Psychedelic Kimchi: Folk me? Folk you!

I finally broke down and agreed to visit the Korean Folk Village in Yong-In. If you're like me (and god forgive you if you are), the words Korean Folk Village don't exactly connote fun. I agreed, however, because it was Chuseok, and because I am quite attached to my testicles.

Let me tell you that, while it wasn't the Red Sox beating the Yankees in the 2004 ALCS, it was better than expected. A lot better. The truth is, I had a blast. I mean, considering that it's a folk village and all.

After a lunch of stir-fry noodles and various fried things, we took the bus to Yong-In. Our visit was aces, but man was that bus ride a pain in the ass. Apparently, everyone else decided that today was the absolute perfectest day to head out that way, too. Cliched simile: we were packed tighter than sardines in a tin can.

Slight digression:

I really need to buy a car, but I'm putting it off as long as I possibly can, which will likely be the day my daughter comes home from school, crying because she was taunted for the fact that her old man doesn't have a set of wheels. We can't have that. I remember one kid who attended my junior high: his name was Steven, and, because his parents were against the evils of television, he didn't have a set at home. Naturally, everyone called him "No TV Stevie." I can't have kids calling my daughter "No Honda Rhonda."

(No, her name isn't really Rhonda. It's Rowena.)

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We arrived shortly before noon and ended up staying until dusk. A fun time was had by all, particularly the little girl. As you can see in the following photos, she got to show off her snazzy hanbok dress. What you can't see in the photos, however, is that I'm not wearing any underwear.

Note to Folk Village People: get your fucking act together and clean up the strollers you rent out. Better yet, buy new ones. They were all filthy with sand and dirt, and were piled in a shed which resembled a baby stroller junkyard. My only real gripe of the day.

Here's me tying to the Magic Rope -- or whatever the hell it's called -- a piece of paper on which I wrote my biggest wish. My wife says it won't come true if I tell, but screw it: I wrote "get my whites whiter."

The little girl doesn't look very happy here...

That's better. Love that fake smile. Amazing what a promise of candy can accomplish. I think that's what the US needs to dangle in front of Kim Jong Il. I bet he'd drop any plans for further nuclear proliferation in favor of some Skittles. Taste the rainbow, Kim Jong Il.

A cow. He's actually happier than he looks. I gave him a killer stock tip. After that, he was quite bullish.

(Thank you, ladies and germs. I'll be here all night. Try the sirloin.)

Please ignore the sandals. Please. I know they don't exactly compliment the outfit. I wish I had a valid excuse for wearing them. The truth is, though, that I'm a heathen. Those are the same sandals I wore during my wedding ceremony.

(No, not really. And my daughter's name isn't really Rowena. It's Spencer.)

The little one's reaction when I told her that Grover isn't a real monster, and instead just some fabric with a couple of hands shoved up his ass.

And here she is living out the fantasy of many.

"Thank you very much for enjoying your meal with our heart"? I knew I tasted something strange. Besides the kimchi*, I mean.