Wednesday, April 29, 2015
Last weekend I went out with the fam and another mom with kids to one of our favorite camping spots.
Friday night was pretty freaky as there were no other campers and the only sounds that broke the night were cries of a ruined cat that somehow survived to become a tom, and for those of you at home keeping score, a 소쩍새. .. Korean onamotapiea for the sound the owl makes... folk story is she was a poor girl who died from starvation and was reborn as this owl... 솥이작다 means the pot is too small... hence the cry she makes every night..FEED ME!
The second night I thought about creating a sense of place and knowing as I drank after filling up bags with mountain vegetables, only to see the older priest from the local church who had lived in the area for years show up with like infinity more than I procured. .. this was an adjusshi, no adjusshit. . .too bad my Korean isn't good enough to have a conversation that doesn't always come back to god. Instead, I listened to the following:
At least I had the presence of mind, despite being three 200 cl bottles of Scotch Blue in, to wrap up all the sweet potatoes to cook so the kids could have em for breakfast. One of the moms actually came out to talk as I laid the roots in, and I admitted to secrets I thought I'd never find myself sharing on this most finest of peninsulas.
All I have to say more on the subject is that collecting all that shit is a serious pain, and if you're all about being a lazy ass motherfucker stay home and hope one day emart will carry it. I've been a firm believer in the gomchi for years, and the chwinamoule smells awesome when you've got a big bag of it, although I'm fairly sure that smoking it won't help to mitigate the pure Korean alcohol and pharmaceutical response that is expected from drones living in concrete towers on this most finest of peninsulas.
Bah. Time for sleep