Thursday, May 25, 2006

pics from Dad

Thanks to the kindness of others, photoblogging remains possible here at the Hairy Chasms. These are pics my dad sent me from his trip to Korea this past winter.

First up: a glimpse of my cramped office, which currently seats eight. I'm at my work station, and my coworker A is about to bash my skull in with his motorcycle helmet.

The second pic, below, is of me at home. Note the two Nutella bottles in the background, now long gone.

The third pic is of me watching Mr. Shin, the artist who does "rainbow style" dragon drawings, as he paints my mother's name, Kim Suk Ja, in Chinese. The end product was great, and Dad took it home to Mom. Mr. Shin had wanted to give the item to us for free; Dad and I slipped W20,000 (each!) into a plastic bag full of hand-made ddeok, then gave him the bag. Mr. Shin, who's a nice guy and a willing teacher, unknowingly made twice the normal price on that piece. I hope he didn't accidentally eat the money when he reached in for the ddeok.

The final pic is of Dad himself, about to bite down on a sandwich I'd made-- one that couldn't possibly have helped his heart condition: salami, brie, butter, baguette.

Speaking of food, our local bakery made some kickass marshmallows. I'd never eaten bakery-made mallows before; the pieces were cut chunky-style, as large cubes about 1.5 inches on a side. They're expensive at W500 apiece, but I might go back, get some more, find some graham crakers, and make myself some awesome s'mores this evening.

I took pics of the mallows I ate today (no worries: I took the pics before I ate them). Once I'm able to access my own camera software, I'll slap those images on the blog.



Anonymous said...

Hey, those sandwiches look like shit! Maybe that's why your co-worker wanted to bash your head in.

You should come down to Busan and get a real sandwich at the little cafe my wife and I run. We guarantee no head bashing will result.

Kevin Kim said...

Arrrrrr-- screw you, Patrick, I made those sammies myself and they kicked fookin' ass.

I love American sandwiches, to be sure; they're what I grew up on. But the Euro-sammie, versions of which I encountered in France and Switzerland, has a place of honor in my atherosclerotic heart.

The simplicity of bread, meat, butter and cheese is hard to beat, and is sometimes a welcome contrast to the American compulsion to overstuff a sandwich, making bread a mere afterthought. (Or the other American compulsion, coming mainly from California, to turn a sandwich into a damn salad.)

That said, I'd like to take you up on your invitation one of these days. Just hold the onions. I can't stand onions on sandwiches.