The whitest Christmas ever

So I’m State-side for the Holidays. A ticket home is a perk of the job, so I thought it would be fun to just surprise the folks.

Last Friday in Seoul, I thought I should stay up all night to help me sleep on the plane and better adjust to CST. So, after a disappointingly lackluster date Friday night, I met up with some buddies and headed to the casino. I quickly pissed away almost all the money I had to my name in Korea - not much since I hadn’t yet received a full paycheck yet in Korea - minus cab fare home and a bus ticket to the airport. Roulette can be a bitch like that. After several complimentary whisky cokes and a switch to a new table, Fortuna’s wheel started being a bit kinder and my last twenty odd bucks began to multiply like bunnies. Fortuna, she can sense inhibitions like a dog can sense another dog’s anal glands. Thus, roulette should only be played really, really drunk. Ever. And, big success! Within minutes, it was evident that my mojo was working, and Japanese businessmen were copying my every move. When I hit lucky #8 with 6 chips on it, I realized it was time to go home. Since I eventually walked out of there with a fat million won in my pocket (roughly a grand) - as opposed to the petty cash I’d planned on retaining for transportation - I can’t say that I’m developing a gambling problem. You only have a gambling problem if you lose money, right?

Well, no success with the sleeping plan, and I didn’t end up snoozing on the plane. Flirting with the flight staff (Koreans somehow manage to look good in a bun) and watching classic movies wasn’t the most satisfactory way to pass the time/ fight through a hangover. Luckily, I know how to say "I have a hangover" in Korean a couple different ways, so I had a steady supply of this weird pomegranate/tomato juice concoction, per the recommendation of the Korean Air staff.

After 40+ sleepless hours, I was welcomed to Atlanta by the dulcet tones of the friendly neighborhood TSA/ Homeland Security employee: "DON’T FORGEE-IT TUH-EW TAY-IK YO-ERR COMPUTER AY-OUT OF YO-ERR COMPUTER BAY-EGG... [etc.; ad nauseum] [later, glaring at this wee Korean gentleman] AH DON’T UNDERSTAY-END WHA PEOPLE CAY-INT UNDERSTAY-END MAH SEE-IMPLE INSTRUCTIONS," he said, in an unsettling, pervy rural accent that should only exist somewhere between the foothills of the Appalachians and a NAMBLA convention. Under my breath, but perhaps not as discreet as I thought I was being, a let out a series of mumbles: "Perhaps he doesn’t speak English that well? Or, maybe he just didn’t study it in a gutter..." "WHA-IT DEE-ID YUH-EW SAY-EE?," he say-id, ruddy and stone-faced, but also scrotum-gizzard and aviator-sunglasses-faced. "Uh, just that he probably doesn’t speak English well enough to understand you," I replied bitterly, in that "faggot-college-boy" accent that also tacitly doubles as a refresher lesson on the correct placement of monopthongs and diphthongs. I really thought that I would get singled out and anally finger-banged in the name of homeland security by this man who reminded me of my elementary school chess team coach (in hindsight, why did my parents trust this man, who I’m pretty sure had a co-leading role in "Capturing the Friedmans"), but no dice. Instead, he resumed his charming litanies: "ATTEE-INTION!! FOR EVERYBODY’S EE-INFORMATION SHAVING CREAM EE-IS A LEE-UHQUID. EE-IT EE-IS MOI-IST LAHK WATER WEE-UN YUH-EW TOUCH EE-IT." I’ve never been one to lampoon someone for their manner of speaking, but for fuck’s sake is this a proper way to greet drowsy travelers in International Arrivals? And when douchebag-with-a-badge walked by the xray machine I could see that he had cum stains lining the inside of his TSA uniform.

Being unable to communicate successfully is both the best and the worst part of living in Korea. Though I’ve recently begun to get frustrated with myself for my utter lack of language ability, the good of it is that I can't overhear people's asinine conversations, on the street, on the subway. I just listen to the cadence of their voices, and pretend they’re rehearsing lines from the translation of "Baby Got Back" for an upcoming school play.

Meanwhile, it’s good to be home for a quick visit, catching up with family and friends. It’s a huge bummer that I won’t be able to make it to Ohio, where I still have a huge concentration of people I care about. New Year’s in Birmingham with a couple of my best friends in the whole universe will be grand indeed.

A perv and his dog be nearby the subway station

Coming later, "My month in the present state of be[com]ing retarded." For 25-odd teaching hours a week this month, am/is/are were the only verbs at my disposal, something that has cost me at least 5 precious IQ points.

For now, an anecdote from earlier today. So, I've already mentioned my big-time pervert of a student who clearly puts everyone else off. The the ladies in the class huddle right next to me and I make The Perv sit as far away from them as possible. Also, his English is piss-poor. For example, I named him "John" - since it is easy enough to pronounce with Korean phonetics and if he's ever been laid he certainly had to pay for it - a name he has not managed to spell on his first several attempts. For another example, on a vocabulary test, his answers included two gibberish words - such as "rraspalt" - and "hat". The other 27 spaces were left blank. Since the vocab includes words like "blaspheme", "awkwardly", and "mute", it's safe to say that "hat" shouldn't have appeared on the test. Nice try, "Jen".

The school is run around the concept that Koreans already know English grammar, mandatory in most schools, and have a good working vocabulary. So, largely the lessons are centered around conjugating. The lesson for the day included prepositions, so I was trying to challenge the other students, all of whom are pretty decent at picking things up. So, I presented the ladies with "outside near Jamshil subway station with my husband". When they conjugated it to "Are you outside near Jamshil subway station," this one woman was skilled enough to change it to "with your wife?", something that wouldn't have occurred so smoothly in all my classes, and not really something I concern myself with in the lessons. When I pointed to John for the third-person, she balked a little bit: "Is [Mark]..." "Is John," I insisted. After a deep sigh, she started: "Ees John [sic] Jamshil near subway station weeth heez wi-, weeth dog."

I utilize his name a lot in class, not only because he's the only opportunity for the third-person masculine other than a personified houseplant, but because at first I thought I was only imagining that these ladies tend to make mistakes that they wouldn't ordinarily make when using his name in example sentences. You can almost hear their ass-cheeks clench together and their joints lock up at the mention of "John", all the worse when they are made to say it themselves. I've learned how to say "Why are you nervous" in Korean, and these ladies answer by gesturing with their eyes. In turn, they said that they wouldn't resign unless John gets moved out of their class - something I tried to have happen on the first day.

There is a soda fountain in the lobby, and John's mouth is always crusted in orange soda. Only squatty kids and perverts drink orange soda, and John does so ravenously.

What a coinkidink! You're cool and you make your pinky stink

Back in my old neighborhood, there was this whitey-chick with cool hair who I would pass to or fro' work 3-4 times a week, usually in the morning. She had her headphones on every time we passed, so our communication was just limited to a reciprocal smile, wave, smile, optional curtsy/shrug, blush. So, with the headphones on, she never heard the charming things I would say, such as "good morning cute girl with cool hair and headphones on, who doesn't hear the charming things that I say," or "I have a feeling we live parallel lives, which are only meant to intersect 100 yards on either side of this bridge."

I would actually make a point to be out of the door by 9:03, to increase the chances of our 9:05 bridge encounter, putting me at work a few minutes earlier than I needed to be. Lame, sure. But cute, right? Though I thought it was almost a better story if we'd never talked - what if she opens her mouth and turns out to be utterly vapid, right? I didn't want to make the smile, wave, smile, curtsy, blush more complicated; worse, what if she had misshapen ears? - the last couple days I worked in that neighborhood I'd resolved to stop being a pussy. However, no dice and we didn't bump into each other.

Fast forward to my Thanksgiving cocktail party - a full month after our last chance encounter - and a success at that: 30-odd people through the night, many-many bottles of liquor/wine killed, the drunkest hand-turkeys ever made [I'm completely devoid of artistic ability, and mine looked like it had a scrotum-gizzard, which oddly enough was my nickname in high school], and a whipped cream fight. Who walks through into my place, randomly around midnight? Cute girl with the cool hair, sans headphones! A friend of a friend's roommate, apparently. She admonished me, of course, for never gesturing for her to remove the headphones. And said she'd started taking the bus the last couple days I was at work, once it turned cold. Let me add that I now live about 15 miles away from where I did before, an hour's journey by cab/foot and subway.

Lo! She actually turned out to be very interesting, and I wasn't drunk enough not to get a phone number: "I'm sorry, this is too cute a story for me not to pursue." [Ok, in reality between the whisky, Jager, tequila, general awkwardness, and wine I'm sure it was more like "Your number. Phone do you have one? Ok? Awesome."]

I'm not one for hyperbole, but yesterday was probably the longest I've ever talked to anyone without having them say something that put me off in the slightest. I've met this girl, Alaska chick, for Sunday Mexican food a couple times now, yesterday having turned into a nine hour lunch date. The last place we went to, for a weekend cap, ending up being that random-ass bar where my stupid ass was duped into paying almost $200 for a bottle of wine a couple months back - a place that I'd thought I'd NEVER be able to find again.

At which point was I decidedly keen? When Alaska chick shared a story about how she would "stinky pinky" friends. Female Mark? I dunno, but one of my favorite things to do growing up was to fart on my hands and blow my siblings an affectionate kiss: "Your breath stinks, stinky breath." "It's not my breath, turd breath. Yeah, right. I farted on my hand and blew you a kiss." "Yeah, right. Butthole... breath." My favorite movie line ever is probably in "Y Tu Mama Tambien," where Tenoch cuts one in the car and says "Do you smell bread?" - a riot! There was a summer as an undergrad where I received a research grant and could've been considered a professional scatologist. Etc. She's the only person ever who was more amused than put off by my "butt germs" phobia story that culminated in me crapping my pants the day my sister was born.

Stinky pinky? +5 points for sure. Hmm, likes Journey... and Chuck Palahniuk? Luckily, now that I'm older I'm able to grant her a free pass on that one. All girls like Journey and Chuck Palahniuk, for whatever reason. Nevermind. -1 point just because.

A few of my favorite Konglish words

Because I enjoy the creativity that emerges when two languages clash, and because my English is totally fucked up already, here's a smattering of words that I will likely use (inadvertently or not) if/when I come back Stateside:

MacGuyver knife - Swiss Army knife

M-hair - male pattern baldness from the view of the forehead

Twist - to stumble while drunk

Punk tire - flat tire

Eye-shoppping - window shopping

Mustang - leather jacket

Barcode hair - a really bad combover

Dead ball - hit by pitch (baseball)

Pocket pool - Western style pool

Yoplait - yogurt

"I will kick her" - "I will break up with her"

Either... or...

I was talking to one of the receptionists at work the other day, asking her if she had any plans during an upcoming week off work: "Either I'm going to New York, or I'm going to have plastic surgery." "Pardon? What the hell are you thinking of getting done?" "My eyes are too small."
While I said "Honey, you're gorgeous; take that money and go someplace you haven't been before," once she called my attention to her eyes I was thinking "huh, I guess they are a little beady." Koreans are a little obsessed with physical features that I don't think a whole lot about. For example, I keep getting compliments about my eyebrows or my nose, parts of my anatomy I hardly groom or obsess over.

The first month I was here, I noticed a lot of young females around town wearing eyepatches. My only reaction was to make pirate noises under my breath. But now that I'm paying attention more, it's kinda shocking how widespread these surgical alterations are. Plastic surgery here is quite en vogue, given away as high school graduation presents and contest giveaways. The most common are certainly double eyelid surgery to enlarge the size of the eyes and nose enlargement - interesting because "big nose" is an epithet for whities, not unlike the use of "slope". Another very common surgery is calf reduction, where a nerve in the leg is severed, causing the muscle in the calf to atrophy. Sexy.

Same receptionist then asked if I'd ever considered electrolysis. The receptionist sitting beside her assured me that the occasional Korean chick is into hairy dudes. "Really, really hairy guys?" Then she tried to take back what she'd said. :(

*ook

The other day, I was practicing movie scripts with my students. I’m a bit of a stickler for correct pronunciation, especially since that’s the main point of having them read these things anyway. I’ve pretty much spent all month on this monologue from "Bridget Jones," which is costing me what few heterosexuality points I seem to have left: "...I mean you wear stupid things your mum buys you - that tie's another classic..." My students are all at a really low level, so invariably the preceding line is originally read as "dat tie’s another class-ie" or "... clash-ie". Though the ending vowel in "classic" doesn’t really exist in Korean, my students (generally) have pretty good ears I can get them to say "classi[c]" except for the final consonant. At least in Seoul Korean, /k/ is typically unpronounced when at the end of a word. My students mock me and/or giggle whenever I refer to myself as a "mee-gook" (American), not only because the term is something of a mild pejorative but also because I pronounce the hell out of the /k/ at the end.

So, after thinking of different ways for my students to say "classic" with reasonably accurate pronunciation, I thought it would be fun to have my students mimic my horrible Korean. It seemed to be the quickest way to get them to hear word-final /k/. Though I couple months ago the word "gook" ("nation") made me a tad uneasy, apparently that’s no longer the case: "Alright, everyone. Repeat: ‘gook’." "Gook." "Gook, gook." "Gook, gook." "Gook." "Gook." It only occurred to me until seconds later what was happening. But now those gooks (jk) sound like Renee Zellweger herself!

Incidentally, my only two students to have dropped out so far are named Hur Tay Jew and Ee Tay Jew ("Hurt a Jew" and "Eat a Jew"). Might they have left because I almost giggled when they introduced themselves?

Saudis?

I just had probably the weirdest run-in with a stranger off the street. Back in my old neighborhood, I ran into this ajossi (older gentleman) who wanted to "talk". We "chatted" for about five minutes, consisting of remedial [Korean] exchanges such as "I'm 61," "that is a bakery," and "do you have babies?"

So, while we were yacking away, this man felt up about 65% of my body.* He stroked my stubble a number of times and asked if I was a "Saudi" - or that's what I presumed at the time. On the way back home, I did a quick dictionary search in my new swank-ass phone. Now I'm not sure if he was asking me if I'm a "Saudi-saram" or a "Sodom-saram", a "Saudi person" or a "Sodomite." Either way, I wish that I knew the Korean for "aw, you're just curious" or "I know some pill-popping raver kids who would adore you." It's one of those situations - that I find myself in frequently here - where you really want to walk away, but even more you want to see what'll happen next.

*I think people are touchier/gayer here, but it's probably a bit abnormal to molest a stranger like that. At work, a Korean office manager guy pats me down each morning to make sure that I'm sufficiently groomed. If my collar or tie need to be straightened he'll do it for me. Also, he wipes down the back of suit, presumably to clear any dust or lint. About 2-3 times a week he gropes my ass in the process. I have a $5 bet going that he'll try to/accidentally penetrate me with at least one digit before the year is over. There're no winners in a bet like that.

Worky

What is the proper reaction to roomsful of well-to-do Koreans memorizing movie scripts such as the following, from "Beverly Hills Cop"?:

Don't you think I realize what's going on here, miss? Who do you think I am, huh? Don't you think I know that if I was some hotshot from out of town that pulled inside here and you guys made a reservation mistake, I'd be the first one to get a room and I'd be upstairs relaxing right now. But I'm not some hotshot from out of town, I'm a small reporter from "Rolling Stone" magazine that's in town to do an exclusive interview with Michael Jackson that's gonna be picked up by every major magazine in the country. I was gonna call the article "Michael Jackson Is Sitting On Top of the World," but now I think I might as well just call it "Michael Jackson Can Sit On Top of the World Just As Long As He Doesn't Sit in the Beverly Palm Hotel 'Cause There's No Niggers Allowed in There!"

I'm not exactly sure what the pedagogical value of this is, but I had a lot of giggles to stifle the first few times I heard my students stumble through this passage. In light of all this (overblown?) Michael Richards hoopla, it's interesting to be in an environment where people read the "N word" so indifferently, sounding it out as if it were "computer programmer" or "tomato ketchup."

Dear Subconscious,

Last night, I had a dream that I received a raunchy text message from the Rev. Ted Haggard. Though I debated with myself about whether or not I should out him, at no point did I pause and think, "How in life did I become a gay gigolo?"