Sprung

So! I hope you are all having a fabulous new year. I am not a fan of resolutions, but I HAVE been trying to eat a little better and exercise more for several weeks now. The 'Osan 15' is a common phenomena here, so I am right in the thick of things. Well, let me rephrase that: I have heard rumors that perhaps I am not the only one carrying around a few extra margaritas, but I have seen no such evidence on any of my slim and statuesque friends, acquaintances or assorted Osan beauties. In any case, soon I will be in the land of Target and Goodwill and I will be ever so sad if I can't fit into the ratty cargo pants of my choice fifty-three times a week when I need to go shopping.

Tonight, Lloyd and I went to the BX and Chili's, which is the standard big night out on the town here at Osan. I sucked down my fair share of wings and a couple of margaritas, varying the position of the straw so as to cleverly avoid the tequila abrasion. When we got home, I virtuously pounded out some sit-ups, dips, push-ups, leg lifts and stretches. Don't I sound ATHLETIC? Hahahahaha, I totally have you fooled. You should see me, for real. Oh, how you would laugh. After that strenuosity, I didn't want to 'run' the stairs, so I jumped on the mini-trampoline for a while. And by 'a while', I mean about 2.5 minutes. But at least I wasn't smoking deep-fried twinkies, right? Hmmm, I wonder if anyone has tried that?

While I was jumping, Weston weighed in:

Weston: Mama, are you sure that trampoline is strong enough for you?

Me: Yes, I'm sure (pant, gasp)

Weston: Well, those springs have to work awfully hard. You're so HEAVY.

Me: It's fine.

Weston: But look how much they're moving! They go almost to the ground!

Me: Grrrrrrrrrr (pant, gasp)

Bring on the twinkies! I might as well load up; I'm going to die soon anyway. I didn't used to be so fatalistic but I recently had a VERY interesting conversation with Shane. He likes to rub my scars, scabs and rough skin with his grubby little paws. Yesterday he was trying to pick at a spot on my chin, and when I told him to stop, he replied, 'I'll pick your owies WHEN YOU'RE DEAD'. I'm not sure what he has planned but I might as well give up the jumping for the good of trampolinekind everywhere, since my days are numbered. I can see the headlines now: 'Police Baffled by Mysterious Scab Free Corpse; Trampolines Rejoice in Streets'. I just hope they don't try to pin it on the poor twinkies.

Tequila

I think we call agree that tequila is an extremely useful substance. Versatile, too. There's nothing better if you're looking to land yourself in a filthy bathtub with abrasions around your waist from diving through a very small bathroom window after running down a dark alley after a guy in a bronco offered you some wine coolers while he was chopping coke on a box of bullets with a giant hunting knife. Not that I would know. His name was Lloyd, too, isn't that a freaky slash creepy coincidence?

Anyhoo, that was a long time ago, and after that I wasn't much of a tequila fan, not that I'm any too picky about filthy bathtubs. But here at Osan, the best drinking is at the Chili's, and the wine selection is weak to say the least. So margaritas it is, and with a lot of effort, I have overcome my tequila aversion. Last night, I sat there for several hours with one of my favorite friends, and sucked down quite some volume of frozen green happiness.

After a few, I noticed something funny: I had a stinging sensation right in the middle of my upper lip. Right there where teeny tiny babies get their nursing blisters. The parallels astound, but I won't go into that here. I got to thinking, and when that happens, you know a brilliant idea is soon to follow.

So, here it is, and it kind of matches up nicely with my latest cleaning scheme. The tequila abraded my lip because it's caustic, right? Especially when you mix it with lime juice and salt! And I'm always looking for a way to clean the grout, the burnt on crud on the stove top, and the disgusting ring in the washing machine. Well, okay, that's a lie. I really couldn't care less about any of that. But I MIGHT try to get it off now that I have this tequila idea. We could share: one shot for the floor, one shot for me. One shot for the floor, two shots for me. It's not THAT outlandish; people do use vodka to clean, you know. You can read about it here. That would never work for me, though. I've worked really hard but I still haven't managed to vanquish my longstanding vodka phobia. I'm definitely willing to give it a try, but someone better come check on me in a few days.

Displacement

Let me just admit right up front here that I am only writing this post so that the poem won't be at the top. The photo of Lloyd on Air Force One during President Obama's recent visit to Osan is completely irrelevant to anything I'm typing right now, or anything that might or might not be residing in my head. I simply can't stand to have a terrible poem at the top of my blog. What if some fancy publisher is clicking through blogs, looking for someone to give a multi-million dollar advance to for a memoir? When I look at new blogs, I always leave immediately if there's any kind of poetry, because I hate poetry. Someone with the refined taste of a publishing house would no doubt have similar feelings.

If you are, in fact, such a reader, please be assured that there is much more than bad poetry in my repertoire. I invite you to peruse the posts listed on the upper right, or read 'My Life in Cats', which I especially like, but alas, is neglected up there on the right because it is neither particularly funny nor objectionable. Under no circumstances should you click on any of the 'Good Reads' or 'All the Latest' because all those blogs suck. Trust me, you wouldn't want to give your hard-earned cash to any of those clowns. Sure, they're funny, touching, wise, whatever. They can't hold a candle to Stories from Korea, and don't you forget it!

The rest of you might be pleased to hear that we're on the mend. Unless I just called you a clown. Sorry! Did I write that out loud? It's the sickness; I just can't control myself. Wankers. Dammit! I have to go; they're at the door with the nets again. They're always after the tortured, brilliant artists; it's so typical.

Lies

We all know there's a big long list of lying liars. I could write it out but it would take all my writing time and space and you still wouldn't know what the hell I was talking about. Plus, you might think some of my liars are telling the truth and get mad and not read my blog anymore, and then I would be sad. Which is not the point of this at all. The news media is definitely always near the top of my list (I'm looking at you, Jayson Blair and the New York Times; can't you just go away? You disgust me and we can never be friends again), but astronomers, if they make the list at all, are down at the bottom with the sneaky cats and my more reliable relatives.

It's cold here in Korea; have I mentioned that? Highs in the mid-30's with winds of 10-20 mph. I wouldn't say it's bitterly cold but it's getting unpalatable for sure. We've been housebound for a week because Shane refuses to wear anything but his Jay-Jay the Jet Plane t-shirt, jeans, and Crocs. No socks, no underwear, no hat, no coat. Don't even ask about mittens. I would let him go out like that until he decides he's good and ready to put his warmer clothes on, because a cold child is a compliant one, but Lloyd won't go for it. Right now you're probably thinking that he's a much better parent than I am, but the truth is he's just worried someone will rat us out to Family Advocacy (our Air Force version of Child Protective Services) if they see Shane shivering while the rest of us are all bundled up. I would just tell them he was being punished for spilling milk on the couch, because I think that's really funny, but Lloyd says that would make it worse.

Anyway, this morning we ventured out waaaaaaay before dawn to watch the fabulous meteor shower the news has been telling us about for days. The best view would be in Asia, the astronomers said. Hundreds or thousands every hour, they said. Find a dark place with an expansive view of the sky, they advised. So out we went into the cold night. Shane had his coat on, but I don't want to talk about it. Let's just say the tantrum included vomiting on the floor. We parked near the golf course, the darkest place we could find on Osan Air Base, which is lit up like Stalag 17.

And..... we saw ten meteorites in the hour that we were there. TEN. We should have gone to North Korea. It's plenty dark there. I bet they got the show of the century, but the astronomers and 'journalists' there probably told everyone that the shooting stars were coming our of Kim Jong Il's ears or some crazy shit like that. And guess what? That's no worse than the garbage our news media machine feeds us. In fact, I think I might prefer it.

Turkey

You probably haven't been thinking too much about turkey yet, but here in Korea, things are a little.... different.

This morning, I roasted the tenderest, juiciest turkey ever for a USO function. Not that I would know, of course, because it was for CHARITY and eating some would be like STEALING. That's what Lloyd says, anyway. I consider it more of a TAX, and a super reasonable one, not like those stupid vice taxes that are breaking my budget. After all, I am the one who had to get up in the middle of the night and slave over a hot oven push SEVERAL extra buttons on my oven control panel before I went to bed. To be totally fair, it's not as if we bought the turkey with the intent of donating 90% of it to the USO. Someone else bought it and Lloyd volunteered to cook it, but I still think a small fee, payable in delectable turkey bits, was in order.

Of course, the juicy goodness of the turkey was complete dumb luck, but I am fully prepared to modestly take credit for it: 'Oh, this old thing? It's just an secret old family recipe. I'm glad you like it.' But because Stories from Korea, like Fox News, is fair and balanced and 100% reliable all the time, here and here only, I'll spill the unvarnished truth. The turkey was wedged upside down in an undersized rusty thrift store roasting pan. I didn't cover it so the top was all crispy while the breast marinated in the juices in the bottom of the pan. We probably don't need to discuss the overlooked bag of innards. I even made my traditional holiday gravy. Or as my mother-in-law calls it, 'gravy-with-lumps'. That IS a secret family recipe, so don't even think about asking! I was feeling especially domestic and all festive-y and it would have been nice if Lloyd hadn't been so suspicious of me:

Me: Look, there's tons of juice. Do you think I should make some gravy?

Lloyd: For the USO, RIGHT?

Me: Ummm, yeah. Of course. Right, for the USO. Dammit!

So, as it turns out, I didn't get the first nibble of turkey or teeniest spoon of gravy. The USO even took the carcass! I wonder if Lloyd told them I wasn't to be trusted. That would be just like him. What is it they say? It's a foolish bird who fouls his own nest, or something like that?

Gobble, gobble, Lloyd!

Facebitch

I am a reluctant Facebook user. If you've been around for a while you might remember when I became assimilated, virtually against my will. At first, it was great. I felt oh-so-cool and in the know. Then, I started knowing just a little too much, if you get my drift. I've read tons of 'What not to post on Facebook' posts, and probably all of them are way better than mine. Products from Asian sweatshops are always inferior, but it's my blog and I have to post SOMETHING, now don't I? Oh, the humanity!

I don't mind the cute kid stories, and I'm a big fan of pictures. I am not even going to complain about the 'I had pancakes for breakfast and now I'm going to the movies' posts. On my DO NOT LIKE list are all the usual:

The I won another cooking contest/my kid got another A++++/my husband got another promotion and all the other 'WE'RE SO SWELL; AREN'T YOU JEALOUS' updates that used to be saved up for the Christmas letter that could be crumpled up ONCE and recycled immediately instead of spent tormenting people throughout the entire year;

The TMI posts. I don't want to know many, many things. In fact, I don't even want to list the things I don't want to know, because it might give someone an idea;

Imaginary presents. If I can't even give them to the thrift store, they are totally useless; and

Cryptic crap. If you have something to say, come out and say it, dammit!

But I have a bigger problem; one I'm loathe to admit, but once again, I have to post SOMETHING, now don't I? Sometimes, the things my friends post make me like them a little bit less. Which I DO NOT LIKE. All my friends are 'real' friends, too, not 'friends' like the girl that sat next to me in sophomore English. Because she was a real bitch. And even worse are the friends of friends; some of them are real wackos and it makes me wonder what the hell my friends are thinking, being friends with such freaks.

I have a solution, though. I'll tell you what it is but it will have to be our little secret, okay? Okay, here it is: I hide my friends when they annoy me. Like a little time-out that only I know about. After I deem them sufficiently punished, I unhide them. It's very satisfying, you should try it. Only not to me, because that would be rude, after I told you my secret and all. And I have another strategy: friend rotation. Facebook has done me the favor of listing them alphabetically, so I'm going to hide them in groups of ten or so and rotate them to keep them fresh and interesting, like I do for my kids' toys. That way, it takes the edge off the NOT LIKING, and we can stay friends. And that, I LIKE.

Oh, Boy

I try to honor all the important boycotts: I hate greedy, soul-sucking corporations just as much as the next guy. Maybe even more! But I'm starting to have trouble keeping up with which evil behemoths torture animals, which ones fund terrorists, which ones hate gay people, which ones are chopping down the rainforest with reckless abandon, and which ones enslave their workers and use sneaky tricks to make it look like their prices are the lowest (cough cough, Wal-Mart, cough cough).

I looked at the list of products that Nestle, that baby-killing exploiter of the poor, makes money from, and Cheerios are on the list, people! Cheerios! Most of the items on the list present me no trouble: I can easily buy Hershey's chocolate chips instead of Tollhouse, for example. And while I'm talking about chocolate, you simply must know that I just read a fascinating book called The Emperors of Chocolate, about the Hershey and Mars companies. Just so you know, you can feel reasonably good about buying Hershey: at least at the writing of the book, the stock was controlled by the Hershey Foundation, which does fabulous things for thousands of orphans, including giving them outstanding prep school educations. So most of the profits gained by hosing chocolate farmers in poor countries and spewing out toxins go to orphans in New England so they can grow up to proudly carry on the corporate tradition, despite their unfortunate beginnings. Mars, on the other hand, is family-owned, and those people are just nuts. Oh yeah, sorry about the Amazon link to the book. They discriminate against gay people, you know. And as soon as I move away from this place where yellow slips in my mail box tell me I have a box of the retail joy that makes my life tolerable, I'll never shop there again. Sorry, gay people; catch you on the flip side.

But back to the Cheerios. I'm not sure I can live without Cheerios. Not for us, so much; we go through some serious quantities, but they are not necessary to our survival, say. But they are my sole successful technique for placating our little 11-month old neighbor. She comes over every week with her sister and brother because I swap childcare with her mom, and she LOVES me. Never before have I been any too popular with babies that aren't mine, so I'm pretty sure it's because I'm her Cheerio connection. I just sort of dump some around her and she's happy for HOURS. She doesn't eat a lot of other things yet, so it's not like I can just replace them with something else. She does eat bananas, but even I can see the folly of placing piles of bananas around a baby sitting on the carpet.

So, see? This is a real dilemma. What's more important: personal comfort or the greater good? I swear, the only place I can shop in good conscience these days is Etsy. Oh, and the thrift store, of course. Sure, it sells Spiderman watches that don't work, and never has a deinonychus colored shirt when I need one, but it's a small price to pay, don't you think?

True

Here are two conversations from this morning, free of any embellishment or commentary whatsoever:

Lloyd (getting shirt out of drawer): This shirt is dirty!

Me: So?

Lloyd: I can't wear this! It smells like underarms!

Me: What are you complaining about? It's a miracle any shirts even get into your dresser. You should be grateful. And if you don't want your dirty clothes and your clean clothes mixed up, you should put your dirty clothes in the laundry room, instead of on the floor where the clean clothes are.

Lloyd: I don't even know what to say to that.

Then, after Lloyd went to work in a huff, I was took a leisurely 30 second shower and came out to this:

Shane: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Weston: Shhhhhh, you're okay. Want me to kiss it?

Shane: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Me (picking up Shane): He sounds like he's really hurt, Weston. What happened?

Weston: Ummmm, we were playing.

Me: I see that. How did Shane get hurt?

Weston: Welllllllll, I hit him with this ('this' is a hollow, hard plastic tube, about 18 inches long and 1 1/2 inches in diameter). On accident.

Me: Where did you hit him?

Weston: Ummmm, in the face. On accident. Twice.

Me: I see that this is too dangerous to have out; I'll have to put it away.

Weston: Why?

Shane: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!

Irrational

Here in Korea, we are constantly threatened by a cruel dictatorship. You probably know what I'm talking about: the ration control system. If you're lucky enough to live in the land of Target and drive-throughs, you will probably not have encountered such a thing. Here on an American oasis in the not-quite-right desert, ration control is the law of the land. Everyone gets a ration card, and when you buy something at the BX (general purpose store, similar to a lousy Wal-Mart), commissary (grocery store) or shopette (convenience store, liquor store and video rental store), your ID card gets scanned. Every tub of oxi-clean, every roll of duct tape, every bottle of wine, every copy of 'Subversion for Dummies', and every pair of ever-bigger pants goes on your report. A person COULD shop off-base to avoid this, but the options are limited, and there are many normal American things we can't get off base, so most everyone hits one store or another multiple times a week. The cards have social security numbers on them, too, just for a little extra invasion of privacy.

Why on earth would they do this, you ask? What possibly could be the reason for such oppression? The BLACK MARKET! Ooh, sounds scary, doesn't it?? Yes, freedom and democracy depends on keeping an accurate account of my Dove Bar purchases. Apparently, goods bought on base are sometimes resold in town, throwing a wrench into the entire world economy. Oh, except the human trafficking trade, because that seems to be going strong; I don't see any ration cards being issued to juicy bar patrons. You know.... oh wait, where was I? Oh yeah, my ration card. I'm going to try to stick to the subject because I've decided my outrage, no matter how justified, doesn't get me anywhere, and it's just too, too exhausting.

So, the military tries to keep rationed goods off the local economy by tracking everything we buy. Well, except for goodies from the thrift store, and we can all be grateful for that. If you go over your dollar limit, buy too much beer, or make a suspicious purchase such as 40 pounds of beef, the bossman gets a notification and you have to go explain yourself. Fine, whatever. While I DEEPLY resent having the big blue machine looking at what I buy every month, I recognize that the military is rife with similar indignities and I have been beaten into submission. I can no longer whip myself up into a froth of indignation, because I only have a few more months to suffer. Soon, I will be able to buy an entire cart full of lentils and no one will bat an eyelash. Not that I would; those things are disgusting! Ration away, people, if it makes you feel powerful and efficient. But maybe you should take a closer look at your system. Today, I was looking at my card and guess what? It's been expired for weeks.

Neverending

Jeez. It never ends, people. I was just minding my own beeswax last night, reading a 'The Secret Life of Germs', a book by Dr. Philip Tierno Jr. about germs that my good friend Helen sent me after I begged all my friends to send me reading material. Weston is interested in germs and is always asking questions about them, so I thought it would be good to brush up. It's a fascinating book, all about how we normally live in balance with microbes, which are everywhere, in huge quantities. Parts of your body have trillions of microbes per gram; that's a little scary, huh? Especially for us higher gram girls.

If you are old enough, you might remember the Toxic Shock Syndrome (TSS) scare of the mid-80's. The syndrome wasn't new but there was a new epidemic occurring in women using tampons. It turns out manufacturers had begun using cost-saving materials to make tampons instead of cotton, as had been done in the past, and the new materials were fostering bacterial growth, leading to the disease, which is often lethal. So they figured it out quickly, a few brands were pulled off the market, a few changes were made, and no one ever heard about it again. But guess what? People are still dying from TSS related to tampon use. Manufacturers are still using the alternative materials to make tampons. Want to know what they use? Probably not, but I'm going to tell you anyway: ground-up sawdust mixed with a few other things for absorbency, and dioxin to make them nice and white.

Dioxin, in particular, is nasty. It's a by-product of the chlorine bleaching process that causes cancer and is suspected of causing or contributing to immune system and hormonal system disturbances, and fertility and other issues.So what, right? Surely studies have been done showing it's safe to use these things month after month for years and years, right? We're talking about half the population here! But nope, not a single study. In fact, Representative Carolyn B. Maloney has repeatedly introduced a bill that would require a study on the safety of tampons and related products, and it has been continually defeated. Can I just say, though, I LOVE Rep. Maloney! I almost want to move to her district. Anyway, there's no incentive for manufacturers to make safer products. Why should they? They are making money hand over fist and they aren't held accountable for the collateral human damage. It's much cheaper for them to settle an occasional lawsuit than spend the money to develop and produce a safer product. And the lack of studies makes it easy for them. Their expensive lawyers, lobbyists and PR staff that they pay with all the money they make off of us consumers say, 'Don't blame us! There's no proof that tampons cause TSS!' And they're right, there's not legal proof, because no studies have been done, because the manufacturers spend a lot of money to suppress bills that would require studies. But here's a novel idea: make the manufacturers prove their products are safe, instead of requiring dead people to prove that they were killed by dangerous products.

Here's what we can do: Contact your legislators in support of the Robin Danielson Act. Click here to find your representatives. And once again, talking with our money is the only way to make change in the consumer market. Luckily, there are lots of great alternatives to sawdust and dioxin tampons. Try the unbleached, all-cotton varieties, a Diva Cup, Mooncup, or reusable pads.

And also, just a general tip? Wash your hands a lot more than you're doing. It could save your life. For real. Do it before you eat, after you use any publicly used facilities or items (bathroom, telephone, elevator, movie seat, taxi, grocery cart), after you shake hands, after you shop, and when you come home. Use plenty of soap, and when your hands are clean, don't touch the faucet or bathroom door on the way out. As for me, I'm going to stop reading. But first, I'm going to go sanitize my door handles.

Hard

I've been to Chili's. Again. Chili's is super annoying, as I think I might have mentioned once or twice, but it's also home to flashes of incandescent brilliance. Of course, much of it doesn't survive the harsh light of the new dawn after the margaritas have worn off, but once in a while something really sticks with me. The other night, one of my fabulous Osan pals and I were enjoying child-free time and lamenting various facts of life as an Air Force accessory. It is very hard to get toted around from base to base every few years, losing your home, your job, your friends and everything else you're familiar with all at once only to have to start over someplace new and possibly entirely unfamiliar, sometimes with your active duty spouse gone. Military spouses routinely have babies alone, move their households halfway across the world by themselves and endure months or years as single parents while their active duty spouses endanger their lives. It is a ridiculous way to live, really. But that isn't what this post is about.

No, this post is about how hard it is to be a man in our society. We all know it's hard to be a woman: You're always supposed to be smooth, cellulite-free, and well-dressed with brilliant home-schooled children, a high-powered career and a gourmet kitchen that's constantly in use. And it's ridiculously hard to be a military spouse, because you're supposed to do all that stuff plus shut up about how hard you're getting reamed every damn day, all while under the constant scrutiny of those who have a vested interest in your silence, but what about the poor guys? I've always considered myself a feminist, but I don't even think there's a word for an advocate for all things masculine. Except maybe 'man'. And they're not mutually exclusive, either. I care about everybody, dammit! I would call myself a peoplist or a humanist but those both sound totally gay. Oh, don't get your panties in a wad, I mean gay-as-an-insult-in-an-ironic-sense-because-I-grew-up-in-the-70's-in-south-King-County, not gay-as-an-appropriate-adjective-for-all-things-lame, okay? So, I'll just be a person with many important viewpoints. There's no catchy slogan to go with it, but at least it's accurate. To me. To you, maybe not so much....

Maybe you think I'm crazy. And maybe I am, but I can still be right. Two more things that aren't mutually exclusive. How is it so hard to be a man, right? Well, it starts early. A girl that plays with trucks is cute, but a boy who wants to play with Barbie is ridiculed or shamed. Studies show that parents and teachers regularly give positive reinforcement to girls who show their emotions and negative or neutral reinforcement to boys who express emotions. Boys learn early that they're supposed to be tough and suck up whatever is bothering them and it's to their detriment, and ours. If they make it to adulthood with minimal permanent damage from this, it gets harder still. They're supposed to be the provider and take care of everything with no assistance, because to need help or express doubt is weak. Society expects, and demands, a high-paying career and an obsessive interest in sports, or they're suspect, not quite right. Maybe even gay! The result is a group of people who have severely limited personal and professional options because of their gender. Sound familiar?

To make matters worse, men are increasingly being affected by the same 'social diseases' as women: anorexia and body dysmorphic disorder, to name just two. I blame the magazines. Check out GQ, Maxim, or Men's Health sometime if you don't believe me; they're just as bad as Glamour and Cosmo, if not worse. But I guess blaming the magazines isn't fair, is it? They only exist because our society provides a demand for them. They're selling slick and glossy brightly packaged messages that none of us are good enough and we keep paying, and paying and paying. And guess what, we will never be good enough, and it will get harder and harder to be anyone.

So here's what we do: let's stop using our hard-earned dollars to fund this insidious multi-front war on ourselves. Don't buy the magazines. Let our kids play with whatever they want. Let our boys cry, give them the same attention we would give a crying girl. Encourage our sons and our daughters to be nurses or fighter pilots, or butchers or candlestick makers, whatever they're interested in. If our husbands (or wives) want to quit their high-paying, society-approved jobs and do something they really love, hooray! Find a way to help them do it. Dump the unreasonable and burdensome one-size-fits-all demands we put on every single one of us every day. Pretty soon we'll all be free to be you and me; I can see the rainbows and smell the unicorn poop now!

North

Woo hoo! Time to go, an entire day all to myself! I hope I have enough food, a whole day is a long time if you don't have enough snacks.

Boy, this bus sure is filling up quick. Maybe I should get off and do something else instead, all by myself for an entire day. But what? Dammit, I guess I'm trapped on this bus. I hope I don't have to pee, why do none of these Korean buses have toilets?! I REALLY hope I like the ONE book I brought. Yay! Time to go, no one sitting by me. NO! don't sit by me... no, no, no. Especially not you, Vin Diesel.

Sweet! I have the only empty seat on the bus next to me, SUCKERS!

Hmm, this History Channel DMZ program on the bus television screen is interesting. I had no idea they were such nasty bastards up there. I don't think a lot of people realize how evil they really are. Fifty-nine years of failed diplomacy, dead soldiers and civilians, terrorist attacks, kidnappings, torture, drug running, counterfeiting, threats and oppression. I'm definitely a boobs not bombs kind of girl but those kitten-munching Dick Cheney types might be on to something when it comes to Kim Jong Il and his buddies.

Boy, this sure is a long bus ride. It's a good thing I like this book. I knew I was going to have to pee! Are we ever going to get there? Rice paddy, rice paddy, rice paddy..... Hungry, hungry, hungry... this bus ride is FOREVER. Mmmmm, jerky and chocolate, much better!

Oooh, here we are at Imjingak Resort Park. Right, great, where's the bathroom? Carefully check the door sign, and.... success! Ah.... Let's see, peace bell, Bridge of No Return, Prayer Wall, war memorials. This memorial for Japanese American Korean war dead is interesting; Koreans hate Japan after centuries of occupation and oppression. Boy, Korean history sure is depressing. Hey! Where did that guy get that coffee from?? Ahhh, much better. This stuff isn't half bad for Korean tourist park coffee. The stones of peace wall; that's pretty cool. I'd like to have a better look if those stupid Homers with their cameras would get out of my way. Cool, some rusty found object art. Back on the bus, Gus.

Dude! Look at these ugly-ass North Korean shoes and underwear. If that doesn't ruin communisn for you, nothing will! What the hell is this reunification propoganda? The path to reunification wall takes up the entire building and they are exactly nowhere. Good luck with that one, optimistic suckers. Oh look, a lady with a baby. That's weird; I miss the boys. That wasn't supposed to happen. Hey, lunchtime! I definitely have to learn to make that kimchi stew. I'll pass on those crinkle cut fries and white dinner rolls, thanks. Time to head out of here, where is that stupid bus? Driver's not back yet. Rats, left my book on the bus and I'm so tired of looking at North Korea. It's so boring; they don't DO anything. No roads, no cars, nothing going on. Maybe I should meditate! Really take advantage of my kid-free day. Ommmmmm.... oh, wait! Maybe this border town parking lot isn't the best place to close my eyes and zone out.

This train to nowhere sure is strange, and they're really proud of their visit from George Bush in 2002 (note: George is in the background of the photo, NOT the foreground).

Jeez, this tour guide/armed guard talks fast. What? What? I can barely understand you! Oooh, now I'm in South Korea, now I'm in North Korea. South Korea, North Korea. Cool, heh heh.

What? A tunnel? Oh, hell no; there is no way you're getting me in there. It's a good thing I'm not in charge in keeping South Korea free of tunnel-bound invaders, because I'd just let them have it. Is it time to go yet?

Phew, home again, home again, my fat hen. I wonder if the boys missed me. What? You kind of forgot about me all day? Huh.

Right

Weston LOVES learning about the planets and outer space. As a result, we have read tons of books about the discovery of the planets and their orbits and scientific discoveries. Interestingly, a lot of the things that we think of as 17th and 18th century advances, such as Kepler's laws of planetary motion, were actually previously discovered by the Greeks and Romans. For example, the Antikythera Mechanism is accurate solar model and eclipse predictor, constructed in approximately 80 B.C. It contains differential gears that prior to its discovery were thought to have first been used in 18th century clocks. Similar advances in medicine, math, and other fields were also made. If progress had continued unabated after the 5th century, humans would be in Star Trek city right now, baby. Either that or we would have blown ourselves to smithereens already, whichever.

What happened? Oooh, I'm glad you asked. After the fall of Rome, early Christians went on the warpath against anything that they decided, in their infinite arrogance, was contrary to God's word. One of their targets was science that suggested that perhaps Earth was not the center of the universe. After all, they knew what God said, and they knew what God meant, and clearly, anyone who hypothesized otherwise was a heretic who deserved to die. Angry Christian mobs burned entire libraries of hard-won knowledge and murdered scientists, plunging much of the world into the dark ages. The world will never know what all was lost because of these early extremists who drove the western world into darkness, chaos and fear.

Today, these misguided and evil people are back with a vengeance. Extremists in any form are dangerous- a great example is Al Qaeda, but they're not alone. Christian extremists are just as scary, and maybe even more dangerous because many of us buy their self-righteous 'Army for God' crap. There is no difference between them and the Taliban or devil worshippers; they're just more familiar and so they seem innocuous. And, they can be hard to disagree with, because they try to make it seem like it you're not with them, you're against God. But the bottom line is, they're still a bunch of bullies that are killing doctors and trying to halt scientific progress, all because they think, in their infinite arrogance, that they know the mind of God. Now, I'm not too bright, but I'm thinking a God that created humans would know that their God-given curiosity would drive them to explore their surroundings. Perhaps that's even what he intended, hmmm? He knew what he was doing, right?

'The enemy of my enemy is my friend' has never been more true and 'their' evil, hate-filled bigots are no worse than 'our' evil, hate-filled bigots. Unfortunately they have a common target: all the rest of us. They should just set up training camps together to save money, since their targets are the same. Al Qaeda and similar groups are just a little more blatant about their intent, making similar 'Christian' groups even more insidious. They're doing it for your own good, after all; surely none of the rest of us can be trusted to make our own decisions or figure things out for ourselves. I don't claim to know for sure, but I bet neither Jesus nor Mohammed would so much as let any of these clowns be their friends on Facebook, and the rest of us should follow their good examples.

Cheap Labor

In honor of Labor Day, I read a new book called 'Cheap: The High Cost of Discount Culture' by Ellen Ruppel Shell. It's a good read, a little dry in places, but very interesting. The main point is that our obsession with cheap goods reaps all sorts of ill effects on culture, the world economy and the environment. Cheap initial costs hide the multitude of true costs. When consumers care about the lowest price to the exclusion of all other factors, retailers are forced to cut costs as much as possible in order to compete with one another. They cut wages for clerks, stockpersons and other employees. They force manufacturers to lower their wholesale costs, which forces manufacturers to seek cheaper and cheaper labor and supplies. This, of course, is what causes human rights violations in sweatshops and factories and environmental catastrophes. Manufacturers believe they can't afford to pay decent wages and comply with environmental regulations and still produce goods cheap enough to appeal to our insatiable desire for piles of inferior goods and therefore enrich themselves. Smaller producers are driven out of business, resulting in most of the world's goods being made by a handful of behemoth conglomerates. Let's face it: the unassailable fact is that it costs a lot more to make a table out of legally and sustainably harvested timber and fair wage labor than from an illegal clear cut in a third world country. A dress made out of clean harvest cotton by a reasonably-paid and a reasonably-treated labor force has to be more expensive than one made out of pesticide-contaminated fabric by abused and exploited sweatshop workers.

These giant corporations have the deep pockets necessary to spend lots of cash lobbying governments in order to keep environmental, consumer protection and workplace laws suppressed in their favor so their production costs are even lower, so the small number of executives at the top of the food chain can make even more money at the expense of the consumer and the workforce. Every day, companies fight efforts to require fair wages and benefits, fair labeling laws and regulations that require them to clean up their own hazardous waste and control dangerous emissions. And a lot of times, they win. Why? Because they have the money to pay the lawyers and lobbyists; money they get from you and me. There's no money in consumer and environmental protection, and therefore no one to fight them except for us.

Ruppel Shell uses a great example with milk: If a marketplace has two kinds of clearly labeled milk for sale, say pure milk for a dollar and watered down milk for fifty cents, consumers can purchase whichever they choose and both buyer and seller are happy. If the milk producers start watering down the milk and not labeling it, the sellers of pure milk will be screwed, because consumers will buy the watered down milk thinking it's pure and won't pay the additional cost for the real stuff. Sellers of real milk will sell less and less because consumers will think they're being cheated by the higher price. Pretty soon the sellers of real milk will either be forced to go along with the program and water down their milk, too, so they can compete or be driven out of business, The end result is that consumers will no longer have a choice; they can only buy crappy milk because that's all that's available. This is what has happened in every single industry on earth. Each and every television is made by one of three companies. Dozens of automobile manufacturers have been reduced to a handful, and all new cars look alike. Consumers have no real choice and goods are limitless but of low quality.

So, pretty depressing, huh? But there are things we can do. We're like the ants in The Bug's Life and we need to stand up to those dirty rat-finking grasshoppers. There's a lot more of us than them and if we band together we can mow them right over. Know the real cost of your consumer goods and be willing to pay the true price in cash up front, instead of in pain and suffering for people all over the world for years to come. Look for locally made goods and locally grown foods. Patronize your neighborhood stores instead of the big boxes. Pay attention to where things come from and ask the hard questions about how goods in America can have such a low initial cost, and where the true cost is being hidden. Shop at your local thrift store. Keep track of how your representatives vote on the important consumer and environmental issues, and let them know what you think. Go hiking on Labor Day instead of shopping the sale at the mall. Ants unite! Power to the people!

Happy Labor Day weekend!

More

Tomorrow, something new and exciting. Today, more of the same:

I found out what the 'Gender Report' is and it's even worse than I thought. It was posted at the BX today with a note from the school nurse, bless her heart. It's a nasty note about how the children on the list, reported by age, gender and classroom, have not received their 'required shots' and will not be allowed to attend school until they do. So now, in addition to blatantly threatening the safety of the elementary school children, they are publicly displaying their private medical information.

I could call someone, but I know what they would say: the nurse is the only one we have for all three schools since our school budget got cut. She doesn't have time to write, call or email people about the shots, and besides, we're on a military base; it's perfectly safe. One of those excuses is irrelevant, and one is laughable, but it doesn't matter. So.... I have nothing more to say about that. I tried to have something to say several times but I couldn't write anything that wasn't bitter and angry. And, I recently read Kristen's excellent post about how you don't really HAVE to post everything you think of. Or at least you should carefully consider it first. I try really hard not to be a pain in the ass around here and it's EXHAUSTING. But now I'm done.

And on a completely unrelated note, I have mentioned before that sometimes there might be a little tiny fib or two on here. So, no, I do not have a stripper pole or road rash from vomiting on the sidewalk. That you know of.

Oh yeah, on another completely unrelated note, if you are interested in dog-eating in Korea (and come on, who's not?), check out this fascinating post from Ask A Korean.

Reality is King

I just watched the worst tv show ever. I don't watch a lot of tv and now I know why. Here at Osan, all we get is AFN (Armed Forces Network), unless you go through all kinds of complicated and expensive machinations to get more channels.

Since I don't watch much tv and I have a special loathing for reality tv, it is entirely possible that 'Rock of Love' is not, in fact, the worst show ever, but it is surely in the top ten. If you are not familiar with it, it stars Bret Michaels, a washed-up rock star trying to hang onto his glory days. He is looking for his one true love, that splendid and devoted lass that won't mind him sleeping with groupies on the road. The show is in season 11, so he doesn't seem to be having much luck.

Twenty-seven years ago, Stephen King published a story called 'The Running Man'. You can read the plot synopsis if you click on the link, but it's a story about a network that runs 'game shows' in which people die, for entertainment. The contestants are forced into appearing, either for punishment, or because they are desperate for one reason or another. In 1982, the year the story was published, MTV's 'The Real World' was still ten years away. 'The Real World' was the first American foray into what we now call reality tv, though there had already been some similar European and Japanese efforts. 

I'm paraphrasing King's thoughts here, because I can't recall the source for his words; it could have been the preface to the book, or it could have been his book on writing, or perhaps an interview. He was addressing the idea that the game shows in the story were outrageous and ridiculously far-fetched, and pointed out that humans have been entertaining themselves by torturing and killing each other since humanity began, and used the excellent and appropriate example of the Romans 'gaming' with Christians and others in the Coliseum. He said that game shows like the ones he described were in our future.

Is 'Rock of Love' in the same category as 'The Running Man' game? Well, probably not. Yet. But a society in which thousands of women will audition to be on a show where they will demean themselves and one another while viciously competing to be the future ex-girlfriend of a stringy-haired, makeup-wearing guitar player is but a few steps away. Maybe next season the ratings will go down, so instead of putting the contestants in bikinis and hooker heels, they'll give them whips. Then, the pool of volunteers might go down, because now it's dangerous. So, the network works a deal with the LA court system: The show will provide employment and oversight of the most attractive minor offenders to save the taxpayers the cost of trying and punishing them. Everyone wins!

See what a slippery slope it is? And when Stephen King is accurately predicting the future, it's time to wake up and smell the offal.

On Vices

I'm a fan of vices. Really, I'm not sure what I'd do without them. Especially here at Osan. You NEED your vices here, there's no question about it. But unfortunately, the vice options are limited. Your choices are: alcohol, coffee, OTC drugs, and online shopping. Oh, I guess I could smoke, chew or devour online po.rn, but I do have SOME standards. So anyway, leaving out the more odious choices, I'm batting about .500 here, which is working out okay for me, but I really need to up my average a little bit or I might get cut from the team. Wait, what were we talking about? Oh yeah, we were discussing what a hopped-up drunk I am.

This place is BORING, people. If I was clever, crafty, or perhaps even just smart, I could produce something with my free time: sloppy sewing projects, hideous scrapbooks or appalling art. Maybe even a crappy book! Or I could embark on a no-holds-barred self-improvement plan. A motivated person could really whip herself into shape here: stair climbing every day, kimchi for three meals a day... This place would definitely make a high quality fat camp. I could even keep my house clean cleaner.

But nope, none of those things for me! Part of the problem, of course, is that my 'free time' is after the boys go to bed, and I am a mere husk of a woman; the deflated remains of a slightly overripe fruit, innards sucked dry. But that's not why, if the truth be known.

The truth is, I don't WANT to do any of those things. I don't need improvement or ugly crafts. I'm good enough.

Unfortunately, though, I do have a little issue: vices are quite costly, I'm finding. I just spent almost $100 to have a couple of months' worth of coffee shipped here, and let's not even talk about the wine bills. I was thinking of whipping up some home brew but that would be venturing perilously close to producing something useful with my free time (see above). So, I welcome suggestions from all my clever friends in the computer! I also welcome coffee and wine. And chocolate.