I figure I'd distract the eye with another shot of Insubong under bluebird March skies, before launching into this tirade I've felt smouldering inside since walking home tonight.

I was harried by two teams of pedestrian evangelists on my way to the bouldering gym. No more than half a street apart from each other. In my haste to escape the first team, I found myself halfway into a busy interesection before being pulled back, realizing too late that it wasn't safe (or legal) to cross yet and that I was about to become one with the tires of oncoming traffic. After waiting an eternity for the walk light, I safely made it across only to be confronted by a second group, advocating that God is in fact a female, and I've been a bad, bad man for not observing Passover. To provide a bit more background in respect to my feelings towards speaking about God with perfect strangers, I refuse to answer my door before heading to work as nearly thrice a week its Jehovah Witnesses ready to wish me good morning. Is sleeping-in against the rules as well?

I'm far from ready to toss God out with the bath water of organized religion, but I'm not going to afford these folks another minute to wash me with arguments for the true chromosomal combination of the creator. I simply don't care. God just might be trans-gendered. What about that? Shouldn't matter one bit.

The celestial intersection behind me, I was nearly at the subway when a man holding a fully spread newspaper in front of his face walked straight into me as he was heading down the stairs. I nearly ingested the business section. Clearly, I should have turned and hustled back down the stairs to let this metrocrat pass before I walked back up. This kind of on-the-spot insight must come only after more than 6 months in Seoul. I'm 3 days past 5.

Bouldering was great. Finally made good on my promise to the manager to purchase a membership. Unfortunately, that means a lot more hassles outside the Church on the way. Damn, just thought of that now.

One more before I'm through. Heading back, I approached an obviously loaded Korean woman in trackpants, and some friends helping her to walk straight. She tossed an orange juice carton onto the asphalt alleyway, and as I treated her to the pick-that-up-you-irresponsible-littering-idiot stare, she kicked the carton and covered me with the half litre of pulpy goodness that was left inside. Ten minutes later, it felt absolutely exquisite to lock my apartment door behind me for the night.

Tomorrow night I'll sleep on a bus enroute to the Democratic People's Republic of Korea. But don't be confused. This is actually what North Korea calls itself. Much more on the absurdity of the sole remaining Stalinist regime to come. At this point, I feel it's safe to publish that much without jeopardizing my safety or my weekend trip, though I'll leave it at that.