Unoriented

Lead Poisoning

2007-07-14T01:03:00.000+09:00

I have this kid who’s a bit of a little shit. Sixth graders tend to be a little spastic, but this kid displays the main symptoms of ADHD to the nth degree, in particular impulsivity. A week after I conferenced with his parents, he got mad at me and decided to empty the pencil sharpener into my can of Diet Coke in between classes. Luckily, this one kid warned me: "Teacher, um, do not drink your cola." Incidentally, and I’m 80% sure it was without bias, the squealer (one of my favs) went on to win the science fair for our class.

It was hours before I knew that this was responsible - I made the kids very late to lunch until they started naming name(s). My partner teacher found out about this episode and made him write a letter to his mother about it. A week later, she gifted me a shirt and an apology letter:

Dear [Mark],

Thank you for your concern on [my son]. [He] promised me not to do playful things any more and he felt sorry about you. I hope you will enjoy trip to Japan. I bought a T-shirt for you. If it doesn’t fit or you don’t like colors, you can exchange it at the nearest department store. Do not throw away certificate attached to T-shirt. Have a nice trip.

Indeed, I exchanged the shirt - a knitted blue and white striped number that I’d be embarrassed to regift to my grandfather. I knew full well there’d be language issues involved, but bolted to the nearest department store immediately after work today, anxious to have another passable short-sleeved shirt for next week’s field trip to Japan. The poor woman working the store, catering to all your golfing attire needs, didn’t know what to do with me. She kept repeating the same sentence - something about "exchanging" and "sizes" - altering sentence speed, intonation, and staring at me like a dog who’d just pissed on her rug, dumbfounded that I couldn’t understand. She phoned someone in who spoke pretty decent English, and then we got to the point. No, I couldn’t just take the cash: "You must exchange for same same, but different style maybe." Then she revealed the amount of cash involved. With the current exchange rate, this ugly knit shirt can be purchased for $150 ailing dollars.

I exchanged it for a slightly less ugly one that is now the most expensive thing in my wardrobe. I agonized over the exchange, eyeing every fashion option in the store: salmon checked with lilac, a myriad of greens swirled with yellows, ad nauseum. There was a nice sportscoat for $350, but even with a $150 head start I couldn’t justify that purchase. I felt like an absolute ass walking out of the store, bag in hand, with a doozie of a golf shirt - in a country where golf courses are virtually non-existent.

And the wind blows.

Peace stay with you

2007-06-20T22:39:00.000+09:00

I’ve recently enrolled in a Korean class, meeting MWF from 7-9. I’d study by myself, off and on, every fortnight or so - or several days in a row if I was on a binge - but I’m frustrated, since I wasn’t progressing with the language like I’d envisioned I would.

On the first day of class, I was the only student for the first half hour. We were reviewing the alphabet, something I already feel very comfortable with, and this Frog radio broadcaster waddles in and plops himself right across from me. Immediately I was distracted, as he was the hairiest, nasliest motherfucker I’ve ever encountered [there’s hairy, and then there’s ungroomed hairy - the latter of which, in this case, featuring ear and nose hairs protruding a third of an inch further than they should]. Awhile into pronunciation lessons, he sneered at me and tried to correct my pronunciation for a consonant that is particularly hard for foreigners to pronounce.

"Actually, it has more of a [phlegmy, overly aspirated] sound."

"I’m aware that it’s romanized with an ‘h,’ but I don’t think that’s it either."

An hour into the class, a Chinese graduate student joined us, making it a foursome with the teacher.

Apparently, the Frenchman’s general air of superiority grated on everyone in the room, and on the second day of class the teacher came up with a brilliant plan: "You understand much. I think that you should go to Korean 102. If it is difficult, come back. But you should be ok." He agreed that he was in fact vastly superior than the two of us, and he basically hopped up out of his seat. The two of us who remained - the Chinese chick and myself - bid adieu in Korean. There are two ways of saying "goodbye" in Korean. Ours was a nonchalant "peace go with you." This was reciprocated by a sniffy "peace stay with you."

Now it’s just me and this Chinese chick. I’m keeping pace with the curriculum okay, but for the my remaining classmate it’s kinda cheating. For a rough SAT analogy: ENGLISH: LATIN :: KOREAN: CHINESE. This would be like me in a Spanish class with a Papua New Guinean. I’m holding my own, but she can understand hella more than I do, so I kinda tune out when they have their own conversations. That, and I’m still terribly slow with the script, so the Chinese chick needs something to do while I’m writing away at a kindergarten level - replete with fat pencil and quadruple-lined paper.

...

Yesterday, I was walking out of my local subway station and ran into a couple "sisters." Not in the African American sense, but in the LSD sense. Of course they stopped me since a whitey sighting is pretty infrequent in my neighborhood. All was going well (away from the topic of religion) until we started talking about language. Somehow, and quite adroitly, this segued into God:

"Oh, wow. You study for an hour a day by yourself? That takes a lot of willpower. Have you found any good Korean books?"

"Actually, I read the Book of Mormon."

"Good book" must have triggered something in the eldest Elder Sister, and I was impressed with her conversation shift. She quite bluntly asked me about my religious stance, and she made it impossible for me not to answer the question. When it came down to it, I conceded that every Mormon I’ve ever met has been a fabulously kind person. When she asked if I wanted to learn to be that way, I was somehow finagled into agreeing to visit the Mormon homepage when I got home. A promise that I've so far broken.

This wasn’t the first time I’d found myself in a missionary position since I’ve been in this country. Months ago, I was chilling out in my bathrobe on a Saturday morning when I received a rare knock on the door. Thinking it was certainly a friend, I quickly opened. Two demure, pious-looking Orientals were there to greet me. One of the better parts of living here is that you aren't handed leaflets on the sidewalk once people realize you are white. I hoped there would be a similar language barrier in that case. There wasn’t, and she apologized profusely for not having any English language literature on her. The following week there was a sticky note on my door:

"Hi. I am the one who visited you last Saturday. I brought some English magazines for you, but you are not here. So I will leave them out your post box. I wish you enjoy reading those magazines. Bye."

Somewhere in my (new) apartment, I still have that copy of the Watchtower.

Deflated

2007-05-28T21:28:00.000+09:00

Today, I was browsing the internet to see if Ignatius J. Reilly was a direct influence on The Comic Book Guy - something that caused me to wake up in a cold sweat last night. The findings were inconclusive, but the search did yield an overly emotional reaction to the deadpan prose of a typical wiki article:

Voiced by Hank Azaria, the obese, nerdy, hairy Comic Book Guy is perhaps
best known for his sarcastic quips. He holds a master's degree in folklore and mythology (he translated The Lord of the Rings into Klingon as part of his thesis). His catchphrase is the declaration "Worst. (Noun). Ever.", which is usually
delivered with slight pauses between each word, or variants with slightly
different wording (such as "Worst. Theme Park. Ever.").

Something about The Comic Book Guy holding a master's degree in folklore caused me to simultaneously giggle and weep. One wiki link later, and I swear that my body 15 pounds ago has been wikified. There were a few dead-ringers for CBG at the folklore conferences I've been to, but I'm a little miffed that Matt Groening would've given this degree to the most. pedantic cartoon character. ever. I mean, who gets an MA in folklore?

To conclude, last weekend there was an 80s party at a friend's house. Quite the shabang. I'd spent the previous couple weeks growing a beard, coincidently, but it was getting to scratchy. So, I decided to shave it into a ridiculous 80s mustache for the occasion. Replete with an army of chest hair bursting from orange/brown velour, I was ready to go. This cute Korean chick went up to me:

Is that real?
My mustache?
No, your chest hair.

Ahha! Opportunity strikes? However, I lacked the savvy to parlay that into a phone number:

[in Korean] Do you like many body hair?
[in English] [snicker]... Not really.

Then she went back to the snack table and reported to her also-hot friends. Worst. Game. Ever.

Etc.

2007-05-21T21:08:00.000+09:00

Answer to question posed... awhile ago:

According to a couple concerned mothers who have approached me to write middle school acceptance letters for their children, middle schools in Seoul are becoming increasingly more competitive. The reason for this isn't, however, "because [I] touch [myself] at night." This is a bizarre outcome of the Virginia Tech shootings. The incident sent the whole country into mania, and front-page stories in the Korean media ran the spectrum from "U.S. shooting prompts concerns of racial backlash" to official presidential apologies. Random people on the subway offered their condolences and my sixth grade students wouldn't stop talking about it. All this, apparently, has culminated in several wealthy parents' decisions not to send their children off to US boarding schools for middle school, as is otherwise typical within that demographic.

There was a fieldtrip last Friday, to an island of some historical significance. It was cool to see Korea's answer to Stonehenge - and it's always nice to get out of Seoul for awhile and get some fresh air - but I was kinda bored at one point and thumbing around at this one temple. I saw this gaggle of females not too far away, stopping to refresh themselves at one of the communal drinking fountains that are present at every Buddhist temple I've been to. Hands in pockets, I shrugged and saddled up: "A couple of them look to have somewhat disproportionately large faces, but this will help occupy a couple minutes." I doffed my invisible cap and said a few pleasantries to these lasses. Right away, it was apparent from the spit bubbles forming at the corner of their mouths - as well as the elongated vowels of their reciprocal pleasantries - that I was just spitting game at what we in the business refer to as "special needs [high school] students." In a Buddhist temple. Bad karma?

As for the job, it's decidedly a step up from where I've been. It's a great gig, actually, it's just that the sixth grade aspect is what one would expect. I'm still trying to figure them out - and to get them to stop swearing in my class. They're learned ways to circumvent my no-swearing policy.

For example, sixth grade joke of last week:
Q: What starts with F and ends with U-C-K?
A: Firetruck.

Other variations include "flexible duck" and "five bucks." Clever I suppose, but I still hear my students casually say "oh shit!" when they drop their pencil or dislike the school's lunch offerings for the day - something of an overreaction.

In less than two months I'll be joining the entire sixth grade class for a week-long fieldtrip to Japan. Then immediately afterwards I'll be enjoying five hard-earned weeks off. I'm still thinking where to go.

Any ideas - memorable assignments or course projects from your own 4th to 8th grade years, however major or minute - that would be good to implement in my classroom? Let me know, as the school gives lots of room for creativity.

Current events

2007-05-10T20:48:00.000+09:00

Damn, I can't believe that I haven't bothered to update this one in over a month. There's not a ton to update on, so I'll put that off another day or so. Until then, answer this question:

Why might my sixth grade mothers, who come to me asking for recommendation letters for their children, fear that Korean middle schools will become especially competitive in the upcoming year? Keep in mind that I teach at the most expensive elementary school in Seoul, so we're only talking about a certain demographic.

Life update

2007-04-07T17:59:00.000+09:00

I asked my old job for an additional weekend to stay in my apartment, but they would only grant an additional two days. So, yesterday morning I hastily finished packing up - with the artful last-minute help of a good buddy - and was out of that bach pad with on almost a full week's notice.

Here's the part that makes me a bit angry. It's not as if my work didn't know I was getting fired, and I'd even made the call discreetly to my coworkers - "dude, I'm getting fired this month"/ "[Mark], you're paranoid..." - over a week before. The polite thing to do would've been to give me as much notice as possible. I say this was premeditated because, well, the week previous to me getting fired we had a photoshoot at work. That they asked me to cut my hair for. I consented. During the photoshoot, all 4 teachers who were later made redundant were in a seperate, "dummy" photograph. Additionally, our individual photo sessions were well shorter than those who are still employed there.

But here's the amazing news. Back in October, I blogged about my two most intriguing offers for employment. One had a really snazzy website and was promising the world - a ticket home for Christmas (received), a trip to Thailand (delayed), decent hours (later altered), etc. The other job was an innovative elementary school without walls, and wouldn't even commence for another few months. I opted for the shinier, more immediate option.

Long story short - there will have to be a seperate entry about the long story of the job hunt, the sketchy interviews (am I buying a car, joining a gym, or looking for a job?), false hopes given/received, and practicing (unknown to me) crude Korean on receptionists, who were nonplussed/pissed off - the other job that I was considering all the way back in October called out of the blue Thursday morning. I spent six hours at that school Thursday, fighting a hangover [I was on a date with a former student - against policy, but I'm no longer an employee, yeah? - the previous night until way late; she wooed me previously when she was a student, with a story about eating her pet chicken when she was young, which still tasted delicious through the tears; in keeping with longstanding traditions of Korean womanhood, she still called me three times that night between 3 and 4]. I would teach the same sixth grade students all day. Oh yeah, also with three months vacation.

Now, "sixth grade" are usually words that make me shudder in fear, as, quite certainly, 6th grade was the worst year of my life. For a short autobiography of Mark: During my childhood I was quite rotund and very sensitive about it. The summer after fourth grade I virtually starved myself and was a thin, mentally well-adjusted sixth grader for a few months. During the second semester of fifth grade I started shaving and masturbating and was becoming a guilt-ridden freak of sorts. During sixth grade, a Beavis&Butthead-obsessed generation (whose most heinous culprits will here remain anonymous, but I still remember their zodiac signs and middle names) thought it was funny to put duct tape on my legs and rip it off. And then would follow that by saying: "[Hernandef], it's hot outside. Why are you wearing long black pants?" "[In a voice an octave higher than usual; my voice hadn't dropped yet, perhaps due to the precocious regular, and hushed emissions of globs of testosterone] Shut up. No I'm not. It's hair. You're just jealous because I'm a man and you're not." Then I would promptly be emasculated by another round of duct tape... My older brother shaved his very hairy legs in eighth grade (the year before) because he was tired of similar taunting. This culminated in... nothing positive. By sixth grade proxy and deductive logic, I became known as "butt-shaver." "Because if your brother shaves his legs then you probably shave your butt, butt shaver."

Luckily, these difficulties will be avoided as a sixth grade teacher. Korean sixth graders don't - in general - have to deal with the frustrations of puberty. Sixth grade here is the final year of elementary school. This school is among the most prestigious elementary schools in Seoul - the only(?) to offer an English immersion program alongside the government-regulated Korean curriculum, and has a 10% acceptance rate for Seoul-born fetuses whose parents are of gentle grooming. So, vastly more than in typical situations, these kids want to be here. Also, I am now a proud, relatively well-adjusted member of a hirsute community - albeit in a time when hirsuteness is only truly celebrated in small pockets of the gay community. Also-also, the school I would be at is a - gasp! - respectful environment.

anecdote 1) At one point at my last job, my fake-titted British boss said: "Mark, I know that you have a Mahstah's degree and that you made very high marks in school. I don't care. The reason that we hired you as that we liked your picture that you posted on [ESL job website]. Dave [school owner with hairplugs and fragile ego who wasn't even there to fire me in person] saw your picture and said 'See this guy? This is the guy we want...'" "Um, certainly I wouldn't've gotten this job if I had a C average?" "What's that, a 2.0 [GPA]?" "Yeah..." "That'd be ok."
anecdote 2) When the future job called my last place as a reference, he summed it up to me as "it painted a picture for what kind of Ken-and-Barbie show you were working at before. I wanted to be ruder, but didn't for your sake. But I really wanted to ask her what her personal philosophies of education are." Apparently, the last job said they wouldn't hire me again. When asked why, she only cited my longish hair [before I had to cut it for the dummy photo shoot] that went down so egregiously to my collar, and the fact that my stubble alone caused the company to issue orange level terror alerts. Future supervisor laughed it all off and called a reference from when I was more legitimately working as a college writing instructor. Then hired me a few hours later.
anecdote 3) A former manager was once instructed to tell me to shave more often (multiple times a day?) because I "look like an Arab" - the words of the owner, not the manager.

Do I sound bitter? I'm really not. Did I mention the vacation? There's also a pay increase. And, oh yeah.... real teaching in an environment that would respect my efforts and ignore my stubble.

There is still a very slight issue. Apparently, the Korean immigration board mandates that transcripts offered for visa issuance be signed along the seal of the envelope. Mine are so egregiously unsigned. Luckily, DHL express international shipping and a few late-night urgent phonecalls to a registrar's office - "uh, this may sound funny, but I'm homeless in Korea and only you can help me" "North or South?" - will remedy this situation. I'm set to become unhomeless and reemployed within the next couple weeks. Assa!

Redundancy

2007-03-30T16:43:00.000+09:00

I was just fired. For the first time in my life. They fired four teachers today, and the person filling in for me today (the last day of the term) was instructed to tell my students that I'm sick. Then I'm supposed to just disappear, as in I have to be out of my apartment in five days.

The company's lost a few million $$ already, and it's so puzzlingly, frustratingly mismanaged that the date of the company's failure will only be determined by how deep the owner's pockets are.

I'm not angry, and, truthfully, I've felt like my whole life was/is being filmed for an upcoming reality TV show. More than half of the teachers so far have been booted off the island. We all collectively refer to the workplace as "the show." I haven't properly written about work yet, out of paranoia - I've been reading a lot of Paul Auster lately, and he fucks with your head - that everything I do is being documented. Like the movie "Sliver," except there's a Korean/wannabee-American pushing the buttons. And he has hairplugs. And still aspires to be a Hollywood movie producer. In the action genre, "you know like Arnold Schwarzenegger type movies."

So I'll be homeless - again. My life keeps on repeating itself.

I know how to say "I'm unemployed." For men, the term translates to "empty hand." For women, "swan," as if they stay at home all day licking their plummage. "Baek su im ni da. hajiman nunmul eopsseoyo." "I'm unemployed. But don't have eyewater." The other man's ricecake is looking bigger.

Wish me luck.

xox

Languagee

2007-03-04T17:51:00.000+09:00

When I teach more advanced classes, I try to get free Korean lessons for five or so minutes out of the hour. As long as the medium of conversation is English, my students don't really care and most seem to appreciate my fumbling attempt at learning Korean. When my students mumble something under their breath in Korean, I frequently ask them to write it down for me. Meaning, I've aced such phrases as "(what) in the world," "oh my god," and "I'm so freaking embarrassed."

For the past week, I've been devoting my energy to learning handy Korean idioms. In Korean, a book can be judged by is cover: "A rice cake that looks good also tastes good." Koreans don't have many patches of green grass and they're not a very pastoral people, but "the other man's rice cake always looks bigger." A rather harsh way to tell someone off is to say "Eat yeot (rice candy)," which my students say will almost certainly spark a fight.

I have a couple solid Korean jokes. I now introduce myself as Kim T'eol Bo - Kim "hairy dude" - and am getting the Korean side of my business card updated. This always draws a hearty laugh, and some of my students never learn my given English name. One of my students thought I'd said "Kim Winter Clothes," but they laughed at that as well - for whatever reason. Koreans always stand in the elevator facing the wall, eerily silent, and with their chins cocked up at a fifteen degree angle. When I tell my elevator joke, "Who farted?" - literally "who farted the fart?" - they sometimes chuckle. Cabbies like this joke the most, and they've taught me how to say "I didn't fart," which is hardly ever the case for me. In class, I also try out the "who farted the fart?" It's amusing in itself, but all the more when they ask how to say this in English and a sixty-year-old female pediatrician cracks a wide grin and writes it down.

I had a student with a runny nose. I took a stab and asked "do you have nose water?" Bingo. "Nose water" = "snot," just like "eye water" = "tears." I still can't express sadness or coldness, but I can say "I have heart pain" or "my heart is sick" and "I am a snowman."

The other day, in a bar, I was shooting pool with a friend. These Korean chicks wanted to take us on. I introduced myself as "Kim hairy dude," and she laughed on cue. Then she pantomimed that I am short, though I had a couple inches on her. Handy idiom: "The small pepper is spicier." Then I realized that my Korean was better than her English, which was a first in a social situation. Then we "talked" for an hour and a half and she was very generous with her tequila bottle. Then she asked me in Korean, "Do you have a girlfriend?" "I don't have." Then she answered in English, "Me boyfriend. You." Then she tried to compensate for her English skilz by giving me complete shit about my Korean pronunciation. This manifested in a five minute tutorial on "who farted the fart," which I'm pretty sure I articulate fairly well. Then she called me handsome and pantomimed that I have expressive eyebrows. She was mistaken, because my eyebrows didn't ask for the lapdance that followed, though they didn't especially object either.

I know only two colors, but I can feign color blindness. In Korea, I pretend to see the world in shades of yellow and blue. When I almost get hit in an intersection, I shout "[the traffic signal] is blue person! Eat rice candy!" Stupid cabbie, "can't distinguish between excrement and bean paste." Nor can I. They both look like dark blue gobs to me.

Last week, idioms involving rice cakes. This week, idioms of the nose: "Go and wipe your own nose." Bugger off. Mind your own bee's wax. "My nose is [three ancient Korean units of measurement] long." I have my own problems.

Cultural immersion, failed attempt at

2007-02-27T01:59:00.001+09:00

Last month, I had a class that was mostly comprised of young thirty-something chicks, who are desperate to marry since they are becoming, as they say in Korean, "old virgins" ("old maids"). This is only to say that we talked about relationships a ton, so the subject of blind dating - quite common in Korea - came up several times. One student - remember the one with the Pooh-fetish from a few weeks back? - insisted that I give this custom a try and she had a friend in mind: "She's English ees better than mine." I, very cautiously and half-jokingly consented, but hoped that it would never come up again. I'm, as a rule, skeptical of the judgments of people who lust for animated bears.

Then the student called me about it three times the next week. Then I tried to put it off: "Hmm, birthday weekend. Then I'm going to China the weekend after that. Then I work on Saturday the next weekend." "You can have your meeting on the Sunday?" "Yeah, that might work." Then I hoped she'd forget about it. Lo, when on Saturday, the night before, I get a call. And then two more after that... After I finally picked up, former student gave me the number again - I'd pretended to have lost it - and I called to arrange my first blind date ever. I'd vowed to find a way to call it off, but only if her English is not at a very decent conversational level. After speaking at an 8th grade level - at most - all day, having remedial conversations on my day off is kinda like teaching on my day off: "So, are you busy tomorrow, because..." "No, I don’t have any obligations." [fuck]

Koreans have quite lovely heads of hair, the best I've ever seen, collectively. Thirty-year-old Koreans are usually quite attractive, . Though Christianity is the major religion in this country, it's still less than half of the population. I thought I would play the odds and, at the very worst, have a decent chat with a (probably) attractive, (hopefully) non-Christian chick with a full head of hair. I was wrong on all accounts.

We met at a designated time at a certain subway stop. I approached someone who was clearly also on the lookout for a strange whitey: What I meant to say in Korean was "Do I have a blind date with you?" However, what actually came out was "Do I have a ‘speed violation’ with you?" "Speed violation" is Korean for a pregnancy out of wedlock, so I accidentally asked, in very broken Korean, "Are you knocked up by me?" or something to that effect. Then, since I had a good four inches in height on this chick, it took about 4.5 seconds to notice that she had gaping bald spots on her crown, as if a family of crows took out chunks of her shiny black hair to build a nest.

Then it took this chick maybe five minutes to make her first criticism. Apparently, I’d been a little too terse for her tastes, with a bombardment of "whatever," "it’s all cool," "no worries," and "sure" to questions/statements like "where do you want to go?," "do you like the drinking," and "I work for a pharmaceutical company." "Can you answer me with longer sentences? Everything you say is very short." "Oh, I’m sorry. What should I say? ‘My, that sounds like an interesting profession. Is it fulfilling in every way that you’d hoped? [Was there a chemical leak that resulted in your unfortunate state of she-baldness?]’"

Then it took another couple minutes for her to pronounce: "I have a bet with [Pooh-chick, the matchmaker]. She says that we will be, how do you say, separated in different ways before two hours. I say that we will be longer than five hours." "FIVE HOU--... Five hours is a long time. [forced yawn] I’m not positive that I’ll be able to stay awake..."

A few more vignettes. Before the meal, she excuses herself and has a quick 30 second prayer. Korean-Jebus is whiter than white, those sycophantic peninsula-dwellers, so I wondered if she talks to Him in Korean or English. I made her cry at one point, when I uttered "I trust you," as I put a mouthful of charred-whole fish into my gob: "Are these bones safe to eat or should I pick them out?" "Maybe the bones are very small and this fish is cooked well, so I think that you can be able to eat it with the bones." "Ok, I trust you." [long pause] "Nobody has ever said that to me before. ‘I trust you.’ That is a very good thing to say to some person. ‘I trust you.’" Then her eyes welled up with tears, which she neither tried to conceal nor play off.

We went to a sashimi restaurant. Though she offered to pay and makes a shitload more money than me, she proposed another bet. She’d watched this episode of Friends earlier in the day, where the characters gets together and tries to name all fifty states. She asked if I could, and I was pretty cocksure: "In five minutes." I named 49 in a frenetic whirl of penscratching, embarrassingly unable to come up with bordering state to my last US home, Pennsylvania: "Don’t feel bad. Ross is a very smart person. He forgot about one state, too. He had a really good SAT score and is a professor of... some kind of thing. So maybe you are a kind of genius." That was a $90 venture. We didn’t make it to the full five hours. I haven’t been answering my phone - two calls that night, one more the next day.

The matchmaker rang me today, sounding like a car salesperson: "You are very talkative and have a good appearance. And you make funny conversation for her. Maybe I think she has a good feeling about you." "Uh..."

My high school class voted me "least likely to abuse superlatives," so I cautiously say that this is the weirdest first date I’ve ever had. And the second weirdest last date I’ve ever had.

Ringing in the year of the golden pig

2007-02-22T01:56:00.000+09:00

I arrived in Beijing last Saturday, and it was immediately obvious that things would be a bit chaotic. My three other buddies and I piled into a cab, and heard the occasional thundering boom that kept increasing in loudness and intensity as we inched closer to the center of the city. As we got out of our cab, it sounded like a war zone due to all the fireworks, and it was still four hours until sunset.
We checked into our 5 star hotel ($60 a night per room) and did the Tiananmen Square bit, and watched the changing of the guard and retiring of the flag at sunset. Then, it was time to go for a feed and blow shit up ourselves.

Rather than an official government display of fireworks, people get together and blow shit up - wherever the hell they want, as you'll see in the picture. Firecrackers are torched in units of a thousand, and it is good luck to set them off near the front of your house since it wards off evil spirits and whatnot.

Hanging out between Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City was especially surreal at midnight, when there was all kinda of colorful shit exploding in every direction.

What is usually the year of the pig is the year of the "golden pig" in 2007, with the year for gold and pig coinciding as it does every sixty years. This is an especially lucky thing, fortuitous even more for babies born in this year, since, as a student explained to me, "peegs have many babies."

For New Year's Day proper, we went to the Wall, where I had a "Holy shit, I'm on the Great Wall of (fucking) China" moment.

Give me some throat love

2007-02-15T23:38:00.000+09:00

I had a student who remembered that I was complaining of a sore throat in the previous class. She was kind enough to bring me a roll of lozenges. After a few minutes, I bothered to sound out the Korean while the students were yammering on about this and that. " 'mok sarang...' Does this mean 'throat love'?" "Yes." "Cool, thanks for the throat love." And then I realized what I'd said. And then I giggled, like a tubby bitch.

It was also Valentine's Day, and the student had given me chocolate. I have piles of chocolate from this week, since on Valentine's Day it is traditional for only the men to receive gifts. The women get their turn in a month, which is called "White Day". On April 14th, people who didn't exchange gifts with S.O.'s on V-Day or White Day get together and celebrate "Black Day," an anti-Valentine's Day of sorts whereby miserable singles get together and eat black noodles with black bean sauce, and presumably exchange dark clouds of flatulence afterwards.

The 14th of every month is a "couple day" of some kind or another in Korea. May 14th is "rose day," when you point at a chick who looks interesting/desperate and offer a rose to them. 14 June is "kiss day," but I'm not yet sure of the logistics behind that one. This is a ridiculously "couply" country: Korean couples frequently can be seen wearing matching outfits - usually zebra stripes - which needs to be a regular feature of this blog, once I have the balls to start photographing smoochy couples on the street; also, the tandem bicycle is known in Konglish as a "couple bike," and so on...

It was a great birthday weekend, as well... culminating in quite the bender and about 25 tequila shots over the course of a couple days. Alaska chick sang "happy birthday" to me on night midnight of night three of the bender, which made my vestigial tail wag.

This week is Lunar/Chinese New Year. I'll be celebrating it properly, by going to the only man-made object that is visible from space.

A final Oriental-fun-fact of the week: Koreans add a year to their age on Lunar New Year, meaning the whole country gets older at one time. Some, especially chicks with bdays in October, will hold off until then, but it seems like the majority of the country opts to add the additional year en masse, which is kinda cute. Also, a baby born in December is one at birth, and becomes two years old on Lunar New Year, whenn it is actually just a couple months old by Western standards. Also also, the baby's 100th day is a big deal, since it's roughly a year anniversary of the conception.

Inwards: Part II

2007-02-09T01:04:00.000+09:00

So, today at work, a former student gave a presentation. He'd been practicing the speech - pasted below - with the owner of my school. This student had been practicing public speaking with the owner, a former acting student somewhere in Cali, for the previous month. There were maybe twenty of us huddled in a room, it was during our dinner break, and the owner had him single me out and direct the entire monologue on me: "[Mark] has some Sicilian blood. Remember, these are you're last words to him. He's about to kill you." From "True Romance," written by Tarantino:

You know I read a lot. Especially things that have to do with history. I find that shit fascinating. In fact, I don't know if you know this or not, Sicilians were spawned by niggers... It's a fact. Sicilians have nigger blood pumpin' through their hearts. If you don't believe me, look it up. You see, hundreds and hundreds of years ago the Moors conquered Sicily. And Moors are niggers. Way back then, Sicilians were like the wops in northern Italy. Blond hair, blue eyes. But, once the Moors moved in there, they changed the whole country. They did so much fuckin' with the Sicilian women, they changed the blood-line for ever, from blond hair and blue eyes to black hair and dark skin. I find it absolutely amazing to think that to this day, hundreds of years later, Sicilians still carry that nigger gene. I'm just quotin' history. It's a fact. It's written. Your ancestors were niggers. Your great, great, great, great, great-grandmother was fucked by a nigger, and had a half-nigger kid. That is a fact. Now tell me, am I lyin'?

The kid apologized to me profusely afterwards, and all the Western teachers were sitting there, aghast. I chomped on ice the whole time, trying, desperately, to keep a straight face. I'm positive that he understood everything he said, because last month I told a joke when "leprosy" appeared as a vocabulary word: "What did the leper say to the prostitute? You can keep the tip." The kid responded with, "Uh... you know I just graduated from the high school, right?" "Good, then you're now a man. Here's another joke..."

A parfit, gentil nyght

2007-02-05T04:06:00.000+09:00

Tonight, I played a fun game with the dyke friend. Imagine that you are able to throw a dinner party, inviting six other people - dead or alive, from any point in history. The person sitting opposite you will be the guest of honor, at the head of the table.

I selected Woody Allen as the guest of honor, wanting someone whose honored presence will no doubt cause all other attendees to exclaim "so, what the fuck is this man doing at the head of the table?" And then compare curricula vitae. The other attendees are: bell hooks, Mr. and Mrs. Bill Clinton, Joan of Arc, Chaucer, and a Girl I'm Trying To Shag. Given the company, I was pressured into picking at least one radical lesbian feminist, and thus a lovechild between Kim Jong Il and Fidel Castro got the boot.

Seating arrangements are crucial.

Since the budget is limited, Joan of Arc will not be provided with a translator. But really, Joan of Arc is only on the list because she's sure to prompt "Joan of the fucking Arc? What are you all about?" from everyone at the table. The complete inability to understand her will further frustrate the guests, and especially bell hooks, who will spark someone, wielding a three-pronged fork, to say "jam this up your cunt, you uppity bitch!" before the evening is over - probably Hillary.

Bill Clinton will fume the whole night because Chaucer is cock-blocking him, but will no doubt offer to perform tireless cunnilingus on bell hooks, as suggested when he makes an ill-timed joke about reparations.

I'm sure that Woody Allen's French is good enough to mumble a few awkward one-liners - something about the "maidenhood of Orleans" - and maybe Chaucerian English is somewhat mutually intelligible with the French of around the same time.

Chaucer will be provided with a translator, an expert of Chaucerian literature, but the translator will only chime in when absolutely necessary. And if he goes into windy diatribes about ME etymology, I reserve the right to throw fruit at him. Chaucer is sitting across from Girl I'm Trying To Shag. He's really just there to get her in the mood, but at a safe distance - across rather than beside GITTS - because he's also got the designation of most-likely-to-whip-his-cock-out.

The question: Would God tell JoA to hook up with the twitchy Jew or the bawdy 14th century lush. Most likely Woody Allen, who will slyly convince JOA that he is G-d, utilizing a few theater techniques that weren't available in the 1420s.

And, the meal served will be like traditional Jewish passover, for the guest of honor - and the Girl I'm Trying To Shag, who's probably a lovely Jewess. And since most women tend to do the opposite of what bell hooks suggests, I'm almost certain to get a shag out of all this.

What does your table look like?

Winnie the Pervert

2007-01-26T13:02:00.000+09:00

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

2007-01-18T03:06:00.001+09:00

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

2007-01-16T00:07:00.000+09:00

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

2007-01-15T13:50:00.000+09:00

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...

2007-01-09T12:58:00.000+09:00

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

2007-01-07T12:01:00.000+09:00

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.

The whitest Christmas ever

2006-12-30T02:51:00.000+09:00

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

2006-12-22T15:00:00.000+09:00

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

2006-12-18T18:53:00.000+09:00

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

2006-12-16T08:52:00.000+09:00

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...

2006-12-14T21:07:00.000+09:00

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

2006-12-12T22:11:00.000+09:00

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?

2006-12-10T23:32:00.000+09:00

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

2006-12-06T14:08:00.000+09:00

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,

2006-12-05T14:26:00.000+09:00

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?"

Ajumma, Perverts, and a Haircut

2006-11-30T20:48:00.000+09:00

My last class today is also already one of my favorites. It’s an ajumma (women approaching middle age, or a good bit past; also, a female complement to "dude" for people in that age range) class. I’m suddenly quite smitten with ajumma. Though I’m only teaching beginning classes this month and can’t really communicate with any of my students, all of my ajumma students are chipper, chatty, dapper, quite funny, and engaged students. Most of them are prominent housewives and this school is the latest fashionable urban country club, but that’s another post for another day. Before teaching at this school, my experiences with ajumma were limited to forceful encounters on the subway, leaving me wondering why more Koreans didn’t grow up to be NFL linemen (they - at least the she-dudes - certainly have the shoulders for it). Anyway, I’m suddenly enamored with these ajumma, though certainly not in any sexual way, because they have renewed my feelings toward the middle aged here - that they’re more than aggressive, territorial women with the same goddamn haircut. Since their ages are printed on my role sheets, I’ve realized that they’re anywhere on average of 8-12 years older than they appear. So, presumed MILFs may in fact be near-GILFs...

Today, a man was added to the roster. I figured it would bust up the dynamic of the class - when I was observing classes during training I also noticed how often the Korean cock in the hen-house would display his plummage - but it’s not anything that I have control over. During one of my breaks before class, however, a receptionist came up to me and warned me about this particular man. Apparently, he interviewed three separate times before actually enrolling in this school, asking some bizarre questions but also confessing his love to the receptionists/interviewers. So, this receptionist warned me that this dude was a pervert, and told me to keep an eye out for him. A few minutes later, this man shows up to the lobby. Eventually, I introduce myself and it was immediately obvious that he puts the "eep" in "creepy". He had the disfigured smile of a Bond villain, but it was what was coming out of it that put me off the most. While I was "talking" to this dude, his English was almost nil (but not nil enough), the aformentioned receptionist bent over to play with this rockstar toddler who was kicking it in the lobby. Quoth Dr. No-Tact: "She sex... sexy. I fuck!" Then he turned to me, grinning a grin that would make Jesus weep, and wanted me to join in the whoop-de-do. Yes, homeboy, she’s hot - though I only rolled my eyes and grimaced in a way that couldn’t possibly convey solidarity - but I’ve got my eye on you. And you best not get fresh with my ajumma.

Later on in class, I couldn’t get this dude to look at me at all, since he was a little too fixated on 50-something year old breasts (which I guess is better than 50-something year-old breasts, badda bing). He was clearly making the students uncomfortable as well, and any time I would use his name in a sentence (pronouns are the next lesson) they would make grammar mistakes that they wouldn’t ordinarily make. And, the ajumma kept shooting each other glances that I was very sympathetic with. Then, later on in class, he said something to them that made these ladies wince. During our 2 minute break, I hussled to my supervisor and told him to get the receptionists to ask these women after class if this man was being inappropriate. By the time class ended, the owner of the school had shown up and talked to the ladies himself. Dr. No[t getting laid without cash transaction] didn’t say anything outright gross, but he was making them a little queasy for a few other reasons. Then the owner talked to the dude, who laughed all of it off and said that he was just bein’ all chummy with the lads. So, he’ll likely be back... but I’ll be watching.

Since this was my last class, I left on a somewhat sour note. I needed a pick me up and walked downstairs to ParkJun BeautyLab, the closest haircut place and thus the quickest way for a normally slaphappy whitey to resume his ordinary state. Ever since I’ve started wearing a suit from my 9-5, ok my 6-1, people have approached me assuming that I speak much better Korean than I actually do. With my fake-ass Louis Vuitton tie on, I look like I’m better established here than I actually am. Fair enough. I play along for as long as I can, which is about 5 seconds. So, usually the Korean service industry just takes to manhandling me: Forcibly removing my jacket for the coat closet, inserting a coat-check # into my breast pocket, dragging me to the shampoo stall, etc. All of which is done in nods, giggles, and occasional pleasantries, on both ends. And I do try to make sentences, which aren’t yet almost communicable and lead to several more giggles - on both ends. There was a team of three attending to my hair: one to cut, one to brush off my face, and one who was seemingly just there to marvel at my exotic whitey hair. A fourth, the manager who spoke decent English and was wearing a fabulously tight yellow sweater, came over, also to gawk. She introduced herself, and insisted that I do the same. I didn’t right away because, well, she’d shoved her breasts, the largest (fakest?) I’ve seen in Korea, right in my face - right at eye level. I was more than a little distracted, and let’s just say that yellow will be my favorite color for the next couple weeks. When I regained composure and we went through the introductions again, she followed: "I’m Ann. You promise that you’ll remember me?" "Uh," still somewhat dazed and short on oxygen since the sweater puppies were mere inches from my face, "I think that I will, yes." This woman, in keeping with the formula above where we must add a whole extra year-of-the-animal cycle to a woman’s ostensible age, is likely something starting with a 4. As I was paying her (for the haircut, sickos), she again caught me off guard: "I want to see you again. You know where to find me...." The only thing I could muster, this time with lungs full of oxygen, was "uh... yeah. I do... know... where to find you."

Thanksgiving cocktail par-tay

2006-11-22T23:07:00.000+09:00

I'm working on Turkey-Day, but on Saturday - Thanksgiving Observed for the expat Ams. - I'm hosting a cocktail party. Any ideas for quality Tgiving party activities? Festive cocktails? Decorations? Obviously, hand-turkeys will be drawn.

The girl from Jeju played me weak

2006-11-20T21:09:00.000+09:00

So, I met this girl on Jeju Island when I was homeless and traveling around. She was my waitress my first night there, and waited until I finished my meal to show me around. We went on an epic four-hour walk around the island, shared some cocktails, and made tons of chitchat. She told me she was about to leave for a year working holiday in Australia and was excited to practice her English, since previously she’d only been studying English on her own. I was the first foreigner she’d ever had a conversation with, so I wasn’t trying to be overly amorous. I didn’t want to give her the wrong (right) idea about whities. Americans have a global reputation for being quite horny, in case you didn’t already know.

A week or so later, she calls and tells me that she changed her mind about moving to Australia, and that she was going to move to Seoul instead. I was a little freaked out about this, but she said that her new calling was going to graduate school in "uhh... cloning things." Then she invited herself to come visit the following week, since she was going to be in town to interview at a couple schools. It’s been a lonely couple months, at least in matters below the waist, so of course I obliged and I told her how to find and enter my place (the new pad has keyless entry).
Last Wednesday, I arrived home from work to find this girl from Jeju, Young-Jew, passed out in my bed with the TV blaring. I told her to make herself at home, but goddamn. I read on the couch for about an hour before I woke her up and asked if she wanted any dinner. She said she went ahead and ate without me, despite our plans to dine together. Then, when I sat on the (my own) bed to continue our chat, she totally freaked the fuck out: "Oh God! It’s ok. I will sleep on the living room!" "No, it’s ok. You keep on sleeping here. I can sleep on the couch. You’re my guest...." I asked if she was up for anything, and wanted to meet up with some of my friends later on. She was way hotter than I remembered, but her English was far worse than I recalled. I did my grad thesis more or less on bilinguals playing dumb in Black British Literature when talking to whities, so perhaps I’m dispositioned to thinking that she was putting one on because she didn’t really want to deal with me.

I bitched a little via text, and received a lot of sympathy from a dyke friend: "bloody hell! man. kick her out of your bed! where is the human decency in all this!?"

After an unsatisfying wink on my own (fucking) couch, I decided to meet some of the new coworkers for a game of cards. We played Hearts and I totally took out my frustrations on the queen of spades. That royal bitch was totally blindsided by what I had to deal her. After a few hours of playing cards, I’d had a couple beers and was braced to spend a night on my scratchy couch. I opened the door. Young-Jew was still wrapped up in my pimp burgundy comforter, and my whole fucking place smelled like a colostomy bag. In case my libido wasn’t deflated from getting hardcore shot down, the waft of feces - so thick you could almost chew it - wasn’t doing a whole lot for me. Perhaps that’s a Korean defense mechanism, like a lizard losing its tail. She slept through the fumigation.

The next morning, Young-Jew is loudly shifting about and blasts the TV before I can even get in a full night’s rest. She had the decency to make me breakfast, tofu and eggs, but I would’ve much preferred another couple hours in bed (couch).

After breakfast, I went to work (a couple hours early just because) and we parted ways. With a handshake. At least, I thought, by the time I got back home she wouldn’t be there.
At work, I’ve been treated to free lunch and dinner during training. At some really nice restaurants. There is mostly sitting around, since the owner is doing all the training himself with his personal "method" - which I’d rather not get into now. The owner is quite busy since he’s launching a new school, so I’d had a lot of idle time to chat with my fellow trainee. After lunch, I sat and shot the shit with Elena, the other newbie, for about three hours while the managers and owner were being unusually standoffish. Eventually, a manager comes by: "Elena, can I talk to you a minute?" A few minutes later, the owner comes and gets me: "Mark, can I talk to you for a minute?" In a private room, he tells me: "We have to let some people go. And it’s not you." At this point, I’m still thinking it’s a "not you, it’s me" type situation, so a lot of thoughts are crossing my head. Mostly, it’s a "que sera sera" feeling, since I know full well that I could have another job in a couple weeks if I really wanted to. And I have a few buddies to crash with, if it came down to that. Though, I am running out of dough. While I’m still processing all of this, he tells me that they’re letting Elena go, not me, because of her "negativity."* Then he gave me the rest of the day off.

I get back to my place, and Young-Jew is still mucking about. "What happened to your interviews?" Then she pretended not to understand the question, even when I simplified it in a few different ways. "My mom says that I have to go back to Jeju to work tonight. So I am leaving." "Tonight?" "Yeah." "[oh thank fuck!]" A few minutes later, she was out the door. I’m not sure why she was hanging around all day, but it was probably to devise another form of biological warfare. We exchanged goodbyes again and parted - this time with a highfive.

*My work desires chipper individuals, which I’m perfectly capable of being for six hours a day. This girl wasn’t especially "negative," and I was quite fond of her company. However, she is a Russian-born emigre to Canada and is definitely more culturally Russian. She just comes across as negative, yo. I think, personally, that they sacked her because she had a tinge of an accent. Also, they may suspect that she moonlights as a whore. You never know.

O-H

2006-11-19T09:37:00.000+09:00

...

coming soon

2006-11-17T11:44:00.000+09:00

I'll send another update real soon. Things have been a little mad with training, adjusting, illness, and all. And, until recently, my life was on a bit of a dull streak.

Remember the Alamo

2006-11-06T17:30:00.000+09:00

I took the ferry from the island back to mainland Korea Halloween night. I was certainly the only whitey onboard. So, this Halloween, I shared a floor in a sequestered part of the boat with a dozen or so Korean dudes for 12 hours. In all, I went about 60 hours without seeing another whitey. Then I took the first ship in the morning to Japan, which was only about a three hour journey.

Japan was effing nuts. I met up with this Aussie guy on the boat, and after doing the visa stuff, we went on this epic journey to find a hotel at a reasonable price. At dinner, we were trying to figure out what the hell we were eating and what to order next. The Japanese waitress was very accommodating, and went to find a patron who could order a meal for us. The dude she found treated us to a shitload of sake, and on top all the beer we were getting a quick start to the evening. This guy, Hajimeh, must've thought we were good fun, and he rang up his brother to come join us. At one point, Hajimeh measured his finger up against the side of my glass of beer: "Japanese cock very, very small." I was confused, because his fingers spanned a respectable enough length, and Hajimeh continued: "Japanese cock very, very small. But American cock sooo big. American cock is big?" "Uhhh... I suppose it's alright, yeah." "Yes. American cock is so big. I want to go! American dream! American burger is very big?" [Oh shit, coke/cock. I get it.] "Yeah, American burger is very big, too. [For the benefit of my Aussie friend, who still hadn't caught on to what was going on] You like the big cock?" "Yes, I like. Big burger, big cock. American dream!"

When his brother, Taiki, self-proclaimed "playboy," showed up, it was time to boogie on elsewhere. These two Oriental partyboys wanted to introduce us to Japanese women - "Japanese womens, good face and good legs, but no... uhhh [gesture]" "Chesticles?" "Yes, no have very good" - but they couldn't decide on a suitable place. We got in Taiki's car, and drove, where else, to the local Eastern European hostess bar: "You like the Romani womens?"
This isn't quite my cup of tea, so I was chugging off the bottle of Jack that came with the exorbitant cover charge, hoping it would shake off the awkwardness. We were each paired off with a Romani, and "mine" didn't speak the greatest English, and I don't speak the greatest Russian or Japanese. So I spent most of the time trying not to count the gaps in her grill (three, best I could figure).

Afterwards, the brothers invite us back to their sushi restaurant for some drinks and a medley of other vices. The Aussie bloke politely declined, and so it was just me and the Mariohaki Bros. After some drinking, and a paranoia inducer, I was already well on my way to feeling like I was stuck in a Japanese television show. Ever their white toy, they Hajimeh brought out this testicular-looking side from behind the counter, in a well-fitting bowl. Apparently, on this television show, you pinch off a bit of testicle with chopsticks - I'm hoping it was some kind of tomato/pepper hybrid, but I'll never know - and feed a microscopic amount to the next person. The object of the show, and what really gets the laugh track going, is when you coax the tanked whitey into eating way more than everyone else. Naturally, they grimace all the way through it, but whitey is so tanked that he's relatively unfazed, so they keep feeding him heeps and heeps and stroke his ego to keep him going: "oh, American so strong." This eventually leads to one of the Japanese favorite pastimes: projectile vomiting.

I'd spent much of the previous week reading about twentieth century Korean history, which is overwhelmingly about Japan's imperialist control on its neighbor occupying the phallic peninsula. Millions and millions were killed, and I have the propensity to get all overly sympathetic on the ass of the colonized. On my way to vomit, I wanted some kind of historical toast to mark the occasion, wisely decided against it since that 1) makes for bad tv and 2) isn't a great way to endear yourself to hosts that were going out of their way to show me a good time, and my last lucid memory is of me chanting "remember the Alamo." Hajimeh was weeing at the time when I could no longer hold it in, so I hussled to the sink and gave that shit a delightful pinkish hue. About eight times over.

After losing everything in my belly and chucking up parts of my pancreas, I was still curious about what we had just eaten. Hajimeh and his brother then coolly pretended like they didn't know what I was saying. [Cue laugh track yet again. Oh the Japanese are a giggly bunch.]

They helped me find my way back home via taxi. And, seeing as how I know about three ways in Japanese to say "thank you" but don't know how to say "I'm sorry," I spent the whole time meditating on my new mantra of the evening: "don't puke in the cab; don't puke in the cab; don't puke in the cab." I didn't puke in the cab - which is good, because I'm sure cabbie didn't want to hear "domo arigato, Mr. Roboto; sayonara!" - but I couldn't extend the same courtesy to the elevator. Have you ever had to swallow a mouthful of vomit? I wouldn't recommend it. Only half as much came out the second time, and I had to revisit essence du Marq the next morning in the elevator going down. It took about two days to recover, which was the rest of my stay in Japan.

Really, though, I'm just killing time before I move into the new place. It wasn't quite ready for my scheduled 2pm move-in, since apparently my place had been used as storage for misc belonging to future coworkers. It was cluttered with boxes, which my supervisor apologized profusely for: "This is like one of those horror stories you hear about in Korea." "N-, this is hardly horrific. Really, I can wait." It's like living in an Ikea store, and I'm very capable of looking beyond the clutter. A few of the eminities: a queen sized mattress imported from America ("fuck yeah!"), a proper shower (a blessing in Korea), an actual closet (" "), and a flat panel TV (Samsung). And the view from the 25th floor rooftop, magnifique!

oy

2006-11-02T12:07:00.000+09:00

Why does every passing day in the Orient feel weirder than the previous? I'm in Fukuoka, Japan. I'll certainly have to post about last night. I'm really still too hungover to work a (crazy-ass Japanese) keyboard. And, anyway, I'm not still really sure what to make of it all. It all seemed a bit too absurd, leaving me a bit paranoid at one point - thinking that surely, surely this must all have been secretly filmed for a Japanese television program.

Unemployed, homeless, and loving it

2006-10-31T14:03:00.000+09:00

After getting paid, I decided to go ahead and say goodbye to the wee ones anyway. I'm so glad I did, and it gave me a whole lot of closure on that end: "If your mom gets better, will you come back to Korea?" "I'll try, buddy. You'll be the first person I call, ok?" I was able to squeeze in one last game of musical chairs, and showed the new guy how to control ten amazingly hyperactive kids during the once-weekly recess period they're permitted (all work and no play retards Jack-san's social development). After drying my eyes and eating a burrito, I hopped on the first and fastest (300 km/h) train out of town.

I spent the first four nights at a hostel in Busan. Made good buddies with this 41 year old Scottish retiree who's living in India right now - doing absolutely nothing. The last night in Busan was a laugh riot. I made buddies with this guy who is new to Korea. You can talk Brits, backpackers, and especially British backpackers into having a ridiculous evening when in a new country just for its own sake. Started at the Busan foreigner district, which has recently transformed just to the Russian district. In Korea, "Russian" is synonymous with "whore" (with apologies my palindromically-named amiga who reads this who might take especial offense). There were so many Russian whores, and Korean peroxide blondes trying to keep up, that we got pretty sketched out and bolted before we even finished round one. Round two through something were over this one neon district. Spoke Korean to a waiter wearing a Scream mask, which did not help us understand one another. We found ourselves at this "hof" which is a German derived Korean word (indigenously pronounced "hope") for beer + mandatory complimentary food items. There was some confusion with the waiter, so we ended up having dried fish, a bowl of peaches, and a pitcher of beer. It was quite an absurd cocktail, and we really weren't in the mood for the fish (or the peaches). I talked my new friend, somehow, into putting dried fish into his breast pocket and wooing (rather attempting to woo) the local women: "lady, our gift please have." They were suitably put off, but it did help us make buddies with our cabby later on. We bonded over dried fish and some ten minute story about somebody sometime getting punched in the face. My "yesses" (in Korean, "nay," which is complicated) must've been well-timed because he kept going on and on and on much to his own (and our) delight. The night ended at a karaoke type place called "Kenny Rogers," bearing his iconic bearded goodness everywhere.

Sunday I flew into Jeju Island, a charming, isolated place that cohosted the 2002 World Cup. People outside of Seoul are especially friendly, I'm finding. Every tenth person on the street wants to say "hello" and chat. To the very little kids who shout, in Korean, "foreign person!" I enjoy saddling up to them and saying "Little brother, hello. Me foreign person I am? No, I'm a Korean person." They inevitably hide behind their parents, but the parents really enjoy it. Seoul is like an Oriental New York. But, now I really feel like I'm in fuckin' Asia. It's bizarre and I'm loving it. I've slept on the floor - at least in a private room - for the last couple nights. When the owner of the "(love) motel" moved me in, he wanted to practice his English. "USA?" "Yeah, [Korean for "I'm an American"]" "[English] North Korea... bang bang. USA [thumbs up] ... USA number one!" I was the only Westerner on the plane here, out of probably three hundred people in total. And, yet, 40% of all the airplane business was still conducted in English. The entire thank-you-for-flying bit was done in English, which was odd. At this moment, I haven't even seen another white person for almost 48 hours. I did have a conversation yesterday with a black dude from Philly at this temple, but the no-whitey streak is still alive.

Last night in Jeju, I had a tasty meal as all meals tend to be so far in Korea (except for a "cold noodle soup" that I ordered a month ago; I didn't know that it would have chunks of ice in it). When I ordered my meal in Korean ("sea product mixed with rice"), the waitress - in English - was very complimentary toward my pronunciation of Korean. I asked what places were worthwhile visiting at night. She was very happy to tell me, and circled all the places on the map nearby that I should visit. Then, after awhile, she asked if she could show me personally. "Can I show you where to go?" "Of course!" "Thank you! It will be my honor!" "Umm... you're welcome? When do you get off work?" "When you finish your meal," which she then proceeded to watch me finish. She'd never had a real conversation in English with another foreigner, despite having studied English (on her own) for the past six years or so. Though all her previous interactions with whities in the restaurant had been strictly business, it's not too hard to befriend the dude trekking around a strange country with a working lexicon mostly consisting of pleasantries. Though, I can do a little better than that. Even though I've been a little lazy with the language study, I'm can see oodles of progress. This girl's mom owns the restaurant, and was also working. As we were saying goodbye, the mother said to me, in Korean, "you (something) handsome face." And then I turned to her daughter, and said, in Korean, "you have a beautiful mom." The mom was pretty keen on that, though she did call to check up on her 24 year old daughter a few hours later.

After a couple hours of walking around, followed by drinks, reciprocal English/Korean lessons, and more walking around, this Onion article feels applicable:
http://www.theonion.com/content/node/54114

I'm hobbling around at this moment, since I screwed up my foot running in Busan (Feels like a stress fracture, which I've had before and am not too excited about). Kerry Strugging around has kinda bummed me out, since I had plans to go running atop the volcanic mountain that formed Jeju Island. My lady friend, "Young-Jew," awaked me this morning with this text message: "it's bright day. feel the cool autume breeze. how are your legs?" [despite the cruel Asian boss of months past, compassion does exist in Korea]

Tonight (Halloween night), I'm taking the 12 hour overnight ferry back into Busan. Then I'll immediately get on another ferry and go to Fukuoka, Japan, where I need to go to get another visa. So, for Halloween this year I'm going to be a vagabond, which at least won't require any costumes. I hope to be back in Oriental New York by this weekend, but we'll see if it actually happens.

The best part about being unemployed and homeless: watching the World Series in the morning, in pajama pants, with a beer, and successfully defending myself against Brits, Frogs, and Aussies who think that "World" series is a bit of a misnomer. Another six days before I have a room of my own, in a highrise apartment likely somewhere between the 8th and 16th floors.

xox, MH

Sans Casa

2006-10-25T07:58:00.000+09:00

Yesterday was my last day at work. I "trained" my replacement, and he's a seemingly good guy. Should be good with the kids, so that makes me happy. They didn't end up letting me say goodbye, and I got a bit bummed especially when I was high-fiving them at the end of the day saying "see you later" - as opposed to my usual "see you tomorrow." And then, a student who had been in Japan for the previous week returned with a gift and a note: "Mark teacher: I love you. You'r a good teacher. You'r so a good teacher. I love you. Wendy K." That bummed me out a touch, too. But, goldfish memories, so they'll forget about me within a couple weeks. One kid does know, since I told his father about what happened when I bumped into him on a field trip over a month ago. He was educated at Berkeley, Cornell, and then got his PhD from Wharton in econ. So, I decided to tell him what was going on. "So, obviously education is important to you..." He seemed a little embarrassed: "Wow. It's not like Korea's a third-world country. Why are they treating you like this?" He then offered to find me a lawyer, which I haven't needed. Anyway, I went out to dinner with the family Monday night, and talked to his kid. I think the school is telling the parents that I "got sick and went home." At any rate, I'm going to stay in touch with this kid, perhaps auxiliary tutoring or baby-sitting. So, he'll eventually tell all his buddies that I'm still around.

I'm off to be homeless. Things to do in the next few hours. Clean, finish packing, get paid in full, drop off key, find train station, hop to Busan, figure out the subway system and find the hostel. I've booked four nights at a hostel in Busan. I'll figure out my next move from there. In all likelihood, Jeju Island (Korean owned between Kr and Japan; somewhat tropical) and Japan - where I have to get a new visa.

While I'm dropping off my key, I plan on actually saying goodbye to those adorable monkeys.

The next drunkest thing I’ve done in Korea, that I hope will repeat itself (part 2)

2006-10-22T16:22:00.000+09:00

A continuation of part 1.

Went to a really rad DJ show last night, DJ Sasha of Sasha and Digweed. It was in this really, really swank hotel on the outskirts of town. The hotel has a prominent casino, that only lets in foreigners for some strange reason. They let white people walk right in, but the Japanese, Chinese, and Korean Americans that seem to make up most of the clientele have to show their passports. Before the show, some buddies and I went to the casino - it was my first time ever - and I pissed away a chunk of change in about 10 minutes playing roulette. However, after an epic DJ set, at about 4am, I talked a buddy into coming back to the casino (blackjack’s his bag) and I hit up this quiet table with this cool American military chick I’d met at the show. I cashed out $100 in chips, the figure I was willing to lose, and was pacing myself at the beginning.

When about half my stack was gone, I hit two solid numbers within a couple spins. I found myself with a couple hundred dollar chips, and would occasionally throw one of those down on odd or even, black or red, and got really lucky. Eventually, these Japanese businessmen came over to the table and were throwing down the same moves as me. I was up a grand at one point, but there were a couple spins where I lost a couple hundred at a time. And then the occasional four hundred dollar spin ($200 on red, $100 at 2:1 on a third of the board) so it’s all gravy. Fortuna’s Wheel was pretty good to me overall. And, after my companion ran out of cash, she was making decisions for me and helping me spread the table, which I totally owe her a nice dinner for. Koreans are super efficient, and at times there were only 15 seconds or so to place bets. I didn’t have my gogogadget arms on, so this chick really helped me out. Roulette doesn't require "skill" per se, but just balls, as far as I can tell. I have an addictive personality, and I recently saw "Deerhunter." We’ll let that be a cautionary tale of roulette in Asia. I’m going to limit this to a once monthly activity, but I do plan on doing it again. I can’t, however, count on being that retardedly lucky again.

I’ll be able to afford a couple more bottles of pseudo-whorehouse sugar wine, not that I will. Instead, I’m going to be homeless in more style than I’d planned, beginning on Wednesday. Plus, I should have something left over for the Thanksgiving cocktail party in my new digs.

The stupidest (drunkest) thing I hope to ever do in Korea (part 1)

2006-10-22T16:10:00.000+09:00

So, last Saturday night I was excited, since I just signed the new contract the night before, and wanted to stay out as long as I could handle. Saturday was a field day with work, so the drinking commenced around 3 or 4 in the afternoon. It was quite a bender. I had drinks until about 4am with the lads, then the lads either went to bed or ditched me for random bar hookups. So, around 5 or so I called up some other friends. Then, I hopped on a taxi and met other friends at this gay bar - on "homo hill," adjacent to "hooker hill" - and had a couple more long islands there. Around, I dunno, 7 or so these friends were eventually pooped out, so we trucked toward home. They caught a cab, and I was on my way toward the subway (they start running again at 5am). On my way back, stumbling homeward by myself in the sketchiest part of town - the foreigner district, which is where the military men hang out; luckily they have a 1am curfew - I was approached by this attractive Korean chick who asked if I wanted to grab another drink or two. I figured, even at my drunkest, that it was a bit sketchy, but I’d already spent a good bit of dough for a belly full of booze, and wasn’t quite tired yet. So, I go inside. The details are a bit fuzzy after this, but next thing I know, we’re in this private karaoke kinda room, with some music playing and we were taking turns singing - though I couldn’t tell you what we sang. And, there’s a bottle of wine on ice with two glasses.

Anyway, next thing I remember, the barstaff asks me for my credit card. I was low on cash, and not really thinking with a clear head, so I handed that shit over - which I immediately regretted. Next thing I know, I find myself asking "um, so what exactly am I paying for?" "You are meaning what?" "Well, uh, so... there’s no polite way to say this...." Even at my drunkest, I’m not too comfortable with quasi-prostitution, or whatever the arrangement was. And sexual contact with people I can’t really understand or don’t really know isn’t really my thing, either. I’m not too much into Cartesian womanizing - the mind/body split - unless it’s with an axe. We all pay for sex indirectly - dinner, booze, etc - but to be in as direct a way is a little... gross. Anyway, my next memory is getting charged 265,000 won for the bottle of booze. Keep reading to see what that translates to. I was so drunk, I’m not really sure how it tasted. A little desserty, I think. Kinda sweet and too syrupy from what I remember. At any rate, I was so sketched out, but even at my drunkest I’m not as creepy as I sometimes fear I am (way to go, Mark), that I bolted before the bottle was even finished.

But, whateverthefuck. It’s the equivalent of a couple day’s hard work, sure. And, sure, I could’ve lived on that shit for a week whilst homeless. But, it’s as easy to shrug shit like that off as it will ever be in my life. Que sera sera and so on. And, you gotta pamper yourself every now and then, I guess, although hopefully not in AS frivolous a way next time: even if I could’ve gotten drunk, plus a rub and tug (new favorite phrase), for a quarter the price or so. I was at least smart enough to ask for a receipt, and I was pleased with myself when I found that relic in my pocket the next day. So, if they tried to dick me over and charge me even more than they did, I should be ok. The receipt is also a good addition for the scrapbook. I didn’t contest that shit, because I wasn’t really in a position - mentally, physically, linguistically - to negotiate. And you never know who knows Taekwondo, a Korean invention, here.

Come to find out, the establishment is something called a "flirt bar," where Korean - and especially American military - men pay for the companionship of ladyfolk. It’s kinda escort-esque, and apparently sexual favors are part of the game.

A couple days later, at four in the morning, my mom called me. She said that the credit card fraud department was looking for me. So, I called my bank in the middle of the night. They were concerned because I had "bar/nightclub" expenses that were "out of (my) typical spending habits." Apparently, $277 and change was put on my credit card, from some place called the, giggle, Cream Color Bar. Later on, my mom asked if I went to a strip club. I of course told her that if I were planning on going to a strip club then I would’ve at least been smart enough to take out some cash in advance. So, I just told her the truth, kinda.

It's so hard to not say goodbye

2006-10-19T23:21:00.000+09:00

So, a month previous to today is the day that I was threatened to be deported, and thus the last day that I was due to work here. I'm actually working a few extra days. 1) to keep from being homeless through another weekend. 2) I'm working the Friday so that there's a replacement and the kids aren't stranded without a teacher. 3) I'm staying an additional Monday and Tuesday so that the replacement teacher will have some training (though I wasn't trained myself).

My supervisor doesn't want me to say anything to the kids. She just wants me to disappear, and then will make up some excuse once I'm gone. I was perfectly willing to fake excuses myself, excuses that would sound plausible to a six year old: ex., "my mom got hit by a bus." However, she'd just prefer to do her own lying, and lord knows what they'll come up with. They're going to call the parents on an individual basis the day after I "disappear" into the abyss of Seoul. I'm a little bummed about this, since they're all really cool kids in their own monkeyish ways. I really have little say in this, since I'm not getting paid in full until my final day.

It will be a little weird spending a couple days in front of them with their new teacher, without being able to tell them that that's exactly who he is.

Giggle Fit

2006-10-19T20:50:00.000+09:00

In kindergarten, we read the same book for a month, a couple times a week. The smarter kids (all of one class, half of the other) get bored as shit with the same book, so it's a struggle to make such redundancy interesting with for the kids. This month, it's "Sleeping Beauty" - always met by groans of "Oh, no! 'Sleeping Beauty' again?!" To keep it interesting for the more advanced kindergarten class I have, I told the kids to bring in a version of "Sleeping Beauty" that they may have on their shelves at home, so we can compare the two.

The supplementary version of "Sleeping Beauty" was one of the more interesting spins on the tale I've ever come across, but is more noteworthy for its awkward prose. After all of the kingdom gets encased in thorns by the bad fairy and is unseen for decades:

Hundred years later, a prince passes by. "What is in this thorny shrubs?" The fairies give the prince a magic spear: "You never come in this palace." The witch turns into a dragon. And she starts to spout fire. "Bad witch, disappear!" The prince beats off the dragon.

Perhaps having the whole kingdom encased in thorns is a way of circumventing an alone kiss between the charming prince and his unconscious bitch. Beating off the dragon, however, is in plain sight. That last line - and the angling of the spear didn't help - made me giggle for a bit, which I attempted to conceal by faking a sneezing fit. Six year olds are two smart for that: "Teacher, why do you laughing?" "Uh... No reason. Sometimes I do that. Sorry." Anyway, this is a verbatim transcription, since I asked the genius nose-picker if I could borrow her book. "Yeah. But why?" "Uh... So my friend can read it to his class?"

It's pretty easy to get desensitized to bad English here, especially when, on a conservative estimate, about 95% of the lettering on any given apparel you see on the street is in English. My kid with some learning difficulties wears a shirt that makes me smile - which is great because everything else about that kid is effing frustrating - and I get to see it about three times every fortnight. It's a glorious DIYer, in rainbow colored speckled letters: "MY LOVER IS THE BISKIT." Yeah, mine is too, buddy. Let's hope at least one of us is keepin' it safe, yo.

I Be Stupid

2006-10-16T21:43:00.001+09:00

For the last couple weeks, something roughly equivalent to "I be stupid" or "I be a fool" has been my favorite thing to say to shopkeepers, cabbies, people I bump into, and chicks in bars. This is done in the construction for introducing yourself. Except when you would normally insert your name - "I’m Mark" - you substitute the word "stupid," thus making for an ungrammatical and stilted way of letting people know that you’re a fucking idiot, which is all the better.
I’ve run "I be stupid" by a few of my more advanced classes, and invariably about half of them get out of their seats and start jumping up and down in excitement. It seems to be one of the funnier things you can say in Korean, all the more since I’m doubtless fucking up the pronunciation and grammar. Then, without fail, 3-4 students will pull out digital recorders and ask me to say it again: "Teacher, say ‘I’m pabo eem-nee-dah.’" Then the jumping up and down in excitement commences once again. The suckups, not every class has one, will try to fill me in:
"Teacher, what you said, it’s not nice. It is that you are, uh, ‘fooleesh’."

"I be stupid" is a good way of getting people to listen without automatically dismissing you as a waygook ("foreigner," and I’m a little uncomfortable with the spelling, too). When you walk into a store, and ask "How much this be?" - apparently, my pronunciation is adequate, which belies my utter retardation in the Korean language - and they say something in response that is Charlie-Brown’s-mom-esque, "I be stupid" will get people to chuckle and slow the fuck down: "Lady, I’m sorry. One month in Korea (I) exist. Now, I be stupid. Korean, now, no me friend. Tomorrow, yes, yes-no, I be stupid little bit. Long time no see! Aw-right!"* Invariably, they say something like "Stupid? No way... wah wah wah Korean language wah wah wah wah wah, yo." Some of my 10-year-old female students taught me how to say "is that so?" really sarcastically, which is the right thing to say in response to sycophantic, overly polite shopkeepers. People are too polite here, and don’t expect too much from the waygook. I’m not exactly comfortable with the implications of being a whitey living in Korea without making the effort to learn Korean, but many people make little effort. Not that I’m busting my ass to learn Korean myself. Once I have the new job and a bit more leisure time, I hope to spend as much time learning Korean as my students spend learning English.

[On a related note, I really, really wanted to be Borat for Halloween. However, I had to stop growing my mustache - not only because I teach kindergarten and that’s a little weird. Facial hair kinda freaks out kids in Korea, and my supervisor actually asked me to shave what was a pretty full beard that I grew over Thanksgiving. Also, I didn’t sign the contract for new-job until last Friday, and I really didn’t want to make a bad impression there. It’s far too sweet a gig to fuck around with. At any rate, I can be Borat for Halloween ‘07, and my Korean will be even more Borat-esque. For example, I have no idea how to say "sexy time explosion" in Korean - or "my sister, she give the best sex-in-mouth in Kazakhstan" - but will certainly try to have that shit down by late Oct. ‘07. I’m waiting for someone to offer to send me a "mustache rides, 5 cents" belt buckle in a care package, which would make for a delightful Borat accoutrement. Costume ideas for this year? What’s the perfect costume for the hairiest mofo on the block? Or for the white dude in Asia?]

With the proper rising intonation, "I be stupid" can become "I be stupid?" This is useful for haggling on the black market when someone tries to sell you a blanket for $20. "I be stupid?" gets people to knock it down at least a few bucks, but you still fall victim to the waygook tax. People assume foreigners in Korea are wealthy, which is fair enough because foreigners here make well over - easily double - the average Korean wage, which is itself a pretty decent wage on a global scale. Drunk Korean men will ask you on the street or in the bathroom, in English, "So you are... uh... uh... Oh my God! Are you, uh....uh... Are you... rich?"

Not that people here are after your money. On the island where I spent Thanksgiving, I flagged down a van thinking it was a cab-esque service. After going through my repertoire of overly-rehearsed pleasantries, this middle-aged woman went was once again excessively complimentary: "wah wah wah wah Korean language good wah wah wah." Then they turned up the radio, almost certainly to drown out the waygook, and I invited them to sing with the infinitive of a verb I couldn’t then remember how to conjugate: "to sing, to sing. to sing." Whatever the song was, it sounded like a Korean version of "I Just Called (to Say I Love You)," or whateverthefuck, which totally shouldn’t exist. It wasn’t until I asked "How much this be?" - and they mocked me back with my enthusiastic "It’s aw-right!" - that I realized I’d just hitchhiked for the first time.

Later, the man from the van spent a quarter hour explaining, okay mostly gesturing, that the ferry wouldn’t arrive for awhile - it was morning - because there was too much "smoke on the water." Luckily, I knew the word for "sun" and "water," and he somehow knew the English word "smoke" (bilingual no-smoking signs? There were several on the ferry) or I wouldn’t have had taken me even longer for my stupid ass to figure out what be going on. Eventually, he got a little tired of my overuse of "aw-right," and pointed at his face to indicate age. Then he pointed at me, and bowed, as if I should be more deferential to him. Then he instructed me on how I should’ve been saying "aw-right" using verb stems reserved for Jebus and the elderly - omitting the "-yo," which I am remiss, and completely unable, to do. Still, he was cordial about it all, and so I wrote it down. And, due to social hierarchy implicit in language here, it’s more than just a "who/whom" distinction.

I’m getting a little bored with "I be stupid" and its derivatives, like "I have a stupid ear." On the island where I spent Thanksgiving, someone overheard my "I be stupid" and gave me something much cooler to say that I’ve been rehearsing in front of the mirror. It’s a nice companion to the "that is a spicy fart" [actually, my kids have taught me two two ways to say "fart," one of which seems to translate literally to "room ear"; it’s a bit of a problem that my Korean dictionary includes words like "banns" and "wet nurse," but no "fart"] that I’ve been holding up my sleeve for just the right occasion: "I speak Korean the width of a mouse’s tail." Fucking poetry.

*I’m a little bored with "yeah" since Koreans use the affirmative in a ton of situations, so I like throwing down an enthusiastic "aw-right!" whenever possible. "Yes" is semantically flexible, and seems to mean "cool," "fine," and "get to the fucking point, already": [telephone] "Hello?" "Hello." "Yes?"

Every Single Fold

2006-10-09T23:36:00.000+09:00

Monday night, I'd just gotten paid - in cash money, and the Koreans don't have anything larger than a tenner - got some booze from the boss for Thanksgiving week, and was looking to meet up with some buddies in a close enough bar. There was some problems with the cabby. I should've told him "foreigner bar" (lit. "foreign nation booze house") but I just told him "bar," and the name of the area. "Here?" "Uhhh, alrighty!" So I got let off kinda far from my ultimate destination. A ninety minute walk later, and I finally run into some whities, who I assume can point me in the right direction.

These four Canadian gents tell me to walk about 1.5 km to the left, and I'll see the name of the bar - Gold Bar III - in big gold letters. I'd already been 1.5 km in that direction, so I assumed it wasn't directly on the main road, but I was pretty sure they were at least getting me warm. So I took off. Then, two minutes later, the female who was with them chases after me, panting: "Oh my god. I am SOOOO sorry. I'm as new to Seoul as you are, and so I didn't know. My, uh, friends thought it would be funny to give you wrong directions. It's not all the way on the left, it's about 3-5 minutes on the right. They laughed about it when you left, so I decided to let you know." "So they heard my accent and thought it would be fun to lead me astray, then?" "Yeah, I'm sorry. I only date American military men here, and they all treat me wonderfully." I appreciated her honesty/generosity, but wanted her to tell them off for me. So I was hunting for something vivid: "Tell your friends that they can lick every single fold of my scrotum. And when they're done, they can circle my balloon knot a few times. And if I have pinworms, they can catch them. Can you remember all that?" I've had a few bumps in the road in Korea, some blips and bleeps, but I still haven't been as steamed as that moment.

In other news, there seems to be some shit going down in this part of the world. The locals shrug it off, so I'm not too worried about it either: "The nuclear test was conducted with indigenous wisdom and technology 100 percent. It marks a historic event as it greatly encouraged and pleased the KPA (Korean People's Army) and people that have wished to have powerful self-reliant defense capability." It's a little hard to be afraid of a country whose PR man writes with so many fortune-cookie aphorisms, innit?

Happy Thanksgiving

2006-10-05T12:51:00.000+09:00

It's Korean Thanksgiving, so I have some time off work. I'm about to hop off to a nearby yet remote island, Duck-juck-do/DuckDuckGoose. Bought a tent yesterday, which took about four hours to find. So, I'll be kicking it on the beach probably for two nights.
Tent, backpack, bottle of Crown, food, toothbrush, sweater, jacket, blankets, Flannery O'Connor. I'm set.
Gotta hurry. I'll hate myself if I miss the ferry, or if it's booked up already.

Señor Bong

2006-10-04T23:02:00.001+09:00

There's this pool hall down the street. I played a couple weeks ago with a buddy. The only Western table, by which I mean a table with pockets, was next to a rail like at a crowded bar, so at one point we needed a short stick. The owner, an aged Korean man, brings out the stick, which he called a "chiquita." I thought that was odd, and I didn't figure out until we were on our way out the door that he spoke really good Spanish.

Last Sunday night, I spent much of the day negotiating the black market and trying to find some refried beans. It's a staple of my diet, and I've been known to pick up 20 cans at a time when they're at an especially good price. I picked up a can when I first got here, but $3 a can was a bit steep until my first paycheck came - which happened last Monday. There has to be a cheaper way to get my bean fix, especially when you can pick up Louisiana-made hot sauce for a dollar a bottle at most grocery stores. Koreans just aren't an especially beany people, which complicates things since this is among the more ethnically homogenous countries in the world. So, I thought, "oh yeah, the pool hall man. He might know where I can find a fuckin' tienda."

So, I go to the pool hall. And for some reason, he was having a hard time with "frijoles. " "Come on man, frijoles. You eat and you eat and then your ... ass smells bad. You have smelly ass ... sky ... nearby your ass. Frijoles." He still had no idea, but laughed, so I went to the fridge and showed him a can of coffee. I pointed to the coffee bean on the front. "Frijole." "Ah. Cape." "No, frijoles. Ass that smells bad." "Cape." There's no "f" in Korean, so that caused some problems for both "beans" and "coffee."

Anyway, he introduced himself as Señor Bong - the first time I've ever heard those words used together in unstoned earnest - and insisted that we play a game of pool together. We started on the 8 ball table. It wasn't the most competitive of games, and he seemed kinda bored with it. So, then we moved on to the Korean pool table, a game I've been pretty curious about. Then, I got a 90 minute tutorial on danggu from Señor Bong, who rules at it, in the weirdest fucking Spanish I've ever heard in my life. Spanish with a Korean accent is weird. Korean Spanish with an Argentinian accent is much, much weirder. For example, when teaching me how to more effectively hit with English, it was "acka" - which I've never heard before - instead of "aqui." But, he spent 13 years living in Buenos Aires (oh, "ass AIR"! Why didn't I think of that before!?), so his vocabulary is much better than mine even if the pronunciation was way wacky.

Korean pool, danggu, is played on a smaller pool table, with four balls and no pockets. Two of the balls are cue balls, one white for one person, and a yellow ball for the opponent. And then there are two red balls. You gain a point if you make the cue ball hit one red ball, and then the other. So, the cue ball has to cleanly hit each of the red balls (rather than a red ball into another red ball) for you to gain a point. You keep getting points until you miss. Also, your score goes back to zero should you cause the two cue balls to collide. The game ends and the points are tallied when you make the cue ball hit both red balls as well as three rails - or I think that's how you play it. So, basically, he just toyed with me for over an hour and then finally ended the game once I got the rules down. I'm a decent shooter, which puts me at something of a disadvantage when their are no pockets.

Señor Bong only charged me $2, and that was just for a couple coffees and a gatorate-ripoff. Since it was $10 for an hour the first time I went, and especially since I had a pretty lengthy tutorial - including pointers on how to work the rail, and how to keep the red balls roughly together - I felt indebted to Señor Bong. "Hey. For me, money is money." "And for me, money is money." "If you insist. ?Are you hungry?" "Always." So I rushed home and made Señor Bong a burrito, which sans refried beans requires mashing up a can of kidney beans and throwing that shit on the stove. I only fried that shit once, though. I think frying them again is a wasted step.

So, Señor Bong liked his burrito, I think, and I brought the can of frijoles so that maybe he can help me out. He's got "frijoles" down now, but "refritas" is another problem. It's hard to explain if one person sucks at Spanish and the other isn't familiar with the product. The burrito was hot and spicy. My Korean students hate how in English "hot" is "heat" and "spice." Señor Bong hates the same thing about Spanish. So the burrito wasn't caliente and caliente. "No. Caliente y picante. Y muy rico," which I think means he liked it, right? We chatted for over an hour this time. I was kind of curious about Koreans in South America. Apparently, he lived in Korea, but then took part in a mass exodus in the late 1980s, when the Korean population in Buenos Aires dropped dramatically. That one required pen and paper. There were a few tough years of discrimination all of a sudden, and they moved on to places like Australia and Canada, and the population of Koreans in Argentina supposedly was cut in half within just a couple years.

He did things like mix up "before" and "after," and I did things like forget how to conjugate verbs in the past tense, so that was a problem. Especially since I used "before" and "after" as often as possible to get around the tenses. Then there was the occasional Korean for words I have forgotten from Spanish but know in Korean, like "ball" - learned in the kindergarten basement funhouse, also the word for "zero." I understood about 40-50% of what was going on at any moment. For example, he told me to hit the [Korean] ball "acka con finito" more than a few times. I didn't know "finito" (anyway, more like "pinito" with his accent") and wasn't paying attention to the suffix, and so I smacked the shit out of the ball when I should've used finess." Ah, con finito. (smack)" He owned some kind of costume jewelry store in Buenos Aires, and then somehow $50,000 is involved, though I'm not sure how. My horrible Korean has made me feel much more confident about my less-horrible Spanish, so that's helped a lot.

Spanish is a real emotional language for me, so needless to say that a few hours of speaking Spanish - without the option of English - is the most epic Spanish conversation I've ever had. On his last weekend alive, I was lucky enough to spend a day playing dominoes with my grandfather and cousin. One of the last things my grandfather ever said to me in Spanish was "pierdo mi alma." "?Grandpa, que quiere decir 'alma'?" "Soul." "I lose my soul" stands as the saddest thing I've ever heard, and it's always on my mind whenever I speak Spanish with old people. Of course, switching up "before" and "after," it was quite morbid for me to explain to Señor Bong why I was un poco triste.

Prodigies

2006-10-02T20:33:00.000+09:00

My kindergarten kids - 6 years old - make me smile about once every five minutes. Today, we were reading a story about this girl who sits down on a couch, eats some snacks, and watches TV. Then a dinosaur comes out of the TV and they chill out for a bit. You can ask questions like "so why is the dinosaur thirsty?" And they can answer "because she doesn't have any more milk."

Anyway, it was called "Dino the Dinosaur." I didn't want my fondness for the Flintstones to fuck up their sense of phonetics, so I thought I would have the class vote on whether we were going to call him "dee-no" or "die-no." 7-3 in favor of "die-no" in the end.

During deliberation - "so is it 'dee-no' or 'die-no'?" - the most demure girl in the class cracks a grin, looks up at me, and says, "I dun-no."

One day, Me Pretty Talk-yo (pt. 2)

2006-10-01T02:29:00.000+09:00

Tonight, I was hungry as people sometimes are. I really wanted to throw down on some kimbap, which is kinda like a sushi roll. Also, they're about $2 and pretty filling. It was my preference to get it to go, but, shit, how do I express that? I can read menus now, by which I mean I can sound shit out and I only know about 25% of what I'm saying ("rice" and "seaweed" is 20% of any given Korean menu, so that just leaves about 5% of miscellany that I was taught by my kindergarteners). I did ask which one had fish, and which one had no meat, by which I mean I pointed at the menu and said: "Here. Water meat (fish)?" "Yes." "Good. I can't eat meat. Water meat kimbap-only one, please give-yo." Above is how I synthesized two units of several Korean books to make a simple request in a stilted way. Although, it's not a fair grammatical representation of what I actually said. I left out things like topic particles (yeah, I'm not really sure what that is either) and subject particles. But, grammar can wait. Communication is much more important to me now and I'm still a very, very long way from not fucking that up.

I still had to pick out the ham, and there was some kind of mystery water-meat. But the kimbap was tasty, and enjoyed in the comfort of my home. Real soon, I need to learn to say "I don't eat anything that makes a sound, unless it's a splash." "I" would start the sentence, and "eat" would come at the very end. The negator would come right before the final verb, I think. So, yeah, that's still many many months away.

Korean is kind of an invented language, so it's not too hard. For example, one of the royal ugly dudes on Korean currency is the person who came up with the Korean alphabet. The alphabet is pretty nifty - and takes just a couple days to learn - because the characters actually represent the shape of the mouth and the position of the tongue when making those sounds. So, reading Korean script is really phonetic, so the literacy rate here is sky high. For example, a kindergarten coworker swears that he's seen one of his six year olds reading a translated version of "Treasure Island" in his spare time.

Really and truly, I'm a little peeved with myself that I can't yet flirt with the ladies in their native language. Korean women are absolutely stunning.

Day One, Me Pretty Talk-yo.

2006-10-01T01:59:00.000+09:00

On my first morning in Korea, I was a bit hungry as people often are and wanted to eat something before work. "Bread" was one of the only food items I was comfortable with saying aloud. "Bakery" (lit. "bread house") was the only place to get food that I knew, other than "bar" (lit. "booze house") and they weren't open yet. It was super early, and the only man I saw on the street was this frail old man. Apparently, I could say "where" and "exist"/locational "is" well enough to convey that I saw looking for something. Word-initial frontal consontants are a bitch in Korean, so I totally used the wrong p/b in "bread." There are three different consonants in Korean that exist somewhere on the English p/b continuum, and even with some schooling in phonetics I still can't really distinguish two of them. I picked the wrong one. And the ch/j continuum is also a bit hard for me to hear, and when teaching myself Korean phonetics this summer, I got the characters for almost-ch and almost-j mixed up, apparently.

Anyway, there was about two minutes of charades and rerepeating of my simple request before something clicked. There was a lot of sniffing, nose touching, and belly rubbing on my end. For awhile, he seemed to think that I had the trots and a runny nose, and was asking me if I needed a pharmacy. I looked like a FOB, so perhaps it was a place to sleep that I needed, and he made a hand-pillow charade. I could smell bread, but where exists the house from which the smell of food eminates? Eventually, he got it. "Bread house!" "Yes, bread house! Where exist?" Then he got really excited, made a 10 second phlegmy noise, and pointed me in the right direction with all kinds of other instructions that I didn't understand.

new job

2006-09-30T23:24:00.000+09:00

Okay. If you are curious to see the place that offered me my next job, unscramble the following words and follow the directions below. They are a new school - a month old - and have a pretty nifty website. Peep the interior, yo. Check out the building. Koreans are pretty good at design:

A: ernomd B: hseling C: diostu

A:(as in not rustic; contemporary) + B:(the language this is in) + C:(where artists work)

go to www.ABC.com

And, dig the music. So I should take this shit, right?

The people posing aren't my future coworkers, but are models. They set up the website so they could market aggressively, for both students and employees. The existing testimonials, I was told, come from the previous students of the owner's method, which is pretty innovative.

Perks:

4.5 hours of teaching a day, with ample breaks and very little preparation time. 6 hours actually spent in the office, with half an hour between classes
They fly you home for Christmas for a week
You get 4-5 weeks of total vacation a year, plus the dozen or so three-day weekends throughout the year.
Apartment included, featuring a queen-sized bed with Western-style sheets and an actual closet. I didn't actually see the apartment. Once I saw the inside of the school, I took his word that the apartment is as nice as he says it is.
Apartment is a 10 minute walk from the school, which is right off one of the more major subway stops and fun (though pricey) areas of town
A guided tour of Korea once a month.
A trip to Thailand in April. A trip to Hong Kong some other time.
During the interview, the owner said "your students will want to take you to lunch and dinner often. Will you be able to oblige?"
There will be 22 foreign coworkers by November. They don't hire exclusively North Americans like most schools here. Not that I have anything against North Americans, but I looooove Aussies.
They're taking me two weeks early to keep me from being homeless. They're sending me to Japan during the week that I will be homeless. So, I'll be trained for four weeks instead of their usual two.

The biggest "drawback" that I can think of: really nice things make me a bit uncomfortable, if only because I'm not used to really nice things. The morning shift starts at 6:30 - but then you're out of there by 12:30. If you're late once you get a warning. If you're late twice you get sacked. Also not a big deal. I'll buy three alarm clocks and put one in each corner of the apartment, if I have to. This is a new business; there's no guarantee that it will succeed. However, I'm pretty sure it will. It's pretty innovative, targets the upper class, and pampers the employees and the students. After a somewhat "hellish" (only for lack of a better word; things really aren't so bad, I'm just running on empty when I have nine teaching hours a day) last few weeks, I could stand to be pampered a bit. There's no wetnurse on your doorstep every morning, but I aired that grievance with the owner, and he's willing to consider it.

The salary's a little on the low end, but I should still be able to save half the paycheck. Plus there's a fat bonus for finishing the year. And, lifestyle - not money - is my main reason for coming here. There's no reason for me to get greedy about money with the above perks. But then you have the option of teaching an additional class, for a total of 6 hours of teaching. Then, the salary's a little on the high end. Some months I may want to work more hours - like once it gets cold. But, I'm totally starting on the low end so I can start exploring the city.

So I should take this shit, right?

Man Bites Dog

2006-09-30T11:04:00.000+09:00

Here's a pic from a few weeks ago. I'm wincing like a sissy bitch, but it actually tasted like pot roast.

Job Interview

2006-09-29T23:23:00.000+09:00

So, I had this job interview tonight. I was offered the job on the spot, and am totally taking it. They're going to take me a couple weeks early to keep me from being homeless - and they're giving me a fat grand when I move in. Also, I'll be going to Japan soon to get a new visa. The building is a touch opulent. Koreans totally kick ass at design. In the lobby, they have a cappuccino machine, so I totally slurped on an iced coffee through the interview.

request

2006-09-29T02:40:00.000+09:00

If anyone back home wants to get drunk-dialed at weird hours in the afternoon, email me your phone number. There's a really rad bar nearby that has free international calling.

Job front.

2006-09-28T21:59:00.000+09:00

I'll be homeless soon. My current employer will only tell me that my final date is sometime between 12 and 20 October. I don't really want to be there any longer than I have to, but in exchange for a visa release document, I'm also agreeing not to be paid until my last day on the job. So, the sooner I leave the sooner I'll have some dough. However, I will be sans casa as soon as I leave the job, and won't have another until someone else gives me a job. I have an interview at one of the most famous elementary schools in Seoul, but the job wouldn't start until February. I can't go without a house or job for that long unless I live as an illegal for a few months and teach English lessons on the side while masquerading as a full-time tourist. The other option is holing up in Thailand or someplace like that where I can live on $50 a week until the job opens up. Or, I can settle and get a job teaching conversational English to businessmen - and I should be able to find one of those jobs whenever I want.

Unfortunately, contracts here only exist in year-long increments. So, do I settle for something that's still really cool and cushy (roughly 4.5 hours of teaching conversation classes [no prep], with 4 weeks vacation) or do I wait until February and take a job at a school where Korean celebrities send their kids (slightly less teaching time with 3 months vacation)? The latter option is in a hippie school that doesn't believe in walls.

At any rate, I have an interview tomorrow (Friday) night at 9, at this swank-looking conversation place. I seems a little plush, so if offered I'll probably take it. They take their employees to Hong Kong and Thailand every year as a bonus, and there are all kinds of other ways in which they pamper their staff.

Poo-man

2006-09-28T21:26:00.000+09:00

Yesterday was a review day and a catch-up day at school. Since I'm pretty much busting my ass to stay on schedule, I ended up playing about 3 or 4 total hours of hangman. My most advanced class wanted to play a version that translates roughly to "poo-man." One of the things that intrigues me about Korean kids is that they all draw poop the same way. In 4 weeks of teaching, I've encountered the same identical depiction of feces (at least 15 times). Anyway, this is what poo-man looks like. There's a man who descends the staircase into a vile pile of poo. Korean kid-drawn poo always looks like a digested pyramid. Invariably, poo in Korea exists in stacks of three. I'm not sure if the lines coming out are flies or stink marks.

I went ahead and depicted my hair how my students did before I got sheered. They all drew my Jew-fro the same way, too.

2006-09-24T10:43:00.000+09:00

I still can't find my way around for shit. All the landmarks and neighborhoods look the same. It's like being stuck in a cheaply-animated cartoon.

I made my first original grammatical sentence in Korean yesterday. I was walking around a market with a ginger friend. To pay for a small purchase, she accidentally pulled out some yen instead of won: "Oh, I'm sorry. We are Japanese." The shopkeeper laughed, which I take to mean that I was understood. Or maybe she laughed because I was only almost understood. At any rate, I can successfully make a sentence in the following pattern: subject, object, verb. The problem, though, is that I only know about 5 verbs right now.

The main verbs come at the end of sentences, which makes communication akin to chess right now. Also, main verbs end in a stem "-yo," which indicates politeness. This "-yo" can only be dropped when you're talking to a very close friend, supposedly only in private. So, once I have some communicative competence - still months away - I'll end most of my sentences in "yo," which is something I already do in English most of the time. I love when my idiosyncrasies are validated in Asian culture.

Some men interpret nine memos

2006-09-24T10:20:00.000+09:00

My last few posts have been a touch frantic and hasty. A few people have sent emails asking if I'm coming home. Hell no I'm not coming home. I'm too stubborn to leave Seoul, even. I'm legally in the right here. I've been teaching eleven classes with no breaks. Most days, even going to the bathroom is kind of a big deal. This is saying nothing about being able to plan for classes. If in fact I want to be a professional teacher, which is what I'm saying right now, I especially want to be doing a decent job in the classroom. Instead, I'm exhausted after five kindergarten hours, and I'm grumpier in my afternoon classes than I'm comfortable with.

Also, the lack of breaks and heaps of classes violate my contract, so I tried to negotiate for a break. Then, I was threatened with deportation and accused of "complaining too much." So, I'll be staying in this somewhat uncomfortable situation until 20 October. Luckily, a week of that is vacation - Korean Thanksgiving - so I have some time to relax, see new things, and look for a new job. I'm also bargaining for visa release papers, which I'll receive next week. Actually, I'll refuse to come to work unless I receive those papers I'm promised.

To be honest, the whole situation sucks. I'm only hanging around this long because on principle I can't leave the kindergarten kids without a teacher. I had a really good week teaching kindergarten. It took a couple weeks to figure out how six year olds act, but I've picked up a lot of tricks to make it work. Namely, stickers. Give stickers as bribes and take them away if you have to - taking a sticker away will probably make a kid cry, apparently. Anyway, I feel bad stranding the kids. A lot of them brought me gifts last week - lots of drawings, tea, and a copy of Freakonomics - and they are excited as hell in the mornings when they first see me. Luckily, little kids of goldfish memories, but I'll still be bummed to leave them.

I'll be very, very appreciative of a good employer when I find one. I will only, however, take a job at a public school or at a university. The owner, the one who threatened me with deportation, will only grunt at me now. It's so much better this way.

I spent yesterday morning in the hospital. I was told to get tested for pneumonia, just in case. I don't have it, which is good. An American doctor - the hospital is somehow affiliated with Johns Hopkins - told me that I've got some super germ that no longer has a cell wall. This slime is usually carried by kids, and it developed after decades of abuse of antibiotics in Korea - or something like that. Then I explaining my high blood pressure by telling him about my work environment. He laughed - it's so typical an experience for a first job in Korea. The best jobs are obtained once you're already here, but I didn't quite have the balls to get on a plane here with no job. Anyway, I should be healthy in time for Korean Thanksgiving, which is in a week.

Body hair in the classroom

2006-09-21T07:53:00.000+09:00

Yesterday, I was teaching different names of fruits to one of my kindergarten classes - I have two, that I oscillate between from 10-3. Anyway, one of the fruits was "kiwi." They pretty much all knew what it was. The vocabulary and grammar of these kids is somewhat surprising. So I asked, "And what is - on the outside - of the fruit? How does it feel?" "Oh, it's like teacher's... arms." These kids crack me up.

But that's the great part about six year olds. They're more than happy to spend 20 minutes talking about their favorite fruit.

Movin' on ... up?

2006-09-21T07:24:00.000+09:00

So, here's the deal. Yes, week three and I quit my job. I really enjoy working with kids, but there's too many of them. To borrow from Mitch Hedberg, it's like pancakes. They're all fun and exciting at first, but by the end you're just fucking sick of 'em. But, that's not even true. I actually enjoy the kid aspect, and I'm decent at getting them to do what I want them to do already. Also, 6-year-old problems no longer freak me out. My hours were totally misrepresented on my contract. MWF, for example, I teach eleven classes straight from 10-6:45 with absolutely no breaks. While I get to enjoy a deliciously underspiced kindy lunch every day, it's not a break for me as I'm the only adult in the room then. And, finally, I'm working over 50% more than the minimum on my contract, and almost 30% more than the maximum stated on my contract. And anyway, during these aforesaid "breaks" that only appear on Tuesday and Thursday, and doing stuff like writing overly polite notes to the kindergarten parents - not planning the classes. Education is secondary here, and making students happy is what matters the most.

I tried to work out a compromise with my supervisor to get my hours down to something that I agreed to when I signed my contract. Wait two weeks and they can get me one break on MWF. Wait until December and they can move me from 10-7 to 3-10. She agreed that I was busting my ass, so she seemed willing to work with me. And so I very generously agreed to that compromise.

Tuesday morning, I asked another supervisor to please let me cover one of my classes. I have two breaks in a row on Tuesday afternoon, and if she would only cover the class before my breaks, I would have enough time to go to the hospital. I've been more than a touch ill for the last 10 days maybe. She refused, saying I could wait until Thursday, when I have a 2.5 hour window. Later, I asked the school owner if I could take off half a day Wednesday to go to the hospital. He wait he'd send me to the doctor during my 1.5 hour break on Tuesday. In the waiting room, the owner was totally trying to psyche me out. Eventually, he stopped beating around the bush: "You complain too much. Do you just want to get on a plane and go back to your home country?" "Actually, sir, I imagine that you won't be paying for a ticket back. So, you can't tell me where to go. And, actually, I plan on staying right here in Seoul." Then he said, "Well, if you aren't happy here then maybe you should..." "- yeah." "What are you trying to say?" "I guess that I didn't come this far away to be overworked and disrespected."

Then I spent 20 minutes hooked up to an IV. I'm taking 8 pills three times a day. I don't exactly know what they are, but I feel a lot better. I'd imagine that the yellow one is for compliance, but it ain't workin'. I agreed to my hours on the contract. Anyway, 10 minutes after jumping off the IV drip, the boss fully expected me to teach again. My break was over. At the end of the day, it was cheaper for him to pump me full of meds than it would be for me to miss a couple classes.

So that's that. Hopefully, my recruiter will help me smooth the transition. Hopefully I won't have to stay here any longer than a couple weeks, because things were a touch icy yesterday.

Ding ding ding; we have a winner.

2006-09-20T08:46:00.000+09:00

And, the only African Americans that a roomful of Korean 8 and 9 year old prodigies can name are: Michael Jordan and Tiger Woods. Very good guesses, though. And, Grant, your Scottie Pippen references always brighten my day.
Oh, and in other news I quit my job yesterday. We'll see how long I get to enjoy the relative comfort of working 15-20 more hours a week than my contract says and enjoying a place to live. A few people have offered me a place to crash for a few days, so that's actually not a huge concern. My contract says I should be teaching a minimum of 36 classes a week (24 teaching hours) with an absolute maximum of 45. Then they did some sneaky shit, like kindergarten classes are 50 minutes long and I don't get paid for supervising lunch everyday (so there's an extra 10 hours I didn't agree to right there). I have a kindergarten teaching assistant that I share with a few other teachers, but she doesn't do a whole lot. She plays with her cellphone much of the time. So, she's totally not my Scottie Pippen. Given the fact that she doesn't even understand the most basic things I say, Tony Kukoc might be more apt: yeah, thanks for the 2 rebounds a day, biatch.
I got my supervisor to agree to the fact that I'm working 56.5 classes a week - counting the 7 breaks I have all week between my MWF teaching schedule of 10 - 6:45, and my TTh schedule of 9:30-6:45. I'm pretty sure I spent 20 minutes punching in numbers on a calculator while sitting next to her on her desk Monday, thining of all the various combinations of numbers that I didn't agree to because they weren't in my contract.
Basically, the terms of my contract - and a conversation with my supervisor before I got here led me to believe that I'd be working roughly 40 hours a week with ample time to plan and thus take some pride in my work. In reality, I'm working over 50 hours a week - especially when you include all the work I'm expected to take home with me on a daily basis - with no breaks from 10-6:45 on Monday, Wednesday, Friday.
I'll need to say more about the conversation I had with the school owner in a physician's waiting, who was being a complete dicknose. I spent my two breaks yesterday hooked up to an IV drip and having an awkward discussion with the Korean bossman. He did back off a bit, however, when he saw my bloodpressure. Something kinda scary over something kinda scary. I've never been a hypertension kinda guy, so I'm now looking for a university job - a job that I'm qualified here for - that runs about 15-20 hours a week of teaching with 8-12 weeks of vacation a year.

Welcome to Koreo!

2006-09-17T14:59:00.000+09:00

I got welcomed to the country by a driver holding a sign in the airport: "[Mark Hernandef] Welcome to Korea!" It made me happy. Luckily, one of the two verbs I knew at the time was "please give."

Never odd or even

2006-09-17T14:36:00.000+09:00

I got my hair cut yesterday. My boss hinted that I look like a slob, and strongly suggested that I start wearing a tie (then he gave me 5 really swank neckties from his personal collection, so I didn’t have much of a choice) and cut my hair. I didn’t have a bedframe for my first 12 days in this country, and, tacitly, I was holding out on the haircut until bossman hooked me up with an elevated bed. There are these weird little red ant things running amuck here, so a mattress on the floor was actually a bigger deal than it otherwise would be. As of Friday night, I haven’t had to worry about sharing a bed with these antlike things, so off I went to axe one of my few bargaining tools.

The guy cutting my hair spoke pretty good English, so it wasn’t that hard to tell him how I wanted it. There is, however, another problem. I held up my fingers to show him how I wanted my hair, and he said, "OK. Five centimeters?" "Uh, yeah." I have some idea of what that is, but not really. I just thought that maybe he was a bad estimator, because he totally saw how far I spaced my fingers apart. Anyway, I wasn’t really paying attention for the first several snips, and by the time I looked up he was definitely taking off a healthy chunk of hair. I just wanted one inch taken off, but it was really more like 3-4. I haven’t had hair this short since I was a kid. Apparently, I now look "like a hobbit." Ultimately, he ended up giving me a Korean haircut. He was not digging on the "Jew-fro," apparently.

I’m thinking about following the lead of bell hooks and Carolivia Herron and writing a children’s book for Western kids growing up in the East. Tentative title: It’s Easy Being Greasy (these rhyme a little better in the Am South, and, thus, in my head). Seriously, though, in one of my favorite classes I teach all week, I’m either a Math, Social Studies, or Science teacher to a roomful of the most precocious 8-10 year olds I’ve ever met. Last Tuesday’s lesson introduced the term "African American." Out of curiosity and to reinforce the "concept," I asked them how many Af Ams they could name. As a class, they came up with two. Any guesses?

A live in a really posh area. I’m totally in need of a bedside lamp, that way I can induce sleep via reading and try to finally get on some kind of weekday sleep routine. Yesterday, I hopped to the local lamp shop, and kept gesturing retardedly.* I can ask "how much?" - but at the time I couldn’t understand what was being said in response.** And I sure as hell don’t have the linguistic faculties to ask for the cheapest lamp in the store. So I just said "twenty" - the wrong "twenty" - and kept pointing to all the lamps in the store. The shop owner was more than a touch rude in response. She ushered me out of the store, madly flailing her arms. The only Korean epithet I know is "dog baby" (taught to me Friday night by an illegal Canadian - wtf? Everything is truly backwards here), but that hardly seemed appropriate. I was a little pissed, though. This summer, I really boned up on my pleasantries when I was trying to learn the Korean alphabet and phonology, and everything I can say is with the most polite verb stems possible. There really aren’t any English equivalents to my repertoire of pleasantries, but a rough translation of the things I say most often would be "humble dame, if it were possible, I would gladly exchange my maidenhead for your service." Or whatever.

So, yeah. Spent 7 `til 6 hanging out with old friends - people I’ve known for seven days - and their pals. The evening involved a meal of dog, a rooftop house party with the most amazing view of the city, and a few bars - some divy, some not. My buddies helped me ask for a vegetarian meal, which wasn’t on the menu. The specialty restaurant only serves two dishes: dog and chicken. After a bite of what I thought was really delicious tofu, I realized that they put in blocks of spam. After not eating meat for two years and then accidentally eating canned whateverthefuck, there was no valid reason not to try a bite of dog. My eyes welled up a bit, but I was able to conceal that from my new pals. The Korean waiter who spoke a bit of English claims that dogmeat is fabled to give you power (which I took to mean sexual stamina, but who really knows). If you're going to lapse as a vegetarian, then lapse as a vegetarian. The meat industry is the meat industry; at least a blown-up newspaper article in front of the restaurant mentioned the eating dog is a controversial issue; it also claimed that this particular restaurant went out of its way to be as ethical as possible. But, yeah. Sorry, Danielle (and Niko and Max [totally left out one]). :(

It’s so amazing not to wake up hungover. I’m off to do something enriching, which may involve schlepping my happy ass to the nearest taco shop. I need something familiar in my belly.

* I’ll always make the claim that this word is kosher when used as an adverb, and it's pretty apt. There are canaries who can find their way around town better than me.

** Korean has two number systems. One that is "pure Korean" and used for counting, and one that is Sino-Korean and used for everything else. I boned up on the Korean system before I got here, but I didn’t learn Sino-Korean until I went to my first ever Korean language class a few hours later. To make it even more of a mindfuck, hours are in pure Korean (maybe because you count them?) and minutes are in Sino-Korean. So, yeah, I’m wearing a wristwatch for the first time ever.

The job

2006-09-14T22:32:00.000+09:00

I teach kindergarten by day, from 10-3. I realize this might seem at odds with my last post, so this is one of the many reasons this blog is anonymous. It is what it is. In the abstract, it seemed like a really good idea. But, I guess I really didn't know a whole lot about kids, until, you know, my first day in this country, when I had to figure out pretty much everything on my own.

It's a frustrating job, but also a rewarding one. I can't exactly articulate what the rewards might be at this moment, but I'm sure they're there. At least the kids are really honest if they think you suck as a human being, and about half of them don't think I suck. I really thought there would be serious communication barriers between me and the kindie kids, but this isn't the case at all. These English-speaking Korean 7 year olds (Western 6 year olds; life truly begins at conception here) sound like 5 year olds back home, except perhaps with not as extensive a vocabulary.

I really enjoy myself from 3-7, when I teach anywhere from first through sixth grades, at a variety of levels of proficiency. Essentially, I teach at a private academy for kids whose strict parents make them attend ancillary English classes between their cello lessons and soccer practice. Today, in a unit on household chores, I introduced the phrase "sweep the floor" to a roomful of Asian 10 year olds. I'm pretty much Mr. Miyagi in whiteface. Also, all 10-12 year olds here draw me the same way, with gigantic poofy hair: "Teacher, your hair is like a bird nest."

I could bitch and moan about the hours - and probably will sometime - but when I made the somewhat impulsive decision to move to Korea I was days away from seeking employment at a temp agency and filing for the next several months. So, it's all relative here, yo. And in Korea I've got relative Jew-fro.

oy, yo

2006-09-11T02:06:00.000+09:00

Hello everybody. It's Sunday night, I've been in a Korea for a week, and my hours are still pretty fucked up. Seoul's a pretty fun city. My job is manageable, but a touch overwhelming at first. So, I arrived in this country on Sunday night, and Monday I had to teach 9 classes. I got through it, but holy shit. Jetlag + no training + roomfuls (roomsful?) of screaming kids make DrAwkward* grumpy for a few days. My MWF hours are a touch brutal, but TTh isn't so bad. It was a fairly difficult week, but (in theory) it will never be this rough again. I feel a little unlucky with the hours, but this is a reputable hagwon (in short, a private school) and I have some really cool coworkers. Also, most of the kids are really sweet and genuinely interested in learning. There's just a lot about kids I don't know, and having to figure it out on the fly isn't the greatest. But, should I ever decide to reproduce, teaching kindergarten for a year is probably a good idea. Sometimes the school feels like whitey indoctrination camp, but that's a story for another day.

And, after a pretty spectacular weekend, I'm sure to have that fucking Loverboy song stuck in my head tomorrow morning when I'm dealing with snotrags and papercuts (seriously, I witnessed 6 in the last week; either the paper is more lethal here or paper confuses children; I'm not sure which).

So, here are a few jumbled anecdotes.

Seoul is a 24 hour city. Bars here don't close until 6. So, obviously I took advantage of that as soon as I could. It's a lot easier to strike up a conversation with strangers overseas than it is back home. Single middle aged whities here are pretty fucking creepy. Last night, this one older gentlemen (seriously, he looked like the pervert [in Korean "pervert" is "piante"; Western women seem to learn that one quickly] who claimed to kill JonBenet) chatted my ear off. The first thing he told me is that "the rest of Asia is so much cooler than Korea." "Alright, buddy, then why the fuck are you here?" Then he proceeded to tell me all about his "fucking stupid" 19 year old Korean girlfriend who he completely disrespects. His story kept shifting, so she was either a fabrication or an embellishment. When the sketchy but cool bar closed (the sun had been up for an hour), I went with a Brit and an Irish lesbian to a noraebang (karaoke-y thing). This dude from St. Louis asked to watch me pee. "Dude, I hear it sucks being queer here. If you'd get off on watching me pee, then go ahead. I mean I guess." Then he felt me up, and "dude, I'm straight. This is doing nothing for me" didn't get the message across. Guys are so fucking persistent. Sometimes my fear of appearing homophobic puts me in really awkward situations. But a few hours earlier I'd used a urinal in a coed bathroom. When in a country not founded by Puritans... So far the biggest piante in this country have been Western men. And, that's really my last memory for awhile. I'd only had 4-6 beers all night/morning (the previous night was a bit rough), so I reckon that somebody put something in my drink (I hear that rarely ever happens here, but that's really the most rational explanation for my next memory, esp. since I wasn't drinking that heavily).

So, yadda yadda yadda. And next thing I know I was walking down the street sans shoes (your guess is as good as mine, but you know how 'em Orientals are, with all the taking off of the shoes in situations where I normally wouldn't). Judging by the holes in my socks - about the size of my fist, but then again I have fetus hands - and the pain of my feet, I must have been walking for a couple hours. I don't yet know too many landmarks, and my Korean isn't remotely good yet. I can ask where something is, but I've yet to understand an answer. A much revered Korean folklorist told me never to take taxis here, but I eventually woke up enough to stop heeding that advice. At any rate, it's week one and I'm already the biggest hillbilly in town.

A coworker (and neighbor) showed me the most effective hiccup remedy today. Crouch down like a dog, and sip water upside down.

A couple Brits invited me for dog next weekend. I don't even eat meat, but I'm trying to psych myself up for a bite. This may upset a few of you, but it's really not that much different than chicken to me. Or really any worse than the cheese I had on my pizza today. But, yeah. I'm not yet sure that I'll be able to.

Very generously, a coworker brought me back to the noraebang to help me look for my shoes [and my salmon jacket :( ]. They all looked the same to me (the noraebang), so we went into about six different places. I'm going to kick all your asses at charades when I get back home.

Anyway, I hope to do something other than boozing next weekend, but it's really the fastest way to get to know people who aren't coworkers (not that my coworkers aren't really cool; I'm really lucky in that regard).

*For a variety of reasons, I'm keeping this blog anonymous. So, pals, please don't refer to me by my given name. In short, this will allow me to be more candid than I would otherwise be.

this is a test

2006-09-09T12:45:00.000+09:00

Just trying out this new techmology. I'll post something else when I'm not hungover. Thanks again Ohio people for a really good send off. You rule.