Cliche

I do my best.
I put my whole heart into it.
I swirl it around in the pot
soaking it with cilantro, peppers, chiles,
(the green ones you like)- turn out another
bubbling witch's brew of nice try.

The Fall and Rise

I'm not who you think I am. However you've imagined me in your mind's eye, whatever you drew on that paper of yours, I'm different in countless ways. That's the problem with perception. Or maybe it's the genius of perception? It means that everytime we look at another person, there is a universe to uncover- a million hidden quirks swirling around birthing a complex new interaction with the world.

This weekend I faced my greatest fear. I stood at the threshold of the moment that I thought would destroy me, riddle me with holes large enough for the best parts of me to seep out, uncollectible. But it was miraculous, really. I remained. And I didn't just remain. I stood full.

We are all spinning around the edges, bumping into one another, creating friction that has the power to transform. I have an idea today that I will try harder to be honest about who I am and will try a little harder to let you tell me who you are. Honesty is that scariest leap from the precipice but it makes us possible to be healed. And I will pray for it.

Shared Birthday Update

I wasn't so sure that sharing my birthday with SB was going to make me happy. I mean, birthdays are all about ME ME ME and we all know that I like ME ME ME. But I discovered the exciting, perfect, upside of sharing your birthday with another person that you like:

CAKE!!!!! TWO TIMES THE CAKE!!!!

This is the cake I'm going to eat tonight. Chocolate. Chocolate and More Chocolate. This is the costco 6 pound cake. I've been dreaming about this cake for years. Chocolate. I CAN'T WAIT!!!This is the austrian sachertorte that I made for SB. I took me two and half hours and is also going to be consumed tonight. Chocolate, apricots glaze, chocolate ganache, heavy whipping cream and more chocolate. That's right...TWO birthday cakes.
I couldn't be happier. Thanks, SB for being born on the same day as me and Elvis.

to: you from: SB re: the birth of first child

SmartBoy told me that if he ever gets really passionate about some event or experience in his life and wanted to capture the moment, he would not write a passionate poem. He would not write a passionate song. He would not write a passionate sonnet, speech or essay.

He would probably write, oh, i don't know.... a passionate memo?

This is why I laughed for 10 minutes straight without breathing, near tears on Sunday night.

A passionate MEMO. be still, my beating heart.

Disgusting Eater Syndrome

Have you been to dinner with me lately? Did you secretely want to throw up a little bit in your mouth as you watched me eat? THere's a joke flying around these parts that I have Disgusting Eater Syndrome. Evidently, unbeknownst to me, I have somehow failed to develop eating habits worthy of the 1st world. As SB (resident food snob and he- who- eats -everything (including pizza?) -with -a -fork- and- knife) pointed out, There is no doubt as to my ability to "clean up" when necessary ...this syndrome is obviously a CHOICE.

Here are my self-admitted evidences of DE syndrome:

I pull things apart with my fingers at most restaurants.
I dissect most food in an attempt to see what's really in that sandwich.
I think it's almost always funny to show people the chewed food in my mouth.
I sometimes can't stop talking long enough to actually chew the food.
I need 5 times the amount of napkins required by most functional adults.

Now a bit more on the idea of choice. I admit that I am motivated in my actions by a certain desire to be funny, charming, childlike and cute. That can lead to some rather silly dinners. However, I think the problem is really that I LIKE high falutin' stuff (goat cheeses, nice breads, delicious organic produce whipped into a salmon frenzy) BUT I am just as happy, if not more so when we pull up to a 7-11 and run in for a chili dog (with that orange cheese goop...oh...my!) and a big gulp. I mean, I've been on weightwatchers since birth so a redrobin which is generally off limits during low points weeks can look like disney land with their never ending baskets of rectangular fried starch deliciousness. And these foods are a little messier and a little harder to eat gracefully. Maybe?

This penchant for diners, any restaurant with a booth and keep it coming diet coke with lime does NOT make me impervious to the delights of fine dining. I ooh'd and ahh'd appropriately when I had my $100 meal at the Hyatt in downtown Seoul and I dont' think I showed the chewed food in my mouth once during that experience. But after accidently ordering my second $8 thimble of diet coke (that's right $16 worth of Diet Coke that ended up being approximately HALF of a 20 oz bottle) the magic of the fine food experience wore off and I started wishing I was tucked in a booth, asking the waitress for more napkins so I could wipe the dripping grease from my palms as I pulled a Whiskey River Burger apart to evenly spread out the onion rings.

So I'm a DE. Maybe it's because I'm red blooded American? Maybe it's because of WW deprivation? Maybe it's a result of a childhood in which every meal started and ended with some form of hamburger, tomato sauce, potato casserole? I don't know where it came from and I'm sorry if you have to eat with me. But just know that I'm enjoying it. (I guess you'll know when I open my mouth mid bite to tell you how much "I love this spinach dip!!!")

The Blog has gone out of me...

But I'm going to put my head down and power through. You see, I just can't seem to get excited about writing because most of the things I want to write about are now off limits. I'm back in America and that means that I can't post cute pictures of adorable children whose parents don't speak enough english to find me. Here in America, that's creepy. I can't post about my new job at a trade association for scientists which starts next Tuesday. That's unprofessional. I can't post about my current pre-boyfriend aka SmartBoy(who is DREAMY and WONDERFUL and HILARIOUS and ADORABLE). That's relationship suicide. And I can't very well write about the joys of Diet Coke now that I'm off the caffeinated version and what's left is NOTHING to sing about. That's lame. So what's a girl supposed to write about???

I guess I could write about how I live in Washington DC now. I moved here over the 4th of July weekend in the go-cart packed to the hilt with my stuff which has been sadly reduced to a pre-adolescent proportions due to my NON STOP NEVER ENDING wanderlust. I could write about how the road trip was one of the most memorable of my life, not because I got pulled over and given a $140 ticket in Indiana for speeding...and certainly not because of the $59 a night motel that I stayed in which had a shower cap AND makeup remover in the toiletries (better than the W, right KA?)
but probably because we spent 2 hours at a crackerbarrel in ohio just because we could.
I guess I could also write about how I've had so many Korea reunions that it isn't even funny... (that's Rpotter who graciously agreed to meet with me even though she was now a movie star)
(this is me and alissa, reunited in the only place that was big enough for me, her and her massive bucket of cheezeballs...TARGET!) (those are lady willoughby's floral pants and her camera)

(this is J...one of my students...this is his aunt and H Mart in Annandale, VA which could double for seoul if it smelled a little bit more like pig parts and had more old men spitting in the streets)

I guess I could write about how I'm sampling the local fare and trying to remain a dedicated WW accolyte even in the face of BEN's CHILI BOWL (I've now eaten at more than two DC establishments where President Obama's one time visit has sparked a media and customer frenzy. I'm surprised they haven't framed his used napkins right next to the zagat rating on the door)

(sorry SB, this picture proves two things: We really were at Ben's and you really CAN fall asleep anywhere!)

I guess I could write about how AWESOME america is...how nice it is to be home and how much fun I'm having. Well, now that I have a job, a bed and airconditioning. Ok, so I guess I have some things to write about. xoxoxo NB

Accounted for...

If you're anything like me, you might be a wondering if Ninny Beth's traveling companion has left her stranded without a phone, purse or car at some random gas station in Wyoming. Well, rest assured she is still alive and texting.
-Alie

Here We Go Again

Sigh.

Is it True?

Am I a mid-single????!!! I'm 31 and apparently in mormon land, I'm no longer fit for Young Single Adult consumption and have been thrown into the murky waters of the Single Adult Program which Nichole just reminded me does have an age cut off: DEATH. I already kind of knew all about this because of my calling in Korea as the single adult rep for the entire english speaking world in the ROK, but I didn't really understand what it meant for me until tonight when I accidently attended my first American SA dance...technically, I was only there to assist with the dessert but then they broke out some Bon Jovi and a couple of Beyonce bootie shakers and suddenly I was an attendee.

Yes. It was revelatory.

The weirdest part (and please forgive me for venting) was that there was one guy, one really good looking guy there. He was THAT GUY...you know, tight fitted black button down with some sort of necklace and those designer jeans that have the gay (it's ok, I have gay friends and they would agree) pockets with embroidery on the butt. And he was checking me out all night. At first I decided to smile at him, mostly because I was enjoying the fact that for ONCE IN MY LIFE, I was the young biscuit at a church dance. I was tempted to pull out my gum and twirl it around on my finger and go flat iron my hair ril quick in the bathroom. It was almost as exciting as that moment when the 50 something woman came huffing into the kitchen and told us we needed to find the police NOW! because something was going down. (the something going down was apparently her ex-husband trying to register for the dance at the makeshift welcome table in the foyer).

But back to me...so TG is making regular eye contact in between his usual bouts of body rubbing with girls named Ginger and Stacey who are wearing the girl version (ha!) of the gay jeans. And then I started to get kind of angry. Not because of Ginger and Stacey, but because I realize that this joker is the kind of guy who NEVER WOULD HAVE LOOKED AT ME TWICE 65.2 pounds ago. And I was the same girl, damnit! I was just as effervescent! Just as interesting! and now, Angry! Justifiably Annoyed! Righteous! Anger!

So I get home from said dance without ever speaking to TG and I tell my longsuffering brother about the encounter. And do you know what he said?????? Not a loving, "of course, dear sister, men are scum. You are righteously angered. I apologize like Obama for the whole of guydom." no. No. this is what he had to say:

"WAIT. You are NOT allowed to get angry at some guy you've never met, who never knew you and never did anything to you except pay you some attention. "

??????????????????????????????????????????//

"But!" I say, "He would have!! He would have!! I know that type and his jeans!"

"No, no." Says wise younger brother. "don't be THAT GIRL. Yes, I'm sure his jeans were terrible, but you've got to get over this need to be righteously angry at and make snap judgements about, I REPEAT, men you've never met who've never done anything to you except think you're cute. You'll turn into a weird bitter undateable hag. That is all. Now away with you to your computer to blog it all out."

And so, dear reader, you can see that I am certainly a mid-single with just as much baggage as the divorced ex-husband hater mentioned above. And as such I am going to try very hard to take my younger brother's advice and not be THAT GIRL. And I'm sorry Ginger and Stacey...I'm sure we'll be best friends at the next dance. (rilly).

Celebrity Look Alikes (part 2)

Every Aunt thinks her nephews and nieces are the cutest. But can every Aunt say that her 14 month old nephew looks like Bill Murray? I think not. And that's what makes this edition of celebrity look-a-like so magical. Take a look at the amazing Bill Murray Baby.

and this one just because HOW CUTE IS THIS BABY!???AND HOW CUTE IS THIS BILL MURRAY?!!???
The best part is that every time I call him Bill Murray, his brother (4 years old) yells, "HE IS NOT BILL MURRAY!"

Ninny LIVE! The eastcoast tour: Washington DC

Wonder where I've been? Wonder no more. I've been everywhere and nowhere. Still gainfully unemployed. Still wandering. Still trying to figure out america. First I drove to Utah, met up with dear friends, managed to remember where a few things were (you'd think after three years, I wouldn't forget major landmarks like the temple???) and checked on my stuff in my storage unit. Still there although there was a minor lizard scare.

DC was a stop along the way...I happily reunited with many dear dear friends and saw all that the district has to offer...Went to the LDS Temple in Maryland with my Nan and Pap. THis was a really lovely experience not only for the spiritual recharge but for the yummy Korean food we consumed beforehand. Nan killed it with her chopsticks and my Pap was taking care of some serious Jjigae. I got to speak some korean and it made me happy.
I took a tour of the Dirksen and Russell Senate buildings in DC. I hoped it would help me understand this great country of ours. The tour was led by my dear friend E, formerly of the Department of Justice. E is best known for his work with the crack whores of the south east but has in the last two years changed career track and now monitors the crack whores of the hill...He showed me the best the senate has to offer.

Sour Patch kids in brown paper bags (gov't version of the 40?) and old white guys.Here I saw Evita-esque views of Capitol Hill from the window balcony of a colleague's office and listened as E told a charming story of being unceremoniously shooed off said balcony by guards with AK47's during Obama's inauguration speech.

Let's just pause for a moment to admire the ease with which we wandered into Ted Kennedy's office and took a photograph. There. That was nice, wasn't it?

And now, some very important instruction for viewing these pictures: ignore my bad hair. There was this surprise east coast rain storm and I thought to myself, "surely, in the nation's capitol there will be a little man selling emergency umbrellas from the back of a taco truck or news stand for twice the usual price." Boy, was I mistaken. Nea'ry a taco truck or convenience store could be found. I knew I was in trouble when I saw lots and lots of stately looking people in very staid brown, black and navy outfits huddled in doorways of old buildings waiting for the rain to stop. I couldn't even find a stray newspaper to act as shield.

And so I walked in the rain and showed up at the dirksen senate building in GASP! brightly colored clothing and GASP! looking like I had just been given a swirly by John Kerry (I saw him BTW. E pointed him out to me during out SPOT THE SENATOR GAME (we saw 5!) and said, "You know who that is, don't you?" to which I answered, "uh, no." to which E said, "he ran for president." to which I replied, "heh. still don't know." at which point E decided that I didn't deserve the ride the special underground train from the senate building to the hill. I've got some work to do, America.)

Empty hallways echo loudest

Once I was a teacher in Korea. I had a classroom.

I had order. (see all the planets aligned???? )
I had my own little version of a family. You probably heard me talking about "my kids". They did things like play dress up...And pretend to eat fake chickens...And flash you a peace sign in their pink shirts and crocs with a smile like a wince...Some of them were even starting to look like me....

And now.....

Adventures in Americana

I'm home.
I'll write more about my last weeks in Korea soon...
but in the meantime, some things to consider about America:

Just in case you've been wondering...they do NOT allow quail eggs to touch American soil. No matter how well you've packed them deep in the folds of your underpants, they will find them and rid the western world of these possibly toxic bird influenza-ed balls of brown goodness while you innocently watch on the sidelines.

RedRobin tastes better when you're not falling asleep in the ketchup. NOTE TO SELF: next time you want to eat french fries to celebrate your homecoming, wait until jetlag has subsided.

Remember how I complained that it took 45 minutes to get anywhere in Seoul? It still takes 45 minutes to walk to the grocery store in the suburbs. Curses!

Carrying a 12 pack of caffeine free Diet Dr. Pepper back from said Grocery Store for 45 minutes should count as a full week of exercise. It doesn't. But luckily....

24 hour fitness has a lot of white people sweating in it and no naked asian women in the sauna.

Understanding what everyone is saying has its advantages when you want to ask where something is in a store but presents a distinct disadvantage when you are awkwardly seated next to a weird guy on an 8 hour overseas flight.

Nieces and Nephews are the best thing since sliced bread.

Fair Warning

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n4JAcDYlya8

My friend Robyn recorded this bit of my concert...it's the first time in my entire life of guitaring that I have felt completely and utterly comfortable performing in front of people. Not a nerve in sight...Seriously, this is a major win on the battle of stage fright which has made performance a necessary evil. This time it was decidedly joyful!

What made the difference, you ask? I've narrowed it down to three possibilities: 1) I was surrounded by people I love. 2) I was wearing my sparkly kimono diva dress (designed and constructed by the one and only Jill Bowen) that has magical powers tucked into those massive dangling sleeves or 3) I has such a terrible experience blowing out a friend's $700 borrowed acousting amplifier just moments before showtime that I exhausted the mental receptors usually reserved for performance anxiety. I had nothing left to give the nerves after a solid ten minutes of swearing as smoke and fried electronic stench poured from that machine as if the wizard of oz was only moments away from cracking open the lid and leaping out. It was a disaster that only *I* am capable of orchestrating. Truly.

Now, was it any of the above three options? Who knows. I hope I can recapture it next time without needing to destroy things first.

Oh, Seoul

Ok, so not only did I spell Seoul wrong in korean on the back of the invites that I handed out to EVERYONE, I just realized that I also wrote 2008 on them. Blah. So don't go to the concert last year, come to the one THIS YEAR!!! Who knew I could be so lame at making invitations? I think I was just so mesmerized by my own picture with the shifty eyes that I couldn't possibly concentrate. And now for some directions. Line up and more details coming soon.

Directions to Ewha & IEB:

Subway Line 2 (Green), Exit 3: Ewha Womans University

As you walk out of Exit 3 you will be next to a Teenie Weenie store (hey, I didn’t name it, I’m only stating facts, however bad they may be). Walk past the store and keep heading down the hill. (You’ll pass a Burger King, Starbucks, Cold Stone, Auntie Annies, and other such “Americana”.)

At the “end” of the street, keep walking straight and you will enter Ewha Womans University.

As you enter campus you will see a huge underground glass building on your right, a set of stairs leading up to an older brick building straight in front of you, and the Ewha Museum on your left. Take the sidewalk to the left, immediately after the museum.

Behind the museum you will see the tallest building on campus, the International Education Building (IEB) – this is your destination.

Enter the building, find the elevators to your left, and come to the 14th floor.

See you there.