Winnie the Pervert

This month, I'm now able to communicate with about half of my students, beyond the simple present-tense only call-and-response of "Are you a famous doctor?"/"I am a famous doctor" that caused permanent brain damage last month.

I'm not sure if my students see their English lessons as cheap therapy, or if they simply don't have the ability to lie or hedge in a nonnative language. So when I ask how they're doing, by god, they tell me: "Last week, my girlfriend broke up with me. She said that she does not love me anymore. I was going to marry her, but she does not love me." I wasn't sure how to respond, so I tried to express my sympathy in Korean by offering up "I'm sad." Which, literally, is "I have eye-water." I don't know how to express happiness in Korean, but I can declare an absense of eye-water. Emotions are so tangible in this language!

On the topic of marriage, another student, quite attractive, went on a rant about how she would never marry a "handsome" man: "Later, he will, uh, probably find other women. So I want a husband who is not handsome, who is kind, who is gentle, who is nice. And rich." At some point she indicated a strong affinity for husky gentlemen: "When I hug... him, I want to feel warm. Like Pooh. I want husband like Pooh." There was mild confusion on my part, or at least a muffled smile. But I knew what she meant. The animated bear. This country is obsessed with Pooh.* In my kitchen, right behind my stove there's a tiling the says "FUN IN THE KITCHEN", with Pooh, Tigger, and Piglet popping their heads up to say hello.

Anyway, she went on. "I love Pooh. I watch all his movie. I think Piglet is cute. I have a beeeeg Pooh in my room... Why do you laughing?" It was at this point that it became necessary to reveal the scatological implications of the previous five minutes of conversation. Then I added that Winnie the Pooh is a pervert because he wears a shirt but no pants. They enjoyed my little joke, first told to me by this Korean who barely spoke any English, but only after they asked what "pervert" was. I explained by giving the corresponding word in Korean, the knowledge of which made me feel not unlike a pervert.

After the explanation that "Pooh" can also mean "shit," the old man in the class started referring to him as "bear Pooh": "My children like the bear Pooh." I didn't have the heart to tell him that that's even more hilarious.

*Not so much a nation of the poo-obsessed. Koreans seem to speak about feces as matter-of-factly as anyone would talk about maple syrup, falling snow, or newborn cattle. For example, perhaps my biggest epiphany of the year was realizing that Korean kindergarteners do not find it amusing when teacher farts. My first week on the job, I would slyly let it slide out. Then one day I made it audible enough for the class to hear. Crickets chirping. So then I began the kind of gedankenexperiment that would make Josef Mengele wince. I decided to make my bursts of flatulence more and more audible. What if I alter the pitch? Duration? Still nothing. Shocking! In the West, anything that could be construed as teacher farting is hy-fucking-sterical. Give yourself an arm rasperry. "Oh, teacher farted!" A chair squeak. "Oh, teacher farted!" A passing airplane, fire alarm. Etc.

Oriental water torture

So, there's this bidet in the bathroom of my workplace. I'd felt like I'd been pressured into using it, in that the boss man has asked me about every third week if I'd checked it out yet: "Mark, you tried the irrigation yet? I recommend it a couple times a week. You'll never be constipated again." Since Wednesdays are really the only time when I have a significant break, today was the day, not that I have too much of a problem with backups (or a terribly keen interest in rimming, for that matter). Thing is, all the directions are in Korean, and of course I don't know that much Korean yet. But, I know "anus" and "injection" and "water", so I was cocky enough to assume that I could figure it out on the spot rather than asking for a specific how-to.

Turns out, I pushed the button for the most forceful option, rather than just a delicate douche of the anus. Also, the button for stopping the operation is a bit counter-intuitive. I didn't want to get up mid spray, since it would have sent a generous spray all over the back of my suit. About three minutes in and after numerous attempts at various combinations of buttons, a coworker walked into the bathroom and heard my shrieks: "Daddy? [I get referred to in the third person at work] You ok?" "Uhh [shrilly], how do you stop this?" "Button in the middle?" "Awesome... ... can you hurry up and leave so that I don't shit out a half gallon water in your presence? Awesome." "Sure thing," he replied, in the most dulcet tones possible from an Australian accent. Though I'm mildly curious, apparently it takes more than 75 PSI to stimulate my A-spot.

I know I'm prone to having Mr. Kurtz-like tendencies, and apparently I've been here long enough to start inflicting Oriental anal water torture on myself. The next class I taught, my voice was still about a half octave higher than usual. But, has daddy ever had this much confidence in the cleanliness of his bum? Negative.

Tattoo recommendations

I have a friend who is a month away from getting a Korean-language tattoo on her knee. It will be a huge fuck-you to all the Chinese/Japanese script tattoos out there that are indecipherable to their owners since she'll be able to read it and all. Her idea: "I kneel before no one." She wanted to know if I could think of anything better. Hell, if you think of something decent enough, I'll consider getting one myself, but only in a circle around my o-ring.

Remembrances

I've pickled my liver over the weekend. I blacked out twice, two nights in a row. The first night was at the casino. Next thing I know it's past 8 in the morning and I'm eating breakfast with around two grand in my pockets and absolutely no clue how it got there. Then, after breakfast, I decide to go for one last spin on the way out: "How cool would it be to win ten grand on a single spin?" I recall drunkenly asking. Friends tried to talk me out of it, which only makes things worse, really. Still a good night, but I kinda wish I hadn't come to over breakfast. Ah, 9, 31, and 34! How you've betrayed me! Still walked out with a good bit of dough, but only a fraction of what I could've.

Saturday, I'd meant to bring a bottle of Jager to this party, but changed my mind about attending. Instead, I chugged the whole thing while walking between bars. I remember nothing about my destination or how I got home. Oh, the year of the boar! How destructive is your beginning!

There are force-fed geese, who if they were to examine the state of my liver right now, they'd give me a hearty "hah-hah". I spent the last 36 hours in bed. Sunday evening, I had a couple friends come by and turn me over to keep me from getting bedsores. I read an amazing book, Malcolm Gladwell's newest, "Blink", which hopefully atoned for some major IQ loss the night before. Do gambling problems and drinking problems cancel each other out? If they work well in tandem?

Great start...

I arrived at work 25 minutes early (later than I should've) to plan my first class. As soon as I walked in, a manager pulls me aside to inform me that my new beard was a no-go: "Mark, it says in the teachers' manual that men must all be clean-shaven in appearance. Can you go home and shave real quick?" "Um, probably not. I teach right at 3:00." "Can you take a taxi?" "Uhh, once again..." Then the owner butts in: "Go downstairs to the 7-11, and buy a shaver. Shave in the bathroom." So, in the span of 25 minutes I zoom downstairs to buy a razor, run back up four flights of stairs, and shave a full beard with a straight razor. And I still have a whopping minute and a half to plan my first class.

It's very interesting that nobody mentioned the whole beard thing to me the day before, on Sunday when we had a company meeting. In fact, my managers both complimented me on it. It does say in the teachers' manual that "all men must be GQ in appearance." I've never browsed through their catalogue, but can one not be GQ with a beard?

New Year's in Alabama

Around a half past eleven, there was an announcement: "Um, excuse me but we won't be opening any new tabs. Credit cards will not be working. We called the company and apparently people are shooting at their power system and credit cards aren't working right now."

But now I'm in Korea. It was amazing to see family and friends for a couple weeks, but also excellent to be back in Seoul. And I'm sooo glad I made it to Ohio.