Sunday, September 30, 2007

Genetics 101, as taught by Daddy Cat

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This is Daddy Cat.

Daddy Cat is a big guy. Just from struggling to pick him up, I'm guessing he weighs a good 30lbs. I'll let you know for sure as soon as I remember to borrow my mom's scale. Daddy Cat spends most the time on my front porch, although he would *much* rather be a housecat. See, Daddy Cat just loves to snuggle and purr and get as close to me as he possibly can. Unfortunately, there are quite a few downfalls to having Daddy Cat in the house. The biggest problem is this monster's appetite. As a multiple cat owner, I have discovered that when you have a bunch of felines running about, having multiple food bowls around the house, continuously full of dry food, is a good thing. However, while the other cats simply eat their fill, Daddy Cat will plant himself at one bowl and eat it dry; then he'll move on to the next. When Daddy Cat's inside, I have to hide the food bowls. Most of the cats residing in and around my house are incredibly friendly, both with me and with each other. Daddy Cat would like to have me all to himself, and he's not shy about letting the other cats know this. And lastly, I mentioned how much food this big guy consumes. Well, there's a direct proportional relationship between input and output, and this cat's output is enormous. And stinky. And because of his size, he often gets into the litter box, digs around, and then poops... with his ass hanging out the back of the box. Yeah, there are definite reasons why Daddy Cat's home is my front porch. (Although right now he's sound asleep on my couch - I'm such a softy!)

But I was going to talk about genetics. See, we didn't name this fellow Daddy Cat without a reason. My house is home to three of his progeny, while another lives with my mom. How did we determine the paternity of these street cats, you might ask? Well....

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Sparky

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Chica Mary

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Spot

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Spot (left), Loki (right)

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Loki (left), Chica Mary (right)

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Poor Chica Mary; Daddy Cat just jumped on the bed.
She knows he's about to chase her off.

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And just for some scale, there's my hand in his.

Friday, September 28, 2007

And there was much rejoicing.

My computer's back! My computer's back! My computer's back! :-)

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Happy Chuseok, Korea; Happy Birthday, Me

Well.... today is my birthday and I am now twenty-nine years old. And my lovely computer chose this afternoon to stop working yet again. So it's at the shop and I'm back over at my mom's using the dial up - boo! Anyway, I'll try to have a decent birthday blog up once I get my laptop back later this week.... sigh.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Weird? Yes. Quality? No.

I just skimmed Weird Georgia by Jim Miles, and am not left with much of a desire to examine the book any closer. I was hoping for somewhat of a guidebook (a la Lonely Planet), but with a focus on the more bizarre things which can be found in my newly adopted state. While I did realize that this book would have sections on ghosts and aliens, I hoped they would take a back seat to factual descriptions of weird places and attractions. Additionally, take a look at the back cover - there's one sentence there in particular which made this book irresistable to me:

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Can you guess which one? :-)

Sadly, the book has been quite a disappointment. I could probably put a lot of time and thought into explaining why, but the book really isn't worth expending the energy. I'm tempted to try again with a completely different Weird Georgia, but I'd rather not waste my money. As my mom pointed out, I'll probably do a better job of documenting the weirdness of Georgia right here on my blog. Why read about it when I can experience it?

Monday, September 24, 2007

Empowering Tools

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See that door chain behind me? Installed by yours truly :-)

Sunday, September 23, 2007

Highly recommended readings!!

I first discovered Eliot Pattison when I was living in Vladimir, Russia. The school where I taught had a very large library of English language books of all varieties, and I utilized it a lot. There was a book entitled The Skull Mantra which stared at me for months from the shelves before I so much as bothered to read the back cover. I know you should never judge a book by its cover (or title), but I simply didn’t think that a book with such a name would be worth much. It was after I had worked my way through nearly all of the cheesy mysteries owned by the American Home and found myself running out of options for mindless entertainment that I finally picked it up – and I’m most definitely glad I did. Here’s a reprint of the short review I wrote of The Skull Mantra at the time:

For those of you who enjoy reading mysteries and/or for those of you who are interested in Tibet, I have a book recommendation for you. As you may or may not know, I've been slowly working my way through the rather large collection of paperback mysteries in the AH library. There's one that's been sitting there for a while that I'd been ignoring due to its horribly cheezy title. I finally picked it up the other day and read the back of the book and decided to give it a try. The book is
The Skull Mantra by Eliot Pattison. It's too bad that it has such a cheezy name (although after reading it, I discovered that there's a legitimate reason for this absurd title) because the book is fabulous. Not only is it a well written and engaging mystery, but it gives a clear and fascinating look into life in Tibet, life in the Tibetan prison systems, and Tibetan Buddhism. Now granted, I know remarkably little about Tibet or Tibetan Buddhism, so I have no way of knowing whether or not Pattison's depictions are accurate; however, while reading it I felt such a strong sense of place - so beautiful and magical - that I now find myself wanting to learn more about both Tibet and Tibetan Buddhism. The description on the back of the book says that it "will change the way you think about Tibet - and freedom - forever." I read that and thought what a crock of shit... but whaddyaknow. You should all definitely check it out.

The Skull Mantra was the first book in what has become quite a fascinating series. Luckily for me, the next two in the series were at my mom’s house when I returned from Korea. I just finished reading Water Touching Stone and Bone Mountain, the next two books, and am looking forward to reading Beautiful Ghosts (and the forthcoming Prayer of the Dragon, which will be out in December). These books are beautiful and wholly engaging; I could hardly put the one down, and immediately picked up the second as soon as I had finished the first. I feel that I have learned so much about Tibet through reading these books, and I almost want to go there. I say almost for two reasons: The books have shown me that if I wanted to see *real* Tibetan Buddhism, I’d have to either break the law and sneak around with alleged reactionaries, or I’d simply need to go to northern India. Otherwise I’d be exposed to Beijing’s pre-approved version of Tibetan Buddhism, which doesn’t appeal to me whatsoever. Also, if I went to Tibet, I’d probably die; altitude sickness sounds like utter hell, and a horridly miserable way to die. So, since I’m not going to pack up and head for Tibet, I’m going to have to continue reading Eliot Pattison’s books! Whether you’re the sort of person who enjoys exciting escapist mysteries, or the sort who enjoys books with literary/historical/cultural/etc merit, Pattison's works will most definitely have something that will appeal to you.

Oh, the cuteness!

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Silver the Kitten

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Silver the Kitten

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Harry Orange Kitty

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Blix, the ever hapless beast

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Isn't this thing cool? My mom got it for me, and I love it.
Now I need 3 more quality vertical shots.
(All my personal faves seem to be horizontal!)

Saturday, September 22, 2007

Tramping through the brush

So it seems that my mom is purchasing eight acres of land just outside Waycross. The closing is in about a week. The property is eight acres out of an original 40 acre tract, mainly planted in three year old timber pines. In between the pines lives an assortment of blackberry and other brambly, briary, thorny plants - it's not exactly the best for easy strolling at this point in time. Nonetheless, as the property lines have only just been surveyed, mom wanted to go out and see the actual borders of the land she's purchasing. Additionally, as we've had quite a rainy week, we wanted to see how the land holds up under rain. We knew from looking at the plat that a small area of the back portion of the land is wetland, but we didn't know *how* wet, or how far it extended into the the rest of the property. Luckily, the wetland is quite unimpressive and only covers a tiny portion of the rear of the land. But speaking of wetlands... We arrived and had to park out by the highway and walk in, as the dirt access road floods when its wet. The road definitely will need to be built up! Or my mom needs a 4x4 truck.

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The access road!

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It's *much* drier out at her property.
The "road" on the right is the access road; her property is on the left.


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Mom, exploring her new land :-)

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Wading through the brush...
See the very tall trees on the horizon? That's the property line!


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This shot is from the rear of the land looking back towards the access road.

It's quite nice property, although it'll require a lot of work to make part of it habitable/usable. We're planning on letting the bulk of the pines mature (they need about 15-18 years before they'll be ready to harvest), and using them as a longterm investment. Nonetheless, we want to clear part of it. I think my very cute little house would be much happier moved out to this lovely bit of land than sitting in the ghetto. What do you think?

And speaking of times that I've tramped through the brush, yesterday I scanned in high-res versions of my best photographs from my 2002 trip to Costa Rica (back before I owned a digital camera). As you can see below, Mia was very interested in assisting me in this process. I've uploaded 43 pictures (no, that wasn't intentional!) to flickr, and you should totally go check them out.

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Friday, September 21, 2007

Blanket the Dawn

I spent seven months in Russia during my Junior year of college, back in 2000. One morning in early April I awoke after having a particularly intense dream. I immediately sat down and wrote the dream out in story form, then, for some reason, I folded my tale up, stuffed the pages into an envelope, and mailed them off to my mom. Over the years I had completely forgotten what the story was about, and all I remembered of it was the ending - and the fact that I'd sent away my only copy.

Yesterday, as I was unpacking a box full of items of mine which had been at my mom's house, I stumbled upon my story! It was eerie reading it, as I knew the last few sentences, but could recall nothing more of the tale - yet there it was, penned in my handwriting from seven and a half years ago. I decided to type it up so that I could share it with you.

I'm sure that at the time I felt I was being quite clever, incorporating Russian words into the names of people and places, although looking back, perhaps I overdid it a bit on that score. And I named the bad guy Zloiman. Jeez, Jane. Those of you who know Russian might notice how that's hardly clever. Sigh. Nonetheless, here is my tale:

Blanket the Dawn

War raged through the tiny republic of Vorobstan, and the tiny, once pristine land was devastated. While the impressive, snow capped mountains still glimmered in the chilly spring sun on the western border, while their melting ices fed the brisk waters of the River Dawn, and while the Dawn flowed eastward into the sun and into the sea, oblivious to the war, the land remained saddened, rent and torn by the fierceness of the constant fighting.

The war had raged across this once peaceful land for over a century. No one really remembered how, or even why, it had begun. Some said it had begun as a question of kingship; others maintained the root cause was the mutual love of two brothers. No one remembered for certain; the origins of the struggle were shrouded in Time’s veil, lost behind the impenetrable memories of blood and death.

The future of the Vorobstan Vale, that once incomparable paradise between the mountains and the sea, looked bleak; the Svobodnayans and the Chortans had reached a stalemate. All battles boiled down to one-on-one combat, Master Fighter to Master Fighter. Equal in skill and equal in strength, the one could never defeat the other, and so the conflict stagnated.

Helena Chistaya stumbled across the barren, rocky ground toward her makeshift tent. Her bare feet and legs were covered in a layer of mud; she has not bathed since before the last major campaign had forced the few civilian Svobodnayans to flee from yet another temporary home. Helena wiped a tear from her cheek with a dirty finger and smoothed her threadbare dress. The constant fighting didn’t sadden Helena, nor did the threat that at any moment she might be forced to flee, or even to face death. Helena was nineteen, and she had lived this life for nineteen years. Yet tears continued slowly etching an estuary of brackish lines down her cheeks, and she stumbled, weary from grief.

As Helena walked to her tent, she left behind her a crowd of Svobodnayans, gathered about a funeral Pyre. She had never cried at a Pyre before, but never before had the fire’s warm tongues licked the faces of those so dear. Warren Umnato, Chieftain of the Svobodnayans, Wise Leader and Master Fighter, brought down by Ernstlan Bezcovest, Master Fighter of the Chortans, was foremost atop the Pyre. It was he for whom nearly all of the Svobodnayans wept. Yet hidden, engulfed within the mass of flame lay the dwindling remains of the two people whom Helena had held most dear: her brother Thomas and her sister Elspeth.

A raid on the fleeing civilians, a rarity during a pitched battle, had separated Helena from her siblings. Helena had fallen into a rocky gully, where she had lain hidden, camouflaged under a bracket of thorny briars. She had seen her brother and sister, snatched from the fleeing crowd and forced by two Chortan soldiers to kneel in front of another Chortan of seemingly higher rank. This soldier had closed his eyes and placed a hand each on the heads of Thomas and Elspeth. His long red hair had swirled about his head, and the muscles of his face had twitched as his jaw clenched. Elspeth had screamed and fallen prostrate on the ground, only to be forced back into her former position by one of the soldiers.

Soon after, Thomas and Elspeth began shrieking with such pain and terror, that Helena shook uncontrollably from the sound. The rocks below her ground into her flesh, and the thorns above her stabbed and pulled, but all she could see, hear, feel, live was the dreadful spectacle in front of her. She had not noticed the moment when the sword of Ernstlan Bezcovest pierced the heart of Warren Umnato, for at that very moment the bodies of her two siblings had collapsed to the ground, lifeless.

Helena watched the strange Chortan soldier look down upon her motionless kin, and knew in her soul that they were dead. She watched his face, memorized his face, hated his face, hated his soul. From the distance at which she had lain, she had not seen the single tear which had fallen as he turned away.

The Svobodnayans entered a new time of uncertainty. Warren Umnato had been succeeded by his only son and heir, Warson, a newly anointed Master Fighter. But could such a novice withstand the strength of the Chortan beast who had felled his father and teacher? Morale was low. Listlessly Helena roamed the Svobodnayan camp, surrounded by grieving thousands, yet utterly alone.

Samuel Zloiman had a gift – a rarity among Chortans. It wasn’t that he could read minds, not exactly. He had the ability to focus his thoughts through the minds of others, and in doing so, he could cause them to view his outward appearance in any shape he so chose. With direct physical contact, he could mentally channel his desires into the minds of others, thus changing the outcomes of otherwise predetermined events. The memories of those he so touched would be embedded upon his memory forever after.

Samuel Zloiman was twenty-eight. Twenty years ago he had killed his only friend. For the next eighteen years he had done his best to keep to himself, and he had kept his gift – his curse – a secret. He practiced his magic seldom, always in solitude, never forgetting the moment he placed his hand on his eight year old twin and so lost him forever.

Samuel was an excellent warrior; even without use of his curse he was a true gift to the Chortan cause. But such a powerful secret could not remain hidden forever and eventually, in the heat of battle, his curse saved his life. Samuel had caught the left arm of a Svobodnayan soldier, seconds before his opponent’s arm should have completed the task of skewering him. Instead, the bewildered Svobodnayan had turned his sword on himself. This event went unremarked by all, save Samuel and Ernstlan Bezcovest.

For two years, out of loyalty to his people, and under direct orders from the Chortan Master Fighter himself, Samuel searched the minds of his enemies from afar, looking for one through whom he could channel in order to weaken the Master Fighters of the Svobodnayans. Eventually, Samuel had found three.

He had not expected their deaths to be so slow and painful. Whether it was the type of channeling – the second-hand weakening of a Master Fighter – their Svobodnayan blood, or simply a further punishment of his curse, Samuel did not know. But as he had touched them, the young man and woman who knelt in front of him screaming in pain and terror, he had felt their pain, their thoughts, their lives course through him. And he had seen his brother. His pain mingled with theirs as they collapsed, as Warren Umnato collapsed, as the mirage of his mirror image collapsed. He waved away the guards who had held the two unfortunate victims of his power, and gazed down at their bodies, hoping that Ernstlan Bezcovest would be strong enough to defeat Warson Umnato without having to call upon his curse a second time.

Samuel let fall a silent tear for the victims of his gift – these two strangers, his brother – how they intermingled in his mind. As he turned and walked away, Samuel did not see the solitary figure of a thin girl in a tattered brown dress rise from the ground. He had done his best to push his mental powers aside, otherwise the force of her hatred would have overwhelmed him completely.

Several weeks passed following the deaths of Helena’s kin. Life continued its pathetic struggle: day after day – fight, flee, hide, kill, die – the habits of a war-torn nation. Warson Umnato proved to be as valiant and capable a leader as his father, and the stagnation, Master opposing Master, continued.

Unknown to Helena, an investigation into the death of Warren Umnato had uncovered a strange truth. Koralnik Tan, a member of the elite Svobodnayan Guard known to have a touch of telepathy, had, at the instant of Umnato’s death, been overwhelmed by the influx into his soul of the emotions of two Svobodnayans whom he barely knew. The force of their emotions – pure, raw terror – combined with an onslaught of unfamiliar memories had caused him to fall, powerless and confused, to his knees. Those who witnessed the fall of Warren Umnato claimed to have seen a similar spasm of bewilderment and fear flit across his face, as though he were remembering something distant, painful and wholly unexpected, the moment before his heart was stopped forever by the blade of Bezcovest.

Due to the confusion and grief brought about by the Chieftain’s death, the investigation did not establish a connection with Koralnik Tan for several weeks. But eventually, the connection was made: psychic tampering, channeled through the innocent minds of the Chistayas. It was confirmed that the strange raid on the civilian encampment during the heat of battle had been directed at the location of the Chistaya family. Warson, Koralnik and the Svobodnayan Guard did not know why the Chistayas had been selected; however, they knew that Helena, the only surviving member of the Chistaya clan, must be protected at all costs. The life of Master Fighter Warson depended on it.

Helena had taken the news calmly, and resigned herself to a life even more constantly surrounded by soldiery than it had been before. She was to be protected by the members of the Svobodnayan Guard at all times, and Koralnik Tan was to remain always in her vicinity, on the chance that he could predict the advance of the psychic Chortan warrior.

Koralnik Tan and those other Svobodnayans known to have small psychic abilities worked together to devise a technique to protect both Helena and Warson: they crafted a mental shield, such that Chortan warrior could only channel through her if she touched him willingly. All felt safer.

As weeks passed, young Helena began to grow quite fond of Koralnik Tan. Koralnik, having witnessed in his soul for a few brief seconds what had taken Thomas and Elspeth their lives to live, had much to tell their grieving sister. Every day they walked together, every day they talked, and every day their walks took them farther from the center of the Svobodnayan encampment. Sometimes other members of the Svobodnayan Guard would accompany them, but more often than not, the wandered unchaperoned. Helena would never willingly touch her enemy, and Koralnik was an experienced member of the elite Guard, what harm could come?

So it happened that Helena and Koralnik strolled together, with only each other for company, amongst the bramble and stunted trees near the Dawn. Added to the weight of her grief over the loss of her siblings, Helena’s heart suffered under a new load. Despite the fact that day upon day she and Koralnik revealed their innermost thoughts to one another, his behavior towards Helen remained merely that of a Svobodnayan Guard performing his duties. Yet day by day, Helena began to know that what she felt for this man was not the mere gratitude she might feel towards a protector. So there it was, on the blighted landscape along the Dawn that Helena looked up at Koralnik and asked, “Are you certain that I am protected from this evil psychic Chortan?”

“You know you’re safe while the Guard is near,” he replied. “Besides, I know you would never willingly touch someone so vile as he.”

For once, something in his eyes spurred her on. She smiled coquettishly, and snaked her hand through his arm, saying “What? Like this?”

All notions of reality rocked to a standstill. The face of trusted Koralnik melted, twisted and suddenly Helena was face to face with the only individual for whom she had ever harbored hatred. Her mind barely had time to register the fact that she had willingly grasped the forbidden arm of the psychic Chortan warrior before her body was enveloped by an indescribable pain. It was greater than anything she, in her nineteen years of hardship, had ever known. Consciousness faded. Reality was encased in a cold, black mist of pain.

She didn’t feel him lift her off the ground. She didn’t realize how far he carried her. All she knew was the pain. She begged him to stop. Please. She would do anything, anything, only let it end. After what could have been hours, seconds, days or minutes, the pain changed. It intensified in strength, and suddenly, with an explosive force, her entire soul was flooded with the lifetime memories of Samuel Zloiman.

The pain ceased. She lay in a corner of a strange green tent, a dazed and huddled mass. Samuel knelt over her and touched her cheek. She said nothing, didn’t move. Samuel spoke softly. “I will take care of you, I promise. I must do this, I have no choice, but I will take care of you. Can I get you anything? Anything at all?”

They stared at each other, their eyes locked. They had exchanged a lifetime of memories, expressed to each other the inexpressible. Theirs was an intimacy beyond description, and they were beyond words.

Helena trembled violently. “A blanket please. Just a blanket.”

If you believe in god, pray that the inner workings of another’s soul are never laid bare within your own.

Imagine Helena, first faced with the one for whom she harbored the most enmity, then – after barely enough time to register that fact – had the flood of his memories, experiences, emotions, joys, and sorrows of this individual forced through to the core of her soul. Suddenly she understood why he had done everything which he had done, why he had fought so long against her people, why he must continue to use his power, why his power haunted him though his life, terrifying and saddening him.

Imagine Samuel, faced with a complete stranger who, through psychic manipulations, he had tricked into betraying her people. A complete stranger, who, for the service of his people and his Master, he must inevitably kill with his power. Samuel, after a lifetime of friendlessness had suddenly become privy to the deepest secrets of this stranger, engendering a bond between them such as he had never before known with anyone.

And Samuel knew that the next time he channeled his power through her, she would die. And Helena knew. And Samuel knew that she knew.

Helena, wrapped in a blanket, her knees pulled up to her chest, shivered in a corner of the tent. Opposite her, attempting to appear calm, sat Samuel. They awaited the news: what was the outcome of the battle? Had Samuel’s channeling been enough to sufficiently weaken young Warson? Or would his services again be needed? They didn’t speak; it wasn’t necessary. And when the news came, they both knew how it would end.

Hand in hand they walked from the tent. With her free hand, Helena grasped tightly the blanket which still wound about her body. The estuarine tracks on her face matched those on his.

Hand to hand, sword to sword, skilled move to skilled move, Warson met Bezcovest under the waning moonlight.

Hand in hand, Samuel and Helena approached the Dawn, approached the battle, approached the end. He kissed her once, lightly, released her hand, and pressed both his palms to his temples. It was over within seconds.

Helena stood on the bank of the Dawn, watching its icy waters, blood red from the battle, course past Samuel’s lifeless body, prone on the shoreline. She unwound the blanket from about her body, spread it over his figure and waded out into the swift, tumultuous water. The icy chill of the mountain-fed Dawn numbed her arms and legs, and she allowed the current to carry her eastward to the sea, where Dawn met dawn, and she was free.

Meanwhile war, in stagnation, raged behind.

Jane E. Keeler
06 April 2000

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

The tasing of a handcuffed student

I just watched this. This happened at a University of Florida at a question and answer session with Senator John Kerry. Yeah, the student was rather obnoxious, but he had a right to ask his questions - it was a question and answer session, dammit. This kid shouldn't have been arrested, or even escorted out of the room. The other students in attendance were applauding his questions, so obviously having them answered would have been important. And then to tase this kid? After he was handcuffed? WTF?! And the fact that Kerry tried to continue on, ignoring the incident as though nothing were happening while cops tased a handcuffed student whose only crime was asking questions of a government official? Watch it for yourself and tell me what you think. (The direct link is here if you need it.)

Interested in Photographs from Korea?

Interested in owning your own copy of my best photographs from my thirteen months on the South Korean peninsula? I have just published Photographs from Korea in order to give you the opportunity to do just that. Lulu.com, the company through which I have created and sold other photobooks in the past, has recently re-designed their photobook creation and publication system. The good thing about this is that the photobooks are now glossy, professional book quality, 8.5" x 11" publications, with far cooler layouts than before. The downside is that they are now more expensive. Sadly, for me to make even a meagre profit, the cost of Photographs from Korea is $25. I personally think it's worth it, although I am not convinced that others will see it that way (but I hope you do!). I would love to create new versions of my other photobooks using Lulu.com's new system... but so few people purchase them as it it is, I'm worried that the price increase if I were to do so would drop my purchases to nil. What do you think? Anyway, if you're interested in owning a copy of Photographs from Korea, please click here! (Lulu.com offers international shipping, by the way, just to let everyone know.)

Blix: The German Shepherd Kitty-Sitter

Blix, my mom's German Shepherd, wandered up to our front yard in Florida, near the end of 2002 (or possibly early 2003). He was skinny and hungry and had obviously been abandoned. Of course, we took him in. At the time, Hans Blix was in the news left and right regarding nuclear inspections in Iraq and the fact that he was finding no signs whatsoever of WMDs, despite the Bush Administration's insistance that they were there. We named the dog after him. My mom's house is set up such that the three dogs (she also has a chow and a black lab, also both rescued strays) live in the fenced in back yard, while the cats live in the front yard and/or the house. Recently Blix has decided that he would much rather live with the cats than with his fellow canines, and has learned how to hop the fence. Now he spends most of his time hanging out in the front yard, baby sitting the kitties. He especially enjoys playing with the two kittens, Pewter and Silver.

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Meanwhile, my mom looks on from her new front porch.

Monday, September 17, 2007

Oh! Glorious DSL!

It feels so good to be back in the land of high speed internet once again. I've uploaded a ton of photos, chatted with a couple of people, and uploaded to clips of unbearable cat cuteness to youtube. And because I know you want to see all of this wondrousness, let me share some links:

Pewter the Kitten (a photoset)
Alley Cat: Cute on Command (a youtube video)

Now to respond to comments and emails....

Sunday, September 16, 2007

A couple of photos for you

UPDATE: Large size images are now available; simply click on the photos below.

As yet today nothing much of interest has occurred, other than that I have developed an intense affection for power drills, and am thoroughly impressed by the boring ability of the 1/4 inch bit. As you can see, I cannot follow up yesterday's post with anything nearly as exciting. Which is probably a good thing. What I can do, is to give you a couple of photos to enjoy, taken with my new Nikon P5000. In theory, I should have my DSL hooked up tomorrow, and I can get back to blogging and photo-sharing as per usual.

crazy storm clouds
Storm clouds as seen from my mom's house the other day.

butterfly macro
Butterfly macro. Taken at a rather long distance actually,
as I didn't want to wade through the brush to get close to this guy.

I am never opening my door again. Ever.

I’ve written before about how there seem to be crazy old dudes everywhere I go. Well, that seems to be holding true for life here in Waycross. Before I write this piece, let me explain my new neighborhood a little for the benefit of those who haven’t heard the full description prior. My house is located in an extremely poor, nearly all black neighborhood. I spent a month here before I moved to Korea, during which time I began to refer to it as the ghetto, not for its all-blackness, but for its incredibly high crime rate (most of which originated at the house next door to mine). As I mentioned previously, the group from the house next door was evicted while I was in Korea, leaving my neighborhood with a distinctly different feel. It’s still an extremely poor, nearly all black neighborhood, but it no longer feels quite so ghettoish.

I have a very difficult time understanding the speech of my neighbors. Poor Southern dialects and accents, both white and black, are often incredibly strong. Meanwhile, I’ve spent the past two years perfecting my slow, clearly enunciated ESL English. I feel like I’m speaking a different language from my neighbors, and often find myself reverting to that bad habit I picked up while overseas: If you don't understand, smile and nod. (Unless you're in Russia, in which case, just nod.)

There’s an old guy (who may actually be younger than my father, but who seems quite older) who lives about a block down my street. He managed to convince my mom to pay him $10 to mow my yard while I was in Korea. Those of you who know my mom (The Queen of Cheap) should probably be amazed at this feat. Those of you who know me should realize that I was all too happy to continue that arrangement with him after returning to the states. I rather assumed that someone introduced to me by my mother would be alright… although come to find out this fellow is completely nuts. Although even after my bizarre adventures with him today, I still feel like he’s mostly harmless. Just crazy.

So anyhow, he showed up last week to mow the lawn, and was telling me, among other things, that he needed to get some weed-killer to kill the weeds that were growing up out of my foundation. He showed up this afternoon and asked if I could drive him over to go pick up some of that weed-killer he’d told me about, if I wasn’t busy. While we were talking, he asked what line of work I was in, and when I told him ESL, and that I’d just gotten back from Korea, he started rattling off a bunch of phrases in Korean! Apparently he served in Korea with the US Army. Not sure if it was during the war or not. I didn’t think much of his request to drive him to get weed-killer until after stopping at the first house, we went to another, then another, then another… before finally he came out, not holding anything at all like weed-killer, although saying, “Finally! A home run!” Um, ok. Then he asked what he owed me for helping him, did I want a share? Um, no. I didn’t want to know what I’d just helped this dude purchase, and made with all haste to deposit him back at his doorstep.

And then it gets better. Or worse, you might say. A few minutes later, he shows up at my door again, with a large plastic bag of things for me. Clothes, mostly. Hideous, and looking rather like they came out of a dumpster. (I am no snob when it comes to clothing; most of my clothes came from yard sales or a thrift stores. When I say these looked like they came out of a dumpster, I am completely serious.) He then asked if, in exchange for the clothes, he could take a shower at my house, since his water had been shut off. Next time I’m just going to flat-out say no, because offering the weak (but true) excuse of not having extra towels, etc., didn’t deter the man in the least. Next thing I knew, there was some crazy old dude I barely knew taking a shower in my bathroom. And when he was finished, before getting dressed, he felt the need to pop out into the living room in the nude to ask me if I’d “ever had an affair with a Nubian.” I shot him one of my famous scowls (which I’ve never seen, but I’m told are quite vicious) and said No, quite firmly. He scurried off and got dressed. On his way out he tried to kiss me, but I told him (again, quite firmly) that he could not kiss me. As I shooed him out the door, he told me Salaam Aleikum. Sheesh.

I am never opening my door for anyone ever again. Although that might prevent me from getting my lawn mowed.

Friday, September 14, 2007

Just one of many!

I uploaded this photo to flickr, and it took an absurdly long amount of time. (Oh, cursed dial-up; DSL won't be hooked up until Monday!) It's a shot of one of my mom's kittens, Pewter, who was one of four kittens abandoned on my doorstep here in Waycross back in June. He's now about 5 months old and he loves to show off for the camera. I've only been here a week and already I have many adorable Pewter photos. Just click on the image to see a larger size!

Pewter in the Tree (1)

Thursday, September 13, 2007

My first week in Waycross

Well, now that I’ve been home nearly a full week, I suspect it’s time to give you guys a genuine update, rather than just some random and disconnected photos.

My flights last Thursday (I flew Busan-Tokyo-Detroit-Jacksonville) all left on time and all arrived early. Mia and I (and all of my suitcases, for once) made it home without any problems. Mia was very well behaved throughout the trip, and was fairly quiet for the most part. (Plus, on the trans-Pacific flight, we had a screaming baby which completely drowned out any sounds which Mia may have made.) I’m planning on writing up a completely separate post on traveling from South Korea to the US with your pet in a few days, so stay tuned.

Mia has been having some difficulty adapting to her new life here in Waycross, although it could have been a lot tougher. There had been five or six formerly stray cats living in my house, but a few weeks ago my mom installed a kitty door. Since then, most of the stray kitties have decided that they would much rather live under the house as opposed to in it. While there are roughly ten cats (including Mia) who view my house as their regular source of food, only two of them have spent a significant amount of time indoors since our arrival. As to be expected, Mia doesn’t like them in the least. However, they’re ghetto street cats, and are not intimidated one bit by a spoiled Korean cat. They haven’t gotten into any fights or anything, it’s simply that Mia keeps her distance from Alley Cat and Loki, and vice versa. Unfortunately for Mia, Alley and Loki are extremely friendly and rather needy; when they’re indoors they spend their time following me around being incredibly sweet. Mia, who is usually somewhat standoffish, has been looking on rather balefully at these interlopers who have usurped her Jane.

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Mia (left), Alley (right)

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Alley and Mia

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Spot (front) and Shady (back) - two who live under the house

Life on the corner of Ass and Ass is nowhere near as ghettoish as it used to be. This seems to be because the drug dealers who lived next door to me (you remember – the ones who cut a hole in my wall with a butcher knife and took a baseball bat to my mailbox, among other incidents) were evicted while I was in Korea. The atmosphere of the neighborhood is completely different without them – not to mention quieter!

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My hermitage :-)

My mom is in the process of negotiating the purchase of roughly 8 acres of land about three miles outside of the city. It’s nice land, currently planted in harvestable pines (well, they’re only three years old, it’ll be a good 15+ years before they can be harvested), and it’s in a great location. The land itself is high and dry… unlike its access road. If you saw the pictures in my previous post from where my mom and I managed to bury her Ford Escort in the mud and were wondering what we were doing… well, we were taking a look at her potential new property.

Before I left Korea, I ordered a new camera. I had initially been planning on purchasing a DSLR, but I figured that if my indefinite plans included not having an income, I should probably purchase something cheaper. What I got seems really to be the next best thing: the Nikon Coolpix P5000. It has so many functions which one would expect to find on a DSLR, not on a pocket sized camera. It seems to be a hybrid between a DSLR and a point-and-shoot, and I am utterly in love with it. I am still learning how to use it, as it has so many new functions that were not available on my previous camera (which I’ve given to my mom). If I had money, I could even purchase fancy lenses and flash attachments for it... but as long as I'm unemployed, I'll just have to stick with what came with it. And as soon as I get my high speed internet hooked up, you’ll be deluged with photos, I promise! (One of my readers - Don, possibly? - brought this little camera to my attention... thank you so very much!)

There’s still a lot that I need to do around my house, before I even get around to starting on more ambitious projects like painting and such. In addition to unpacking my two suitcases from Korea, I still need to unpack, well, pretty much everything. Nearly all that I own is still in boxes and suitcases from back when I left San Diego in 2005. There’s also all sorts of miscellany which I need to purchase for my house. Just last night I was in the process of cooking dinner, when I had to put everything on hold in order to run to the store for a can opener. Each day I find myself making lists of things which my house needs, then making the dreaded trip out to Wal-Mart to stock up. Not the most interesting news, but that’s what I’m up to right now. I promise you some photo-heavy adventures once I get settled!

Sunday, September 09, 2007

This dial-up internet is killing me!

My internal clock is still completely skewed; I woke up this morning before my mother, something which *never* happens! I figured if I was up that early, I'd have plenty of time to wait for some photos to upload... and here they are!

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Mia and I spent a lot of time like this.


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The flight from Korea to Japan had some very yummy food.


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Wasn't the soy sauce container cute?


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One of my first meals back in the US: fried and greasy!


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My mom and I drove down a dirt road marked by this sign...


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...and she got her car buried in the mud!


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I got quite dirty trying to dig the car out.
In the end we had to call someone with a pickup.


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This was where we got stuck, by the way.

Saturday, September 08, 2007

Items owned by my mother

- a dryer which occasionally blows hot air
- a car whose air conditioning stops working when it gets too hot
- a van whose windshield wipers short out when it rains

More to come once I get high speed internet! :-)

Friday, September 07, 2007

Mia and I are in the US!

Just wanted to let everyone know that we made it! I'll write more later - I'm using my mom's painfully slow dial-up and it's frustrating me to no end!

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

One stage of your journey is over; another begins.

Not that I would ever put movie-Gandalf over book-Gandalf, but that quote has been running through my head all day. Mia and I leave for the US tomorrow morning, and will make it into Waycross after 27 or so hours of traveling... and the next stage of my life will begin. Well, it will begin after the subsequent week of so of jet-lag hell has receded, at any rate! See you on the other side :-)

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Pension Update for Americans in Korea

Just wanted to give anyone who might be interested an update on the pension status for US citizens living and working in Korea (this does not apply to people covered by the USFK-SOFA agreement, but to those of us here on our own, teaching English and whatnot). I went to the pension office today with my boss. I had to bring my passport, alien registration card, and plane ticket (to prove that I was indeed leaving). I filled out a bunch of forms (which said things along the lines of "Agreement between the United States and the Republic of Korea concerning the distribution of pensions" and which required my Social Security Number), and provided my US bank account number and routing number. My boss also had to complete a form of some sort. We were then informed by the very pleasant pension office fellow that the money would be transferred into my US bank account sometime within the next two to three weeks. I'm slightly concerned by this, as it's not like I can pop down to the Korean Pension Office from Waycross, GA if by October I'm still missing my pension, but everything did seem quite above board. I'll update this when (fingers crossed!) I receive my pension money.

Monday, September 03, 2007

Aaack!

I leave Korea in THREE DAYS! That's why there's been rather a lack of posts of late; I've been running around trying to get everything ready for my departure. On Friday, I took Mia to the vet in order to get her paperwork for travel to the US. Then, since I'd promised my friend Alex I'd buy him some eyeglasses while I was here, I ventured into an eyeglass store. I really was looking for glasses for Alex, really. But instead I ended up with two more pairs for me and none for him. Whoops. I'll try to try again tomorrow.

Saturday was my friend Rob's birthday, so a bunch of us went out to dinner, followed by a norae bang (er, singing room - like your own provate karaoke bar). Sad to say, I must admit to belting out Like A Virgin, among other ridiculous choices. Moosh, you would've been proud!


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Mmmmm. Cake and Beer :-)

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Somehow Rob ended up with part of the cake on his forehead.

Today I went to the post office FOUR times, mailing back boxes of crap which couldn't be crammed into my suitcase. And I still have one box left to mail! Tomorrow, I need to go to the pension office in order to reclaim my pension money (woohoo!), transfer money home, and try to buy glasses for Alex and possibly Melissa without accidentally buying more for myself. I'm not entirely sure what the chances of success are for that last part though!

Lastly, I'll leave you with some photos I just took of this bizarre sculpture located on the grounds of Gwen's apartment complex. It totally looks like something which belongs in North Korea or Communist-era Russia. Not sure why it's here at all!

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