BigHominid's Hairy Chasms

Friday, March 28, 2025

one can only hope

But what if everything has become too big to fail? If a fat person attacks you, you're going to need more than a .22. The swamp creatures are more numerous than you think.

yes: Google Search has basically turned to shit

Round Two with the DMV. I drove out to Front Royal's Water Street DMV office with a revised lease agreement and my other paperwork, including a second proof of residence. Got there much earlier today; even though I didn't have an appointment, I was there before 8:15 a.m. I saw something I hadn't seen last time: the line to enter was divided into "appointment" and "non-appointment." I slotted into the non-appointment line, and being the only person there, I walked up to the reception window (different from the Window 1 that I went to yesterday) and handed my papers over to a different, skeptical-looking lady. I started trying to explain the history of the lease agreement's changes, and she held up her hand: "Stop. Just let me look through this." And she studiously flipped through the pages, another lawyer-in-the-making, as I stood silently by. I noticed a sign warning that threatening or speaking abusively to employees would be grounds for expulsion and maximal prosecution, so there went my chance to call the lady a dumb bitch. She took the lease agreement to a back room with her as I stood there; I vaguely heard some murmured conversation. When she came back, the lease agreement seemed to be in order, but she noted a problem with my other proof of residence: "The back page doesn't match the front page." I was startled, so I took the pages and looked more closely at them. Sure enough, the front page of the BochaSweet order form was there, but Page 2 was from a totally different printout (i.e., the DMV address page, which had been rejected yesterday because I was the one who had made the address update). Damn. So that was my fuck-up, bringing the wrong page. What a wasted trip. Turning a bit less frosty, the lady asked me whether I was staying at the new address yet. I said that would happen in a few days, but I was based in Manassas for now. "Manassas?" she said. "Why would you drive all the way out here? There's a DMV office in Fredericksburg and another in Manassas." I knew it would take too long to explain; I said nothing. The lady asked whether I'd brought any other proofs of residence, like a bank statement. I asked whether I could call up a statement on my phone, but my GlocalMe WiFi hotspot was again on the fritz, so I gave up, thanked her for her time, and went back out into the cold morning (freezing temps from 7:30 to 8:30 a.m.). I got into my rental and stewed a bit as I thought about what to do.

When I'd left my hotel for Front Royal, my Nissan Altima's touch-screen dashboard had lit up with a warning about tire pressure: the left-front tire had gone down to 28 psi while the rest of the tires were nominal at anywhere from 33 to 35 psi. So I determined that I should see a car shop about that. After the failed DMV session, I started up the car, and it occurred to me that I also needed to do one more Walmart errand and grab a multi-visit pass for Shenandoah National Park since I was already in town. So, with one car tire slightly deflated (Brits write tyre and kerb where Yanks write tire and curb*), I drove up the local hill to Walmart, got my necessities and, having spotted an Enterprise Rent-a-Car office on the way to Walmart, I hit Enterprise on the way back, figuring they'd have a garage and facilities to look at cars with problems. I went into the office, told a young staffer my car-tire problem (these days, staffers are all young to this old man), and he looked at it, taking my key and driving the car over to a garage. A few minutes later, he came back and reported no leakage in the tire, and that the tire ended up not needing much air. I hope that's the last dashboard warning I see. With that, I started to leave Fredericksburg to go back to Manassas.

Mike had made a suggestion regarding the second proof of residence: get a bank statement. That would undoubtedly be better than a BochaSweet receipt. I knew there was a PNC Bank on the way to the Manassas Walmart (stay with me: I had just visited the Front Royal Walmart this morning since I was in Front Royal, but I'd already been to the Manassas Walmart several times for salads, meats, and medical items). So since the PNC Bank branch in Manassas was down the street from my hotel, I headed to the bank. At the branch, I had to wait a few minutes to be helped; a nice woman of South Asian extraction was very solicitous; she took my ID, made me sign a form, and printed out a statement. I asked her how far away the Manassas DMV office was; she had no clue. She asked whether I was new to the area; I could have asked her the same question. As it turns out, I looked on Google Maps and saw the DMV branch was barely a mile away. I dropped my Walmart-errand stuff off at the hotel, had a quick session on the pot, then started out again, proper paperwork in hand. The DMV office was indeed only 0.7 miles away. I mumbled aloud to myself that I probably could've walked. The office is basically "behind" the hotel, however you reckon "behind."

Once inside this office, I saw there was the same "appointments/no appointments" line structure; I went into the "no appointments" line. People around me were speaking Spanish, Middle Eastern languages, Hindi, and whatever else was swirling about. The polyglot ambiance left me feeling as if I were in the Star Wars cantina. When my turn came, I tried a different tack, saying only what was necessary and revealing nothing else about my situation. I think part of the awkwardness and standoffishness at Front Royal had stemmed from my being too frank. Better just to be reticent, and reticent I was. The lady at reception looked over my paperwork and gave me the form for both license-renewal and the acquisition of the REAL ID. Even though a lot of people were taking numbers, I was told to go sit in a particular row of chairs in front of a particular row of booths, and that someone would be along to guide me further. I probably had to wait about twenty minutes after filling out my form. As it turned out, an officious-looking man and woman were both hawkishly watching as we supplicants to the priesthood of REAL ID filled the chairs; they called us up individually when the relevant booths opened up. I confess that I found this to be an abysmally stupid system. If you've got take-a-number already in place, then let us just take a goddamn number and wait our turn. Why burden staffers with the silly and tedious job of babysitting and nursemaiding us? Anyway, the wait itself wasn't painful; my frustration at the inefficient system was far worse. Twenty minutes came and went; then I got called up to a booth. Thank Cthulhu.

My staffer was a short, Indian-looking man who resembled Dinesh D'Souza and politely took my paperwork, leading me through the process of getting a new license and a REAL ID (around May 7, REAL IDs will be required to travel by plane domestically; otherwise, you need a federal document like a passport**). This mostly involved him taking my paperwork, evaluating it, and typing a lot into his computer. My passport got scanned; I took a quick eye test with a mounted set of goggles at his booth, then I posed for a picture to be used on my next license. The man printed out a temporary driver's permit for me, stamped my current license as VOID (the word has been hole-punched into the license, which is now unusable), then handed everything but the application and relevant parts of the lease agreement back to me; I even got my bank statement back, plus a transaction receipt. $42 for the work.

So I now have a printed piece of paper to hand any police officer instead of my license should I get pulled over during the next couple of weeks. Drive carefully, Kevin. I did hit over 80 mph on certain parts of Route 66, a road that seductively invites speeding by people with a lead foot. Happier today than I'd been yesterday (when I was angry and stressed out), I lumbered out of the office, got into my rental with its newly filled left-front tire, and headed back onto 66 to visit my favorite Chinese restaurant, Young Chow, from back when I'd lived in Front Royal. There's a particular bad-for-you combination that I always get at Young Chow: fried dumplings, fried wontons, and crispy beef. If you've ever had the pleasure or horror of eating American-style Chinese food, you know that it usually comes slathered in a carb-heavy sauce with a cornstarch (that's cornflour to my UK readers) base. I was so looking forward to this. I took the exit to leave 66 and go to Haymarket, the town where Young Chow resided. I forgot the last few turns, but luckily, my portable WiFi hotspot was working at that moment, so I was able to use Google Maps to navigate the final mile or so. With anticipatory satisfaction, I lumbered into the restaurant and saw the same old Chinese lady who'd run the place when I'd last seen her twelve or so years earlier. She didn't recognize me, of course, but I do wonder whether she recognized my order: with only one or two exceptions over the course of almost three years (2010-2013), I had visited every few weeks and ordered the exact same thing.

When the food came out, I was ecstatic despite knowing what it would do to my system. This close to my doctor's appointment in May, it's really not a good idea for me to be carbing up this heavily. I'm going to get a talking-to about my A1c at Samsung Hospital in May, and another talking-to when I visit again in July. Here are some pics of today's decadent lunch:

establishing shot

Budai (Chn.) or Podae (Kor.) sunim

I think the characters are pronounced ju gi in Korean. The gi (to record, to note) is the same gi found in girok, a record of something; or gi-il, a day to commemorate a person's death, as I do every year on this blog for Mom. The ju seems to have an adverbial function meaning something like "widely, evenly, or all over." Together, I have no clue what the characters are supposed to mean. ChatGPT had some insights.

ChatGPT (always take with a big grain of salt):

The Chinese characters "周記" (Zhōu jì in Mandarin, 주기 in Korean) have a straightforward meaning:

周 (Zhōu, 주) – This can be a surname (Zhou in Chinese, Joo in Korean) or mean "week" or "cycle" in other contexts.
記 (Jì, 기) – This means "record," "memoir," or "chronicle."
Meaning of "周記"
When used as a name, "周記" typically means "Zhou’s Record" or "Zhou’s Chronicle." In a business or restaurant name, it often conveys the idea of "Zhou’s brand" or "Zhou’s signature store."
Significance for a Restaurant Name
Common in Chinese-speaking regions – Many traditional Chinese restaurants, particularly those serving Cantonese, Taiwanese, or Hong Kong cuisine, use "X記" ([Surname] 記) as their name format.
Implies an established reputation – It gives off an old-school, trustworthy feel, as if the restaurant has a history and legacy.
Feels personal and authentic – It suggests a family-owned business or a restaurant known for a specific specialty passed down through generations.
Examples of Other Restaurants with "X記" Names
陳記 (Chén jì) → "Chen’s Brand"
林記 (Lín jì) → "Lin’s Store"
楊記 (Yáng jì) → "Yang’s Signature"
If you saw "周記" as a restaurant name, it’s likely a place specializing in traditional dishes, possibly Chinese BBQ, congee, or noodle soups, depending on the regional cuisine.
You're exactly right that "Chow" in "Young Chow" likely corresponds to 周 (Zhōu) in 周記. "Chow" is a common Romanization of 周, which is a common Chinese surname (Zhou in pinyin, Joo in Korean).
As for 記, it doesn’t directly translate to "Place," but it serves a similar function in restaurant naming. "周記" in this case can be understood as "Chow’s establishment" or "Chow’s brand," which could explain why the English name "Young Chow" doesn’t explicitly include it.
So, 周記 ≈ Chow’s (Restaurant/Brand/Shop) rather than "Young Chow" being a literal translation. The "Young" part is a bit unclear—it might be a stylistic choice, a reference to a location, or even an anglicized form of another Chinese word (e.g., 永, meaning "forever" or "eternal").
So, while 周記 ≠ Young Chow word-for-word, the 周 (Chow) part corresponds, and 記 adds a traditional touch to the restaurant's branding.

There's even a picture of the crispy beef. Only one place I can think of has a better version of this dish. I think it used to be billed as George Bush Sr.'s favorite Virginia Chinese resto. Pretty sure I've eaten there with Mike, in the distant past, as well as alone.

staring at the fried wontons and fried dumplings

the standard zodiac placemat found in many Chinese restos in the US

I'm 1969, so yes, I'm the Cock.

Beautiful, beautiful fried wontons, which came out first.

pan-fried dumplings made with that thick Chinese dumpling skin

Don't forget the one non-cornstarchy sauce for the dumplings!

Last but not least: the crispy beef. I even ate the onions.

I suppose that's true in a manner of speaking. Or from a certain point of view.
(Doesn't the word "dog" look like three Os strung together?)

The food was great. There's been no drop in quality over the past twelve years. I wonder if they have the same chef. It could be a trainee who hews close to the original standards. Whatever the case, the food rocked, and I was in crispy, dumpling-shaped heaven.

With DMV and Chinese food out of the way, it's time to repent and do some walking. I'm in my hotel a few more days (until April 4, MLK's assassination day—talk about a major gi-il), then I'll spend the rest of my time with Mike's family (now, technically, my residence as well!) until I go back to Korea on April 13. I'll turn in my Nissan Altima on the 12th, with a full tank of gas per Enterprise's request.

Other remarks about today: there was a Sheetz eatery/convenience store across the street from Young Chow. I visited it to get some Cherry Coke Zero, but I also saw a new Dr. Pepper flavor: Blackberry Dr. Pepper. Curious, I bought it despite the sugariness, figuring in for a penny, in for a pound given the carb self-immolation I'd just participated in. I drank it as I drove back to my hotel, and I must say... I was thoroughly disappointed. The blackberry taste utterly dominated; I couldn't taste any Dr. Pepper through all of that artificial flavor. Never again. Am I getting finicky in my old age? Probably not finicky enough.

So that's how today went. Going from the racially undiverse and always-suspicious Front Royal DMV office to the chaotically inefficient yet racially diverse and friendlier Manassas DMV office was the thing to do to get things done. I also learned a valuable moral lesson: just as they say you should never talk to the police, just say only what is minimally relevant when talking to the DMV. The staffers are probably trained to look askance at you if you seem to be revealing too much, and I guess my original over-explanation of my situation to the Front Royal staffer prejudiced her against me. At Manassas, I gave no indication that I was in America only temporarily; I merely said, "This is my new residence. I want to renew my driver's license and get a REAL ID." And there were no questions.

It's now a waiting game. The new license will be mailed to my new residence (Mike's house in Fredericksburg, VA). Will it get there before I leave? If it doesn't, Mike will mail it to my address in Seoul, and I'll pay the postage via PayPal or whatever. Boy, I'm glad that's done. That whole thing was stressful, with lots of false starts. But it got done.

__________

*Brits write curb in contexts where they're not talking about raised sidewalk edges, e.g., Curb Your Enthusiasm, not Kerb Your Enthusiasm.

**Whether this solves any of America's current ID-related problems is an open question. I have a feeling that, where it counts—e.g., voting—nothing much will change as long as people flout and ignore the law without consequences. But maybe I'll be proved wrong. I hope so.

The Critical Drinker piles on re: Captain America

Why are stars so intent on shoving their feet into their mouths?

Thursday, March 27, 2025

images

right under our noses

Let's pause a moment and look at two phrases in the above meme (as written above—unedited): "child trafficking 'conspiracies'" and "global pedophile ring." One of these needs a hyphen for its phrasal adjective; the other phrase doesn't have any phrasal adjectives. Can you tell which is which? It should be easy: are the 'conspiracies' about child trafficking? Is the ring made of a bunch of global pedophiles? The never-used term term global pedophile makes no sense: it's not a ring of "global pedophiles"; it's a globe-spanning ring of pedophiles. So global pedophiles, not being a coherent concept, is not the phrasal adjective we're looking for. Therefore, the phrase "global pedophile ring" is fine the way it is: it's actually two cumulative adjectives modifying the noun ring. It's a pedophile ring that is global in scope. So global modifies the phrase pedophile ring. Like "fast police car": fast modifies police car, not just car, and there's no such phrase or concept as the "fast police." (As gun lovers like to say: "When seconds count, the police are minutes away.")

So that leaves us with the phrase "child trafficking 'conspiracies.'" Yes, child trafficking is a coherent concept; that's our phrasal adjective. The phrasal adjective is coming before the noun it modifies, so the adjective should be hyphenated, just like tax-paying citizen or six-foot-tall man. Ergo: child-trafficking 'conspiracies.'

For more on commas with two or more adjectives, see here. For more on phrasal adjectives, see all over my blog, but start here.

Get ready, Chris. Patel is inside now. Maybe soon, he'll be inside you. Yummy thought.

There's a school of thought that says, "Let these idiots talk this way." Don't martyr by arresting. While I get the logic, I do have to wonder whether this leaves us right where we started: with soft-on-crime idiots—righties this time, not lefties—being the problem. And why? Just to avoid making martyrs.

Where does the comma go?

Why does the IRS have guns?

Drive the car. I command you.

Four years from now: President Vance? Will he be the dealmaker that Trump is?

Punctuate correctly and correct the English.

I guess this explains the five loaves and two fishes. Jesus and his photocopier.

They do seem to be overlapping demographics.

But we love Zelenskyy!

One shot, and you get a whole new species!

I believe the word is Schadenfreude.

She's a looker for sure. But given her poor taste in men, I wouldn't touch her.

"Trumff shehz heezh for th'economy, but thatsh a load of whoreshit."

double-handed grips

they bring the crazy

Catching a Liberal White Lady tweeting in 2020 that she took a day off to fully absorb a v. important book about reparations, and making her admit under oath she probably didn't read it after all is an all-timer of Liberal White Lady moments. https://t.co/ErGUfVVN23
— Mary Katharine Ham (@mkhammer) March 26, 2025

them pesky tree rats (not for the squeamish)

Seoul grows its own metaphor

Headline:

Motorcyclist found dead in South Korea after plunging into 20-metre sinkhole

SEOUL, March 25 (Reuters) - A motorcyclist who had plunged into a 20-metre (65.62 ft) deep sinkhole in South Korea's capital Seoul was found dead on Tuesday, a rescue official said, while the driver of a car had a narrow escape and suffered minor injuries.
The body of the 33-year-old man was found 50 metres away from the centre of the collapsed sinkhole in a subway tunnel under construction almost 20 metres from the surface, the fire rescue official Kim Chang-seob told a media briefing.
It took rescuers almost 18 hours to locate the motorcyclist after they had to pump out water and dig through dirt, as well as navigate past construction equipment and other debris, he said, adding the exact cause of death had yet to be determined.
City officials said the cause of the collapse was under investigation.
Dashboard camera footage showed the car bouncing violently as its rear wheels narrowly cleared the hole, followed by the motorcycle and the rider plunging into the chasm.

Wildfires, sinkholes... what's next?

observations after only a few days back

The last time I'd been to the States was in 2018, before the pandemic. I'd also gone to France that year. Remaining in Korea all this time has revealed, now that I've stepped outside of the Korean shell, the extent to which my thoughts, beliefs, and perceptions have been shaped by my increasing peninsularity. Some of the observations that follow aren't original: either I've made them before, or others have in some form or other.

I used to argue that America was a high-trust society while Korea was a low-trust society. In Korea, people usually assume that others are out to fuck them over. In America, according to the old wisdom, people used to presume innocence instead of guilt—not merely as a matter of jurisprudence but also as a matter of civil conduct in a society. Now, it seems, the tables have turned. You can still lose your wallet in a Korean taxi and have it returned to you. Meanwhile, in America, people have become so politically polarized that no one risks offending anyone else because you never know: you might set off the wrong person, sparking road rage or in-Walmart violence. I haven't seen either of those problems yet, but I do see the stand-offish way in which people treat each other, always wary of the potential for conflict. I go about my days here with a look of pleasant and stupid blandness on my face, and I'm always wary of what I say, choosing the most neutral ways to express myself, not so much because I truly care for my fellow human beings as because I don't want to initiate World War III just because someone is too thin-skinned. I'm here for only three weeks; I don't want to get jailed for turning a stupid person inside out—not even the ogre at the Front Royal DMV.

Lots of homeless folks—usually skinny, bearded white guys—are stalking the streets near traffic lights, doing their best to beg and/or to shame with their hand-lettered signs. I used to be a huge advocate for the homeless when I was in high school. It took years to realize the practical wisdom of the Jesus quote that The poor, you will always have with you. I made a horrific version of the argument a while back about why you can't solve a homeless problem by gathering all the homeless people and burning them to death with a flamethrower.

American bathroom towels are wastefully huge, which is something I know I've mentioned before. Living in Korea often teaches Westerners to make do with less, and an expat quickly comes to learn that huge towels just aren't necessary to dry your whole body. Coming back to the land of huge towels has always been something else for me; it's a different sort of culture shock from, say, going to France and back.

My hotel has paper-thin walls, and the suite doors on both sides of my room have huge gaps that might be allowing the smell of my prodigious poops to waft insidiously next door. Even cheap Korean motels feel more private than my current lodging. Oh, and I saw a roach.

Paying with a card here is a bit different from the Korean experience, and because I'm older now, it takes some getting used to. With my debit card, the machine always asks whether I want cash back. I have to hit "no" to proceed. I must then type in my PIN to continue the transaction, and if I forget to hit "enter" after typing the PIN, I risk holding up the line behind me. In Korea, if you type in a PIN somewhere, the computer then moves automatically on to the next step: there's no need to manually hit "enter." Korean banks are the only exception I can think of: if you type your PIN during an international money-wiring transaction, you have to hit "enter."

Speaking of lines: like in Korea, old Americans in line to buy stuff usually hold everything up because they have so many questions and comments, and this is their one big chance to talk to people, I guess. It's sad because it reflects a certain cultural level of loneliness, but it's worse than that because it's holding up the line. I hate to be the turd in the punch bowl, but I do sometimes find myself chafing when an old person is glacially sifting through her mass of coupons to find just the right one for just the right item so she can receive that coveted discount. I also chafe when the flirty old man is chatting up the young, female cashier, oblivious to the fact that we're all waiting on his goddamn libido to run its course. I sincerely hope that, as I age, I never become such an old person. I normally do my best to have my card and other items prepped and ready for when it's my turn to ring up my shopping. That said, I probably will turn into a doddering, babbling irrelevancy—assuming I live that long.

This is definitely the land of fat asses, and I fit right in. One reason for Americans' slow, deliberate way of moving about is simply that it's the only way they can move. As a people, we are fat, huge, and unhealthy—constantly tired, often depressed, and generally sluggish. Go to the ant, thou sluggard! Consider her ways, and be wise! At least I'm not always being stared at. That said, I fear for our collective future.

Staying away from sugar is hard while I'm here. (Hell, it's hard in Korea.) Temptations abound. Walmart has huge shelves of nasty carbs in the form of cakes and frosted cookies and sugar-soaked breads. There's pasta and sugary drinks galore. While I've gotten better—thanks to the Grim Reaper's thus-far two attempts on my life—at resisting temptation, the temptation still exists. Just like in Korea, finding decent-tasting "health" food is hard. For the most part, I stick to my standbys: Coke Zero, Cherry Coke Zero, minimally carby salads, solid meats, etc. But as I admitted a couple days ago, I've also fallen off the wagon, gobbling Jamaican beef patties soon after renting my Nissan.

Lots of tattoos and nose rings among the younger folk, but also among some older folks who ought to know better. Also: lots of ill-fitting clothing and bad hair. I say nothing and just tolerate it. What else can I do? I might not like the way these things look, but I have no desire to legislate looks. Besides, I'm in no position to. It does provoke the thought, though: which is better—American slobbiness or Korean robotic, group-first conformity? Both can be equally oppressive. Speaking of looks, the Americans who've succeeded at remaining thin often strike me, with my Korean-calibrated senses, as tall and gawky and awkward, what with their starey eyes and floaty, clownish strides as they amble down sidewalks in their too-tight pants. Even though the Western part of my mind still finds Korean chicks generally to be flatter than Kansas (many Korean women start filling out in their forties) and horribly infantilized, this return to America has impressed upon me how, well, different Americans—in all of their shapes and sizes and colors—look compared to Koreans.

I do often feel separate from both cultures—Korean and American. It's fun, while in the States, to strike up a conversation in Korean with ethnic Koreans. And it's fun to speak in French with Western francophones while in Korea. There's just something attractive about context-driven contrasts, I guess. But the price one pays is separateness, with full sociocultural integration always remaining elusive and only questionably desirable. Feeling as if one belongs can provide a deep sense of wholeness and security, but it can also stifle the spirit and cultivate a hive-mind mentality. I've never been a big fan of full integration, but I've always been a fan of the implied culture of the Island of Misfit Toys

At least my driving skills have been coming back to me as I get to know this rental Nissan. I'm still a bit stiff and jerky with braking, but my situational awareness has mostly returned, partly thanks to how easy it is to drive in the States. As Europeans scornfully note, Americans tend to drive in a relatively slow, lackadaisical way that makes driving easy—unlike, say, the happy chaos of Rome or the frenetic roundabouts of Paris or the mob mentality of Cairo (admittedly not Europe, but still). In that sense, the trafficky sense, Americans are still a high-trust society. We're not nearly as selfish and opportunistic as the most aggressive Korean drivers. (But in some cities, we're getting there.)

I remember thinking that France and Switzerland's roads were narrower and filled with much smaller cars. Even though many Korean cars are smaller than American ones, I've seen enough wide, expansive roads in South Korea to think Korea skews more American than European when it comes to vehicles and traffic (the exception being the smaller roads and lanes out in the sticks). And Korean vehicles come in all shapes and sizes these days, with large, gas-guzzling SUVs becoming ever more popular. And then there are the ridiculous sports cars: in a country that's too small and mountainous to accelerate in properly, the sight of a foreign sports car meant to eat distance for breakfast is one of the saddest things ever.

American people in public spaces seem to have gotten ruder. There's a lot less "excuse me" and a lot more walking in such a way as to cut slower people off, or inconsiderately blocking aisles and entranceways while one jabbers on a cell phone. This is modern life, I guess—plugged in and more attentive to one's tech than to what's right in front of the eyes.

One salutary effect of American PC culture, though, is the refusal to say stupidly blunt, offensive things under the guise of "sincerity" (really just an excuse to be a fucking asshole). I'm happy to take a break from the relentlessly oppressive ajumma culture that's always loudly selfish and unnecessarily critical.

But this toe-dip back into American culture will be over soon enough. There are more insights to gain, and maybe I'll blog about them, but in the end, all my roads lead back to Korea. That seems to be were my choices have led me, and South Korea is the life I know. If I ever did move back to the States (a dimming prospect), I'd definitely have to find a place where nobody was around. Wyoming again comes to mind. Peaceful. Spacious. Austere. Me and my dogs.

Yeah, a man can dream.

the DMV failure

Today was supposed to be devoted to going to the DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles) office in Front Royal to renew my driver's license and, if possible, to acquire a REAL ID (a star and a hologram on the license allowing you to fly domestically; otherwise, you will soon need to fly domestically with your passport). I had chosen the Front Royal DMV office because it's small and relatively quiet, and I was sure I'd be guaranteed quick service. All of that turned out to be true this morning (Wednesday the 26th). What I hadn't counted on was the lady at Window 1, the petty tyrant, queen of her dunghill. She seemed, at first, to be a stickler about the second proof of residence that I had provided (you need two pieces of evidence of residency for both the license and the REAL ID), dismissing my USPS printout and the DMV printout. She grudgingly said the BochaSweet receipt that I had provided was acceptable, but the main problem she had was with the lease agreement that my buddy Mike had drawn up. Now according to Mike, his property company does this sort of thing all the time; the agreement is always vetted by lawyers—has been for years—and no one's ever had any problem with it.

Until this lady who, as a petty bureaucrat, decided she knew more than lawyers did about the legality of the document. The lady scanned the lease agreement and shook her head about two items in particular: the text at the very beginning of the agreement, which she interpreted to mean that I was still residing at 9 Shenandoah Commons Way (my old apartment in Front Royal from 2010 to 2013)—this despite my having clearly said that that was my former residence, and despite that fact that the address of the current residence—Mike's house—was also listed on the front page twice. Fixated on that first paragraph, the lady stubbornly refused to recognize that page's legitimacy. "Who wrote this up for you?" she complained, again arrogating to herself the right to comment as if she knew the legal aspects of such a document. Her second complaint was with page 4 of the document, where certain items had been crossed out in the spirit of this particular agreement. "We need all of that text to be in there," the lady declared, offering no legal explanation for why this was so.

Upshot: I didn't get either my license renewal or my REAL ID—sort of a worst-case scenario since that's why I'm in America at all. I told the lady I'd be back tomorrow (Thursday the 27th) with an amended agreement, and we'd try again. I eventually drove down to Mike's place of work* after I'd done a Walmart errand (more salads, some cheese, and a pulse-ox and blood-sugar monitor because my Korean one was missing its test strips). Mike gamely amended the lease agreement to meet the lady's complaints, all the while saying that the template he'd followed had never had any trouble from anyone before. I believe and trust my friend, and I can't help thinking this lady, uneducated in the law and not providing any real reasons for her objections except for a dodgy interpretation after she'd ignored crucial parts of the document, was just looking for a chance to prove her authority over my life. I wasn't one of the simpler, uneducated folk standing in the DMV office (surprisingly full at 8:25 in the morning); maybe I was a threat to her sense of security. Who knows?

Anyway, I'm going back with the amended lease agreement and my other document Thursday morning, and we'll see how Round 2 goes. Maybe she'll find something else wrong.

__________

*After only my second day with a rented car, I'm already down to half a tank of gas, but I'm really learning the Manassas-Front Royal-Fredericksburg routes very well. Per gallon (3.8 liters), gas is around the $3 mark in Virginia; in Front Royal, it's around $2.80. Closer to DC, it's a few cents over $3. Google AI suggests that gas prices have overall gone down since last year, from a rough national average of $3.60 a gallon to $3.12. In Front Royal, where gas has traditionally been cheaper than average, I saw prices hovering around $2.80, which gives me hope that we won't plunge back into 2008-era costs (over $4).

some morsels of Morse

These are all old news, but good to revisit:

scenes from Wednesday afternoon

My buddy Mike is a history buff. In some alternative universe, he's a history prof at some blessedly unwoke university. Fortunately for this universe's Mike, he lives in Fredericksburg, Virginia, which is steeped in Civil War history. Today, Mike showed me some of the graffiti dating back to the Civil War and still visible on the bricks of the building he works in (partly his property firm, partly a restaurant called "Foode," where his eldest daughter once worked). The graffiti below all tell stories and were probably all left on the walls of this Southern building by Union soldiers. I'll let Mike enter the comments and narrate the details of each photo; I'm old, untrained in history (it was my least favorite subject through high school and undergrad; I didn't begin to appreciate it until grad school) and can't keep the details straight. One thing I'd be interested to know is how we know so much about the people who left these marks. Letters? Early, rudimentary photos?

If that date says "1880," that's after the Civil War, which ended in 1865.

the lovely Episcopal church across the street (St. George's)

EB and ST, two soldiers who may have served together (I think)

History is all around us if only we'd look.

Stay tuned for thoughts on today, which didn't go so well.

Mike's been taking up walking in preparation for our walk along the final part of the Camino de Santiago when we turn 60. I wonder whether he'd be amenable to do walking tours of the older parts of Fredericksburg and the battlefields in the surrounding areas. And not just little, two-mile tours, either: I'm thinking ten-mile tours. There's a lot to see.

South Korean wildfires... another weird parallel with America

Headline:

Up to 18 People Killed by Wildfires in South Korea

The death toll from a wave of wildfires that tore through [the] southeastern region has risen to 18, with one person missing, forest service officials said Wednesday, as firefighters still battled to contain the rapidly spreading blazes.
The fires that began in Sancheong County in South Gyeongsang Province last Friday have spread to nearby Uiseong, and were advancing to neighboring Andong, Cheongsong, Yeongyang and Yeongdeok, fueled by strong and dry winds.
Of the victims, two were found in Andong, three were in Cheongsong, six were in Yeongyang and seven in Yeongdeok, officials said. The remaining one person was missing in Cheongsong.

The next time I visit Andong might be... very different. For everyone with friends and family in these areas... I hope your people are all right.

screenwriting: the question of chemistry

Wednesday, March 26, 2025

images

Toddlers? Forth into battle all the same! Let them feel the edge of my blade!

These jokes were writing themselves for a while.

Conjugation problem, hyphen problem... correct all of the English.

As much as I love and miss Europe, I can't stand European politicians' arrogance against their own people. Yes, there's a discussion to be had about undemocratic judges in America also trying to subvert the will of the people, but in the States, the attempted subversion is more subtle and insidious, cloaked in the pious nonsense of "stopping an authoritarian." In Europe, the politicians simply ignore election results (that reflect the wishes of the people) and do whatever they want. Watch Michael Heaver on this subject.

Mine, too. This never even occurred to me.

Either/or works best with parallel structure. Rewrite the sentence.
Right now, the clunky structure is: They're either [present participle], or they're [noun phrase].

Remember the old "Leave Britney alone!" guy?

For those few old farts who still don't know what deadnaming is: it's when a guy named Robert undergoes a trans procedure (surgery, hormones, etc.), renames himself Roberta, and gets called "Robert" by an old friend who can't let go of Roberta's original (and still chromosomal) self. Calling Roberta "Robert" is deadnaming because the old self is presumably dead.