stamps and hand cramps

The world's roads are lined in paper.

I am in the middle of killing a small forest to convince my country, my host country, two sets of employers, my grad school, my bank and my property managers that no, I am not an drug dealer or communist spy, and yes, my plan is a flawless one. The first bits I'm fairly certain on, at least.

Hollywood keeps promising an era where one iris scan and a few keystrokes will give you access to anywhere you're authorized, but I'm telling ya, people, we are far from that day. This is still a world of fuzzy faxes and nonstandard passport photos. Oh well, at least the countries I'm dealing with this time have straightforward procedures, if not exactly simple ones. And if something goes wrong, I suppose I could always try that whole "look into my eyes" thing at customs.

And then there's the decidedly disconcerting feeling of signing your life away on papers that look like a muddy-footed robin tromped on them. Don't worry - the hangul (Korean script) is only in logos or accompanied by English translations - but it's still downright bizarre to think this garbledy-gook actually means something. The first time someone sent me an e-mail with hangul terms, I burst out laughing. It was as if someone had said, quite earnestly, "Oh you have to try awjvoeksoflkf... and the poekjvoek is really great but skip the slkdfov ... oh and don't miss the fjowebvo with lots of rejobiejof." Except weirder, because they're symbols that I can't even sound out yet, so they don't seem like words at all. (One of the actual quotes: "I want to recommend that you have to have korea food such as 삽겹살, 불고 기, 김치, 비빔밥.")

Anyway, the journey of a thousand miles begins with one dead tree, so I better get back to it.