The books I read this year

Here's a chronological list of what I got around to reading in 2008. As always, it wasn't enough.

1. The Razor’s Edge—W. Somerset Maugham
2. Lost Illusions (Part 1: Two Poets)—Honore de Balzac
3. Memories of My Melancholy Whores—Gabriel Garcia Marquez
4. Travels With Charley—John Steinbeck
5. A Man Without a Country—Kurt Vonnegut
6. The Rum Diary—Hunter S. Thompson
7. Winesburg, Ohio—Sherwood Anderson
8. Factotum—Charles Bukowksi
9. No Country For Old Men—Cormac McCarthy
10. The Dream of a Common Language—Adrienne Rich
11. What is the What—Dave Eggers
12. The Story of the Shipwrecked Sailor—Marquez
13. Tao Te Ching—Lao Tzu
14. Chronicles Volume #1—Bob Dylan
15. Lady With Lapdog, and Other Stories—Anton Chekhov
16. The Rum Diary—Thompson (2)
17. The Book of Tea—Kakuzo Okakura
18. Poor Folk—Fyodor Dostoevsky
19. The Maltese Falcon—Dashiell Hammet
20. Children of the Volga—George Bruntz
21. The Dangerous Summer—Ernest Hemingway
22. What Happened—Scott McClellan
23. White Noise—Don Delillo
24. Nexus—Henry Miller
25. Slouching Towards Bethlehem—Joan Didion
26. V for Vendetta—Alan Moore

There were some great books in there. "The Rum Diary" made me roll on the floor with laughter, the Dostoevsky was great, as was the Delillo and the Didion. If I had to pick a favorite, it would probably have to be Steinbeck's "Travels with Charley." It wasn't the most remarkable piece of writing, but I loved the story. I'm on the last pages of James Frey's "Bright Shiny Morning" and I'll carry "The Emotional Brain" by Joseph LeDoux over into 2009. Anybody want to share their list?

What happened to Conor Oberst?

I've been reading a lot of year-end music lists this week and almost none (actually, none) of them include the Bright Eyes frontman's record. Was it really that bad? I admit, I'm biased -- Bright Eyes has too much to do with my "formative years" to be objective -- but I liked it. Especially "Lenders in the Temple." I'd put that song in a top 50 of 2008 list. Probably even toward the top.

In a year of over-production and hyper-stylized dance music, we didn't have enough well-worded songs. Maybe the darkness of Bon Iver took up too much room for other lyrically focused artists. That was a really large record. Or maybe Bright Eyes and Oberst fans wanted him to be equally as dark, which this record wasn't at all. But that's not really fair. We can't expect our artists to suffer needlessly for their art, can we? I mean, if the guy wants to be happy and healthy and that's how his music comes out, then we can't really fault him for that. I still think he's better with words than 99 percent of songwriters out there.

UPDATE: This useless magazine has "Moab" at 31, right after "Pork and Beans" by Weezer, and before "Everyone Nose" by N.E.R.D. He's in more trouble than I thought.

Out of the tunnels, back in the saddle

This story of mine ran in the Korea Herald today.

When I first moved to Seoul, I rode the train. I went down into the tunnels with everyone else. We fought and pushed to get on after work -- beat and wanting to go home. Everyone slept, pretended to sleep, or watched TV on their cell phones. The men and women that sat on the benches looked defeated.

There was never a moment during the day that felt more like a struggle. The strain and fatigue seemed contagious. Even in the event that you felt good when you got on the train, you suppressed it -- vitality seemed insensitive.

For the first six months, the environmental benefits of using mass transportation outweighed my displeasure. When I wasn't flying across oceans on airplanes, I generated a minimal amount of carbon, and that felt good.

Despite my environmental ideology, after hearing a friend praise the smooth ride from Sinchon to City Hall, I went down to Toegyero to find a way to escape the subway. From Chungmuro station (Line No. 3, Exit 1), I crossed the street and walked east.

Shops lined the north side of the street. Glass windows displayed hundreds of scooters, dirt bikes, light-CC trail riders and heavy, high-dollar motorcycles. I walked down Toegyero with two criteria -- black and cheap.

A motorcycle should be black. If you have two motorcycles, then you are allowed to have a yellow or a purple one. But a motorcycle is like a leather jacket, there is one best color.

I walked the blocks of Toegyero asking prices and checking tachometers until I found a prospect: a dark, Magma 125cc in good shape and the man selling it willing to talk about the price.

A man who wants to make a deal is hard to find. We passed the calculator back and forth. After a few grimaces and grunts, he agreed on 500,000 won -- 200,000 off what he told me when I walked in. So I took it for a test drive and it ran straight. He put on new mirrors, changed the key box, and threw in a helmet as "service."

The first tank of gas I paid to fill my motorcycle felt like a compromise. There I was, with an efficient, effective subway system running clean and smooth under my feet, buying gas. I had bent my environmental ethics for freedom.

But it was worth it. A motorcycle is an icon; it symbolizes individuality. When I leave work every night, I am leaving alone, traveling alone, at my command -- I decide who I ride with and how we get there.

My commute time has been reduced by 60 percent. Although it is 2,000 times more dangerous, and I wouldn't recommend buying a bike for the Seoul streets if you haven't ridden before, I like it better.

If you do know what you're doing, and you're still riding in the tunnels, think about living above the ground.

That's where life is.

Feliz Navidad!!

Kim Jong-Il Interprets Sunrise As Act Of War

From the Onion:

PYONGYANG, NORTH KOREA–Increasingly defiant toward international pressure since his nation's first nuclear test in early October, North Korean leader Kim Jong-Il condemned this morning's sunrise, calling it "another hostile, deliberately timed act by the world community" and "a clear and blatant declaration of war."

It's satire, but it's not that ridiculous. The Korea Herald has run stories that were "true" dealing with North Korea that were just as outrageous.

Remember why we went to war?

Here is a transcript of the full text of Bush's speech from March 18, 2003, that sold the war to America.

Intelligence gathered by this and other governments leaves no doubt that the Iraq regime continues to possess and conceal some of the most lethal weapons ever devised. This regime has already used weapons of mass destruction against Iraq's neighbors and against Iraq's people.

The regime has a history of reckless aggression in the Middle East. It has a deep hatred of America and our friends. And it has aided, trained and harbored terrorists, including operatives of al Qaeda.

I agree with this

Selfishness　is　not　living　as　one　wishes　to　live,　it　is　asking　others　to　live　as　one　wishes　to　live.　--　Oscar　Wilde

There's no future in it

Stories don't get much more sinister than this.

Billboards showing Tijuana's most wanted kidnappers don't include Garcia's image, even though he is believed to be behind most of the gang war that has claimed more than 400 lives here since late September.

"That tells you that you don't want to be the one responsible for putting Teo's picture in public," said one U.S. law enforcement source who spoke on condition of anonymity. "There's no future in it."

One possible positive side effect of global warming

The world's oceans are in serious turmoil. Fisheries have collapsed across the globe and scientists predict that rising global temperatures — particularly nearer the poles — will melt the polar ice caps and cause sea levels to rise. Waves, however, are the bringers of this bad oceanic news onto human-inhabited shores and evidence that extreme wave heights are increasing in some regions has remained relatively under the radar.

Read the rest here.

Women used to douche with Coca-Cola?

I like nothing better than to see a busted myth.

Contrary to popular belief, poinsettias are not toxic to people or animals, suicides do not increase over the Christmas holidays, and sugar does not make kids hyperactive. Also, Wales winning the rugby grand slam does not influence the death of popes, and douching with Coca-Cola is not an effective contraceptive method.

Being brave lets no one off the grave

Today someone asked me if I had a favorite poem. Today it is this:

Aubade, by Philip Larkin

I work all day, and get half drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain edges will grow light.
Till then I see what's really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.

The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
- The good not used, the love not given, time
Torn off unused - nor wretchedly because
An only life can take so long to climb
Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never:
But at the total emptiness forever,
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.

This is a special way of being afraid
No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
That vast moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says no rational being
Can fear a thing it cannot feel, not seeing
that this is what we fear - no sight, no sound,
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with,
The anaesthetic from which none come round.

And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
A small unfocused blur, a standing chill
That slows each impulse down to indecision
Most things may never happen: this one will,
And realisation of it rages out
In furnace fear when we are caught without
People or drink. Courage is no good:
It means not scaring others. Being brave
Lets no-one off the grave.
Death is no different whined at than withstood.

Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
Have always known, know that we can't escape
Yet can't accept. One side will have to go.
Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
Work has to be done.
Postmen like doctors go from house to house.

Bustin' Down the Door

This looks like a good story:

The setting was the 10km stretch of coast that was home to some of the best breaks in the world, which exploded every northern winter as intense storms in the north Pacific sent mountainous swells towards the island's rocky shore.

Until the year before, the Hawaiians had dominated the annual season of amateur competitions at their beaches which were, and remain, the pinnacle of the world's surf meets.

In 1975, however, haoles (white people) from Australia and South Africa had been granted precious invitations to the meets after proving their skill and courage out of competition the year before. They wound up winning each of the four events. The Hawaiians' pride was wounded but they hid it well. They had been generous hosts to the haoles and assumed that the newcomers, regardless of their success, had an understanding of the code of humility and respect central to Hawaiian culture.

Mix Tape #2 - Soft Edges

Enjoy, and of course, if you recreate this list, order is important.

1. "Strange Overtones" -- David Byrne & Brian Eno
2. "Monsters" -- The Boy Least Likely To
3. "Paper Planes" -- M.I.A.
4. "Most Likely You Go Your Way (And I'll Go Mine)" -- Bob Dylan
5. "Furr" -- Blitzen Trapper
6. "Hymn #101" -- Joe Pug
7. "Star Witness" -- Neko Case
8. "Song To Bobby" -- Cat Power
9. "Sugarman" -- Rodriguez
10. "City of Electric Light" -- Chad VanGaalen
11. "No One Does It Like You" -- Department of Eagles
12. "Talking Shit About A Pretty Sunset" -- Modest Mouse
13. "Cherbourg" -- Beirut
14. "Circe" -- Harmonia Ensemble & Kocani Orkestar

Expats bridge class divide

The Korea Herald ran a story of mine this week about the challenges of making English education affordable for low-income families.

As a response to this divide, as well as recognizing the financial obstacles for parents, Soo and a few other English teachers created a non-profit organization to provide free English lessons to underprivileged children.

Part of their thinking was that English education is expensive in Korea, and part of it was that they realized they were making money here and wanted to give something back.

Read the rest here.

On change, saying no, and staying too long at the fair

A city this size has a million pitfalls. The clubs are always open when you need them, the bars always have a place for you to sit, and there's always a friend somewhere doing something. It's hard to say no to your friends. It's hard to slow things down.

Joan Didion, in Slouching Towards Bethlehem, was the same age as I am now when she wrote "Goodbye To All That." Her city was New York, mine is Seoul. There are a lot of other differences, but there are also a lot of similarities. A few choice passages from that essay:

That was the year, my twenty-eighth, when I was discovering that not all of the promises would be kept, that some things are in fact irrevocable and that it had counted after all, every evasion and every procrastination, every mistake, every word, all of it. (pp.233)

I remember one day when ... we both had hangovers, and I cut my finger opening him a beer and burst into tears, and we walked to a Spanish restaurant and drank Bloody Marys and gazpacho until we felt better. I was not then guilt-ridden about spending afternoons that way, because I still had all the afternoons in the world.

And even that late in the game I still liked going to parties, all parties, bad parties, Saturday-afternoon parties given by recently married couples ... parties given by unpublished or failed writers who served cheap red wine and talked about going to Guadalajara ... parties where all the guests worked for advertising agencies and voted for Reform Democrats, press parties ... the worst kinds of parties.

You will have perceived by now that I was not one to profit by the experience of others, that it was a very long time indeed before I stopped believing in new faces and began to understand the lesson in that story, which was that it is distinctly possible to stay too long at the Fair. I could not tell you when I began to understand that.

All I know is that it was very bad when I was twenty-eight. Everything that was said to me I seemed to have heard before, and I could no longer listen ... I no longer had any interest in hearing about the advances other people had received from their publishers, about plays which were having second-act trouble in Philadelphia, or about people I would like very much if only I would come out and meet them. I had already met them, always. (pp. 235-6)

I'm not as over it nor is it as bad for me as Didion puts it. I don't believe that I have already met everyone that could tell me something new. I don't believe I'll ever feel like that. But there is a lot of truth in what she is feeling, and how it resonates with what I see in my days. If anything, the essay is about growth. It takes a lot of honesty and discipline to get to that next place.