Chapter 10: Catching Up

SITTING IN the Business Room booth of a Tom N Toms Coffee shop, listening to Korean R&B mismatched with ridiculous music video (angry Korean jamiroquai), having finished a large Hot Chocolate with whipped cream -- yawning, should have opted for a higher caffeine/gulp ratio -- Our Hero contemplates the next stage of his life.


But first, we must recount the past few months of the current one.

* Ice-fishing festival!

Allow me to explain the wonders of ice-fishing. There are none. It is entirely without wonder. Freezing ridiculosity, however, it's got in spades. Literal, jabby, tree frog-poison-tipped spades.

You know that nature clip of the bear that stands in the middle of a fish ladder, waiting for absurdly sex-crazed salmon to jump into its jaws? This... was nothing like that.

[DISCLAIMER TO THOSE OF YOU WHO DON'T ENJOY SOMEWHAT GRAPHIC, WHIMSICAL DESCRIPTIONS: THERE BE BALLS AHEAD.]

Imagine a circular pool filled with circulating, sub-zero water, and a few fish. Now add a heaping handful of foolish foreigners, red-blooded (for the moment), and ready to verify their virility vis-a-vis vasectomy, and you can begin to appreciate the proverbial plunge taken by Our Hero and his compatriots.

To explain a little less alliteratively, it was COLD. The air was cold, the water was cold, the ground was cold. My feet were not cold; in fact, they weren't anything. As far as my brain was concerned, I was coasting towards the next ice age on a few clumsy stumps. No wait... that presupposes that any of my higher mental functions were at all involved in this fiasco. Let's relegate the blame to the South. It's usually their fault. (And here, I'm going to exploit English's lack of a dual possessive pronoun, and pretend I'm talking about something other than my gonads.)

In any case, I shuffled into position around the arctic pool, ready to prove possession of what I was in all probability about to freeze off. Bearing this in mind, I can rationalize the next five minutes of the announcer's jaw-flapping as the analogue to the doctor-recommended waiting period before a normal sex change operation. Or so it strikes me now; at the time, had I been able to take two successful steps in a row, I'm pretty sure I would have torn off his arms and beat him to death. But only because that's the method that generates the most heat.

Concluding his pre-schadenfreude spiel, the announcer hit a gong and shooed us into the pool. I immediately regretted, in order of terribleness, 1) my decision come to Korea, 2) the day I was born, and 3) the day I was born with testicles, who, with a Costanzasque cry of "SHRINKAGE!", dove back into my body, a pair of Punxsatawny Phils who'd seen their shadows.

My body now running sans brain and balls, there was little chance of me ever catching a fish -- hypothermia was much more likely. I splashed around for awhile, combing the corners, shallows, and depths of a level-bottomed, circular pool. But to say that I "fished" would be stretching it.

I touched a few fish. Some of them bumped into my legs. Others swam through my frigid digits. Around me, I could see people stuffing their catches into their t-shirts, looking like the world's most desperate shoplifters. Yet the slimy buggers eluded me, taunting like only mute, unblinking creatures can.

After some time, I became aware of two things. First, the longer I stayed in the pool, the lower my chances actually got of catching a fish. Even if a wily trout jumped into my hands, I'd be hard pressed to do anything but hi-five his moxy before he slipped back into the water to brag to his friends. Second, and perhaps owing to the universality of this condition, I was the only person left in the pool. People were counting down, then the gong sounded for the second time. I trudged over to the stairs leading out amid applause that was probably out of sheer wonder. Whether it was at my hardiness or near-Darwin Award foolishness, I'm not sure.

Warming up in the tent was worse than the pool. If the freezing ordeal I'd just suffered was like doing a power-hour with tequila, this was the morning after. Nerves screaming back to life, my body felt like it was on fire from the inside. It was the worst pain I've ever felt, and there was no way to stop it; I was on the wrong side of the pain -- unlike fire or needles or electricity, this wasn't pain that stops when you withdraw from the source, but pain you must go through to get back to normal. It felt like all my teenage growth spurts packed into five minutes. It was hell.

Obviously, the next time I do this, I'd better catch a damn fish.

* Lunar New Year

Our next stop along painful memory lane... just kidding.

[YOU MAY NOW RESUME READING. AND PRETEND YOU DIDN'T READ ALL THAT ABOVE.]

I'm just gonna come right out and say it: I love me some Korean pancakes. They (pajeon) are the best thing evarrr. Yes, the soup has the power to make you a year older -- Koreans age like they do everything, en masse, with much fanfare and tasty food. The moment you slurp a magical spoonful of the stuff, you gain a year. The next few spoonfuls are... bland by comparison. But not the magically delicious pancakes, which can be eaten without such dramatic aging effects.

Joowon cooked everything, and we even got to try her mom's kimchi. It was kimchilicious. There is no other word. None.






All the ladies wore Hanbok.

















Deliciousness.



















Magic soup. Probably the only thing a Korean would eat while knowing it ages you.














We did not eat Juni. We fed him.








* Ridiculous Photo Roundup








"Premium Deep Sea Drinking Water From 1,032m"
If you can tell me how the best sea water comes from the bottom of the ocean, then I've got part of a bridge to sell you.














Not an uncommon sight.

Some other little clay dude is in for it.

No, it's not real soju. Yes, it does have a tiny soju bottle opener. Yes, real soju has a screw top. No, I don't get it either.


















Trendy Wendy is kind of a jerk.


















I have no idea.

















Only Kyle will get this...

















.... but Dibblah-san (AKA Bob's Barbie) does an ok meat pie.














I call these "Thirst Wagons."














Occasionally, Seoul is surprisingly gorgeous.

















Case in point.



















Now, THIS guy's a team player.



















History should always be enshrined in something that is only slightly less cool-looking.















Straight out of Animaniacs: The Goodfeathers.










I'm convinced that this is Giant Christian Bale.


















Su, the coolest band in Seoul plays outside the Gage bar on weekends. Watch. The first clip is pretty much an entire song. In the second, there is a kazoo.













wOOt.


* The Visit

Apologies for the repeat posting of pictures, but unlike some of the more guileless (less guileful?) internetoids out there, I've not granted facebook access to every person I know. But in a BitE exclusive, I've almost finished cobbling together a highlight reel... for the next post. Until then, sate thy appetite with...


* Classroom Chronicles

Yes, it's another installment of what I hope will soon be a short-lived series on FOX. Enjoy.

Our Hero, attempts to convey the idea of euphemisms to young students.

Me: When we want to say something that may be too rude or inappropriate, we find a nicer, more general way to say it. For example, when you "go to the restroom", you're not actually going to a room to take a rest, right? It's like that.

Student A: So yoopemijim is rest? Instead of poop?

Me: Uh... sure. Kind of. Like, "passed away" means "died", and--

Student B: Teacher, I know yoopemijm for restroom!

Me: Really? I mean, restroom is a euphemism. See, "rest" isn't --

Student B: BOWEL MOVEMENTUH. I do in bowel room.

Me: .... no, not quite. That's pretty much the opposite. That's very specific, and --

Student B: Movementuh room?

Me: Closer, maybe. You know how when someone dies, we say they "passed away"? It's --

Student A: Oh, shitroom teacher?

Me: Nononono. Er... pooproom is fine. Let's all go to page 97.

Our Hero attempts sarcasm, as the kids ask him his age:

Kid A: Teacher, how old?

Me: How old what?

Kid A: How old you are?

Me: 75.

Kid A: Nuh uh, teacher!

Me: Ok, you got me. 76.

Alex: How come you are teaching, then? You should be retired!

Me: Because, I just had to come to Korea so I could teach you, Alex! You are tricky. You need to be at least 70 to teach someone like Alex.

Kids: Nuh uh, teacher!

Alex: It's true! [Puts up two victory V's triumphantly]

Me: You tell 'em, tricky Dick.

Alex: Huh?

Me: Er, Richard Nixon.

Alex: Who is Lichaduh Nixon?

Me: ..... some dead guy. Go to page 97.


- K

Chapter 9: Over the Hump

OUR HERO has not, in fact, perished.


He has just been very busy. Festivals, snowboarding, essay grading, essay writing, essay revising, application making, and some work as well. I do earn my paycheck. Occasionally. On Wednesdays, anyway.


So stay your concerns, unless they are in the form of cookie-laden care packages. (No raisins! Raisin-laden care is scarcely care at all; if you must send old grapes then potable, if not portable, is preferable.)


* 3 months left

And I still haven't learned Korean. Sure, I've picked up the odd phrase here and there. I can have broken conversations to the effect of:

[CAPS = me speaking korean. italics = korean person speaking korean.]

In the taxi:
"Where to?"
"JANGHANPYANG STATION."
"Where?"
"JANGHANPYA -- JANGHANGPYEONG STATION."
"Where?"
"JANG. HAN. PYEONG. STATION."
"Where?"
".... KYEONGNAM HOTEL."
"Oh, by Janghanpyeong station?"
"......... YES."

On the phone:
"Hello?"
"Yobosaeyo?" (Standard Korean telephony greeting.)
"... Hello-oh."
"...Yobosaeyo?"
"... WHO IS THIS?"
".....Yobosaeyo?"
"Hi! I'm speaking English! You probably don't know me!"
"... Yobosaeyo?"
"WHO IS THIS??? I AM AMERICAN PERSON. I DO NOT SPEAK KOREAN. THERE IS NO KOREAN PERSON HERE!"
"... Yobosaeyo?"
"........... ONE PEPPERONI PIZZA, PLEASE?"
"....Yob-"
"DO YOU WANT TO DIE?!"

On the street:
"So, where are you from?"
"I AM AN AMERICAN CITIZEN."
"Oh, America. You hegemonic bastards sure love to go to countries without learning their languages, huh?"
"....YES PLEASE?"
"Oh, no worries. I simply love the 'civilizing influence' of roving bands of drunken soldiers and 'teachers', going around like God's gift to Korean women."
"TEACHER, YEAH, ME TEACHER. AT ACADEMY."
"Oh, I would never have guessed. So, will that be one fish ball stick or two?"
"ONE FISHBALL STICK, PLEASE, YES, THANK YOU, YES, GOOD BYE!"

On the bright side, I still have time. The grammar's supposedly not so hard, and the writing is pretty tractable; it's mostly lack of necessity and abundance of other things to do that have kept me to the caveman-smalltalk conversational paradigm.

* Doctor's visit

In keeping with the forewarnings of my parents, and the imperitives of Disturbed, I have indeed got Down With The Sickness during my first stint teaching. It seems like every other week, some part of my body rebels against all the other parts, generally by trying to secede. The mucus which once protected my stomach and greased my brain has long since formed its own self-sustaining collective in a Kleenex shantytown. In one week, my Gastro-Intestinal War Complex produced enough gas to ween the US off foreign oil.

There seems to be a strange belief in this country regarding soap in the bathroom i. e. there is none. Like, anywhere. With the exception of those Dirty, Foreign restaraunts and their primitive beliefs in soap, most bathrooms here consist of cold water and toilet paper next to the sink. Find me a bathroom with soap, and I will show you a jackalope impersonating Elvis and the Lindburgh baby's love child.

I blame my constant medical maladies on this practice, as well as the fact that nobody covers their mouths when they cough everywhere. Common sense?! Yes. Culturally insensitive? Maybe. Disgusting? Always.

Regardless of which particular problem I've had when going to the doctor, the solution seems to be the same: 3 packets of pills, and a shot in the buttocks. Coughing? Pills and a poke. Rash? Pills and a poke. Bubonic Plague? Pills and a poke. No idea what this cocktail comprises; judging from the Korean attitude towards their food and its health benefits, I'm pretty sure they're kimchi pills and a soju shot.


Due to popular demand (i.e. internet whining) I'm going to stop here and fill you in on the other stuff later.

The next post, due out soon (really!) will include such topics as:

* Ice-fishing festival!
Attended. Did not die.

* Lunar New Year
Ate Joowon's cooking. Did not die.

* Expensive water, with a twist!
"Premium Deep Sea Drinking Water From 1,032m"

* Dry erase = regular marker?
Koreans don't know the difference!

And pictures of all these things.

* Classroom Chronicles

I leave you with another glimpse into my working life:

In response to the prompt: If you could, would you move to the moon?

We have...

The patently ridiculous:
"I'd like to move. Firstly, the moon is environmentally clean. So we can breathe fresh air and drink fresh water."

The rhyming ridiculous:
"And think about strange flowers and trees, special river and seas, it becomes the wonderful world we want!"

The scary:
"If I can own the moon, I will keep the moon clean. And build only PC room.
And house, and supermarket. I think it will be fun."

The incomprehensible:
"We must to drink water and spresh the air and also i can move myself to easily."

The best:
"Moving to the moon could be a lot like to get windows Vista. It was new and we tried it our family. We thought it would be very good because it was new. But it was very not good. Nothing was worked. Like this, the moon could also be new but also be very bad."

- K

Chapter 8: Oh The Weather Outside Is Spiteful

WE rendezvous with Our Hero during a brief reprieve from an anti-hellscape that would give Ithaca a run for its "How Low Does Kelvin Go?" prize. Today warmed up to a toasty 30something. Warmed Up To. When you see a Korean weather forecast that, in Celsius, looks more like an elementary paint-by-numbers kit than anything else, you know it's time to invest in a few animal hides.

From there, our story continues...

* Warm Winter Garments

Turns out, if you're hunting for deer, moose, or just low, low prices, you must journey to the heart of Seoul's shopping district, Dongdaemun Stadium, in the wee hours of the night -- when bargains are plentiful and bargain-hunters only less so. Most of the shopping transpired underground, in a subterranean labyrinth of leggings, hats, mittens, and too-small shoes. Slightly higher prices were tolerated for much higher temperatures, as shopping outside for that which we presently lacked would constitute a (rather quick) study in diminishing returns. Think Hoth minus the balmy inside of a dead Tauntaun.

I got: 3 hats, gloves, mittens, a giant scarf, and a toasty feeling of winter-readiness. I almost got: frostbitten toes, free coffee, and in a fight with drunk Koreans at a restaurant. I almost didn't get: home alive.

* Everland!

This really deserves a whole posting to itself, but I'll pique your something or other with these pictures:





Dunno why there are two moons in this picture.












There are chairlifts. In the distance, take a gander at Asia's largest wooden rollercoaster, and the steepest one in the world.

Part of Feeley-Summerl's "Jumping Photos ~ Flying!" series.










Cheap imitation of a genuine Feeley-Summerl.











They wear helmets. The helmets match the ornaments. Oh, Korea.









Tasty roast squid and peanut butter. No, really.









My retirement hobby.






* Korean Costco

Saves my life. It is real Costco, with one small difference. To a Korean: free diced onions + free ketchup + free mustard + a plate = free side dish. Really. I will get photo evidence. Anyways, it was the source of all the Thanksgiving foodstuffs we needed, minus turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce. However it did provide three cooked chickens, cheap rolls, and Martinelli's sparkling cider in a 4 pack, 2 of which were drunk (mixed with soju, gaaaaaah!) and one of which remains in my keeping.

* Thanksgiving

We had a simple get together that included, among other things, home made stuffing. How do you make home made stuffing? I'll tell you. You get bread, leave it out for a night, crumble the dry pieces into a dish, add stuff, and bake in an oven.

Or, if you're us, you toast slices of white bread, at blurring speeds of up to ten slices an hour, for hours upon end. Observe the magic in action:




The stack grew as the night went on, roughly mirroring my intake of soju mixed in apple cider.










Yes, Theresa "crafted" the stuffing. But by volume and time involved, I am the rightful stuffing master.






* Haircut

Done.

* Nintendo DS

My Black Box o' Fun cost the equivalent of $150; in the U.S., it runs about $130 + tax... So for less than $10 extra, I got the case, the carrying case, and all games ever. Go me!

The best investment I've ever made myself -- beating out students loans and not infrequent flossing -- is about to get better. Chrono Trigger DS has been released, subsequently cracked, uploaded for, and downloaded by me, courtesy of Asian ingenuity and a certain disregard for copyright law. For the nerdier among you, I ask you the following: Fiendlord?

* The Won

Sucketh more. However, I've turned over a new half-full silver lining, or something to that effect. For example, my ticket home, purchased straight from the airline, was about 400 bucks cheaper.

* Christmas Confirmed

Right, so: I'm comin' home. I'll be there from the morning of the 24th to noon on the 3rd. The 24th is Family+Liwei time, and on the 25th there's... a birthday party or something. All other days are negotiable, though the vast majority will be spent with family. This means that if you want a piece of the Keith, you'd best schedule a time now. In pencil. With money attached.

* Korean Toiletry vs. Hygiene

Let's just say this: I would never want to be on the wrong side of a Korean toilet. Granted, I'd never want to be on the wrong side of any toilet, but the Korean Throne of Porcelain gets a special mention, due to a recent experience of mine.

I had two tasks to complete: brush my teeth, move some bowels. Obviously, the order is the aforelisted. Since I was at work, I decided to combine them into a single visit, under the guise of doing the former in a long yet plausible period of time. Having completed the brushing, I hoodie-pocketed the dental cleansing apparatus (one (1) toothbrush, std. size; and one (1) tube, toothpaste, std. size), and moved onto more stallward matters. The only cogent details here involve post-activity standing, leaning over to flush, and an unfortunate mid-flush lesson in gravity, static friction, and the overcoming thereof. Sploosh! sploosh! Then, less audibly, @#$%! Also, possibly a metaphysical poof! as my dental products vanished completely into the bowels of, well, bowels.

I panicked. I flushed again, and waited. It refilled at normal speed. I flushed, waited, and watched for a third time. It refilled a third time. Sharp panic becoming honest to goodness scientific inquiry at this point, I threw some toilet paper in, flushed and waited. No problems. After a few minutes, as my cover story of toothbrushery wore thinner with each flush, I decided to mosey on out of there. And yes, I whistled nonchalantly.

Alas, the next day, I saw a sign on the door in Korean, and knew the worst had happened. I don't know what the sign says, but I'd like to think it reads:

Here lies the Super Toilet, King of Thrones, Flusher of All Things Great and Small.

Farewell, Oh Porcelain Prince.

* Beard Rubbing Ritual

Mostly to part on a note slightly higher than a bathroom story, I will now relate to you the strangest thing I've witnessed in Korea: a creepy, old, Korean beard-afficianado. Let us relive this event theatrically:

YOU HAVE BEARD

A play in one part.

Personae Dramatis

Ramsey ..................................... A fully bearded American.
"Jimbo" ..................................... A Korean gentleman, somewhat bearded, and somewhat drunk.
Theresa .................................... A woman, beardless.
Kaitlyn ....................................... A Canadian, though strangly beardless.
Keith .......................................... Hid his almost-beard, after witnessing the ritual.
Chorus ....................................... If applicable.

Setting: A dark sidewalk in the middle of Hyundai-town, known for its "massage parlors" and erratic bus schedules.

Theresa: " ... And on Tuesdays, between 2:56pm and 3:02pm, when the date ends in multiple of 3, and the weather is between partly to mostly sunny, the 2112 bus will not turn right unexpectedly."

Keith and Ramsey: "OOOoooooh."
Kaitlyn: "OOOoooooh, eh?"

Theresa: "The 2211, however, is a bit complicated, and only makes lefts if the driver is wearing either a pink tie, or --"

Enter Jimbo, Stage Right.
Jimbo: "HI!"

Others: "... Hi."

Jimbo, pointing: "YOU HAVE BEARDUH."

Ramsey: "Uh, that's right, I do have a beard."

Jimbo, pointing at self: "I HAVE ALSO BEARDUH!"

Jimbo thrusts his chin upwards, revealing resplendant neck beard.

Ramsey: "Yup, that's a beard alright."

Jimbo: "YOU TOUCHEE?"

Ramsey: "'Scuse me?"

Jimbo: "TOUCHEE! MY! BEARDUH!"

Ramsey: "Oh, uh... hmm. I dunno about that."

Jimbo: "BEARDUH!"

Jimbo grabs Ramsey's hand.

Ramsey: "Okay, okay!"

Jimbo rubs the back of Ramsey's hand against his neck beard.

Keith wraps his scarf around his face.

Ramsey: "That's a nice beard ya got there. No doubt about it."

Jimbo, releasing hand: "YOU BEARDUH!"

Proffers his own hand.

Chorus, Off-Stage Left: And God did harden Ramses, er, Ramsey's beard, but softened his heart.

Ramsey rubs Jimbo's hand on his beard.

Jimbo: "OOooooh. Nice-uh."

Ramsey: "Sure is."

Jimbo points at Kaitlyn.

Jimbo: "YOU WIFE?"

Ramsey: "Nope."

Jimbo turns to Kaitlyn.

Jimbo: "HE HAVE BEARDUH! WHY NO MARRY?"

Kaitlyn: "...... what does he mean, 'Why no--"

Jimbo: "HE NICE BEARDUH! YOU MARRY!"

Theresa: "No, I don't think that's quite how it works."

Jimbo turns to Theresa. Theresa looks for Keith.

Keith: "Ninja, VANISH!"

Exit Keith, Stage The Shadows

Theresa: "Damn!"

Jimbo: "YOU MARRY! HE NICE BEARDUH!"

Ramsey: "We BOTH nice bearduh!"

Jimbo: "YES! WE BOTH BEARDUH, NICE BEARDUH!"

Theresa, to Jimbo: "I can see that!"
to Ramsey: "I'll kill you."

Kaitlyn: "... I mean, yes, a beard would be nice for keeping the moose at bay, but..."

Jimbo: "BEEEEEEAAAARDUH! " Belches. "OK, BYE!"

5 minutes pass.

Keith, from The Shadows: "Is he gone?"

Fin.


- K

Chapter 7: Caveat Lector

OUR HERO finds himself in a bit of a predicament, the likes of which may only be appreciated by the more videogamerish among you: buy the Nintendo DS or the Playstation PSP? Both have their merits, their problems, and share an order-of-magnitude price similarity, but I find myself leaning towards the DS. I can wangle one for two hundies, replete with hard case, travel bag, and the illegal R4 chip chock full of cracked DS games and gizmos. The drawback? It'll be programmed in Korean. The upside? I'll have a real reason to learn Korean.

As may be dawning on you even now, I, in a fiberlicious effort at regulation, have taken to blogging about what can be called, for lack of a better term (and in keeping with the spirit of the digestive metaphor), regular crap. No witticisms promised herein, thereunto, heretofore, and other ridiculous amalgamations. Come on, insofar as, you're almost there.

Anywho, I'm at work, done preparing today's lessons, and in between classes at the moment. I've spent the past thirty minutes catching up on other people's blogs, when it occurred to me -- no offense intended -- that I shouldn't limit myself to multiply edited, overwrought nuggets of Koreana; I could write about the wobliness of my elbowskin, and neither you nor the world could stop me...

Sometimes, my inner villain manifests itself in mysterious ways. Epidermal musings aside, my Machiavellian lobe hasn't gotten enough play lately, and it seems you are to bear the brunt of my machinations blogwise.

If this post has a chance of redemption, especially from the ever emo-izing abyss of meta, it would be in the newly formed yet already auspiciously titled:

"Chronicles of the Korean Classroom!" ("classroom, classroom, classroom...")

The following represents a cross-section of daily life among the ani- er, children.

* While filling in for another teacher, I have trained her kids to stop saying "yay!" when they get a question right, replacing it with a rather stuffy round of "huzzah!" This was done completely for my own amusement.

* One kid didn't do his homework for the third week running. So I made him do a wall-sit. Koreans are amazingly adept at squatting everywhere, but the wall sit's impossibility to the Korean is alluded to by a complete lack of anything resembling a rear end in the majority of the population. Hence, when 30 seconds later, the kid's legs started shaking, I could tell he'd learned his lesson.

I'm pretty sure the next 90 seconds, however, were for my own amusement. There's something to be said for making the lesson stick, but the day's lesson was "plausible deniability," though I may have forgotten to mention it.

* Lest you think me too cruel to my charges, let me leave you with this gem: there's something called Ddong chim. I have so far managed to avoid it, but not by the grace of good children. Our Hero acquires catlike reflexes where his rear iris, to purloin a phrase, is involved in a direct capacity. The irony of the attempted Ddong chim-ing on Pepero Day, a holiday created for the giving and receiving of chocolate covered sticks (Korean Pocky), was not lost on Our Hero.

That's all for now. I may have crossed a line or two, but I like the metaphorical cohesion, vis-a-vis fecal imagery, and will gladly accept the admonitory email from the 'rents in exchange for the one or two true connoisseurs of meta-crap-meta-crap.

I leave you with a brief AIM exchange:

Julie: The speakers said that you can't be a surgeon if you'd rather be Jackson Pollock.

And to be honest I'd rather be Jackson Pollock.

Me: Good to know those are mutally exclusive. Except, possibly, for a singular intersection at haruspicy, but I'm hoping that's not what they meant.

- K

Chapter 6: I Need A Montage!

SO, I'm lazy. On the other hand, you're getting this for free. So who's really the lazy one?

Ok it's me, as evidenced by the utter lack of pictures accompanying this post. Mea Culpa, I'll do better next time.



* Mihwangsa

Went to a Buddhist temple. Stayed the night. Partied with monks. Climbed a mountain, and looked over the sea in both directions. Also, gained Squat Toilet Skillz. Awww, yeah, gimme some.

* Seoul Drum Festival

Let's talk about something that happened awhile back, the pictures of which are blurred beyond the awesome powers of Adobe: the Seoul Drum Festival.

It had been awhile since we'd been oot and aboot -- drinking-establishments excluded, of course -- and enough had become enough; before Theresa got here, we'd decided that we were going to spur each other to take advantage of the strange metropolis of Seoul, and that didn't seem to be happening as much as we'd have liked.

Enter the Seoul Drum Festival. Directions: combine the following words into a state of ridiculous fun:

- Seoul Forest
- giant stage
- keytar
- synth drums
- hair band
- breakdancing demon
- fire
- mob of koreans.

Ok, stream of consciousness narrowly avoided, let's see what the hell I'm talking about. We got there well after nightfall, having missed an act or two. The band onstage consisted of 3 guys with synthetic quad-drums and a drum machine, backed up by a girl on a dais with a huge keytar. It was loud. It was cool. At one point, they swapped their drums for sensors placed on their bodies, and played by smacking, patting, and chest-bumping. Fun Was Had By All.

The next band was a jazz band. There was a Korean drummer. I think. They played Hawaii 5-0, and When the Saints Come Marching In. Confusion Was Shared By Most.

Then came an Indonesian (possibly) band, comprised of around 10 guys, half of whom were sitting. Complex rhythms evolved from simple "pass around the beat" stints, and it got faster and louder -- the natural evolution of drums, it would seem. Some guys used their feet to change the pitch. There was some vocalization that can only be described as hooting, much to the delight of the many children present, or at least those still awake. Q: Who can sleep during a drum festival? A: Sleep-deprived Korean kids.

Anywho, we debated whether we should stick out the increasing chilliness for the "Closing Ceremony," which would consist of... we had no idea. Probably the emcee and a long-winded speech about culture.

Curiosity won out over the urge for self-preservation, or perhaps avenged the latter as our legs were frozen to the ground at this point, and we stayed. We were, how you say?, pleasantly surprised.

The Closing Ceremony consisted of 5 sequential acts, each more ridiculous than the last -- prompting repeated statements to the effect of, "Woah. No way they can beat tha- hang on..."

In the first, a long-haired, bearded and mustachioed, "just stepped out of a movie set at least a thousand years ago," drummer took the stage, three drumsticks in each hand. After some dramatic flourishing and mood-lighting, he managed to find his huge drum set, and proceeded to enact what could best be described as "what it would sound like if an avalanche had style."

The second act opened with a few dancers. They crossed the stage gracefully, opening and closing fans in time with the man -- referred to henceforth as "Animal" from the muppets. The drumming and dancing intensified; Animal started Headbanging in time with his own drumming. He was soon joined, drum- and headbang-wise, by two of the dancers, who turned out to be drummers after all. Three robed, possessed-looking drummers headbanging in-sync is a sight one does not soon forget. It was not, however, the finale, even of the act, as the remaining 3 dancers were joined by a breakdancing, masked demon. I can't quite explain how, but the juxtaposition of the flowing, graceful, Korean style and the frantically interrupted-yet-sinuous movements of the breakdancer were mesmerizing. This, we were sure, as the lights went out, could not be topped.

The lights didn't come back on for a bit. Just as I was rousing my legs to life, more drumming came from the still unlit stage. Unlit, yet... holy #$%^, their drumsticks are on fire. Sometimes, your mind actually thinks in censored noises. Afterimages rhythmically blazed across the stage, too faint for my cellphone camera, but clearly visible in the chilly darkness of evening. Surely this, we knew must be the finale.

A question that has plagued philosophers since the time of Aristotle was about to be answered: If a tree falls in Seoul Forest, and nobody hears it over the fiery drumming of the festival musicians, what beats breakdancing demons and pyrotechnics? The answer?

Breakdancing demons, pyrotechnics, and a four-way sword fight.

Eventually the flames were extinguished, but not before armed dancers took the stage. Imagine the part of a kung fu movie it's one guy against all the others. Drums pounding in the background, he manages to fight one off, only to have his foe replaced by two, three more sword-wielding attackers. Now, imagine that he's spinning on his head, fending off the stabs of three lethally graceful fan dancers with straight swords. Add in the crazed thrashings of our long-haired drummer trio, and you've got yourself a ballgame. Except, you know, interesting to watch.

Anyway, the following (and final) act involved putting water on the drum heads to make up for the obvious lack of spectacle in any of the preceding acts. Also, Animal jumped on his drums at one point. There was a video in the background, all the Koreans chanted something akin to "Viva Korea!" in a startling display of, well, emotion. At the end, the crowd flooded the stage, interrupted, frustrated, and finally chased away the emcee.

All in all, it was a good night.

* The Won

This post is getting out of hand. The idea was to be quick. So, here goes. The won has, alternately: lost, gained, risen, fallen, exploded, sucked, been unpegged, come unglued, skyrocketed, plummeted, gained me moneys, lost me moneys, lost me 'earties, lost me monkeys, upchucked, downsized, inflated, popped, and died.

It will, one hopes, resurrect in a few months. Otherwise, my salary is being paid in Zombie Bucks, and could turn out to have the buying power similar to shells and beads, only a few millennia late.

* Christmas

I may come home. If I do, it will be from Dec. 23- Jan. 3rdish. Hide your women and children.

* Online sibling absence

Tasha is probably dead. I haven't received so much as a facebook poke from my errant, soon to be erstwhile twin. Let it be Proclaiméd here and now: I get her stuff.

* Work

Is boring. I am at work. And bored. Latest batch of quotes from students, in response to

Me: "Why do you want to visit the US?"
Student A: "For free lady. Teacher, how you call free lady?"
Me: "Free... ladies? Er..."
Student A: [Pantomimes]
Me: "... The Statue of Liberty?"
Student A: "Yes. I like free stajoo lady."
Student B: "I want to go USA and see Batman, Superman, and Obama."



- K

Chapter Five: Some Ado About Nothing

OK GANG, here's the deal. I've been on two photolicious trips since last time I posted, and those photos are forthcoming. For now, content yourselves with the following, less adventurous problems of Our Hero, and perhaps glean from it that he is settling into this strange land with some success.


* Spaghetti in a styrofoam bowl -- proof that it's not "the thought that counts." The concept, though horrendous to you true Italian gourmands out there, seems feasible enough: noodles+spaghetti sauce = spaghetti. In a part of the world renowned for the ability to make, dehydrate, and package noodles, there's only so much room for error in this equation, right? Unfortunately, Korea is also known for its proven ability to seize upon the tiniest space and develop it into a glaring monstrosity. Hyperbole? Me? Never.
I'm just of the opinion that, given the strength of Korea's global network of commerce, especially as regards the West, that they might, you know, find a way to put actual spaghetti sauce in a plastic packet. They can dry-goodsify damn near every other foodstuff, including several hundred species of gooey undersea creature, but when it comes to the marinara dessicante, Korea magically infuses the resulting powder with hot'n'spicy, straight from the spice-weasel. Not that I don't like-a the spice -- in fact, my palate has gone from Near-Swedish to More-Chili-Paste-Please! in a few short months -- but it's the principle of the thing. It's like biting into a slice of pizza to find a layer of Cocoa Puffs: two flavors, both tasty, but never the twain shall meet.

Enough whining. The food here continues to boggle my mind, but usually in positive ways.

* 12/21/2012 vs. the Korean Won.

Alright. If you haven't heard of 12/21/2012, then you should know two things: first, the Mayan counting system is base 20, and its calendar throws in a 13-cycle just to be a little funky, and this somehow conspires to make a calendar that can only count up to December 21, 2012. Second, it's complete and utter bunk. Modern Mayan scholars give it no credence, and the date might not even be correct.
What is scarier than this shiny new example of New Age Nostradumbassery is the fall of the Korean Won, as well as the climb of the US Dollar. Now, don't get me wrong; I'm glad we're getting our economy back on track, but would it kill the US to take N Korea off the terrorist list? From the little I've been able to discern, their reluctance to do so has spurred the North to stop dismantling, and perhaps start reconstructing their nuke facilities, and this somehow makes the South's money worth less than before. C'mon, guys. Poppa needs a brand new student loan payment.

* sickness.

When I started this post, I was sick. I have since recovered. The cure seems to have been a mixture of sleep, The West Wing, and various alcoholic potables.

* a preview of the trip to a mountain

Here is what happens when you don't know how to say "We want to split this large, somewhat pricey meal."

Step 1- The Food.
[not pictured. refer to next image, but halve the quantity of foodage.]


Step 2- The More Food.

Step 3 - The "Aren't There People Starving Somewhere Who Could Maybe Live Off This For A Few Years?" Food.

Step 4 - Food Coma.



And that's all for now. When I have more time/energy/willpower/monetary incentive, I may post again.

Tootles!

- K

Chapter 4: Veni, Vidi, Vegged-i

It has come to the attention of Our Hero that further adventures are expected, and their recountings made public at the whim of his audience. Not one to disappoint, it has become his solemn duty to 1) get into hijinks and shenanigans galore, and 2) tell all you busybodies about it. Unfortunately, the "adventures" of hiking a beautiful mountain, tasting traditional cuisine, and attending festivals have yet to happen.



For now, you sorry sedentaries get to hear about my amazingly relaxing 5-day weekend. It was... lethargy at its pinnacle. What did I do? I ate. I slept. I watched bootlegged DVDs. Kung Fu Panda [or it's Eastern Brother Кунг-Фу Панда] was of amazing quality, both Movie- and bootleg-wise. Kudos to Dreamworks, and the Black Market for making this viewing possible.



Really, though, before you guys get all "what the heck, why didn't you GO somewhere on your vacation??!", let me share some thoughts. First off, my Korean, though improving, isn't anywhere near travel-worthy yet, at least not to the non-bucket-hats-and-camera-neckstraps destinations. Secondly, all of those destinations are full at the moment. Korea has this wonderfully efficient way of vacationing: all of the major corporations send their employees on vacation during the same couple of weeks. This is why I passed on invites to Pusan, a trip to Nami Island, and touring Korean vacation destinations in general.

Thirdly and finally, the weather kinda blew until just this morning. Today was a non-humid, 80ish day with a breeze and a cloudless sky. I really should have taken pictures. Unfortunately, I left my camera inside when we went "hiking" [really, if it's all staired and squared, can you call it hiking?] up a lush green hill, only to find a veritable outdoor gym at the top. There were elliptical machinces, Gazelle-esque walkers [a la Tony Little, but with stern-faced Koreans replacing steroid-induced crazy eyes], bars, rings, complicated self-lifting machines, and, Korea's National Gym Machine, the Twist-thingamabob. Imagine a little circular platform that you can rotate on. Now add handles for stability. Now, multiply by 20 and add brightly colored, middle-aged Koreans, Chubby Checkering their hip flexors into oblivion. God only knows if/how/why this exercise works, but I suspect it began as a practical joke of some kind, or as a bet between infomercial producers. In a gym in Korea, it's pretty ridiculous. Being ambushed by a squad of the smooth gyrators on top of a hill, in the middle of a hiking trail... "surreal" doesn't quite do it justice.

Other highlights of the vacation and past month [?! really? dang.] include:

- Singing karoake [noraebang in Korean] with former roommate Tom [+ a British Tom]. There were epic moments [Take On Me], ridiculous moments [dragostea din tei] , and video-captured moments [Wonderwall]. Also, when a second venue tried to charge us 20 bucks for singing, and another 19 for THREE CANS of beer [each valued at approx. $1.50], we opted for billiard instead, where I, using a two-fingered purple spandex glove, did Lay Down the Law of Pool Supremacy 5 games straight. Roommate Tom did Lay Down the Law of Scratching on nearly every shot, including one that went clear off the table.

- Imbibing non-crappy beer at a Medieval Themed brew-pub, with three variants of European Beer. It had shields, swords, coats of arms, and an 8-foot tall projector screen with the a live Pussycat Dolls concert. For The Authentic Tasting of Europe indeed!

- A non-PG13 story, in which one of my students loudly mispronounces the Scandinavian name Knut, to stunned silence on my part. I thought I recovered well, though, with "........ not quite. I think it's pronounced, 'Newt', not... it's 'Newt'. Good job."

- Debating the merits of cannibalism with a class full of precocious 5th graders. Most discussions ended in "... chaos. And like, zombies. ZOMBIE CHAOS! Can I go to the bathroom?"

And that's all the news that's fit to print. Join us next time, when Our Hero ventures to far-off lands on the weekend after getting a substantial paycheck!

- K