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To the Koreans, Celeste and I are just foreigners. Since everybody expects us to be strange, it gives us even more freedom to wield the Funky License. Because they expect us to be strange, why not live up to their expectations? For example, I've picked up the Frenchies dress code: you could be nude, but as long as you've got a scarf around the neck, you're still abiding by the fashion rules. I don't go anywhere without my bright orange scarf. Yep, Orange. La permit funkieux! When we are together, Celeste and I are just another foreign couple. People see Celeste, the Platonic model of the western bombshell woman, tall, blonde, blue eyes. They see her holding my hand and know that she's off limits. Granted, she's married to Ichabod Crane, but nonetheless, she's off limits. The other day, Celeste and I were out together and I had to rush back to teach a class. Celeste stayed downtown by herself to check out a department store. As she was walking back, she experienced much more than the usual stares and whispered comments when we are together. As she was walking down the street-alone-the repressed testosterone of such an ultra-conservative culture boiled over and came unleashed. Suddenly for the first time since we've come to South Korea, men were rolling down their windows and yelling come-ons, men were whistling, and men were staring unabashedly. She may have well been a visiting alien, dropped down from the planet sex. So now we're thinking about bringing in some extra cash by sending her to a modeling agency. Planet Sex--Scottro [2002-11-22]
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