Captain's "Log"

I fired off some massive turds in a restaurant in the rich, stylish Apkujong district today. That rocked. I'd just finished a 90-minute English lesson with my student, Min-sung, who speaks very well. The restaurant in question is called "VIPs," and advertises itself as a family steak joint. I don't know whether it's part of an American chain; here in Seoul, we've got Bennigan's, TGI Friday's, Outback Steakhouse (which enjoys the same insane popularity it does in the States), and even Marche (you have to imagine the acute accent on the "e," as I don't know how to add accents to text yet), but VIPs doesn't quite feel American: it feels like a very well-made rip-off. The big hint was the ice cream dispenser, which excreted the wussy-style Korean ice milk I don't enjoy. But the salad bar was just fine: taco salad ingredients were available, along with smoked salmon, American-style pasta, bean salads, etc. ... not a bad deal for $17 (given that a trip to one of the "real" Western-style restos can set you back $30-45 per person, at least 33% more than you'd be paying in the States).

Anyway, VIPs provided me with three healthy plates of food; in return I provided it with 18,000 won and the gravity-propelled contents of my colon.

I had a waking dream as I stared down at my turds while flushing. The turds (pretty chunky, by the way; before I started working out, I tended to push out rabbit raisins) suddenly came to life and saluted me, like shit-goblins going on some sort of mission, with the toilet as their secret drop-off point. I gave my turds a reassuring thumbs-up as they slipped fearlessly into the toilet's gullet. "Semper fi," I whispered huskily. "God speed... and safe return."

Speaking of shit, I should note that Zen masters' dharma talks almost always seem to involve a scatological element, which suits me fine. I stopped counting the number of times Hyon Gak sunim (see previous blog re: Hwagye-sa) said some form of the word "shit." This is in keeping with Master Shin's dharma talks at Hanguk-sa in Germantown; it's not rare to hear words like "dogshit," "fart," and "asshole" during his talks. Dharma talks are the Buddhist equivalent of sermons or homilies; I'd pay real money to hear a Protestant minister or Catholic priest actually tell it like it is from the pulpit during Sunday morning service or noon Mass.

Hey, Beavis... he said "mass." Uhhh... huh-huh-huh. Huh-huh-huh.

Master Shin is fond of saying that "Scholarship is renting someone else's eyeballs." The other image he uses is that of a Conga line of people, all bent over and walking in single file, noses in each other's asses. "All you get is gas," he laughs. In other words, the truth lies within you; you don't have to go seeking it somewhere outside, in some remote (or simply separate) God-figure, being a follower. I agree. I stopped believing in a literal, anthropomorphic God long ago. At least... I stopped believing in an "outside," Big-Daddy, security camera God, in favor of the nameless, ineffable, yet ordinary God that blossoms within and through all.