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hedgehog

CONFESSIONS OF AN ATTENTION WHORE

It's been a while since I've done this - since I've blogged too late, after too many drinks.  The fact that it's not even midnight and I'm making such a claim speaks to the fact.  I used to type 3am drunken confessions regularly; I'd slither up to the keyboard and let loose full force the agonies or joys of my Korean life, but at one point I stopped.  Perhaps it was facebook,  or maybe the act of growing up, or more likely the fact that I managed to vent the steam of ten years worth of expat life within the span of three.    I blew my wad, though I look most happily upon those old raw, confessional posts, the ones that attracted any errant eyes to this rant-land in the first place.  They were the ones that folks often reacted most viscerally toward, and that always made me glad.  But this elation has now metastasized into a dull sadness, as such things can now only be viewed as souvenirs.

But here I am and I'm typing and I may as well face the day.  It's Wed-nes-day but a day (or more accurately, night) nonetheless.  Midweek and drunk on expensive beer and soju, thanks to a monied ajosshi who sometimes takes me out for English and camaraderie, but always leaves me well-lubed.

Things are rough with me and M, after a weekend that saw us in Seoul, Bundang, Mokpo, and other points in between.  I was on a "comedy tour," playing a couple shows in bars outside of Busan, and... I took her with me.  This was a catastrophic idea, as my drinking life was already driving her to the point of suicide bombing (she ingests nary a drop due to severe a severe booze allergy - not unknown among East Asian peoples).  The tour was fun  - too much fun - too much boozy  revelry  than she was prepared to shoulder, and what should have been one of my happiest sojourns on the peninsula turned into three days of utter combat.  Ugliness ensued.  Nasty things were said.  Old wound were re-opened, clawed-at and pissed on.  At one point she jumped off the train in a rural backwater, only to reboard it and join me in the destination, albeit with triple amount of the bile that she had possessed originally.

I don't blame her.  She's a good woman who has been tree-trunk loyal since the day we exchanged hearts.  But she wants a man who will give her at least five days a week of wide-eyed dedication.  Instead she was handed me, with shows every weekend, punctuated by all-too-frequent bar sessions with my tragic friends.  She wants a romantic weekend in the mountains: instead I take her on a survey of the drunkest foreigner booze sheds that this nation has ever managed to muster any tolerance for.  Is is any wonder why she's managed to lose hers?

Too add shit atop the coil, consider this:  I also play in TWO weekend warrior rock and roll bands, have begun recording episodes of a comedy radio show, and am now in the early stages of pimping my upcoming book.

Ah, yes.  The book.

While I am without a doubt stoked that I do have a book coming out, I am constantly gnawed upon with doubt:  Is this thing worth a shit?  Even if it is, will anyone read the fucking thing?

Now we all know this is natural.  I used to produce original theater and these same questions festered every time a new work was being produced.  After all, real objectivity is lost early on into the process.  At one point you just gotta commit to the the thing; you have to tape yourself to the bottlerocket and enjoy the ride.

And I'm trying to do that, but I'm a proper "Who the fuck is this guy?" who is now having to beg any name or entity larger than me not just for the all mighty "blurb," but also for the privilege of being sold by their company/store/website.  And pretty much ninety percent of these skidmarks can't even be bothered to answer an email.    Things are plodding along and I think the book is good: but I know there are those who dismiss my story as that of yet another privileged white boy moving to exotic Asia and spoon feeding us his trite observations.  Fair enough, there is a bit of that, but other than by virtue of my passport, I don't think the "privileged" moniker sticks.  I was recently denied a blurb form an established writer who actually had the courtesy to look at a few chapters.  His excuse - as passed my way - was vague and polite, but I'm pretty sure he just wasn't into the gig, for the reasons stated above.

Fuck it., though...  I'm doing it.  But I'm doing way too much.   My super Korean life is busting out of the padded room, and I love it.  But I plan on going to America this summer and steeping in family, old friends, mountains, river, and roots.  I will then come back and strip the fuck down.

Let us hope my relationship can survive until then.
 

Comments

(Anonymous)

The hardest working man in shwbzns

Lord Liverpool
um..why not just refrain from drinking as much when you're out with your girlfriend? Good luck with your book! Who are you trying to get blurbs from?
Oh, a book! I want a copy.