IE 교직원식당
IE School-employment-person-eating-place
IE Faculty Cafeteria
My daily schedule leaves me a ginormous lunch break - from 11 until 1 - each day that I'm at work. Initially I thought this meant that I'd be able to go home, whip myself up some awesome vegan concoction, enjoy a relaxing munch, and come back to work. But it's been quite chilly lately (we even had about 4 inches of snow the other night), so I've been opting for the more convenient...options.
There's a subway (restaurant) downstairs in my office building, which I am totally boycotting in favor of the 敎職員食堂, which serves up a pretty nice buffet full of Korean food every day for less than two dollars. In addition to rice and kimchi, there are usually 3 dishes, a soup, and some fruit all laid out at the buffet, and it's always at least 75% vegetarian and 50% vegan. Not for any particular reason. It's just that Korean meals generally include 5 to 10 different dishes, and back in the days when Korean cooking was taking shape, I suppose it was easier to procure lots of different vegetables than it was to get meat.
I've been trying to convince my coworkers, who have the same lunch break, to join me at mealtime, both because I want some company and because I think the wrapping-free food in the cafeteria is less taxing on the environment than the heavily wrapped and bagged stuff served at Subway. I also have an inkling that the cafeteria stuff is more likely to be local, but it's mostly unsubstantiated.
Anyhow, my peeps tend not to go with me (4 solo lunches this week!) because they don't know the menu in advance and don't want to wind up being forced to eat something fishy. Thus, I've procured the week's menu (in English) in advance in an attempt to make my officemates come up with yet another excuse. Presented below are some of the tastier translations:
Bean paste soup w/ styela clava
Hard-boiled fish paste in pepper paste
Hord boiled yellow corvina
Maximowiczia Chinensis
Salted viscera
Stir-fried seaweed stem
Multi grain powder slush
Roasted hairtail w/ curry
Stir-fried wiener & cultivated mushroom
Winter-sown greens
Sliced-jelly soup
Stuffed derma
Seasoned dropwrot
So now that they can see the menu in advance, what excuse could they possibly have for not going with me?
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Sunday, March 07, 2010
A little thought experiment
Say you had one duck egg and one chicken egg. You remove them both from their respective nests (do ducks even make nests??) and allow them to hatch and grow up together. They never see any animals other than the other; that is, the chicken never sees any animal other than the one duck, and vice versa. Will the chicken be "aware" that it is a chicken rather than a duck? If you insert the chicken into a duck family, will it try to fit in before they reject it (assuming they do)? Or if you introduce the chicken to a community of ducks and chickens, whom will the chicken choose to chill with? Will it identify with the ducks because it's used to them? Or does something inside it tell it that it's a chicken and allow it to recognize members of its own species? What if the chicken went to join the ducks while the duck went to join the chickens? WHAT THEN?
I feel like there must be some obvious answer I'm overlooking, like the time I asked my stepdad (NASA chemist) why we don't just put our trash and nuclear waste on rockets and shoot them into the sun*. Please help. If nobody answers to my satisfaction, I may be compelled to spend $600 registering my new pets with the authorities (so as not to violate my contract's pet clause) in order that I may attempt a non-vegan experiment.
*Shamefully, I was probably about 15 at the time and had been proudly nursing the idea for at least 5 years. Not my most brilliant moment, I admit. Slightly more brilliant, perhaps, than my plan to put little wind turbines on car roofs and grills and sideview mirrors to generate electricity. [I'm still convinced there may be a way to pull this off].
I feel like there must be some obvious answer I'm overlooking, like the time I asked my stepdad (NASA chemist) why we don't just put our trash and nuclear waste on rockets and shoot them into the sun*. Please help. If nobody answers to my satisfaction, I may be compelled to spend $600 registering my new pets with the authorities (so as not to violate my contract's pet clause) in order that I may attempt a non-vegan experiment.
*Shamefully, I was probably about 15 at the time and had been proudly nursing the idea for at least 5 years. Not my most brilliant moment, I admit. Slightly more brilliant, perhaps, than my plan to put little wind turbines on car roofs and grills and sideview mirrors to generate electricity. [I'm still convinced there may be a way to pull this off].
What Captain Planet Probably Eats for Breakfast
Too often, our simple desire to do good by the planet gets wrapped up in a whole storm of painful emotions - guilt at taking more than one's share, scorn for others who do the same, shame before others who do better, a sense of impotence due to our inability to effect change where it will matter most (India and China), frustration at the endless and tedious process of altering our own habits, contempt for our "need" for comfort and convenience, and loneliness once one begins to try to leave such false needs behind. Not to mention all of the defensive reactions and rationalizations we come up with so quickly - others are worse, I can't help where and when and into what sort of society I was born, I'm generally a good person, I deserve some slack, I have other and more immediate concerns. On top of this, we tend to think of doing good in terms of sacrificing: giving up meat, using fewer appliances and gizmos, buying smaller vehicles and taking shorter trips. Thus, it's not surprising that environmentalists are occasionally associated with ascetics and heretics and radicals, all of whom challenge our certainties and complacencies in different ways, often threatening us in precisely those places where we most feel the need for security, stability, and justification. Nor is it surprising that so many people, rather than dealing with all these assaults and condemnations, simply shut themselves off, refusing to think about the meanings and impacts of their lifestyles and daily choices.
It seems obvious, then - and I am far from the first to have said this - that in order for the various "green" movements and initiatives to continue gaining traction, wannabe environmentalists such as myself ought to do their utmost to highlight the pleasures of a lifestyle approaching, or at least doing progressing towards, responsibility and equity and sustainability. I don't just mean the freedom from all of the above baggage (which, as I said above, can be achieved simply by refusing to care), but also the myriad joys that spring up in places both expected and unexpected. A (for lack of a more precise phrase) deeper sense of connection with animals, other people, and nature; an appreciation for the work that goes into things we take for granted; the expansion of our palates; a less atomized way of interpreting our lives and our bodies and our selves.
I realize this all may sound a bit vague and wishy-washy. Some part of me can hardly believe I believe it (no typo). Nevertheless. The point I'm trying to get around to making in my own self-absorbed circuitous way is that there are indeed green choices that we can make that, rather than requiring sacrifice, are pleasant and enjoyable in ways both tangible and intangible. There are a few we all know, and I would love to hear more, but the reason I'm writing this post is to share one tidbit that I recently learned. Behold, I deliver unto y'all some truly glorious gospel, good news that I hope is heard 'round the world:
MAKING PANCAKES HELPS TO SAVE THE PLANET.
Find yourself dubitating this indubitable claim? Well, according to the book "The End of Food," which I highly endorse and was fortunate enough to find in the Sadhana library, breakfast cereal can take up to thirty times more energy/fuel/resources to produce than pancakes. (I don't think it was stated whether this is a per-serving or per-gram figure, so it's hard to be completely sure what to make of it in terms of fullness-factor). I suppose this has to do with both the number of ingredients (you can make pancakes with as few as two, and it's not uncommon for breakfast cereals to have twenty) and what kind of ingredients they are, i.e. how much they're processed (milling and grinding wheat into flour takes much less work, I assume, than forming flakes and extracting syrup from corn and developing colors and flavors and isolating and then injecting vitamins and minerals). This is before taking into account the difference in the packaging of the products, which is often more environmentally costly than the production process itself. Furthermore, if I were zealously determined not to miss any hidden costs, I might point out that cereals generally require high amounts of advertising, which itself requires various amounts of various resources depending on the medium used. Nor does this take into account that cereal, at least in the'Merica, is generally eaten with milk, which is itself a highly resource-intensive product. (Though this may be a moot point [no pun intended], since pancakes are more often than not {though not necessarily} also made with milk, eggs, and butter).
Of course, some cereals are better than others, and some pancakes are better than others, and some (Organic and not-too-processed) cereals may even be better than some (refined white flour, egg and dairy heavy, or, god forbid, packaged mix) pancakes. But by and large, grandma's humble homestyle hotcakes pretty much spank Kellogg's when it comes to sustainability, and if you make them right, they're probably also better for you. Plus, what's more enjoyable, sifting and mixing and whisking and sizzling and flipping, or tearing open a bag made of some space-age material and pouring its contents into a bowl?
I guess this is actually a fairly standard example of the ways in which cooking with and eating minimally processed, close-to-whole food can be more entertaining, rewarding, and responsible than eating something prepackaged off the shelf. That's a post for another day, or maybe even another blogger, though. Like I (more or less) said earlier, I want to highlight something we can do that is both good for the environment and happy-inducing for us, something that helps to free us from the sustainability-is-a-burden mindset. So:
Flapjacks. For your belly. For the children. For the human race. For the future. For life as we know it.
&EPILOGUE: Oh man, something just occurred to me - I bet you could top your flapjacks with Durian. Hot damn!
It seems obvious, then - and I am far from the first to have said this - that in order for the various "green" movements and initiatives to continue gaining traction, wannabe environmentalists such as myself ought to do their utmost to highlight the pleasures of a lifestyle approaching, or at least doing progressing towards, responsibility and equity and sustainability. I don't just mean the freedom from all of the above baggage (which, as I said above, can be achieved simply by refusing to care), but also the myriad joys that spring up in places both expected and unexpected. A (for lack of a more precise phrase) deeper sense of connection with animals, other people, and nature; an appreciation for the work that goes into things we take for granted; the expansion of our palates; a less atomized way of interpreting our lives and our bodies and our selves.
I realize this all may sound a bit vague and wishy-washy. Some part of me can hardly believe I believe it (no typo). Nevertheless. The point I'm trying to get around to making in my own self-absorbed circuitous way is that there are indeed green choices that we can make that, rather than requiring sacrifice, are pleasant and enjoyable in ways both tangible and intangible. There are a few we all know, and I would love to hear more, but the reason I'm writing this post is to share one tidbit that I recently learned. Behold, I deliver unto y'all some truly glorious gospel, good news that I hope is heard 'round the world:
MAKING PANCAKES HELPS TO SAVE THE PLANET.
Find yourself dubitating this indubitable claim? Well, according to the book "The End of Food," which I highly endorse and was fortunate enough to find in the Sadhana library, breakfast cereal can take up to thirty times more energy/fuel/resources to produce than pancakes. (I don't think it was stated whether this is a per-serving or per-gram figure, so it's hard to be completely sure what to make of it in terms of fullness-factor). I suppose this has to do with both the number of ingredients (you can make pancakes with as few as two, and it's not uncommon for breakfast cereals to have twenty) and what kind of ingredients they are, i.e. how much they're processed (milling and grinding wheat into flour takes much less work, I assume, than forming flakes and extracting syrup from corn and developing colors and flavors and isolating and then injecting vitamins and minerals). This is before taking into account the difference in the packaging of the products, which is often more environmentally costly than the production process itself. Furthermore, if I were zealously determined not to miss any hidden costs, I might point out that cereals generally require high amounts of advertising, which itself requires various amounts of various resources depending on the medium used. Nor does this take into account that cereal, at least in the'Merica, is generally eaten with milk, which is itself a highly resource-intensive product. (Though this may be a moot point [no pun intended], since pancakes are more often than not {though not necessarily} also made with milk, eggs, and butter).
Of course, some cereals are better than others, and some pancakes are better than others, and some (Organic and not-too-processed) cereals may even be better than some (refined white flour, egg and dairy heavy, or, god forbid, packaged mix) pancakes. But by and large, grandma's humble homestyle hotcakes pretty much spank Kellogg's when it comes to sustainability, and if you make them right, they're probably also better for you. Plus, what's more enjoyable, sifting and mixing and whisking and sizzling and flipping, or tearing open a bag made of some space-age material and pouring its contents into a bowl?
I guess this is actually a fairly standard example of the ways in which cooking with and eating minimally processed, close-to-whole food can be more entertaining, rewarding, and responsible than eating something prepackaged off the shelf. That's a post for another day, or maybe even another blogger, though. Like I (more or less) said earlier, I want to highlight something we can do that is both good for the environment and happy-inducing for us, something that helps to free us from the sustainability-is-a-burden mindset. So:
Flapjacks. For your belly. For the children. For the human race. For the future. For life as we know it.
&EPILOGUE: Oh man, something just occurred to me - I bet you could top your flapjacks with Durian. Hot damn!
Thursday, February 25, 2010
The King of Fruits
Remember that zany post of mine about dates and figs that I posted to the "Underappreciated Produce" section of David's blog a month or so ago? Well, it turns out that I had such a good time writing it that I feel like doing it again, though this time for the benefit of my own paltry readership rather than his. Thus, I hereby proclaim that it would be acceptable if you were to consider the aforementioned DFF post as the preface to my very own food column. Like Undeployed, I am motivated in part by a desire to enlighten the reader about the nature of certain foods that he or she should probably be eating more of; however, I hope that it also serves to help me deepen my appreciation of Korean cuisine (or rather my nearly-veganified version of it) by giving me an avenue through/by which to explain (/gloat about) various dishes to the unfortunately uninitiated.
Now all the column needs is a name. Preferably something clever, but in a joke-that-I-know-no-one-else-will-be-amused-by sort of way. Alliteration is a must, as are big words with the parts of speech changed. Perhaps it should also reflect my continually deeping admiration for and obsession with both the Korean language and Korean cuisine. Also, a hyphen. Distinctive Mike style.
Can it be done?
Ah-ha! Got it.
Mat-nan (맛난) Masticatables. (Which means delicious things you can chew).
Fits like a well-worn pair of glittens. Nice.
And now for the first post-preface/official installment, inspired by a genuinely life-altering experience during my coupon-induced exotic food court gorge-athon in Kuala Lumpur a few days back:
"The King of Fruits"
Riddle me this: what's spikier than a medieval weapon, deadlier than sharks and lightning combined (unverified but not implausible statistic), trickier to open than a land mine, stinkier than a newborn, more fetus-shaped than a fetus, and not allowed on Singapore's light rail and bus systems? If you think the answer is the creature from Eraserhead, nice try, but no. It's the Durio kutejensis, more commonly known as the Durian, most commonly known as the rankest fruit on earth. I've heard the experience of eating one likened to having strawberry ice cream in a public restroom, and, having savored the succulent beast on a few occasions now, I can't disagree. And yet there's something about this freakish fruit that makes it lovable, some redeeming qualities that I can no longer go untouted. Though it will be tough to say anything about the Durian that hasn't already been said about a pair of socks shoved into a banana-lime snotshake and left to its own devices in the hot sun for a month, I will do my best to salvage this royal angiosperm's reputation.
1) The creaminess. You know how you can take whipped cream and add it to something like, say, yogurt, in order to make it all nice and fluffy and supple? Well, have you ever wondered what would happen if you used whipped cream to achieve the same effect on another tub of whipped cream? If you had the guts to try the experiment and the equipment to measure the fluffscosity of the resulting squared dairy product, you would still find it lacking in comparison to a wad of Durian goop. (This is an especially important characterstic for who don't or can't consume milk products).
2) The versatility. The Durian resembles David Beckham in that, for him, impossible is nothing. Just like whipped cream and ice cream, even sloppy and indiscriminately slathered Durian will enhance most any dish. I recently encountered it inside of Japanese mochi; at the same store (Durian 24 or something like that), it was also being used as crepe filling, cake cream, tart custard, and in milkshakes. My mochi were so good that I actively sought out another vegan Durian dish: Cendol, the Malaysian rendition of shaved ice, with some sweet beans and jellyish cilia and Durian cream on top. Imagine what else you could do with it. Pies and brownies a la Durian. Durian truffles. Durian donut frosting. If I ever get married, you can be sure that all the cake's many layers will be separated by a nice thick barrier of Durian ooze.
3) The fight. The thick, spiky Durian husk is clearly nature's way of protecting the vulnerable, oh-so-edible fluff within. Thus, the act of storming the Durian's castle brings us back to one of the primordial - nay, perennial - themes of human existence: the struggle for survival amid the perils of nature. You will understand this the moment you see, as I have,
a tiny Thai woman armed with a cleaver the size of her arm go one-on-one with the fiend, using all her strength to drive the armament deep into its thorny hide, then twisting it around, pulling back, and going at it again. A battle fiercer by far than my namesake's biblical duel with Lucifer himself! It may take up to 30 minutes for the unskilled to emerge victorious, dripping in sweat, with scars on his hands and chest to seal the contest forever in his memory. Compare this to the bland monotony of standing at the kitchen island, wearing an apron and a hair net and wielding naught but a whisk, standing stooped over a bowl of whipping cream and hoping that, joy of joys, it will become a bit poofy sooner or later. (Though to be fair I have to admit that there is something charming about churning ice cream, especially if you have one of those old wooden ice cream buckets with a creaky metal crank.)
4) The taste. It's not the same as the smell. It's a little sour, and a little pungent, but sweet at the same time. Somewhat like certain cheeses. Which leads me to:
5) The philosophicality. The Durian poses, represents, instantiates, or deconstructs numerous dilemmas, concepts, and fundamental questions and could probably serve as a valuable teaching tool in Phil 101 classes. EG:
5a) Essence: Is the essence of Durian to be creamy or to be thorny? It appears that nothing can be both, and yet it is. Do we have to give up on Aristotelian logic if we admit that it is both A and Not A at the same time?
5b) Equality: If I have 2 Durians, and you have none, am I morally obligated to give you one?
5c) Induction: Every Durian I have ever opened has had several pouches of oh-so-nice gunk inside. But what justifies my belief that all of them do? Can I really be certain?
5d) Theodicy/Liebnez's Best-world hypothesis: Why would an omnipotent, omnipresent, omnibelevolent creator make such a desirable fruit so difficult to get into?
5e) Evolution: How do we reconcile the concept of "survival of the fittest" with the continued existence of such a monstrosity?
5f) Zen: If a Durian on a tree is reeking, but nobody is around to smell it, is it really there?
5g) Linguistics: How does the word "Durian" affect our perception of the object? If we called it "Rose," would it smell different?
5h) Kafka: Joseph wakes up one morning to find out that he has become a Durian. WTF?
5i) Consciousness: Is the Durian conscious? Does it have a self? Could it be engineered to pass the Turing test, and if so, what would that tell us?
5j) Other minds: What can we know about an entity so definitively other? Is there such a thing as the experience of being a Durian? Does our being human limit our ability to know anything about said experience?
5k) Existentialism: Imagine that someone were condemned by the gods to spend his entire life opening Durians with his bare hands. His fingernails are split, his fingertips raw, his knuckles rheumatic; the bloody wounds on his hands never have time to heal, his joints are stuck in one position for eternity, and his overworked muscles never have a moment's respite, except for that all-too-brief instant when the Durian finally pops open, the flesh is visible, and the gods themselves snatch it away and replace the empty Durian with a new one. This is a metaphor for your life. Is it worth it?
I could go on, but, somehow, I don't feel like writing anymore. I don't see the point. Goodnight, or whatever.
Now all the column needs is a name. Preferably something clever, but in a joke-that-I-know-no-one-else-will-be-amused-by sort of way. Alliteration is a must, as are big words with the parts of speech changed. Perhaps it should also reflect my continually deeping admiration for and obsession with both the Korean language and Korean cuisine. Also, a hyphen. Distinctive Mike style.
Can it be done?
Ah-ha! Got it.
Mat-nan (맛난) Masticatables. (Which means delicious things you can chew).
Fits like a well-worn pair of glittens. Nice.
And now for the first post-preface/official installment, inspired by a genuinely life-altering experience during my coupon-induced exotic food court gorge-athon in Kuala Lumpur a few days back:
"The King of Fruits"
 |
| From 맛난 Masticatables |
Riddle me this: what's spikier than a medieval weapon, deadlier than sharks and lightning combined (unverified but not implausible statistic), trickier to open than a land mine, stinkier than a newborn, more fetus-shaped than a fetus, and not allowed on Singapore's light rail and bus systems? If you think the answer is the creature from Eraserhead, nice try, but no. It's the Durio kutejensis, more commonly known as the Durian, most commonly known as the rankest fruit on earth. I've heard the experience of eating one likened to having strawberry ice cream in a public restroom, and, having savored the succulent beast on a few occasions now, I can't disagree. And yet there's something about this freakish fruit that makes it lovable, some redeeming qualities that I can no longer go untouted. Though it will be tough to say anything about the Durian that hasn't already been said about a pair of socks shoved into a banana-lime snotshake and left to its own devices in the hot sun for a month, I will do my best to salvage this royal angiosperm's reputation.
1) The creaminess. You know how you can take whipped cream and add it to something like, say, yogurt, in order to make it all nice and fluffy and supple? Well, have you ever wondered what would happen if you used whipped cream to achieve the same effect on another tub of whipped cream? If you had the guts to try the experiment and the equipment to measure the fluffscosity of the resulting squared dairy product, you would still find it lacking in comparison to a wad of Durian goop. (This is an especially important characterstic for who don't or can't consume milk products).
2) The versatility. The Durian resembles David Beckham in that, for him, impossible is nothing. Just like whipped cream and ice cream, even sloppy and indiscriminately slathered Durian will enhance most any dish. I recently encountered it inside of Japanese mochi; at the same store (Durian 24 or something like that), it was also being used as crepe filling, cake cream, tart custard, and in milkshakes. My mochi were so good that I actively sought out another vegan Durian dish: Cendol, the Malaysian rendition of shaved ice, with some sweet beans and jellyish cilia and Durian cream on top. Imagine what else you could do with it. Pies and brownies a la Durian. Durian truffles. Durian donut frosting. If I ever get married, you can be sure that all the cake's many layers will be separated by a nice thick barrier of Durian ooze.
3) The fight. The thick, spiky Durian husk is clearly nature's way of protecting the vulnerable, oh-so-edible fluff within. Thus, the act of storming the Durian's castle brings us back to one of the primordial - nay, perennial - themes of human existence: the struggle for survival amid the perils of nature. You will understand this the moment you see, as I have,
 |
| From 맛난 Masticatables |
a tiny Thai woman armed with a cleaver the size of her arm go one-on-one with the fiend, using all her strength to drive the armament deep into its thorny hide, then twisting it around, pulling back, and going at it again. A battle fiercer by far than my namesake's biblical duel with Lucifer himself! It may take up to 30 minutes for the unskilled to emerge victorious, dripping in sweat, with scars on his hands and chest to seal the contest forever in his memory. Compare this to the bland monotony of standing at the kitchen island, wearing an apron and a hair net and wielding naught but a whisk, standing stooped over a bowl of whipping cream and hoping that, joy of joys, it will become a bit poofy sooner or later. (Though to be fair I have to admit that there is something charming about churning ice cream, especially if you have one of those old wooden ice cream buckets with a creaky metal crank.)
4) The taste. It's not the same as the smell. It's a little sour, and a little pungent, but sweet at the same time. Somewhat like certain cheeses. Which leads me to:
5) The philosophicality. The Durian poses, represents, instantiates, or deconstructs numerous dilemmas, concepts, and fundamental questions and could probably serve as a valuable teaching tool in Phil 101 classes. EG:
5a) Essence: Is the essence of Durian to be creamy or to be thorny? It appears that nothing can be both, and yet it is. Do we have to give up on Aristotelian logic if we admit that it is both A and Not A at the same time?
 |
| From 맛난 Masticatables |
5b) Equality: If I have 2 Durians, and you have none, am I morally obligated to give you one?
5c) Induction: Every Durian I have ever opened has had several pouches of oh-so-nice gunk inside. But what justifies my belief that all of them do? Can I really be certain?
5d) Theodicy/Liebnez's Best-world hypothesis: Why would an omnipotent, omnipresent, omnibelevolent creator make such a desirable fruit so difficult to get into?
5e) Evolution: How do we reconcile the concept of "survival of the fittest" with the continued existence of such a monstrosity?
5f) Zen: If a Durian on a tree is reeking, but nobody is around to smell it, is it really there?
5g) Linguistics: How does the word "Durian" affect our perception of the object? If we called it "Rose," would it smell different?
5h) Kafka: Joseph wakes up one morning to find out that he has become a Durian. WTF?
5i) Consciousness: Is the Durian conscious? Does it have a self? Could it be engineered to pass the Turing test, and if so, what would that tell us?
5j) Other minds: What can we know about an entity so definitively other? Is there such a thing as the experience of being a Durian? Does our being human limit our ability to know anything about said experience?
5k) Existentialism: Imagine that someone were condemned by the gods to spend his entire life opening Durians with his bare hands. His fingernails are split, his fingertips raw, his knuckles rheumatic; the bloody wounds on his hands never have time to heal, his joints are stuck in one position for eternity, and his overworked muscles never have a moment's respite, except for that all-too-brief instant when the Durian finally pops open, the flesh is visible, and the gods themselves snatch it away and replace the empty Durian with a new one. This is a metaphor for your life. Is it worth it?
I could go on, but, somehow, I don't feel like writing anymore. I don't see the point. Goodnight, or whatever.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Address
About 5 days ago, I returned to Korea, alive and mostly unscathed, after 5 months in India. I've mostly been spending my time visiting old pals and searching for used or sustainable or socially responsible goods shops and markets, from the inventories of which I hope to furnish and outfit my abode and feed my face. So far I've been pleasantly surprised at the amount of fair trade, pesticide free, local, and organic shops and products and produce around, though this surprise is accompanied by an equally strong suspicion that either a)I'm being duped, or b)that even buying such warm and fuzzy products is probably not enough to reduce my footprint to anywhere near sustainable or equitable levels.
Anyhow, I am still going through all the bureaucracy involved in getting my foreigner/alien ID card, which I need before I can get a phone, an ISP, or health insurance. Once the hospital verifies that I don't have AIDS and that my blood is methamphetamine-free, I can go ahead and submit everything to immigration. Then it'll take about two weeks for the card to come out, at which point I can reconnect with all the modern technology I have been feeling so ambiguous about.
So, while I'm off the radar, if you feel like doing something sweet, how about sending me a card or something? It would be much appreciated, both for the sentimental value of whatever you should choose to send as well as for the help it would lend me in testing the Korean postal service and paving the way for possible future shipments of veganish products from the West.
Mike Roy
대한민국
대구 광역시 북구
복현2동 260번지
복현 우방타운 105동 1308호
Mike Roy
Daegu Kwangyeok=si Buk-gu
Bokhyeon 2-dong 260 Beonji
Bokhyeon Woobang Town Bldg.105 Apt. 1308
702-829
South Korea
Anyhow, I am still going through all the bureaucracy involved in getting my foreigner/alien ID card, which I need before I can get a phone, an ISP, or health insurance. Once the hospital verifies that I don't have AIDS and that my blood is methamphetamine-free, I can go ahead and submit everything to immigration. Then it'll take about two weeks for the card to come out, at which point I can reconnect with all the modern technology I have been feeling so ambiguous about.
So, while I'm off the radar, if you feel like doing something sweet, how about sending me a card or something? It would be much appreciated, both for the sentimental value of whatever you should choose to send as well as for the help it would lend me in testing the Korean postal service and paving the way for possible future shipments of veganish products from the West.
Mike Roy
대한민국
대구 광역시 북구
복현2동 260번지
복현 우방타운 105동 1308호
Mike Roy
Daegu Kwangyeok=si Buk-gu
Bokhyeon 2-dong 260 Beonji
Bokhyeon Woobang Town Bldg.105 Apt. 1308
702-829
South Korea
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