Been there, done that.

We saw this place and felt no need to go in.

Nar th'n, guvna

Saw this coffee shop, went in, ordered a machiatto, then ran out without paying.
Barely funny, and only then if one has a working knowledge of the parlance of the London underworld. In the vernacular of the average East End crimelord's rhyming slang, "tea leaf" means thief. Whoa, would you Adam and Eve it's almost Harry Lime to have a good Bob Squash before walking down the apples and pears to go teach the saucepan lids some bloody English? If at least one Korean kid doesn't call me a right feather plucker, the day's a waste.

Stranger danger

From another part of Gyeongbokgung's expansive gardens, some sticks with faces to scare the baddies away. It seems that every second or third post we show something or someone meant to ward off danger, be that danger from this world or some dark spirit realm. So this has us thinking...maybe the Koreans are on to something. We have been combing the periodicals for any mention of poltergeists, vampire attacks, government-sponsored mind control projects, or Toxic Avengers, and not surprisingly, not a word has been written. This speaks either to the efficacy of the various totems and posted sentries or to a deeply institutionalized obfuscation of the truth. Fox Mulder would like it here.

Yogic Posture

In Korea, even emperors dine on the floor. The dining room at Gyeongbokgung is a fancy version of the Korean table. Many restaurants in Seoul are furnished with a low table covered with small bowls containing numerous side dishes, a plainer version of the emperor's dining room pictured above. Usually there are pillows on the floor. It makes for a cozy dining experience unless you are a six foot tall Western male with hip flexibility less than that of the average eighty year old Korean, in which case dining becomes an hour or two of torture trying to maintain a cross-legged pose.

Feng shui et al.

For those steeped in the mysterious arts of geomancy, it is highly apparent why the palace sits at the base of the mountain. For those with a working knowledge of the military sciences, it is overtly obvious why the palace sits at the base of the mountain. For those in the residential real estate racket, it is abundantly clear why the palace sits at the base of the mountain. For the rest of us, it sure looks pretty.

Gyeongbokgung

Gyeongbokgung, the Palace of Shining Happiness, is usually described as the grandest of Seoul palaces, despite twice being razed by Japanese invaders. After each attack, the palace was rebuilt intricately to its original grandeur, with some restorations still underway. The main building here saw kings crowned, foreign envoys welcomed, and affairs of state conducted. The stone markers in the courtyard were used to delineate the royal audience, with the most important and influential afforded closer proximity to the king himself.

Mea culpa

Given the immediate and impassioned response of some loyal readers, we at OOFALWO seek to clarify the intent of yesterday's post. At no time did we wish to equate the notion of advanced age with the reality of turning fifty. Fifty is middle-aged for most, and not even that for sea turtles. Rather, we were referring to the fact that the average age of a blog is 16.37 posts before it is rendered inactive, a statistic we have just made up to suit our own purpose. And so, for those whose eyesight has not yet failed, a random photo of a random street in a random state of gridlock.