on using the momentum from my recent experiences to propel me back into the working world and into a new apartment (since, as a recent graduate, I get the boot from my campus housing in 30 days) where I'd start to work on all the art projects I've been thinking of, revising my thesis into a fully-fleshed manuscript, and actually spend time cooking elaborate meals again.

I put out of my mind all of the upsets and difficulties these past two years have shown me. 2008 was supposed to be good; this is was I had told myself initially. And, I thought that perhaps the trials were over and I could relax into something good, something hard-won and richly deserved.

Apparently, I have some unpaid karmic debt left. I've been unemployed since June, applying to every job under the sun, including those that pay a third less than I was making at my last full time job, before my two recent degrees, and while I am qualified (and in many instances over-qualified) I can't seem to get a break. Now, imagine this as your platform from which to sell yourself to prospective landlords.

"No, really, I've been entrusted with teaching university students, I swear I will pay my rent. This is a transition. This is a brief post-graduate school obstacle. Trust me. TRUST me. Wait, where are you going?"

So, this is a shout out to the universe. I didn't mean it when I said to give me your best shot. That was hubris. A joke. Surely, you can forgive that little transgression? I've been humbled.

Oh, and I've also realized that if I am ever in a position to hire new employees, I'm going to call the over-qualified candidates first to tell them I appreciate their smarts and while I may not be able to pay them what they're worth, I certainly won't toss them aside because I'm afraid their passions may reside outside the workplace. Likewise for rental units. I aim to let common sense rule out over so-called "business sense" every time.

Now, hopefully I haven't irritated any potential employers/landlords with my ranting. It's a frustrating road. I trust they will understand. And so now my friends, I ask you, do you have any friends or relatives hiring or renting in Portland? No, seriously.

from a dark field

My short story (very short. 500 words short.) is online at The Smoking Poet. TSP is a cool little labor of love from some very interesting folks and covers poetry, short fiction, book reviews and interviews. It also, as the title might suggest, reviews cigars and features writing about the joy of smoke. Since I don't smoke, I doubt I'll have any pieces up in that section any time soon, but if you'd like to read my story you can go directly to it here. But I'd encourage you to look around the rest of the site too.

flash fiction accepted

I've just gotten confirmation that a piece of flash fiction I wrote has been accepted for publication in the online literary journal The Smoking Poet. It should be appearing in the summer issue and is titled "From A Dark Field." I will, of course, link to it here once it's up on their site.

it's over...

Well, it's all over but the paperwork anyway. I have officially completed my master's degree and must begin panicking about finding work. After all, I am competing with PhDs for the same job I've been doing as a so-called graduate "assistant." Ah, the life of an adjunct. I haven't yet found the market for me to simply get paid for doing whatever I please. If you know where one exists, do tell. For now, though, cleaning and probably packing and certainly nap-taking are in my future. Oh, yes, and reading books solely for pleasure. I can't wait!

this made me smile

So, I randomly came across this on the PSU website. It is a profile of a former and fabulous student of mine and if you read it you'll know why I smiled. And this on a day already full of smile-worthy moments.

two more poems published

I just got word that my poems "Two Minutes in Hell" and "If Kubrick Had Been a Dentist" have been accepted for the 25th anniversary edition of the Suisun Valley Review! SVR is hosting an anniversary release reading at the Solano Community College Library on May 16, 2008 from 2 to 4 PM (located at 4000 Suisun Valley Road in Fairfield, California).

Sadly, I won't be able to accept their invitation to read, but for all my Cali friends out there, you might hear some lovely new poets if you can make it that day. So far my rate of return is golden, but I know the rejection letters are bound to come pouring in any time. This just can't last. In the meantime, though, I am enjoying it.

see shannon read

Admittedly, I will be only one of several poets reading on May 15th at the Blackfish Gallery here in Portland, but it would be nice to see some of you there, if you can make it.

good news and other news

So, I don't think it's on the website or anything yet, but my poem "The Birds I Like Best Most Others Despise" will be in The Portland Review Issue 54 #3. I mentioned this before, but didn't know when it would be out, and now I know that it will be out in May. You can buy it at local bookstores in Portland, or from The Portland Review directly.

I also just learned that I've won the first place PSU WEGO award for poetry, which was judged by B.T. Shaw, editor of The Oregonian's poetry column. The winning poem is called "What Passes For Yes In Hangul Sounds Like The English No." So, that's exciting.

I'm still crossing my fingers for this year's Kellogg Awards, also in May. I was a finalist for the Shelley Reece Award in poetry last year, but am hoping to any and all gods that I win this year, since that would pretty much be awesome and also comes with a nice check, which would be very, very useful, since I have to move off-campus once I graduate and currently have no money. Hmm. A writer/grad student who teaches has no money? Shocking, I know.

In other news, I had my first blow up in the classroom on Wednesday (a student, not me, just to be clear), replete with a dramatic exit and a door slam. The angst addled inner teen that still resides within me was duly impressed, but other than that the whole thing was sort of depressing. I really do take what I do seriously and strive to create a safe, encouraging space for my students to grow and exchange and explore, but part of that growth requires examining what we do closely, i.e. criticism (which should not be confused with being negative or crapping all over somebody's work).

But, it would seem this student did not see it that way and has ultimately dropped the class. I already sent an email to this effect, but I do wish her the best. Tomorrow I will go back to class and resume workshopping and discussing and generally having a good time with my students and hopefully the echo of that slamming door will have completely subsided. Still, I suppose the whole experience is one to learn from and will make for a good story one day, by all accounts.

the joy of acceptance

I just got word that a poem of mine has been accepted for publication in the Portland Review; this is a first for me, so I am excited. This news also comes on the heels of having an essay accepted for inclusion in Citadel of the Spirit: A Literary Compendium Commemorating Oregon’s Sesquicentennial due out next February from either OSU Press or Nestucca Spit Press. Considering I have only ever sent a handful of poems out and only to two journals, this is really wonderful. Of course, statistically speaking, I can only go downhill from here. Still, I've bought myself flowers to celebrate. AND, I get to hear Eavon Boland at a poetry reading tonight. Not bad at all.

freezing in the sun

This is just one of the things I did this afternoon after getting a cup o'stumpy's delight... you may have seen me, paused mid-sip and stroll with the lovely Miss Sarah.

Then, the park, and dogs, and Mr. Love and wine and even dinner with R. Not a bad afternoon, really.

one for grace...

I am taking a break from tea-drinking, class-prepping, homework-doing, thesis-writing, generally stressing and the other usual activities to reflect on some of the wonderful things I am enjoying currently, despite the incredibly crappy way this year began.

I am so grateful for my family, especially my two wonderful sisters. I love you guys. And also, for my friends, in the best and the rockiest of times, especially B who has seen more of the best and the rockiest than most. And the new friends I've made and am continuing to grow to know and appreciate. And the old friends that have reappeared after long absences as though no time had passed at all. As it turns out, despite how alone I often feel, it doesn't require much effort on my part to find you there.

This paragraph is for R. He won't ever read this and so he won't know if I've written anything nice about him here, though he knows what I think in real life, which is what counts in the end. I've learned a lot from and with him in the past year and am quite grateful for it.

And of course, I think a lot about those who have left us. My friend Jeff, whom I miss dearly and think about constantly. My sister's friend Jenn, who passed away this past week. And Joel and Earl, and my other friend Jeff. And the others, too numerous to list, but who have affected my life and the lives of those around me. (And, in this context, Brad and Walter and Alan, who have turned up as shining examples of friendship and solidarity in the toughest of times-- thanks guys!)

And yet, despite the grief and the hardship, I keep feeling like everything really is and really will be all right. I type this even as I feel inexplicable tears welling up and threatening to overwhelm me. Often I exist on this border. But what strikes me most is how, even while we are embroiled in some endless and stupid war, even as we are surrounded by ignorance and hate, even as we watch the petty entanglements and human dramas that turn up everywhere, the sun is shining and the birds are singing and my heart is warm. There is so much beauty in the world.

career advice (?)

Possibly the stupidest and scariest thing I’ve read about the writer’s strike yet:

“While I understand that the writer's aren't getting paid enough, that shouldn't be the main reason why they write. They should write because they enjoy it, and be proud that at least people watch it. If people didn't watch the shows, they wouldn't have any viewers. I'm now having to do something else besides watch my favorite shows. I'm having to read, and keep my mind on something else. And it stinks!”

Yikes.

because I needed a break

Let's face it: I am busy and have had a lot of emotional upheaval recently; I'm tired and lacking focus. This post has been hijacked by a guest blogger for a little humorous relief from my way of doing things. This is the first entry from one particular bad-ass I know. Um, enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What’s up, bitches?!
Fuck tha Polis!
Kill Whitey!
Well, anyway, I’ve had a super crazy day. So—first—get this—I’m reading Emily Dickinson—and suddenly I hear a noise that sounds like an ‘splosion outside my door. I’m like, “what the fuck was that, yo?”

To be continued.

Peace and Love, muthafuckahs!

Sincerely,

Nice Knightly
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

in memory of Jeff Nagel

I don't even know where to begin... When I first started this blog in January 2006 I began by saying I was not sure what had possessed me to start blogging, but that it had absolutely nothing to do with New Year's resolutions. On January 06, 2007 I wrote that I still didn't believe in New Year's resolutions, but that instead I had plans.

My plans for 2007 consisted of the following:

do more yoga (check)
fewer drunk evenings (check-- virtually non-existent)
submit writing for publication (still lame on this count)
make an effort to be more aware (check)
let go of what is unnecessary (check, mostly)
look upon myself and others with more kindness (check)
look up more, on clear nights especially (check!)
knit more than I cry (check)
make more art and new friends (check)
more calls and visits to old friends and once good ideas (check)
have less to do with things that don't make my heart sing (check)
retrieve beach stick from old car (check)

Not a bad year. A difficult one, to be sure. Coming out of 2006 and into 2007 was far from perfect, with many painful steps along the way. This post certainly gives a sense of what I was feeling. But I had my family, I had friends to support me and help me get through it all. I had a friend who liked to adopt phony personas for the internet who even wrote me a message after reading that post. He said, "Hey! Keep thinking of the good things you DO have, and don't be too reckless, because wherever you go, you'll never be far away...from someone who is always going to love you.....it's inescapable." By the end of 2007, I was feeling very much that 2008 was going to be a banner year, that work and changes which had been quietly underway would finally manifest openly. 2008 was supposed to be good.

And, at first, it was. I had a lovely NYE with Riley (low-key, yoga, minimal champagne) and I began the new year feeling pretty optimistic. Then I received a devastating phone call while standing in the aisles of Powell's. The sister of my friend who had written the above message called to tell me that her brother, my friend of seventeen years, had suffered an aneurysm and was in the hospital with a hemorrhage in his brain. My mind would not let me make sense of it. "Is he all right?" I asked, not thinking that if she was calling me then probably he was not.

I had just returned from my holiday in California with my family. He was lying in a hospital bed hundreds of miles away from me. I felt helpless. But, with the gracious support of my mother, I hopped on a plane the next day and went back to California. I was not prepared for what I saw. Here was a man I had met when we were teenagers. We had fallen in love. We had broken each other's hearts. We had forgiven and discussed and moved forward into our lives which were being led in two separate states, but we had never forgotten each other, nor the love we had shared. Neither of us was in a position to truly speculate on whether we would in fact have a romantic future together, but we did spend the past few years rekindling our friendship and that love in the ways we could, given the circumstances of our lives.

I will not speak of everything that we said. He was a very private person. But I will say that we did, finally, say everything that had needed saying, everything that had not been said before, and had laid the foundation for a beautiful friendship which we both had expressed excitement about having the rest of our lives to deepen and explore. Jeff Nagel passed away at the Good Samaritan Hospital on Friday, January 4, 2008 at the age of 36. He was taken off life support January 6th. I had told him I would always love him, and I will. I am still somewhat in shock, despite having spent his final days at his bedside with his wonderful, strong, and inspiring family and friends.

Jeff had always been so strong, so healthy, and so talented. He mastered gymnastics, bmx racing, guitar playing, woodworking, world class rifle shooting, and most recently, gourmet cooking and the ecosystems he had magically cultivated in the micro gardens of his backyard. He did more in his 36 years than many of us will do in twice that lifetime, and he did it humbly, respectfully, passionately, and always, always, always with a smile, if not on his face, then in his heart. It was not supposed to end this way.

His sister Jolie put together a wonderful website to honor Jeff's memory. I know he is in the hearts and minds of everyone whose lives he touched. I know he is loved and missed and will always be remembered. I know he knew how I felt and that we were lucky enough to have said all that we needed to say while there was still time to say it. But I am heartbroken and can't quite believe he is gone. I have never been religious. I take no comfort in the idea of god. But nor do I think of death as a window into a vast nothingness. I am a believer in life and in appreciating what joy and pleasure we can experience and share while we have such life. I am a believer in walking through the world with an open heart.

Jeff approached the world this way. He was fierce, and loyal, and strong. He was kind, and gentle, and devastatingly beautiful inside and out. He was a dear friend for literally half my life. He has passed from this world and into whatever great mystery lies beyond. I like to think that he just got too curious, that the insatiability of his interest and passion for all manner of things simply got the better of him and he moved into a place the rest of us aren't ready for yet.

My plans for 2008 are simple: to live in a way that will honor his memory. I miss him and love him with a fierceness I know he would appreciate and honoring him is the only thing left that I can do for him. And with that, I'd like to share a poem that many of you may already be familiar with, but that truly reminds me of Jeff. It is called Desiderata, by Max Ehrmann:

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even to the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.



Be at peace my beautiful friend.

can I get a hell yeah?

"The knowledge toward which we seem driven by language, or which language seems to promise, is inherently sacred as well as secular, redemptive as well as satisfying. The nomina sint numina position (that there is an essential identity between name and thing, that the real nature of a thing is immanent and present in its name, that nouns are numinous) suggests that it is possible to find a language which will meet its object with perfect identity. If this were the case, we could, in speaking or writing, achieve the “at oneness” with the universe, at least in its particulars, that is the condition of complete and perfect knowing.”

~Lyn Hejinian – The Rejection of Closure

i'm published?

So, technically, my first official publishing credit is actually not in any traditional journal, but rather a song on a CD that is now available. The album is by Leah Tysse (rhymes with spicy) and is called Real Good Fire. Leah is a San Francisco musician, best known for her blues vocals. The last track on the album, Tender Rain, is co-written by me and Rich Armstrong, best known for his work with Michele Shocked, but also, Thomas Dolby, Boz Scaggs, and Lydia Pense & Coldblood. The song is based on a poem I wrote, which was then slightly modified to become the song lyrics, with the music written by Rich, who also sings backing vocals along with Leah, and features Fiachna O'Braonain of the Hothouse Flowers on guitar. Again, it's a strange place to start, and it is sort of a strange turn of events that brought the song into being and eventually to this album, but it is my first publishing credit, printed in the liner notes, if in tiny, tiny type. :) Anyone interested in the album can visit Leah's website at www.leahtysse.com

where was I?

Well, clearly it has been a while since I've updated this thing... I've been back from Korea for a while now, back in school, back to teaching. I'm spending more time thinking about how language shapes reality than complaining about kimchi. I never got around to writing about how amazing the buddhist temple stay was, or the bowing ceremony (108, well, 115 to be exact) of forgiveness I participated in, or the one American monk who only spoke once, when I inquired about a particular sauce, to say, "you put it on your noodles!" I probably won't get around to writing much more about Korea... not here anyway, but for those of you who were wondering, yes, I loved the teaching. The kids were amazing and I loved every minute at camp. The gender dynamics were, on the whole, difficult to watch, but was less difficult at camp since they were still mostly just acting like kids and all of that other stuff hadn't entirely taken hold yet. Maybe I'll write about that more at some point. I don't know. I just thought I should say something. And with that, back to my class to discuss how one effectively writes about violence.

serendipitous weekend part four

Sunday morning August 12th:

We knew the storm was going to be bad when the wind began knocking over full pitchers of beer, but we told ourselves it would blow over by morning, as the last one had, because we were now on an island that required a boat to leave it and we didn't want to face the increasing possibility that we would not be making it back to work on Monday and would have to face a chorus of I told you sos and the like. April comes to our room to tell us that our cab driver (I forgot to mention that our cab driver gifted us with a watermelon the previus night, a fruit which I've since learned costs $16 here) because he was so pleased to have us there) had called her early in the morning to tell her that the ferries had been cancelled for the day and the next one as well. We were about to panic, but he'd called her back to say there was an alternative: we could hire a private boat to get us off the island. It would cost about $400.

We decided that we'd gotten ourselves into this and so far we'd spent very little money, as people kept being overwhelmingly kind and generous, so we sucked it up and prepared to pay $80 a person to get off the island. Of course, no sooner that we decide this, April comes back to tell us that our cab driver had called back to let us know that he'd arranged for us to get on a boat with about 20 Koreans that were also trying to get off the island and that we'd be squeezed in a tight space, but would only need to pay $20 a piece. Again, amazing luck. So, he and Crankypants loaded us up and drove us to the ferry terminal where we crammed into a boat better built to seat ten and made as though we were being smuggled across the border. Actually, it was a pretty sweet ride, if a little choppy (the storm, er, edge of the typhoon, was rolling in after all) and chartering a private boat made for a pretty good story. "Yeah, we don't have a plan. We're doing this the American way; we'll figure it out when we get there and do whatever happens to come along." We'd have been so fucked if we hadn't been so fortunate.

An hour later, less than half the time of the regular ferry, we arrived back in Mokpo and, again via April, bought our bus tickets back to Haenam. We bought Nick and April lunch, stopped at the Paris Baguette for dessert and bread-- and the only sparkling water I've seen in Korea-- and managed to get on the right bus at the right time. We went back to Wims homestay family's house, who then called my homestay family to have them pick me and Brianne up. We went back to my homestay family's house in the country, to shower (Brianne's first hot shower of the homestay stretch of the trip) and eat dinner. It was lovely-- and they liked Brianne so much they invited us both back for dinner on the 23rd. It was very sweet. Brianne and I spent the rest of the evening applying these strange Korean masks (think paper sheets that make you look like the horror film character Jason) and generally feeling lucky. Sinae made me a cross-stitch gift, which included R in the cross-stitching, which was cute and odd, since I'd only ever mentioned him once. It was a nice end to a long and interesting weekend. I know I've forgotten a million things (the fish ice cream that violated no less than two people, the swampy mudroom that made out shoes smell like a homeless person's ass, Fallon falling on her butt straight into a huge puddle and managing not to break her computer, or get it wet, despite it having been in her backpack jsut above her butt at the time, etc.) but this was the gist of it.

In the end, I think my favorite way to travel is to have a general plan, but truly to proceed as the way opens. Had we not taken the advice of kind strangers, had we not chanced our luck, had we not been willing to fork out the money for a private boat, we would have missed out on so much. It was wonderful and I feel very fortunate just thinking about it now. Next up: the Buddhist temple-stay and 108 (make that 115, oops) bows ceremony.

serendipitous weekend part three

By now you've noticed this weekend required installments... now another weekend has passed and I've even more to tell. But first, the rest of the story. Saturday morning, August 11th, on the island of Big-eum-do:

Our taxi driver/personal tour guide/savior (along with the ever helpful and bilingual April) was so amazing, I don't even know where to begin. To start, he immediately smooted things over with the angry husband/cab driver (henceforth referred to as Crankypants), and then informed us that the hotel we were planning to call was not great and not on the beach and that he could take us to a pension, which is sort of like a hostelling situation, or a minbak, except that the family lives on site, yet not in the building they rent. This pension was on a beach, though he said he'd take us to a nicer beach and would drive us around the island, essentially all day, for a very reasonable sum (the equivalent of $30). His first order of business was to get us all to the pension, but along the way he decided to take us to a beautiful white sand beach. As we drove the road narrowed, finally to tall reeds, then emptied onto the beach itself. We drove along the sand and, as I happened to get into his cab with Nick and April, he relayed stories and information. This particular beach was one of the longest in all of Korea, north and south; in fact, it was one of only two and was four kilometers long. It was stunning. He pulled over to let us out to take pictures and walk around, while Crankypants took a cigarette break.

The beach stretched both directions, creating a sort of inlet, and there were islands off in the not-too-distant distance. The water was cooler than I expected, but nothing like Oregon, and the sand was covered with tiny sea snails and the hundreds or thousands of intertwining tracks they'd laid in the slow crawling across the beach. I did say stunning, didn't I? He took photos of us, for us. He smiled and laughed. We continued onto the pension. The long beach was the best road to the pension, and eventually we pulled off the beach and onto a small waterfront paved road. The beach near the pension was mud and there were children that had been playing and bathing in it, covered except for eyes and teeth in mud. They wandered up the road and to a cluster of buildings to hose themselves off. These buildings were the pension and where we'd be staying for the night. Too cool.

The pension itself was just okay. We slept on the floor and the walls had various bug carcasses smeared across the terrible floral paper, the bathroom/shower (as most showers in Korea are the entire bathroom--yuck) was less than desirable and there were many flies circulating the room, but for the price, it wasn't too bad, and we were only staying one night. We dropped our things in the room and he and Crankypants proceeded to take us to another beach. Again, the drive was amazing and he frequently pulled over to take photographs of us, or to let us snap photos, all the while telling stories of the local lore. On Green Mountain, there is a small temple, an original that was not destroyed by the Japanese and therefote very old; the two rocks jutting up from another seaside hill were dubbed the Lover's Rocks, because they stood like lovers leaning into one another; there a rock that looks like a turtle; that island in the mist is the island Nick and April had intended to vacation on but couldn't make it to; that other island right there is where Chogumbogo (butchered and incorrect spelling, I'm certain), a famous Korean pirate, used to fix his pirate ship; etc. He was driving us to Heart Beach, a beach so named because it is literally shaped like a heart. Our cab arrived to the beach a full ten minutes later than Crankypants' because of his excitement and guidance. When we finally arrived, I noticed an apright piano on the beach. When I asked (again, via April) what the story was about the piano, he simply said, "no story." It was just a piano on the beach!

Our taxi driver (I wish I knew his name) and Crankypants left, with plans to pick us back up at 7:00 and he insisted we do not pay him until we arrived back at the pension. Can you believe that? So, we played the piano, not well, as there was sand blown under the pedals and the weather had worn the keys and strings, but there was sound coming out of it and that was impressive. April, a piano player, actually managed to eek out a tune. It was great. We dropped our things on the sand and ran toward the water. The water was wonderful and the waves were big. We ran and jumped and swam and screamed (as the Koreans that were there liked to scream when the waves came; Brianne later stated it was more fun when you screamed). I should mention that by and large, Koreans do not wear swimsuits at the beach. Don't imagine this as a skin scene; it's quite the opposite. Koreans will swim in jean shorts and long sleeved button down shirts. I have no real explanation for this, except that they are quite conservative when it comes to mixed gender situations and very concerned about exposure to the sun. I would think that comfort would win out, but no. They also seem not to mind schlepping a lot of stuff to the beach (tent, tarps, blankets, tables, etc.) to avoid sitting directly on the sand or in the sun. Very different.

This beach was also covered in tiny, practically transparent little crabs, and on the rocks there were what I can only describe as sea cockroaches. But the beach was beautiful and the break well-earned and much appreciated. Soon the amazing taxi driver and his cohort Crankypants were back to whisk us off the beach and to a restaurant. It turns out that this island, though in Korea, land of all manner of creepy sea food, actually specialized in chicken, and that this restaurant served what is called "low chicken," which is the breast, which is usually not the preferred piece, because necks and feet are special prizes here. Additionally, the chicken is served steamed, rather than fried. The meat eaters among us would have loved it, but the restaurant was closed. I should also mention that when I told April that two of the five of our group were vegetarian, she said, "Vegetarians don't eat chicken?" I can only hint at the trouble we've had. Vegetarian has taken on new meaning here, more precisely, non-beef-eater. It's rather a pain in the ass. Since the restaurant was closed, we went to a market for beer and junk food/snacks and promptly quadrupled the shopkeeps monthly gross, I'm sure. We played silly drinking games on the floor of our pension room and watched the storm roll in...