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.
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.
posted by Mark Hernandef at 2:51 AM
2 Comments:
''No, I don't have a gambling problem. I'm winning, and winning is not a problem. That's like saying Michael Jordan has a basketball problem, or Def Leppard has an awesomeness problem.''
EARL (JASON LEE), ON MY NAME IS EARL
Ooh, a Capturing the Friedmans reference! *swoon*
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