new book: portraits of half-closeted, half-korean, mexican pretenders

pardon the indulgence, but decent pix are getting harder to come by.

proving my point, this one by mike tauber is from 2006 or so. it was taken as part of a goofy picture book of people who were mixed race based on 2000 u.s. census-approved racial categories (that's right, you white half-latinos or chinee-bangladeshis don't count!). much like coffee table pictorials of albino africans or green-eyed chinee, there's something pretty 1990 about it... or maybe i've just got an especially acute case of hybrid malaise. who buys this book, anyway?

the book (available for preorder on amazon.com), came to my attention while on the impromptu jesusland tour last week. pops' wife's daughter, who is also featured, came on by and gave me the head's up.

sure they didn't get my permission to publish the pic, but i don't care. besides being reacquainted with my old boobs and a time and place when i could wear holed jeans in public (aka not seoul), it's funny to see how quickly i've become a super flamer. clearly, this photo was in the waning days of my mexican identity dynasty.

happy birthday mavin!

10 years old.

the organization for mixed race people and families that i started in college turns 10 years old today. despite a rough transition, it's back in the black and poised for continued success. happy birthday mavin!

one year here

i moved to korea one year ago today! to mark the milestone, here's an article i just wrote about it for an upcoming anthology about korean american homos. not surprisingly, faithful readers may recall little fits and spurts from earlier posts embedded in this here "year in review".

(minus three months of traveling in-between, of course.)

The first time I went to a gay bar in Korea it was with my mother. The two of us, along with family, friends and a guy that I’d met online, each paid 10,000-won (about $10) to enter Del Disco, a once-popular, now closed, dance club in the basement of the Hamilton Hotel. Our motley posse added diversity to the gay club’s homogenous clientele of young and pretty Korean gays. Unlike the venues I was familiar with in the States, most homo bars in Korea aren’t filled with fag hags and “hip” straight couples, much less 50-something ajummas (아줌마 married women).

Seventeen years earlier, I made my first trip to Korea. My family traveled to Seoul for the 1988 Olympic Summer Games. I can recall the ubiquitous smells of leather and kimchi as an American television crew followed our family shopping at an outdoor market. At some point, a pair of women who had been trailing my sister for a few minutes dropped to their knees and pointed at her, exclaiming, “yeapuda! yeapuda!” (예쁘다! 예쁘다! beautiful! beautiful!)

On both occasions, I recall feeling very conspicuous. But as a mixed-race person growing up in America, being conspicuous is something I expected. The daily, “What are you?” questions from strangers were a constant confirmation that I stuck out. Furthermore, coming of age in this bizarre era of legislating same-sex intimacy also confirmed that my biological wiring was everyone else’s business. So, like any good student of American identity politics, I protested my exclusion from the mainstream by eliciting more attention for my various groups. To temper peoples’ ignorance, I founded a mixed-race nonprofit organization and volunteered for LGBT activist causes.

But several years later I was burned-out with race- and gay-obsessed America and tired of feeling guilty about not speaking Korean. Because of different calendars and counting systems, I’m 29 in the U.S. and 31 in Korea. As I straddle the social milestone of 30, it seemed fitting to follow the precedents of a great-grandfather who spent several years exploring China, my halmoni (할머니 grandmother) who relocated to Japan and my mom who, in adulthood, sought new opportunities in the U.S.

Moving to Korea made sense, despite the tales I’d heard about biracial and gay Koreans: e.g. in a nation that’s 98% ethnic Korean, hone-hyeol (혼혈 mixed-blood) people here are either half-White models imported from the U.S. or homegrown social pariahs, and, as I’ve been told on several occasions, “There are no gay Koreans.” Based on this snapshot, I figured that my life in Korea would be an exaggerated version of the public identity performance I already knew well.

While I had suspected that being mixed here would arouse either fetish or revulsion, a few weeks of living in Korea brought me to a different conclusion. After settling into my apartment, I took long, meandering walks through Seoul’s grid-less northwestern neighborhoods. It was during these walks that I first noticed a new feeling: I felt inconspicuous.

My appearance and body language tells most Koreans that I’m not one of them, but I don’t receive the curious or hostile comments that Black and White expats complain about. Maybe as we pass each other on the street, placing my Asian-ish face gives locals a brief pause, but in that moment of opportunity we pass in silence. On the other hand, foreigners assume I’m Korean, which means I’m not sought-out as an English-speaking resource for where to find the nearest subway or Citibank. The upshot has been 12-months of unmolested anonymity in one of the world’s largest and most densely populated cities. After so many years of feeling conspicuous in my home country, here in Korea, I am enjoying my unexpected privacy in public.

The anonymity I also feel as a gay man in Korea, however, is less fun. I’ve met only three people who are out of the closet to any family members or friends. As an American homo, I grew up associating the closet with self-hatred and shame, while coming out was a courageous act of self-love that would bring forth the LGBT community’s support and resources. Or, at least, that was my experience, thanks to a universally supportive network of family and friends. I brought these beliefs to Korea and quickly outed myself to new friends as well as my boss and coworkers at KBS (Korean Broadcasting Service). Beyond avoiding the tedious lying inherent to life in the closet, I felt that being an openly gay foreigner was one way to normalize Korean perceptions of homosexuality.

“Korea is a conservative country” is the unchanging explanation that I get for why gay women and men remain inside the Korean closet. While there are no laws criminalizing homosexuality here, this seems thanks to queer invisibility rather than social liberalism. For example, gays are banned from what is typically mandatory military service, and several of my friends say that if their boss knew that they were queer, they’d be fired. Furthermore, in a country of 50 million people, there are just three openly-LGBT public figures in Korea – one actor, one entertainer and one aspiring politician. On the activism front, there’s a tiny coterie that work with little support against significant odds.

Having grown up in very-gay Seattle a generation after Stonewall, initially it was exciting to feel like I was on the wild eastern frontier of the global queer rights’ movement. But when I express my admiration for these pioneers to everyday Korean homos, the typical response is criticism of their appearance and/or behavior for “making us look bad”. Making gays look bad or just making people look?

It took the better part of one year to sink in, but I’m learning that many (most?) Korean homos don’t want greater awareness of homosexuality in the public sphere. They’re comfortable enough acting straight six-and-a-half days out of the week while reserving Saturday night to meet each other under pseudonyms at a bar or in a love motel. It finally makes sense why there were almost no 20-something men at last summer’s queer pride parade in downtown Seoul, but hundreds popped up later that night to dance in Itaewon’s gay ghetto. As one 20-year-old lesbian told me bluntly: “We’re really secretive and like it this way.”

As I process this, I try to keep tabs on my American righteousness. When I’m irritated by the lack of participation by everyday gays in Korea’s fledgling LGBT movement, it’s helpful to remember that just because I grew up conspicuous in a society that rewards outspoken individuality, that doesn’t mean everyone else did. Furthermore, just because Koreans may accept my mixed-ness and/or homosexuality, it’s rarely an indication of how they’ll treat their own. As a biracial Korean-American, when I tread too far outside the lines of acceptable behavior, I get the, “He’s a foreigner” pass.

I’m glad that Korea feels vividly different, not some lite or exaggerated variation of home. Although it’s less socially progressive than where I’m from, it’s the ability to leave my conspicuous American identities behind that's been the liberating paradigm shift. More than anything, living here has me aware of the different realities that can exist, which is great comfort to anyone who has felt confined or marginalized by where they come from.

update: share your korean american lgbtq story

it's time to get pen to paper!

the dari project has extended its call for stories until march 15th. if you're a korean american homo (or you're not but you'd like to write about your lgbtq k-a sibling, friend, coworker, etc.), please contribute your story to this important project.

mission

the dari project develops resources to increase awareness and acceptance in korean american communities of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and questioning (lgbtq) people of korean descent. by documenting and sharing the life stories of lgbtq people and their families and friends, we seek to build bridges among korean american families, social networks, institutions and faith communities. our name, dari (다리), means both “bridge” and “legs” in korean, and symbolizes our wish to build ties within and among our communities.

what we are doing

the dari project is collecting autobiographical stories and artwork that will document the voices and lives of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer and questioning people of korean descent, as well as the people in their lives. we seek to display the diversity of lgbtq people and their stories of joy and struggle in their lives, families and communities.

click the links below to see the "call for stories" in english and korean:

english / 한국어

i recently joined dari's board of advisors, so if you have questions about the organization or need help brainstorming, don't hesitate to let me know. this is also a great opportunity for aspiring writers to get something published while increasing visibility for the lgbtq korean american experience.

the first 24 hours

focal point concealed.

somehow i slept 12 of the 15 hours it took to go from jfk to incheon. i think that's a new record for me. we landed in the dark at 5 am and immigration, baggage claim, customs and the express bus back home were all quick and uneventful. it being an early saturday morning, my neighborhood was still quiet, which was nice. i dropped off my shiz, took a gander at the lightening horizon and made haste to the subway to see what was left of namdaemun.

since i live on line 2, i usually get off at the city hall stop and walk the half-kilometer to the old gate instead of transferring. but after walking what seemed like the appropriate distance, it wasn't there. perhaps 2 months in the usa had me misjudging my environs. so i took the underpass to walk to the next intersection, but the signs said i was already there. i exited and then realized why i had missed it. the great gate's burned carcass was concealed by a huge wall of beige panels. as the area's magnificent focal point for so many years, it was disorienting to have it camouflaged by a bland case. for the first time, i was seeing the area's boring glass towers.


rather than pretend nothing happened, i assume that city officials erected the wall to avoid gawker delays or accidents on the busy 5-way intersection. but in a country so accustomed to catastrophe, it felt inappropriate to cover it up. there were windows on the side facing away from the street, but glare made it difficult to see the men in bright orange vests digging through the rubble inside. outside was an altar with flowers, fruit and a large photo from the good ole days. i saw a handful of people come by to gaze through the glass and at people's scribbled messages.

pilgrimage made, i returned home and went online. i dislike most expat blogs about korea, but there's one that shares my interest in the eccentricities of living here. so i was disappointed to read his remarkably mean-spirited take on koreans' grief re: the burned gate. while i had sensed a little bit of the "korea is backwards" sentiment from him in the past, after reading a couple of his other posts, it was obvious that he is one of many (mostly white) expats who have a weird kind of animus against korea... to the degree that they enjoy dehumanizing koreans while they are grieving. it's strange to me why so many in the "korea haters club" choose to live here.

let's hope sooner rather than later.

haters aside, after two months away it's great to be back. later that night, after a few rounds of drinks on itaewon's homo hill, i, along with a coupla buddies and their new mankubs, crossed the alley into the hot and crowded "why not?" dance club. it felt good to be reunited with the scores of pretty korean guys i had missed while stateside. past 5 am the crowd had thinned and since the trains had started up again, i gladly paid the 900 won ($1) to get home. a quick post-drinking snack at the 24-hour seolnongtang jip helped keep the vomiting impulse at bay before rushing home to get into bed before sunrise, since it's weird to go to sleep in the daylight. day 1 completed.

let's symposium together!

a blast from my past.

if you're in the boston area and if the topic interests you, please come by harvard university tonight for a free dinner and to see yours truly speaking at a symposium about how self-identified mixed race people are challenging traditional concepts of race and civil rights in the usa.

tomorrow... it's back to soko!!

hopeful

the future face of america to the world?

later today, millions of americans in 24 states will go to the polls to participate in our curious process that determines which candidates will represent the democratic and republican parties in november's general election. no big surprise, but it's the democratic party that's yielded a woman and an african american of mixed heritage as its two most viable candidates for president. with regards to breaking gender and racial barriers, both represent powerful, feel-good symbols of american opportunity (albeit, delayed).

after what felt like a ridiculously prolonged intro, last month the voting contests between hillary clinton and barack obama finally began. watching the epic battle between the forces of cynicism, selfishness and inauthenticity (clinton) battle the underdog forces of optimism and hope (obama), has played havoc on my emotions.

i'm ashamed to admit that over the past several months, each time i entertained thoughts of an obama victory, they were quickly supplanted by the gloomy expectation that the clinton monster would do whatever necessary to emerge victorious. and yet, every time i've succumb to the cynic conclusion that we can but won't elect a president that inspires the american imagination... i watch a youtube clip of 16,000 people outside of taco bell arena in idaho (!) waiting to hear him speak on saturday... or, i read that his campaign has received 500,000 financial donations, with 90% making contributions under $250. and despite hillary's strategic tears x2, and her husband's condescending, race-baiting remarks, obama's surging popularity keeps narrowing the gap between conventional wisdom and extraordinary opportunity. thankfully, there are millions of other americans out there who aren't as easily discouraged as i've been.

it's unlikely that today's primary elections and caucuses will settle the race, but i'll be watching the returns maniacally, tense but hopeful that they'll put my cynicism to rest.

while it's been great to see how young asian americans have been mobilizing behind obama's candidacy, this is really special. susan ahn cuddy is the usa's first female gunnery officer AND daughter of the late, great korean independence fighter, dosan ahn chang ho (도산 안창호) (she is photographed here with her daughter).

finding comfort

based on signage restrictions in the "traditional" tourist area of insa-dong, this is the only starbucks i know with hangul signage.

as noted previously, i like that my face and body language discourage interaction on seoul's streets. i seem foreign to everyone, be they american tourists or korean locals. this is a dream scenario for a mild social-phobe, since i expend lots of energy trying to minimize interactions. this impulse is exaggerated in a foreign land, when even the best interchange features confusion and awkwardness. thankfully, my isolation gives me a comfortable, private run of the city.

faithful readers also know that a coupla months back i discovered that long, meandering walks kept my spirits buoyed and made anxiety less of a priority. my apartment is centrally located, which makes for great walkabouts in any direction. while it may seem counter-intuitive for a borderline hermit to alleviate anxiety via walking around one of the world's most densely populated cities, i (unlike the crazy cat lady next door), enjoy being left alone while among millions of my fellow humans (i think there's a paxil prescription for that).

with meds unavailable, i start my 2-4 hour treks with a coffee purchase. i enjoy the familiarity of the transaction and how the artificial energy boost plays minor havoc on my seratonin levels. suddenly everything seems a little more exciting and my outlook on life waxes optimistic.

starbucks and i share the same hometown: seattle. while in korea i've found comfort in twice-daily trips to purchase 5,000-won ($5.33) mediocre coffee. this comfort-causing ritual is made easy by the four starbucks that form a perimeter around my shinchon apartment. funny that i wasn't a coffee drinker back home. back then, there was something about the way middle-aged, professional, hetero white women fawned all over themselves about starbucks that just rubbed my righteous identity politics the wrong way.

a few years and time zones later, i'm embarrassed to admit that a green mermaid sighting provokes excitement and relief. it's like an atm to the cash strapped, a gas station when the red light warning comes on, or the public bathroom to the diarrhetic. this is why i indulge this considerable cost: to feel a little less foreign in this as yet unfamiliar place.

once inside my safe space, in lieu of becoming at least functionally literate in korean, i typically just guess what the cashier is saying. having visited korean starbucks stores at least 200 times over the past few months, you'd think i would have the finite number of questions down pat:

what would you like to order?
size?
hot or cold?
for here or carry-out?

but when i get cocky and daydream or text message while ordering, i respond to unexpected questions about holiday frequent-user cards with, "ummm, paper cup, please." of course, this being korea, the cashier is too polite to do anything but smile and give me my change.

despite the flub, once again it's my ambivalent phenotype that lets things slide. i picture the white guy in my shoes, and imagine the cashier assuming him to be a slimy english teacher with a korean fetish. the black guy is assumed to be scary, the arrogant kyopo (overseas korean) is yet another one who can't even speak korean, or perhaps the customer is a tragic korean adoptee who remains a source of national shame. my imagination running amok and drawing wild conclusions, i'm convinced that this is why korea is the most comfortable place for me to be... a place where i feel emotionally connected but largely independent from expectations.

right now, finding a comfortable environment is a priority for me. while "comfort" makes me think about positive things like freedom from worry or the lack of pain, it also has a pejorative connotation suggesting laziness. but growing up amidst family dysfunction as well as being mixed and homo, i'm familiar with feeling uncomfortable among people and in places where i belong. that's why even though korea isn't where i supposedly belong, i feel very comfortable there and finding this comfort has been a very pleasant surprise.

seeking gyomos et al

got this from my friend john in nyc:

The Dari Project is officially launching its Call for Stories, “Hear Our Stories, Know Our Hearts.” This is the beginning of our process of documenting the lives and experiences of LGBTQ Korean Americans and the people in our lives. While we've done some fun, exciting work over the last year and a half, we're really happy (and kind of nervous) to start this next phase of our work, which really forms the core of why we came together in the first place.

the call for stories, in both english and korean, are accessible via their website at dariproject.org, where you'll find a couple of stories already posted.

starting sentences with "dude, ..."

they say everyone has a physical double somewhere on earth. is this mine?

while chatting online tonight with random korean guy #531, he told me that i looked like 이웃집 토토로 (hangul) (see above). most of us half-breeds are achingly familiar with this conversation. although i'm still mildly curious to find out how someone's life experiences translate into what they see (do i look asian? white? mexican?), please note that this is a game many of us tolerate rather than enjoy.

in korea, where there is no such thing as latinos, pacific islanders or filipino men, i'm usually japanese - definitely foreign, yet in close proximity. when koreans learn that i'm part-them, they often say that i resemble the american model-turned-actor, daniel henney. other halfies here get the same thing. of course, i don't look anything like him. the best part is hearing this from people who have yet to see me. in this "one-blood nation", all us mixed-bloods are bound to look the same... except for the half-black ones, of course.

all said, for the most part i enjoy how my pheotype plays out here. contrary to what the creepy fetishizing stalker at eun mee's performance said, i did not move to korea to be fetishized. rather, i've found that for the most part, i'm inconspicuous to the people i try to avoid (foreigners and expats who assume i'm korean) and an unobtrusive curiosity to many of the locals, at least one of whom thinks i look like a grey and white friendly forest spirit.

for example, i had lunch with a few white and japanese classmates a few weeks back and saw what the baegin (white people) are always complaining about - the other patrons were staring at us. on the other hand, i'm rarely approached by strangers who start their sentences with, "dude, ...".

since race (perceived as well as pedigree) is always changing, i am committed to making subtle and overt changes and seeing what happens. for example, i dyed my very dark brown hair black 2 weeks back and last week i was asked for directions by two korean ladies who thought i was a bonafide hanguk saram. one of them even stuck around as i tarzaned her where to go. i was touched. coincidence?

what i left

being amidst good friends that go way back is something i miss about living in seoul. so after spending the night with mommy at the peaceable kingston compound, i headed into seattle to stock up on bosom-friend time before i return to korea next week.

my first stop was brunch amidst the bookstore cafe's floor-to-ceiling wooden bookshelves. so perhaps it was fitting that over lox and a spicy margarita, lovely florangela convinced me that i have a book to write. an uncharacteristically vigorous shopping spree followed before dinner with my godsons and drinks with ky, queen marina and lulu. a hazy final few hours at a salsa ballroom and in 2 homo clubs capped my saturday in seattle.

on my way to neighbours, seattle's "seediest" "mainstream" "gay" dance venue, i shared a triple-take with a cute hapa guy on the sidewalk that didn't amount to anything. once inside the club, i alternated between babysitting my tossed dear gay girl (don't never call her lesbian) and dancing amongst a group of gaysians that had gathered in a back corner.

besides being a tiny bit paranoid they'd think my butchy-aryan lady friend was my rice queen, being in their midst reminded me of what i left: a nation whose gay asian population is generally awkward and self-loathing (with the possible exception of HI). contrast this to where i live now: a city whose gay men are handsome, cocky, and the fancy of asia. sure, their almost universally closeted status suggests another kind of self-hate, but at least most aren't desperate for the validation of white gay men. maybe it's a good thing that my childhood was too preoccupied with mixed confusion to internalize much asian american male / gay self-hate. being among these weird boys didn't make me horny as much as it made me want to start an NGO for asian american homo self-love.

the week in summary

from bosch's "the garden of earthly delight". please note the interracial mingling.

hi mama,

today i misdiagnosed #2 for a bong-gu and suffered the consequences (now i'm channeling mom).

off the top of my head i'm not well versed in resale numbers or money laundering but will look into both. let me know about the photoshoot, flip book thing, logos and websites. it's good your man can remind you that malaise is all part of god's greater plan. at least you didn't get sooper sad post-zuzu, like ms. brooke shields!

no, i'm not terribly busy yet, but i've spent the last couple of days scouring the korean interweb for furniture. the selection is terrible. at least when i look online, i don't get snooty employees at apgujeong-dong stores telling me that their store is only for the top 5% of koreans so perhaps i'm in the wrong place. i probably shouldn't have laughed at her when she explained that the couch was 18,000,000 won (over $19,000) because it was made from "virgin german wool". nothing feels like the first shear!!

anyhow, i'm excited to furnish this place. i want to turn the terrace into a jungle! although i was happy when my very sweet halmohnee landlady decided to re-wallpaper the whole place... it's too bad that it's pink and textured. i'm thinking that maybe brown and red are safe bets? please help. i'd send photos but i sat on my camera :(

in other news, i was reminded why i must exercise caution when befriending recent liberal arts college grads. me, this guy, and a young lady were recalling the creepy old white guys preying on compliant pretty young asian guys at itaewon homo clubs and i said that although it grossed me out, i was making assumptions, and in the end, who cares? "the system" sucks but maybe the cute hmong english teacher from MN just liked the attention. i dunno. but he got aggressive, intimated that the mavin years were all for what!?, and then, at the dramatic peak of his performance, he delivered his zinger: "so, do you describe yourself as an activist!?"

um, no.

i also don't label myself an environmentalist, a feminist or someone who wore leopard print lycra thongs in the fifth grade, although i am/i did all three. my track record speaks for itself. i'm tired of people who are personally offended that i'm no longer at mavin or obsessed with mixed stuff anymore. what have they done lately and why shouldn't my perspective and priorities change? it's called growing up.

so that's this week in a nutshell. oh, and i've decided that my blog will now mostly be letters to real people instead of letters to imaginary, assumed or invisibly lurking readers on the interweb. it's also problematic, but i think there might just be something less pointless about it. hope u don't mind. like ms. moore, i'm missing you like candy.
xo

ps: take zuzu on a ride to smoothie junction from yours truly!

it's time for kwanzaa

what every korean child should know how to spell.

my cousin runs an english language hagwon (school) out of her apartment. today, i overheard a spelling test she was administering to one of her students, a 7-year-old boy:

1) past
2) long ago
3) scary
4) feeling
5) important
6) candle
7) Kwanzaa
8) smallest child
9) tale
10) problem
11) puzzle

i love that korean kids are learning about african american winter holidays.

"korea, sparkling!"

my friends and former coworkers know that i'm an amateur branding/design enthusiast. so it is with great sadness that i tell you how much korea's new tourism slogan and logo suck. i don't know if the old skool "land of the morning calm" was an officially bestowed catchphrase (koreans arent calm), but at least the previous marketing pitch, "dynamic korea," was a coherent reference to korea's dramatic industrialization post-civil war.

from the official korea tourism guide web site:

"Korea, Sparkling" is a marketing brand for Korea tourism, symbolizing the energetic and lively Korean culture and people, which can only be experienced in Korea.

um, ever been to LA?

i've heard that the slogan was designed, in part, to address some peoples' confusion about which korea is which. i guess the north's mass starvation and total isolation doesn't suggest "sparkling". i was doing my best to try and accept the new expression until i saw the logo, which i took as a much greater offense.
yes, friends, a british dude was reportedly paid six figures to create this amateur-ish abomination. two questions: 1) who's tickling the jiggling "spark" in sparkling? and 2) why does korea's official marketing logo include a rough rendering of the hungarian flag? i-ee-goo, so much money for such little talent.

i kinda like this promotional video tho the b-boy bit never fails to send a chill of embarrassment down my spine.

on a related note, the reader comments about the slogan over at the marmot's hole web site remind me why i think i'm going to hate really dislike most white american expats. what are they so angry about? frustrated with losing their unearned privilege when outside of north america? upset when their wax eloquent isn't taken seriously by their korean clients/supervisors? boo hoo. believe me, your asses are still kissed while in the orient. furthermore, while i gather it's weird for you to be in the minority, your horror at the injustice of it all doesn't have me crying a river.

that said, i've talked online with some nice light-complected canadians lately... but aren't canadians always nice, if a bit loquacious and insecure? or, are albertans as bad as i've been told?

about

yup, those are my pants on the couch. for the blogger, clothing below the waist is just distraction.
>more photos of korea (and me)

i grew up on a small island in the northwest corner of the united states. much of my childhood was spent drawing maps, harvesting sea life, and wishing i was puerto rican. after 8 years birthing and then resenting an NGO, it was time to leave identity politics usa-style behind for my mudder's mudderland.

because we share a special temperament, despite being mixed and homo i love korea and he loves me back. korea haters are boring. if you don't take yourself and/or your fetishes too seriously, you may enjoy my inconsistent mix of personal updates with regionally-relevant musings. i love maps. thanks for visiting.

email me here.

fyi: the homepage banner image was extracted from a photo by story sloane, jr., an american g.i. stationed in daegu during the korean war. it was taken in 1951 or 52.