Paved Paradise?

It seems to my foreign eyes and ears that South Korean President Lee Myung-bak would like to shift the paradigm that you can't be seen as both pro-business and pro-conservation. Like me, he says he loves Korea's beautiful mountains. I hope that he does. He inherits a country with some strong, important, and widely enforced environemntal laws. Everyone composts (and woe, woe to the foreigner who forgets to compost in front of the neighbors!) Yet he IS, after all, "The Bulldozer" known for his large construction projects.
This past week President Lee was in the news promoting two new projects he says will help the environment. He spoke Friday encouraging South Korea to help with forestation prohects in North Korea, as they can only benefit the entire peninsula, which could re-unify, in the long-run. The English language news services report that Lee encouraged "cooperation," in forestation efforts as it will "...help conserve our land," and "help make environmental protection a national value." Ignoring the thorny re-unification issue for the time being, it is hard to argue with a government official who wants to plant trees. Trees are good. Just ask the Lorax.
Then his environmental policies got a little lost in translation. The English papers report that Lee is also promoting a cross-country canal project to, in the words of one reporter, "clean contaminated river water." Hmm. Am I missing something? I am not an expert in either water purification or South Korean politics, but I don't reallly understand how moving water around in a canal makes it cleaner. Don't boats travel on canals? Don't they use fuel? Will the canal be a protected area? I need to research his proposal further, but it brings up a few questions right off the bat.

Coincidentially, the same weeek that President Lee was addressing Arbor Day and the canal project, I had an environmental adventure. My boyfriend and I set out this past Saturday to visit a small island off the coast of Ansan. We paged around in Lonely Planet, checked the Internet for some basic information, and figured we could find the island. After all, we've been here a while. My boyfriend used to be an Eagle Scout. If you need to find "true North" or decide which plants are eatable-he's your man. Perhaps we were arrogant. But we set out without directions nonetheless.
We got off the subway at the town's main stop, consulted a map of the town posted on the wall, and picked the direction that appeared to be closest to the ocean. On the map, it only looked like a mile or two away. Little did we know...
So, an hour later, there we were walking past factories and more factories.And then a few plants. A strange odor rose. A gas station loomed. And then look-another block of factories!We passed groups of Fillipino and Indian factory employees taking smoke breaks and waiting for the bus. Little beads of sweat started to break out on my boyfriend's brow. Damn, were we lost!
Forty minutes or so later, we found and followed a brownish trickle of water, a pathetic stream, towards the sea. I use the term "stream" loosely here. The water was murky, brown-grey and would have been at home in the Love Canal. Parking spaces and power lines stood adjacent to the stream,and a few feet later came the gates and parking structures connected to more factories. I started to get a headache from an intense chemical odor-it smelled like nail polish remover mixed with an undertaker's liquids. Brown smoke billowed out a nearby smokestack. Now, I KNOW I've never smelled a chemical odor that strong in the air before. "Whatever that smell is," my boyfriend said, "I know that's it's illeagal to emit that in the States."

Thinking about it after, I realized that whatever was leaching out of that smoke stack in Ansan is probably illeagal here, too. Environmental laws are only as strong as their enforcers. Not that my country is so great, either. There are also parts of the USA where companies flaunt their breaking of the Clean Air Act. Our oh-so short-sighted (oh, don't get me started!)President, George W., has taken all the teeth out of the E.P.A.!!
So, here is some unsolicited advice from an obnoxious "Way-gook:"
ROK, don't water down your Clean Air Laws. Don't "loosen environmental bans on building industrial complexes near water supply sources," as President Lee Myung-bak recently suggested. You have a beautiful country. Some decisions can't be un-made. See America as a cautionary tale. Protect what you have.

Chicken Little

As a feminist, I am generally more concerned with the problem of the "glass ceiling" than the actual ceilings. But as some of you have heard, last Tuesday night around 6:30pm a piece of my ceiling crashed down. I shut the door, then my upstairs neighbor moved something, and there was a "thud" sound upstairs. Then came a "boom!" sound as the kitchen light fixture, the faux wood bar it sat on, and a small piece of the ceiling all crashed down onto the kitchen floor. The plastic covering the light fixture, as well as the long light bulb inside broke, and shards of plastic and glass went everywhere.Instinctively, I called out "Oh my God!" to my empty apartment. Thank God I wasn't standing in the kitchen section of my officetel (a.k.a. studio)!!

I cleaned up the glass. Then I pondered the small hole in my ceiling with two wires dangling out. I hoped my upstairs neighbors didn't have bugs. And then, I wondered how I would explain the situation to my apartment building staff in Korean. So, I out on some dish washing gloves and grabbed the light fixture as a visual aid. I went down to the door man/superintendent and tried to mime out the situation, inserting my pathetic pigeon Korean where appropriate. After about ten minutes of my riveting re0-enactments, He finally understood, he got out the phone book, pointed to an add for a repair man, and told me it would be W30,000.
Hmm, my pieces of my relatively new ceiling are falling down and I HAVE TO PAY FOR IT?? I think not!
So, I took my visual aid and went two doors down to the apartment complex manager's office. He frowned at me and looked rather displeased to see me hauling around my light fixture. I again resorted to live theater he couldn't follow it all (or wasn't trying) but he seemed to understand the "boom!,crash! and fall" parts of the drama. He shrugged. He took out his cell phone and said "hackyo" or school. Now, here's the issue, by that time it was about 7pm so of course no one was left at the school. I also have a new co-teacher, so, technically, my new colleague is the person responsible for any problems at my apartment. She had just started the day of the ceiling debacle, so she and I hadn't yet exchanged cell phone numbers, I tried my old co-teacher once out of desperation, but she didn't answer (it wasn't her job, anyway). So we went through the motions one more time e, with me trying to act out "apartment" and "fix" like he had to fix it. He nodded no, and again said "hackyo" school. Now, my school is the formal renter of my apartment, and sometimes I need their "permission" to have minor repairs done. So, I thought that might be the issue, but gain I could not reach anyone.
I did not have the phone numbers of any of my hiking club friends on me, and didn't really feel comfortable calling a Korean acquaintance at dinner time and, so finally, at a loss, I called Steve and asked for his secretary's number. I felt bad but she translated perfectly and helped me understand the problem. The problem was not that the apartment building needed permission to fix the ceiling. The problem was that the apartment builing refused to fix the ceiling. The apartment manager said that "the foreigner could have broken the ceiling." ME? Break the ceiling? How, exactly? Even on a step stool, I can't REACH the ceiling to break it!! After several questions the apartment manager finally sighed and said that the lease on the apartment stipulates that the building will not be responsible for any repairs in the unit rented to a foreigner, as I could cause damage. I could not tell if this was stinginess or xenophobia or an attempt to scam the American who doesn't know the lease system. Or, all three.
So,I returned to my apartment and stared at the hole in the ceiling and the two wires dangling from it. I ran into the doorman in the hallway and I looked so sad that he came to my apartment with a hammer and some duck tape, but when he saw the extent of the damage he shook his head, knowing he could not fix it. I started again at the wires. They weren't touching, so my boyfriend assured me that it would be ok and there wouldn't be a fire. I cooked dinner in the relative dark (a trickle of light shone in from the "bedroom" side of the studio). I washed the dishes in the relative dark, missing a clump oat two of broccoli soup. I started to think about my former apartment building in Nowon, and my neighbor who left food in the hallway. And the fat roaches that then began to scurry across said hallway. These weren't pleasant memories to re-live!That night I dreamt of big beetles and cockroaches crawling out of the hole in an endless stream...
Anyway, the next day my poor co-teacher had to call and argue with the apartment building all over again. Even though it is a relatively new building, and things shouldn't just fall down(!) off the ceiling, the apartment building manager still refused to help. The next day was a holiday and my school asked if I could just ignore the hole in my ceiling for 48 hours. I felt bad, but a clean, safe apartment is part of my salary. A clean safe apartment has an entire ceiling. I was supposed to have 5 friends over that night for wine and a Scrabble match, so I held firm. One night of cockroach dreams was enough, thanks.
I spent three hours waiting for a repairman after school. My guests were due to arrive at 7, and he came at 6:20. Just in the nick of time, he installed a smaller, cheaper light fixture on a metal rod. He covered the hole and incorporated the dangling wires. My giuests arrived late, so I had an entire 20 minutes to clean the dirt and ceiling dust the repairman left behind!
In the end, my ceiling did get fixed in time, and I didn't have to pay for it. All because I argued my case.
Moral: Don't accept the first "no" as an answer.

You taught me, all night long?

Recently, the Seoul City Council floated a scary plan to allow private hagwon owners to keep offering English, math, and music classes basically all-night long. Hagwons in Seoul had asked for the freedom to offer later classes as a business freedom and a response to supposed "customer demand." The new presidemt is very pro-business...and so we teachers were all scared that it would pass. (There is intense competition for slots at the top Seoul universities. Thus Korean children's advocates also became concerned that parents, meaning well, might send high school students to study late at night, thereby robbing them of the sleep they need to maintain their health!)
Thankfully, this week, the Seoul City Council saw the insanity of letting children go to school past 10pm...See the article below for the full Story...
Seoul City Council Cancels All-Night Hagwon Plan

"The Seoul Metropolitan Council cancelled its plan to allow private cram schools or hagwons to stay open all night, Tuesday.
With the cancellation, cram schools' operating hours remain unchanged between 5 a.m. and 10 p.m..
``We reached an agreement that we need to maintain the regulations on the operating hours,'' a committee member said. ``We considered student's health as a key factor in the decision.''
The council originally sought to liberalize the operating hours of private tutoring institutes as many hagwon open until past midnight despite the rules. They pointed out that the lack of law enforcement officials also makes the rules virtually useless in practice.
But the council changed its position after strong protest from civic groups and parents. Even President Lee Myung-bak reacted negatively to the move.
Despite its succumbing to public protest, the city council still wants the issue to be discussed further at public hearings.
The council's educational committee last week passed a municipal ordinance to abolish limitations on business hours at private cram schools as part of deregulation to provide more freedom to private business sectors.
Parents raised concerns that the move would force students to study all night, resulting in health risks, as well as pose a threat to the public education system.
In the face of protests, the committee decided to put it to a vote. They voted for the amendment to the ordinance to restrict hagwon business hours to 10 p.m. Of 89 council members, 70 voted for the revised amendment and 19 against, according to the council.

Soupy Sales

Hungry?
Korean Cuisine offers many rich, healthy soups and stews. Of course, to a foreigner like myself, soups can be rife with danger. A lot of unknown ingredients can float around in a brown or orange-tinged broth! The scariest being the infamous dog meat soup of course. But don't believe the hype-it is only consumed in certain eateries at certain times of the year. Recently, my co-workers treated me to a duck stew containing herbs from Korean traditional medicine. I have enjoyed many yummy varieties of duck in Korea and China, so I was game for a new treat. Then my bowl came-with a branch inside it?! There's the medicine plant, a helpful co-worker explained when I looked perplexed. I didn't realize the chef would throw the ENTIRE shrub-bark, leaves,roots and all in the stew pot to add flavor and nutrients!

Still, the search for some cold day comfort food does present challenges. I speak woefully little Korean and dislike most seafood. A blustery, end of winter day makes me crave Mom's Irish beef stew. NOT so easy to find in Gunpo. What soup is available? Even in a smaller town, one can usually find a variety of nutritious soups and stews to choose from....Choosing is the trick! Some chicken and pork soups, despite the innocent photos on the restaurant menu, mysteriously contain fish scales. Fish soup can contain eyeballs. I have been served this lovely brew,I kid you not! :( Some soups, while containing no fish per se, are cooked with a hint of fish oil. So these stews still taste "fishy" to a picky eater like me.

So far, my favorite Korean soup is filling, nutritious, and predictable. The leaders of my hiking club introduced me to it last winter. Vegetarian (clam free) and milder (less kimchi) versions can also be ordered at many eateries. I mispronounce it "soon-dubu...," yet usually people understand. Here's how to make it...

Soon Tubu Jjigae
(Korean spicy tofu stew)
Yield: 4-6 servings
INGREDIENTS and PREP. AMOUNT:
Oil- 2 tablespoons
Garlic- minced 2 tablespoons
Korean pepper powder- 1 tablespoon
Beef stock- 4 cups
Cabbage kimchi- shredded 1 cup (use less if you are a spice wimp, like me)
Soy sauce- 1 tablespoon
Soft tofu- cut into 1" cubes 4 cups (2 pounds)
Clams- chopped, with juice 1 cup (variation-some places will just throw one small clam in the bottom of each bowl)
Scallions- chopped 3-4
Sesame oil- 1 tablespoon
METHOD:
Basic Steps: Sauté → Simmer → Garnish
Heat the oil over medium flame in a clay hotpot or large saucepan. Add the garlic and pepper powder and saute until garlic just starts to brown.
Add the beef stock, kimchee and soy sauce. Bring to a boil, lower heat and simmer 10-15 minutes until the kimchee softens.
Gently stir in the tofu and clams with their juice. Adjust seasoning with soy sauce and Korean pepper. Simmer another 5-10 minutes.
Sprinkle with scallions and drizzle with sesame oil. Serve piping hot in bowls with steamed rice.
Enjoy! :)
Still hungry?
Last week I also tried the popular "army soup" or (Former US President) "Johnson's Stew" that my boyfriend often has for lunch at the Nobu chain. After our hike last Saturday, some of us stopped into a restaurant where the "Private's soup" as they called it there, was the specialty. It contains several foods that would come in an American soldier's rations, such as Spam, Hot dogs, and salty ramen noodles, blended with ground meat, veggies, and traditional Korean spices. I was a little bit frightened by the pot full of processed foods when it came! However, as it simmered in front of me on the gas range on our table, it started to smell oddly tempting. (God only knows how much sodium is in that pot, though!) It even tasted yummy, in a unique way, as the Korean spices balanced out all the faux pork. My boyfriend, (the aspiring photo journalist?) snapped a photo of it and I will try to post that here later. So, while I enjoyed the army soup, and it has a storied history in the parts of South Korea borderng ROK and US army bases, I do not recommend it's consumption while bonding with a sweetie. That soup gives both parties a serious case of gas! :)

...And A Little More Action

What does Elvis have in common with new South Korean president Lee Myung-Bak? Both want to talk less, do more, and get more satisfaction. The "Bulldozer" took over this week amid a flurry of promises to revive the world's thirteen largest economy. Never mind the ethics charges he already had to dodge. Ignore the icy response of the Pyongyang government. The Korean constitution guarantees Lee one term and he's going to make this country some money!
Not that they don't deserve it, South Koreans work hard. But the world economy, even to a lay observer like myself, does not always seem to be thriving. So, it will be interesting to see which battles President Lee chooses. First of all, his conservative party needs to win a majority of seats in parliament in April for the power balance to shift the right way to implement these reforms. I am no expert on South Korean politics, particularly since I can only consume the English language media, but it also seems to me that he's going to have to make a lot of changes. He himself stated, at his recent inauguration, “Although it is going to be difficult and painful, we must change much more and change much faster!” The 66-year-old conservative politician won a positive response from his audience estimated of an 60,000 people. Talking about change. Everyone here wants the increase in per capita income to $40,000 a year (in USD) that Lee boasts he can ensure. But this is an ancient, protectionist, tradition linked society. Even with all their flashy technology, their spirit of entrepreneurship, and their impressive attempts at bi-lingual education. This is still the land of the morning calm. Let's see how much average citizens and the dominant large corporations enjoy actually changing!
What does all this politics mean to little old me? I've been a meandering dreamer the last week, reading a novel and revising some short stories. I've heard that President Lee is going to "clean up" the English Teachibng industry (we can be a grungy lot, we're traveling :)), but I haven't given it much heed. I've taken some walks. I've gone to the vegetable market for fresh peppers and cooked chicken stew. I've snuggled with my boyfriend. Besides entering a few short story contests with monetary prizes, I haven't done much to improve my own personal economy. Then school started again.
Suddenly, like this country, it looks like I'm colliding with change. It's inescapable. I acquired a new co-teacher. Happily, she seems to have at least good English comprehension and adequate speaking skills! Yay! (Language skills become more apparent over time, and people in any country sometimes just nod and agree, but she does seem to understand.) However, I will have to adapt to her teaching style and team-teach more classes. My odd, uncivilized office-mate, the gym teacher who used to bark Korean orders at me (and bought his wife on-line like a CD from Amazon.com), fled the scene-Thank God! Eight, count them eight, older teachers left and were replaced with fresh blood. New students are registering, and so the school is even finally opening the new wing that they've been building for so long.
We're into the action!

My Chick Lit with an edge

Recently, I read a frothy story on vacation that had been dubbed "Chick Lit." It was fun, but not much better than some of the stories my classmates had written in college. I thought, "I could do that." So, I made a stab at the dating story genre. My ending is a little dark, but I write out my negative feelings. I don't tend to write when I feel all sunny and happy inside-that's when I go dancing. :) I'm still revising this, so feedback on the story is most welcome!
********************************************************************************
"Pestilence"

Beetles devoured the bamboo, bit by bit. Business had to be dispatched. I folded my blue yoga mat and perched it against the wall at a forty-five degree angle. A soft bell chimed after three minutes and thirty-three seconds, and my coffee was ready. I padded into the kitchen in my hand-knit slippers and poured one-fifth of a cup of coffee into the beige coffee cup trimmed with flying dragons. I opened the window and listened. I measured two cups of Science Diet into Fog's bowl and waited for her green eyes to peer out from under the table. She meowed and marrowed at me. One minute later, "pffat!," the paper dropped onto the sun porch and four paws padded towards breakfast. It was my time to shower.

I stood at the Westbrook street bust stop each morning at exactly seven fifty-nine am. Clouds darted past the sun and I noticed the mild scent of lupins and cut grass. I wore my hair pushed back in a leather head band. I rubbed just a hint of shining balm on my lips. Gary had mocked my morning routine to the last. "Such alacrity...I am continually astounded by your pree-cission and deed-ication! " he smirked into his espresso, as he stood, still shirtless, in the half-lit kitchen.

To think that I had once found his arsenal of crossword puzzle words engaging. For a year and eighty-nine days, I ignored his morning snarky tone. I assumed that caffeine would swirl up into the darker reaches of his brain, set his neurons on fire, and soothe him. I'd even thought him appealing, with his wide shoulders. Early on, I'd sometimes stop, for just a moment, to kiss Gary's collarbone and finger the few tufts of hair on his dark chest, above his nipples. But his stare unwound me, strand by strand. On day ninety, I smoothed my damp bangs, pushed my headband back in line with my ears and replied, "Professionals who can pay the mortgage are expected to start early!"
"F--- you, Sandra!"
Four letters, expletive, beginning with "F." My lips folded upward into a slight grin. I called my lawyer that very day.
The bus chugged down Veranda street spewing greyish puffs of exhaust. I enjoyed the solid weight of my pen in my hand, even if I could go buy a Blackberry. I checked items off my neatly written list.
1.Morning meeting with Bower.
2. Print Coastal Med. stats.
3.E-mail report to Scarborough, cc: Jeff.
4.Gym.
5.Pick up dry cleaning.
6.Afternoon:FINISH GIBRALTAR PROPOSAL. I took my Bic pen and pressed it hard against the paper to underline my last sentence twice.
7. Buy Soy Milk.
The bus jerked to a stop, I grabbed my courier bag, and off I went.

The beetles devoured the bamboo, bit by bit. Mara never hovers by my desk. But, as I lugged my silk suit, shining in it's plastic case,from the elevator, the fragile fabric crinkling and folding with each step that I took, there she stood.

"Could you? Be? A Sally? Or maybe it's messy handwriting, but it looks like it says "Sally."...I mean, we don't have a Sally."
"What?" I draped the suit over the back of my chair. A single drop of sweat trickled down my temple.
"Are you Sally?"
"Er, ah, Mara. What do you mean? Can I help you with something?"
Mara shifted from foot to foot, as if weighing the envelope. "...If not, I do have that proposal to get out..."
She held up a thin, white envelope, bordered with red and blue diagonal stripes. "We got a letter for a Sally. Sally Quinn. Air mail."
I blushed. "From Where? I mean, oh, that's me. I mean it was me. Anyway, may I have it please?"
"Sure." She handed me the envelope and stood there expectantly.
"Thank you, Mara."
She remained rooted in the gray shag carpeting.
"Thank you, Mara."
As her sandals pad, padded back to the front desk I looked at the hastily scrawled return address. B. Diana. I turned the envelope over and ran one painted finger nail under the glued crease. Then stopped. Unobtrusive, piped in Vivaldi played softly. Fingers darted along key boards. Printers hummed. I plopped the envelope on the shelf above my desk, next to the photo of my smiling niece with a Goofy impersonator at Disneyland. I turned, picked up my suit gently, and walked to the hall closet to hang it up.

"How does selective memory apply to groceries?" I wondered, standing in the check-out line at Shaws.
How was it that I always remember the frozen yogurt but sometimes I forgot the whole wheat flour?
Counting, I glanced over my shoulder. Four, no five haggard housewives stood behind me in line. Two toddlers pointed at Snickers' bars and whined. No, it simply wasn't worth the time it would take to go back for the flour. I'd get it next time. I looked down at my cart, my pint of strawberry frozen yogurt, my pint of soy milk, my single stalk of broccoli, and of course my emergency Lean Cuisine stir fry meal.
"Monday night dinner for one." I thought, and sighed. The sound of the cash register drawer slamming shut alerted me that it is my turn to lay out my groceries on the belt.
"What will Brad be eating tonight?" I wondered.
"And with whom?"

I had received not just a letter. An AIR MAIL letter. The adjective gnawed at me as I sifted through the pages in my planner. Some people had gone on to Blackberries, but I liked the satisfaction of turning the page when all the tasks were completed. What could Brad want? Where was he going to, or, my breath caught in my throat, returning from? Was he all right? Was his mother in the hospital with pneumonia again? I looked down and noticed that my hand was twisting the spine of my planner just thinking about it. I took a deep breath. Then another one. I fished the letter out of my purse.


Brad Westmoreland
Apartment #1120
229 Daemi-dong
Nowon-gu, Seoul
R.O.K. 4085

Dear Sally,

How are you? Still have that crazy cat? I've been thinking about you. I'm over here in Seoul, writing for an Expat rag, The Grapevine. Suave, self important crap. Reviewing bars and rating best bands. Definitely NOT changing the world. Our style lacks your directness. But again, the job keeps me in soju and barbecue. It's too hot, it's dirty, but I meet lots of interesting people here. I still wear that Sox cap you gave me. Can you believe that it's been almost five years?
How long has it been, Sal? Claire's party? Do you still have that blue sweater?

We were so gone that night. I was, anyway. You and Claire were the drivers, maybe. You can't even get Shipyard over here, unfortunately. That night at Claire's, I'd definitely had one too many, Sal. I couldn't hear you, and what you were trying to tell me. I'd already sent my resumes out. I'd already started the wheels moving to come here. I couldn't hear you. I wasn't ready to hear. You know that, right?
Enough history. I need a favor, Sal. It's a Long shot, but you would be a really big help. You always came through.
Is it possible that you still have a key to my place? Do you still have that key organizer thing on the wall? That would be so great.
My Mom's still my landlord, but she's down in Florida full-time now; no renter this year. So the house is empty until she sells it off. Knowing her, that will be 2050! Who knows.
But you, you always were there, whatever anyone needed. I bet you wonder, why now? It's a long story. In short, my laptop crashed. It wasn't pretty. I lost all my scanned files, and so there are two documents I need a hard copy of a.s.a.p.. A few mementos I'd like while you're there. They're in a white shoe box in my old place. On the top shelf in the hall closet. A big box. From my Doc Martin's, I think. Can you help me out, Sal?
Too much to ask after the way I left? I know.
Come on, Sal. My email has’t changed.
And take care. Brad.

I sped off that bus, courier bag flap, flap, flapping against my side, and sprinted home. Heels and all.

Then my watch battery ran out. Which made me realized I hadn't printed out my monthly replenishing spread sheet and posted it on the bulletin board. And so, I have no idea how much time I spent circling the dense labyrinth of Bamboo at Wong's Floral. Narrow, serrated shoots of light green brushed the ceiling. Humming humidifiers coughed a steady stream of moisture into the air. Life sprouted.
"Easy grow," Mrs. Wong asserted.
"Even here in New England? " I persisted.
"Easy grow. Anyone does it."
"Do you know anything about pests? Tiny beetles, or maybe just beetle-like, insects chewing their way through the stalks? Or the shoots?" I asked, blushing.
"Water. Sun. Dirt. Rocks. Grow." Mrs. Lee's voice grew louder, as if I might be hard of hearing.
"Beetles? Pests? Insects?..." At her blank expression, I pointed to the ground and made a scurrying motion with my right hand. "Um...Bugs!"
Mrs. Wong called out in Chinese and a young woman in a faded t-shirt and jeans appeared and smiled at me expectantly.
"Um...Hi. I have some bamboo, and um....er..." I made the scurrying motion again with my hand. "...And bugs?"
The girls smile faded. " Do you know what type of bamboo you have? No? What's your average home temperature and duration of sunlight? Are you interested in traditional, organic remedies or chemical pesticides?"
I blushed. "I'm not sure."
"Listen, lady. You need to know what you want. It's not brain surgery."
I paused.
"No offense, but I have ninety pages to read and an outline to write for Comparative Civilization by tomorrow." The girl looked over at her mother, who's eyes were still shining, but who's brow was starting to furrow. "My name is Mae. Here's our card. Go home and look at your plants and call me back when you know what you want."
Reflexively I took a step back. "Ok."
The girl smiled at her mother. "And...um... Thank you for visiting Wong's floral."
The mother smiled.

I always enjoyed a quiet house. Even with Fog creeping around, you could hear the evening sounds. Crickets chirped in the yard. The breeze blew against the screen door. Marsh frogs croaked. Stray whoops echoed across the road from the Tuesday night games at the Little League park. The first few geese headed South. The faint horns blasted out of the Casino boat on it's churning way out towards Nova Scotia waters. Since I'd silenced the constant drone of Gary's CNN addiction, I was surprised to discover how much sound vibrated around our little house. My little house.

My cell phone squawked. At least my cousin Missy was still dependable. She called as I finished my evening stretches in the living room. I had to pass Brad's letter on the kitchen table to get to my cell phone. The red and blue striped glared at me from a top a pile of bills. I answered the phone, and held the receiver in place with my neck as I walked back into the living room. I blew out my jasmine candle and turned my attention to what Missy was saying.
"...about two more weeks. Who knew it was so hard to make baby?"
"That's good," I muttered, tracing patterns in the wood floor with my stockinged foot.
"It's real, good or not...Are you busy with work or something, Sandy? You have that far-off voice. What's up?"
"Not much, writing mediocre reports and killing my bamboo garden."
My stomach growled. How long since I'd eaten that yogurt?
"Hmm." Missy considered. " So how many plants are failing? Are we talking a planter by the window or an entire yard here?"
"It's just two little glass planter sets, In the dining room, on Grandma's china cabinet by the window."
" Two? In the brown dining room?"
"Yeah, two, in the dining room, only it's not brown. Tan, I mean, it was tan, but Gary painted that, I always hated it. So I pained it lavender a week after he left. Very girly. But let's NOT talk about Gary, ok?
It's not exactly an international crisis. I don't know why it bothers me so much."
"Well, I am on bed rest over here, Sandy. It's not like I have anything ELSE to do right now!" She forced a laugh.
"How are you and my future second cousin doing?"
"Fine. Only wouldn't he or she be your cousin once-removed? I always get that confused. What do you think?"
"Damned if I know. I have two master's degrees and I can't grow bamboo! Oh, and Brad wrote to me."
"What? Why? The Brad? Brad 'FALSE ALARM' BRAD?"
"Yes. 'False Alarm' Brad"
"What did he say?"
"What did he ever say?"
"Did he grow a pair and apologize for taking off on you?"
I paused and she continued.
"No, right?..Of course not. Of course he didn't. "
"Am I still in this conversation?"
"What does he want?"
"Why do you ask?"
"He's 'False Alarm Brad.' Contacting you after all this time. After he threw all his fear into a suitcase and slunk off to Japan. Oh yeah, I know him, he wants something."
"Korea, actually."
"I don't care if it was Mt. Everest. What does he want?"
I heard a loud beeping sound, a horn blare, and then smelled a rancid aroma wafted in from the kitchen. Two garbage men called to each other outside the window as they chucked my neighbor's trash into the back of a large green truck.
"He sounded nice. Concerned. Asked about me. Really."The smell, rotten eggs and burnt plastic, seemed overpowering.
"Focus, Sandy. I seem to remember a lot of throwing up, and cramps, and crying. Then there were expensive late night calls to me about peeing on a stick when this guy was no where to be found. No where. M.I.A. What does he want?"
"To say hello. And, well, to get some papers." I took a deep breath, forced my voice to sound brighter. "Some very important financial documents. Or he wouldn't have written and bothered me."
"Of course." Missy sniffed.
"Really," I breezed on. "His laptop crashed. He needs income documentation, uh-ax forms. Yes, tax forms...and he has a a deadline to get them in. His Mom moved and I'm the only person who still has a key to his house. He's in a bind and he honestly needs my help."
"His house? Didn't he live with his Mother?"
"Yes, but that's not the point. This time, he does honestly need my help."
Missy burped loudly. "Sorry, My body makes all kinds of unexpected sounds these days. If it's tax stuff, I guess you would know if it's important. I guess it's the nice to help him. Even that ass. Just do it quick and get out of there."
"Yea, easy and quick, just to be nice."
Missy signed. "Yeah, a nice person would help him."

A thick film of neglect clung to the stereo, the widescreen television, the edge of the bed's wooden headboard. My index finger traced a lower-case B in the dust on the bed. Piles of novels, hastily stacked from floor to ceilinig on makeshift board bookshelves, crowded the small bedroom. Two pillows lied at opposite ends of the bed. The blankets lay coiled at the bottom. I coughed,feeling faintly dizzy. Silence reigned.
"White shoebox on the top shelf in the hall closet. Easy and quick," I whispered to the room, and myself. "I have yoga at 10, and can even splurge on reflexology this week!"
I stopped at the small bathroom, which smelled faintly sweet and damp. In one corner, brown stains spread all though the grout between the green and blue tiles. Faded fish, more gray than gold, still swam across the shower curtain. I walked in and I remember the bugs . Beetles? No, it was ants. Ants, he had ants. Black ants crawling all over the floor. Coming in through the bathroom window, maybe? A steady stream of them, marching towards me, as I stood there, hands clenched on the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl, as orange fluid and white acid spewed out of my stomach though my mouth. Three nights in a row I knelt there, stooped over, vomit flying, landing in my bangs, on the floor, on the worn Dartmouth T-shirt of his that I wore. Three nights and he never came home. Or even called. There, with tile chafing, my knees, I rehearsed the speech I would give him when he finally came home with lilies for me. When he came home. If he came home. In the end, the ants were my only companions, a black column of witnesses to an egg that never grew.
I breathed a long, deep breath. I stretched my hands upward, over my head, and brought my palms together gently. I willed myself to empty my mind. I left the bathroom and counted the steps down the hall to the closet. One, three, five, seven,nine.
I pulled open the closet. I faced a jumble of shoes, aging sports equipment, a hockey bag, and a vacuum. Straining onto my tip toes, I arched my back and thrust my fingers towards the top shelf. I almost made it. So, I returned to the bedroom and I grabbed the milk crate Brad used as a night table. I overturned it, and matches, incense, a comb, and one ripped condom wrapper fell onto the floor. I laughed.
With faster strides, I stomped down the hall to the closet and stood on the crate. On the top shelf, I found a half empty can of tennis balls and a wide white shoes box. I grabbed the box, jumped down, and turned to go.
As I walked past the bathroom, my cell phone squawked. I put the box down, retrieved the phone from my jeans pocket, and stare blankly at the display screen. The screen displayed the number: 772-5422.
"5422?" I asked myself. "5422?" I wondered, this time aloud. Then I blushed, because I realized I was talking to myself again, here in Brad's, no, Brad's mother's empty house. Then slowly, I understood. Mrs. Wong. The florist. The bamboo that I was growing.
“The bamboo that I am growing, damn it,” I thought.

I walked into the bathroom, put down the box, and opened it. Indeed, I did find tax forms .The top form dated from five years ago. I riffled through receipts as well, for stationary and computer equipment. And one rolled up, faded Red Sox baseball cap, which I had given to Brad on his twenty-fourth birthday. My eyes darted back to the tax forms.
"Brad might actually need them..." I hesitated, thinking "A nice person would help him."
I counted again, fish on the shower curtain this time, one, three, five. My eyes scanned the mildew covered tiles. No tiny black witnesses. I stared hard at the toilet bowl. I exhaled.
Slowly and methodically, I tore up each eight-and-a-half-by-eleven inch tax form into sixteen equal sized pieces. I put the pieces into the toilet bowl and I pulled the dusty handle down. The water swirled and a hoarse croaking sound echoed in the room. Then my eyes started to tear up, I sneezed, and so I pushed the window open. A cool breeze floated in. I kicked the shoe box against the wall and the rolled up hat rolled out, forlorn.

I hummed softly as I walked down the driveway. My clenched shoulder muscles loosened and descended. I pulled the door open, and got into my used car. I put my key in the ignition, but then took it out again. I pulled my cell phone out and hit the button labeled * for the phone log.

"Hi Mae? This is Sally. I mean Sandy, with the bamboo. From yesterday?...Yes, well the indecisive one, right. Now I know what I want, even if it takes pesticide....Death. I want all the beetles dead. All the beetles…Whatever it takes."
I smiled.

Wii Bang-Wave of the Future!

Last night my boyfriend and I went to a "Wine and Wii party." I was unabashedly in it for the wine and good company. My boyfriend's pal, his oil industry co-worker, has more charm and better taste in wine than the stereotypical "oil industry bad guy." But in terms of the gaming? I admit I feared for the worst. I pictured hunch back, pimply pre-teens straining over Atari and Nintendo alien killing games. I think that the last time I went to a party prominently featuring electronic gaming, Duran Duran was still on the Billboard charts! I think the fact that there was gaming also had something to do with the fact that I dated the Debate Team (not all at the same time, mind you). :)
However, I must say that even I became a gradual fan of the group games on the Nintendo Wii [it's pronounced "we"-ed]. The control isn't hard to maneuvre, even for a spaz like me, the motions are very similar to playing actual sports, and when you get groups involved it's a lot of fun. The host had made funny little avatars for each of us, or "mii"s, and they bobbled along through the games with somewhat realistic motions (although they sometimes only used one arm). We had a lot of fun with doubles tennis and bowling. One on one games are less social at a party, but if you were just hangng out at home the boxng was fun, too. My Wii tennis game is also a LOT, lot better than my actual tennis game! Maybe my Dad can settle for playing Wii tennis with me-since I could never keep up with him on a real court!
Korea has PC rooms and DVD rooms, where you can rent some private space away from your multi-generational roomates, and Gary hatched the idea for the Wii gaming room.
The Wii bang-if you can buy soju on site, I see the idea taking off!